Thursday, February 4, 2010

In the mirror----Naked.

It's only taken me four days, but it's dawning on me that all of these issues about which I write don't have much at all to do with Taylor; they have to do with me. (Notice that he's not here writing about how hard his life is. I am.)
Ok, so let's talk about getting naked. I mean, getting naked and standing right in front of that mirror and looking straight on at our own nakedness. Yikes! Now add that other thing that seems to be almost impossible: Say only kind things to yourself. Only kind and loving and accepting words. Say them to yourself---
Gosh, does this make you want to throw up yet? You don't want to throw up because what you see is actually ugly---but what we're each told ourselves about our nakedness is so ugly.
OK, punchline time: Taylor loves his body. He never ever has judgement when he sees his whole body naked reflected back to him. He does not think he would be better if only..... his legs or his stomach or his fanny were different. He can look straight on--full monty--right into that mirror and not have one single judgement about who he is as a person. He can see himself naked and still love who he is. The only shame he has is what I have taught him. Ponder. Ponder. Oh S***. Yep, I'm his retarded (loving) mother.
What would we each need to know about the world within us and with-out us to love our bodies exactly as they are on this very day? What belief keeps you and me seeing ourselves--and always trying to fix things. I promise you that Taylor would look at you naked----and think---and know--that you're perfect. Can anybody out there wrap your brain (and heart) around that? Probably not. What does he know that we don't? Is there a lesson here? Why don't I/we learn it? Tell me.
Anyway, I have to go to the gym now. My legs are so fat.

I see me in you.

Day 3. Does this mean I'm an official Blogger? Get in line. We're a dime-a-dozen.
I actually had something on my mind in the middle of the night about Taylor, but when I checked my email, a good friend had commented on FaceBook about my blog. Here is what she said, "I remember our talking after our C. and C. were born -- comparing notes and understanding and congratulating each other. I also remember after Taylor and G. were born -- remember crying, partly in sadness for you, that you had not gotten that "perfect" baby, and partly in thanksgiving that it had been you instead of me. I know that is incredibly awful to admit in public, but it is true." It's so weird. I really appreciate this comment because I know it's so true. I also know the compassion and depth in this woman's heart. I have seen it borne out in a thousand ways. And anyway, I am you. I am that other person who feels just like you. When I was young (er) I used to see a mother at Legion Pool with a handicapped daughter. I would feel physically sick and wonder how on earth--- that mother could love her daughter. I just did not know how someone could reach down into her very cell membranes and find love--and acceptance for somebody so "imperfect." Looking back...yes, always looking back....I see that it was (and still is) my own self that I am afraid of. When we see something in another person that scares us or makes us uneasy, it is always always always about our fears about ourselves. So what was I so afraid of when I saw that "imperfect" child being loved and cared for by her mother? Well, after years of therapy, I am here to tell you that I probably didn't believe that she...nor I...really was worthy of that unconditional love. Hmmm. Hmmm. Hmm.. I am wondering if you know what I'm talking about here. Do you think you have to be perfect? Do you wonder if you're not enough? Do you ever think you're in the way? These are probably my own projections but I also believe that there are millions of us walking around trying to "prove" that we are good enough---worthy enough--valuable enough. Here's what I have learned from my "retarded" son: You already are good enough. I already am good enough. Period. Thank you, Taylor, for reminding us of this.