Recycling — Donna Hopkins

This photo was taken during a Target shopping run early this morning. I seldom give the choice of subject much thought and simply go with what I notice, what catches my eye. I gave up a long time ago trying to make sense of what I take pictures of and why. I stopped comparing myself to others and just accepted my own vision as right for me. And then things got easier.

I woke up in a bad mood this morning which is rare for me. I had a dream that my younger son got angry with me for not having everything on hand to make his favorite breakfast. When I tried to make things right by offering up anything else and even being willing to run to the store to pick up the missing ingredients, he would not be appeased. Instead he turned on me, unleashing a torrent of resentment and anger for all I could not do for him. I felt as though I had been sucker punched and my first instinct was to try to solve this situation. My mind worked furiously trying to decide how to act—what I might say or how I might absorb this hurt while simultaneously preserving my relationship with him. How might I respond in a way that would leave space for him to come round and apologize, once he felt remorseful? How to leave room for the rupture to be repaired? This would of course require that I make it easy for him. That I make a path for him to apologize that would allow him to save face, to maintain his dignity. Even in my dreams, I want to make room for grace and kindness and forgiveness. For understanding.

I actually awoke with tears in my eyes. And I am immediately angry with my husband (and I think maybe all men). I apologize for being snippy. And my sweet son has actually done nothing at all to warrant my fury. I am frustrated with myself. I have never been taught to fight. I have been taught to fawn. To appease. To preserve my relationships at all costs. To prioritize belonging over boundaries. And now that position seems entirely untenable. Perhaps some things actually do need to be destroyed. Not every old pattern is worth reusing. Not every box needs to be saved.

I feel so much better now. Sometimes this space is a journal for all of my feelings, and I’m glad to be writing for myself and a target audience of a few kind friends. (Gee, that pun was totally unintended!)