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Empty Nester
Wrestling with empty-nest syndrome, co-dependence, and individuation
I suddenly feel a rush of compassion for myself this morning. This has been happening more often lately, and it’s a good sign. I know I’m supposed to cry, and probably cry a lot. My son knows too. He says, Mom, feel the feelings. Go to a boxing gym. Get angry.
How can I get angry though when anger drove much of my life and certainly stained my childhood? It actually feels like an accomplishment that I’m no longer driven by anger or that anger is no longer an unruly force inside of me. And, as anyone who’s been in therapy even a little will tell you, anger is usually a symptom of something deeper. And that something is usually sorrow.
A young woman dandles her baby at a table near me. She is with a friend. She looks exasperated, yet proud, almost like she’s pretending to be exasperated. Really, she knows she won the lottery. Bigly.
I’m in Madrid. I’ve been here since December, three months. March has begun. Spring is unfurling. A few days ago, the young trees along my street suddenly seemed to be swathed in a kind of green mist. When I looked more carefully, I saw the tips of dozens of tiny, florescent-green leaves struggling free of their carapaces, and I was touched.
