I feel the love, I feel the love, I feel the love that’s really real

Little Brother has adopted a phrase recently that I think he picked up from a friend: when he’s trying to convince me of something that may or may not be true (his mate at school just got a puppy; a dinosaur ate his toy) he adds, nodding furiously with eyes wide, “Yeah, really! In real life!”

This real life to which he refers often does not exist, as is revealed when his widened eyes begin to crinkle at the corners and a laugh escapes his lips. He is full of silly mirth, this one, always looking for a good joke to tell. But I’m learning, also, that the reality of him includes depths of emotion that we’re just beginning to plumb. Several times recently he has dissolved into tears over misunderstandings with friends in which the other fell down/got hurt and LB was not to blame, but profusely apologised through tears anyway, repeating it like a watery mantra: “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

It’s not real, this idea of his that he has to take the weight of the world (or at least the emotions of everyone around him) upon his tiny little shoulders; it’s not true, at least, because I don’t doubt that it feels very real to him. I know because he comes by it honestly, this internal emotional thermostat that seeks to mollify each person within its radius. His eyebrows and facial expressions may come from The Husband, but the thermostat? That’s from me.

I know, from my own experience, that not dealing with the emotional fallout is what leads to internal turmoil and, eventually, therapy–the latter of which is not a bad thing but can be expensive–so I try to talk to him about his feelings, and what they mean, and how to deal with them. I tell him that he’s a wonderful kid and a good friend and that he doesn’t have to say he’s sorry for things that aren’t his fault, and of things that are, one sincere apology is enough. I tell him these things while he nods and squirms in my arms, wanting to escape the introspection of it all the same way he wants to escape the pain of a knee upon which he just fell: “I want it to be done, Mommy!”

I often want it to be done too: the thing that is causing me pain; the eyes that turn toward it in acknowledgment then linger in a brand of attention I could do without; the lingering of the pain itself long after what I assess should be its expiration date. But real life doesn’t often work that way.

In real life, there is the rhythm of mistake and forgiveness rather than eventually just always getting it right. There is the rhythm of community and loneliness rather than just always the right amount of company. There is the rhythm of triumph and defeat rather than just the straight line of smooth sailing. There is the looking forward to a holiday that ends up being canceled; there is its replacement with afternoons spent with friends both theirs and mine, their laughter and our commiseration. There are the runs fuelled by endorphins and feeling like they could go on forever and the ones where each step is leaden. There is the email validating a crusade marked by truth-telling in the face of abuse, and there is the news that the outcome still won’t be what you want. There is the reality that telling the truth may be its only reward. That, and the friends who told it with you.

There is the reality that backing off your meds may be successful, but only if you face the rage and anxiety that come along with that choice and find other ways to meet them. There is the reality that taking your kids ice-skating may be a better memory for them than it is for you (and your back). There is the reality that pretending is not a lifestyle choice that will work out for you after all (except in those instances when you let your kid win the race). But that, eventually, you and your kid both will have to make that unpractical yet ultimate choice over whether to be shiny, or real.

And there are the moments when that choice will leave you looking out a window filled with grey skies and storms. But there are also those moments when you’ll find yourself flung up into a blue sky with your best friend, marvelling at the view that telling the truth led you to.