The weekend before my departure for France, I taught a workshop at the Omega Institute in Rhinebeck, New York. My flight from Albany back to Chicago landed at 7 P.M. on Sunday. I had to race home because I was leaving the next day and still had a few final preparations to make.
It was also Mother’s Day, and my older daughter had prepared a lovely dinner for me both to celebrate and to send me off in style. I was so touched by her effort, and happy that both of my daughters were there to see me off. I only wished I were more fully able to appreciate their blessings. To the end I was a nervous wreck.
I was leaving all my responsibilities to my daughters and my business partner Ryan to handle while I was away, as I didn’t want to focus on anything but the walk. While my Higher Self knew all would be in good hands between the three of them, I was still anxious.
Suddenly I was afraid that they wouldn’t be able to manage in my absence. I didn’t share any of these feelings with them, of course, but I did realize how much I drew my sense of security from being in charge of everything.
“Am I control freak?” I asked my daughters spontaneously as I helped myself to mashed potatoes. They both laughed. “Maybe a bit,” they agreed, “at least when it comes to responsibilities.”
“Yet another spark of clarity from the Camino, and I haven’t even left yet,” I observed.
“Don’t worry about a thing, Mom. We’ve got your back and you can trust us,” they wholeheartedly assured me. “And we are really happy you are doing this for yourself.”
“Me too.”
I knew they meant it. I had been so miserable for the past two years that I’m sure they were sick of me. I had tried to weather the storms I had suffered, and a few I had caused, as well as I could, but between the deaths in my family and the death of my marriage, I was swamped with anger and grief. Every day was a major challenge, and they were the ones who had helped me get through it.
I knew they were spent and had their own grief over their parents’ impending divorce to deal with. We all needed this break in order to deal with our private emotions. I was sick over having brought this misery into their lives, and while we were very close and supportive of one another throughout this family nightmare, it was still a personal journey of loss that we each needed time and space to face on our own.
While Patrick and I had endless challenges as a couple, we were both dedicated to the girls. Having our family come unglued like it had filled both of our daughters with heartbreak and anger. And I didn’t blame them one bit. I blamed me, unless of course I was blaming Patrick.
I welcomed giving my daughters a break from me. I felt so guilty about everything that I had set in motion that in some ways I couldn’t get away fast enough.
And that meant letting go of control.
I was ready and, in fact, I wanted nothing more than to turn the reins of all my responsibilities over to others for a time and take a break. It was all just too heavy. It wasn’t my backpack (or two now) that burdened me. It was the responsibility for so many and so much that I felt I couldn’t carry on the Camino. It was my life and its endless responsibilities that needed to be unloaded.
I wanted to walk the Camino more than anything to become free of the guilt and anger and shame I was carrying so deep in my heart. I yearned for forgiveness for having all this guilt and resentment. And for failing to be more loving of Patrick and forgiving of him in spite of the fact that I knew it was spiritually the right thing to do.
I trusted my divine support system implicitly and knew I would always receive their support and protection. It was people I didn’t trust. Except for Ryan and my daughters. But even while I trusted them wholeheartedly, I had hesitated to ask them for more than was necessary.
I prayed to God as I got ready for bed. Hopefully this would be the beginning of another way of life for me. One that would allow me to relax and receive more support. From the earliest age I was conditioned to believe that asking for anything was selfish and a sin. Giving was better than receiving. It was spiritual. I was to simply be a giver and not complain, and act like a good Catholic girl.
The only place I could look to for help was heaven, and even then I was not to bother too often. I could ask my spirit guides to help me out, and they did, all the time. I just couldn’t ask people to help me. That was imposing, and just plain wrong.
This warped message was proving, more and more, to be the great undoing of all of my relationships, but especially my marriage. It made me believe I didn’t need much of anything, which was actually not true at all and was why I was so agitated, especially with Patrick, so much of the time. I gave and gave as I was trained to do, while burying my own needs deeper and deeper.
I wasn’t aware I was doing that until I would give one ounce too many on any given day and then I would explode, which had happened more and more often since my dad died. His dying sprung open a Pandora’s box revealing a lifetime of neglected and suppressed needs in me. And they weren’t willing to be hidden away any longer.
I guess I’ve always needed a whole lot more than I’m willing to admit, I thought as I reflected on the embarrassing amount of stuff I had felt the need to take on this journey. No wonder I’ve been so unhappy so much of the time. I’m really needy, and I’m pissed off about it.
This was one of the fundamental things about myself that I wanted to change, or calm, or get over, or heal while on the Camino. I needed to. I was so angry with so many people and had ended so many relationships because of my over-giving tendencies and subsequent backlog of resentment that I couldn’t stand myself anymore.
Unless I got this part of my inner life balanced once and for all, I could never be truly happy in my life or in my relationships.
“That much I know for sure, Oprah,” I said, as I headed for bed.