Emotional processing
My new audio read was bound to stir things up. Mom, I know this is a provocative title, but please rest assured that this has much more to do with intergenerational patterns, and emotional maturity as a whole. The concept of emotional intelligence only started to gain traction in the 90s. You raised me exactly as any mother of your generation has, and you did well. I chose this book out of curiosity on parenting because most of my friends are parents, and I’m always attentive to their world. With the tittle, “Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents,” by Lyndsay Gibson, I knew I would have to introspect.
Little did I understand the key components of emotional maturity. This expression seems self-explanatory, but it’s far from being something left to personal interpretation. Clear criterias define what is and isn’t emotional maturity, as well as clear behaviors attached to the concepts. Quite frankly, I don’t rank particularly high on the emotional maturity scale, and I will make my future counseling sessions about gaining some insight on the matter. Between returning my Chromebook to grocery shopping, I spent a good part of my day decomposing my behaviors, and those of the people around me.
One person I further analyzed through the lens of emotional maturity is my ex, P. Our last interaction left me profoundly sad. Through out the day, I started putting the pieces together as to why I was so upset by the way our last interaction unfolded. Better seeing where he stands in his emotional growth, I’m starting to grasp the myriad of issues that led to this disappointing closure process.
Back in early September, I sent P a question about our relationship. He stated that he was unable to reply yet, but once he would be more in tune with his emotions he would respond. More than 3 months later, and a few nice, but shallow messages later, he has simply avoided the issue. All he managed to do is preserve his sense of being a good guy, and tame his guilt with birthday, and Holiday wishes, and mentions of feeling bad. Taking responsibility for what happened, or engaging in a clarification conversation won’t happen. It is what it is despite my efforts, and patience.
It was hard to make my request not to be contacted unless absolutely necessary. I thought of it for well over a month, and I would do so when I would change phone number. I was well aware that it would be the final nail in the coffin. A part of me hoped he would have the courage to step forward, do or say something that would start a new opening for some kind of interaction. True to himself, the expectable lameness unfolded. A gut wrenching predictably in cowardeness, the same I was confronted with a year ago.
Disappointment was to be expected, still it hurts deeply. Having cared so deeply for that man, how could I be left with banal messages, and unswered questions? I have to accept that this is who he is, nothing will change him, certainly not me. I didn’t try to modify his behaviors when in the relationship, I simply wasn’t aware of who he was. Time was needed for me to realize the nature of his character. Now I know, and it pains me to see I was so terribly mistaking. The image I created in mind of who I thought he was, was breathtaking. A sensitive, intelligent, handsome, men of integrity I simply couldn’t stop admiring. It was a magical fantasy, one that swept me off my feet in a romance larger than life. Some aspects of this description bare reality, I wasn’t in complete delusion, but it wasn’t to the extent I imagined.
It will soon be a year since we broke up, and the bitterness of my loss is almost identical as then. The one thing that has subsided is my infatuation. With the rose coloured glasses off, looking back on my relationship the events were full of red flags. I knew the odds were against me. I thought I was prepared for the most common outcome. Still, it crippled me. My slow disenchanted reconstruction brought its load of maturity for sure.
Now, where was I with emotional maturity after this long rent on my ex? Yes, I’m further awakening on my psychological shortfalls. It’s time I return to my weekly counseling to work on gaining maturity, and heal from the past. No matter what others do, it’s my responsibility to manage my feelings. I’m the only one who can make me feel something, and the only one who can change my feelings. Embracing hard emotions takes time, and practice — my therapy emotional gym awaits.
