Projection; Plug Me in and Turn on the Lamp!

I was in a meeting the other night when someone shared about their projection of things always being negative.  I could really identify with this.  It's so true, isn't it?  If you break projection down, it's nothing more than our imagination.  Our imagination can take us to beautiful, far away tropical isles or paint us rich and famous doing what we love for a living.  So why then, does it conjur up the dark and negative things when we project?  If you refer to the two definitions below, the first one listed indicates our visualization as being objective.  Yeah, right.  Perhaps in the Cleaver's world.  The second definition suggests we see in others what exists in ourselves.

pro·jec·tion

the act of visualizing and regarding an idea or the like as an objective reality.

-or-

the tendency to ascribe to another person feelings, thoughts, or attitudes present in oneself, or to regard external reality as embodying such feelings, thoughts, etc., in some way.

If we consider projections in the business world, they are based on past facts and stats; real numbers and situations.  Why is it, then, when we project it's all subjective conjecture.  That would get us fired from a corporate job!

Lately, I have turned just about every daily occurrence into a sick guessing came.  I project so frequently that we have a standing joke in the household about plugging me in and switching on the light.  And never, ever are my projections objective or about some positive trait of my own.  That whole "people are our mirrors" thing should be enough incentive for me NOT to project!

That being said, I think I need to be more like the first definition and less like the second.  But to be safe, perhaps I shouldn't project at all!

Unexpected Empty Nest 101

Our unhealthy family was co-existing in an increasingly volatile environment for about a year.  Everyone was frustrated, sick and tired.  No counseling, therapy or family meetings would make a difference.  As long as we were drinking and our son was drugging, there wasn't a point.

When things came to a head one morning (four months ago) our son ran out the front door only to never come back to live.  He has visited the house two times since then, but lives with his half-brother who is 11 years older than he.  Since his departure, we've all cleaned up.  He us abstaining and in therapy (as far as we know).  His father and I are in therapy and recovery by attending 12 step meetings.

As parents, one of our biggest and least expected issues is that of being empty-nesters.  For me, it was initially unbearable not have my son at home; no matter how impossible it had become.  The prospect of "losing" him was more than I could bear.  I bottomed out.  However, had it not been for hitting that bottom, I wouldn't be in recovery now.  Everything really does happen for a reason!

Being sober, properly medicated and in recovery leaves me eager to explore this new chapter in my life.  This journey is bittersweet, but has seemingly endless possibilities.  Although my options are somewhat limited due to financial instability, my heart and  soul feel liberated.  I am looking at myself not as a mother or a wife, but as an individual with specific talents, abilities, likes and dislikes.  My ambition is no longer about what I can do for others so much as it is about personal growth and what I can do to contribute to others.

I was born an artist.  Now, I intend to pay full attention to that part of my soul.  An opportunity was presented to me in which self-sufficient people with behavioral health issues (Bipolar II being mine) can use a warehouse and art supplies, for a monthly nominal fee.  The goal is to create, share and recover through art.
It's so important for us, as empty-nesters, to tap into a true heart-felt interest and/or talent so that we can connect with like-minded people.   When we are feeling pushed aside and less needed by our children, it is time for us to feed and foster the child in ourselves that has been neglected for so long.

It's not unusual for me to want to migrate back into major mothering mode.  As God would have it, my child reminds me this is not wanted or needed.  It hurts at first, but pushes me back into the direction I belong.  As time goes on, I imagine the pain lessens more and more until I automatically remain where I belong most of the time; with me.