On Healing and Roller Rinks

Part of parenting your children is learning to parent yourself. We find ourselves rewriting narratives and sometimes playing reruns. Favorite traditions we had as children reappear and feel both familiar and new, seeing them with a fresh perspective through the lens of our kids. There is a shifting that occurs for some of us, that new role of being the mid generation among our extended family, having parents as well as children. I will probably begin to sound like a broken record as I discuss this again and again but, just like our children and even our parents go through periods of needing extra nurturing, so do we.

The hard part here is making ourselves a priority. It is not comfortable for many and this isn’t specific to women and it isn’t even specific to parents. As adults, the demands are many and as parents the needs of those around us- those who mean more to us that anything are even greater. The beautiful wrapping of love that holds on to the packages that are our children is provided by us. We carefully fold our corners and tape them up, and put a bow on the top. As we layer that beautiful paper, sometimes little tears happen and we don’t unwrap the gift, we just incorporate them in, being mindful to not make the tear any bigger. Just like that paper though- sometimes we get to the end of a roll. And that brown cardboard tube lays on the floor, next to the beautifully wrapped package. We are that tube. We give all we can and eventually we are stripped down and left without any paper left to offer. The hard part is, that this happens gradually and by the time we run low, it is even harder to refill.

Well friends, I have been in a season of cardboard tube. And sometimes I feel like I just roll under the couch with the dust bunnies. And sometimes the kids insist on using me for a sword fight, or a megaphone, or a tunnel for tiny cars. My children only know my structure and that is their job. They don’t know when my roll is empty, it is not how this gig works. Our job is to be mindful of how fast we are unrolling and when we need to stop and take some time to stock back up. It is important because the more we unroll, the more of a deficit we are trying to operate from. Part of that self care is healing. Healing is such an individual experience as our hurts come from many different places. The need to heal though is universal.

I grew up in the generation of roller rinks. We had one a few miles from our home and indulge my nostalgia for a moment when I tell you it was rad. Disco ball. Nacho cheese sauced chips. Brown shag carpet on the walls. It was THE place to be. We were lucky enough to go a few times a week. I used to marvel at the skaters who would dare go into the middle of the rink. They would spin and twirl, they wore sequins and lycra and nylons. They brought their own skates. When the rest of us followed the rules and went one direction in the rink, these renegades would skate through us and it was like the sea parting as they cut through the crowd into the center. Nobody dared cut through the center- it was like the hallowed ground of the rink. And they dazzled.

I skated a lot. And on the straightaways I was smooth. My brown permed hair would stick to my sweaty forehead, the stirrups to by stretch pants (you know before we called them leggings) would pull into the arches of my feet that were stuffed into tan rented skates and I would glide on my eight wheels while bobbing my head to Debbie Gibson blaring loudly, vibrating around the building. Each time I got to a corner though, I would start to slow down. I didn’t trust myself on the corners. I would watch the more advanced skaters criss-cross their skates and move through the corners like they were flying. Each time I got up the courage to try, my stomach would lurch and I would picture myself wiping out the entire group of skaters around me as I tumbled to the ground. So I played it safe. I slowed for the corners, I did this sort of weird little lean that always hurt my ankles but it was familiar.

Healing is kind of like my experience roller skating. The straightaways are okay! Fun even. We pick up steam, we sway to the music, sometimes we hold hands. The corners are the hard part. Wherever you are in your healing, each time you head back to that one spot, it trips you up. Where once maybe you slowed to a stop, or inched along the wall or even left the rink, you now decide to keep going. And the weird lean you did to get by, you discover really does hurt- and it hurts worse than falling. An added complication is when we live our life on the straightaway, fearing the curve, we can’t build our speed. We can’t truly enjoy what is happening because we are fearing hitting that point again. Here is the thing- we have two choices- we can learn to navigate the curves or we can pretend that we don’t need to- which leaves us awkwardly leaning.

I think back to those swans of the rink. The ones who wore the solid white skates with neon pink wheels and twirled like they had wings. You know what those skaters also did?They fell. They fell really hard sometimes. But they didn’t fall because they were inching along the rink, going the same way they always had, keeping their fingers threaded into the shag carpeted walls. They fell because they tried. They showed up for the adventure of life. They fell because they were bold enough to fall and heal and fall and heal. Then they would rest. Then like the rock stars they were they would part the seas again and take their place in the center. The funny thing is, when they fell we watched- because we wanted to see what would happen next.

So lace up your skates friends. Those curves will happen. But right after the curve you will hit another straightaway where you will build your speed, build your confindence, build your skills. You will find your stride, so will I. And then we will twirl.