Taking a short break from the series this morning for an extra.
I read (sorry, don’t remember whose) a Substack piece that referred to the First Person Blogging Industry and How Substack Has Resurrected That– or something close to it. I am using precious time to try to find the piece but unfortunately I didn’t save it so it’s lost in the ether. And now I’ve forgotten why I am referencing it to begin with. Anyway– here, have a first-person blog-type post.
Today is Saturday (now Sunday at editing time). I used a sick day yesterday (Friday) to do a few crucial errands and enjoy summer-like weather. I caught up on stack reading, tended to my appearance, did an hour of continuing ed modules, and finished watching Baby Reindeer. I like my work but I do get bouts of burn out. Finn, on the other hand, who is a Professional Big Powerful Male, has been dealing with an ongoing issue at his workplace that is preventing any sort of mental health days for him for some time. We’ll get in a bike ride later this afternoon (We did, about 30km).
My intention here is to clarify what is going on with the essays. They can stand on their own; indeed, but for my own sense of precision it matters to me. First of all I don’t know how many more there are. This is an indefinite thing. When Finn and I were driving home from the seaside a couple weeks ago, one of our conversations just took a turn.
Couples have these conversations when the relationships are still new, who they think they are, what happened, the past, their self-foundation and that. I already had some background for Finn’s upbringing. His father may be more profoundly neurodivergent than Finn and I combined. Finn’s mum is a lovely woman. I see a shrewd strength in her that comes from leading-by-playing-second-fiddle. This man was a dysregulated person, and a father who managed his children with physical discipline (abuse). He had a job in the public eye, so much of what others saw was deceivingly normal. Finn would not be the success he is without his mum. I have tremendous respect for the woman and I really want her to (continue to) like me.
Back to the conversation. Up in the truck, the kilometers clicking by, we got on the topic of adults we liked when we were kids. Adults who tolerated us or helped us, that sort of thing. People we admired. Finn’s experience with being admitted to the behavioral health unit absolutely rocked me. Piecemeal, my life is this collection of chapters of me being resourceful, if weird and lonely, but getting by until I had a chance to live on my own terms. Finn’s life, his continual submission to his father, forcing himself to fit into a container that was the wrong shape, all just sort of came to a head that day. Finn has a graceful and magnanimous relationship to the man now (not necessarily with, his father hasn’t mellowed out much himself). I commend him for not resenting or shunning his dad. I think the way folks live with abuse and neglect –in whatever way that is possible for the victim– is the right way for that victim.
Still I am astonished how our conversation went on for almost three hours. I’d heard a bit about the hospitalization before, but that was quite early on, when being somewhat polite was still the courtship decorum so I didn’t press for many details. To think of him as a vulnerable seventeen year old kid completely snowed on thorazine, no voice at all, breaks my heart. Finn has a brilliant mind. He holds several patents, and while he never did get a doctoral degree in his field, he is the last acolyte of a certain well-known genius, and that genius willed Finn his last thesis/paper so that Finn could tie up the loose ends and publish it. The self-insight, perseverance, and discipline it took to go from incapacitated to blazing success is humbling. “I just did what I had to do,” he says.
I’m no genius, but I am no dummy either. I’m not sure where the essays are going. Just this morning (Sunday, today) we were discussing how his dad loved to point out how special other people were, but never directed that sentiment at Finn. There’s loads of material between us. Finn is over to my left right now, practicing figure drawing. His echolalia is in full force. “That’s the deltoid. Deltoid, deltoid, deltoid. Annoyed. Deltoid.”
I am careful to not be caught or lost to the stories of what it was like. I appreciate my history for what it was and am grateful to tweak my perspective to be something more useful if my view of my past is limiting. The solace we’ve found in each other, the edges that fit so well, the gnarly physical compatibility, all of it— I will ride this wave into the horizon till kingdom come if I can. Today, once we’re done with the lingering, squeezing out every drop of our creativity into the practice, we’ll go for a walk in the wild hills, and who knows what turns the talking will take.
Thank you for being here with me, with us.
Sanna
Keep doing what you're doing! So happy that @Jodi Sh. Doff recommended you and your writing! The photo in the post, did Finn draw that image? If so, I'm floored. It's so good.