Skip to main content

Manic Phase

I read this Slate essay as a mother-daughter relationship story - really pulling out all the fluff and the extras until only the breath of life remains. It reminded me of my former co-worker D whose daughter did a fair share of drugs but not to the point where an intervention was required - atleast not at the time I knew of her. D was mostly on edge except in those fleeting days and weeks between crises when her daughter sounded happy and normal, making a serious effort to stay away from drugs. 

That was when D shone - she could dive into work, immerse herself in it completely and produce the most remarkable results in a very short period of time. The manic phase as she referred to it, kept her employable and earned her the reputation of someone who got hard things done. There was this glorious period of two or three years when the daughter had been completely sober and was really making strides in her own life. D relaxed in sync and did some of the best work of her career during that time. 

One of her projects got national recognition and won her an award. And then just like that, D checked out of the workforce and in time from my life as well. Last I spoke to her several years ago, she mentioned that there are only so many manic phases left in a person's life at her age and they took their toll on her. D had not spoken to her daughter for over a year at the time but I have no doubt she would be there for her anytime the need arose - that was an immutable fact of her life.

Blanchard was circumspect about her relationship with her daughter. “Is she living the life I’d have her live? That’s an absolute no. Am I living the life my mama would have me live? F no,” she said. “I tell people all the time, ‘You feel like you’ve been buried. You’re under the dirt. I get that. But were you buried or planted? I was buried for a while here in this. I chose to see if I could grow. And I did.’ 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Part Liberated Woman

An expat desi friend and I were discussing what it means to return to India when you have cobbled together a life in a foreign country no matter how flawed and imperfect. We have both spent over a decade outside India and have kids who were born abroad and have spent very little time back home. Returning "home" is something a lot of new immigrants like L and myself think about. We want very much for that to be an option because a full assimilation into our country of domicile is likely never going to happen. L has visited India more often than I have and has a much better pulse on what's going on there. For me the strongest drag force working against my desire to return home is my experience of life as a woman in India. I neither want to live that suffocatingly sheltered existence myself nor subject J to it. The freedom, independence and safety I have had in here in suburban America was not even something I knew I could expect to have in India. I never knew what it felt t...

Under Advisement

Recently a desi dude who is more acquaintance less friend called to check in on me. Those who have read this blog before might know that such calls tend to make me anxious. Depending on how far back we go, there are sets of FAQs that I brace myself to answer. The trick is to be sufficiently evasive without being downright offensive - a fine balancing act given the provocative nature of questions involved. I look at these calls as opportunities for building patience and tolerance both of which I seriously lack. Basically, they are very desirous of finding out how I am doing in my personal and professional life to be sure that they have me correctly categorized and filed for future reference. The major buckets appear to be loser, struggling, average, arrived, superstar and uncategorizable. My goal needless to say, is to be in the last bucket - the unknown, unquantifiable and therefore uninteresting entity. Their aim is to pull me into something more tangible. So anyways, the dude in ques...

Changing Pace

This blog has been a big part of my life for the last five years. Besides giving me the opportunity to connect with a number of interesting people and share my thoughts and ideas with them, it has been a form of daily meditation for me. No matter what the day threw my way, I made a very deliberate effort to find a little quiet time to write.The process of thinking about what to write and then the act of writing itself worked as an antidote to aggravations big and small. Five and half years ago, when I started Heartcrossings both my personal and professional lives left a lot to be desired for. The only real happiness I had was in being J's mother. While that was often enough to make me forget what I did not have, I sorely needed a third place to call my own and shape in the likeness of my dreams. This blog has been where there were no limits or constraints and that was absolutely exhilarating - it is the reason I have been able to nurture it for as long and as much as I have. A lot ...