In November (2019), I had the biggest heartbreak I’ve experienced in the entirety of my adult life. My beloved Familiar, a black and white helicopter eared rabbit, passed away. But He didn’t just “pass away”, and he certainly wasn’t just a bunny. Wolverine, loved me, more like a dog would love his owner, or a baby would love his mama. He was my shadow, following me all over the house, leaping into my lap at any given moment, and would circle my feet, thumping and snorting until I picked him up. I spent my mornings cuddling and reading, and when I got off work in the evenings on weekends, he would settle in my lap while I decompressed from a long day of customer service. For 3 years he was there. For three years my husband was lowkey jealous of a bunny.
Wolvie passed away because my son had sat a bag of avocados on the couch. In true 12 year old boy fashion, he just didn’t think it through. He KNEW avocados were poisonous to rabbits (and many other animals!), but his focus was probably on playing his video game. It was too late by the time anyone noticed. I had been in my bedroom reading. I didn’t even know about the bag.
It’s been almost 6 months now, and my grief is still so deep, so dark, so devastating. I cry all the time. I grieve very publicly, because I’m choosing to be authentic. Authenticity isn’t pretty sometimes. In fact, for me it can be pretty pathetic, the sobbing, snot, wetness, bitterness. It’s real. My heart is broken, crushed, really. I grieve this way because we are told to hold these feelings, to “be strong”, and I don’t feel strong. I feel broken.
Today, my therapist and I were on a Zoom meeting, because that’s Covid-19 life, and she challenged me to go deeper. What is it about this that isn’t giving me peace? Is it my fear that healing will diminish my love for Wolvie? Is it that I just can’t heal? Is it my anger towards my son, who had no intention of hurting anyone, but did?
It is my anger at my son. My therapist said, “But you know it was an accident.”
And I yelled, “Yeah it WAS a fucking accident! Just like those fucking men, who “accidentally” rape women, who “accidentally” sexually harass their coworkers, who “accidentally” beat the shit out of their partners! I am so sick of men’s “accidents”! I am so sick of MY responsibility! I have to take responsibility for the clothes that I wear, to prevent “accidents” I have to take responsibility for my interactions with men, with EVERYTHING! I am the one who continuously asks, and checks if doors are locked, and chores are done, and the toilets being flushed! I am responsible for my children, if my husband makes plans, he doesn’t even blink an eye at whether there is someone to watch the kids, that’s my job. I am so sick of the masculine not taking responsibility, and having a free pass, when I have to own even THEIR mistakes! And worse, men, even my son, gets frustrated when I “nag”, because they feel infantilized. And then it’s my fault, again.”
Oof. That was a big realization. I see how much anger I have been holding within myself. This anger that has been festering. This betrayal I feel. I have been raped, molested, beaten, belittled, abused, and blown off over and over again in my lifetime by the masculine. I am triggered daily, by seemingly innocuous situations. But are they really meaningless? Should these blatant disrespectful actions be confronted? How do we heal this broken pattern? How do I reconcile my own rage and anguish? I live in this patriarchal society. I live with males. I have even perpetuated this cycle, by not trusting… because I don’t feel like I can. I don’t feel like it’s possible to fully trust. My bunny was killed because of negligence. Sure, usually it’s the small things that don’t matter in the grand scheme of things, clothes left in the washer, an unmade bed, but these little infractions trigger this hopelessness. They reinforce MY responsibility.
When and how do we hold the masculine responsible? I don’t want to punish anyone, (and my son certainly wasn’t punished for his accident. I know accidents DO happen. I have left the burner on after cooking, I have forgotten to lock my emergency brake in my car, I have had my share of accidents.) I want to be free of this frustration. I want to be able to trust. But how? How can I trust when I have been scorched by male accidents over and over? How can I reconcile this constant betrayal? It’s in my bloodlines, it’s in my past lives, it’s today.
I don’t hate men. I think I should probably make this clear, I don’t. I have been blessed by incredible men in my life. My husband who supports me, often blindly, because he believes in me. My dad who’s always found a way to be proud of me, even though he’s a Christian, even when I managed a winery for 5 years, and he’s 35 years sober. My trans son’s father, who chooses love everytime, even when we were rocked when our child came out as trans. I have incredible men in my life, truly divine men. And I am grateful. They are the examples that remind me that “all men” are not enemies.
I am going to work with this. I don’t think I am going to “get over it”, I think it’s one of those workable lessons. One I will be making decisions about daily. Choosing how to build up the masculine, without extinguishing my own light. Learning how to set boundaries and not feel guilty about it. Finding ways to deal with my triggers, and not take it out on anyone, but use my tools to work through it.
This is coming out as Chiron is newly retrograde, and I see these past situations coming up left and right. Sometimes it’s the Universe asking me, “how will you handle it THIS time?” Sometimes, it’s the Universe asking me to go deeper and heal these wounds. It’s all challenging. I find myself making choices and taking conscious action regularly. I mess up sometimes. I’ve held onto this, and I am not really sure how to heal it. I don’t want to be the reason another young man is angry at women.