It’s always been there, the urge to disappear. Probably a therapist would tell me that it’s a trauma response to my parents’ divorce and my father’s remarrying. Not just that he remarried, but the who, how, and when of it all. They’d probably be right, since it was around then that I started to avoid pictures. I didn’t want a record of what I looked like in case I decided to run away.
Sure enough, I was gone as quickly as I was able to. A pattern developed where I’d land somewhere new, dig away furiously like a dog chasing a scent, and then move on to the next patch of earth once I realized there’s nothing there. As with a lot of traits whose roots are buried deep in our history, it’s had an ambivalent impact on me. Had I not constantly been moving along, I wouldn’t have had half the experiences which have molded my character. Had I been able to sit still for a while, I could have built something of beauty and value. In Al-Anon, it’s talked about how our character defects are often character assets gone too far, so it doesn’t come as a surprise to me that this same impulse would produce mixed results.
Were I not anchored here, now would be about the time I’d pack up and go. This is not the first time I’ve felt this way while living here. It’s come and gone in waves, some more intense than others. Always there’s one thing that’s stopping me. Since the fleeing cannot take a literal course right now, I think it’s a good time to channel the urge in a new direction. I can retreat a little, shrink back into the safety of my manor. I have the freedom to refocus my energy. I can come back closer to my core purpose, making a home for this child. Maybe I’m now able to keep this asset from expanding into a defect, if not through the volition of maturity, then through the necessity of obligation.