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“I didn’t mean it like that, but yeah. Do you know what we did today?”
“Paint,” he said with a nod to the table.
“We built a massive blanket fort in the living room. Then before dinner, we made all of these paintings. But we also finger painted, and the smile on Christian’s face when he felt that paint squishing through his fingers. He had so much fun, and the only thing that would have made it better was if you were there doing it with him.”
Christian was never going to tell him this. But I could see how badly he wished Liam could have been there for today. That he could have been around the next time. That was only going to be possible if Liam faced whatever pain and trauma that was preventing him from healing.
“I don’t know if I can do that,” he softly admitted, and I hated how vulnerable he was. I could tell that admitting to not being able to do something wasn’t easy for him. None of this was easy for him, but that didn’t mean he had to do it alone.
“I’m not suggesting that you take a mud bath, but you could start slow. I can’t imagine you want to live like this. You said no one had broken the cycle in your family. This is your chance to break that cycle. Christian is still young. He won’t remember any of this in five years. All he will remember is how much fun his dad was.”
“I want that. I do. But even at my age, it’s not simple to get the voices to stop. I grew up in a very strict home, and that doesn’t go away easily.”
“I know. It took me a long time to accept that I didn’t have to be what my parents wanted. It’s why I went pretty wild, even before I was legally allowed to. I used to sneak out at night when I was sixteen to go to college parties and get drunk. Like messy drunk. I gave my virginity away to spite them. I did any job that I knew would piss them off, hence the strip club. I had no idea if I wanted to be a mom or not. What I did know was that I couldn’t allow their actions and their way of life to dictate how I was going to live mine.”
It wasn’t easy. There were plenty of times where I felt at war with myself. The part of me that wanted to be what my parents wanted, and the other part that wanted to be true to myself. The end result was a lot of reckless decisions that I wasn’t too proud of. However, all of those reckless decisions led me to who I was today, and I wasn’t going to change anything about myself. It also might not have given me Jeremy, and there was absolutely nothing that I would give in return for him.
“I know I can’t keep doing this. I know I don’t want to be like my parents. I want Christian to be able to have friends over and not be afraid that one of them is going to make a mess. I want him to be free to express himself and have his room match who he is. I want him to express his creativeness without limitations. The problem is, even though I want all of this, I don’t know how to get over the anxiety.”
“Well, I’m not a doctor. I don’t even play one on TV,” I said with a warm smile, and he gave me a very small huff of a laugh. “But, I know anxiety can be broken; it just takes time, and you have to make small steps. Let me ask you this, have you ever finger painted before?”
I had no idea if he would go for it, but it would be a baby step. Even if he just put one finger in paint and put that to paper it would be a massive step in the right direction. The trick was going to be to get him to that point where he would actually do it. I also had no idea how he would react by doing it. There was a chance that he could have a full-on anxiety attack, something I wasn't really equipped to handle.
I could see the hesitation all throughout his face. He knew where I was going with this, and he wasn’t certain it was the best idea. The thing was, he either had to fight to break the cycle or choose to continue to live within the cycle and pass it on to Christian, something I knew deep down he didn’t want to do.
“No, I haven’t. Not even in school. I went to a private school, and they focused more on learning languages and math over art.”
“How would you feel about trying it out? Even if you just touch the paint, that would be progress. We can go at your own speed.”
I was leaving the ball in his court, and I had no idea if he was going to pick it up and play or chuck it out of the playing field. I was really hoping he would pick option one.
Liam
Ineverexpectedtobe standing here debating on if I want to finger paint. I was a grown ass middle aged man, and I didn’t need to finger paint. And yet, part of me wanted to say yes. That young boy that lived within my soul wanted to play. He wanted the chance to get his hands dirty and see what it felt like. The grown ass adult in me was all too aware of the consequences of getting dirty. The voices of my parents, specifically my father, were still going off in my head telling me what would happen if I did this.
Jasmine was correct. If I didn’t break the cycle, then I was most likely condemning Christian to the same fate. To a life where he has to be terrified of making a mess. Or worse, he would rebel in any way that he could, and there was no telling what that would lead to. For Jasmine, it was underage drinking at parties, but for Christian it could be drugs, drunk driving, or fights. It could be anything illegal and negative. That was far worse than me getting my finger covered in paint.
I had to do this for him. I had to do this for me, because I did have a lot of years left to live, and I shouldn’t have to live them like this. After taking a deep breath in, I spoke.
“Okay, but just one finger.” That was a reasonable place to start right?
She willingly gave me that freedom, and we went over to where everything was still scattered around on the table. I had no idea how I was going to do this, but it was just a finger. How hard could it really be?
Apparently, my mind felt otherwise, because I could already feel my anxiety picking up. This was ridiculous. It was just paint. Washable paint. I could get it on my skin and then go and wash it off. It was simple. I had no problem speaking with powerful attorneys or multi-billionaire CEOs. I could handle some child’s paint.
“Just breathe. Don’t think about it too much. It’s just like putting your hand in water.” She was trying to make me feel better, to help calm my nerves, and I appreciated it. The thing was, it was embarrassing that I needed someone to help me through finger painting. Children do this.
As badly as I wanted to change my mind, to go upstairs and hide away from the mess, I knew I couldn’t do that. I had to do this for my son. I had to make sure he got to live in a house that was polar opposite from the one I grew up in. From the one I hated being in. He deserved that much. He deserved to have the freedom to express himself and to get dirty. It was on me to ensure that could happen, and it started right here, right now.
With a deep breath in, I went and took my right index finger and slowly pressed it down into the light blue paint. The feeling was hard to describe. It was unlike anything I had felt before. I wasn’t sure what to connect the feeling to, but I did find I wasn’t screaming and running for the sink to get it off. Not that I had ever done that before, but the concept was all the same.
“See, it’s not so bad. And no one is going to yell at you or punish you. This isn’t your parents’ home. It’s your home. You’re in charge of what happens within it.”
The warmth and pride within her voice made my heart skip a beat. I had never really had anyone in my life to truly support me. Ellis had always been happy to go along because it meant she was getting to live the life she had always dreamt of. In a lot of ways, she was the perfect woman for the right type of man.
What was surprising was I didn't feel an influx in anxiety. I thought for sure I would be panicking right now, but instead, I felt eerily calm. Almost as if I was reclaiming a piece of myself that I had lost a long time ago. It was hard to explain, but even something as simple as this felt empowering.
I lifted my finger up and went and pressed it down on the blank piece of paper. I could be creative, but it was mostly on a computer for different graphics for my higher paying clients. I swirled my finger around for a moment before the paint was gone. I looked up to see Jasmine giving me a warm smile as she dipped her finger in the red and made her own marks on the paper.
