This is beautiful Amy, and hard. I haven't spent much time here, lately, as you know. I've missed your writing and your drawing. This, I remember this from May. Before:
"I knew the wolf was there. Denying the wolf was not an option. I studied the patterns on the floor. I was perpetually confused about where I had parked and the system of colors and numbers and letters in the garage as I fit visits in after work."
The patterns on the floor. Two years. Time moves so quickly. And sometimes it just creeps along. And both feel real.
This post gave me food for thought in so many ways.
1. As a long term caregiver, the metaphor is perfect. I felt it two ways, the wolf that comes for my son, for our ability to function in the world as a family, to stay stable, stay housed, stay out of the system. And the wolf of my chronic cycling anxiety and depression. That waits for my strength to fail, for me see that being eaten by a wolf is really the better choice. Of course these two wolves are connected in so many ways.
2. As an anthropologist, clearly red riding hood was a fairy tale to teach little girls that there were bad men in the woods, waiting to rape and kill them (unfortunately accurate), and the boy who cried wolf better learn to take care of himself and stop being such a big whiny baby. Does that boy, who retreats into himself when his village calls him attention seeking, fearful, needy, one day trade self-loathing for big eyes, big ears, big teeth.
3. My grandparents always told a story of little me, sitting in their porch in East Texas, getting worried when the local wolves (they might have been coyotes) howled at passing trains. “Don’t worry,” my grandmother said, “they won’t hurt you.” “Well,” said me (clearly wise beyond my years), “they sure hurt little pigs!”
P.S. I like wolves and it seems unfair that they are so frequently villainized.
Thank you, Laura. I am sorry that there are wolves that lurk for you and your family. Being eaten is not the better choice, of course. Crying wolf or not can be a conundrum when wolves are ever-present, and everyone responds to that differently, some in ways more healthy than others. I laughed at your Three Little Pigs moment.
Occasionally an article is shared on Substack that takes my breath away for its depth and honesty and simplicity. Today is one of those days and this is one of those posts.
I'm trying to unpack everything here, but for now, I will rest with this, "Most people are not familiar with the waltz of a wolf that comes often to the door and then takes a few steps back. Most people assume hyperbole or, worse, an imagined wolf."
AMY. This piece grabbed me by the throat. It made no sense and somehow also made perfect sense. It was the story underneath the story. And somehow, it was just what I needed. x
Thank you, Wendy. I love that it made no sense and also did... that's a beautiful response to it, to allowing yourself to simply go with the words and take whatever echoes arise. Thank you for reading and commenting.
Crying wolf and being pursued by the wolf are perfect analogies for going through difficult times. Took me back to the chaos of my dad's stroke and passing 4 months later.
I feel guilty when I cry\cried wolf and despair when I don't\didn't.
I can't stop thinking about the gorgeous illustration at the top of the post - how the wolf and woman are mirrored 😍😍😍 ... This makes me wonder. Do wolves cry "human"?
I know this wolf. We lived with this wolf. At first, it came about every 6 months, then its visits got more erratic. The last, we didn't even see coming. Or maybe we were just in denial at that point.
This is a beautiful reflection, one I'm sure was emotionally draining to draft, but it's a wonderful piece and I'm glad you shared it. Sending you peace, comfort, and friendship. ❤️
Thank you, Joshua. Yes... that kind of wolf. I'm very sorry that you and Anna had a wolf, and I hope you found ways to signal and cry out.
I very much appreciate your comment. I think some pieces sit too long and need to be cleared. This piece about staying silent... continued to stay silent... Clearing is good.
The wolf was your companion for a long time. Ultimately the wolf made you a stronger person and able to cope. I am so sad that you have felt so alone in all of this turmoil.
Wow, Amy. I don't know how long you've been growing this story, if it has been emerging in lock step with the wolf, or if it came on as more of a tsunami, but it--as you say--has teeth. It is both personal and social commentary, vulnerable and cryptic. I'm sure I don't grasp even half of what it means to you, but it feels like a tectonic shift has happened. (I'm not sure if that is a good or bad metaphor for someone who lives where you do.) It feels like discernment.
"The boy’s deception is not the part of the story that took on monstrous shape for me. What grew teeth was the underlying message, the understanding that one should be very, very sure that the wolf is crossing the threshold before crying for help."
What happened to us, collectively, to teach us that asking for help was something to avoid, or that the offer of help was something to withhold?
This is beautiful Amy, and hard. I haven't spent much time here, lately, as you know. I've missed your writing and your drawing. This, I remember this from May. Before:
"I knew the wolf was there. Denying the wolf was not an option. I studied the patterns on the floor. I was perpetually confused about where I had parked and the system of colors and numbers and letters in the garage as I fit visits in after work."
The patterns on the floor. Two years. Time moves so quickly. And sometimes it just creeps along. And both feel real.
xo
I could instantly see the photo of the floor tiles when I read that part of the post.
Thank you, Nan. That bizarre sense of time being both slow and fast fits so much of how we experience life, it seems. Thank you for reading.
It sure does. Thank you for writing. It was good to be back, reading you again. xo
This post gave me food for thought in so many ways.
1. As a long term caregiver, the metaphor is perfect. I felt it two ways, the wolf that comes for my son, for our ability to function in the world as a family, to stay stable, stay housed, stay out of the system. And the wolf of my chronic cycling anxiety and depression. That waits for my strength to fail, for me see that being eaten by a wolf is really the better choice. Of course these two wolves are connected in so many ways.
2. As an anthropologist, clearly red riding hood was a fairy tale to teach little girls that there were bad men in the woods, waiting to rape and kill them (unfortunately accurate), and the boy who cried wolf better learn to take care of himself and stop being such a big whiny baby. Does that boy, who retreats into himself when his village calls him attention seeking, fearful, needy, one day trade self-loathing for big eyes, big ears, big teeth.
3. My grandparents always told a story of little me, sitting in their porch in East Texas, getting worried when the local wolves (they might have been coyotes) howled at passing trains. “Don’t worry,” my grandmother said, “they won’t hurt you.” “Well,” said me (clearly wise beyond my years), “they sure hurt little pigs!”
P.S. I like wolves and it seems unfair that they are so frequently villainized.
Thank you, Laura. I am sorry that there are wolves that lurk for you and your family. Being eaten is not the better choice, of course. Crying wolf or not can be a conundrum when wolves are ever-present, and everyone responds to that differently, some in ways more healthy than others. I laughed at your Three Little Pigs moment.
Occasionally an article is shared on Substack that takes my breath away for its depth and honesty and simplicity. Today is one of those days and this is one of those posts.
I'm trying to unpack everything here, but for now, I will rest with this, "Most people are not familiar with the waltz of a wolf that comes often to the door and then takes a few steps back. Most people assume hyperbole or, worse, an imagined wolf."
I love that you make prose feel like poetry.
Thank you so much, Mimi, for this comment. I really appreciate this!
You are welcome! I always love your work, but this one knocked me down.
AMY. This piece grabbed me by the throat. It made no sense and somehow also made perfect sense. It was the story underneath the story. And somehow, it was just what I needed. x
Thank you, Wendy. I love that it made no sense and also did... that's a beautiful response to it, to allowing yourself to simply go with the words and take whatever echoes arise. Thank you for reading and commenting.
Crying wolf and being pursued by the wolf are perfect analogies for going through difficult times. Took me back to the chaos of my dad's stroke and passing 4 months later.
I feel guilty when I cry\cried wolf and despair when I don't\didn't.
I can't stop thinking about the gorgeous illustration at the top of the post - how the wolf and woman are mirrored 😍😍😍 ... This makes me wonder. Do wolves cry "human"?
Thank you, Melissa. Sending peace as you hold your memories.
And thank you for the comment about the illustration!
I know this wolf. We lived with this wolf. At first, it came about every 6 months, then its visits got more erratic. The last, we didn't even see coming. Or maybe we were just in denial at that point.
This is a beautiful reflection, one I'm sure was emotionally draining to draft, but it's a wonderful piece and I'm glad you shared it. Sending you peace, comfort, and friendship. ❤️
Thank you, Joshua. Yes... that kind of wolf. I'm very sorry that you and Anna had a wolf, and I hope you found ways to signal and cry out.
I very much appreciate your comment. I think some pieces sit too long and need to be cleared. This piece about staying silent... continued to stay silent... Clearing is good.
Thank you for sharing your writings. 💛
Thank you, Tammy.
The wolf was your companion for a long time. Ultimately the wolf made you a stronger person and able to cope. I am so sad that you have felt so alone in all of this turmoil.
Wow, Amy. I don't know how long you've been growing this story, if it has been emerging in lock step with the wolf, or if it came on as more of a tsunami, but it--as you say--has teeth. It is both personal and social commentary, vulnerable and cryptic. I'm sure I don't grasp even half of what it means to you, but it feels like a tectonic shift has happened. (I'm not sure if that is a good or bad metaphor for someone who lives where you do.) It feels like discernment.
"The boy’s deception is not the part of the story that took on monstrous shape for me. What grew teeth was the underlying message, the understanding that one should be very, very sure that the wolf is crossing the threshold before crying for help."
What happened to us, collectively, to teach us that asking for help was something to avoid, or that the offer of help was something to withhold?