When Conscious Uncoupling Goes Unconscious

Bad timing, full cups, and the long way back

“Mom, want to go bike riding at the greenway when Dad finishes setting up the bed?”

“Yes!” I replied. “It’s a gorgeous day. Let’s take advantage of it.” Inside, I’m elated that he’s asking to spend time with me.

Then I paused. I don’t have a bike rack on my car. That would mean Dad would have to drive us. Is he up for that?

My boy goes to his dad and tells him the plan, skipping the part about asking.

Lex, clearly annoyed, says something along the lines of, “I don’t effing believe it.”

I lose it.

I repeat what I heard then asked, “Are you upset about setting up the bed, or about taking us bike riding?” He denies making the comment. I ask him to leave. He ignores me and keeps assembling the bed.

I don’t drop it.

“What are you actually upset about?” I ask.

He says he had just asked our boy if he wanted to do something, and the answer had been no. The sudden change of plans irritated him.

I’m irritated too.

I tell our boy that bike riding isn’t an option. I don’t want to inconvenience his dad. I suggest we go hiking instead.

The air shifts. We’ve only been together a few minutes, and you could cut the tension with a knife.

“Mom, could we go riding, just you and me?”

“I would love that, sweetheart,” I say, “but I don’t have a rack on my car, and I don’t want to keep depending on your father.”

The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he says. “Let’s forget about it. I don’t want to go hiking either. You should consider hiring a handyman too.”

I had been hoping my boy and I could repair from what happened the weekend before. Instead, we are stacking another rupture on top of the last one.

What is happening? I keep asking myself.

When they finish setting up the bed, the one meant for my boy, they leave.

A few minutes later, I text him to apologize and ask if he’s changed his mind about hiking. He hasn’t.

I can’t sit in this energy. I go for a walk in the woods. I know it will shift something.

The sun is shining. A slight breeze moves through the trees. A small river runs alongside the path. My body finally has space.

Right before they arrived, I had attended my creative writing class. In one of the exercises, I wrote about my current journey. I felt okay while writing it, but when it was time to read it aloud, I completely broke down in front of my classmates. They were incredibly supportive, but I didn’t have time to process those emotions before the boys arrived minutes later.

I went unconscious.

So when Lex made that “effing” comment, completely out of context for me, my system flooded. I responded from a trauma reflex, not presence.

I’m grateful to the woods for the clarity they offered.

I call my boy and ask if he wants to grab a snack or do something together. To my surprise, he suggests we go shopping for an outfit for his cousin’s upcoming wedding.

On the drive there, we talk and joke. He tells me about school and talks my ear off about cars, his favorite topic. I feel us finding our rhythm again.

There we are.

He tries on clothes, which never happens, and even asks for a blazer.

On the way home, he tells me this feels like the mom he knows, not the “stranger” he’s seen over the past week.

I briefly explain what happened before they came over. I tell him my cup was already full, and I didn’t have the capacity to absorb his dad’s comment. I apologize and drop him off.

The repair came.

It just didn’t come quickly.

Apparently, conscious uncoupling still comes with bad timing, full cups, and the occasional emotional pileup.

Progress, not perfection.