Curbed enthusiasm

There is a frustrating trait of mine where when those key life moments come, when one is supposed to scream and jump and squeal, I stall. When I got 4 As at A-level (which even after two degrees still feels like my biggest academic achievement to date), when I got my first 'proper' job, even when Jeremy proposed...

Whenever I am supposed to have an excited ecstatic response, I freeze. 'I'm happy', I say. 'Really happy, honest.' While friends and family watch on, curious and perturbed by my coolness, my detachment. Where are the squeals? The yelps of joy? I summon more evidence of excitement at the prospect of ice-cream (this invariably elicits small claps of glee) or greys anatomy (more clapping).

So it was yesterday when my mum surprised me with the announcement that she will be coming too when my sister Jess visits in 3 weeks time. It's something I've wished for, hoped and prayed for. There have been times when the 3 months stretching ahead until I saw my family again felt like a desert and I felt parched and weakened at the thought of wading through those months. But when she told me I found myself drained of emotion. 'Wow, that's amazing.' I said. 'I couldn't be happier'.

And the words were all true. This visit is something I need - I want my mum to see that Boston is not always gray and cold, to see that Jeremy and I are happy and our home is ours rather than his - I want a big hug and a chance to recharge that part of me that is fueled by my family alone. And yet I still sounded like I'd be more excited if someone told me Ben and Jerries was 2 for 1 at the local shop (granted that would excite me).

I don't think I'll ever understand this part of me. It's like the really big, really crucial things are too much for me to react to there and then. I am not a squealer. Ever. And certainly not at the times when other people expect me to squeal. Perhaps I'm just contrary. Or maybe I'm taking the time to let my heart digest the change in tack. To process that the 3 months of desert I'd prepared myself for no longer lie ahead. To let the happiness and relief build. It's as if in these moments - when things I've waited and hoped for actually happen- the barriers I've built up to shield myself against the alternatives come down and I am left tired at the effort of having kept those barriers there. That's the best analysis I can give, and I'm still not sure it's entirely accurate.

I'm thrilled. Really. Just give me time to assess and reflect and maybe then we'll have a few hand-claps thrown into the mix.

 Saying goodbye to mum back in March.