I hate the winter in the Northwest. I hate driving in the snow, I hate the gray, bleakness of the sky and the color of the topography. Yesterday, my last full day on this trip, it snowed ALL DAY. I made what should have been a two hour trip from north Idaho to here, in three hours. White knuckled hours. All I could think about was, tomorrow I'm outta here! It kept snowing and snowing. Compiling, drifting. I felt like I was in that snow all day. Finally, I was back at my house and settling in for the night. I'd had my young neighbor boy come over and snow blow a path for me just so I could get the car in the driveway. I wondered if it was going to be a waste of $50?
This morning I woke early and dared to look outside. The sun was just coming up over the mountains, it had stopped snowing. Icicles were hanging from the porch, snow was clinging to the branches on the trees. It was breath taking...I sit here now writing, looking out the window and see deer running across the field, the sun making the snow glitter. Perfect day to cross country ski. Living in the countryside is beautiful after a snowfall.
I've been staying in the house my husband and I own together. It is for sale. I want it to sell. We need it to sell. The house seems like an empty shell. The photos are gone, the TV is gone, only the things that neither of us wanted are here now. It's too quiet. The memories of laughter echo here, but even they seem gone too.
My mom told me to rent a movie called "Everybody's fine". I have a small TV in the bedroom that has a DVR hooked up to it. Last night I rented the movie. If you haven't seen it, it's really pretty good. The premise of the movie is about a dad who lost his wife recently, wants to see his kids, goes to a lot of trouble anticipating their visit and they all cancel at the last minute. He then decides to set out on a journey across the country and visit each of his kids separately. Everyone is hiding something from him. Pain. He learns more about his kids and himself in that journey than all the years spent parenting his children. I learned a lot about my kids while I was here. I saw the pain that all of us have been hiding. Pretending everything was fine.
I also looked through my kid's scrapbooks last night. It was bitter sweet. There once was a time when everything didn't seem so bad. The photographs prove it. My youngest girl's photos reminded me of how she is today. Joyful, purposeful, crazy, silly...she is so much like me. I said a little prayer for her as I looked through her scrapbook...please God, help her through this life without too much heartbreak.
I've spent the last week here spending time with family. Namely, my children. I quit making excuses for why I left, asked them to forgive me for the past year and a half, hugging them, loving them and talking to them. It was time well spent. I baked cookies with my daughter, went through pie making steps 101, (although I kinda screwed up the pie this time...) went to the movies with my boys, met for coffee with my youngest, had several meals with them all...It felt like a giant step toward healing. They assured me of their love, their wanting me to be happy and most of all, their support in working towards my dreams. I leave today, knowing I will be okay. They will be okay. Most of the time, we will all be okay.
I am heading home to Phoenix today. By the time my plane leaves, the runways will be plowed, I will fly off, leaving my kids to deal with the snow. The last time I left, I left them to deal with their sadness and heartbreak. This time I leave only two days before a new year begins. When I come back in a few weeks, I know that we are one step closer to Spring and two steps forward to healing and moving forward.
I leave, ready to be in warmer weather, excited to see my beloved dog, Bob, and knowing that for now, everybody's fine.
Happy New Year everyone...
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda....
Last summer I had a friend tell me to quit using the word "should". Instead, substitute the word "could". In example: "You know what you 'could' do? Instead of, "You know what you 'should' do? Makes sense. It's the difference between telling someone what to do or letting them decide for themselves. Funny how one word can change the context.
I remember an old Tootsie Pop commercial with an owl. Someone brings him a tootsie pop and asks the wise old owl, 'how many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?' The wise old owl unwraps the pop, takes three licks, bites into it and says "The world may never know..."
I spent many years doing what others thought I should be doing. I never thought about what I could do. If I would of done something because I could instead of what I should, there might have been a different outcome. I looked at my life as being one dimensional. In my mind, I had one choice. I've spent a lot of time lately pondering this choice. I was a stay-at-home mom. My job was to raise my kids, keep the house clean, grocery shop, do laundry, make lunches, drive kids to their various activities...it was a full time job with four kids. It was a job I took seriously. I loved it. I hated it. Whenever I would get around my girlfriends that had chosen college over domesticity, I would feel inadequate. Silly. Dumb. Dowdy. Schlumpy...
I made the right choice in terms of raising kids. I had these four kids, what was I going to do with them? Throw them in daycare for someone else to raise while I took a job ringing groceries for minimum wage? I had no education, what was I qualified to do except be a mother? The problem was, I wasn't qualified to be a mother either. That was OJT. Like it or not, I had four little people dependent upon me to meet their needs. This was a haveta.
The early years were the hardest. So I thought. All physical needs met by me. In reality, that was easy. Once they became teenagers, it was a whole other ballgame. Rather than go into detail about how difficult it was to raise teenagers, I concentrate instead on what I could have done differently. Hindsight is 20/20.
Once all of my kids seemed to be settled into school and a couple started driving, I began to think about school again. I had kind of thought writing would always be there, so instead of University, I chose Technical. I had four kids that needed haircuts on a regular basis so it seemed logical to go to beauty school. It also seemed like it was a glamorous job; cute clothes, cute hair, social...It was so far from glamorous.
Believe it or not, beauty school was tough. Especially having two teenagers and two 'tweens to worry about outside of school. I had the drive to be perfect. Perfect home, perfect family, perfect student. I was competitive in school. Not just in how well I cut hair, but what grades I received. I had test anxiety every night before an exam and would dream I missed the test. My test grades and "school projects" were the highest in my class. I was not going to be a beauty school dropout. The only class I struggled in was, believe it or not...First Aid. I don't do blood. I could barely stomach that class and found myself fighting nausea and gagging through most of that quarter.
I made it through Beauty School, went to work for someone for six weeks. I hated it. I jumped ship and moved to a new salon where I rented a station for almost a year. Fortune smiled on me when one of the girls I worked with, moved out of state, basically handing me her entire clientele. I kept most of that clientele for 10 years. After a year at this salon, I opened my own. It was small, it was manageable. I was still writing, but mostly in journals, a few essays and one annual Christmas letter. I had quite the following with that letter. The encouragement I received every year was what kept my dream of being a writer alive.
The kids got older, life became more complicated and busier. I kept working and eventually expanding my business. Three years ago, I wanted out of the beauty industry. There were parts that were wonderful and fun, but running a business and dealing with employees; several who were my own kids' age, was a nightmare. I felt like I was doing the parent thing 24/7. At home, at work...settling disputes, trying to make everyone happy. I coulda done it differently. Instead, I just gave up and didn't want to be there.
I look back over my life and can think of hundreds of incidents, time frames, days... that I could have done things differently. I could have kept my part time shop and clientele with just me and my clients. It sure would have been easier. I could have just as easily gone to University instead of beauty school. Sure, it would have kept me in school two more years and been more of a financial burden on us, but I could have figured it out somehow. If I'd wanted to. I could have held my ground as a woman to be reckoned with when my husband refused counseling. I could have left then, made a stand. Maybe he would have fought as hard as he did the past year if I had.
I could have done a lot differently. Instead, I did what I should. There was pressure to doing what others thought I should. Different words, different outcomes. I blamed everyone else for the outcome of what I thought shoulda been my life instead of looking inwardly at what I coulda done with my life. So again I ponder...
I used to say to clients, I wish I done the order differently, but still ended up here. I still feel that way. Not the divorce part but the other stuff. I know I didn't do everything wrong. In fact, I did a lot right. I raised my kids to be kind, courteous, grateful, (most of the time) hardworking, honest, responsible. I worked at the things that mattered, that matter. I can't take credit for all of it, but I can take credit for some of it. A lot of it.
I'm waiting to hear from the university I applied to for the fall semester. I'm finally going to work toward the degree I always wanted. I'm finally trying to pursue my dreams of being a published writer. I'm finally trying to figure out who I am if I'm not a mother or a wife. I coulda done this years ago.
I'm trying to forgive myself for doing the shoulda's instead of the coulda's. I'm releasing others from the undeserved blame, and realizing that things probably woulda turned out differently if I'd had my friend tell me the difference between those words back then, but then again...."The world may never know"...
I remember an old Tootsie Pop commercial with an owl. Someone brings him a tootsie pop and asks the wise old owl, 'how many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?' The wise old owl unwraps the pop, takes three licks, bites into it and says "The world may never know..."
I spent many years doing what others thought I should be doing. I never thought about what I could do. If I would of done something because I could instead of what I should, there might have been a different outcome. I looked at my life as being one dimensional. In my mind, I had one choice. I've spent a lot of time lately pondering this choice. I was a stay-at-home mom. My job was to raise my kids, keep the house clean, grocery shop, do laundry, make lunches, drive kids to their various activities...it was a full time job with four kids. It was a job I took seriously. I loved it. I hated it. Whenever I would get around my girlfriends that had chosen college over domesticity, I would feel inadequate. Silly. Dumb. Dowdy. Schlumpy...
I made the right choice in terms of raising kids. I had these four kids, what was I going to do with them? Throw them in daycare for someone else to raise while I took a job ringing groceries for minimum wage? I had no education, what was I qualified to do except be a mother? The problem was, I wasn't qualified to be a mother either. That was OJT. Like it or not, I had four little people dependent upon me to meet their needs. This was a haveta.
The early years were the hardest. So I thought. All physical needs met by me. In reality, that was easy. Once they became teenagers, it was a whole other ballgame. Rather than go into detail about how difficult it was to raise teenagers, I concentrate instead on what I could have done differently. Hindsight is 20/20.
Once all of my kids seemed to be settled into school and a couple started driving, I began to think about school again. I had kind of thought writing would always be there, so instead of University, I chose Technical. I had four kids that needed haircuts on a regular basis so it seemed logical to go to beauty school. It also seemed like it was a glamorous job; cute clothes, cute hair, social...It was so far from glamorous.
Believe it or not, beauty school was tough. Especially having two teenagers and two 'tweens to worry about outside of school. I had the drive to be perfect. Perfect home, perfect family, perfect student. I was competitive in school. Not just in how well I cut hair, but what grades I received. I had test anxiety every night before an exam and would dream I missed the test. My test grades and "school projects" were the highest in my class. I was not going to be a beauty school dropout. The only class I struggled in was, believe it or not...First Aid. I don't do blood. I could barely stomach that class and found myself fighting nausea and gagging through most of that quarter.
I made it through Beauty School, went to work for someone for six weeks. I hated it. I jumped ship and moved to a new salon where I rented a station for almost a year. Fortune smiled on me when one of the girls I worked with, moved out of state, basically handing me her entire clientele. I kept most of that clientele for 10 years. After a year at this salon, I opened my own. It was small, it was manageable. I was still writing, but mostly in journals, a few essays and one annual Christmas letter. I had quite the following with that letter. The encouragement I received every year was what kept my dream of being a writer alive.
The kids got older, life became more complicated and busier. I kept working and eventually expanding my business. Three years ago, I wanted out of the beauty industry. There were parts that were wonderful and fun, but running a business and dealing with employees; several who were my own kids' age, was a nightmare. I felt like I was doing the parent thing 24/7. At home, at work...settling disputes, trying to make everyone happy. I coulda done it differently. Instead, I just gave up and didn't want to be there.
I look back over my life and can think of hundreds of incidents, time frames, days... that I could have done things differently. I could have kept my part time shop and clientele with just me and my clients. It sure would have been easier. I could have just as easily gone to University instead of beauty school. Sure, it would have kept me in school two more years and been more of a financial burden on us, but I could have figured it out somehow. If I'd wanted to. I could have held my ground as a woman to be reckoned with when my husband refused counseling. I could have left then, made a stand. Maybe he would have fought as hard as he did the past year if I had.
I could have done a lot differently. Instead, I did what I should. There was pressure to doing what others thought I should. Different words, different outcomes. I blamed everyone else for the outcome of what I thought shoulda been my life instead of looking inwardly at what I coulda done with my life. So again I ponder...
I used to say to clients, I wish I done the order differently, but still ended up here. I still feel that way. Not the divorce part but the other stuff. I know I didn't do everything wrong. In fact, I did a lot right. I raised my kids to be kind, courteous, grateful, (most of the time) hardworking, honest, responsible. I worked at the things that mattered, that matter. I can't take credit for all of it, but I can take credit for some of it. A lot of it.
I'm waiting to hear from the university I applied to for the fall semester. I'm finally going to work toward the degree I always wanted. I'm finally trying to pursue my dreams of being a published writer. I'm finally trying to figure out who I am if I'm not a mother or a wife. I coulda done this years ago.
I'm trying to forgive myself for doing the shoulda's instead of the coulda's. I'm releasing others from the undeserved blame, and realizing that things probably woulda turned out differently if I'd had my friend tell me the difference between those words back then, but then again...."The world may never know"...
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Come to Jesus Moments...
I flew back to Washington after spending three days with my mom in Arizona. Her visit was a time of sanctuary. She treated me to nice dinners, took me shopping, listened to me cry. It was wonderful, it was sad, it was peaceful. It was comforting. Then reality hits and I had to fly home.
I arrived home on Wednesday evening. I guess I forgot how cold it gets here. We met my mom's step family for Thai food as well as my own daughter and her boyfriend. I was soo happy to see my daughter. As soon as I sat down though, it seemed the chaos of the holidays began. My mom wouldn't hear of me staying in my own house the first night, so after dinner off we went to her house.
For me, the holidays have always been somewhat of a pain in the ass. Ever since my parent's divorced, it was about dividing time between them. I always said..."it doesn't matter what the day is, 'just find a day and we will celebrate". I always said that. Then this year, I lived it. From the moment I stepped off that plane, I was overwhelmed with too much stimuli. I'm used to being alone a lot, and after wrapping up three days with my mom and non-stop conversation, I was thrown into the fire with a lot of extra family around...it was a lot to handle. I didn't realize how fragile I still was. Still am. I wanted to be alone in my house. In my bed. I needed space.
I've recently made friends with someone who had quickly become important in my life. I believe, that sometimes, people are brought into our lives for a purpose. This person, I believe was one of them. I found myself attracted to this person in many ways. They represented something to me. Maybe it was hope. At any rate, I, for some reason, asked this person to read my blog. They were touched, they seemed to like it. Then, I felt compelled to reveal more of my life, my story...thinking perhaps, that they would understand my hurt. My sadness. I wasn't completely truthful before I shared my story. I was afraid of being truthful. I felt the truth could be handled...later. The past year and a half, I seem to always have a reason, an excuse for why I couldn't tell the truth. Why certain lies had to be told. I was protecting the people in my life from the truth. I justified the falsehoods.
As I have tried to blog through this sadness, as I ran away, as I distorted the truth, I realized I am a liar. It took a virtual stranger to point it out to me. My version of why my marriage failed painted me as the victim. "Poor me," 'see what a bastard he was all those years? See why you made some of the choices you did?' I talked a lot about "owning up" to my mistakes. My kids, just two weeks ago, accused me of not "owning up". I publicly thought I had. But I really did not. I've been lying to myself for close to two years. Maybe even longer. The failure of my marriage is not his fault. It is mine. He can take his share of the blame when he is ready, maybe he has. But I can only own mine.
This year for Christmas Eve my kids were going to be with their dad. I was going to be with my brother, my parents and their spouses, extended family, aunts, uncles and cousins. I felt like I was prepared. It was just one day...I could do it. I couldn't. I didn't.
I woke up feeling out of sorts and with my neck in a kink. I received an email that morning that was like a slap in the face. It was from that person who had come into my life so recently. So briefly. I had just gotten cleaned up and was going to sit down to write before I had to leave for my brother's. As I began to read the email, my eyes began to well with tears. this person had the audacity to tell me I was playing the victim of a well rehearsed role. They called me a liar. They said that the saddest part was that I would never grow and would continue to choose the same type of person, over and over in my life if I didn't get real with myself. I wish I could quote some of the email, but after re-reading it six times, it was too painful, and I deleted it.
The fact that it was Christmas Eve, it wasn't possible to properly digest the contents and examine the words or the wisdom or truth or falseness of the email. I had to go pick up my mother and drive to my brother's. I needed quiet desperately. The hour drive to my brother's was filled with my mom's frustrated venting about how much company she'd had and how exhausted she was. Understandable. I was not in the frame of mind to be very supportive. She picked up on my quiet brooding, and asked me if I was okay. I assured her I was fine, as I always am and continued to tune her chatter out. I was also thinking of facing my extended family for the first time without my husband in 28 years. Without my kids.
When I arrived at my brother's, an unexpected relative, (whom I struggle with because of her nosiness) was there along with my cousin and his wife. I had tried to mentally prepare myself for the others that would be arriving, but had not prepared for this one. I constructed a fence around me immediately and pasted a smile on my face.
I was able to hold off the inevitable questions for a few moments by busying myself with taking my things to my room and putting things away. I really wanted to stay in my room and re-read the email again. And again. And again. I must have been down there for longer than a few minutes as my brother in law came looking for me. He asked me if I was okay. I looked at him and started crying, no, I was not okay. When the truth slaps you full in the face, it knocks the wind out of you. You can't breathe. I had no time to think. No time to process. I had to go upstairs and slay my dragon...also known as my aunt.
I poured myself a hefty glass of wine, took a gulp and a big breath and sat down where everyone was. Immediately deflecting questions about my life. God. I really couldn't stand this woman. I was trying to keep things generic, but with every question, I felt my eyes begin to tear. I couldn't concentrate on what anyone was saying, all I could think was "Why did I think I could do this?" I should never have poured that glass of wine. Worst possible decision. I hadn't ate much and it went to my head immediately and made everything worse.
Within a half an hour everyone had arrived. The turmoil, the anxiety...it was building. Everyone knew that my husband and I were in the middle of a divorce but it was like the elephant in the room. No one was going to ask about it. No one wanted to. God knows I didn't want to. But it was what no one said that made it even more difficult. I had nothing to talk about. I listened a lot. It was uncomfortable for all of us. I felt avoided. Uncles who love my ex didn't know what to say to me. I didn't know what to say...
My saving grace was my cousin's six month old baby. I was able to hold her, rock her, feed her, sing Christmas carols to her...love her. I needed her that night. I didn't have to explain anything, I didn't have to avoid her eyes. I just had to hold her. It was my miracle of the night. But alas, this was still early in the evening. Eventually the baby's grandma came and took her from me and I was left to either sit there and let uncomfortable silence hang between me and the one aunt I was extremely close to, or find a way to escape. I escaped...
I figured out early that night, that until I could get my emotions under control, I wasn't able to talk to anyone without tearing up. The self-centered Tam, was blowing every comment made, into super size proportions internally, making the evening about me. The truth is, these people were my family. They didn't know what to say to me. Everything they did say, and it was all harmless... I was reading into. It was my problem. In retrospect now, I can see this. That evening, I was too raw and vulnerable to see it. I went back to my room to cry the rest of the night. I needed to be alone.
After a bit, my mother came looking for me. Worried. I was trying to repair my face and thinking about trying again, but the alcohol and the overwhelming sadness of knowing what I was missing with my immediate family was in control. My mom got stern with me by saying..."this is what you wanted, this is the consequences of your choices"...'yes mom, I know'... It was not helpful. I asked her to leave and let me be alone, but I know I hurt her feelings. She had just spent 3 days with me, nurturing me, mothering me, and I rejected her. She left, I gave up on my face and rolled over and after sending four "poor me" texts to my kids about how hard it was and how much I missed them, I fell asleep.
After a while, the noise upstairs subsided, people were leaving and the only ones left were my parents and my brother and brother in law. I went back upstairs to apologize for my inability to cope with the evening.
Of course they were supportive. They sympathized. They told me it would get easier. Gentle reprimanding.
The last several months have been a pity party for me. I was able to justify why I left. I never took responsibility for my actions. It was easier to push the blame elsewhere. I could have made different choices. I didn't. Now, I am. I think many people; my kids, my husband, my friends...all tried to understand, all tried to talk to me. I couldn't hear them. I could only hear myself and the justifications, the lies... I told myself.
The email as hurtful as it was, came from a virtual stranger. The email slapped me with the truth. I've always believed in the Biblical Proverb: "Wounds from a friend can be trusted, but an enemy will multiply kisses". This was a someone I knew to be a new friend. A friend that would speak the truth. They had nothing to lose or gain by saying it. I could have ignored the pain that it brought. I could have brushed it off and said it was bullshit. But if I'm trying to heal, trying to understand, trying to grow, trying not to repeat the mistakes of the past...I had to pay attention. I didn't just take the words of a stranger and say "Wow...you are right...I'm a dumbshit..." No, I sat down with my beloved brother and brother in law and asked them some hard questions. I asked them to tell me what they saw. Is that me?
"Wounds from a friend can be trusted, but an enemy will multiply kisses". My brother...he had everything to lose by being honest. If I wasn't ready to hear the truth, I would have been angry. I was at the bottom on Christmas morning. I wanted to climb up out of this hole of sadness and face the truth. The truth sets you free. The truth can be painful. I left right after breakfast, drove the hour home and sat down to answer the email.
I cried through my response but thanked her for being honest. Told her she was right. Pride...my worst enemy. It was a "Come to Jesus" moment. Facing the truth helps me walk into the New Year with more hope. People surprise you, they find grace. In grace there is healing. I think this person was a messenger, I was supposed to hear this message. But damn...the timing really sucked.
I arrived home on Wednesday evening. I guess I forgot how cold it gets here. We met my mom's step family for Thai food as well as my own daughter and her boyfriend. I was soo happy to see my daughter. As soon as I sat down though, it seemed the chaos of the holidays began. My mom wouldn't hear of me staying in my own house the first night, so after dinner off we went to her house.
For me, the holidays have always been somewhat of a pain in the ass. Ever since my parent's divorced, it was about dividing time between them. I always said..."it doesn't matter what the day is, 'just find a day and we will celebrate". I always said that. Then this year, I lived it. From the moment I stepped off that plane, I was overwhelmed with too much stimuli. I'm used to being alone a lot, and after wrapping up three days with my mom and non-stop conversation, I was thrown into the fire with a lot of extra family around...it was a lot to handle. I didn't realize how fragile I still was. Still am. I wanted to be alone in my house. In my bed. I needed space.
I've recently made friends with someone who had quickly become important in my life. I believe, that sometimes, people are brought into our lives for a purpose. This person, I believe was one of them. I found myself attracted to this person in many ways. They represented something to me. Maybe it was hope. At any rate, I, for some reason, asked this person to read my blog. They were touched, they seemed to like it. Then, I felt compelled to reveal more of my life, my story...thinking perhaps, that they would understand my hurt. My sadness. I wasn't completely truthful before I shared my story. I was afraid of being truthful. I felt the truth could be handled...later. The past year and a half, I seem to always have a reason, an excuse for why I couldn't tell the truth. Why certain lies had to be told. I was protecting the people in my life from the truth. I justified the falsehoods.
As I have tried to blog through this sadness, as I ran away, as I distorted the truth, I realized I am a liar. It took a virtual stranger to point it out to me. My version of why my marriage failed painted me as the victim. "Poor me," 'see what a bastard he was all those years? See why you made some of the choices you did?' I talked a lot about "owning up" to my mistakes. My kids, just two weeks ago, accused me of not "owning up". I publicly thought I had. But I really did not. I've been lying to myself for close to two years. Maybe even longer. The failure of my marriage is not his fault. It is mine. He can take his share of the blame when he is ready, maybe he has. But I can only own mine.
This year for Christmas Eve my kids were going to be with their dad. I was going to be with my brother, my parents and their spouses, extended family, aunts, uncles and cousins. I felt like I was prepared. It was just one day...I could do it. I couldn't. I didn't.
I woke up feeling out of sorts and with my neck in a kink. I received an email that morning that was like a slap in the face. It was from that person who had come into my life so recently. So briefly. I had just gotten cleaned up and was going to sit down to write before I had to leave for my brother's. As I began to read the email, my eyes began to well with tears. this person had the audacity to tell me I was playing the victim of a well rehearsed role. They called me a liar. They said that the saddest part was that I would never grow and would continue to choose the same type of person, over and over in my life if I didn't get real with myself. I wish I could quote some of the email, but after re-reading it six times, it was too painful, and I deleted it.
The fact that it was Christmas Eve, it wasn't possible to properly digest the contents and examine the words or the wisdom or truth or falseness of the email. I had to go pick up my mother and drive to my brother's. I needed quiet desperately. The hour drive to my brother's was filled with my mom's frustrated venting about how much company she'd had and how exhausted she was. Understandable. I was not in the frame of mind to be very supportive. She picked up on my quiet brooding, and asked me if I was okay. I assured her I was fine, as I always am and continued to tune her chatter out. I was also thinking of facing my extended family for the first time without my husband in 28 years. Without my kids.
When I arrived at my brother's, an unexpected relative, (whom I struggle with because of her nosiness) was there along with my cousin and his wife. I had tried to mentally prepare myself for the others that would be arriving, but had not prepared for this one. I constructed a fence around me immediately and pasted a smile on my face.
I was able to hold off the inevitable questions for a few moments by busying myself with taking my things to my room and putting things away. I really wanted to stay in my room and re-read the email again. And again. And again. I must have been down there for longer than a few minutes as my brother in law came looking for me. He asked me if I was okay. I looked at him and started crying, no, I was not okay. When the truth slaps you full in the face, it knocks the wind out of you. You can't breathe. I had no time to think. No time to process. I had to go upstairs and slay my dragon...also known as my aunt.
I poured myself a hefty glass of wine, took a gulp and a big breath and sat down where everyone was. Immediately deflecting questions about my life. God. I really couldn't stand this woman. I was trying to keep things generic, but with every question, I felt my eyes begin to tear. I couldn't concentrate on what anyone was saying, all I could think was "Why did I think I could do this?" I should never have poured that glass of wine. Worst possible decision. I hadn't ate much and it went to my head immediately and made everything worse.
Within a half an hour everyone had arrived. The turmoil, the anxiety...it was building. Everyone knew that my husband and I were in the middle of a divorce but it was like the elephant in the room. No one was going to ask about it. No one wanted to. God knows I didn't want to. But it was what no one said that made it even more difficult. I had nothing to talk about. I listened a lot. It was uncomfortable for all of us. I felt avoided. Uncles who love my ex didn't know what to say to me. I didn't know what to say...
My saving grace was my cousin's six month old baby. I was able to hold her, rock her, feed her, sing Christmas carols to her...love her. I needed her that night. I didn't have to explain anything, I didn't have to avoid her eyes. I just had to hold her. It was my miracle of the night. But alas, this was still early in the evening. Eventually the baby's grandma came and took her from me and I was left to either sit there and let uncomfortable silence hang between me and the one aunt I was extremely close to, or find a way to escape. I escaped...
I figured out early that night, that until I could get my emotions under control, I wasn't able to talk to anyone without tearing up. The self-centered Tam, was blowing every comment made, into super size proportions internally, making the evening about me. The truth is, these people were my family. They didn't know what to say to me. Everything they did say, and it was all harmless... I was reading into. It was my problem. In retrospect now, I can see this. That evening, I was too raw and vulnerable to see it. I went back to my room to cry the rest of the night. I needed to be alone.
After a bit, my mother came looking for me. Worried. I was trying to repair my face and thinking about trying again, but the alcohol and the overwhelming sadness of knowing what I was missing with my immediate family was in control. My mom got stern with me by saying..."this is what you wanted, this is the consequences of your choices"...'yes mom, I know'... It was not helpful. I asked her to leave and let me be alone, but I know I hurt her feelings. She had just spent 3 days with me, nurturing me, mothering me, and I rejected her. She left, I gave up on my face and rolled over and after sending four "poor me" texts to my kids about how hard it was and how much I missed them, I fell asleep.
After a while, the noise upstairs subsided, people were leaving and the only ones left were my parents and my brother and brother in law. I went back upstairs to apologize for my inability to cope with the evening.
Of course they were supportive. They sympathized. They told me it would get easier. Gentle reprimanding.
The last several months have been a pity party for me. I was able to justify why I left. I never took responsibility for my actions. It was easier to push the blame elsewhere. I could have made different choices. I didn't. Now, I am. I think many people; my kids, my husband, my friends...all tried to understand, all tried to talk to me. I couldn't hear them. I could only hear myself and the justifications, the lies... I told myself.
The email as hurtful as it was, came from a virtual stranger. The email slapped me with the truth. I've always believed in the Biblical Proverb: "Wounds from a friend can be trusted, but an enemy will multiply kisses". This was a someone I knew to be a new friend. A friend that would speak the truth. They had nothing to lose or gain by saying it. I could have ignored the pain that it brought. I could have brushed it off and said it was bullshit. But if I'm trying to heal, trying to understand, trying to grow, trying not to repeat the mistakes of the past...I had to pay attention. I didn't just take the words of a stranger and say "Wow...you are right...I'm a dumbshit..." No, I sat down with my beloved brother and brother in law and asked them some hard questions. I asked them to tell me what they saw. Is that me?
"Wounds from a friend can be trusted, but an enemy will multiply kisses". My brother...he had everything to lose by being honest. If I wasn't ready to hear the truth, I would have been angry. I was at the bottom on Christmas morning. I wanted to climb up out of this hole of sadness and face the truth. The truth sets you free. The truth can be painful. I left right after breakfast, drove the hour home and sat down to answer the email.
I cried through my response but thanked her for being honest. Told her she was right. Pride...my worst enemy. It was a "Come to Jesus" moment. Facing the truth helps me walk into the New Year with more hope. People surprise you, they find grace. In grace there is healing. I think this person was a messenger, I was supposed to hear this message. But damn...the timing really sucked.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
The Ones that Matter...
I had a great weekend. Not too alcohol soaked, but truly a great weekend. Surrounded by friends. Feeling loved. Feeling supported. I had so many conversations that made me think...ponder my decisions.
Yesterday I went to a wonderful holiday potluck brunch at my friend Kate's house. Kate's house is unlike any other place I've spent time. There is a feel to her house. It's not luxurious, but it's homey. Comforting. It's big and laid out very uniquely. It's old, with wood floors that creak.
The woodwork is extensive throughout the house. Her dining room is a gathering place for her large family and friends. One wall of the dining room is lined with a long, narrow, built-in sideboard, with shelves and cabinets for china underneath and windows above that face the street. Yesterday it was filled with amazing breakfast delicacies...homemade green chile verde salsa, fluffy eggs, bacon, sausage, quiches, fruit, pastries and an amazing dish called bread pandu, (which was to die for).
She had two large farm tables set in the middle of the room, where we all could sit together. It was a small, intimate gathering of about 15 of us. It felt like scene from a movie. We sat sipping mimosas and chocolate wine on a beautiful Sunday morning, eating all that wonderful food and enjoying the company. Casual and warm.
Kate's kitchen is room where you can envision a night sipping wine and cooking with friends. There are two entrances to the kitchen from the dining room. On one end is a swinging door, the other an open doorway. Kate loves to cook, so the kitchen is outfitted with a great gas stove top and other new appliances. The kitchen is as comforting as her dining room. There is a feeling in Kate's house that feels peaceful. It embodies family, comfort and love. It is what I see in Kate. Her home feels secure. Her home feels safe. My mom arrived today. I wanted her to meet Kate. I wanted her to feel the comfort, the safety, in Kate's home. I knew she would love her.
I know the purpose of my mom coming to Phoenix. I knew she wanted to see where I lived, meet the people I was hanging around with, and reassure herself, that I was okay. As a mother myself, I understood it, and I wanted her to know I was okay. That I was safe. I am so grateful to have that kind of love. I am so grateful, that at this most sad, lonely portion of my life, that my mom, my mama...is here to help me and love me through it.
All of my life, I have felt separated from my mom. I never understood, nor did I want to understand my mom. The past year and a half, I needed my mom. She would probably tell you that she never felt needed by me. There is something about being a mother that wants...needs, to be needed. At this point in my life, I ache from the thought that I never made my mom feel needed. I have been sad. Lonely. I mask my loneliness with humor. It was the only defense I knew. If I laughed, I wasn't sad. My mother...she tells me tonight, that when she listens to me speak, talking through my tears, that she is looking at a reflection, at a mirror...looking back at herself.
I've never been a needy person...outwardly. I always, mostly, put on a brave face and forge through. I never had the time, nor the luxury of allowing myself to let down my guard. I was on, all the time. When I did let down my guard, I was embarrassed and ashamed to show my tears and weaknesses. I put on a brave face in front of my kids when I was hurting. I never wanted them to feel the burden of my pain. I wasn't always successful at hiding it, but I tried. I still do...put on the face that shields them from my grief.
This post has taken me three day to write. I have been spending quality time with my mom. Letting her take care of me. Letting her be needed. Letting down my guard and being mothered. My heart has been held. My boo boos have been kissed. Like Kate's house, it has been comforting.
Now after spending three days being comforted by my mom, I have to fly home for ten days and try to mend fences with my kids. It's time to stop running and allow them to see their mom's heart. I want to go home, get through Christmas and take care of my babies. They need to be comforted, allowed to cry, and have their boo boos kissed. They need to know that their mom is not infallible, she is merely human. Life is full of experiences that give you grace...later. Although my mom would never have wished for me to go through a divorce like her, I am. And she was there for me lean on. She never said..."See? I was just her little girl that needed her mama when everything fell apart.
Not all will understand, not all will forgive me. But, I know in time, that my kids will find grace. As much as we want to believe life will be good to us, it touches us all, in profound ways that change us. I will be forgiven...by the ones that matter. Love never fails.
Yesterday I went to a wonderful holiday potluck brunch at my friend Kate's house. Kate's house is unlike any other place I've spent time. There is a feel to her house. It's not luxurious, but it's homey. Comforting. It's big and laid out very uniquely. It's old, with wood floors that creak.
The woodwork is extensive throughout the house. Her dining room is a gathering place for her large family and friends. One wall of the dining room is lined with a long, narrow, built-in sideboard, with shelves and cabinets for china underneath and windows above that face the street. Yesterday it was filled with amazing breakfast delicacies...homemade green chile verde salsa, fluffy eggs, bacon, sausage, quiches, fruit, pastries and an amazing dish called bread pandu, (which was to die for).
She had two large farm tables set in the middle of the room, where we all could sit together. It was a small, intimate gathering of about 15 of us. It felt like scene from a movie. We sat sipping mimosas and chocolate wine on a beautiful Sunday morning, eating all that wonderful food and enjoying the company. Casual and warm.
Kate's kitchen is room where you can envision a night sipping wine and cooking with friends. There are two entrances to the kitchen from the dining room. On one end is a swinging door, the other an open doorway. Kate loves to cook, so the kitchen is outfitted with a great gas stove top and other new appliances. The kitchen is as comforting as her dining room. There is a feeling in Kate's house that feels peaceful. It embodies family, comfort and love. It is what I see in Kate. Her home feels secure. Her home feels safe. My mom arrived today. I wanted her to meet Kate. I wanted her to feel the comfort, the safety, in Kate's home. I knew she would love her.
I know the purpose of my mom coming to Phoenix. I knew she wanted to see where I lived, meet the people I was hanging around with, and reassure herself, that I was okay. As a mother myself, I understood it, and I wanted her to know I was okay. That I was safe. I am so grateful to have that kind of love. I am so grateful, that at this most sad, lonely portion of my life, that my mom, my mama...is here to help me and love me through it.
All of my life, I have felt separated from my mom. I never understood, nor did I want to understand my mom. The past year and a half, I needed my mom. She would probably tell you that she never felt needed by me. There is something about being a mother that wants...needs, to be needed. At this point in my life, I ache from the thought that I never made my mom feel needed. I have been sad. Lonely. I mask my loneliness with humor. It was the only defense I knew. If I laughed, I wasn't sad. My mother...she tells me tonight, that when she listens to me speak, talking through my tears, that she is looking at a reflection, at a mirror...looking back at herself.
I've never been a needy person...outwardly. I always, mostly, put on a brave face and forge through. I never had the time, nor the luxury of allowing myself to let down my guard. I was on, all the time. When I did let down my guard, I was embarrassed and ashamed to show my tears and weaknesses. I put on a brave face in front of my kids when I was hurting. I never wanted them to feel the burden of my pain. I wasn't always successful at hiding it, but I tried. I still do...put on the face that shields them from my grief.
This post has taken me three day to write. I have been spending quality time with my mom. Letting her take care of me. Letting her be needed. Letting down my guard and being mothered. My heart has been held. My boo boos have been kissed. Like Kate's house, it has been comforting.
Now after spending three days being comforted by my mom, I have to fly home for ten days and try to mend fences with my kids. It's time to stop running and allow them to see their mom's heart. I want to go home, get through Christmas and take care of my babies. They need to be comforted, allowed to cry, and have their boo boos kissed. They need to know that their mom is not infallible, she is merely human. Life is full of experiences that give you grace...later. Although my mom would never have wished for me to go through a divorce like her, I am. And she was there for me lean on. She never said..."See? I was just her little girl that needed her mama when everything fell apart.
Not all will understand, not all will forgive me. But, I know in time, that my kids will find grace. As much as we want to believe life will be good to us, it touches us all, in profound ways that change us. I will be forgiven...by the ones that matter. Love never fails.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Your Job is Never Done....
I miss being a mother. I'm still a mother, but I miss mothering. Nurturing someone small and innocent. I worked with children in crisis this past year. It gave me the fix I needed, feeling a little person love on you because they needed a squeeze. I miss the little sticky smooches on the cheek that only a child can give. I miss the chubby fingers wanting to hold your hand, the little head that leans against you when they are tired. Bath time. The smell of a freshly bathed child, sweet, shiney and cherubic. Saying prayers at night while they ask God to forgive them for hitting their sister. God I really miss all of that.
I miss my children being five and having the funniest things to say out loud, in public, in front of strangers. Inappropriate questions when you least expect them. I had my kids so close together. I was always so busy just trying to keep up on the laundry, feeding them, changing diapers, making sure one didn't hurt the other, keeping the chaos to a controllable level. I miss those children. I feel like those years flew by so quick. I remember once my mother in law telling me to 'enjoy them now, they grow up so quickly.' They did and I have forgotten many moments that were probably really important to remember.
I was a young mother. I had my first child at 20 and my last at 25. Four kids in five years. Brutal. How do you take the time to enjoy each child when there is so much to do 18 hours a day? You live for nap time when you can get all four down at the same time. Meal preparation was a whole animal of it's own. Children trying to "help" when you really just want to efficiently do it yourself so you might have 10 minutes before dinner to read a story to them. My life was all about getting through another day. How did I do it? I have no idea. Those years are a blur. But I can tell you that when I see a young mother wrangling four children through a grocery store or a mall, my heart goes out to her. For some reason, those of us who belong to the four or more club, seem to have never heard of the words "Birth Control" and certainly "Family Planning" was not something we thought much about, thus it seems, these mothers have children that appear stair-stepped...one after another...just like I did it.
I love each of my kids for all of their uniqueness. I get along with all of them mostly on any given day. But like other people in your life, they can annoy you, do things you don't approve of, hurt your feelings, anger you. When I was growing up, I was always seeking my father's approval. I don't remember him being all that interested in our lives. He was distant, even resentful of our intrusion into his free time. I don't ever remember as a child my dad hugging me. I remember he always came in and kissed me goodnight, turning his face so I could kiss his cheek. I remember always saying "I love you daddy" every night, while he responded "I love you too Tam..." But hugging was not something he did.
I used to love to hold my children. To feel their little warm bodies snuggle into mine. Skin contact. The smell of their hair, their breath. I always hugged my kids. My youngest had a little strawberry mark on the back of her neck, I always told her it was her "kissy spot". Each of my kids had a piece of my heart that was uniquely theirs. I remember different things about them all. I miss the little people they were. I hate watching family videos, because it only reminds me of the years I forgot to remember about them.
I spent days, months, years, thinking that it would never get easier. Wishing for the day they were crawling, walking, talking, out of diapers, feeding themselves, going to school, driving themselves...all milestones that passed very fast. I feel as if I wished their life away. Always looking for the next first...I have two children married. Two with significant others. They all grew up. My life revolved around them and now, they have lives of their own and I am not mothering them anymore. As they started to leave the nest, people would ask me if I was having "empty nest syndrome." "Of course not! Are you crazy?" I would exclaim! I have been waiting for this moment forever. Waiting for the day when my life would be mine again. Waiting for days when I could sit on the couch and read all day if I wanted to. Waiting for the day that I could stay out late and not worry about how tired I was the next day because I could sleep in. Waiting for the day when I could eat what I wanted, when I wanted, waiting for the day...The day arrived and I miss the craziness. I never thought I would say it...I miss them needing me.
It seemed to me that all of my kids left at once. When you have four kids so close together, that would be the cycle. Three of them came back twice after moving out, only to drive their dad and I to complete insanity. There is nothing worse than an adult child moving back into your home after they have moved out once before. Trust me on this. The first few years of having no teenagers at home seemed novel. Fun. My house for the first time in 20 some years, was clean. All the time. When the holidays rolled around and the kids were all home in the house at the same time, it was back to the chaos and I was always happy when it was time for them to go to their own house again. Whenever we took our grown, adult children on vacation, it was amazing the first 4 days. Then as the vacation stretched in 5 days, 6 days, 10 days....they would revert back to the roles and birth order they had as kids. Fighting, yelling at each other, not speaking, ganging up on one or the other. Asking me to mediate. Throw alcohol in this mix and it's not fun. Every time, I would say...never again. But of course, we did. We loved our family together. We were close. All of us. In any given month, year, each sibling was close to one or the other more than the rest. But mostly, we just loved each other. We laughed together. We poked fun of each other. We were the ideal family. My kids' friends envied our family.
My kids are struggling with the idea, with the thought of never having this again. I am struggling with it. I am overcome with emotion when I contemplate the future of what my family unit will look like now. I felt as if I lost the years of their childhood because I was so busy just going through the motions of our daily life. Now I wonder if I have lost the history of our family to blaze my own trail. Am I being selfish? I dedicated my life to mothering my children. I was so fiercely protective, teaching them to protect each other, pounding it into their heads to watch out for each other, love each other, lean on each other. An inner circle. Trust in family.
Have I betrayed their trust in what the meaning of a family unit is? I never prepared them for this moment when I didn't want to be married to their dad any longer. They feel mislead. I let them down. They won't say it, but now they need me more than ever. They need me to teach them a new way of being a family. Just like when I was a young mother, navigating my way through un-chartered territory of responsibility, I am trying to figure it out again. Faking it till I make it. I ran away from my sorrow and they are confused, angry, hurt and sad. I have always wanted to be a good mother. I didn't always do the right thing by them, but I did what I knew how to do at the time I was doing it, and it wasn't always the right thing. I am trying to do the right thing for me, but in doing that, I screwed up and hurt them.
I have had the thought that maybe if my kids had had children quickly, like I did, I might have stayed in my marriage. Kids masked the problems that were there, because you just don't have the time to look at them, let alone deal with them when there are so many other things you have to do. But, I'm glad they don't have kids yet. I'm in no shape to be a grandma right now. But someday, I will embrace it, because I truly believe that grandchildren are God's way of turning your mistakes with your kids around.
I am going back for Christmas to make amends. I will come back to Arizona afterward to tie up some loose ends and then I will go back to Washington to be there for them for a while. Not forever, not six months, but for a few weeks. My children need me right now to do the right thing. To help them through this time of sorrow. They need to forgive me and I need to hug them. To touch their cheeks and reassure them that I love them. To comfort them and show them a new way of being a family. As a mother, your job is never done. I'm living proof. My mom is still mothering me. Guiding me. Loving me. Little kids, little problems, big kids, big problems. I'm kinda the problem child right now. I think it's my brother's turn soon.
I miss my children being five and having the funniest things to say out loud, in public, in front of strangers. Inappropriate questions when you least expect them. I had my kids so close together. I was always so busy just trying to keep up on the laundry, feeding them, changing diapers, making sure one didn't hurt the other, keeping the chaos to a controllable level. I miss those children. I feel like those years flew by so quick. I remember once my mother in law telling me to 'enjoy them now, they grow up so quickly.' They did and I have forgotten many moments that were probably really important to remember.
I was a young mother. I had my first child at 20 and my last at 25. Four kids in five years. Brutal. How do you take the time to enjoy each child when there is so much to do 18 hours a day? You live for nap time when you can get all four down at the same time. Meal preparation was a whole animal of it's own. Children trying to "help" when you really just want to efficiently do it yourself so you might have 10 minutes before dinner to read a story to them. My life was all about getting through another day. How did I do it? I have no idea. Those years are a blur. But I can tell you that when I see a young mother wrangling four children through a grocery store or a mall, my heart goes out to her. For some reason, those of us who belong to the four or more club, seem to have never heard of the words "Birth Control" and certainly "Family Planning" was not something we thought much about, thus it seems, these mothers have children that appear stair-stepped...one after another...just like I did it.
I love each of my kids for all of their uniqueness. I get along with all of them mostly on any given day. But like other people in your life, they can annoy you, do things you don't approve of, hurt your feelings, anger you. When I was growing up, I was always seeking my father's approval. I don't remember him being all that interested in our lives. He was distant, even resentful of our intrusion into his free time. I don't ever remember as a child my dad hugging me. I remember he always came in and kissed me goodnight, turning his face so I could kiss his cheek. I remember always saying "I love you daddy" every night, while he responded "I love you too Tam..." But hugging was not something he did.
I used to love to hold my children. To feel their little warm bodies snuggle into mine. Skin contact. The smell of their hair, their breath. I always hugged my kids. My youngest had a little strawberry mark on the back of her neck, I always told her it was her "kissy spot". Each of my kids had a piece of my heart that was uniquely theirs. I remember different things about them all. I miss the little people they were. I hate watching family videos, because it only reminds me of the years I forgot to remember about them.
I spent days, months, years, thinking that it would never get easier. Wishing for the day they were crawling, walking, talking, out of diapers, feeding themselves, going to school, driving themselves...all milestones that passed very fast. I feel as if I wished their life away. Always looking for the next first...I have two children married. Two with significant others. They all grew up. My life revolved around them and now, they have lives of their own and I am not mothering them anymore. As they started to leave the nest, people would ask me if I was having "empty nest syndrome." "Of course not! Are you crazy?" I would exclaim! I have been waiting for this moment forever. Waiting for the day when my life would be mine again. Waiting for days when I could sit on the couch and read all day if I wanted to. Waiting for the day that I could stay out late and not worry about how tired I was the next day because I could sleep in. Waiting for the day when I could eat what I wanted, when I wanted, waiting for the day...The day arrived and I miss the craziness. I never thought I would say it...I miss them needing me.
It seemed to me that all of my kids left at once. When you have four kids so close together, that would be the cycle. Three of them came back twice after moving out, only to drive their dad and I to complete insanity. There is nothing worse than an adult child moving back into your home after they have moved out once before. Trust me on this. The first few years of having no teenagers at home seemed novel. Fun. My house for the first time in 20 some years, was clean. All the time. When the holidays rolled around and the kids were all home in the house at the same time, it was back to the chaos and I was always happy when it was time for them to go to their own house again. Whenever we took our grown, adult children on vacation, it was amazing the first 4 days. Then as the vacation stretched in 5 days, 6 days, 10 days....they would revert back to the roles and birth order they had as kids. Fighting, yelling at each other, not speaking, ganging up on one or the other. Asking me to mediate. Throw alcohol in this mix and it's not fun. Every time, I would say...never again. But of course, we did. We loved our family together. We were close. All of us. In any given month, year, each sibling was close to one or the other more than the rest. But mostly, we just loved each other. We laughed together. We poked fun of each other. We were the ideal family. My kids' friends envied our family.
My kids are struggling with the idea, with the thought of never having this again. I am struggling with it. I am overcome with emotion when I contemplate the future of what my family unit will look like now. I felt as if I lost the years of their childhood because I was so busy just going through the motions of our daily life. Now I wonder if I have lost the history of our family to blaze my own trail. Am I being selfish? I dedicated my life to mothering my children. I was so fiercely protective, teaching them to protect each other, pounding it into their heads to watch out for each other, love each other, lean on each other. An inner circle. Trust in family.
Have I betrayed their trust in what the meaning of a family unit is? I never prepared them for this moment when I didn't want to be married to their dad any longer. They feel mislead. I let them down. They won't say it, but now they need me more than ever. They need me to teach them a new way of being a family. Just like when I was a young mother, navigating my way through un-chartered territory of responsibility, I am trying to figure it out again. Faking it till I make it. I ran away from my sorrow and they are confused, angry, hurt and sad. I have always wanted to be a good mother. I didn't always do the right thing by them, but I did what I knew how to do at the time I was doing it, and it wasn't always the right thing. I am trying to do the right thing for me, but in doing that, I screwed up and hurt them.
I have had the thought that maybe if my kids had had children quickly, like I did, I might have stayed in my marriage. Kids masked the problems that were there, because you just don't have the time to look at them, let alone deal with them when there are so many other things you have to do. But, I'm glad they don't have kids yet. I'm in no shape to be a grandma right now. But someday, I will embrace it, because I truly believe that grandchildren are God's way of turning your mistakes with your kids around.
I am going back for Christmas to make amends. I will come back to Arizona afterward to tie up some loose ends and then I will go back to Washington to be there for them for a while. Not forever, not six months, but for a few weeks. My children need me right now to do the right thing. To help them through this time of sorrow. They need to forgive me and I need to hug them. To touch their cheeks and reassure them that I love them. To comfort them and show them a new way of being a family. As a mother, your job is never done. I'm living proof. My mom is still mothering me. Guiding me. Loving me. Little kids, little problems, big kids, big problems. I'm kinda the problem child right now. I think it's my brother's turn soon.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Bleeding Out...
I remember once telling my daughter that her dad and I would never split. That we would be together forever. He would have to leave me, I said. I don't know if I was reassuring her or trying to convince myself. She told me at the time she would be really mad if "you and daddy ever divorced." She is upset. My kids are upset. I never really thought it would happen either, but....shit happens. Monday was the hardest day yet, and there have been a lot.
A couple months ago my boys best friend was married. He was like one of my own. He was at our house more than his own. His mom died when he was 10, he became our "Heir to Spare". We all loved him, he was family. He was the other brother.
Last summer, he took me aside and told me how much he loved me, how I was like a mom to him. It moved me. I love him. I care about his future and I think he married the right woman. The wedding took place three weeks before my daughter's wedding. I was struggling emotionally, trying to gather courage to go, knowing that my boy's were in the wedding, knowing my entire family would be there, including my ex, and knowing, that for the first time ever, we weren't going as "a couple".
Imagine...I'm sitting next to my soon to be ex in the front row. My family beside me, my boys facing me...the pastor talking about what marriage means. Love. Adversity. Commitment. Weathering the storms....
I remember sitting there, the emotion and sadness building up inside my heart. My daughters next to me, my boys standing directly in front of me. I was aching from the loneliness and isolation of the children I had raised, loved endlessly, unconditionally... We were there as a family, but I was not a part of the inner circle anymore. I stared down at my hands, willing myself to hold it together. The tears welling up and threatening to spill down my cheeks, I feel the eyes of all my children bore into me as if to say, "Are you hearing this mom?" It was a tough day.
After it was all over, we all went our separate ways. My youngest, her boyfriend and I drove the hour and a half back to Seattle. I listened to them chatter, pretending to listen but hearing nothing, feeling as if a large rock had been laid on my chest, making it impossible to breathe. I just wanted them out of my car so I could be alone to cry.
After what seemed the longest drive ever, I dropped them off and drove to my brother's house to spend the night. He opened the door to me and I felt myself begin to crumble. All the tears I had held in all day, began to fall, gush even, as I fell into my brother's arms and allowed myself to let go. I didn't stop crying for weeks.
On my drive back home the next day, I made a decision. I had to make it through my daughter's wedding without tears. I had to. I called my doctor from my car, made an appointment to see him and was on anti-depressants within 24 hours. I needed to be numb.
As the big day approached, my body was trying to adjust to the anti-depressants, but I wasn't sleeping. I would wake up in the middle of the night. I refused to get up, hoping to drift off again, finally giving in and making coffee at 4 am. My face looked haggard, I had bags and dark circles under my eyes, I wasn't eating. My friend told me I looked hollow and my eyes haunted. I did a couple facials trying to revive my skin and get rid of the bags. Nothing worked.
The day went off well, with the exception of a few small snags, but despite three weeks of taking anti-depressants, I struggled with my emotions. I managed to make it through the day without crying, as there was plenty of activity around me, but I felt tight. On edge. Nervous. No one outside my immediate circle of family had been told about our split. I put on a happy face and pretended everything was fine. Standing with everyone for photos, a pasted smile on my face.
When my son got married two years ago, it was easy. I was relaxed, happy even. Smiling for photographs was natural. When I saw the proofs of my daughter's wedding photographs, I was shocked at my appearance. The difference in my face from two years ago to now was startling. I can hardly believe the changes. The weeks of crying and lack of sleep had taken a tremendous toll. These photographs will be around forever to remind me of "when I left my husband."
Three days after the wedding, my car loaded, I drove down the driveway toward Arizona. My dog and I. I spent the next several days in the car driving away from my sadness. Running away from home for the second time. Away from the pressure. Away from prying neighbors and the hometown where I had become the flavor of the month in speculation and gossip. I ran because I could. My ex could not run, and even as much as I didn't want to be married to him any longer, I didn't hate, I don't hate him, I knew he wished he could run away too. I ran away from the guilt of that too. I knew he was angry because I could leave and he couldn't. I've been accused of abandoning my family.
Monday I received a phone call from one of my boys. Angry, hurt, embarrassed by what he had heard about my blog, he ripped me apart. I was devastated. With the exception of my youngest daughter, none of them had read it. The week previous, my cousin sent me an email telling me she thought the blog was frivolous and like watching a tragic car crash. My kids had consulted one another and I can imagine that my son that called was the one nominated to do the dirty work. He asked me to remove the blog and explained why. He asked me what the purpose of the blog was. He said I was airing our family's dirty laundry in public and that he hadn't read it, but some of his friends on facebook had, and called to warn him and the other kids NOT to read it. He said he didn't even know about it until the phone calls.
I acknowledged his feelings and tried to explain my reasons for the blog. I felt defensive.
I had to ask myself some hard questions. What purpose was the blog serving? I wasn't trying to finger point blame on the failure of my marriage. I will take 50% of the blame. I had thought, wrongly, I guess, that IF per chance my kids did read it, they would maybe understand how I was feeling and why I wanted out of my marriage. I live in la-la land. The wounds are still raw. My kids are just now coming to realize that I really am divorcing their dad.
In the midst of all this pain of reality is the holidays. Starting with Thanksgiving, nothing was the same this year. I used to make pies with my girls a few days before Thanksgiving. I wanted to teach them how. It was a special time for us. When my son got married, we included my daughter in law as well. This year, I spent the holiday with my daughter in Seattle. I bought the pies.
My oldest daughter was responsible for making the pies this year at her dad's for her celebration with her new husband, brothers and sister in law. I saw a post on her facebook that she had a hard time with the pie making. After Thanksgiving, I asked her how her pies turned out and if everyone liked them. She began crying and said that Thanksgiving was a joke this year. She'd had to buy the crust because she couldn't make my recipe work for her and all she could think was, "if my mom was here, the pies would have been perfect." I cry just writing about it.
Christmas is next week. I am flying home to see my kids, to try to have something that resembles a family celebration without their dad. They are angry, hurt, devastated...I know this. They see their dad hurting and they can't believe I've done this to our family. No one knows what to do, or how to celebrate the holiday.
After that phone call Monday, I received calls from the rest of them. For the first time since all this began they wanted to talk to me. They needed to tell me how devastated they are. In trying to fix what was wrong with me, I broke their hearts and took away everything that was comfort. My daughter told me that "everything she thought was true about her parents, her family, was a lie...." My youngest son said, that if a man as good as his dad wasn't good enough for me, then who can be good enough? It was a very low day. My oldest boy called me out and said that in leaving, in running away, I ran from them and left them with too many questions about why I wanted to leave. He accused me of not owning my part and playing the victim. My blog proved it, he said. Maybe he was right. But he didn't read it. He only heard about it.
What purpose was the blog serving? I know that it wasn't to push blame on to my ex. I know it wasn't meant to hurt my children. I know it wasn't to embarrass them. I thought about what each of them had to say to me. The truth can be painful to look at. I know I ran away. I wasn't dealing with the guilt I felt, the accusations, the hurt. I was just running. In my defense, I want to state that I did try to talk with my kids while I was still trying to work it out with their dad. They didn't want to talk then. They were in denial. They saw what they wanted to see. That even though I was living in a separate bedroom from their dad, I was still in the same house, therefore, I must be trying. I let them believe what they wanted to believe because the fantasy was easier than the reality.
I look back over last summer and hear the accusations from my kids and their dad, telling me, I didn't try.
I understand why they think that. I wanted to try, but I was done trying. I was going through the motions of pretending, but I was withdrawn, in my own world of my own thoughts and pain. Escaping through Facebook and friends. My family would say that Facebook ruined my marriage.
I had already moved on, but I was unable to move on. I had commitments coming up. Labor Day, two weddings, birthdays, the holidays. There was always a reason I couldn't leave. My body was there, but my heart was gone. I was already here in Arizona. I allowed my kids to live in denial of the truth and ran. Hoping, in my fantasy world, that eventually, they would understand. And the blog would explain everything they never knew about their mom. I have hurt my kids by trying to protect them from the truth. I hurt my husband by trying to ease out of a marriage I was not happy in and couldn't make work anymore. I own these things.
I have trouble standing up for myself. I find that I go with the flow but seethe inside. I don't want to ruffle feathers, hurt anyone's feelings, upset the apple cart. I can be vocal when I'm mad, but I hold no boundaries for myself. I let everyone run over me. This I can own. My ways of dealing with my sadness and pain was really not much different than my ex. I hoarded my anger like a precious jewel in a silk purse, taking it out when I needed to wear it as a justification for why I could be angry. I own this. I own the choices I made that led me to walk away.
I know that leaving my husband, running away...seems selfish to my kids. I know how it looks.
If I had believed that I could change the patterns of behavior in myself, set boundaries and learn to say what I needed in a relationship, in my marriage, I might have been able to work it out. Our history taught me to trust what was. It wasn't my ex that needed to change, it was me. I couldn't stop responding to him the way I always did. I allowed him to continue his patterns as I continued mine. I wasn't able to stand up to him. I wanted to, I tried to. But I always reverted back to learned behavior. Patterns. Our dance. I wanted to change the pattern so desperately. I wanted a better marriage for years. But it was only in the last two years that I started to recognize the patterns. It was me. I wasn't able to make the changes. When you learn early in life to please others by sacrificing your own needs to keep peace, to be forgiven...you stay silent. You hold it in. You seethe with resentment and no one knows.
I hurt my family because I tried to pretend for too long I was fine. I allowed everyone's needs to take more precedence over my own. It was what I did as a wife, it was what I had to do as a mother. My friend told me that my kids will be as happy as I am happy. So I avoided talking about the ugliness so they could see I was better. Coping well. Happier. I pretended the elephant in the room wasn't there because it was easier. Now I see that I could have done better. I could have talked to them and set the boundary. I could have at least left the door open so that when they were ready, they could approach me. Instead, I ran and pretended again that I was fine. Telling myself, they didn't want to hear the truth, and I wouldn't bad mouth their dad to them. They didn't need to know everything that would hurt them, put them in the middle, and choose sides. I shut them out, I justified it. I understand their feelings of abandonment. I left. With no further explanation than...I have to. I'm done. I had hoped to take no prisoners, but of course, I did.
What purpose is the blog serving? I answer this question every time I sit down to write. I come to new understandings of my own sorrow and pain. I can't blame my ex for the end of my marriage. I will take 50% of the blame. I write the blog because I have to. Because I am standing up for myself for the first time, seeing the truth unfold. Trying to change the old patterns. By putting the words of my heart in front of me, I am able to see the truth of my own faults and take responsibility for why my marriage ended. The truth can hurt, but the truth will set you free. I need to be free from the burden of my own denial of the truth. In allowing others to see the transparency of myself, my humanity, my weakness of character and make it public, I pray for grace as they may see a part of themselves in my journey through this very sad time. My prayer is, that as I progress, the wounds begin to heal, the joy restores, the laughter returns and the blog becomes something else. Lighter, happier, funnier. I remember when I was funny.
I am going home to be with my kids for Christmas. I want to sit down with each of them and ask them to forgive me for needing to change from the mother they knew, to be the mother I wanted to be for them. The mother that loves them unconditionally, endlessly...the mother that will never stop worrying about her kids, as my parents still worry for me. I will continue to blog. I have to. The words won't stop, they are bleeding out.
A couple months ago my boys best friend was married. He was like one of my own. He was at our house more than his own. His mom died when he was 10, he became our "Heir to Spare". We all loved him, he was family. He was the other brother.
Last summer, he took me aside and told me how much he loved me, how I was like a mom to him. It moved me. I love him. I care about his future and I think he married the right woman. The wedding took place three weeks before my daughter's wedding. I was struggling emotionally, trying to gather courage to go, knowing that my boy's were in the wedding, knowing my entire family would be there, including my ex, and knowing, that for the first time ever, we weren't going as "a couple".
Imagine...I'm sitting next to my soon to be ex in the front row. My family beside me, my boys facing me...the pastor talking about what marriage means. Love. Adversity. Commitment. Weathering the storms....
I remember sitting there, the emotion and sadness building up inside my heart. My daughters next to me, my boys standing directly in front of me. I was aching from the loneliness and isolation of the children I had raised, loved endlessly, unconditionally... We were there as a family, but I was not a part of the inner circle anymore. I stared down at my hands, willing myself to hold it together. The tears welling up and threatening to spill down my cheeks, I feel the eyes of all my children bore into me as if to say, "Are you hearing this mom?" It was a tough day.
After it was all over, we all went our separate ways. My youngest, her boyfriend and I drove the hour and a half back to Seattle. I listened to them chatter, pretending to listen but hearing nothing, feeling as if a large rock had been laid on my chest, making it impossible to breathe. I just wanted them out of my car so I could be alone to cry.
After what seemed the longest drive ever, I dropped them off and drove to my brother's house to spend the night. He opened the door to me and I felt myself begin to crumble. All the tears I had held in all day, began to fall, gush even, as I fell into my brother's arms and allowed myself to let go. I didn't stop crying for weeks.
On my drive back home the next day, I made a decision. I had to make it through my daughter's wedding without tears. I had to. I called my doctor from my car, made an appointment to see him and was on anti-depressants within 24 hours. I needed to be numb.
As the big day approached, my body was trying to adjust to the anti-depressants, but I wasn't sleeping. I would wake up in the middle of the night. I refused to get up, hoping to drift off again, finally giving in and making coffee at 4 am. My face looked haggard, I had bags and dark circles under my eyes, I wasn't eating. My friend told me I looked hollow and my eyes haunted. I did a couple facials trying to revive my skin and get rid of the bags. Nothing worked.
The day went off well, with the exception of a few small snags, but despite three weeks of taking anti-depressants, I struggled with my emotions. I managed to make it through the day without crying, as there was plenty of activity around me, but I felt tight. On edge. Nervous. No one outside my immediate circle of family had been told about our split. I put on a happy face and pretended everything was fine. Standing with everyone for photos, a pasted smile on my face.
When my son got married two years ago, it was easy. I was relaxed, happy even. Smiling for photographs was natural. When I saw the proofs of my daughter's wedding photographs, I was shocked at my appearance. The difference in my face from two years ago to now was startling. I can hardly believe the changes. The weeks of crying and lack of sleep had taken a tremendous toll. These photographs will be around forever to remind me of "when I left my husband."
Three days after the wedding, my car loaded, I drove down the driveway toward Arizona. My dog and I. I spent the next several days in the car driving away from my sadness. Running away from home for the second time. Away from the pressure. Away from prying neighbors and the hometown where I had become the flavor of the month in speculation and gossip. I ran because I could. My ex could not run, and even as much as I didn't want to be married to him any longer, I didn't hate, I don't hate him, I knew he wished he could run away too. I ran away from the guilt of that too. I knew he was angry because I could leave and he couldn't. I've been accused of abandoning my family.
Monday I received a phone call from one of my boys. Angry, hurt, embarrassed by what he had heard about my blog, he ripped me apart. I was devastated. With the exception of my youngest daughter, none of them had read it. The week previous, my cousin sent me an email telling me she thought the blog was frivolous and like watching a tragic car crash. My kids had consulted one another and I can imagine that my son that called was the one nominated to do the dirty work. He asked me to remove the blog and explained why. He asked me what the purpose of the blog was. He said I was airing our family's dirty laundry in public and that he hadn't read it, but some of his friends on facebook had, and called to warn him and the other kids NOT to read it. He said he didn't even know about it until the phone calls.
I acknowledged his feelings and tried to explain my reasons for the blog. I felt defensive.
I had to ask myself some hard questions. What purpose was the blog serving? I wasn't trying to finger point blame on the failure of my marriage. I will take 50% of the blame. I had thought, wrongly, I guess, that IF per chance my kids did read it, they would maybe understand how I was feeling and why I wanted out of my marriage. I live in la-la land. The wounds are still raw. My kids are just now coming to realize that I really am divorcing their dad.
In the midst of all this pain of reality is the holidays. Starting with Thanksgiving, nothing was the same this year. I used to make pies with my girls a few days before Thanksgiving. I wanted to teach them how. It was a special time for us. When my son got married, we included my daughter in law as well. This year, I spent the holiday with my daughter in Seattle. I bought the pies.
My oldest daughter was responsible for making the pies this year at her dad's for her celebration with her new husband, brothers and sister in law. I saw a post on her facebook that she had a hard time with the pie making. After Thanksgiving, I asked her how her pies turned out and if everyone liked them. She began crying and said that Thanksgiving was a joke this year. She'd had to buy the crust because she couldn't make my recipe work for her and all she could think was, "if my mom was here, the pies would have been perfect." I cry just writing about it.
Christmas is next week. I am flying home to see my kids, to try to have something that resembles a family celebration without their dad. They are angry, hurt, devastated...I know this. They see their dad hurting and they can't believe I've done this to our family. No one knows what to do, or how to celebrate the holiday.
After that phone call Monday, I received calls from the rest of them. For the first time since all this began they wanted to talk to me. They needed to tell me how devastated they are. In trying to fix what was wrong with me, I broke their hearts and took away everything that was comfort. My daughter told me that "everything she thought was true about her parents, her family, was a lie...." My youngest son said, that if a man as good as his dad wasn't good enough for me, then who can be good enough? It was a very low day. My oldest boy called me out and said that in leaving, in running away, I ran from them and left them with too many questions about why I wanted to leave. He accused me of not owning my part and playing the victim. My blog proved it, he said. Maybe he was right. But he didn't read it. He only heard about it.
What purpose was the blog serving? I know that it wasn't to push blame on to my ex. I know it wasn't meant to hurt my children. I know it wasn't to embarrass them. I thought about what each of them had to say to me. The truth can be painful to look at. I know I ran away. I wasn't dealing with the guilt I felt, the accusations, the hurt. I was just running. In my defense, I want to state that I did try to talk with my kids while I was still trying to work it out with their dad. They didn't want to talk then. They were in denial. They saw what they wanted to see. That even though I was living in a separate bedroom from their dad, I was still in the same house, therefore, I must be trying. I let them believe what they wanted to believe because the fantasy was easier than the reality.
I look back over last summer and hear the accusations from my kids and their dad, telling me, I didn't try.
I understand why they think that. I wanted to try, but I was done trying. I was going through the motions of pretending, but I was withdrawn, in my own world of my own thoughts and pain. Escaping through Facebook and friends. My family would say that Facebook ruined my marriage.
I had already moved on, but I was unable to move on. I had commitments coming up. Labor Day, two weddings, birthdays, the holidays. There was always a reason I couldn't leave. My body was there, but my heart was gone. I was already here in Arizona. I allowed my kids to live in denial of the truth and ran. Hoping, in my fantasy world, that eventually, they would understand. And the blog would explain everything they never knew about their mom. I have hurt my kids by trying to protect them from the truth. I hurt my husband by trying to ease out of a marriage I was not happy in and couldn't make work anymore. I own these things.
I have trouble standing up for myself. I find that I go with the flow but seethe inside. I don't want to ruffle feathers, hurt anyone's feelings, upset the apple cart. I can be vocal when I'm mad, but I hold no boundaries for myself. I let everyone run over me. This I can own. My ways of dealing with my sadness and pain was really not much different than my ex. I hoarded my anger like a precious jewel in a silk purse, taking it out when I needed to wear it as a justification for why I could be angry. I own this. I own the choices I made that led me to walk away.
I know that leaving my husband, running away...seems selfish to my kids. I know how it looks.
If I had believed that I could change the patterns of behavior in myself, set boundaries and learn to say what I needed in a relationship, in my marriage, I might have been able to work it out. Our history taught me to trust what was. It wasn't my ex that needed to change, it was me. I couldn't stop responding to him the way I always did. I allowed him to continue his patterns as I continued mine. I wasn't able to stand up to him. I wanted to, I tried to. But I always reverted back to learned behavior. Patterns. Our dance. I wanted to change the pattern so desperately. I wanted a better marriage for years. But it was only in the last two years that I started to recognize the patterns. It was me. I wasn't able to make the changes. When you learn early in life to please others by sacrificing your own needs to keep peace, to be forgiven...you stay silent. You hold it in. You seethe with resentment and no one knows.
I hurt my family because I tried to pretend for too long I was fine. I allowed everyone's needs to take more precedence over my own. It was what I did as a wife, it was what I had to do as a mother. My friend told me that my kids will be as happy as I am happy. So I avoided talking about the ugliness so they could see I was better. Coping well. Happier. I pretended the elephant in the room wasn't there because it was easier. Now I see that I could have done better. I could have talked to them and set the boundary. I could have at least left the door open so that when they were ready, they could approach me. Instead, I ran and pretended again that I was fine. Telling myself, they didn't want to hear the truth, and I wouldn't bad mouth their dad to them. They didn't need to know everything that would hurt them, put them in the middle, and choose sides. I shut them out, I justified it. I understand their feelings of abandonment. I left. With no further explanation than...I have to. I'm done. I had hoped to take no prisoners, but of course, I did.
What purpose is the blog serving? I answer this question every time I sit down to write. I come to new understandings of my own sorrow and pain. I can't blame my ex for the end of my marriage. I will take 50% of the blame. I write the blog because I have to. Because I am standing up for myself for the first time, seeing the truth unfold. Trying to change the old patterns. By putting the words of my heart in front of me, I am able to see the truth of my own faults and take responsibility for why my marriage ended. The truth can hurt, but the truth will set you free. I need to be free from the burden of my own denial of the truth. In allowing others to see the transparency of myself, my humanity, my weakness of character and make it public, I pray for grace as they may see a part of themselves in my journey through this very sad time. My prayer is, that as I progress, the wounds begin to heal, the joy restores, the laughter returns and the blog becomes something else. Lighter, happier, funnier. I remember when I was funny.
I am going home to be with my kids for Christmas. I want to sit down with each of them and ask them to forgive me for needing to change from the mother they knew, to be the mother I wanted to be for them. The mother that loves them unconditionally, endlessly...the mother that will never stop worrying about her kids, as my parents still worry for me. I will continue to blog. I have to. The words won't stop, they are bleeding out.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Recovery
Most people know I was sick this week. Not too sick, but sick enough to stay home and do nothing. I lost my appetite Sunday night when I came down with it. I'm still sick, but about 65% well. That's not bad. I still can't smell anything, so perfume is a waste, I can't taste anything so I eat only when my stomach tells me I'm hungry. I didn't get a cough, and drinking Sleepytime Throat Tea seems to have worked magic. Well, that and my friend Meg's (the soothsayer of her Japanese village) magic potion of Japanese herbs.
Being sick gives you a lot of time to feel sorry for yourself, but as you start to feel better you recognize the signs of "better". The sore throat goes away, body aches are gone, sinus congestion a little less. You move into recovery. I expect this is the same as with divorce.
It is the worst in the beginning. Knocks you off your feet like a sharp blow to the gut. You can't go out because you might "infect" everyone with your sadness, so you hole up at home. You remove yourself from people who are just nosy and hide. At least I did. I have. I am.
When I first separated a year ago, I told people I was coming down here to look for a place to buy for our "winter getaway". I got a few quizzical looks. I never told my parents anything at all. As far as they knew, I was still in Washington. When I would call them, I made sure I knew what the weather was like in my hometown because I knew they watched the weather and made sure I was up to date on what was going on with my kids and faked like I was still there. They never knew until I decided to tell them. Shocking I know, but I was trying to pretend everything was fine, so as not to worry them. Like when I feel a cold coming on, I pretend I'm not getting sick, until it slams me down and I can't deny it anymore.
As the three month trail separation drew to a close and I knew I would have to move back to Washington, I knew I wasn't ready to go back. I had just started feeling at home. I had just started to make friends. I didn't want to leave. It was the first sign that I knew I was getting stronger, but not fully recovered. I was just starting to see a glimpse of the person I wanted to be, the person I wanted to become, the person I was. As I rounded the new year, I started to pack up, trying to face my life and hope that the month in Hawaii we were supposed to spend together could salvage the marriage. Sadly, it was a relapse. It was like working out when you had pnemmonia. (I can't seem to spell this word and I'm not sure why the spell check isn't correcting it.) I wasn't ready yet. I went from sleeping alone for three months back into our shared bed and it seemed so...intrusive. My marriage was sick, I was sick, and I was trapped in a cycle of denial, anger, and self-pity with no medicine I could take to cure it. Like a cold, it had to run it's course. Sure, we did counseling, but it was like taking aspirin. It helped in the counseling office, but once we left, like aspirin wears off, the symptoms came back. Both of us were in this endless cycle of learned behavior.
Over years of living of learning what the "correct" response was when my spouse was angry, upset, sick, hurt, whatever... I just couldn't break the pattern of my own responses. Even though I knew that we weren't communicating like two partners walking beside each other towards the same goals in life, I wanted to get well. For years, I wanted us to "get well". I would have done absolutely anything to get healthy. You can't do it alone. You move through this life and do what you have to do on a daily basis with spurts of fun and recreation. But the truth and reality, is that we have to work, we have to take care of our children and be responsible. It's not easy. So often I get asked how I managed to raise such great kids? How did I do it? Did I have a choice? I did what I had to do. We all do. Mostly.
One thing I've realized as a mother is that there wasn't one day that I had the thought..."What can I do today to fuck up my kids?" My kids were normal kids, they weren't perfect. Neither was I. Every day I did the best I knew how or was equipped to do to get through the day and be a good mother. I used to tell my kids when they would tell me that they hated me, that they should take it up with their therapist when they grow up. We all have issues.
Was I a good wife? I thought I was. I loved him. I was in love with him. I did what was expected and I supported my husband and we had sex regularly. Was my ex a good father? Yes. But it was the same for him. We were ill-equipped to be parents so young, but we did the best we knew how to do at the time we were doing it. Was he a good husband? At times yes. It wasn't all bad. But like a cough that never seems to go away, we got used to it. The dance. The way things were done. We each had our roles and we played the part in public and in front of the kids. But the actors in this play were real live people with their own private thoughts and feelings. Feelings that were never discussed, or dismissed when they were. Like the virus that lives inside you that finally germinates to a full blown flu.
The virus in your marriage can come and go. You can fall in and out of love many times over the years. Marriage is hard. Sometimes it's like an infection and you can't ignore it and have to take antibiotics to make the problem better. Counseling, if administered properly and in time, can heal you. I dragged my ex to counseling many times. but if you don't take the medicine you won't get better. Dragging is not willingness.
As the years pile on and the symptoms remain the same, sometimes you just sigh and say...I always get sick at Christmas. This too shall pass. I can mask it with Theraflu or Dayquil.
One day, you look in the mirror and you don't recognize the person you've become. The lines around your eyes, the extra ten pounds you've put on...you've been sick a long time, let yourself go, and AGED. All the while doing what you had to do, ignoring the sore throat and the runny nose because you had to keep going. You had kids to finish raising, laundry to do, dinner to cook, sport practices to drive to. You realize you are dying...and you have no time left to do the things that were the hopes and dreams you had as a young girl. All the romance novels you read and fantasized over, all the adventures you would take, all the novels I would write....real life is real life, not many of us live in novels.
And yet...you keep going. Giving. Giving up. Losing yourself, because who are you if you aren't a wife or a mother? The kids all grow up and leave. You are left in a big house staring at each other at a loss for words. You become the couple in the restaurant that look around and eat their dinner in silence because there is nothing to say. You are in your own head with your own thoughts because its the only private place in your whole world that is yours alone. Because everything else was given to, or belongs to, someone else. Your hopes, your dreams, your youth, and your life. And then something begins to happen...you either accept that you are dying, or you fight for your life.
I fought for my marriage, I fought for it for 20+ years. Like a cancer that has metastisized, I began to lose hope for recovery. When I finally gave in...finally took my last breath in the marriage...he wanted me to live. He was ready to fight. I was just tired. People have asked me, "Why? You have been together forever, how can I throw away my family and marriage like this?" He looks like the victim. I am the criminal. He was finally ready to take the cure and fix our marriage. But it was far too late. The cold went from mild to severe and finally dying...complications of pnemmonia. (sp? still can't spell it) People are shocked, people are talking. But like a death, the loss never goes away, but the pain of the loss can heal. He is not the only one who suffers. My kids are not the only ones who are losing what they've always known. I suffer too. I fought a losing battle in my marriage. I left because I wanted to live, I couldn't trust the old medicines of counseling to work anymore. They never worked before, why would it work this time?
I had to try alternative medicine. I moved away from everything I've known for 48 years. My children, my friends, my parents, my husband, my hometown....I fought... I fight to recover. I fight every day for strength and for mental health. I rely on a strong support network of friends and family that get it. I write, I blog...
I'm certain it sounds selfish to say that I wanted something more. It was. It is. I didn't leave a healthy marriage. The marriage was not about us. It was a structure in which we raised our kids. It wasn't a marriage built upon mutual respect. It was a kingdom of one king and no queen. I was the lady in waiting. Waiting for 27 years for it to get better. It never got better. When the one who finally realizes he's out of chances when he had a million, he wants his marriage...it's over. The love is gone. And there is no recovery.
It's really hard being the one who left and feel so misunderstood. I feel sick, and I'm tired. But as I sit here and type and look off my balcony at this beautiful sunset, with my dog sleeping next to me, I know that I am getting better. I feel better, I don't cry as much, I am not as lonely...I am in recovery. I feel 65%...better, and as I heal, as my family heals we all will recover.
Being sick gives you a lot of time to feel sorry for yourself, but as you start to feel better you recognize the signs of "better". The sore throat goes away, body aches are gone, sinus congestion a little less. You move into recovery. I expect this is the same as with divorce.
It is the worst in the beginning. Knocks you off your feet like a sharp blow to the gut. You can't go out because you might "infect" everyone with your sadness, so you hole up at home. You remove yourself from people who are just nosy and hide. At least I did. I have. I am.
When I first separated a year ago, I told people I was coming down here to look for a place to buy for our "winter getaway". I got a few quizzical looks. I never told my parents anything at all. As far as they knew, I was still in Washington. When I would call them, I made sure I knew what the weather was like in my hometown because I knew they watched the weather and made sure I was up to date on what was going on with my kids and faked like I was still there. They never knew until I decided to tell them. Shocking I know, but I was trying to pretend everything was fine, so as not to worry them. Like when I feel a cold coming on, I pretend I'm not getting sick, until it slams me down and I can't deny it anymore.
As the three month trail separation drew to a close and I knew I would have to move back to Washington, I knew I wasn't ready to go back. I had just started feeling at home. I had just started to make friends. I didn't want to leave. It was the first sign that I knew I was getting stronger, but not fully recovered. I was just starting to see a glimpse of the person I wanted to be, the person I wanted to become, the person I was. As I rounded the new year, I started to pack up, trying to face my life and hope that the month in Hawaii we were supposed to spend together could salvage the marriage. Sadly, it was a relapse. It was like working out when you had pnemmonia. (I can't seem to spell this word and I'm not sure why the spell check isn't correcting it.) I wasn't ready yet. I went from sleeping alone for three months back into our shared bed and it seemed so...intrusive. My marriage was sick, I was sick, and I was trapped in a cycle of denial, anger, and self-pity with no medicine I could take to cure it. Like a cold, it had to run it's course. Sure, we did counseling, but it was like taking aspirin. It helped in the counseling office, but once we left, like aspirin wears off, the symptoms came back. Both of us were in this endless cycle of learned behavior.
Over years of living of learning what the "correct" response was when my spouse was angry, upset, sick, hurt, whatever... I just couldn't break the pattern of my own responses. Even though I knew that we weren't communicating like two partners walking beside each other towards the same goals in life, I wanted to get well. For years, I wanted us to "get well". I would have done absolutely anything to get healthy. You can't do it alone. You move through this life and do what you have to do on a daily basis with spurts of fun and recreation. But the truth and reality, is that we have to work, we have to take care of our children and be responsible. It's not easy. So often I get asked how I managed to raise such great kids? How did I do it? Did I have a choice? I did what I had to do. We all do. Mostly.
One thing I've realized as a mother is that there wasn't one day that I had the thought..."What can I do today to fuck up my kids?" My kids were normal kids, they weren't perfect. Neither was I. Every day I did the best I knew how or was equipped to do to get through the day and be a good mother. I used to tell my kids when they would tell me that they hated me, that they should take it up with their therapist when they grow up. We all have issues.
Was I a good wife? I thought I was. I loved him. I was in love with him. I did what was expected and I supported my husband and we had sex regularly. Was my ex a good father? Yes. But it was the same for him. We were ill-equipped to be parents so young, but we did the best we knew how to do at the time we were doing it. Was he a good husband? At times yes. It wasn't all bad. But like a cough that never seems to go away, we got used to it. The dance. The way things were done. We each had our roles and we played the part in public and in front of the kids. But the actors in this play were real live people with their own private thoughts and feelings. Feelings that were never discussed, or dismissed when they were. Like the virus that lives inside you that finally germinates to a full blown flu.
The virus in your marriage can come and go. You can fall in and out of love many times over the years. Marriage is hard. Sometimes it's like an infection and you can't ignore it and have to take antibiotics to make the problem better. Counseling, if administered properly and in time, can heal you. I dragged my ex to counseling many times. but if you don't take the medicine you won't get better. Dragging is not willingness.
As the years pile on and the symptoms remain the same, sometimes you just sigh and say...I always get sick at Christmas. This too shall pass. I can mask it with Theraflu or Dayquil.
One day, you look in the mirror and you don't recognize the person you've become. The lines around your eyes, the extra ten pounds you've put on...you've been sick a long time, let yourself go, and AGED. All the while doing what you had to do, ignoring the sore throat and the runny nose because you had to keep going. You had kids to finish raising, laundry to do, dinner to cook, sport practices to drive to. You realize you are dying...and you have no time left to do the things that were the hopes and dreams you had as a young girl. All the romance novels you read and fantasized over, all the adventures you would take, all the novels I would write....real life is real life, not many of us live in novels.
And yet...you keep going. Giving. Giving up. Losing yourself, because who are you if you aren't a wife or a mother? The kids all grow up and leave. You are left in a big house staring at each other at a loss for words. You become the couple in the restaurant that look around and eat their dinner in silence because there is nothing to say. You are in your own head with your own thoughts because its the only private place in your whole world that is yours alone. Because everything else was given to, or belongs to, someone else. Your hopes, your dreams, your youth, and your life. And then something begins to happen...you either accept that you are dying, or you fight for your life.
I fought for my marriage, I fought for it for 20+ years. Like a cancer that has metastisized, I began to lose hope for recovery. When I finally gave in...finally took my last breath in the marriage...he wanted me to live. He was ready to fight. I was just tired. People have asked me, "Why? You have been together forever, how can I throw away my family and marriage like this?" He looks like the victim. I am the criminal. He was finally ready to take the cure and fix our marriage. But it was far too late. The cold went from mild to severe and finally dying...complications of pnemmonia. (sp? still can't spell it) People are shocked, people are talking. But like a death, the loss never goes away, but the pain of the loss can heal. He is not the only one who suffers. My kids are not the only ones who are losing what they've always known. I suffer too. I fought a losing battle in my marriage. I left because I wanted to live, I couldn't trust the old medicines of counseling to work anymore. They never worked before, why would it work this time?
I had to try alternative medicine. I moved away from everything I've known for 48 years. My children, my friends, my parents, my husband, my hometown....I fought... I fight to recover. I fight every day for strength and for mental health. I rely on a strong support network of friends and family that get it. I write, I blog...
I'm certain it sounds selfish to say that I wanted something more. It was. It is. I didn't leave a healthy marriage. The marriage was not about us. It was a structure in which we raised our kids. It wasn't a marriage built upon mutual respect. It was a kingdom of one king and no queen. I was the lady in waiting. Waiting for 27 years for it to get better. It never got better. When the one who finally realizes he's out of chances when he had a million, he wants his marriage...it's over. The love is gone. And there is no recovery.
It's really hard being the one who left and feel so misunderstood. I feel sick, and I'm tired. But as I sit here and type and look off my balcony at this beautiful sunset, with my dog sleeping next to me, I know that I am getting better. I feel better, I don't cry as much, I am not as lonely...I am in recovery. I feel 65%...better, and as I heal, as my family heals we all will recover.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Dogging It...
I have a man in my life. He, like most men, is a pain in the ass. But, I love my little man. I hate my little man. I am held prisoner by my dog. I don't know why I needed a dog. I just did.
We have a routine every day. He loves the consistency of the routine. The routine goes like this:
1. Wake up at 7 am
2. Punch the coffee, wash my face, brush my teeth, pony up my hair, pull on some sweats, let Bob out of his kennel.
(I make him sleep in the kennel at night because he wanders around and wakes me up at night.)
3. Walk out the door while Bob tugs the leash trying to run. He spins circles round and round while we wait for the elevator.
4. Elevator doors close, Bob presses his nose into the corner of the door, bolting out and spilling my coffee the moment the door opens, and races for the door. I think..."someone needs to pee"....Bob knows enough that if he holds his pee and his poo he gets a longer walk. He has amazing bladder control. We walk three times a day. One long, one short, one long.
5. He drags me across the street but instead of peeing right away, he will circle the same area at least 15 times looking for "just the right spot" to relieve himself. As he pees, he is looking at the other dogs out there, and like most men, he has a short attention span, and before he is completely done, he begins walking to the other dogs, dribbling pee on his paw. (This is the equivalent of a man not shaking twice and dribbling pee on the toilet seat. Don't ask me how I know this, but it is the image I get EVERY time Bob does this.)
6. At this point, Bob is so excited to start the walk, he is dragging me across the street. Depending on the leash I have snapped on this morning, he controls his walk OR I do. Lately I've been using the regular one and not the retractable one, as I've had some not so constructive criticism regarding Bob and the retractable leash. Bob...or as known in other circles, "His Royal Highness," runs the show here, and I know he likes the retractable one.
Apparently, I'm not a very good dog owner/trainer, and Bob is not only poorly trained, but has no manners. I've been shunned at the dog park by a woman who is the Boss of Everything, Director of the Universe and Chief KnowItAll of all things 'dog'. She also has a darling Golden Lab puppy named Sage. She talks so loud that I can hear her talking every morning through my open window, five floors up, when I'm still in bed. Who needs an alarm clock?
At this point, I would like to make it perfectly clear, that at first, I liked her. I liked her dog and I was impressed at how well behaved Sage was. Bob loved playing with Sage. On his retractable leash, he could run circles around me over and over outrunning Sage while I lassoed the leash above my head. But Sage had a thing for grabbing Bob's leash in his mouth and Bob and Sage would get all tangled up. Then Sage became the bully of the dog park. Picking on poor cowardly Bob. Sage started grabbing on Bob's neck with her teeth. Bob would run between my legs crying and cowering. Bob is a mess. The Boss Lady would loudly, but gently, reprimand Sage and offer a treat, then give her positive reinforcements..."Good Sage". She never gave Bob a treat. She didn't want to share I guess, as Bob is such a shit. I never bring treats. I have a leash in one hand, a coffee cup in the other, a doggie poo bag and my house keys. I have no room for treats. Why does Bob need treats at 7 am? Bob doesn't need treats, I need coffee. Three days ago, Boss Lady decides that Bob and Sage can't play together anymore. Bob is a bad influence. Every day for 2 months, I see Sage and the Dragon Lady as she loudly brags about how great her kid is...oops, my bad...I mean DOG. (Insert sarcasm)
Now I get up in the morning, walk across the street and Sage and her obnoxious loud mouth owner are nowhere to be found....they changed the meeting place and she has told all the other dog moms in the neighborhood not to play with Bob. Poor Bob is not very popular. Sage thinks she is the shit.
I tell Bob not to listen to the other dog's teasing. I tell him to turn the other jowl. Most of those dogs are older than Bob...they will die first. He will have the last laugh. But Bob's feelings are hurt. "Never mind them Bob" I say, "We will get you new friends".
My new running partner Kate has two dogs. Addie and Killey. Addie loves Bob. Killey is at that age where she still hates boys. Yesterday, I was supposed to run with Kate but was too sick. Everyone knows that when you're a mother, you can't be sick..Bob needs to pee so we follow routine, only this time I have a wad of kleenex in my hand, my keys, my coffee AND...the retractable, politically incorrect, leash. Just as I'm walking out the door, Kate calls me and says, since we can't run, why don't we meet in the big park and let the dogs run? I agree, off we go to the park.
As we arrive in the park, I see a couple other people with their dogs in the distance. I don't see Kate yet, so I walk toward the middle of the park and un-clip Bob's leash to let him run. He makes a beeline to the other dogs in the distance, as I am walking (read: chasing and yelling) I realize, smack dab in the middle of the park is the Director of the Universe herself, holding court with the other owners and their perfect little dogs. Bob runs balls out to the center of the circle, knocks Sage from behind and the two start their chase game. I say hi, and everyone just looks at me. Miss Director, with her very loud, very obnoxious voice says, "I see you're still using the same leash,' I look around at all these accusing eyes on me and say "Uh....yeah, the other one was, um...dirty." Listen, I can take a hint, I know what happened here. Boss Lady organized a boycott against my poor little Bob and now none of the other dogs are allowed to play with him.
Luckily, I notice Kate walking toward the group with Addie and Killie. Kate doesn't know Bob isn't allowed to play with the other dogs. In a moment she joins the group and lets her dogs off the leash and now its complete chaos as Bob, Sage, Killie, Addie and a very scary looking Pitbull named Valarie, with a spike collar, (who I might add, is drooling and snapping and straining at the leash) are running in circles, dragging their leashes and barking at each other. To make matters worse, Bob runs between my legs, lays down submissively, while Sage has hold of his leash. I stumble, almost falling again, narrowly avoiding another "Bob" accident, Bob stands up, takes off toward the street, with all the dogs except Valerie the killer dog in hot pursuit. Miss Big Mouth does her thing, pulls out the treat bag, calls to Little Miss Perfect, and she obediently trots back, plops down and waits for her treat. Big Mouth looks at me with a triumphant grin and says, "Good Girl Sage, Good Girl!" Gives her a treat while all the other dogs look on with envy. Sage looks around, and I have a de ja vu moment...she looks like Nellie from Little House on the Prairie.
Poor Bob hangs his head for a moment, ashamed.... hungry for a treat...all of a sudden, I see him look up between his lashes with those sweet little brown eyes and he is smiling. He looks around at all the other dogs...winks at them and prances off a few feet. The other dogs look around at each other, then they look over at Princess Sage and her evil mother...and follow Bob. At this point, Kate pulls a bag of dog treats out from between her breasts and gives treats to everyone....even Sage. Kate is my hero.
This should be the end of this tale, but ever-so-wise Kate looks at me and says, "You know...you really should get a different leash." I love Kate.
Bob and I walk back to our building. He is no longer tugging me along. He is walking next to me, tuckered out from playing with his new friends. We take the elevator upstairs and begin the second part of our daily routine. I pour another cup of coffee, give Bob a cup of dog food. He trots over, sniffs the food, turns his nose up...and begins yet another hunger strike. Sigh... this damn dog. Why did I want a dog? The answer? I thought I needed one...
One look in those big, sweet, puppy eyes....He had me at hello.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Age... just a Number
I have hated my birthday for years. I used to like my birthday. There used to be a certain feel to a birthday. Like the whole day was about you. I know people who have birthday months. My ex was never much of a birthday person, so I quit making a big deal out of my own. I had four kids whose birthdays were all in the same month. (New Year's Eve, in case you were wondering....I never drink Long Island Ice Teas any more as I think of them as pregnant juice) The entire month of October was all about their birthdays. Thank goodness they fall according to age, so I can remember whose is whose. I was really good about keeping their birthdays separate, so they never felt like their day was not about them. My boy's birthdays were a day apart, my girl's two days. Weird, I know. Four birthday cakes, four parties, one family party. It was exhausting. By the time my youngest' birthday rolled around, I was caked out.
Then came my birthday three weeks later. My ex was as birthday'd out as me and it it seemed to me, he was always irritated by my birthday. Don't get me wrong, I think he made an effort, it was just very low key, because of the timing of it. He never wanted to celebrate his birthday, so I just kind of followed suit. We were usually broke by the time our kid's birthdays' were over, so an expensive present was out of the question. In those days, money was really tight.
My parents always came through and would buy me a coat. I love coats. My ex never, in 28 years, had to buy me a coat. The only time my birthday was a big deal was when I turned 40. Thanks to my mom, I had a big surprise 4-0 birthday party. I kept telling everyone I wanted a party for my 40th, so my ex and my mom planned a surprise party. As the time got closer, I knew they were planning something and I started feeling guilty about wanting a party. I started saying I changed my mind and didn't want one. Instead, I wanted to rent a limo and do a pub crawl with my brother, brother in law and my parents and of course, my ex. He rented the limo and they blindfolded me and took me to a couple places and eventually we ended up at my surprise party they threw anyway. The party was really fun and it turned out to be a roast. I enjoyed it thoroughly.
I'm not really blaming my ex for how I started hating my birthdays, it just became unimportant because the kids were always the priority....as it should be. But, then, as the kids got older and parties were less frequent, my ex decided to change his birthday. Yes, he changed his birthday. He decided he hated having a winter birthday. He wanted a summer birthday, so he would throw himself a party every summer and celebrate his birthday. I had no problem with that, except that it confused every one and everything. His actual birthday was in the winter, and of course, my family and his still wished him 'Happy Birthday' on his actual day. But, for the rest of us, we weren't sure if it was okay to bypass the winter one and not say anything or do anything, or wait until he decided which day he was celebrating it. It was all very confusing. Eventually, the kids just started celebrating both days. It kinda became a problem. Not because he changed the day, but because the kids made a HUGE deal out of his birthday...lots of gifts, cake, partying, speeches, laughter. My birthday became obsolete. The kids always called to wish me 'Happy Birthday', but we never celebrated my birthday. I'm an adult, I don't want to lay guilt on my kids, so I suffered in silence and pretended I didn't care and that it didn't matter.
Last year we took a family vacation to Hawaii. It was in the winter, and it just so happened that the kids arrived in time for my ex's real birthday. It's not winter in Hawaii, so we celebrated his birthday with the usual big bang and made it a big deal. I made the comment that it was good to celebrate his birthday on the real day and not in the summer. He looked up and said, "Oh, I'm having a birthday in July too..." I think he was joking, but I remember sitting there, looking at the faces of all my kids, laughing and drinking and toasting their dad's birthday, thinking "My kids, have not been all present on my birthday in over ten years", let alone bought me a gift, (well, sometimes they did) and the cards always came about a week after the date. I was hurt. I couldn't even speak. My eyes welled up with tears thinking of it, and my oldest daughter, who is so sensitive, noticed. "What's wrong mom?" I pasted a smile on my face and said "Nothing....I'm just happy to be here with everyone..."
My birthday was a day to dread. It was the day that pronounced yet another year older, another year sacrificing for everyone else, another year closer to being old, another year closer to death. I hated it and started forgetting how old I was exactly, and then began lying about how old I really was anyway. I looked younger, so I could get away with it.
Then this year, I left my marriage for good, filed for divorce and drove down to Arizona. Right after my daughter's wedding, right after all the kid's birthdays... arriving two weeks before my own birthday.
I made a decision. And, decisions, have been hard for me this past year, but I made a decision that I was not only going to celebrate my birthday, I was going to celebrate for two weeks. Anyone that wanted to go out and buy me a drink, dinner, whatever, it was going to be my birthday celebration. My mom, dad and brother , all made sure I got flowers and presents and cards on my day, I got the usual phone calls and good wishes, My daughter sent me a package...I had a great day. The whole weekend was about me. And the next weekend. I had birthday weeks. It was so great. I never told anyone how old I was, I borrowed a line from my friend Stacy and told people I was "ageless". I still cringe over the number a little, but, regardless of how old I really am, it is just a number.
The real truth in all of this isn't my ex's fault how I began treating my birthday. I could have stood up for myself and demanded the attention as he did. I just didn't. But now, I am going to celebrate every birthday with gusto and remind people again...that there are 340 more shopping days till my birthday....
Then came my birthday three weeks later. My ex was as birthday'd out as me and it it seemed to me, he was always irritated by my birthday. Don't get me wrong, I think he made an effort, it was just very low key, because of the timing of it. He never wanted to celebrate his birthday, so I just kind of followed suit. We were usually broke by the time our kid's birthdays' were over, so an expensive present was out of the question. In those days, money was really tight.
My parents always came through and would buy me a coat. I love coats. My ex never, in 28 years, had to buy me a coat. The only time my birthday was a big deal was when I turned 40. Thanks to my mom, I had a big surprise 4-0 birthday party. I kept telling everyone I wanted a party for my 40th, so my ex and my mom planned a surprise party. As the time got closer, I knew they were planning something and I started feeling guilty about wanting a party. I started saying I changed my mind and didn't want one. Instead, I wanted to rent a limo and do a pub crawl with my brother, brother in law and my parents and of course, my ex. He rented the limo and they blindfolded me and took me to a couple places and eventually we ended up at my surprise party they threw anyway. The party was really fun and it turned out to be a roast. I enjoyed it thoroughly.
I'm not really blaming my ex for how I started hating my birthdays, it just became unimportant because the kids were always the priority....as it should be. But, then, as the kids got older and parties were less frequent, my ex decided to change his birthday. Yes, he changed his birthday. He decided he hated having a winter birthday. He wanted a summer birthday, so he would throw himself a party every summer and celebrate his birthday. I had no problem with that, except that it confused every one and everything. His actual birthday was in the winter, and of course, my family and his still wished him 'Happy Birthday' on his actual day. But, for the rest of us, we weren't sure if it was okay to bypass the winter one and not say anything or do anything, or wait until he decided which day he was celebrating it. It was all very confusing. Eventually, the kids just started celebrating both days. It kinda became a problem. Not because he changed the day, but because the kids made a HUGE deal out of his birthday...lots of gifts, cake, partying, speeches, laughter. My birthday became obsolete. The kids always called to wish me 'Happy Birthday', but we never celebrated my birthday. I'm an adult, I don't want to lay guilt on my kids, so I suffered in silence and pretended I didn't care and that it didn't matter.
Last year we took a family vacation to Hawaii. It was in the winter, and it just so happened that the kids arrived in time for my ex's real birthday. It's not winter in Hawaii, so we celebrated his birthday with the usual big bang and made it a big deal. I made the comment that it was good to celebrate his birthday on the real day and not in the summer. He looked up and said, "Oh, I'm having a birthday in July too..." I think he was joking, but I remember sitting there, looking at the faces of all my kids, laughing and drinking and toasting their dad's birthday, thinking "My kids, have not been all present on my birthday in over ten years", let alone bought me a gift, (well, sometimes they did) and the cards always came about a week after the date. I was hurt. I couldn't even speak. My eyes welled up with tears thinking of it, and my oldest daughter, who is so sensitive, noticed. "What's wrong mom?" I pasted a smile on my face and said "Nothing....I'm just happy to be here with everyone..."
My birthday was a day to dread. It was the day that pronounced yet another year older, another year sacrificing for everyone else, another year closer to being old, another year closer to death. I hated it and started forgetting how old I was exactly, and then began lying about how old I really was anyway. I looked younger, so I could get away with it.
Then this year, I left my marriage for good, filed for divorce and drove down to Arizona. Right after my daughter's wedding, right after all the kid's birthdays... arriving two weeks before my own birthday.
I made a decision. And, decisions, have been hard for me this past year, but I made a decision that I was not only going to celebrate my birthday, I was going to celebrate for two weeks. Anyone that wanted to go out and buy me a drink, dinner, whatever, it was going to be my birthday celebration. My mom, dad and brother , all made sure I got flowers and presents and cards on my day, I got the usual phone calls and good wishes, My daughter sent me a package...I had a great day. The whole weekend was about me. And the next weekend. I had birthday weeks. It was so great. I never told anyone how old I was, I borrowed a line from my friend Stacy and told people I was "ageless". I still cringe over the number a little, but, regardless of how old I really am, it is just a number.
The real truth in all of this isn't my ex's fault how I began treating my birthday. I could have stood up for myself and demanded the attention as he did. I just didn't. But now, I am going to celebrate every birthday with gusto and remind people again...that there are 340 more shopping days till my birthday....
Monday, December 6, 2010
Single and Sick
It's one thing to be sick and married. I used to get a little sympathy. When my kids were little they would tip toe into my room and see if they could fix me some toast. I would relish the quiet, coolness of my room, while I watched TV and rested. Living alone, it's just me and my dog. He seems mad that I won't take him on a long walk today. And it's quiet alright. I never thought I would be doing this. I have pretty much been pasted to my couch today, and no one even knows I'm sick. I had to drive to the store and buy my own soup, heat it up and tell myself "feed a cold, starve a fever". Does anyone know what that means anyway?
There are so many 'firsts' now. My first time being sick while I am single. I've been hungover and single, but that's different. I'm sick with a nasty cold and I'm feeling a little sorry for myself. I've been feeling better about myself and not as sad, but throw a cold on me and a sleepless, feverish night alone feels really....alone. I remind myself, I wanted this.
My first Christmas alone. I won't be alone, alone, I will be with my parents and brother, but my kids are going to be with their dad. They were with him for Thanksgiving too. I tell myself it's okay, because he needs them this year to get through the holidays. I am stronger than he is. I won't tell my kids how much it hurts me though. I don't want to lay that guilt on them. It won't always be this hard, but it feels like these holidays are dragging on. It's easy to forget it's the holiday season here where it's warm, so I don't think about it that much, but I talked with my daughter today and I miss her, and it's Christmas time, and....I'm sick. It's just one day. That is my mantra.
I am looking forward to my mom coming to visit me in 10 days. We will do a little shopping and I am paying for her to have her hair done at my new hairdresser's place. I wanted my mom to come visit me so she could see for herself that I am okay. She worries too much about me. I haven't called her to tell her I'm sick. What? You think I'm crazy? Don't get me wrong, I know my parents are just concerned, but they forget that I am a middle aged adult that already raised their grandchildren, I'm fine, I'm just sad. Not every day. Just some days. Today. Because I'm sick and I miss my kids. That's what mom's do. They miss their kids and they worry about them.
You know you're sick when your eyes look funny and your nose is all red from blowing. That's me. I could barely drag myself off the couch to walk my dog. I showered at 2 pm. I kept trying to think of funny things to post on my facebook, but the best I could come up with was "Can someone please chop off my head and give it back after you drain it?" Lame. I didn't post it.
The Nyquil gave me a sleep hangover so my head has felt fuzzy all day. I went from Nyquil to Dayquil and now I'm going back to Nyquil. It's too late for Zycam. I have tissues littering the house and my butt hurts from sitting all day.
Okay, I'm done complaining, but, I'm not used to being alone and sick. I needed sympathy. Deep down we are all babies that want someone to take care of us. I can't wait for my mom to get here....
I want my mommy.
There are so many 'firsts' now. My first time being sick while I am single. I've been hungover and single, but that's different. I'm sick with a nasty cold and I'm feeling a little sorry for myself. I've been feeling better about myself and not as sad, but throw a cold on me and a sleepless, feverish night alone feels really....alone. I remind myself, I wanted this.
My first Christmas alone. I won't be alone, alone, I will be with my parents and brother, but my kids are going to be with their dad. They were with him for Thanksgiving too. I tell myself it's okay, because he needs them this year to get through the holidays. I am stronger than he is. I won't tell my kids how much it hurts me though. I don't want to lay that guilt on them. It won't always be this hard, but it feels like these holidays are dragging on. It's easy to forget it's the holiday season here where it's warm, so I don't think about it that much, but I talked with my daughter today and I miss her, and it's Christmas time, and....I'm sick. It's just one day. That is my mantra.
I am looking forward to my mom coming to visit me in 10 days. We will do a little shopping and I am paying for her to have her hair done at my new hairdresser's place. I wanted my mom to come visit me so she could see for herself that I am okay. She worries too much about me. I haven't called her to tell her I'm sick. What? You think I'm crazy? Don't get me wrong, I know my parents are just concerned, but they forget that I am a middle aged adult that already raised their grandchildren, I'm fine, I'm just sad. Not every day. Just some days. Today. Because I'm sick and I miss my kids. That's what mom's do. They miss their kids and they worry about them.
You know you're sick when your eyes look funny and your nose is all red from blowing. That's me. I could barely drag myself off the couch to walk my dog. I showered at 2 pm. I kept trying to think of funny things to post on my facebook, but the best I could come up with was "Can someone please chop off my head and give it back after you drain it?" Lame. I didn't post it.
The Nyquil gave me a sleep hangover so my head has felt fuzzy all day. I went from Nyquil to Dayquil and now I'm going back to Nyquil. It's too late for Zycam. I have tissues littering the house and my butt hurts from sitting all day.
Okay, I'm done complaining, but, I'm not used to being alone and sick. I needed sympathy. Deep down we are all babies that want someone to take care of us. I can't wait for my mom to get here....
http://obnurse35yrs.files.wordpress.com/2010/05/1afree-clip-art-mothersday-gfairy003b.jpg
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Sundays...
Sundays used to be my favorite day of the week. Sunday has a different feel than any other day of the week. Think about it. Monday, we gear up with dread for working 5 days in a row. Tuesday, we accept it, Wednesday we get hopeful as the weekend approaches, Thursdays can be fun, and because it's almost Friday if you wanted to partake in a little pre-weekend fun, Thursday's a good night to do it: We can justify the hangover, knowing that once we get through Friday we have two days to recover. Saturdays have an excitement attached to them. We go shopping with friends, we piddle around the yard, clean the house....but Sundays, they are different. If you by-pass the whole church thing, you sleep a little later, linger over your coffee longer, read the paper, maybe even watch a football game in your PJs. I almost never take a shower until noon.
These days, Sundays are pretty much the same as any other day of the week. I can hardly tell the difference, except that my friends are more accessible. But, still, I remain true to the feel of Sundays. I try to sleep a little later. I can be more productive on Sundays than any other day of the week, doing laundry, going grocery shopping...getting out of bed. The truth is, I miss Sundays with my ex. I miss morning sex and showering together. I miss him making breakfast for me. I miss watching the NFL pre-show with him as he complained about the Seahawks' loss from the week before. I miss sharing coffee with him while we read the Sunday paper. I believe at some point I will have these and new rituals with someone again, but for now, Sundays are lonely, and try always have plans on Sundays so I don't think about how Sundays used to feel.
The best part of Sundays now, is the lack of guilt I feel if I don't do anything productive at all. I have been known to watch movies all day, but I try not to do this very often because it usually equates to large portions of food being consumed, including chips, cookies and Haagen Daaz Pineapple coconut ice cream.
I still like Sundays, despite the lonliness. I have become comfortable with my own company. Although I miss the old Sunday rituals I used to have, I don't miss them enough to go back. Even though I left my marriage to forge ahead alone in a new city, I am never really alone. I have a dog, and he loves Sundays too, and together, we are making new rituals.
These days, Sundays are pretty much the same as any other day of the week. I can hardly tell the difference, except that my friends are more accessible. But, still, I remain true to the feel of Sundays. I try to sleep a little later. I can be more productive on Sundays than any other day of the week, doing laundry, going grocery shopping...getting out of bed. The truth is, I miss Sundays with my ex. I miss morning sex and showering together. I miss him making breakfast for me. I miss watching the NFL pre-show with him as he complained about the Seahawks' loss from the week before. I miss sharing coffee with him while we read the Sunday paper. I believe at some point I will have these and new rituals with someone again, but for now, Sundays are lonely, and try always have plans on Sundays so I don't think about how Sundays used to feel.
The best part of Sundays now, is the lack of guilt I feel if I don't do anything productive at all. I have been known to watch movies all day, but I try not to do this very often because it usually equates to large portions of food being consumed, including chips, cookies and Haagen Daaz Pineapple coconut ice cream.
I still like Sundays, despite the lonliness. I have become comfortable with my own company. Although I miss the old Sunday rituals I used to have, I don't miss them enough to go back. Even though I left my marriage to forge ahead alone in a new city, I am never really alone. I have a dog, and he loves Sundays too, and together, we are making new rituals.
How Do You Know its Okay?
I am viewing myself as "non-relationship material" at this time. It's not that I don't want a relationship again in the future, but at this moment, the timing is not now. I wouldn't mind having a few dates here and there, but nothing serious. However, even that seems like a fantasy because I haven't even had the opportunity to turn anyone down. What an ego buster. I have been out on the town with girlfriends but I am so confused as to how the game is played nowadays. One of my friends told me I need a relationship coach. What the hell is a relationship coach? I am concerned that I will go back to ingrained, lifelong habits of behavior when it comes to men. I should be concerned, one of the reasons I left, was I couldn't stand up for myself in my marriage to change the old pattern of behavior. I had to leave in order to change. I was married a long time. I started dating him when I was 17. I didn't know myself and patterned myself after what he wanted. I would say I had, and still do have...."Daddy Issues". It explains a lot, but this is another blog all together.
Last night I went out with friends. I had a terrible time, well maybe not terrible, but awkward. I felt so uncomfortable in a club setting where it was a mostly single crowd, mingling and eyeballing each other from across the room. I can't even figure out what to do with my arms to adjust my body language to look open and inviting, let alone figure out what to wear that says "Classy not trashy." When I shop for clothes now, I find myself bewildered at what to buy for night out on the town. I've always felt pretty confident, but last night knocked my confidence level down a notch. I hate the term "Cougar". It seems so....desperate and horrible at all once. Yet, the clubs are filled with women, "my age", cougars, with that wild, desperate look in their eyes of trying to 'catch' a man. Ugh...
You can't really talk to someone because the music is so loud and by the time most of the men work up the courage to come talk to you, they are hammered. It's a great study in human behavior. When I wasn't shivering my ass off huddled under a heat lamp, I was busy thwarting the attempts of horny middle age men trying to "charm" me with their slurring, alcohol scented lines of the night. I was actually proposed to by a short, bald, Middle Eastern guy, who thought by telling me he wasn't into 'trading up', I would be impressed. Yeah, he is going to stick to the mid-size clunker. Truthfully, I don't think he could trade up anyway, unless he was filthy rich and had cancer...Geez...what a way to win a girl over. Another guy, short, and hispanic, leered at me and yelled in my ear, that I was "pretty... for a girl". WTF? Maybe I'm too harsh. I have nothing against race or skin color and truly love darker complected men, but, why is it every man that makes a pass at me is named either 'Juan' or 'Ahmed'? Young men have hit on me, but I'm not sure I want to be someones "older woman" fantasy. I'm not into tutoring. What is the age limit I should set for myself? My friend Stacy says to quit worrying about age and just enjoy the attention and go with it. I get that, but I don't want to have a ton of multiple partners for the sake of having sex and I know I would never even think of settling down with someone who can't remember when Mt. St. Helens blew because they weren't even born yet. On the other hand, I don't want to be with an old man either. I want a man that's not too reliant on Viagra (not that there's anything wrong with that) but also, one that can go a few rounds..you know, not the one that has "one in him" then rolls over and snore the rest of the night. Been there done that.
It's all so confusing. Used to be, you would be concerned about taking someone home to meet the parents...now I worry about taking someone home to meet the kids. My kids are grown and getting married, but I want them to at least like and approve of who I finally decide to introduce to them. I could take a young lover, but I would have to keep him chained up in the bedroom, allowing him out only to play, but I can't introduce him to my kids. I think it's a given that most kids don't want to acknowledge that their parents ever had sex, but if mom was dating a younger man...it would be somewhat obvious, I think.
The best parts of being single are deciding you can eat popcorn for breakfast, ice cream for dinner, or go day drinking on a Sunday and not feel guilty. I want the man that lets me do all that and still be okay with going to his own place to sleep in his own bed. I am not ready to 'sleep' in the same bed with someone again, but having arms hold me close, kissing, in that slow, langourous, way that turns hungry and needy, God, that I miss. That, I want again.
How will I know when it's okay to date again? I think you never make the decision. I think the decision is made for you. It just happens when you meet someone and the chemistry clicks, whether it is just sexual energy or soul mate material. I need to let go and not think about it. Meanwhile, I think I will give up on the club scene for the time being and just live...enjoy the people I'm meeting, and wait for fate, or destiny, or what ever we choose to call it...happen. Well... maybe a relationship coach isn't such a bad idea, after all, I have plenty of time to practice that's for sure.
Last night I went out with friends. I had a terrible time, well maybe not terrible, but awkward. I felt so uncomfortable in a club setting where it was a mostly single crowd, mingling and eyeballing each other from across the room. I can't even figure out what to do with my arms to adjust my body language to look open and inviting, let alone figure out what to wear that says "Classy not trashy." When I shop for clothes now, I find myself bewildered at what to buy for night out on the town. I've always felt pretty confident, but last night knocked my confidence level down a notch. I hate the term "Cougar". It seems so....desperate and horrible at all once. Yet, the clubs are filled with women, "my age", cougars, with that wild, desperate look in their eyes of trying to 'catch' a man. Ugh...
You can't really talk to someone because the music is so loud and by the time most of the men work up the courage to come talk to you, they are hammered. It's a great study in human behavior. When I wasn't shivering my ass off huddled under a heat lamp, I was busy thwarting the attempts of horny middle age men trying to "charm" me with their slurring, alcohol scented lines of the night. I was actually proposed to by a short, bald, Middle Eastern guy, who thought by telling me he wasn't into 'trading up', I would be impressed. Yeah, he is going to stick to the mid-size clunker. Truthfully, I don't think he could trade up anyway, unless he was filthy rich and had cancer...Geez...what a way to win a girl over. Another guy, short, and hispanic, leered at me and yelled in my ear, that I was "pretty... for a girl". WTF? Maybe I'm too harsh. I have nothing against race or skin color and truly love darker complected men, but, why is it every man that makes a pass at me is named either 'Juan' or 'Ahmed'? Young men have hit on me, but I'm not sure I want to be someones "older woman" fantasy. I'm not into tutoring. What is the age limit I should set for myself? My friend Stacy says to quit worrying about age and just enjoy the attention and go with it. I get that, but I don't want to have a ton of multiple partners for the sake of having sex and I know I would never even think of settling down with someone who can't remember when Mt. St. Helens blew because they weren't even born yet. On the other hand, I don't want to be with an old man either. I want a man that's not too reliant on Viagra (not that there's anything wrong with that) but also, one that can go a few rounds..you know, not the one that has "one in him" then rolls over and snore the rest of the night. Been there done that.
It's all so confusing. Used to be, you would be concerned about taking someone home to meet the parents...now I worry about taking someone home to meet the kids. My kids are grown and getting married, but I want them to at least like and approve of who I finally decide to introduce to them. I could take a young lover, but I would have to keep him chained up in the bedroom, allowing him out only to play, but I can't introduce him to my kids. I think it's a given that most kids don't want to acknowledge that their parents ever had sex, but if mom was dating a younger man...it would be somewhat obvious, I think.
The best parts of being single are deciding you can eat popcorn for breakfast, ice cream for dinner, or go day drinking on a Sunday and not feel guilty. I want the man that lets me do all that and still be okay with going to his own place to sleep in his own bed. I am not ready to 'sleep' in the same bed with someone again, but having arms hold me close, kissing, in that slow, langourous, way that turns hungry and needy, God, that I miss. That, I want again.
How will I know when it's okay to date again? I think you never make the decision. I think the decision is made for you. It just happens when you meet someone and the chemistry clicks, whether it is just sexual energy or soul mate material. I need to let go and not think about it. Meanwhile, I think I will give up on the club scene for the time being and just live...enjoy the people I'm meeting, and wait for fate, or destiny, or what ever we choose to call it...happen. Well... maybe a relationship coach isn't such a bad idea, after all, I have plenty of time to practice that's for sure.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Coffee Shops
When you are bored, you do weird things. I used to be able to accomplish so much and then I stopped working and now I can't get anything done. I have all the time in the world to do things now, but am finding out that I can be extremely lazy. Either that or I am more depressed than I realized. I finally got out of the house at 2pm today, visited 3 more salons, dropped off more resumes, and went back to a salon I applied to earlier to find out if they had filled the position. I filled out the paperwork for the transcript requests I needed for ASU, then went to a coffee shop to people-watch and write. It's 'Pay it Forward' day so I tried to figure out a way to do just that. These things in themselves are not too weird, but in the middle of all this activity, I realized my shoulders ached from yoga a few nights ago. (My ex used to be a massage therapist and was good about giving massages...and now that I am living alone, I don't get that free service anymore) I remembered a few months back I had bought a back massager from Brookstone. And, NO, it wasn't a vibrator, it really was a back massager. It's too big for a vibrator. I realized I was too uncomfortable sitting in that chair at the coffee shop, and since I had all the time in the world...I actually drove back to my place to dig it out and massage my shoulders. After about ten minutes of relief, I went back to the coffee shop. And here I sit. Looking at a group of young girls in school uniforms flirt with the barista, while I type. I know, weird.
I find Phoenix to be a really interesting place. If you ask single 30 somethings what they think of Phoenix, they will tell you it's the worst place to be single. It really is a divided place. It is so sprawled out and huge. I'm finally learning where places are and names of all the major roads. I live, in the downtown area. When I was looking for a place, I wanted urban living. Phoenix downtown is unlike any downtown I've ever been to. After a certain time, it is dead....or so it appears. The business people go home to the suburbs and the hipsters come out. There are new resturants and bars opening every week. the people I've met and connected with are educated, smart and community oriented. They also pretty much hate the Scottsdale area. Maybe it is the stereotype of what it represents. I understand it now, but at first I was confused. I moved here from Washington and lived in a small conservative community, with friends and family in the Seattle area. Where I come from, the South Hill is our Scottsdale. In Western Washington, it's Bellevue. I wanted urban, because in my town, I was the version of a "Scottsdale Wife" on a much smaller scale, of course. But I get it. I am adapting to this lifestyle in weird ways. I let my hair be loose and wavy more often, I wear less makeup, I dress....well, I'm not sure, because I still like my expensive shoes, but I feel like I'm somehow, different...more urban. I probably have too much time on my hands to think about this stuff.
My daughter told me I should go to the local "Coffee Stand" and apply for a job until a position in a salon opens up for me. I told her drive through coffee stands don't really exist here in Phoenix. There are a ton of boutique coffee shops where people spend time. Starbucks isn't considered a very "hipster" place to hang, it being so corporate and all. If you're from Phoenix, no one hangs at a Starbucks, but if you're from Scottsdale it's okay. Crazy. I'm not going to apply for a job at a coffee shop, because as 'downtown urban', community oriented as I'm trying to be, I can't quite make the hipster scene work for me to the degree of "hippie chic." I will, however, experiment with different looks that bear in mind "aging gracefully" and still appear cool and not old. It's all in attitude.
I will keep pounding the pavement, looking for a cool place to work, believing the right position will open up for me. One that is a different atmosphere than I'm used to. One that makes me stretch my boundaries and open my mind to different experiences. I'm much more open to change than I used to be.
In the meantime, I will continue to be my own brand of weirdness...saying and doing the unexpected, living fully in the moment. I changed my attitude today by being open to it. I went from sad to glad, all it took was a back massager and a hip little coffee shop. Maybe next time I should see how the vibrator works on attitude....
I find Phoenix to be a really interesting place. If you ask single 30 somethings what they think of Phoenix, they will tell you it's the worst place to be single. It really is a divided place. It is so sprawled out and huge. I'm finally learning where places are and names of all the major roads. I live, in the downtown area. When I was looking for a place, I wanted urban living. Phoenix downtown is unlike any downtown I've ever been to. After a certain time, it is dead....or so it appears. The business people go home to the suburbs and the hipsters come out. There are new resturants and bars opening every week. the people I've met and connected with are educated, smart and community oriented. They also pretty much hate the Scottsdale area. Maybe it is the stereotype of what it represents. I understand it now, but at first I was confused. I moved here from Washington and lived in a small conservative community, with friends and family in the Seattle area. Where I come from, the South Hill is our Scottsdale. In Western Washington, it's Bellevue. I wanted urban, because in my town, I was the version of a "Scottsdale Wife" on a much smaller scale, of course. But I get it. I am adapting to this lifestyle in weird ways. I let my hair be loose and wavy more often, I wear less makeup, I dress....well, I'm not sure, because I still like my expensive shoes, but I feel like I'm somehow, different...more urban. I probably have too much time on my hands to think about this stuff.
My daughter told me I should go to the local "Coffee Stand" and apply for a job until a position in a salon opens up for me. I told her drive through coffee stands don't really exist here in Phoenix. There are a ton of boutique coffee shops where people spend time. Starbucks isn't considered a very "hipster" place to hang, it being so corporate and all. If you're from Phoenix, no one hangs at a Starbucks, but if you're from Scottsdale it's okay. Crazy. I'm not going to apply for a job at a coffee shop, because as 'downtown urban', community oriented as I'm trying to be, I can't quite make the hipster scene work for me to the degree of "hippie chic." I will, however, experiment with different looks that bear in mind "aging gracefully" and still appear cool and not old. It's all in attitude.
I will keep pounding the pavement, looking for a cool place to work, believing the right position will open up for me. One that is a different atmosphere than I'm used to. One that makes me stretch my boundaries and open my mind to different experiences. I'm much more open to change than I used to be.
In the meantime, I will continue to be my own brand of weirdness...saying and doing the unexpected, living fully in the moment. I changed my attitude today by being open to it. I went from sad to glad, all it took was a back massager and a hip little coffee shop. Maybe next time I should see how the vibrator works on attitude....
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