The title alone would likely draw all kinds of traffic, if I didn’t have search engines blocked. Not that I want traffic. I write for myself, blah blah blah.
I’ve got these thoughts swirling about in my mind that I’ve never had the courage nor taken the time to ponder very deeply, let alone put to paper. But I think it’s time. I’m not sure how cohesive it will be, but I’m going to give it a shot.
…why I don’t like …
I don’t like to give or receive oral sex. In general. Or at least not much. Maybe if the moon is waxing gibbous and the planets are aligned just right. It’s been a matter of contention throughout the better part of my sexually active life. Why is this so? Simple. It’s because of negative associations that are embedded in the memories of predatorial coercive experiences from my youth. It’s very difficult to release such associations, and it’s not particularly easy to talk about them. Why would I want to talk about them, anyway? Avoidance is so much easier. Just don’t go there. I don’t want to think about icky things that happened long ago.
…keeping numbers low…
I, as a human, am a sexual being. I, as a hot blooded Aries woman of Asian and Scandinavian descent, am a sexual being. I yearn for connection, for a fullness that is hard to describe. And I don’t yearn for variety. Dear God, no. I don’t get that, about people. Wondering what it would be like with this one, that one, or the other one. As if people are flavors of ice cream to try. I find it gross. Icky. There are many icky connotations when it comes to me and the ideas that are trapped in my mind revolving around sexuality. So sex as a sport, sex as recreation, are icky to me. I’m so not interested. Ick, icky, pfthtft, blech.
I have no interest in the dating scene. I’ve been terrified of it all along, from the very beginning when I found myself adult and single. Because, as far as I could tell, dating meant having sex with various people. It shouldn’t mean that, but somehow I ended up harboring that interpretation. Maybe because when I was young, it seemed that the male prime directive was to get laid, not married. They wanted to play the field. I wanted to settle down.
I don’t want to go on exposing myself to others in the pursuit of Mister Right For Me. Enough is enough. I want to keep my numbers low. Or as low as possible. There is too much at stake, with such frivolity. Not just physical, with the risk of disease, but the emotional toll is steep. And I’ve never been frivolous, really. Serially monogamous, as they say. But I suppose it’s all relative. I suppose I could be considered a trollop in some circles. Because my numbers… My number is 13, I think. (I don’t really want to count any more. I think it’s 13.) Anyway. In my own estimation, I have not been frivolous. I’ve only ever wanted to be with just one.
…in an ideal world, there would have only ever been one…
My number would have been low, in an ideal world. My number would have been one. I would have settled in to life with my person, and we would have learned each other, grown with each other, and built a life together.
I know people, my age, whose number is one. I applaud them. It’s hard to fathom how they were able to manage it.
…letting go…
It’s not an ideal world. I have my issues that constrain the relationships I find myself in. I have a yearning, a hunger, an ache to let everything go and immerse myself in the moment. I want to release all the constraints and let them flow away so that I can breathe and move and honor each sensation that my body can feel. How much of this depends on another? How much of this depends only on me? Has anyone ever truly let go with me? Have I ever truly let go with anyone?
…ripped off…
For so much of my adult life I’ve felt like I’ve been ripped off, sexually. Negative associations aside, I still have a hunger for intimacy. The man I married was more interested in who-knows-what-until-3 am than going to bed at a reasonable hour and enjoying some midnight magic with his wife. I literally had to ask him for a deposit when I thought I was ovulating, and that was pretty much the sum of it. A deposit. Pathetic. But I do have two wonderful children now, so it wasn’t for naught. And therefore it was worth it. Worth every miserable minute.
I suppose that most of the feelings of ripped offedness (I don’t care if that’s not a word, I’m using it anyway) stem from the marriage. He probably felt ripped off too, because I wasn’t into giving blow jobs. That, and he favors big booty and little bustage, and my endowments are exactly the opposite.
It was a chapter. I’m glad it’s over.
…surrender…
There is something to be said about surrender. When you carry the weight of your world on your shoulders, the burden is heavy. How can you let it go? It takes a certain level of trust to be able to let go, to surrender. Such moments, however fleeting, are sweet and glorious. Like honey, smooth and amber, flowing gently, covering everything with a soothing glow.
…mid life…
I’m no longer young. These thoughts and feelings have been with me for most of my life. When better to address them, if not now? I could rue the waste of years and moments that could have been spent loving more fully, or I could gird up and say it’s better late than never. So now is a good time to address these things. Or at least try. I’m on a journey inward, looking for myself. Finding myself. Revealing myself. Unearthing myself. Discovering myself. Healing myself. I must. Because life beckons. And I want to live.
…morality, what is it?…
The question of morality has quite an impact on thoughts and feelings revolving around sexuality. What is morality? It seems to vary from person to person, and it seems often to be steeped in religious background or upbringing. What is it to me?
Is it immoral to go through life, one partner after another, in a seemingly endless quest for ‘The One’? I would generally say no. That is, unless the partners overlap against their will. In which case it’s unkind and unfair to the unknowing partner. In other words, unfaithful. Not good. Not good at all.
Is it immoral to have sex outside of marriage? I’m thinking along the lines of damage control, rather than religion. Generally, religion provides rules, guidelines and boundaries designed for our safety. Not that the intent is never butchered and what results is a far cry from any of that. The intent of religion is noble. The execution thereof, not so much. So I think in terms of damage control. Sex is personal, intimate and emotional. It just is. Well, maybe not to testosterone crazed men. I’m not a man. I speak only as a hot blooded Aries woman of Asian and Scandinavian descent. For me, sex is personal, intimate, and emotional. To share it with another means sharing intimacy and emotion with another. It opens a channel of vulnerability. It seems best, logical even, to keep the impact minimal. Keep the numbers low. In an ideal world, my number would have been only one, and I would be married. But that’s not my world.
Is it immoral to take one’s sexual needs into one’s own hands? I had a friend who once said, “Better to cast your seed into the belly of a whore than spill it on the ground.” I’m surprised at myself that I would actually remember a statement, verbatim. I generally only remember nebulously, without the clarity of detail. Yet I remember that particular statement. Distinctly. Probably because I wholeheartedly disagree. One, because the attitude propagates a profession that is demeaning to humanity, and two because in so doing, more than one person is involved, hence the possibility of hurt or anguish is amplified. Masturbation makes complete logical sense. Nobody is hurt, nobody else’s emotions are involved, no diseases are spread, and a physical need is addressed. It’s merely taking care of business. There is a physical need, a tension that grows and can lead to distraction. Best to nip it in the bud rather than let it lead to something destructive.
That said, I sort of struggle with my Catholic upbringing and the sense of shame associated with such unmentionables. Masturbation. It’s hard to even voice the word in thought, let alone write it down. Religious upbringing aside, it still makes logical sense to me, so truly, at the end of the day, I have no problem with it.
…loving…
I think about loving. About making love. I imagine two people, fully immersed in each other. Skin on skin. Touching. Tasting. Nibbling. Fingers gliding gently and slowly along curves of limbs. Bodies tangled up in each other. Breathing each other’s air. Feeling everything. Every point of contact a distinct sensation. I imagine drifting off to sleep in the warmth of each other’s presence, waking, but only barely, and moving again with each other, tangled up again in semi-consciousness. Loving each other in waves. Surrendering completely to each other. Falling asleep in peace. Comfort. Safety. Waking up in harmony. Warm.
Smooth.
Honey.
Love.
Is such a thing possible? If I can imagine it, it must be so. It must.
…running out of steam…
As is so often the case with me, all these thoughts that are milling about, that need to be sorted and pondered and placed, are sketched in outline and I find myself winded, unable to think further or write further. All these important thoughts on the verge of clarity. Lost again in the quagmire of my harried mind. All these words penned, and yet no epiphany.
At least it opens a door for more thoughts to process. At least I’ve mustered the courage to mention the unmentionables, so maybe next time, when I can put some thoughts to form, I just might get somewhere.
But not tonight.
It can’t be all, so it has to be nothing.
I get it.
there I was, peacefully enjoying some ice cream, when...
I knew this day was coming. I just didn’t know when. Or how things would transpire. But I really ought not be surprised. And indeed, I am not. It’s not how I would have liked things to go, but I guess it’s how I knew they would go[1].
I feel numb. Probably it’s not the best time to try to write, in the heat of the moment, as it were. Then again, the heat of the moment is when the emotions are raw, so maybe it is a good time to try to get things out. Perhaps I can go through them later and make more sense of things. Or learn something, at least.
He said that I am selfish and that I am a user. I can’t recall much more than that. My mind sort of goes blank. I remember just looking at him like a deer with it’s eyes caught in the headlights. I couldn’t find words to convey anything that he could hear. Maybe I am selfish. Maybe I am a user. Certainly in his perspective I am, and I’m not going to try to defend myself for another’s hurtful opinion. It’s his opinion. Those are his feelings. They belong to him. Am I selfish? I guess so. Because I chose myself and my kids over him. What he doesn’t understand is that I have to choose myself. For my kids. I don’t know how to balance life with him. The way things were when we first met aren’t a true representation of the me who I need to be. I put that person aside for way too long. It’s unfortunate that he is the one caught in the crossfire, when I finally decide to take a stand for myself. The woman he met two years ago was the woman he wanted me to be, not the woman I am.
I can’t explain that to him in terms that he will understand. I hardly know the woman I am. I want to get to know her, though. Staying in a relationship that is out of balance is unfair to him. He’s waiting for me to be who I am not. I can’t let him do that, because I am who I am. He is who he is. I love him. But we don’t fit.
I hope he finds someone with whom he fits. Someone he can laugh with, cry with, love with and be with. Someone good for him.
[1] …I guess I didn’t know how things would go…
He said he was going to erase me from his life, and indeed, he is. He said he would hate me. He said that nobody has ever hurt him the way that I have, or as much as I have. He said he wanted to go out and “f!#& a bunch of girls”. He didn’t say goodbye. He returned all the gifts I ever gave him (at least those he could find in the last 20 minutes). I didn’t expect that.
So that is how it is.
I’m tired. This day has been coming for some time. I wish it didn’t hurt either of us. But it did. And it does.
I’m very sorry, and I hope that he will forgive me. Not that I want to be forgiven for having the courage to be myself, but forgiven for hurting him along the way.
[2] …words spoken from a place of hurt… i.e., the morning after
“Next time you decide to f&$# someone over, try picking someone who hasn’t already been f&#*ed over.”
“Take all your s$#t and go buy somebody else with it. It doesn’t mean s#!t to me. You can’t buy me.”
(…but I sent him a text message later and said he could come get his stuff if he decided he wanted it… …and it’s (mostly) gone. With the exception of the pictures and cards, which are strewn dramatically and ceremoniously all over the shop floor.)
[3] …the morning after the morning after…
He apologized for the behavior and things said from the place of hurt.
Recently I had dinner with a friend. It was nice to have some grown up time. I sort of feel like I over-talked. It’s such a rare occasion, to spend any one-on-one time with another adult woman. She’s also a relatively new friend. Most of my friends have been friends for decades and we have history together so that when we talk, I don’t feel like I over-share. Or rather, I feel comfortable sharing. I don’t worry too much about over-sharing on my blog(s). I have three of them, so that I can unload to various degrees with each one. This blog is my tried and true, but I’m too cowardly to be completely raw and honest with or about certain things. I have a separate blog for that. I don’t bother with stats, so I don’t know how many people read that drivel. I also have an intermediate blog, which is a bit more anonymous than this one. I had intentions for that one to be a real ‘break through’ venue, in which I actually made some progress with the issues I cycle through. It’s just more of the same drivel, though. If I were brave, I’d just merge the three here, where people who I know In Real Life can either roll their eyes or share their lovely words of friendship, camaraderie and encouragement.
I met this friend while church hopping last year. I call myself a Christian, but I don’t call myself a religious Christian. I struggle sometimes with the social expectations of labeling oneself as a Christian. If you’re a [good] Christian, you should go to church. If you’re a [good] Christian, you should tithe. If you’re a [good] Christian you should marry, stay married, not get divorced, and of course if you are not married, you should not indulge in the lusts of the flesh. Ahem. I’m clearly not a [good] Christian.
walking the line
I tend to be of the mind that all that is my business, and it’s between me and God, and not a matter for a congregation. Maybe part of the struggle I face is that the needles of Catholic guilt are deeply rooted within me. I’m predispositioned to be on guard and feel as though I’m on trial.
There was a time in this rocky relationship when D said (also based on counsel from his church going friends) that God was not blessing our relationship because we weren’t married and we were having sex. Fine, I told him back then. I’ll be supportive of his convictions and abstain. It never lasted, however, and he may try to say it’s because of me, but I’ll maintain that it was not. I think he’s only interested in abstinence if marriage is on the table and the abstinence has a finite [and short] limit. Since marriage is not on the table, the prospect of ongoing abstinence is quickly discarded. I don’t know why I’m even writing about this. There’s not a whole lot of crazy action going on around here anyway.
I suppose it’s because of something my friend said. She’s since tried to assure me that she didn’t mean to be judgmental or religious, and she hopes that she didn’t jeopardize our friendship by saying such. It was just a comment about valuing myself, and honoring myself, and that being physically intimate with someone while unmarried is a disservice to my heart and to my self. I think there was also the bit about sin and going against God’s will sprinkled in there somewhere.
I actually agree with the aspects of valuing and honoring oneself, and respecting oneself enough to make solid and sound boundaries. I also recognize how being casual with one’s holy of holies can certainly be a disservice to one’s heart and very self. The struggle is the marriage bit. It’s been a struggle for most of my life. I’ve wanted to be well married for most of my life, but the opportunity didn’t present itself when I was young, and when my biological clock was thundering loudly, I took matters into my own hands and made a poor marriage decision. Granted, I’ve chosen not to hold any regrets for that decision, because I am blessed to be the mother of two very fine boys. I am, however, counted among the masses of the divorced. Now I have a broken family, and perhaps in an ideal world there would be an opportunity to marry well. I don’t want to just marry. I want to marry well. Or not at all. Therein is my quandary. I am in a relationship. It is rocky. I don’t know where or how it will go, but I don’t see marriage when I look into my crystal ball.
I’m on a path of rediscovery and awakening. I’m working on unearthing myself from where I’ve been buried for most of my adult life. I’m taking care of me, in very small steps. I can’t imagine being a wife, because I can’t imagine a husband. This is all stuff that rips D’s heart, and I can hardly have a conversation with him about it. I don’t want to hurt him. None of this has anything to do with him. I’m not rejecting him. I’m choosing me.
I don’t think that being serially monogamous has been that destructive to my soul. Yes, with each relationship there has been fallout. I’ve had to pick up the pieces of my fragmented heart and patch them back together. Scar tissue is strong, though! This grisly tough battle scarred heart is still beating. Will I become celibate if this relationship ends? Probably. Am I ready to be celibate now? Maybe. If we were happier in this relationship, then definitely not. But we’re not all that happy. So I don’t know. Maybe.
Where does all this leave me now? Sinner or not, I am a child of God. I know that his love for me is greater than my love for my own children. What I am going through are the growing pains of life, and I am making and learning from my mistakes, just as my own children are making and learning from their own mistakes.
be still my bleeding heart
My life has been a road of many twists and turns. The paths I’ve traipsed over the past few years have led me to face some of the most arduous challenges of my life. I’ve made hasty, monumental decisions. I’ve put myself into difficult situations. Backed myself into corners. Wasted time, wasted money, wasted emotions, wasted life itself. I could say, “Hello, my name is Regret.” But I won’t. No, because I’ve been thinking about the wasted time, the wasted money, the wasted emotions.
I’ve been thinking about the ripples. All the ways that lives have changed because of the roads I’ve traversed. Good things come! Good things happen! It’s absolutely concrete. While I could say that I wish I never wasted so much of my life chasing a mythical love, and I might wish I’d never said those two fateful words (“I do”), I have two vibrant and beautiful testaments to the perfection of that journey right before me. Every day I am blessed by the wonder of these two human beings entrusted to my care. And they would not be, had I not walked down that particular path. And since then, for all the painful twists and turns that follow divorce, I can see how other people’s lives have changed for the better, all because our lives intersected at some point along that path. This isn’t to say that I take credit for anything; it’s only to say that providence allowed me to be in a particular place at a particular moment in which I could (and did) do something that would (and did) help another.
It’s real. It’s tangible. I can name names.
A child in Bali. A village in Cambodia. A single mother with two young children. A battered wife. A young mother with four children. A woman. A family. A man (or two, or three, or seven, not that anyone’s counting). If I even start to dwell on why or how I am here , in this country house so far from the madding crowd, I can turn my thoughts to any one of these people and quiet my anxious heart. I don’t care how much money is gone. I don’t care how many days, months, years have passed. I don’t care how many tears I’ve cried. Lives have changed! Even one of these would be well worth any of the suffering I’ve put myself through. I won’t dwell on the pain. I won’t entertain regret.
True, I’ve been losing myself all along the way, bit by bit, so that I don’t even recognize myself any more. I do wish I’d been vigilant from the start and given my self greater care. I’m recognizing this now, and slowly but surely I am taking steps to restore myself to my self. I’m going through the fire. The refiner’s fire. I’m going to be shiny and bright, when I get back to me.
Hello, my name is Hope.
I’m glad for this journey.
I wonder at what point in my life I became a be-yotch. My boyfriend says that I am. (Sometimes.) I generally don’t think of myself in those terms, but I was looking through pictures of myself recently, and the face looking back at me doesn’t look all that nice. I’m not quite sure how I’d describe her. She doesn’t look very happy. The smile doesn’t look very convincing. If there’s a smile at all, that is. I scrolled through my Facebook pictures, months, years back, looking for a reflection of happiness. There are some photos where I’m snuggling with my kiddos. Those photos show the me that I think I am. So many photos I thought were pretty when I posted them now look empty and frayed.
He often says that I’m mean to him. It always baffles me that he feels that way. He says that I should be nicer. Again, I’m baffled. Well, maybe not so much. I’m finding myself once again at a distance, behind a safety wall that continues to grow. So I suppose it’s not a stretch to say that I should be nicer. I would very likely be nicer if I weren’t hiding behind that wall.
I would like to figure out how to stand tall with no walls. To move about freely. This is who I am. I am standing here, in this space, right now. This is where I am. I can be here.
Ugh. I’m so exhausting!
I had a dream last night in which I was single, and was attending some sort of work-related social function. It may have just been a lunch break. I was seated at a round table with two guys. We are all professionals, but I’m not sure their respective fields, but they are friends. One guy is doing most of the talking. We are having some sort of conversation, but he is doing most of the talking. He’s very smart (or at least he talks a good game), and he’s not bad looking either. We’re wrapping things up, and I say to him, “You’re smart. You’re young. You’re cute. I like you.” I thought I was complimenting him and letting him know I’d be interested in seeing him again. I followed it up with, “Normally I’m not so direct and so succinct, but I’ve got so much to do and have to be going…” …his response took me by complete surprise. He was offended and said that the way I spoke to him was abusive. I was remorseful for my abruptness. The thoughts that spun through my mind were along the lines of regret that what I said had ruined any chances I might have had for a future with that guy.
Crazy.
Now that I write it out, clearly it’s a rehash of my boyfriend’s sentiments. And mine too, I suppose.
You asked me if I wanted you to stay or if I wanted you to go. I told you that I don’t like it when you give me ultimatums. Where is the ultimatum in that, you asked. It’s in the mere fact that you asked a leading question with only one acceptable answer. Rather than just enjoy the fact that you are were here. If you’re here, you’re here. Why would I ask you to go.
You asked me if I was willing to do whatever it takes to keep this relationship alive. I answered, “probably not”. I answered that because I don’t know what you mean by “whatever it takes”. No, I’m not willing to do whatever it takes. If it means slitting my wrists, no, I’m not willing. If it means compromising my relationship with my kids, no, I’m not willing. It’s an absolute question to which the only answer I can give that won’t be untruthful is “probably not”. It doesn’t mean that I won’t do anything. I have done SO MUCH. Do you even know? But that was then and this is now. And you said that was enough of an answer for you. And off you went. Again.
I can’t even count how many times you’ve walked out my door. How many times you’ve hung up on me. How many times you’ve lied to me. Yes, I know you’ve lied to me. Maybe not so many times that I can’t count them, but you have lied. You speak of how much I hurt you, and I don’t think you have even a remote idea of the hurt I feel and have felt. Nor do I want you to know. That’s more than enough for one person. I sense the pain you feel, and I have my own pain too. It’s always magnified.
I wish you understood me. You speak of partnership, and you see my unwillingness to go where you are, but it seems that you don’t see your own unwillingness to go where I am. I told you where I have to be. I am standing where I have to be. I am a mother. My children are demanding and I am trying to do my best to raise them well. It doesn’t mean that I think you’re not good enough for me, for us. It doesn’t mean that I reject you. It simply means that I choose them. I have to choose them. There. Is. No. Other. Choice.
Do you hear me? They are demanding. DEMANDING. The stamina required of me to maintain composure and remain firm and kind and loving and gentle and solid and good and strong takes nearly every bit of will that I have. I am weary. I am ragged. But this is my prime responsibility and this is what I must do.
This doesn’t mean that I don’t love you, that I don’t value you, that I don’t see your worth. It just means that I have absolutely no idea how to balance life with a relationship, children and work. I can barely, barely manage to hold it all together with just children and work.
What you need and want and require in a relationship I cannot give. I am sorry.
I don’t know what else to say.
I am sorry.
What do I need? I need a friend. A shoulder to cry on. Someone who’s interested in how my day went. Someone who’s content in knowing that I’m a friend, that I have a shoulder for them to cry on, and I’m interested in how their day went.
You’ve been distancing yourself from me for some time now. Do you think I didn’t know this or feel this? Of course I did. You said you were doing this to prepare yourself to break up with me, because this relationship isn’t working for you.
So now you’ve said it. And now you may go.
I wish you well.
You posted a quote on your Facebook wall this morning:
Watching you walk out of my life hasn’t made me bitter or cynical about love, but rather, it has shown me that if I wanted so badly to be with the wrong person, how beautiful it will be when the right one comes along.
I read it and thought, yes, how beautiful it will be for you when the right one does come along. Because I am not the right one, as much as you think that I am. And I think that somewhere deep down in your heart, you know it too.
Is this the last goodbye? I don’t know. I’m not going anywhere. I am here with my kids. This is where I will be.
If you ever need a friend, or a shoulder to cry on, or someone who’s interested in how your day went, give me a call.
I am happy to bid adieu to 2012. I would say that 2012 took me for a ride, but it would be more honest to say that I let 2012 take me for a ride. I could call it the ride of a lifetime. Woohoo! Put a bright spin on it. A ride indeed. I think I may have experienced some of the highest highs and the lowest lows of my life in good ‘ole 2012.
It’s all good, really. My life is full. My children are happy and healthy. We have a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, food in our bellies, and warm beds to sleep in.
There is beauty and wisdom in all things, no matter the circumstance. It just takes a certain perspective to be able to see it.
I won’t say that losing one’s children to the slaughter of a mad man has any beauty in it, but the shock and the horror force (some of) us to take note of our family circles, be more vigilant, hold our children more, and be more grateful for every little moment, and embrace it all. Even when we’re at our wits end and drowning in frustration. All these things are trifles. I want to drink it all in. Treasure. Every. Moment.
The time that the children are children is fleeting. I blinked my eyes and see so many of my nieces and nephews and my friends’ children are already grown. Grown! Where did the years go?
My hair is turning (more) gray. My skin is starting to show its wear.
Professionally, I did well in 2012. I had some lofty goals and I had actually admitted defeat to myself as well as my boss that it was unlikely that I’d be able to finish the super project before the end of the work year. I pressed on, and somehow (by the grace of God and the skin of my teeth) I did it! I felt like a superstar, and it was a great sense of accomplishment. I don’t think it really mattered much to anyone but me, that I finished by the deadline, but it did matter to me, and I was/am pleased with myself –pauses to pat self on back. I suppose I ought to acknowledge that being a superstar for a moment barely compensates for all the days that my performance was distracted and disjointed from the emotional fray that I was buried in for the better part of the year.
Spiritually I’ve had some growth in 2012. Not the sort of growth that a mainstream Christian might acknowledge or agree with, but I’ve learned some things and for that I’m grateful. I thought that I wanted to settle into a church family, but realize that I’m truly not drawn that way. I love the people, I love the worship. But I belong to a church that is not made with hands, and that church is my home, wherever I am. I don’t hunger for the company of a congregation, and I’m secure in the knowledge that I am a child of God.
This year has been a rough ride for me emotionally. I’ve endured much. I’ve made my loved ones endure much. I tried so very hard to do more than I am able to do. Like that image of a circus performer spinning plate after plate after plate. I had so many plates spinning, but I just couldn’t keep it up, and they all came crashing down. Lord, how I tried. I gave it a good shot, though!
Physically, the twists and turns and ups and downs have taken their toll. Whereas I’ve maintained my weight for most of the year, the past few months have seen a dramatic change in overall physical well-being. From the moment that I made the decision to re-find myself, I’ve put on weight and my blood sugar has climbed. Something’s got to give, I suppose. I’m trying not to panic. I’m attempting to take it in stride and breathe deeply, knowing that things will settle once I get a stronger grip on the emotional side of my life.
So where am I now? I don’t really know. In transition, I suppose. I’m not settled. I’m not where I want to be. But I’m changing and standing faithfully where I need to stand. I tell myself not to be afraid. I tell myself that everything will be okay. And it is.
adieu 2012
crazy
He says nobody makes him more crazy than I do. I’m just being me, and not conforming to the version of me he wants or needs me to be. He’s out there, alone in a house, by himself, without me by his side. He’s aching. He’s lonely. He can’t stand to be alone. It makes him crazy. It baffles him that I don’t understand how he feels (he thinks I don’t understand). It rips his heart up to know that I’m not going crazy with loneliness and separation. He may think that I love him less because I’m not missing him. But I’m going crazy on my own over here. My own version of crazy.
He has only himself to keep up with. When his work day is done, he can rest. I have children to care for. Every aspect of their precious little lives is critical to me, and right now, their emotional health is even more so. I remember being four and feeling like I was in the way. I remember being eight and feeling like I couldn’t do anything right. I remember, and those feelings, whether valid or not, contributed to the adult I became, and all of the emotional struggles I’ve dealt with along the way. I find myself starved for time, racing through each day trying to scrounge up enough to give them at least a little attention, trying to lovingly direct them and instruct them when they’re bouncing off the walls and the furniture. Literally. They are boisterous little boys, and it’s their unbridled joy at simply being that compels them to jump on the furniture and play and have fun. While I want them to respect property, I want to somehow teach them without squelching or scarring them. God grant me the wisdom and patience to do this. Truth be told, though, inside I rejoice that my boys exhibit such glee. In my heart I say, “GO AHEAD! Jump! Play! Laugh! Rejoice!” (Please don’t hurt yourselves or anything, and please be respectful of others’ things, but don’t stop rejoicing, my beautiful little boys.)
loves of my life
I am exhausted. It takes a great deal of time and energy to lovingly, patiently and kindly see to it that the teeth get brushed, the clothes get changed, the schoolwork gets done, and the bodies get clean. Life with my kids is my priority right now. They need me. I need them. I absolutely need to take this time for them and with them. I need this for them. I need this for me.
It doesn’t mean I love him less than I did before. It only means that I recognize now that far too often in the past year I’ve shuffled them aside in my endeavor to be a couple, and that is something that I should never have allowed myself to do, and something that I want to ensure does not happen again.
I’m going my own kind of crazy, wondering when and how I will ever have a little time to myself so that I can at least try to collect my thoughts and calm the storm that is raging in my head.
All around me, the people I love are struggling. I see my niece and nephew, teenagers without a dad. I had a dad, but he wasn’t there for me, and when I was a teenager, I especially needed the love, support, affirmation, and validation of a dad. My niece and nephew don’t have a dad, because their dad was my brother, and my brother is gone. Who do they have in their season of need? Who do they have to help them navigate these teenage years?
I get so caught up in my own world that I don’t even notice this struggle they have, yet, if I take a moment to be there for them, to be with them, I see their need. My heart weeps for the gaping void that is the absence of my brother, their father, their dad. They need a dad.
And what of my own children? Their dad is not present, and is lost in his own reality that I simply cannot comprehend. My love is there to be a dad for them. My beautiful man. We are a heavy load, and stepping into a broken family, trying to pull the pieces together amidst the insanity that is our situation is overwhelming. Navigating the emotions and perceptions and differences in opinion is so very difficult. Sometimes it seems like it’s too hard and too painful to try to continue, but if we can step back and take a deep breath for a moment, we might see the rainbow and the sunshine and realize that we are strong enough to prevail, and that love will find a way.
All around me, the people I love are struggling. I see families in which the parents are exhausted and consumed by the demands of very young children coupled with the demands of making a living and staying afloat, simply trying to make ends meet. Thresholds are short, emotions flare. The love is there, somewhere, but it’s nigh on impossible to carve out together time in which to nourish and replenish and edify one another. Who do they have besides each other in their season of need? Where can they draw strength to navigate these toddler years?
I get so caught up in my own world that I overlook this struggle they have, yet, if I take a moment to step out of my own chaos, I see their need. My heart weeps for the growing void in their marriage. They need rest.
We gather together, each of us holding our own expectations for this family time, each of us hoping we will be nourished and that this time will help draw us out of the dark places where we find ourselves stuck. And if we don’t get out of our own heads to see the struggles all around us, we are quickly overwhelmed and nearly crushed with despair. But if we do find a way to look beyond our own suffering, to see that we aren’t alone, we can put our own troubles into perspective, and suddenly they don’t loom so large.
When we do this, and talk with each other, we reminisce about the good times when we’d gather. We were younger, the collective stress seemed smaller, or at least different. We laughed and sang and played and ate and painted and played and sang and laughed and ate. We had so much fun. Life for all of us is different now, but we try to step away for at least a moment, and stay up late to play board games, allowing the kids to mill around us, trying to recapture at least a glimpse of the way things used to be.
