Tag: #sortingthroughemotions

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Keep going…. into the fire…

I woke up this morning feeling closer to the ground I want to stand on with my ex-husband. This is what happens when you dig into the wound. When you hunt around for the splinters even as you wince and wonder if you just let the skin grow over it they won’t just stay mildly uncomfortable forever, but at least you won’t have to suffer this intensely.

He is not a threat, these feelings that rise are the threat. The threat here is the pain from still wanting to be seen favorably by him. I can still see his face that day he asked me to marry him. I can still picture the day we held our son for the first time. He knew a little girl me, that no one else in my life now knows anymore. He has pieces of my story no one else ever will. And the tears come. My divorce still hurts. And it isn’t supposed to right ?! I’m gay, and I’ve moved forward. But I can’t ever get back those firsts with that man, they are embedded in my story forever. And I choose whether they are splinters, or protective layers I honor because they are part of me. I don’t want them to be splinters anymore. He wasn’t a mistake, and I wasn’t either, and our children are amazing. We still made them, no matter how much I move forward that’s still a truth.

I still want to be seen favorably as we all long for. I want to be seen for my best parts, as we all do, but I think lacking a core family perhaps makes this a more desperate need in me. I wanted to move forward and keep my home base. Was this really so wrong ? If you had seen my whole life would you really fault me for this? And he saw it as no one else did, and has blocked those parts, because to continue to see me favorably only prevents him from moving forward.

Human beings have to tell a story they can live with to be able to move forward. Otherwise it’s nearly unbearable, especially for the deeply feeling. A gift from my life is that I always chose good people. I had seen so many bad, that this was a priority. So each time I held on tightly and then realized I still had places I needed to go, I internalized all that responsibility for the hurt. I was the bad guy I never wanted to be, rather than someone who wanted a safe home base and to also explore the world. The problem was my only model for a safe home base was in romantic partnership. I had my wires crossed. How else was I supposed to obtain that intense closeness I always yearned for. I wanted stability, but I couldn’t be stable.

That is the code I cracked for this relationship. Through being a counselor I heal right along with my clients. I found a self that was safe in herself, finally, what I had been desperately seeking. Along my way here people thought it was them I was wanting and needing. That must have felt intoxicating. To be so needed by another. Of course I was charming, that always was my true self, but I couldn’t maintain it if it wasn’t real. If it was a self I was trying on, but couldn’t keep. Because I would get scared and lost again, and then move quickly forward leaving my feelings, and my ex partners to wonder what happened,

Except now I could explain this whole thing, and have tried, but by now their own work keeps them needing a boundary against me, and what I have to learn is that we did have meaningful time, that wasn’t just erased by the ending. The whole story isn’t ruined by the ending. I truly believe that.

Can’t they forgive me for what I didn’t know then? Didn’t they know me well enough to see through clear lenses after?

I still love him, that is the problem. I wouldn’t get so hurt if I didn’t. Hate and love are from the same point of origin, they are both love. You have to love someone to hate them.

Not in the way both of us had hoped when we created new lives together. He stays in his feelings. I had to disconnect from mine enough to move forward. Doesn’t mean I don’t have them, doesn’t mean his way is better.

I’ve tried to write him long letters explaining my growth. Each is received first as too long, that is always pointed out. You’re too much Christina, because that’s not a trigger. Because that’s not THE trigger. And then regardless of the truth I have laid out on the page it is ignored.

True feelings and vulnerability were my weapon of choice against so many confusing realities. If I shout my truth out loud I’ll have to live up to it. I’ll force myself to not comfort at the expense of anyone around me. Very few of us are always our best selves are we ?! Did I somehow miss this mark other people are capable of? Or am I just more honest about it?

The truth is I had such a deficit of comfort that the first half of my life was spent almost solely in that pursuit. I picture myself for a long time, and when I got diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease after fighting so hard for a better life it felt like a death sentence. It cost me a marriage and a partnership again, the dark place I ended up in.

And again all along the way were people shaming me for seeking comfort. My own father sizing me up as “daughter your Facebook posts reflect some frightening mental states lately, not unlike your mother .” If he wasn’t there for much of the journey, completely inexplicably, then I wasn’t going to allow him to add insult to abandonment. Our journey knowing one another ended there, again. Abandoned again, after the warmth of hope had crept in. This has wandered to another blog post.

My conclusion: I won’t get as triggered if I don’t seek, expect, hope, crave, beg for understanding from those who don’t have it to give. For they are at another place in their journey. Perhaps where I was long ago, just needing comfort. He is still hurting and I would persecute him for what? Being mad at me?!

Hate is just love in another costume.

To be continued …..witness my pain and my process, weaving in and out of truth and understanding, sitting with my feelings. I’m not going anywhere this time. As my own parent I won’t abandon me when I’m not my best self. I am my person.

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On Narcissism, Empathy, and the Many Shades of Grey in Between…..

So now I am sitting here thinking about “who is this self so long ago who fell in love with this man, and who was this man for that matter?” And perhaps more importantly what did both of these people need and want? What were they looking for, and how did that translate into finding one another, and believing this would answer their insecurities about where their lives were going.

I recall at one point wanting a Nintendo more than anything. Those shiny controllers with their attractive two red A and B buttons and directional pad. My grandparents would hem and haw about how expensive and unnecessary, and I would be relentless until I got what I wanted. I am still relentless in pursuit of my dreams. Relentless at the expense of others is what those who have been victimized by me cry out. It was easy to believe I was bad or wrong. I always had looked for ways this was true. I remember the very first time that he posted a MySpace status update saying, “so I married a narcissistic lesbian”, to the tune of “so I married an axe murderer”. Might as well have been. I remember already having spent years fearing being a narcissist. I poured over texts on the subject and was my own judge and juror, always finding myself guilty. So realizing I was meant to be with women only solidified those negative beliefs. The proverbial nail in the coffin so to speak.

Here are a couple of my favorite articles on Narcissism and Empathy. It is rarely cut and dried, all or nothing. A relationship between two people is a complicated alchemy full of lots of external factors. All people are capable of light and dark, whichever side presents itself more depends on many factors. Where they just came from, who they have been around, what they want, what they need, how life has touched them up until this point, their belief systems, and on and on. If only we sought to understand for the sake of understanding and not to reduce our discomfort by being able to label something. If only we sought to understand for the growth that it provides, and not to appease the ego. 

They are favorites because they don’t encourage a victim perspective. Why the World Needs Narcissists.

A letter to those who call themselves empaths

I was forged in narcissism. A narcissistic mother. But not someone who was merely selfish, not somewhere on a spectrum, but fully disengaged as a mother. She never became a mom. I spent so much of my life fearing that would be my fate, when I was never disengaged in the same way that she was. I was off in my head often. I still am. I was there trying to make full well sure that I didn’t harm my children in the same way. All the while the very thing I feared creating a self-fulfilling prophecy. To be in my head afraid of the thing took my presence. To focus as hard as I possibly could on the goal of not being something, created so much of what I feared. Crippling self-doubt. Trapped inside my head, one of the only things drawing me out was the security of the joy I was able to find when engaged with another adult. Don’t leave me alone with me I used to think. I could be like her. I could hurt my kids, but if I stayed busy, and active, and around others I felt this was less likely to happen. It made me be outside my head. When I was alone with the kids I felt so anxious in ways I didn’t even understand that I felt like I was distant from them. My assessment of course reflected the harshest possible evaluation. If an another adult was around, particularly a fun one, I could take a deep breath and relax. This represented a safety to me that kept me from causing damage. A damage I only anticipated as a possibility and therefore dreamed it into a very real threat. I was nothing if not adaptive…. and to be successful at adapting one must separate themselves from their feelings enough to observe the best course of action. Hence my lifelong mission to reconnect to my feeling self.

So much shame lies here. By looking at others and thinking that should apply to me, taking for granted the differences in many other areas. 

I remember playing video games on the Nintendo and Super NES system. I really liked Mario brothers and Adventure Island. I remember being very impatient playing these games. Watching my grandma play was like watching paint dry, lol. Watching anyone for that matter. I didn’t want to learn from watching. I wanted to be the one playing always. I ran quickly forward. I wasn’t the type to fully explore for all the secrets and hidden things. I was the type to rush forward and see how fast I could get through a level. I was anything but conservative and careful. I still live like this. It has made for a very interesting life, full of lessons. Clean up on aisle 9! I live life as if I have unlimited lives, just like I did in the video games.

Another thing Martha Beck said in this last video lesson was: Comedy is just pain + time. Once you are far away enough from the situation you can see it with a different clarity that allows you to be able to capture your own truths, as you saw them, and make them into something someone can benefit from in some way.

This is the mission that I am on currently. From the secure space I now occupy in my life humor is a much larger part of my everyday world. I think perhaps when it comes to writing I have an outdated version of myself in my mind. One who takes everything seriously and who isn’t that funny. My wife finds me funny all the time. It’s interesting who you are able to be in the presence who believe in the best possible version of you. And how easily if you don’t fully believe this yourself, someone can pull you back to a place of self-doubt based on their opinion. This is the necessity of the solidly grounded self. This is what I am working on right now, and writing into and through my feelings is my cement, mold, and level.

This process of being so utterly happy and wanting to bring another life into this world as a result, and not being able to get what I want right when I want it, is what has brought me to my knees. It is forcing me to sit still in feelings, to see myself in new ways, and to have an even deeper level of empathy for all of those around me. It is bringing me even closer to myself, uniting all my broken pieces. I am able to truly connect to how those around me feel in a way that is calm, careful, and present. For me this is truly being entirely re-wired. It turns out there is a lot to this wiring stuff. I am beginning to believe we are all capable of a lot more than our experiences in this life lend us to be. As I am able to watch myself become a more whole person, a more kind person, a more attentive one, a wiser one. I know that it is possible.

It’s a complex mixture of having the right amount of support, along with the right amount of accountability. Too much of one, or too little of the other and its a dangerous concoction. I am very enthusiastic to continue to share this journey and everything I am fortunate enough to be able to become aware of, to learn, and to share. 

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Writing the Life Authentic: How to not repeat a pattern, complete with raw example from my own life

*Somewhere in the town of Stamford far removed from family and creature comforts my wife is coping with another possibility of life leaking out of her. Hurting physically and mentally. Here at home I am doing the same. We are both sending one another signals of love and light, they are powerful enough to make it across Countries, so I have faith that they will reach one another and hold us safely these few towns away.

Interesting that our love has such a strong and safe foundation, and that a love that was built on expectations and ideas of dreams yielded three children in a way that felt effortless at the time. It could have been easy to expect that this should be granted us because true love would make us entitled to the gift of children. This is often not how life works.

We all take so many things for granted…

I was brought in a round about way to thinking about childhood me. I want to talk about her, but also what got me here.

In an attempt to not be upset with myself for yet another thing I bit off, but was unable to chew and swallow, I took some time today to watch the next video in my Martha Beck Write into Light course. The material will no longer be available as of October 31st. After all the talk, and the money invested I am determined to finish this thing that I started. So here I am again facing myself down in the mirror, this course demands nothing less. I have learned by now that it is not all or nothing, but rather beginning anew as many times as necessary to keep going. I am grateful I was born with the courage to continue on this process. I don’t believe everyone is so lucky, In fact the more I understand, the more I see my gifts as rare gems in this way.

In fact this is what module 5: Writing a life authentic, is concerned with. In it MB talks about how will power doesn’t work when it comes to change. Funny because the power of my will has often felt like the only thing that kept me going. MB describes how our neural pathways are wired for habit, and something we are used to doing gets deeply entrenched and becomes essentially automatic (myelin sheathing on the neurons) and nearly unstoppable. She describes the only process she has found to be successful at actually creating change to be “light writing”. A process where you observe a pattern and watch yourself like a field researcher, you must be removed enough to not get sucked into the story, so you can actually watch the behaviors. She suggests you write DEEPLY into whatever you are working on. It’s kind of like taking a plain sheet of paper out and brainstorming. For this particular lesson she is teaching about how to not repeat a pattern. She has suggested two things.

One is to take a pattern you do not want to repeat and write it down on a piece of paper. She says it is important that you choose something you yourself deeply want to change, it has to come from a DESPERATE NEED THAT IS YOUR OWN, versus something your mom or partner etc wants you to change. Then take that paper and rip it into many pieces or burn it. Say outloud as you do this, “I invite in a new pattern”. She explains even if it sounds silly the importance of putting a physical aspect to this. She then instrucs you to do one of two things in your exhale. The exhale is the part you brainstorm through and get all your thoughts out. The inhale is the more constructed piece of writing that gives attention to your reader.

So I need to choose to either write a manifesto about leading a revolution to break this pattern. Rally! Have fun with it. …. here is what I will no longer tolerate about this pattern.

Or to write a comedic anectdote, one that is lighthearted. How you did something over and over again, how you can look at it with humor enough to be able to change your behavior.

Something that came to mind was how when my wife and I get stressed out with my ex-husband and some of the petty arguments that we both must engage in to fuel: we think of Buzz Light year and Woody in Toy Story, and say “you’re a sad strange little man, you have my pity”. It has helped us more than once. Now a disclaimer to this is that I do not feel my ex-husband is a bad person, or any less of a father because we get into these tifs. In fact as I chip more and more away at the bedrock of the issue I am able to see both of our disappointment and how deeply that can run that we didn’t get to have the picturesque idea of all these years of our children’s having been shared together. That we both have needed to endure the sharp pain of separation, misunderstandings, and watching our kids be confused or hurt during the process. That we both are being challenged with re-writing a script that we thought we had already worked so hard at. We already risked so much, and carved so much out, to have to begin again and again feels unbearable. It feels wrong, and flawed, and bad, especially according to the rules of society. How deeply ingrained in each of us is it that once you make a committment of a lifetime that it must work that way. Particularly for the conscientiously minded folk such as ourselves.

Neither of us intended things to work as they did. That is one thing that I can say with 100 percent clarity at this point. And keeping us on the same page as far as the pain that comes with divorce is a much healthier way to look at it than one of us a victim and one a perpetrator. At this point in his storyline of events, he is still much more determined to see me as the perp and he the victim, it comes out time and time again. And he ups the bar as he attempts to recruit my ex-partners into those rankings. He has stated as much that he feels people should not be bought and discarded like cheap dollar store toys. He appears unable to see how this is his projection of our relationship not working out, and takes a great deal for granted when it comes to specifics. If he were able to look a little closer at what I had to overcome to achieve healthy relationship perhaps he would understand more. He is right actually that love should not work that way, and boy is it painful when it does. But there is much more than meets the eye here with me and love. There is a lifetime of work, several actually, that I’ve somehow managed to do in one.

And I do promise that you must be up close to truly see. And you must have been able to do your own self work of separating from your ego enough to observe things in such a way so that they can be changed. Otherwise your main fight will be that of how you are perceived by others. One can spend their whole lives in this way. 

But my realization in the here and now is that for me to beg to be seen in a particular way brings me right back to my childhood. A person can only see things from a viewpoint that is reflective from how far they themselves have traveled. To try and ask for them to see further is impossible and will end up frustrating to levels I cannot even begin to tell you. This is possibly one of my greatest sources of pain in this lifetime. And now the gauntlet is thrown for me to not repeat this pattern anymore. My only battle is to see myself through a generous lens. I have borrowed my wife’s for now, and people before her. But I understand as well as anyone by now that when using this model, if you do not please the person seeing you in the way that they are looking for, the generosity expires.

Much like in therapy if you don’t take the lessons that are offered and make them your own, and make them real, bring them outside the office, the magic ends at the end of the appointment and dissipates with the termination of the therapuetic relationship. A therapist lends their generosity of vision, seeing people at their best selves, but the Client themself must learn this way of seeing and apply it. They must seek to understand how the therapist is able to do that with such information to the opposite end. As if the stigma of seeking therapy itself is not cause enough to not be able to do this. So many people with their opinion at the ready to slay a person’s attempt of breaking out of painful patterns with their criticism. And to what end? To be able to stroke the ego. To be able to say “see look I was right”.

To this point with regard to my ex-husband, what would he possibly gain by proving me to be the mother that he believes. If he were able to be right and he could know that I am in fact selfish, and get my kids to believe this. What is the prize here? I see only loss and suffering at that. Immense confusion and pain.  And this is why I must challenge myself to not be a victim either, because what is possibly to gain by believing the father of my children is a bad person, in the name of ego. Wouldn’t it be healthier to believe that his life turned out so differently than he had imagined that he can’t bear to live in a truth that doesn’t back his story, that he has lost the zest he once had from this attachment fracture. Such extreme disappointment that he is lost with how to move forward. And what is someone feeling this way in need of? Certainly not more criticism and turmoil.

Sometimes in life I think we end up fighting so hard for something, when we aren’t even sure anymore what we are hoping to acheive from it. That’s a little scary don’t you think? May I always strive to be aware of the “why”, the reason I want to acheive what I am working hard towards. If I put this template down, would I ever be able to see it as a good thing for my children to see a dark and ugly side of things? This helps me to be truly aware of the power the ego can wield, of how seductive it can be. Come to the dark side it says, we have cookies it says. Of course it would say that to me. I love cookies.

If you’re looking for me I’ll be here resisting cookies and my ego lol. And being honored to be invited into the sacred processes of my client’s world, so that we both may feel less alone.

My blog post on childhood me, will have to wait… or perhaps I’ll post it after this one since I am “on a roll”.

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Frozen in time… just like our donor Sperm

What does an excessively driven/determined person do at a 14 day post intrauterine insemination negative pregnancy test ? Ha say that five times fast.

Did I mention this was the third round overall? Did I mention before we could start it was awaiting the thyroid level each month? I guess we have been at this longer than I realized.

She obsesses of course. Finding every bit of tangible evidence that we still could be pregnant. Some people don’t get their positive until day 18 or so, but that’s probably not with for sure predicting of ovulation like we have with IUI. The clinic said test today and if negative to stop progesterone. Go to Jail, do not pass GO, do not collect $200, you are failing at the game of life. No cute little blue or pink figures to stick gleefully in your car.

And she writes to cope of course.

Except she can barely write because she can barely focus on anything else. Thankfully as a Clinician she is drawn out of her own mind naturally during session and at least has that break.

Ok that’s enough third person. Third, third, third…. no charm here, not today. Stay positive they say. The stork is on the way.

I’m starting to get hard on myself. Christina are you always going to find something to be unhappy about? Three teenagers, two dogs, a career you adore, and healthy and happy love. Am I allowed even to want more? Or to have the emotions I do right now? Therapist says of course you are. Human says don’t you dare, it will hurt too much. You’ll get too caught up in them, and then what.

Don’t get down because stress inhibits pregnancy, don’t drink coffee, don’t have processed sugar, don’t exercise too hard….. Make sure you sleep enough, eat healthy… and my head spins. Hyper focus and it’ll be more likely.

Superstitions abound.

Does this mean we are meant to foster and adopt? Of course I know my wife wants to grow her own baby in her belly. It tears at me when the emotions finally hit and she bursts into tears. I fool myself into thinking I’m the strong one in this scenario. Just because I can hold my emotions hostage with much more command, an ability I never asked for.

I recall being witness to another’s journey of this variety and my well meaning and with little understanding advice at that time. I remember feeling a tad critical of their sharing with me that they couldn’t be around happy pregnant women. And here I am not even able to look at my FB feed because there are just fucking babies everywhere. It hurts doesn’t it? Oops.

It’s only three rounds I try to tell myself. I try for perspective seeing people have to try for years. But we are using science and spending a hell of a lot of money. Guilt. Another rub of not being how “God intended” of course. I don’t even ascribe to that belief and yet by now it attempts to leak in.

Can I ever just be still and happy? Couldn’t we have just honeymooned ? Be enjoying our love? Why do I drive so hard? Why is this so important when often it feels hard to connect with the children I’ve got. Why are we bringing a child into a world like this? Only to struggle and await the many impending disasters? I’m already overwhelmed at the drop of a hat. What am I doing ? And is it the negative result that makes me feel this way? That must be the sadness, frustration, and pain talking.

Because in clearer moments I know exactly my heart and what it wants and deserves. Why do we get so nasty with ourselves, so unfair?

I’ve been sick the past couple of days, and I know that isn’t helping. Sky high irritability, dizziness, and a variety of uncomfortable symptoms. I’m too driven even to be sick. It is just who I am. Do I have to make myself wrong for everything?

Be still Christina. Stay…..

Broken hearts heal…. and you will get your baby. Be patient….. I’ve never been patient. Does this mean this is my fault, and I’ve brought this upon us? Will I always function at a frenzied pace? Is this a fault?

Life brings you to your knees so you are forced to find faith in something. Faith in myself is always the lesson needed.

Stay…..

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Letters to my children

A post on parenting. The perils and celebrations of it all. And the battle against screen time and lost connection with one another.

I wrote a letter to my son this morning. The letter was a product of hearing a hard truth awhile back, the truth that sometimes it feels to him like I’m not listening. That makes sense, because listening is a lot of my job during the day. Being present for other people is what I do. And when I get home I’m fortunate enough to have a clan of people also clambering for my attention. Burden? I think not, but sometimes it comes across like that. This means some work needs to be done.

The particular topic at hand here is if he can have his computer back. He wanted time to talk about it, and I wanted to not do any more therapy for the evening. Clash. We have learned in our home that over-tired is not the time to try for a family meeting. Which sadly for a long time were more like mommy bitch fests. Eeek. That’s a hard one to sit in.

The good news!? If you are brave enough to look at the hard truth at times, and find love and compassion for yourself, then you can do better. I am always trying to do better. Not type A better, but deep seeded repeating of painful patterns and behavior from how I was parented, better. We so easily and unconsciously end up parenting how we were parented. Even with a staunch commitment to doing the opposite. We can even believe because of our intention we are doing different, when inevitably some of those wired in behaviors are happening. This is a whole other post I suppose.

This summer we have been battling screen time (of many varieties) in this home. I noticed that mindless scrolling was leading to poor interactions between one another. That our priorities were all out of whack. Scrolling Instagram and cute videos became our focus. Just another dopamine hit mom please. As bad if not worse as any drug that has ever been made. And the proof is in the behavior particularly when said activity is removed. Suddenly family time felt like an inconvenience too. And that’s when I knew we were in trouble.

Now changing habits such as these are not for the faint of heart. They take constant effort and vigilance and for ourselves the parents to be accountable as well. If you’re thinking with all the demands of life today that that is just too much then you’re normal. But the proof in the theory and the effort is in what happens when you hold to your kids reading rather than binge watching a season of something and see the changes with your own eyes.

I think the saddest part is that originally this change was framed as grounding, as in a punishment. So the kids feel they are being punished. When what really happened was wanting to not go directly back to the terrible habit that made us treat each other so poorly. When the toxin gets entirely out of the system suddenly we returned to our normal selves. We could stop dreaming of perfect abs, mansions, becoming rich and successful just be being noticed, vacations, cute proposals, the list goes on and on.

Escapism. And why would we want to escape our lives? Well for a thousand fears I am sure. We are over worked and under connected in this time and in this place, and I want to change that in our family. If you can’t beat them join em’ is a powerful drug for me though. Always seeking belonging. I want to just emulate what I see in people I feel close to. So if I’m hanging out with friends who have all their devices going and think it looks so cool, all that technology, then I am more likely to think it’s ok. To not see it for the enemy it is. Substance abuse is similar right ?! If you find that group you feel you belong in, it’s more powerful than reality or truth. Belonging takes the lead.

I wish for our family that our hearts belong to communication with one another and to connection. Not dreaming about a future time when we have more or less of something. But that we feel as rich as we will ever be right now. This right now could be my happiest life. We rarely stop anymore to know what or when that is.

Helpful information about screen addiction

So for good reason right now we are concerned about giving my son his computer back. So yesterday he attempted to stage a coup. He felt it was an injustice he has been working so hard and not been recognized for his efforts. When it was never about that, it was about the fear of things going back to such an unhealthy state. Staring into that screen until 4 am regardless of the cost to the next day or our relationships in this home.

So I am just sitting here this morning reflecting on the root of the argument which was him thinking I don’t see him for his good, that I’m always just focused on his behavior as bad. Loving does not always translate as loving when it comes to parenting, and as someone who often didn’t feel loved, I am committed to cracking this code.

So for now I’ll leave you with this mornings letter I wrote to him. When I first started writing my kids I felt “like a weirdo”, but as I thought about it more and more, if I let them into my process see what it takes to truly weigh options and try to come up with a fair and effective choice, that they can develop empathy as well as know that I am spending the time I am not with them considering myself as a parent. I don’t know what’s more loving than that?! It certainly takes the guessing out of am I loved. At least from my lens.

I’ve had to argue with myself a lot as in my day children were never permitted behind the curtain. Separation was essential for them to know their role. So I tried that for a long time, but as they become older, and I become more human: I believe the importance in what is modeled to be the most invaluable source. So here is me modeling sharing my out-loud process.

I’m still thinking about all this this morning. You and I need to come up with a weekly “date” where we focus on nothing else but catching up. Funny how it’s so easy to make time like that for other people but because of our roles we let that slip. I noticed this am that I miss you. That I’m doing it again. Not listening when you talk. I didn’t listen enough last night. My best time is in the morning. By night after a client day I am toast and here we are in summer not utilizing that at all.

We could only need one hour a week of full presence to be close yet I let it go weeks and weeks and then we collide in some fight. Probably mostly because we miss each other.

I’m always proud of you Tyler. I always believe in you more than anything. I don’t always know what’s best of all the choices as far as parenting, but know that I’m trying to give you what I didn’t have. I’m trying to do my best.

What is most healing about Courtney is she is so generous with me. She’s never suspicious of my character or that things will fall apart. She never doubts us, this family, and that is so warm that I want to work so hard at being my best self.

I want to create that set up in this home. That you’re so well loved here, that you are successful because of all that warmth you’re wrapped in. Not beating yourself into action or out of it. Not so controlled that you learn to not trust in your own power and worth.

I love you with my whole heart. It’s family day today. So get up and get your dishes done and let’s schedule our weekly date always ok. For the rest of forever, even on the phone. Just like my morning writing it takes developing a habit to keep something consistent and it’s damn hard, but this is well worth it.

You’re the best son a mother could have and I never mean me trying to keep you healthy to go across different than that. If it is we need to tweak some things.

I love you….

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Into the great wide open

I am in, an in-between right now. A waiting period we could call it perhaps, waiting for many things and also wanting for nothing. I think I am better at chaos, because perhaps then I can always feel productive/ important in some profound way. Karpman says, “it’s the situations we could call ourselves victims in, that we need to goad our creativity into action.” At least that’s my interpretation of his drama triangle that I’ve been working on in my life / practice lately.

It is more difficult to find peace in the stillness, for me at least. This is what happens when you have a desperate need or want based on a theory. Life inevitably hands it to you, so that you can see it’s different than you imagined. And back to the drawing board.

My wife and I are trying to have a baby. As usual I am skipping steps. Where are my blog posts about this process, my detailed chronicles of each step? I’ve already moved light years beyond those also. What is meant to be of this frenzied pace that is more natural to me than breathing oxygen? I have shifted from wanting to change and cut off my innate qualities, to accepting them, but also wanting to know (quickly of course) what they all mean.

Since we are trying to have a baby, and already have 3 large ones, and two fur babies, it makes sense that I am foreshadowing about any career moves. I already love my practice and my clients, so why am I already thinking of expanding, in a way that isn’t about my writing. Ie perhaps working at a college to help the kids pay for school.

We want a life that is our own. And right now we are slave to the necessity of good health benefits, a pension (prison), and a false prophet of stability that these things represent. Now don’t get me wrong I am grateful. This baby would not be without good health coverage. But as is typical of me what about after we have him/her/them?

The worst part of this dispatcher job is the grueling schedule that grates away at our emotional well-being. My wife works 7-3 one week, with an hour commute each way (and more when there is traffic), and the next week she works 3-11. So in short if we begin and end our days together as our love begs us to do, our sleep wake cycle one week is 1-2 am bedtime, 8-9 am wake, and then 9-10 pm bed time and 5-6 am wake. This also doesn’t include the fancy frenchie that has itchy fits and wakes up for a 4 am potty.

We joke that at least we are ready for the baby. We don’t scratch or claw at one another under these demands, but there are other downsides. My wife being chronically tired, and then hard on herself to boot, being one of them. My body is so attuned to hers that I feel it’s hardly a choice that I align with hers, even though my schedule does not. There is no choice when it comes to my love for her, I choose to spend my time with her. Does this mean that my writing won’t happen then? Can I do “it all”?

Would the grass necessarily be greener though.? It seems in life often you just trade one stress for another. It can’t be all that hard right ?! If only one of us worked and the other tended the children and home there might be a whole different stress. Resentment perhaps ? God I hope not, that is the 7th circle of hell that I lived in most of my past relationships. Financial stress? Nothing seems worth that.

So this morning in my pages writing I started to draft out equations. The first I wrote was that: whenever the focus is money, passion is killed. Then I attempted to reframe to: passion invites money. Written in mathematical formula:

$ =/ passion (couldn’t find the equal with a slash symbol.

Passion = money

Except that’s not at all what we are told. We are told about starving artists and stability. No wonder everyone is so confused. We are told that passion is frivolous. And indeed I had no room for any of my passions while food was needed on the table.

I am one of those rare people that has found a career that turns her passion into money also. But that only began at about 35 years old. That means I’ve been broke and struggling the better half of my young life. And no one wants that for their children.

My dreams currently, as intentions placed in the warm and loving hands of the universe. I am picturing Te Fiti here, when she holds Moana and Maui on her hand and gives them their “reward”, Maui his magic hook, and Moana a beautiful boat to travel home in.

My wife and I want a life where we have a home like in the movie The Family Stone. Picture a two story home, with staircases and railings. High ceilings and a fire place. The smell of wood and food baking in the oven. The sounds of laughter from friends and family. A home that you lay memories down in. Maybe that will be this home just as easily and we don’t know it yet. Because not living above our means to try and reach a dream, that we don’t know how it will actually feel anyway.

Can you have too many dreams? My head immediately shakes, no. But the shackles of reality argue.

We want a life where time together is our biggest priority. Where we can sit and read and craft and pursue each our passions. Where we can be near nature, land and water. Where we can feel alive and sacred.

We are having dreams of more than a 9-5 (ha if only). We want to see and do things, but doesn’t that require money?

And all the while in the back of my head I keep thinking the way is to trust my gift of writing and keep going. Except I keep trying to abandon it for stability, and not believing in my magic. I get more glimpses daily, but then it feels too dream like, and I collapse back into routine.

If all my dreams really have come true already…

I truly am rich beyond imagination.

Why is it always swiftly onto the next?

My guess is that passion drives this force of nature and something is meant by it. But what?! I want to know now ! I am always in a rush, even after I’ve crossed the finish line, I can see now that I just keep running.

I’d bet on that I’m always going to have more questions than answers, because for me being more curious than afraid never felt like a choice.

It feels like destiny….

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The angry ex club post process: the conclusion …

*from left to right in the picture: my gorgeous wife, myself, my son (biological), twin B, their father behind them, my other son (“adopted”), twin A, and my other son’s mother, a warrior of a woman who has taught me a lot.

And now the epiphany out of that storm of self inflicted suffering. I am taking a light writing course from Martha Beck. Elizabeth Gilbert is also participating and they have been sharing life changing talks together. The process of light writer is to go deeply into the painful thing, sit with what’s in there, and come out the other side with a healthier (lighter) view of things.

Yesterday something felt dangerous. Made me feel so angry and wrapped up in those feelings. Intense dark feelings. It was the feeling of my lovers scorned congregating and making small comments to shame my character in front of my son. The energy of it all whether it was spoken or not. That felt terrifying to me. My ex husband learning or becoming close to people I had once been very close to felt threatening. Discomfort. In earlier times these feelings could easily have whipped themselves into a frenzied storm lending me to lash out to all who violated me.

Instead I sat with the feelings. Talked and walked. And then last night after a special wedding event that turned out fantastic, my son and I had a deep conversation. It probably was the wedding itself, that made us all feel so close and able to have that happen. He came into the bedroom, my wife and were in bed, and he cuddled and talked. The second he brought up spending time with the three I began to prickle with fear of how the conversation might go.

Deeply insightful my young man is and he began to unravel some things he recognized. Now here is the fear part. I’m such an open book, and one of the hardest parts is knowing what to filter. I said some of my truths and he got very quiet and a noticed a tear trickle down the side of his voice. So covertly I could have not noticed. Could have gone to bed and let it be. We were all oh so tired.

Instead I asked: and he resisted. He knew what he had to say could make me upset. Like me he always thinks ten steps ahead when it comes to someone’s feelings. But I pushed as I knew it needed to happen. The break needed to happen. Breaks are so often more the through variety than the down variety, and we rarely trust in this and know this gift.

He began to sob and was overcome by empathy for my situation and made himself the perpetrator in the scenario. He was so sorry that he had done any possible thing to be disloyal or participate with people who don’t respect me, because he loves me so much. He just kept apologizing. And of course I froze in terror. I had said to much. I did the wrong thing. Here was my son taking responsibility for my very big feelings, and I had caused that. The temptation to self loathe begins.

This is where my wife steps in and is that translator for me. She says the things that fear freezes. She and I were comforting. Myself with holding physically because my mind was racing to all the fearful places. And her with gentle words. Helping him see how heavy it would be to try and take on all feelings for all adults. How he must release himself from that obligation for it is too much for anyone.

He sobbed and sobbed and I feared and feared. Feared he was not ok, and boy have I done it so wrong. Every worst fear snarled and bit. The best I can do during those times is stay still and wait so I can learn.

He had an amazingly hard cry. And what is our model for such catharsis? Oh my god there’s something wrong! It shouldn’t be that way. Being in the presence of such raw emotion coming from your child weaves a tale that sometimes isn’t true. This is why I am sharing this story. People are terribly uncomfortable with what they do not understand, and they tell a story about a situation that makes sense. They forge a scaffolding that reduces their discomfort, and sadly also blocks and covers the possibility for truth to rise out of this situation.

As my son began to calm down, and his thoughts became more clear and realistic, it was like seeing someone who has been released from prison after ten long years. He was light and joyful, and all of his thoughts opened up to him. And all that fear and pain went with the shed tears. What was left over: was light and love.

We cannot be afraid of our children’s big feelings. We must embrace all of it. Their fears also. It does not mean we aren’t doing a good job when they cry. For me watching this, once the grips of my terror let go of me, I could see and hear that he needed that cry. He is very articulate and was able to tell me. But as parents we must learn how to see this, the need for it, without being told.

We became unburdened of our tales woven together with fear fabric. And the after is where closeness exists. This is why and how to find closeness that we are starving for. It’s by sitting in the feelings, and waiting for the catharsis that they are meant to achieve. If we cut things off at the feelings we do a great disservice.

After we had the most amazing conversation filled with understanding, compassion, and love. I broke into all of my fears about my exes adjourning. I realized outside of fear, rejection, and especially ego. What exists is that I just want them to have the same amount of happy that I have found. I want them to be happy and not stuck in repeating stories or patterns that don’t serve them.

I am able to let go of the fears my son will be influenced by their energy, or that anyone could hold the power to effect my relationship with my children except me. This one is huge for me. Our connection is not an easily breakable thing, the way that most of mine have been. I found me using a template too for the world. And that one has so much fear of loss.

Last night I saw how much my son loves me and looks up to me, and how close we are. And I am able to realize that I built that. When children are young they give blindly and can be really harmed in this way. I was always afraid I was the mom that was given to me. Now I am able to realize the gift she gave is that having seen all that I did, I was given the awareness I needed to know the choices before me.

That awareness has sometimes felt like a curse as I fumbled through the dark wood of error most of the first half of my life. My kids know and have felt that fear filled mother who seemed off in her own world trying to find her way out of hell.

I know their lives have been influenced by this. I am keenly aware. But I am no longer afraid that this is the worst possible life they could have had. That is an old story, that was my story at another time.

I am happy to say it no longer is, and it was never theirs. That has taken every ounce of my soul to not recreate in pattern. Making subconscious conscious, and working my way through. And do you know how it shows ? It shows through in their character. My children are so much more than good grades and politely polished.

My children are going to know the courage to pursue lives that feel like their own creation. My children know how to connect deeply with others. My children will never have to wonder if their mother truly loves them. My children have a mother that will help them learn to love themselves, and not just pursue some idea of success based on society.

I will ask my children how they feel, and not tell them how they should. I will strive for this always. I am enough. I am not where I came from, but the more that I live I am grateful for my beginning. There is no other choice. I couldn’t be who I am today without it.

In two short (long) days I am free of the prison of those emotions of all those stories I could have kept. I have no more anger for ex partners. I only wish them light and love. After all who am I to judge their path and what they need to find their own forgiveness and forward motion. Maybe what they are doing is exactly what they need.

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Beach Blankets, Bookstores, and Blog Posts

I’ve had a very hard time slowing lately. So semi-unintentionally ending up at the beach today is likely no accident. My love and I have the day off together, and the only thing I came across was to bring her to RJ Julia Independent Book Sellers in Madison, CT. Coincidentally, they also have a cafe. The Chardonnay Rosemary cupcake is particularly a delight. My weight watchers program is going fabulously thanks for asking 😉 ha.

Hammonasset Beach is a delight for the senses. How is it that I have been so engrossed in the seemingly necessary non-magical aspects of life, that I have not taken more time for such things? Slow down Christina. “But how?”, she asks. I have not felt my toes in the sand for as long as I can remember. And even when I have, my mind scurries like Beatles scattering in a beam of light, to the next, and the next great indulgence. I’m beginning ten more things just as I’ve opened the cover of one.

I began to write a blog post last Sunday. My family and I attended the Pride Festival in Northampton, Massachusetts. I felt inspired to share some pieces of my journey with being a lesbian, and why we march. But that got lost in the abyss of motherhood and “wifery”, and the pure presence I am trying so hard to bestow my loved ones with. I am finding with how I am wired this is not the easiest task.

Last night I came home from a day of seeing clients. My son seemed a bit frustrated with a response I gave him, likely something to do with finances. When overwhelmed (which happens easily and often for me) my first instinct seems to be to pull my turtle head into its shell and disappear. Don’t get me wrong from inside the shell I am still orchestrating the events that are vital to the running of our lives, but I wouldn’t say that you could view my investment from this angle. Particularly if your young eyes are not yet engineered to see in that fashion yet.

Anyway what has stayed with me the most since our conversation is the improvement in our interaction this time, and how rare a gift it is to even be able to recognize this. In the past I would have taken him saying that I am not listening and involved in things that are important to him, as a personal arrow imbedded straight through the heart. What this looks like in action is the tried and true mother’s sonnet about how much they sacrifice for their children, and essentially invalidating the young lads every feeling. My more fragile ego has not been immune to creating such havoc in my younger days. Ok let’s be real probably last year even.

My heart whispered to my ego to pull back and wait, that it’s services were not quite needed yet, and to stay to find out the deeper cause. When listening ears wrapped his words tenderly in their arms, what rose to the surface was only pain. All anger had been stripped away, and the tears fell. The arrow was still embedded in the heart, but as I extracted it, feeling every tear… this time I thought, “we can fix this, we are all in this time, and we can fix this.” And then I summoned all the fragmented parts of my self for a great meeting and said, “let’s get started, we have a lot of work to do!”

This morning even amidst my determination to write and be present for date day, I leaned over to pick up my phone and send him a text.

“I wanted to tell you thank you for sharing your feelings with me. I think we both did a good job. Could have gone not so well in the past right ?! I love you! You’re right, I get so focused on one area, all or nothing, that if others are running themselves, I take a deep sigh of relief and keep focusing. I’m sorry. And I am quite sure if it isn’t something you didn’t bring to my attention that would be a huge regret when that time has passed. Someday you will be busy with your own life and I’ll be wishing you would call or I could hear about “school”…

I’m sorry and I love you. I’ll work on it and you may have to help me because of how my brain seems to work.”

This blog post is somewhat unfinished. I got caught up in a writing course I am taking and being fully present for myself in all her forms. I chose me. Sometimes I cannot simultaneously show me and save me…. I chose to save her this time, and to have faith I could show her whenever I am ready, in whatever way feels the best for me. To do the deed in joy versus obligation: this is what I am working on.

Write on writer’s, carry on gentle hearts….

the sun is shining….

Waiting to bless you with it’s sweet kiss.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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I came in like a wrecking ball….

For as long as I’ve remembered I’ve been deeply concerned with what kind of person I was. Even as a child my constant focus of movie watching (even Disney) was making sure I felt like “the good guy”. I have had an over-sized conscience always. I remember often wanting to rid myself of it, so I could partake in normative teenage experiences. But I would over-think/ deeply think about everything. Nothing could just be done. Which is an interesting compliment to my natural ADHD blessing of impulsivity. Later in life after I had decided to choose to rid myself of religion as my reason for “trying constantly to do everything right by someone else’s standard of right”. When I finally started to allow myself my own life, which created tons of inner conflict, then impulsivity took me far out of balance in the other direction. Then I had to face the most egregious of all wars, knowing full well when I had made an action that was unfair to someone else. They say ignorance is bliss. “The mysterious they, whoever they are.” They in this case would be more correct than they even know. Ignorance is a bliss I have never been afforded. I was gifted with a keen awareness of self and others. I can make connections in an instant that others have kept carefully out of their awareness for years.

I cause pain. This gives me great conflict. But then pain opens up the possibility for healing. I don’t just rip off the band-aid. I apply salve and anti-biotics as well. I am saying this to myself for the first time. Realizing I am not sinister, even though the feelings of the actions suggest it to my “Jimminy Cricket.” Being unwittingly tasked with being a person who reveals painful truths for a living, I am only now coming into the full realization of how this mixes with my shit, and creates a dangerous cocktail. I am proud and it is an honor to do this work, and it also takes a toll. It takes a toll more when it is personal, as it is for me right now. When I am inside the pain, not an ally and observer.

I shake up systems. Family systems that have operated on unspoken rules for years and been “just fine”. The thing is those unspoken rules often create great invisible pain for those that are silently expected to repress in the name of someone else’s comfort. Do the others not realize the discomfort of the person asked to adjust? Do they literally shield themselves from painful truth that much? Or does some part of them know and refuse to look?

Part of my coming out process included me learning to introduce myself as gay and not wince. It took awhile, but I recognized early on that if I seemed ashamed people will hop right on that bus. I knew the feeling of repression before I knew how to name it, as most of us do. It’s a silent and slow death by poisoning. It saps just a tiny bit of your soul in each interaction. And since it can slide by so unknown the damage resides on the inside. A beautiful smiling husk that keeps others happy while the inside is rotten and burning with pain. The holder of the families pain, struggles under their burden sometimes named depression, all the whole elaborate defense mechanisms as intricate as scaffolding’s you see on skyscrapers in New York City. They deem themselves the weaker of the flock, when really they are the strongest.

I seem to always be the common denominator in the equation of relationship that demands truth to be fully seen and listened to. I have never been able to stay quiet about truth; my gift and my curse.

Today I sit in extraordinary pain as the love of my life and I experience what it feels like to be seen as different, somehow less valid. I am tasked suddenly, like being faced with an oncoming accident in progress, with navigating this treacherous terrain. Of behaving with grace and compassion in the face of invisible and subconscious judgment. It’s innocent enough. My partner being asked by a sibling to not make their father uncomfortable on his birthday by me coming to dinner. That’s in the name of justice right ? It’s his birthday after all. So my beloved is expected to take a seat at the table, hold back her tears, and her self. She is asked to present the husk, the representative only, her true self is not welcome to the table. “Forgive them because they know not what they do”, it is ironic isn’t it that religion should come to mind right now. The pain is searing. I wonder if they know that? I suppose they also take for granted their permission to get married, be a couple, and to show up at events not making anyone uncomfortable with their presence. She is “asked” to only talk about things that won’t make anyone uncomfortable. Keep it light you know, work, whatever can be accessed without revealing too much. Exhausting. I wonder if they know how exhausting to be asked that?

I am in a raw state of pain right now. So I turn to my writing and my speaking truth out loud. It is salve. It is bandage and medication. I am angry and hurting, and I promise to turn all of this emotion into something that helps others and not into the pain that caused it. That is my promise. My place at the table of warriors who protects those who don’t know words for their feelings, and who have been silenced by lethal expectations, sometimes unspoken: the ones the highly sensitive notice and take on themselves. Too heavy a burden for anyone, but their heart will try nevertheless.

I don’t trust myself right now to write any further without being unkind. I have learned to stop short of that and process and synthesize my feelings until how I express them is of my choosing. Using wisdom rather than weapon.

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Hog Heaven and a pit bull named Iceman

So we (Courtney, Rian (twin A), and myself) are sitting here waiting for Tyler to have a therapy session. We are trying out the fit on a new family therapist. She has some big shoes to fill, Fran was one of a kind. We were all reading, but then I had a moment of inspiration.

Recently we had to have our furnace replaced and last night Courtney and I walked up to the home of the neighbor who did the job. We were taking him the second half of a very large payment, ouch. Anyway I often think how lucky one is to be able to be in a profession that they can benefit by cutting the costs in their own lives. So for example: a plumber’s family never has to worry about that aspect of home ownership. And then there are those real handy people (typically in my experience men) who seem to be able to fix anything in the home. Those are the ones I admire the most. I am in fact so interested in trying to be more efficient financially I would almost trade in my true sexuality for such a man. Just kidding sweetie. But seriously it seems so unfair that I can’t fix all of the hurts and issues that currently plague our home. Why can’t we take advantage of low cost, free really… in home therapy?

I mean I am sure we benefit from all the “family meetings” that my kids adore so much. They probably wish they had those normal parents that do what they are supposed to, but are careful not to venture into unknown territory. Afraid to shake up the system by having difficult conversations. Folks difficult conversations are the cornerstones of growth.

Things have been hard in our home lately. Resentments have been built between my children and currently they are holding onto anger in their hearts, and forgetting the true value in one another. And all the family meetings in the world don’t seem to be fixing it, because since I am Mom (and when I’m a therapist it’s annoying;)) I am rendered useless except when it comes to rides and money. Oh and cooking and cleaning.

I worry a little extra when this happens. This is because my Mom and my Aunt never grew up. They never evolved and I have watched their lives unfold; it appears quite unhappy from the great distance of safety I keep between us. Across that great divide I see lonely and sad women who spent their life hating one another. They never gave in. Never relented in holding the other in the absolute worst regard possible. My Mom was “the welfare bitch” who got everything handed to her, for what… having a child out of wedlock and tarnishing the family? And my Aunt was “a lonely cat lady who nobody wanted”. Every Christmas was the worst affair you can imagine. It has taken me a long time to create my own magic to holidays and leave the past behind.

I remember my grandparents having to carefully select just the right amount of gifts at the same value for each so no trouble occurred and they would still find something to fight about. My Aunt actually stayed living with my grandparents until her late 30’s at least I believe as a statement that if my Mom was going to get support she deserved it too. Would a person really stunt their own life’s growth as a means to stick it to “whomever”, their parents I guess or each other? She stayed and fought for her equal right to a place in the support of her parents.

These two used to take me off the shelf like a porcelain doll, except nobody was gentle with me. Random memory: My grandma collected porcelain dolls, they were creepy. Anyway if my Mom wanted to play Mom for a day she would entice me with some event making it sound fun, but it was always in her interest, it was not about spending time with me. If my aunt wanted to take me out, she was lonely and looking for companionship. She seemed to mean well and did try to take me to do nice things, but usually not without a few comments about my Mother along the way. And also without considering anything about what’s appropriate for a child. On one particular outing she took to see Silence of the Lambs, I was eleven. I also was highly sensitive (way before I knew what that was), and slept on my grandmas floor for months. Still to this day would probably never be able to help someone broken down on the side of the road.

This doesn’t mean I don’t have good memories of them, and this is the most confusing part. But for any nice or fun thing they did, their behavior along the way was so uncomfortable, and the way they treated each other so frustrating, the costs outweighed the benefits by far. I was a puppy begging to be loved, rambunctious and wild. I was outspoken and as soon as I found my own voice and stood up for myself, they didn’t like spending time with me much anymore. But not before my childhood was filled with uncertainty and chaos.

I lived above a bar called Hog Heaven once. The owner’s name was Paul, and he had a white pit bull named ice man. As a side note: I believe that relationship ended by her kicking him in the balls and throwing his engagement ring out into the grass (I’ve heard tell he’s still looking for it). They brought me Shirley temples and beef jerky for dinner. I thought it was great for a day or two, then I begged to be back in the safety of my grandparents arms. I was a novelty item, that nobody could quite figure out. But everyone was willing to lean on if I was willing to bare the brunt, and I usually am. I have always been strong. Sometimes I think it’s the best thing I know how to do, and some of the other important things like being soft and gentle, they don’t come as easily. Thankfully my partner now compliments me quite well in that way. And also I have learned we are not meant to be everything to everyone. We are a piece to fit together with other pieces to make the whole. Or at least with regard to taking on a gigantic task like parenting.

So here I sit in humble waiting in the therapist office as a woman we have just met replaces some of the nurturing parts for him that I couldn’t yet find in my youth, perhaps I never will. But the good news is I have found a way for that to be ok. As this woman helps my son know he no longer needs to be worried about his mother because I have travelled worlds away from whence I came. And because I heal daily alongside the other wounded and searching, and that is the best decision I ever made. My career constantly grows me and holds me accountable.

Journey on warriors, you never know what is around the next bend. There are always moments to appreciate, even when there is also much struggle. I still remember those delicious virgin drinks from “Hog Heaven” and Paul and iceman, and the way it felt to ride in my mom’s 84 Pontiac Firebird listening to loud rock music, the wind in our hair. A far cry from the grandparents church hymns. My mother was a mad woman, but to that little girl at that time she looked exciting and full of life. My childhood was eclectic and it carried lots and lots of lessons. I’m hoping to turn them into stories and to re-experience it in a new way as I do. I can write about it now because it no longer haunts me how it used to.

Anyway the hour is up, his therapy, and mine (writing) as well. Our reward is Bella Napoli Pizza and some much needed family relax time. Minus twin B who is studiously working on a project this evening and will be greatly missed.

Enjoy the little things…. every little thing…

P.s believe it or not these are not the twins! They look more like twins though 😉