Tag: #wellness

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The Great Room Cleaning Stand-off

What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?

My seventeen year old son is brilliant, kind, generous, sensitive and anything a parent could want in a child. However lately we have reached a place where we do not see eye to eye, and I am wracking my brain to crack the code on this situation.

To give you some background I could be described as middle of the road when it comes to cleaning. My wife and I do not fight over household chores. We generally ebb and flow with effort in this department and when one of us ebbs, the other tries to flow. We do this dance fairly seamlessly unlike the resentment filled arguments with past lovers. We came into this both having thought through the complexities of the situation, and choosing to be grateful we have the other, all bags included.

We don’t ask for made beds, or color coordinated sock drawers. We understand that if our room becomes cluttered at times when we are exhausted or extra tired that this will happen with kids sometimes. Our expectations are that things are sanitary, somewhat kept up with etc, and that every couple of weeks you do a deep clean. Sweep, mop, vacuum dust kinda deal. That maybe 2 times yearly you go through all the crap that has amassed, and your clothes and see what you need and what you don’t. And for the love of all that is holy change your bedding at least every two weeks. For obvious reasons :p

About a month ago give or take I noticed that my son wasn’t eating hardly anything but fast food, potato chips, and gummy candies from where he works, Trader Joe’s. These empty containers could be found tucked behind the bed, in drawers etc. The regularity of showering diminished, the laundry piled up, pay stubs cluttered everywhere. The room took on an unsettling odor. And even the smallest task seems to appear insurmountable to him.

I chalked up this struggle to ADHD, as his computer had already been removed from his room so he could get into some kind of organizational routine. So we tried Vyvanse. Thus far the room isn’t clean and his mood is worse. He has new behaviors of lying, being more verbally aggressive, and placing all blame for his current predicament on me.

He got into my phone and read text messages he shouldn’t have, and I’m quite sure this breach of boundaries is the largest culprit of held anger. If you read something out of context and put it through your own fears and emotions it can be a deadly weapon. The result a poisoned relationship. As highly sensitive people it is hard on both of us that this is dragging out in this way.

As a child I wasn’t really raised per say. My grandparents talked at me, but they rarely followed through. And we had no structure built into any family unit. Once I reached a certain age they just often said they didn’t know why I didn’t help around the house etc. I was shamed in front of friends. They felt helpless and would say “you don’t keep your room like hers right.”

So for me I wanted my kids to not only feel part of a family, but to participate as a part of a working unit as well. This has been part necessity and part purposeful through the years. Most of the research I have read suggests children who help others and learn hard work are better off than those with everything done for them. I tend to agree based on my struggles and lack of that in my upbringing.

I know all about choose my battles and I’m confident many parents who would give their eye teeth for a child like mine would say, “just clean it he gets good grades”, or another camp who couldn’t stand the disarray and therefore would clean it out of their need.

I somehow feel it’s extremely important that he cross this hurdle on his own, and that he understands none of us are entitled to anything in this life. It is important to me my children are grateful, humble, and respectful. I was not. I can go on and on about our differences in upbringing there are many, most importantly of which is a lack of any invested parent on my end. However my behavior either way sucked, and it took me most of my life to relearn a better way. I don’t want my son to have this same struggle.

I’m quite sure the more we see the less desirable versions of ourselves in our young charges that we really become upset. And in these moments it’s difficult to be gentle and nurturing. I want to hug him and help him, and by God I also want to slap him. Such a confusing concoction of emotions.

So the stand-off is this: in an effort to not let him off the hook for accountability and responsibility that he will need in this life, and before he goes away to college, I have removed his privileges. A car we have provided and help pay his insurance on, a phone his parents pay for, etc. Now I can’t figure it out. If I were a senior and had to ride the school bus I would have that room cleaned in 2 hours flat. One swift upswing of motivation, be it rooted in anger or whatever.

Motivation! I am providing the motivation. He has dug his heels in and refused. I have bent and tried a more gentle approach after the storms calm. I had given back the car at least to get to work so he doesn’t use all his money on Uber and Lyft. Again 30 bucks for a ride or clean your room?! I bent to try and be an understanding parent. And my reward for having been a willow tree? He lied about the time he got out of work, and then caused a huge scene and protest. To which Courtney’s beloved co-worker and great friend helped defuse. It takes a village folks it really does! And we are lucky.

In all of this what hasn’t happened is him owning his behavior. He will say things like gee why would I lie? You think because I miss my friends. And that I am controlling his life. Now he is determined that he needs help, is depressed, and doesn’t know why he can’t clean his room. So his statement is that he physically can’t clean his room. Is it odd that I can’t understand this?

I have recognized he was over-scheduled with work and lots of high level courses. I can spot the signs of burn out a mile away, and he kept citing these as reasons to again break the rules. So I’ll offer practical solutions to him. I had suggested before classes began to reduce work hours and focus on school. But I won’t let him out of accountability and responsibility in the name of his emotions. In my opinion this does a person a great disservice.

I’ll meet part way. When he asks for help between one of his three parents, and a multitude of extended family, and even my ex partners who love him, he receives it.

And still nothing gives.

Stuck.

And I miss my son.

His response to this is to lay in his room, when he could have just cleaned the room and step into accountability. We each up the bar on stubborn, when what we really need is to let go….

So internet land help?! Share your experiences as a teen or a parent. How did you get through these battles and not lose your hair or your sanity?

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I’ve been transitioning my whole life…

Into who I truly am. This for me is a process of divine evolution, and it encompasses so many aspects of my self.

I wrote this Facebook post this morning and wanted to share it. It was inspired by a dear friend who came forward to me with information that has strongly impacted her life. We must lift her up right now as the media feels like waves crashing onto her shores. She deserves to be lifted and held right now.

I had a dear friend share something very important to them yesterday and it left me thinking this morning and I want to share these thoughts. I would also like to tag some of my personal heroes for fighting so hard to be authentically who they feel inside.

I wanted to tell you so far what your share has done for me. It’s making me wonder how many other things were not as they seemed in childhood, how many other fucked up things.

For those who don’t know I was raised in a strict Seventh-Day Adventist household. My mother got pregnant with me by an older man when she was 19, he was much older. I was a thing of shame.

I was shamed most of my life for how I behaved, for how I looked, for being her daughter. I was left by him, my father. I took care of my mentally ill mother. If reading these makes you uncomfortable then imagine what little me felt like. I was DCF involved. I wandered around an apartment complex alone and was molested by a young boy. I felt disgusting to share with anyone. I felt wrong. It wasn’t the boy in this case it was the lack of parents. I was removed from her care at this point, but she moved in with my grandparents with me.

I was alone. I was always alone. Until I found other families. Pam Jenkins Gena Rahenkamp LeMert John Enders John D Enders and many more. And even now more people come forward in my inbox and told me I was special to them then. My Aunt Linda who took me for normal childhood things like Disneyland.

I am a survivor because you loved me when I needed it most.

I am coming forward.

It’s actually making me wonder if I lived in a different time with different parents if they would have helped me transition to being a boy. Do you remember that me?! Masculine behavior as well, always wanting to protect and serve. “Hi I’m Chris”. I got called gay (proudly wear that now, but then it meant you’re scary and different and I don’t like that), a dog, told to go piss on a fire hydrant.

I didn’t want to kiss the boys I wanted to fight them for the girls.

I didn’t want to be rescued by the Disney Prince I wanted to look like him and love a princess.

I actually wanted to be a boy. I only favored boy clothes and swam in trunks with my shirt off. I used to play cards (pretend poker) at the table with my shirt off. I use to imagine peeing standing up (yes we probably all did,lol) but I mean regularly. And so many battles with my grandparents to not wear a dress and to shop in the boys sections. I felt uncomfortable in every possible way most of my young life and very alone. I got praised in my home for being strong and helping with my mother. Being sent into the lions den because she would be better with her own daughter right ?

Do you know I left that self behind in favor of acceptance?

We would do anything for acceptance in this world, and I needed it more than many, because of my home base. I was shamed to death there. Don’t be a slut like your mother. Don’t sing your voice sucks. Don’t talk too much. Good little girls are seen and not heard and they play with their paper dolls in the corner. “ Don’t talk so much, chatter box. It felt at the time that everyone wanted/ needed me to be less there, less of me, and if they were going to sacrifice by taking care of me please don’t make it any harder than it already is.

Do you know my blonde hair, I kept the same for many years was like Samson from the Bible. That wretched book that dictated so much of my shame. This is MY experience I am not putting anyone else’s religion down.

I met someone along the way Crystal Leckner who showed me how to be adventurous and myself, and my life opened up after that. Another personal hero. She changed her style more than you can imagine, and her hair, and I looked up to her so much. Another personal hero!

“But I don’t want to be a good little girl.” I didn’t want to be a girl at all, but I also don’t hate my body parts, and don’t want one more difficult journey. I love my wife and me as I am now albeit I think I am realizing clothes are still a struggle.

Last night we went to the philharmonic and anytime getting ready for something for me is still a battle… with what to wear. Partially now because I’ve gained weight, but also because I feel awkward in my clothing. I’ve settled on leggings and sweaters…. I dream of short hair cuts, but always afraid of not looking feminine, because then I’ll be treated badly again. I earned so much privilege when I became “a pretty girl”. 😕 I sold myself. I’d like to think I had to at that time to have any place to belong.

But is it still going on now?

I don’t even dance because dancing was bad and wrong and by the time I broke out of that I felt so awkward in my own skin. And then unknowingly people shamed me for my dancing. Why don’t you move your hips? Because the way I do feels different than how I’m supposed to look as a girl.

And then she danced is the running title of my memoir.

Do you know that my wife keeps that awkward photo of young me by her nightstand and I almost cried to look at it because I didn’t want to be that girl anymore. But since she loves it so much I am forced to love that her too. And that is healing.

No one should experience the abuses coming forward right now. However, the dark forces our light to shine more and helps us come together as we really are. #fighton #comingforward

How much of my acceptance is based on my appearance? If I begin to dress differently will people not come back to see me? If my gender is not immediately revealed will it lessen my credibility.

The fucking things people have to go through to have permission to be who they are in the world.

I wanted to share this so you now how proud I am that you are supporting your daughter. What a warrior! You’re doing for someone what no one did for me. You’re so brave and a beautiful person. How much of your brave is because of having to be? Would you be this warrior for your daughter without your experiences? This is the only way I make sense of my abuse. I wouldn’t be the therapist I am now without it.

Also maybe if someone had given me a better haircut it would have been a little easier 😂

-C

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I have a new “bar” for self-love.

*my bar is that I may see myself as magical as my wife does, the great salve that continues to heal the many hurts*

In my office I am always talking to my Clients about my “bar”, their bar, our bar for ourselves. A simple expression meaning “what are my hopes and expectations for my one go round in this life.” Am I allowed them? Or does my functional dreaming stop at whatever happens to cross my path.

Passive living. Aggressive living. Is there something in between? If there was an in between perhaps it would be the belief that magic exists.

These thoughts of magic brought to you from having watched the new movie A Wrinkle In Time last night. when the stars and my hormones aligned to bring me one of these clear states of consciousness where everything just feels magical, and I somehow manage to not discount that or minimize its worth.

To be clear and fair about this process today I am bloated and bleeding so don’t forget in the beginning and perhaps always we are afforded glimpses, and clues, not handed our dreams on a platter. Today it’s back to the business of just making it through to the next magic moment.

Whether it was the fact that a pair of very adored clients have a new baby and I was blessed with the opportunity to hold him a couple of times now, and it broke my heart wide open. It broke open the pain of the negative pregnancy tests, and the joy of our new possibilities with IVF beginning this month.

Or whether there really is such a thing as destiny and if I squint just right I can actually see the threads of the tapestry being woven before my very eyes..

Regardless lately I feel magic in everything.

So I was thinking about this and realizing/ wondering if my will has led me to somehow be allowed to RE-experience the childhood I should have had, now. My willingNESS to still remain open to people and experiences despite the many anxieties and hurts that clawed inside of me for so long.

And could this realization further solidly my belief that I will create beautiful things in some way that will touch the lives of others?

People are just too beautiful to pass up.

People are “the bread and butter” of my life. They are my patchwork quilt that keeps me warm when I am cold and scared, they always have been. And I’ve always been able to find what I wasn’t given naturally in the way we all imagine it’s supposed to work.

Maybe imagining things as supposed to work a certain way is very limiting after all, and sometimes we just need to buckle up and take the ride.

This suddenly made me think of Space Mountain at Disneyland. I rode it with my Aunt Linda as a young girl, one of the few typical childhood experiences I was blessed to be able to have. You are riding a roller coaster in the dark, there are a few laser lights and things, but ultimately you are surrendered to your fate once strapped in and set loose on the rails.

I screamed with delight. I felt the lightness of being in childhood for those moments. I don’t know if she and my Uncle will ever know what it meant that they took me there at that time. Looking back now it honestly could have been a game changer. I wonder without that experience if I might have gotten lost to a world of rebellion of a variety I couldn’t come back from. A kind that would swallow me whole. I certainly had all the vulnerability for it.

But there was always people. I always turned to people. And when that need felt a bit more desperate and anxiety driven as life got more turbulent I ended up again shamed for this behavior by some of the people that mattered most to me.

Replacement family after replacement family. A foster care system of my own creation.

The thing is that now I got it so damn right, that I can’t even become tempted anymore to discount the path of getting here.

My wife came home last night, just after I had fallen asleep. She came in and she just curled up with me and told me how in love with me she is. She did it in such a way that clearly she had experienced the same magic that I had over the evening, even though we were towns apart. We tend to be connected like that, in some cosmic manner.

She just said it over and over throughout the night as she read to get sleepy while I slept. I felt a rush of pure adoration and love. She remarks to me when she sees me playing and light that she notices a childlike me. This noticing has opened me up to accepting that could be ok now. It doesn’t have to take the linear traditional route.

It’s ok to find someone who loves you this much, and to find out how to receive that love when it wasn’t a part of your model. I’ve journeyed through hell and back. Out of the dark wood, up the mountain, down into hell, and back out the other side.

So when I see a scene in someone’s creation from their imagination I know exactly that the magic is real and I can connect to it. I don’t need to be skeptical or critical or pick the movie apart for design flaws. I can just experience pure and utter love.

Movies and music give our truest selves permission to come out and play, and to wonder, and to dream….

I don’t know if there’s anything better than that.

My bar for myself and my life have become pretty high. There have been lots of critics, but my love story speaks the truth about holding out for what you are really looking for, and what you want and deserve, whether you are able to believe in it fully yet or not.

That part can always unfold….

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Victim or survivor ? What is your story….

Things have been very difficult for me lately. And because of this I’ve lost so much good writing to the madness. (Victim statement eek) To getting caught up explaining myself to sources that have never sought to understand. (I can only choose to stop explaining to those who don’t see). Challenger versus victim.

Let’s put the Karpman Drama Triangle to work right here. The actual truth is that rather than taking my writing away from me, the difficult experiences humble me, and give my writing back to me in a more authentic way. But surrounded by the feeling it doesn’t seem that way.

I am a slave to my triggers right now. And as a mental health counselor RE-visiting this place feels such a threat. It feels like it could take everything away. And when I am in this place I am scared and rabid. I lash out and flood with texts based on the emotions I am feeling.

I don’t like this self. It is an old one. It is a self my critics would like me to be because it will validate their story about me, and for this as much as anything I’ll have the courage to dive into my own behavior and rescue myself out of the perils that are causing this version of myself to be more accessible right now.

I have complex PTSD. Wordy clinical article to distinguish some things

More reader friendly information on C-PTSD

This means that I am hyper vigilant and distrusting primarily when my character is challenged. Because that was the really big problem in my childhood. My grandparents used guilt as a means to try and control me, and so they often told me how I was behaving and why I shouldn’t. No one came along that understood what was going on in my home. This is why I am a fierce advocate in my counseling office of seeing the unseen and unspoken. It was nearly invisible and I suffered but didn’t know what to call it, so I internalized.

Invisible wounds are the most dangerous, both to the wounded, and to those they will unintentionally wound as a result of their pain.

Now as an adult my weapon of choice is awareness and speaking my truth loudly. And yes I too must realize when my perceived truth is clouded by painful Triggers and symptoms of C-PTSD. It is arduous work. And then when I am in it, because of it’s invisibility to others I am sized up very simply as being selfish. Because of who we see a parent should be.

It’s easy to sit in a glass castle and throw stones. Anyone can have an opinion. The internet is rampant with them. The persecutors are ashamed of their own privilege so they lash out at those already afflicted with wounds and wrong them further.

Thankfully I’ve never known and therefore liked easy, but also it has caused me to make things harder than they need to be. I clamp down furiously on my truth and hold on for dear life. I got better at being iron clad over my young years, not being soft and gentle.

Now I’m taking the responsibility to learn this late in life. It’s taken me surrounding myself by people who see the good in me, the true colors, but those too were mostly conditional, and again when my poor behaviors would escalate I would be criticized. But do you know what didn’t happen? No one came along and looked at the whole picture and said hey look at what’s going on here this sounds an awful lot like complex PTSD. Let’s look at your whole life and see what’s going on here. No one besides a few very brave mental health counselors who changed my life.

This is why it’s my greatest privilege in this life to take the heavy heavy burdens of misunderstanding of this nature off of people’s back. They leave them in my office and we hold them tenderly, unpack, RE-frame, develop strategies, and show the importance of the interaction between wiring and experience in shaping a person’s behavior.

We must take responsibility to educate ourselves, to see beneath a surface and try to understand. To see beyond our hurt feelings and stories to look for understanding.

We have two choices with witnessing or being effected by someone’s behavior. Persecution or understanding. If the behavior is absolutely destructive and unsafe then our only responsibility is a boundary and seeking help from a mental health professional.

But most of the time, almost always without fail, if we help someone see the best version of themselves (believe in that story) and accept the parts that hurt too, they become more of who we believe them to be.

Innate in being human is a struggle between our light and dark selves, we all possess the capability for both, and who we become depends on such a complicated variety of factors. But the ingredients for the best outcome include unconditional positive regard (Carl Rogers of course). The magic of counseling is believing in someone’s best self. Seeing the unseen in this way until there is enough encouragement for them to emerge.

I have emerged and yet the journey is never over. If you surround yourself or become bogged down with your critics and you have fragile attachments from the beginning you’re at a great risk.

I have never really wanted to own my whole story. I think that’s why my memoir won’t come. I want to be the strong, not the weak, but I am both. Both a hurt child and an advocate for others. I am a wounded healer, but at the start of my career I’ve been too afraid of being invalidated for my hurts, to allow myself to be whole.

I cut off my beginning and searched frantically to replace it with something that looked better. I might as well have cut off my limbs. My whole story matters here and I don’t tell it because it fills me with shame and self doubt, which threatens the stronger self I’ve built over the years. I don’t tell it because I’m afraid I’ll be viewed with pity or as a victim or accused of that, and that is what every abuse survivor is up against. This is why people don’t speak out.

We would rather not be uncomfortable with someone else’s discomfort, let’s just be honest here. So they shouldn’t really say anything because look at all the mess their speaking up causes. Then someone else will have to feel marginally as uncomfortable as them.

My selves will have to unite into a whole for me to write my memoir. And I’m so afraid it will all return, the nightmares, the insecurity, the foundation always feels like a thin plate of glass no matter how many layers I lay down.

The last time I was vulnerable with one of the two people who you hope will love you unconditionally, he accused me of being emotionally unstable like my mother, and then he died. This was our last interaction.

My children’s father believes me to be selfish and emotionally unstable, and I prove him right with my behavior lashing out in texts. In truth any parent in my position would be stressed and venting. Raising teenagers isn’t for the faint of heart, but when it’s me because of a belief system I’m emotionally unstable. Trigger. I instantly become the less calm and grounded self. This is why considering the source to trust for feedback about yourself is VITAL folks.

And anyone can go to someone for validation and tell them a story and get feedback based on that. Counseling is so much more than that. It’s beyond validation to challenger, and what is your part in this? My part is my triggers and how they cause me to behave and I will always find the courage to face and work on them.

My father, I’ll never know why he didn’t fight harder to protect me if he knew the dysfunction I was in, and why as an adult he wouldn’t be able to connect the dots. I had just been diagnosed with a disease. I was telling a story at that time that mine would be like my mother’s. Toilets filled with blood, multiple bowel resections, daily throwing up, fistulas, and many scary medications. I felt like it was a death sentence. I did feel sorry for myself and like a victim.

My ex husband of course was a replacement for my father. It doesn’t take a genius to see that, so it’s pretty simple to see how seeking his acceptance against all logic still feels important. And this is a beast only I can slay. On long walks, in books, in the counseling office, and in the arms of someone who sees the WHOLE STORY. And someday everyone will know my whole story…

My saving grace?! I can never stay there long. I can never stay in a victim role long because there’s no creativity in it. Through awakening my creative self I’ve found The Karpman Drama Triangle, and am using it constantly. Another tool for healing faulty, surface, thin perception that only leads to inaction and unhappiness.

The Karpman Drama Triangle and Relationships

I still deal with the struggles of Crohn’s Disease. It has made me more compassionate to myself and others. It has taught me to care for my body when it needs. I still struggle with Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It helps me see these behaviors in others and to help them find a secure grounding and create new behaviors.

What we all want is to be seen and understood for our whole best selves, to be accepted and encouraged. For someone to see why we act the way we do when we aren’t our best selves. To be understood wholly.

If you can create more of that in yourself for someone else then you will be reaching towards enlightenment. Kindness, compassion, understanding that is not conditional upon something. That is given because you have found it.

This is what I strive for….

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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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Leveling up as a Parent…

*this is as raw as it gets, and did I consider taking a more thought out approach. I did. But you need to see the whole thing, the good, the bad, the ugly, the passionate, because that’s what a full life looks like!

I just want to shout out to my ex husband, the father of my children, for helping me up my parenting game. Each time we have a petty interaction I am able to look at my part in things, and more importantly how the impact might effect my kids.

Thankfully because I have my wife to talk to and she reminds me of how her parents split and behavior effected her, I can put myself into my kids shoes first. I can drop into my heart and out of my ego, the number one key ingredient to parenting.

I want to thank him for giving me even more reason to be close to my kids and involved in their lives because I want to, not because I need to prove who I am as a mother. To thank him for reminding me each time of where bitterness truly gets you, and why I don’t want to be there in the name of anything.

The bitterness credo: poor me, and the victim code. Well to that I say no. I’m gonna spend my time being a better parent, not worrying about whether he is helping or not, or judging me or not. It’s all he has left of this game. Each time he can get under my skin he rejoices.

Hate is still love in this way, attention is still attention. No attention will be better and then I’ll have all that extra for my kids.

Bitterness and anger are seductive creatures. I intend to up my game by the process of diversion. I shall divert any attention that would have been given in proving something, or explaining, to my children and paying attention to my relationship with them.

He is challenging me to be creative in my approach when he becomes involved in all my circles and attempts to sway their opinions about me (in small invisible ways) and desperately tries to bring all attention in a room on him. In my enlightened moments I realize this is all he has left. His only companion is this victim hood. And I have a full big life. It’s hard to give him compassion when this model could so easily seem like my fault. But it’s not.

No fault was committed here. In fact the opposite. I had the courage to come out, and give him a chance at a life that felt authentic to him and not forced or fake or uncomfortable with someone who wasn’t fulfilled with him. I could have stayed out of fear. I could have stayed for financial security, because I felt there was no other way.

It has been 12 years, more than really, in truth our whole relationship. And you got things too. We got valuable lessons about ourselves, and we shared many precious moments, that only we know. The birth of our children. When will you let go? When will you allow yourself your own happiness, so you can be happy for me, and I can be happy for you? And we can be proud of our parenting, and our beautiful children, instead of scanning for flaws and pointing them out.

Have you ever seen a partnership for some convenience of one variety or another ? But one or the other really wanted or needed something else…. you’ve never felt so much tension, but most aren’t sure why. That resentment boiling just beneath the surface. Well I have news for you, the picture on the wall might look pretty, but everyone especially your children feel it.

I am proud of my ability to resist that type of life, and the courage to pursue one that would lend to me showing the kids how to find their own happiness.

I have to go for now this morning. But you bet your ass I’m gonna level up, and keep doing so. Because being a better version of myself, better than yesterday’s self is my only competition. And I have more support than I ever thought I would.

To all the parents out there: look at yourself, your part in things. If you aren’t part of the solution. You’re part of the problem. And who suffers the most here?! The kids do! That’s why we have to up our games on not showing up to every party we are invited to and engaging in self pity, blame, anger, and expending valuable time trying to be seen on the outside in a particular way.

That is as wispy as a changing wind. To be a solid parent, you must face yourself in the mirror each day, and lead with your heart, not with fear. And it’s the hardest fucking thing you will ever do.

Now go and do better and you won’t be alone….

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My breaking writer’s block, and my broken body

I am relieved to find that as I began to read this morning, all of my own words began to take precedence over the page. A lot of times that’s how it happens. I’m also a little surprised because I feel too weak to even write. Reading felt somehow more resigned from my usual 1000 watt glow. Just after I wrote that line I felt immense gratitude for my mind and my self. Not everyone has this drive. There’s a dark underbelly to it though, and that’s a whole separate blog post, that isn’t quite ready to emerge from the Koi Pond that is my mind. Picture an over populated one with the fish frenzied and panicky and you might have an idea.

I had a Crohn’s attack last night. I have to get this out first so I can move on from it, otherwise it will impart a tone of sadness or less sparkle to my post, and you, the reader won’t know why. It’s been so long since I’ve had one I almost forgot I have this fucking disease. I think the fact I am able to forget for periods of time is a genuine blessing, and I also attribute it holistically to the peace and happiness I have found in this half of my life.

The attack goes like this this time. They can be different, and come on without warning. I typically limit myself to one drink these days as alcohol works very poorly with my system. This fact makes me feel socially stunted in certain ways. I’m at times jealous of my pals that can “have another round”, and not pay some price. But I’m finally getting over my id, and being able to accept my special instructions. I used to get really down about it. Severely worried I could turn a fun evening or getaway into a pity party for me, and inconvenience people by needing to leave quickly and without warning. I’m overwhelmed easily enough in those situations, without my body rebelling against me as well.

I had a cavatelli pasta with lobster in an old bay cream sauce. I also mixed some of my friends salad with it, because it was just sitting there. She was selling solar at the dinner table, and I was reading a debut blog post that I’ve been anxiously anticipating. Not the present dinner I would, normally go for, but I match affect almost naturally at this point. And there was live music, so struggling to hear one another was annoying me anyway.

The salad was probably the nail in the coffin. But I’ve realized by this point it’s not fair to me to try and figure out what I’ve done wrong in the scenario, sometimes I’m just fine. But any creamy sauce mixed with salad usually marks death, but I had been spared for so long that I forgot. I had one martini with lots of food drawn out over the whole evening. So when I became very dizzy when I got home, I couldn’t understand what was going on. My heart began to race and I thought maybe it’s just exhaustion let me lie down.

Next thing you know it’s 2 am and I wake up with my heart beating around 120 bpm, feeling like my stomach is simultaneously on fire, and also being squeeze and writhing like a boa constrictor trying to make its way out. I break out into a sweat all over. I barely make it to the bathroom, and while I’ll spare you the more gory details, the fact that much of anything can come out of one human made me actually feel like I might die. I felt as if all of my insides were being purged, not just the contents of my bowels. It hurt so excruciatingly badly that for a few moments I debated calling for my wife (what only to disgust her and embarrass myself, what could she do anyway), calling an ambulance, and then went down the path of wondering what they could do or would find. It started to radiate all through my back, aching, twisting, and the sharp chest pains that used to send me to the ER.

After a bout concluded and I was given sweet relief for a few brief moments, my heart rate would be down in the 70’s and I would begin to shiver violently. I got back in bed with my wife, she was loving, covering up my cold parts and becoming comforting, rather than annoyed she was dead asleep. She is a blessing. She asked if I was ok, I said no, but I refuse to begin panicking because once that starts it’s really hard on my body. So if I got her all up and concerned I would feel even more anxious.

I was hoping I could settle into a coma induced rest after that. A sweaty, tangled, dehydrated mess, thrashing between hot and cold. But then I heated up again and felt as if my face was burning, and my heart was high again. It was time for round 2, 3 came later. And by the time I went to sleep I know I was dehydrated enough that IV fluids would have really helped. I used to feel safe at the hospital and like they would be kind and comfort me. After so many experiences and them not believing you (before diagnosis) I’ve had such poor treatment at times, that I will be on deaths doorstep before I go.

As predicted I woke with a monster headache, squeezing and pulsating behind my eyes. And a weakness that could only be described as feeling like a corpse that has been summoned on All Hallows Eve. A lead block could have become mobile easier, but nevertheless I am a slave to my writer’s mind which wakes promptly around 6 am and will not stop yammering until I get it something to do.

So here I am in my beloved bath. I was very careful this am and even thought of skipping it, as losing even sweat at this point could probably put me in a life threatening situation. So the water is tepid, and I pre-gamed with slowly introducing fluids, a banana; a couple crackers and a Tylenol awhile before. My head is still pounding, but after being through hell much of the night, the water soothes my screaming joints, and cleans the stress and suffering off.

This seems so unfair my inside self throws a tantrum, the outside self unsure she can even make it out of the tub, let alone move or make her head throb worse. I should only feel like this if I were irresponsible and drank a ton and am hungover. Who gets the hangover without the party. The self pity is a seductive mistress. If this went on as it did before diagnosis for weeks, and any food became Russian roulette, perhaps it would get me again. But it never helps. I’ve learned I just have to care for my body better and be kind to myself when this happens. To not become enraged at the time it took from me, especially in recovery. A vibrant hyper strong woman reduced to barely being able to pick her head up.

I just go back to how blessed I am in life and love, and believe it will pass, rather than running all the scenarios and what if’s as I used to. This one snuck up on me so stealthily though. I am sad and hurting, while also trying to hold to the determination I have, and joy I feel writing. I must give myself permission to lay my truth on the page, and not believe that I needed to be able to whip up something witty and charming, to be able to take up space in the world. To not fear others as me seeking pity. I am seeking solace in the act of writing. And if one soul finds this kind of determination inspiring then amazing. If not I still have these thoughts written down so I can see myself in a compassionate light. I just want to hug her, and this was not always the case.

You see here is what’s been happening in my mind and my heart. First, I didn’t know I would spend most of my post on this, I expected to gloss right past. So this post shows me how much room my feelings around having this disease need, and how cathartic to write my truth as I’m experiencing it.

Truth be told whether it’s wanting to make sure I’m determined, or whether it’s another aspiring writer’s courage, it looks like my current writer’s block might be broken. Maybe yes, maybe no. The block itself I am recognizing has been caused slightly by the all consuming nature of trying to conceive. That’s actually what I meant to write about. How I can hardly think or focus on anything else. How even if we don’t talk about it, or take the advice of others “just don’t think about it”, wouldn’t that be nice.

It hangs in the air as if it’s one of those machines that freeze everything, but myself and my wife. Our journey is in movement, and the rest of the world is frozen. And I can’t move or breathe until we get that positive. And I can’t even know how I will feel, how she feels, how my family feels, because we are experiencing a great in between right now. Right in between a before and an after.

But you know where I’m not anymore? Purgatory.

I’ll be happy everyday for the rest of my life for this new in between. And I’ll take what comes, with as much grace as my fragile human heart can muster, including the ambiguities of this disease. Because love is my lighthouse, and no matter how rough the seas are, I can always find my way back to my heart now. We are not separated.

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It’s the stories that we tell

*I’m just here doing my favorite thing. Well one of many favorite things. Blogging in the bath. It’s 6 am on a Sunday. This is a very special Sunday. I just called Jill the “sperm lady” to thaw our donor D18310. I’ll never forget that number, just like I still know my (and many of my friends actually) childhood phone number. 541-772-7541.

Last night we did the trigger shot at 9 pm and toasted with champagne that my wife had bought for our first try. The bottle is adorable, and she brought me flowers. I am truly blessed.

This blog post was inspired by me reflecting on our journey during the first iui (intrauterine insemination), and our reconnecting in the days following the negative pregnancy test. My wife was so sure this first time she was pregnant. I have come to believe her intuition to a fault, because this love is truly magic. Her particular magic is kindness and a joy for living. She is never negative, unkind, or sarcastic. She’s still human and we were crushed on the morning of her sister’s wedding, when she began to bleed.

Every step of the way of your first iui is new and therefore commands every ounce of presence. It was as if we sat and stared at her stomach long enough and did nothing else we could conjure the baby into life no matter what. And that is how I could describe our attention for the first round.

I remember reading the tutorial for her ovidrel injection (trigger shot that makes you ovulate right when they need). We got a tiny bit snappy with one another which is so rare. I was all business and commanding left and right, she had been begging for my attention all night, and I had missed the signs. I have come to recognize when we do get a little short with one another as a flag for a need, rather than a threat. That in and of itself is a beautiful thing. I slowed down, apologized, and arrived by her side.

It turns out we were nervous because we care so much. Go figure. Because this all matters so much to both of us. Which is a great place to find yourself. “I haven’t doubted things for even one moment”, she said to me on our one year anniversary just a few days ago. Our getting married quickly, and in the way that felt best for us, and blending into a ready made family. She was able to admit all along she was nervous. She had never even done babysitting when she was young she would say. Two tours in Iraq with the United States Army had nothing on this adventure.

My wife is by nature incredibly shy, and often she gets that trait confused with a lack of bravery. It is my moral imperative to show her everyday how wrong she is on this. And she is rarely wrong. My wife is one of the bravest women I know. I don’t think I could do it. Go into a whole family, with all their scars and as an empath, not take on their stress rather than holding it warmly until it all melts into love. She has melted all of my painful parts into warm molten love.

Safe love is healing. Generous love is healing. Our love is healing me every single day. And the love of my children always encouraging me to become a better parent, it’s beauty inspired me always, is the reason we are all here taking this journey now.

Our family has safe and healthy love to share with as many as we can, and especially with this new little life that will hopefully be conceived today/tomorrow.

So the past couple of days my wife and I reconnected in our love. We picked our heads up from the daily grindstone and found one another’s gaze like we did so much more often in those beginning days. And I swear our love grew 10,000 times in a single moment, AGAIN! How big can it get? My heart might explode.

And this left me reflecting on two very important things on this very important day.

First, I ended up writing in my morning pages that I think the first failed iui was a blessing. Yes a blessing. How to succeed by failing is a writing assignment in my write into light course, and now I do this by habit. What I found is that it gave us even more clarity on several things, mainly of which is how much we want this baby. It gave us the opportunity to be graceful in the face of some powerful emotions, it made our love stronger, not more strained as everything warns about this process. And I know that if it takes years, and much more of an invasive process that it can be harder, but I also know we will love each other well through the whole thing, which is what we are on this earth for. To experience a love like this…

Second. We want this baby, and the ones we already have more than any other choice of how to spend a life. We are both on that page. We are not having a baby to save a marriage, to distract from something, to create something we never had. We are having a baby because of safe and healthy love. I was brought into this world so differently. The anticipation of me was the polar opposite of this. And perhaps only because of that awareness, I am able to feel every beat of the heart of this love now.

I am grateful every second. Speaking of being grateful, the bathroom cabinet fell off the wall and just scared the wits out of me. A blog post and pics to follow, but we are all so lucky no one was sitting on the toilet when this happened. I laughed (probably shock) that something like this would happen just as I was having such emotional clarity and peace. Curveballs my friend. I guess the bathroom did need another good remodeling :/

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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.