You, dear man that I love,
Have been lingering on my mind today
I have been where you are
I still remember so well
The numbness
The second guessing
The panic, wondering what I have done
Can I take it back?
Knowing I couldn’t
Nor would I want to
But the fear and worry still clung to me
Like a small child to its momma’s legs
Being thrust into the new world,
Not speaking the language
Not knowing the customs of the land
And it felt lonely, cold, oppressive
I lay in my bed some nights
Curled with my pillow
Not able to shut off my racing thoughts
Listening to my heart beat
As I played out scene after scene
What was and what might be
As if I had control over either
I cried for what I’d lost
That dream of the life that
Was never possible, never real
I raged at the unfairness
Quietly inside, to myself
Anger swelled at my foolishness
For not seeing and knowing
What I could have never known
I blamed myself for the pain
My own and my children’s
For I brought this on by my own choice
I chose him to marry
To have babies with
To build a life with
I chose this person, so broken
So incapable of true love
I alone made that choice
Was so duped into believing
The sweet words and the illusion
So carefully crafted by him
Not out of love, never
But out of a desire to possess
To control, to belittle, to break
He was a different breed
Not wanting to be filled up with love
But to be filled with power
And admiration
At all costs
Regardless of casualties
Even knowing all of this
Having lived it for so long
It was so hard to let go
To admit that it was not what I had thought
What I had hoped for so long
That it was unfixable
He was unfixable
And that we had to pay the price.
So, my love, you are on my mind
As you go forth to fight
Your own battle on this front
I wish you peace
As you begin this journey
Cautiously finding your way
To the new life that awaits
As much as I wish I could
Wrap you up safely
Protect you from the hurt,
The anger, the confusion
I know that is not my place.
This is yours and yours alone
To face and to conquer
Just remember
You are finally fighting
For something worthwhile
For yourself and a better life
To finally be able to be you
Accepted as you are
No apologies needed
To be able to hold your head up
And be proud of the man you are
Without being belittled
And shamed in front of your
Sweet children
To be the light, the guide
To show them the way
To live differently, too
Each one of you deserves that
You are giving them a great gift
Even if it doesn’t feel that way
At this very moment
The gift of expecting to be treated well
Of knowing that is possible
To give love freely
And have it returned without
A price or penalty
You, my love, are on your way
Know that I will be here
Standing in the shadows
Watching and cheering you on
Proud of who you are
The character you possess
Having seen the abundant
Kindness and love in your heart
It is your battle, my love
But you will not be alone
I will be here
Waiting so patiently
My heart overflowing
Waiting to soothe you
When you are in need
To offer comfort and solace
To wrap you in my arms
And hold you so tight
And feel your heart beating
Unsure of what to offer,
I give you the promise of my love
Through this and always.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Waiting. Waiting. And waiting some more.
I am having a hard time today for no apparent reason. I think it is such a combination of things. Kid burnout since we switched weekends. Trying to get all of the Halloween stuff ready. 4 days off of school for fall break. This should be the weekend for my guy to visit, but we were both too busy and pushed it back a week. All of it combined is leaving me feeling kind of raw and vulnerable. Not exactly my favorite feelings.
I think this is where that strange combo of Aspieness and family dysfunction come into play. I try very, very hard to not jump to conclusions and wait until I have all of the data before figuring situations out. This can be both good and bad. Good in the sense that I will rarely, if ever, get angry for no darn good reason. It's hard to just fly off the handle when you have trained yourself to stop, think, think some more, then decide if the emotion is valid. Takes some of the edge off by the time that decision is made. If I do decide I have a valid reason to be angry, or even perturbed, I am not going to flip out.
On the bad side, it makes it hard for me to discern between when I am being fair, patient, and understanding versus being a doormat. There is a line between the two, but it is pretty darn blurry to me at times. Having been a doormat on several occasions, to the point I probably could have made a wonderful career of it if that were an option, I am not too keen on being one again. I have made a concerted effort to make my expectations and boundaries known. I have worked very hard at being able to say "No" when needed and to put my interests at the front of the line most of the time. But sometimes....damn, it's just hard to figure out! Where is that line? When does it go from being compassionate and understanding to being walked on and taken for granted? It is difficult to determine, especially without daily personal contact, if I am being overly sensitive and not reading things right (like I was told most of my life) or if I am reading it right and I need to address the issue. So what ends up happening is I go around and around in circles, trying to figure it out, trying to be fair yet not dismiss my feelings.
I am not good at figuring this stuff out. Mixed messages, whether intentional or not, stress me out. I would much rather have it laid out plainly. I keep going through every reason why it has nothing to do with me, but with the crazy week and situations. I do understand that. I am not that demanding, really. But if I get a text saying to expect a call in 20 minutes, I think it should happen somewhere near 20 minutes. Not 90 minutes or so later. If I get a text asking how I am and I respond with a similar question, I would think there would be a reply. Yet here it is, 3 hours later....nada. There may well be a good reason. But, honestly, right now, I don't even know if I am in the mood to hear it. This has a cumulative effect. Once in a while, I understand things come up. But it adds up and compounds.
Waiting is hard. Long distance is hard. I think both take an extra effort to maintain that closeness when we are apart. I have no doubt of my feelings and am still sitting here, waiting, for the future to unfold. I look forward to that day when it can finally happen. But the waiting is gnawing at me. The uncertainty of it all. I have been waiting 18 months on Thursday and still no real end in sight. My biggest fear is that I will sit here and wait, patiently, only to have it be for nothing. That there will be a change of heart, a change in plans, or that the resentment over waiting endlessly will finally catch up. I need that contact and reassurance to remind me of WHY I am still waiting and that it's all worth it in the end. I need that visit next week to get here to get me through until the next one.
Sigh. I hate trying to make sense of all of this. I am going to try my best to put it in the back of my mind, finish my Halloween costume, and have fun with my friends tonight. I am not going to stop living life and sit and mope. My allotted moping time is up now. Back to work.
I think this is where that strange combo of Aspieness and family dysfunction come into play. I try very, very hard to not jump to conclusions and wait until I have all of the data before figuring situations out. This can be both good and bad. Good in the sense that I will rarely, if ever, get angry for no darn good reason. It's hard to just fly off the handle when you have trained yourself to stop, think, think some more, then decide if the emotion is valid. Takes some of the edge off by the time that decision is made. If I do decide I have a valid reason to be angry, or even perturbed, I am not going to flip out.
On the bad side, it makes it hard for me to discern between when I am being fair, patient, and understanding versus being a doormat. There is a line between the two, but it is pretty darn blurry to me at times. Having been a doormat on several occasions, to the point I probably could have made a wonderful career of it if that were an option, I am not too keen on being one again. I have made a concerted effort to make my expectations and boundaries known. I have worked very hard at being able to say "No" when needed and to put my interests at the front of the line most of the time. But sometimes....damn, it's just hard to figure out! Where is that line? When does it go from being compassionate and understanding to being walked on and taken for granted? It is difficult to determine, especially without daily personal contact, if I am being overly sensitive and not reading things right (like I was told most of my life) or if I am reading it right and I need to address the issue. So what ends up happening is I go around and around in circles, trying to figure it out, trying to be fair yet not dismiss my feelings.
I am not good at figuring this stuff out. Mixed messages, whether intentional or not, stress me out. I would much rather have it laid out plainly. I keep going through every reason why it has nothing to do with me, but with the crazy week and situations. I do understand that. I am not that demanding, really. But if I get a text saying to expect a call in 20 minutes, I think it should happen somewhere near 20 minutes. Not 90 minutes or so later. If I get a text asking how I am and I respond with a similar question, I would think there would be a reply. Yet here it is, 3 hours later....nada. There may well be a good reason. But, honestly, right now, I don't even know if I am in the mood to hear it. This has a cumulative effect. Once in a while, I understand things come up. But it adds up and compounds.
Waiting is hard. Long distance is hard. I think both take an extra effort to maintain that closeness when we are apart. I have no doubt of my feelings and am still sitting here, waiting, for the future to unfold. I look forward to that day when it can finally happen. But the waiting is gnawing at me. The uncertainty of it all. I have been waiting 18 months on Thursday and still no real end in sight. My biggest fear is that I will sit here and wait, patiently, only to have it be for nothing. That there will be a change of heart, a change in plans, or that the resentment over waiting endlessly will finally catch up. I need that contact and reassurance to remind me of WHY I am still waiting and that it's all worth it in the end. I need that visit next week to get here to get me through until the next one.
Sigh. I hate trying to make sense of all of this. I am going to try my best to put it in the back of my mind, finish my Halloween costume, and have fun with my friends tonight. I am not going to stop living life and sit and mope. My allotted moping time is up now. Back to work.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Visit aftermath
They left early. They had planned to leave on Sunday morning, but decided to head back Saturday night instead because they said they hadn't slept well. I offered no resistance.
Since then, I have been pondering. A favorite pastime of mine. Trying to figure out why they have this effect on me at this age and with this much distance. After all of the things I have managed to work on regarding myself over the past decade or so, maybe this is the final piece.
I came to some conclusions after stepping back and trying to see things from a more neutral, logical point of view. Not so much about grandma. I think she is controlling and a little over the top, occasionally verging on inappropriate. But even with all of her toughness, there is still a very nurturing side to her. She has had a tough life and I think that has shaped who she is.
As for mom...whole different story. Growing up, she did all the right things. She made sure we were dressed nice, got fed, read us bedtime stories, and was even room mother in the early grades. But there was also the ever-present knowledge that she really never wanted kids. My sister and I were both "accidents", something we learned pretty early on. She was never what I would consider to be abusive or neglectful, but she was very emotionally absent. I don't think my sister and I were meant to be loved, but to be shown off as pretty little things she made.
Knowing what I know now, what I have learned over the past few years, she does have some pretty darn narcisistic traits. Appearances mattered way too much. She acted proud of my acedemic achievements and activities, yet never bothered to attend any of them. And she made it clear that she would have preferred that I be homecoming or prom queen than on the honor roll or have the lead in the play. There are so many situations where my sister and I were irrelevent. It was all about how we appeared so as to make her look good. I sat and made a list, off the top of my head, of the strange things that had happened along the way with her. It was glaringly obvious that my dreams and feelings were of no matter to her. Hers were what were important. It was a perfect environment for me to learn very well how to pick my ex.
This was a huge revelation to me. And I feel a big sense of relief at having finally pieced it all together. Next to my ex, she seems pretty tame. But she still managed to do damage. All of the times when I have felt less of a person around her were not about me. It was about her inability to accept me as my own person. It somehow makes it easier to deal with now. I don't think she is able to look beyond herself and understand that other people's needs may be very different from her wants.
She can be fun, especially if she is here alone. I am not saying she's all bad. But is she who I waould call in a time of crisis? Not a chance. I know that she wouldn't be there for me. She has shown that many times. Will we ever be close? I don't think so. But I can tolerate her as she is on occassion. I am very thankful for the distance, geographically. It makes being low contact much easier and more acceptable.
So I will keep on living my life, the one I have created on my own. And I will be proud of the person I am. It may not be who she wants me to be or even thinks that I am, but that's fine. I finally am starting to feel freed from the criticsm now that I can see where and why it happens. As hard as it was to realize this, it needed to happen for me to deal with it. And I am thankful
Since then, I have been pondering. A favorite pastime of mine. Trying to figure out why they have this effect on me at this age and with this much distance. After all of the things I have managed to work on regarding myself over the past decade or so, maybe this is the final piece.
I came to some conclusions after stepping back and trying to see things from a more neutral, logical point of view. Not so much about grandma. I think she is controlling and a little over the top, occasionally verging on inappropriate. But even with all of her toughness, there is still a very nurturing side to her. She has had a tough life and I think that has shaped who she is.
As for mom...whole different story. Growing up, she did all the right things. She made sure we were dressed nice, got fed, read us bedtime stories, and was even room mother in the early grades. But there was also the ever-present knowledge that she really never wanted kids. My sister and I were both "accidents", something we learned pretty early on. She was never what I would consider to be abusive or neglectful, but she was very emotionally absent. I don't think my sister and I were meant to be loved, but to be shown off as pretty little things she made.
Knowing what I know now, what I have learned over the past few years, she does have some pretty darn narcisistic traits. Appearances mattered way too much. She acted proud of my acedemic achievements and activities, yet never bothered to attend any of them. And she made it clear that she would have preferred that I be homecoming or prom queen than on the honor roll or have the lead in the play. There are so many situations where my sister and I were irrelevent. It was all about how we appeared so as to make her look good. I sat and made a list, off the top of my head, of the strange things that had happened along the way with her. It was glaringly obvious that my dreams and feelings were of no matter to her. Hers were what were important. It was a perfect environment for me to learn very well how to pick my ex.
This was a huge revelation to me. And I feel a big sense of relief at having finally pieced it all together. Next to my ex, she seems pretty tame. But she still managed to do damage. All of the times when I have felt less of a person around her were not about me. It was about her inability to accept me as my own person. It somehow makes it easier to deal with now. I don't think she is able to look beyond herself and understand that other people's needs may be very different from her wants.
She can be fun, especially if she is here alone. I am not saying she's all bad. But is she who I waould call in a time of crisis? Not a chance. I know that she wouldn't be there for me. She has shown that many times. Will we ever be close? I don't think so. But I can tolerate her as she is on occassion. I am very thankful for the distance, geographically. It makes being low contact much easier and more acceptable.
So I will keep on living my life, the one I have created on my own. And I will be proud of the person I am. It may not be who she wants me to be or even thinks that I am, but that's fine. I finally am starting to feel freed from the criticsm now that I can see where and why it happens. As hard as it was to realize this, it needed to happen for me to deal with it. And I am thankful
Friday, October 22, 2010
Family descending
I am sitting here waiting for my family of origin to arrive from out of state. Trying to remain peaceful and hope for the best. The house is clean, the kids are entertaining themselves, I have two loads of laundry drying in the sun, and I have a few precious moments to myself before the craziness begins.
I love my family because they are mine. They are what I know. What I came from. Grandma just turned 80 and is still as fiesty and demanding as ever. Mom just turned 61 and still thinks she's at least 20 years younger. My neice is coming along. So is my great aunt and her 4 year old granddaughter that I have never met.
They always travel in a pack and bring far too much stuff for a weekend visit.
I have sat here today, trying to figure out why I always get so stressed out before they come and while they are here. They want so badly to put me back into the familiar role that I used to be in when I was still there. But I am no longer a child and, in all honesty, we really don't have common views on much of anything anymore. They could much easier be someone else's family. But they are mine.
I moved away for the first time just after turning 18 and got my first small taste of freedom. There were a few years of being here and there, but that was always my homebase. I left for good at 24, a whole 18 years ago, and have not called it my home since. Don't get me wrong. They weren't mean to me and I wasn't running from them. Not at all. It was more that I was running towards me.
So I am bucking up, ready to stand my ground on my beliefs. I am going to try very hard not to take any of the criticism personally. I am happy in who I am, even if it's different from who they need me to be. And if all else fails...I have beer.
I love my family because they are mine. They are what I know. What I came from. Grandma just turned 80 and is still as fiesty and demanding as ever. Mom just turned 61 and still thinks she's at least 20 years younger. My neice is coming along. So is my great aunt and her 4 year old granddaughter that I have never met.
They always travel in a pack and bring far too much stuff for a weekend visit.
I have sat here today, trying to figure out why I always get so stressed out before they come and while they are here. They want so badly to put me back into the familiar role that I used to be in when I was still there. But I am no longer a child and, in all honesty, we really don't have common views on much of anything anymore. They could much easier be someone else's family. But they are mine.
I moved away for the first time just after turning 18 and got my first small taste of freedom. There were a few years of being here and there, but that was always my homebase. I left for good at 24, a whole 18 years ago, and have not called it my home since. Don't get me wrong. They weren't mean to me and I wasn't running from them. Not at all. It was more that I was running towards me.
So I am bucking up, ready to stand my ground on my beliefs. I am going to try very hard not to take any of the criticism personally. I am happy in who I am, even if it's different from who they need me to be. And if all else fails...I have beer.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Quietly missing
I sit here, missing you. Not in a desperate, needy way. It is much more quiet and peaceful. My daily life goes on, whirling around me, so much to do. Yet you are always there, in the back of my mind, bringing me comfort and encouragement. I simply miss your presence. The sound of your voice, your lingering scent, the feel of your hand on my back as you pass by me in the kitchen. Those small, mundane things that bring me such comfort. And the kisses. Let’s not underestimate the power they hold.
Today, I was stuck at a stoplight, going through my list of things to do in my head, like I always do. But I started drifting midway though and could only think of your eyes…how they look at me with such love, how they crinkle when you are laughing, how they light up when you talk about politics. Thankfully, I was able to notice when the light turned green and continue on my way without a serenade of honking horns behind me.
All throughout the day, every single day, there are those moments. Small little breaks in my daily life where you are suddenly at the forefront of my mind. When, even though you aren’t here, I can feel you around me. And I revel in it.
Today I had a morbid thought. What if I something happened and I needed you here? Not something minor. I can handle all of that. But what if I really, really needed you? I had to sit and think about that for a few moments, trying to figure out where that came from and what I would do. I took time to breathe, relax, and really think about that question.
I think it was born of the situation, which is not going to be changing anytime soon as far as I can realistically tell. Then I thought, in my rebellious mode, “I don’t need anyone anyway!” And, honestly, I know that if that moment came, I would get through it. I have gotten through plenty already on my own and came out just fine. So, in reality, what I would do is what I have always done. Put one foot in front of the other and just face whatever the problem could be. I wouldn’t become a shriveled, helpless mess of a woman. I would cope.
But what I realized is that while I made not NEED you, I do want you. If something did happen, I want to know that you are there to hold me and give me comfort and love me. Having spent far too many years weathering almost every difficult moment alone, I don’t want to do it by myself anymore. I want to be able to support each other during those times and to celebrate all of the joyous moments. Together. As partners in life. To hold hands and smile in amazement at all the great things that happen in everyday life. To laugh at the silliness and to offer solace during the sad moments.
I look forward to the life that we have waiting for us. And I love the one we have now, even if it’s not exactly ideal. I have faith in us. That we can do this. I love you more than I ever knew was possible.
Today, I was stuck at a stoplight, going through my list of things to do in my head, like I always do. But I started drifting midway though and could only think of your eyes…how they look at me with such love, how they crinkle when you are laughing, how they light up when you talk about politics. Thankfully, I was able to notice when the light turned green and continue on my way without a serenade of honking horns behind me.
All throughout the day, every single day, there are those moments. Small little breaks in my daily life where you are suddenly at the forefront of my mind. When, even though you aren’t here, I can feel you around me. And I revel in it.
Today I had a morbid thought. What if I something happened and I needed you here? Not something minor. I can handle all of that. But what if I really, really needed you? I had to sit and think about that for a few moments, trying to figure out where that came from and what I would do. I took time to breathe, relax, and really think about that question.
I think it was born of the situation, which is not going to be changing anytime soon as far as I can realistically tell. Then I thought, in my rebellious mode, “I don’t need anyone anyway!” And, honestly, I know that if that moment came, I would get through it. I have gotten through plenty already on my own and came out just fine. So, in reality, what I would do is what I have always done. Put one foot in front of the other and just face whatever the problem could be. I wouldn’t become a shriveled, helpless mess of a woman. I would cope.
But what I realized is that while I made not NEED you, I do want you. If something did happen, I want to know that you are there to hold me and give me comfort and love me. Having spent far too many years weathering almost every difficult moment alone, I don’t want to do it by myself anymore. I want to be able to support each other during those times and to celebrate all of the joyous moments. Together. As partners in life. To hold hands and smile in amazement at all the great things that happen in everyday life. To laugh at the silliness and to offer solace during the sad moments.
I look forward to the life that we have waiting for us. And I love the one we have now, even if it’s not exactly ideal. I have faith in us. That we can do this. I love you more than I ever knew was possible.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Fathers, dads, daddies, and others
I am missing my kids today, but they will be back here tomorrow. They are with their dad and I hope they are having a good time. Kids should be with their dads on Father's Day. At least unless there is a darn good reason.
All of this has got me thinking about dads. My own, the men I know, all of their stories. What an important job it is to be a dad and how so many men may never understand the impact they can have on a child's life. And how many others so desperately want to be a part of their child's life, only to be denied that opportunity by a vindictive ex. It's all pretty damn sad.
To my own dad...I wish you could have been the dad I dreamed of having. The one who valued his children and wanted to be a part of their lives. Who would have protected us from the abuse at our step-mother's hands, instead of looking away. Even today, as much as I hate to admit it, there is part of me that still wishes we could be in contact. But I know the reality of the situation. You and the step-mom are a package deal. So I will have to bow out. I will never subject myself and my kids to her again. I still miss you, on some level. But it's taken years for me to heal from all of the damage.
To my grandpa...I still miss you so, so very much. You were such a wonderful man and I am so thankful that you stepped in when my dad wasn't able to do what a dad should do. It's been 16 and a half years since you passed, but you will never be forgetten for all of the love and kindness you brought to my life. I will always love you.
To Ed...What a strange situation. You dated my mom for quite some time, were there through all of the hard teenage stuff, and never had any kids of your own. Even after you and mom were no longer dating, you remained such a constant in the lives of me and my sister. You are a wonderful example of what a real man is and I am so glad to have you in my life and very proud that my kids call you "Grandpa Ed". You earned that title fair and square. I may not say it enough, but I love you, too.
To my kids' dad...I am glad that they are with you on this day. I hope that you can realize what wonderful boys they are and treat them with love and kindness.
To my guy...Every kid should be so lucky as to have a daddy like you. You do such a wonderful job with your kids. Not just the normal dad stuff, but so much of the day to day parenting that often falls to the mom. I love hearing you intereact with them, with such obvious love and patience. You are such a lovely combination of nurturer, fun guy, and gentle disciplanarian. I also appreciate how you also treat my kids with such kindess and respect. It is very much appreciated. I love you, too, honey!
To my friend, Billy...My heart absolutely breaks for you on this day. What your ex has done is beyond cruel. I wish so much that one day your son will realize how much you wanted to spend time with him, to be in his life. Parental Alienation is inhumane. Not only are you hurt, so is your child, even if he doesn't realize it yet. You are a good man and I hope so much that one day you will be reunited with your son. (((Billy)))
Happy Father's Day to all of you who have been such glowing examples of fatherhood, even through adversity. And, what the Hell....Happy Father's Day to you, too, dad, where ever you may be.
All of this has got me thinking about dads. My own, the men I know, all of their stories. What an important job it is to be a dad and how so many men may never understand the impact they can have on a child's life. And how many others so desperately want to be a part of their child's life, only to be denied that opportunity by a vindictive ex. It's all pretty damn sad.
To my own dad...I wish you could have been the dad I dreamed of having. The one who valued his children and wanted to be a part of their lives. Who would have protected us from the abuse at our step-mother's hands, instead of looking away. Even today, as much as I hate to admit it, there is part of me that still wishes we could be in contact. But I know the reality of the situation. You and the step-mom are a package deal. So I will have to bow out. I will never subject myself and my kids to her again. I still miss you, on some level. But it's taken years for me to heal from all of the damage.
To my grandpa...I still miss you so, so very much. You were such a wonderful man and I am so thankful that you stepped in when my dad wasn't able to do what a dad should do. It's been 16 and a half years since you passed, but you will never be forgetten for all of the love and kindness you brought to my life. I will always love you.
To Ed...What a strange situation. You dated my mom for quite some time, were there through all of the hard teenage stuff, and never had any kids of your own. Even after you and mom were no longer dating, you remained such a constant in the lives of me and my sister. You are a wonderful example of what a real man is and I am so glad to have you in my life and very proud that my kids call you "Grandpa Ed". You earned that title fair and square. I may not say it enough, but I love you, too.
To my kids' dad...I am glad that they are with you on this day. I hope that you can realize what wonderful boys they are and treat them with love and kindness.
To my guy...Every kid should be so lucky as to have a daddy like you. You do such a wonderful job with your kids. Not just the normal dad stuff, but so much of the day to day parenting that often falls to the mom. I love hearing you intereact with them, with such obvious love and patience. You are such a lovely combination of nurturer, fun guy, and gentle disciplanarian. I also appreciate how you also treat my kids with such kindess and respect. It is very much appreciated. I love you, too, honey!
To my friend, Billy...My heart absolutely breaks for you on this day. What your ex has done is beyond cruel. I wish so much that one day your son will realize how much you wanted to spend time with him, to be in his life. Parental Alienation is inhumane. Not only are you hurt, so is your child, even if he doesn't realize it yet. You are a good man and I hope so much that one day you will be reunited with your son. (((Billy)))
Happy Father's Day to all of you who have been such glowing examples of fatherhood, even through adversity. And, what the Hell....Happy Father's Day to you, too, dad, where ever you may be.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
1 year, 1 month, and 1 day
I just looked at the calendar and realized that is what today is...1 year, 1 month, and 1 day since I first met my wonderful man in person for the first time. That long since he first walked up the sidewalk at my former house, dressed in khaki shorts and a white shirt, looking to me like the most handsome man I had ever laid eyes on. I was in the doorway, trying not to pass out from the anticipation. lol. Trying to remain calm and not look too nervous. He did a 360 degree turn about halfway up the walk and it made me smile. He admitted later that he was a nervous wreck, too, and was so afraid that I was going to not like him and simply shut the door. That his 3 hour drive there for the day would have been a waste of time.
After spending so many hours upon hours talking to each other over many months, he never felt like a stranger. We had covered just about every topic imaginable, from marriages, to children, to childhoods. Dating, growing up, expectations, and dreams. So much of the connection was based on common bonds of growing up in similar situations and living such similar adult lives. So many parallels that we would even joke about how we must be related. The attraction was intense, even before we met face to face. It was based more on who we were than appearances. But I do have to admit the first time I saw a picture of him, I was beyond smitten. Wow. But even that didn't happen for a long, long time into the friendship.
I did let him in the house that day. How could I not? My nervousness lasted only a minute or so, until he hugged me for the first time. It felt so comfortable and safe, like I had come home. And when he kissed me, that was it. I was a goner from that point. I knew at that very moment that I had to be with this man. I spent the whole day marveling at what was happening. I still don't have a good explanation. The words, "I love this man" kept running through my mind and I had to be watchful not to blurt it out. I wanted to whisper it in his ear, tell everyone I knew, and go outside and shout it at the top of my lungs. But I knew that I couldn't say it just yet. It was our first meeting, for Heaven's sake. That's way, way too soon.
I won't share the details of our day together because that is far too special and personal. That is something that belongs to us alone. To be reminisced over while snuggled up on rainy days. But that day was filled with such tenderness and passion and amazement. The intensity was immense and overwhelming, unlike anything I had experienced. Not just physically. Not even close. It was all of it combined. I was with HIM.
He left that day to travel home and I knew that something had changed within me. I wasn't afraid, just eager to see what would happen as we went along. And those words I wanted so badly to shout and to whisper came pouring out from both of us when we met next. And they have never stopped. Every day I love this man more. I still find amazement in who he is, what he thinks, what he believes, and how he treats people around him. This wonderful man, the one that I feel like have loved forever, that I want to love forever, that I am so thankful to have found.
With him I find comfort and contentment. I can be completely myself with no fear. I feel safe, loved, and cherished. The intimacy and communication we share is something I didn't know was possible. I can't wait to see what more the future brings.
After spending so many hours upon hours talking to each other over many months, he never felt like a stranger. We had covered just about every topic imaginable, from marriages, to children, to childhoods. Dating, growing up, expectations, and dreams. So much of the connection was based on common bonds of growing up in similar situations and living such similar adult lives. So many parallels that we would even joke about how we must be related. The attraction was intense, even before we met face to face. It was based more on who we were than appearances. But I do have to admit the first time I saw a picture of him, I was beyond smitten. Wow. But even that didn't happen for a long, long time into the friendship.
I did let him in the house that day. How could I not? My nervousness lasted only a minute or so, until he hugged me for the first time. It felt so comfortable and safe, like I had come home. And when he kissed me, that was it. I was a goner from that point. I knew at that very moment that I had to be with this man. I spent the whole day marveling at what was happening. I still don't have a good explanation. The words, "I love this man" kept running through my mind and I had to be watchful not to blurt it out. I wanted to whisper it in his ear, tell everyone I knew, and go outside and shout it at the top of my lungs. But I knew that I couldn't say it just yet. It was our first meeting, for Heaven's sake. That's way, way too soon.
I won't share the details of our day together because that is far too special and personal. That is something that belongs to us alone. To be reminisced over while snuggled up on rainy days. But that day was filled with such tenderness and passion and amazement. The intensity was immense and overwhelming, unlike anything I had experienced. Not just physically. Not even close. It was all of it combined. I was with HIM.
He left that day to travel home and I knew that something had changed within me. I wasn't afraid, just eager to see what would happen as we went along. And those words I wanted so badly to shout and to whisper came pouring out from both of us when we met next. And they have never stopped. Every day I love this man more. I still find amazement in who he is, what he thinks, what he believes, and how he treats people around him. This wonderful man, the one that I feel like have loved forever, that I want to love forever, that I am so thankful to have found.
With him I find comfort and contentment. I can be completely myself with no fear. I feel safe, loved, and cherished. The intimacy and communication we share is something I didn't know was possible. I can't wait to see what more the future brings.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
I hate Mother's Day
This has been an incredibly hard weekend. I have felt so ridiculously emotionally raw since Friday. I keep trying to push it down, ignore it, distract myself...but it hasn't been working well at all. Everything is getting to me. I think I have cried more this weekend than I have in the past two years combined. It feels like PMS on crack. And I hate it. I hate feeling this way. I hate this dark cloud hanging over what should be a wonderful weekend.
I have sat and thought and thought and thought some more about why I am having this reaction. All I can come up with is that this has always been a bad weekend, especially after the two youngest kids were born. Their birthdays are May 8th and May 10th, so they always fall right around Mother's Day. You would think that would be a good thing. But I learned very well over many years with the ex that it is a very bad thing.
The root of a Narcissist is the need to always be center of attention and that the world MUST revolve around them at all times. Others are to never get attention or be in the spotlight. Yet there are times when, by nature of society, they are not the focus. Other people's birthdays, Mother's day, they have to share Christmas, etc. And on those days, the people who are being celebrated must pay for daring to get attention. And the narcissist will make sure they pay dearly, in one way or another. Their job is not done until someone is being raged at and the person is in tears. Then the narcissist's job is complete and they can feel good again.
Let me begin by explaining birthday parties. It doesn't matter that it's a child's birthday. Nothing matters except that the narcissist isn't getting attention constantly. Birthday parties are either over the top so that they can gloat about how much money they spent and how wonderful they are to throw such a big party or it is nothing more than a cake and presents with the family. And whatever the narcissist gives as a gift had better be the best gift received. It is the birthday boy's job to gush about how wonderful it is, how much they love it, how they have always wanted one...it doesn't even matter WHAT the gift is. As the non-narcissist part of the family, the other parent learns to fade into the background and let them have the attention. It doesn't matter if that parent is the one who bought everything, including said gift, decorated, baked a cake, cooked the food, and cleaned the house until it sparkled while the narcissist laid in bed. Their work behind the scenes is inconsequential because they don't matter.
Now imagine two of those in a weekend. Yeah, it was not pretty. And there was never enough attention. It would always end up with rage, accusations, tantrums, and sulking.
Add to that Mother's Day. The kids would give me gifts they had made at school, which I always loved. And he would make fun of them behind their backs. It made me so sad to hear the criticism of something they had worked so hard on and that they were so proud of. Then there would be his gift, if he bothered to get me something. In the early days it would be a box of my favorite chocolates. I would have to have one right away to show how much I loved them. Then I would have to share the rest. If I didn't and wanted to save them, then I was a horrible, selfish mother who didn't deserve to have children or get anything.
Later in the marriage, it became the tradition to get me flats of flowers. I do love to garden, so I did like the plants. But he didn't buy them for that reason. It was so that I would do the work to make the yard at HIS house look nice. It was never OUR house, always HIS. So, yes, it was my gift, but for his benefit.
We would have to go to church, so he could parade me around, showing off his "perfect" family. The whole time we would be on pins and needles, hoping we didn't say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing. And anything could set him off, but we wouldn't know until we got in the car to go home. Then the raging would start again. When we got home, he would storm off to his room, telling me to let him know when the food was ready, effectively canceling the rest of Mother's Day.
After I made a late lunch and we all ate in silence, afraid to speak and set him off again, I would get the kids outside. I would start working on planting and doing projects in the yard. I would try to stay out as long as possible and keep the kids away from him, knowing that it could get ugly fast. There was no rest for me on my day. It was constant vigilance, trying to maintain peace.
Once in a while, I would get a surprise and he would do something that made me think that just maybe this year could be different. Once he decided that he would take me out to eat after church. But he hadn't made reservations anywhere and the restaurants were full. So he drove from location to location, getting angrier and angrier. By this point we were all hungry, but didn't dare say a word. At some point, this all became my fault. And he raged and raged. The kids were little and scared in the back seat. I just kept looking ahead, trying to just breath and not cry. Finally, he found a place and we have to go in. He is back to pretending to be a loving, wonderful husband and father. We sat there, staring at our food, not speaking, choking down our meal while he criticized the food, the waitress, the decor, and the music. He paid, leaving a huge tip just to get attention,and then flirted with the cashier while I stood right there.
Another one that stands out in my mind. I was just released from the hospital after having our third son the day before. He carried the stuff up the stairs to the apartment we were living in at the time and got me settled on the couch. Then he told me he'd be back in several hours because his mom was in town and he needed to go see her. Oh, and he wasn't taking our other sons, who were 5 and 2 1/2, so I would have to make them something to eat because he didn't have time before he left. Oh, and I needed to clean up the apartment because he hadn't had time to do that, either. He planned to bring several of his brothers and sisters back that night to see the baby and he didn't want to be embarrassed by a messy house. Not that I needed to do much. Just vacuum, do the dishes, and clean the bathrooms. I mentioned the fact that I had just given birth yesterday and both exhausted and very, very sore. All he did was scream that he regretted marrying such a lazy, worthless woman and stormed out.
No wonder this weekend has been hard. It is filled with so many hard, painful memories. I am trying very hard to focus on the good things in my life. Trying to see that my kids love me and value me. That I have a man who is thoughtful and trying his best from a distance to make me feel loved and appreciated. But it just so darn hard to undo all of this damage. I keep trying. I keep reminding myself over and over that it's a day to be happy. That I deserve to be appreciated and loved. Not only today, but every day. That it's OK to receive gifts and that now they don't come with a price. I hope that one day it all sinks in and I can do that without the internal reminders.
I have sat and thought and thought and thought some more about why I am having this reaction. All I can come up with is that this has always been a bad weekend, especially after the two youngest kids were born. Their birthdays are May 8th and May 10th, so they always fall right around Mother's Day. You would think that would be a good thing. But I learned very well over many years with the ex that it is a very bad thing.
The root of a Narcissist is the need to always be center of attention and that the world MUST revolve around them at all times. Others are to never get attention or be in the spotlight. Yet there are times when, by nature of society, they are not the focus. Other people's birthdays, Mother's day, they have to share Christmas, etc. And on those days, the people who are being celebrated must pay for daring to get attention. And the narcissist will make sure they pay dearly, in one way or another. Their job is not done until someone is being raged at and the person is in tears. Then the narcissist's job is complete and they can feel good again.
Let me begin by explaining birthday parties. It doesn't matter that it's a child's birthday. Nothing matters except that the narcissist isn't getting attention constantly. Birthday parties are either over the top so that they can gloat about how much money they spent and how wonderful they are to throw such a big party or it is nothing more than a cake and presents with the family. And whatever the narcissist gives as a gift had better be the best gift received. It is the birthday boy's job to gush about how wonderful it is, how much they love it, how they have always wanted one...it doesn't even matter WHAT the gift is. As the non-narcissist part of the family, the other parent learns to fade into the background and let them have the attention. It doesn't matter if that parent is the one who bought everything, including said gift, decorated, baked a cake, cooked the food, and cleaned the house until it sparkled while the narcissist laid in bed. Their work behind the scenes is inconsequential because they don't matter.
Now imagine two of those in a weekend. Yeah, it was not pretty. And there was never enough attention. It would always end up with rage, accusations, tantrums, and sulking.
Add to that Mother's Day. The kids would give me gifts they had made at school, which I always loved. And he would make fun of them behind their backs. It made me so sad to hear the criticism of something they had worked so hard on and that they were so proud of. Then there would be his gift, if he bothered to get me something. In the early days it would be a box of my favorite chocolates. I would have to have one right away to show how much I loved them. Then I would have to share the rest. If I didn't and wanted to save them, then I was a horrible, selfish mother who didn't deserve to have children or get anything.
Later in the marriage, it became the tradition to get me flats of flowers. I do love to garden, so I did like the plants. But he didn't buy them for that reason. It was so that I would do the work to make the yard at HIS house look nice. It was never OUR house, always HIS. So, yes, it was my gift, but for his benefit.
We would have to go to church, so he could parade me around, showing off his "perfect" family. The whole time we would be on pins and needles, hoping we didn't say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing. And anything could set him off, but we wouldn't know until we got in the car to go home. Then the raging would start again. When we got home, he would storm off to his room, telling me to let him know when the food was ready, effectively canceling the rest of Mother's Day.
After I made a late lunch and we all ate in silence, afraid to speak and set him off again, I would get the kids outside. I would start working on planting and doing projects in the yard. I would try to stay out as long as possible and keep the kids away from him, knowing that it could get ugly fast. There was no rest for me on my day. It was constant vigilance, trying to maintain peace.
Once in a while, I would get a surprise and he would do something that made me think that just maybe this year could be different. Once he decided that he would take me out to eat after church. But he hadn't made reservations anywhere and the restaurants were full. So he drove from location to location, getting angrier and angrier. By this point we were all hungry, but didn't dare say a word. At some point, this all became my fault. And he raged and raged. The kids were little and scared in the back seat. I just kept looking ahead, trying to just breath and not cry. Finally, he found a place and we have to go in. He is back to pretending to be a loving, wonderful husband and father. We sat there, staring at our food, not speaking, choking down our meal while he criticized the food, the waitress, the decor, and the music. He paid, leaving a huge tip just to get attention,and then flirted with the cashier while I stood right there.
Another one that stands out in my mind. I was just released from the hospital after having our third son the day before. He carried the stuff up the stairs to the apartment we were living in at the time and got me settled on the couch. Then he told me he'd be back in several hours because his mom was in town and he needed to go see her. Oh, and he wasn't taking our other sons, who were 5 and 2 1/2, so I would have to make them something to eat because he didn't have time before he left. Oh, and I needed to clean up the apartment because he hadn't had time to do that, either. He planned to bring several of his brothers and sisters back that night to see the baby and he didn't want to be embarrassed by a messy house. Not that I needed to do much. Just vacuum, do the dishes, and clean the bathrooms. I mentioned the fact that I had just given birth yesterday and both exhausted and very, very sore. All he did was scream that he regretted marrying such a lazy, worthless woman and stormed out.
No wonder this weekend has been hard. It is filled with so many hard, painful memories. I am trying very hard to focus on the good things in my life. Trying to see that my kids love me and value me. That I have a man who is thoughtful and trying his best from a distance to make me feel loved and appreciated. But it just so darn hard to undo all of this damage. I keep trying. I keep reminding myself over and over that it's a day to be happy. That I deserve to be appreciated and loved. Not only today, but every day. That it's OK to receive gifts and that now they don't come with a price. I hope that one day it all sinks in and I can do that without the internal reminders.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Houses and hearts
I am sitting here, procrastinating. I have laundry to do and need to start stripping hideously ugly wallpaper border from almost every single wall of this house. I am glad to finally have a bunch of paint to start transforming this house that once belonged to another family into our home.
This house. I can’t explain it, but from the moment I walked in, it felt like home. The neighborhood isn’t the best, but it’s not terrible, either. But the house itself…when I stepped in, after it had sat empty for many months, it felt…right…like it could be my home. It felt solid and dependable. Yeah, sure, it needs a little work. But I am resourceful, have skills, and power tools. The only thing lacking the past few months has been money to put into it, but I have been able to hit a good deal here and there, slowly, slowly doing small things.
Paint is easy. And I got such a great deal on it! I can hardly believe my good fortune. I am anxious to start painting, but before that happens, there is always prep work. I wish that part could do itself and let me get on with the business of just getting the new colors on the walls. And I know that once I get started in just a bit, I will find comfort and pleasure in stripping down the old paper and probably won’t want to stop to even make dinner.
I have been very lost in my thoughts today and working on the house always helps me to think. It’s calming, kind of like gardening. There is something about working with my hands that settles me. There are so many possibilities, so many unknowns in the next few months. And it’s hard for me, someone who likes to have a plan. Needs to have a plan. Or multiple backup plans, if things are unclear. But that can’t even happen at this point. I am trying to just let it all go and just live. Most days, I do just fine. I am making progress in learning to just live in the moment. But it doesn’t come naturally just yet.
This stupid weekend is getting to me a little. It’s just a day. I know it’s just a day. But, dammit, I had seriously hoped when all of this started over nine months ago that we would be together this weekend. And it won’t, can’t happen. I understand it. I accept it. But it does make me little bit sad. I keep repeating “it’s just another day” over and over. And I know that it is. But…sigh.
I have no doubt that I am loved and in a way beyond anything I could have ever hoped or imagined. And that I love this man just as deeply and intensely. I thought this was stuff that people just made up, for books and movies. That it didn’t actually exist. I love his mind and how he can make me think. How he knows a lot about things that I have never thought about learning. That he shares all of this with me and in a way that doesn’t make me feel inferior at all. I love his kindness, to me, his kids, my kids, and anyone around him. I love his patience and his understanding. I love how he looks at me with such tenderness. That he holds my hand. That we talk and talk and talk, about anything from news to plans for this house to our deepest secrets and dreams. That he writes poems, about so many things, not just me…though those melt my heart. I love that we feel secure enough with each other to be honest and to be vulnerable. I have never trusted another person the way I trust him. He is on my mind and in my heart every moment of the day, even as I am going about the rest of my life. Not intrusively, just there, solid, secure, loving.
I am OK with not being geographically nearer on most days because so much of the pleasure of being with him is derived from our talks. The mental, emotional, and spiritual connection is just as wonderful from a distance. Yes, there are days I wish he were closer so I could see those beautiful eyes or curl up next to him, because his psychical presence is so comforting. And I get a serious case of butterflies when I look at him, whether it’s when he first arrives here for a visit, when he walks through the door after being outside, or when I roll over in the morning and marvel at the fact he is there next to me. Right there. I know that there will finally be a time when he will be here more, or I there, and I look forward to that. Some days, out of the blue, I am overwhelmed with missing him and absolutely long for that day to get here. Others, I am content to wait patiently, knowing it will come. Not that it might, but that it will. Because I believe in him and I trust him and I love him.
I guess this waiting part, the hard part, is like the prep work for the house. I don’t necessarily want to do it, but it’s part of the process. And, if I take the time to do it right, the end result will only be that much better in the end.
This house. I can’t explain it, but from the moment I walked in, it felt like home. The neighborhood isn’t the best, but it’s not terrible, either. But the house itself…when I stepped in, after it had sat empty for many months, it felt…right…like it could be my home. It felt solid and dependable. Yeah, sure, it needs a little work. But I am resourceful, have skills, and power tools. The only thing lacking the past few months has been money to put into it, but I have been able to hit a good deal here and there, slowly, slowly doing small things.
Paint is easy. And I got such a great deal on it! I can hardly believe my good fortune. I am anxious to start painting, but before that happens, there is always prep work. I wish that part could do itself and let me get on with the business of just getting the new colors on the walls. And I know that once I get started in just a bit, I will find comfort and pleasure in stripping down the old paper and probably won’t want to stop to even make dinner.
I have been very lost in my thoughts today and working on the house always helps me to think. It’s calming, kind of like gardening. There is something about working with my hands that settles me. There are so many possibilities, so many unknowns in the next few months. And it’s hard for me, someone who likes to have a plan. Needs to have a plan. Or multiple backup plans, if things are unclear. But that can’t even happen at this point. I am trying to just let it all go and just live. Most days, I do just fine. I am making progress in learning to just live in the moment. But it doesn’t come naturally just yet.
This stupid weekend is getting to me a little. It’s just a day. I know it’s just a day. But, dammit, I had seriously hoped when all of this started over nine months ago that we would be together this weekend. And it won’t, can’t happen. I understand it. I accept it. But it does make me little bit sad. I keep repeating “it’s just another day” over and over. And I know that it is. But…sigh.
I have no doubt that I am loved and in a way beyond anything I could have ever hoped or imagined. And that I love this man just as deeply and intensely. I thought this was stuff that people just made up, for books and movies. That it didn’t actually exist. I love his mind and how he can make me think. How he knows a lot about things that I have never thought about learning. That he shares all of this with me and in a way that doesn’t make me feel inferior at all. I love his kindness, to me, his kids, my kids, and anyone around him. I love his patience and his understanding. I love how he looks at me with such tenderness. That he holds my hand. That we talk and talk and talk, about anything from news to plans for this house to our deepest secrets and dreams. That he writes poems, about so many things, not just me…though those melt my heart. I love that we feel secure enough with each other to be honest and to be vulnerable. I have never trusted another person the way I trust him. He is on my mind and in my heart every moment of the day, even as I am going about the rest of my life. Not intrusively, just there, solid, secure, loving.
I am OK with not being geographically nearer on most days because so much of the pleasure of being with him is derived from our talks. The mental, emotional, and spiritual connection is just as wonderful from a distance. Yes, there are days I wish he were closer so I could see those beautiful eyes or curl up next to him, because his psychical presence is so comforting. And I get a serious case of butterflies when I look at him, whether it’s when he first arrives here for a visit, when he walks through the door after being outside, or when I roll over in the morning and marvel at the fact he is there next to me. Right there. I know that there will finally be a time when he will be here more, or I there, and I look forward to that. Some days, out of the blue, I am overwhelmed with missing him and absolutely long for that day to get here. Others, I am content to wait patiently, knowing it will come. Not that it might, but that it will. Because I believe in him and I trust him and I love him.
I guess this waiting part, the hard part, is like the prep work for the house. I don’t necessarily want to do it, but it’s part of the process. And, if I take the time to do it right, the end result will only be that much better in the end.
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