Unraveling

Today I feel like I am unraveling. Little by little, piece by piece. I don't think there is any one reason why. I am tired. I am physically tired, I'm emotionally tired, I'm tired of being stressed out, I'm TIRED! Mr. Wrong is being, well, Wrong lately, he's probably tired too, but he is definitely adding to my unraveling right now. Communication is at an all time low in Casa de Wrong, and that worries me. No communication is what led to my unraveling before, and I am not going back to that time. I can't. I won't. I'm not.

During our entire separation, Mr. Wrong was The Great Communicator. Always wanted to talk, really talk. About feelings, about what we wanted, about anything really. I came to really enjoy that, and count on it. Now that I live here, does that mean that we no longer need to talk? I don't think it does. It doesn't for me anyway.

So we are stressed, and not talking. That really makes me feel as if I am doing all of this alone. With no one to share it with, no one to support me, no one to vent to. I don't know, I guess for men that's ok, for me it isn't. So, how do I restore communication? Not sure about that one. If anyone has any ideas, I would love to hear them!

Nine years ago

Exactly 9 years ago today, a little baby boy was born. This was no ordinary little boy though, this baby was sent with a very important purpose. He was born into a family that had experienced heartache and loss, and had come to heal the family.

He was a tiny little guy, but had a huge spirit from the very first minute of life, and that spirit has grown along with him every day for the last 9 years. Today his family is complete, and he is the light of everyone's eye. Without exception, everyone in the family lights up when he walks into a room.

He is sensitive beyond his years, this little man child. He has an understanding of human emotions that surpasses my own, and true compassion for all. He has a truly generous nature, rushing to share even brand new birthday toys with his brother and sisters. He is a natural comedian, his stories, though often a bit long, never fail to leave everyone in laughter.

This special child has been the most incredible gift any family could ever hope to receive, and I am proud and honored to call him my son. Happy birthday, Bug. You are loved more than you will ever know.

A Bad Mommy Day

Today was a bad mommy day.

My usually sweet, sensitive, caring Bug got in trouble in school today. Apparently, my 8 year old Mr. Sensitive called a little girl in his class a "fat slob".

Oh. My. Hell.

Where to begin listing my problems with this? There is the fact that I make a very conscious effort to raise my children to be sensitive to others feelings, and until today, thought I had done the best with Bug. He really is an amazing kid most of the time. This is the child who, just 2 days ago made everyone in our house sign a peace treaty, promising not to yell or fight with anyone. He is always the most verbal when I ask how he feels about something. Actually, he is usually the only one that doesn't run away when I ask about feelings.

Bug is, by far the most sensitive of all of my children, the most like me, and someone saying that to him would devastate him. He has been known to get teary eyed because of a dirty look. Honestly, I cannot imagine those words coming out of his mouth.

I have had a weight problem my entire life, a battle that has led to food disorders, body image issues, diet pill abuse, and terminally low self esteem. I have always tried to convey to my children how badly words like fat can hurt, how the damage done by those words never goes away completely. Coupled with the recent case of a sweet young girl killing herself because of the torment of constant bullying by classmates. No, I don't think that this is on the same level, but could it be the beginning? I know that words hurt, and wounds from words don't heal. It breaks my heart that my son has done that to another person.

So, as a punishment, Bug wrote a letter of apology. He told her he was sorry, that he thought he was joking. I felt better after he wrote the letter, and after a LONG talk from me. I thought we made headway, thought I had demonstrated good parenting. As I sat to write this, a disagreement escalated between Bug and his sister. As I listened, my hand frozen above my keyboard, I heard it. He called his sister a fat pig. It is definitely a bad mommy day.

An Ordinary Day

In the midst of my ordinary, same as usual day, I had a HUGE revelation. I can't identify the exact moment of this revelation. Was it while I was playing with Baby G? Was it while talking to Mr. Wrong about ordinary, every day things? Maybe it was while Mr. Wrong and I waved goodbye to Bug on his school bus from our front porch, or when Mr. Wrong and I hung laundry outside on our clothes line, surrounded by the sound of our children playing. It could have been at any of those moments, or a thousand other moments in this ordinary day. At some point, I realized I am happy.

Happy and I don't have a very good relationship, I should point that out. I have gone to ridiculous, life changing lengths to find happy, and ended up in a depression so deep I am still amazed that I survived it. The problem was, I think, that I wasn't clear about what happy IS. I thought I was supposed to have adrenaline coursing through my veins, heart beating fast, my mind fuzzy all day every day. Writing it now, it doesn't even sound appealing, let alone realistic. Sadly, I haven't been happy in a long time, not really, and that is what I thought I was supposed to feel.

Another major problem happy and I have is that usually when I do get it, I worry myself right out of it. Every. Single. Time. I thrive in times of catastrophe and chaos, and when I have times of the peace and tranquility that I want so badly, I am waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop. My glass becomes half empty. I look for the bad in every situation, and if I don't find any I CREATE bad. I'm not sure why I do these things, why I try to sabotage myself at every turn, but I do it well, of that I am sure. Hopefully, now that I am aware of doing it, I can stop.

My outlook on life is changing, slowly but steadily. I look for the good in situations, and people. I make a conscientious effort not to judge a book by it's cover, and take time to get to know what is inside. I have removed toxic people from my life, and replaced them with positive, uplifting people who validate me and encourage healthy life choices. I make every effort not to hurt anyone, including myself.

I know myself well, and it is completely possible that I will be here tomorrow with a list of complaints about what is wrong in my life. Today, however, today I am happy. It was a really awesome ordinary day.

Sometime

Today I went to a viewing for a friend and co worker. I was planning to tell her story here, and make my case for health care reform. While I still think that health care is important, after this afternoon, that is not the story I want to tell today. I have been told that everything happens for a reason, and while I don't believe that, I do strongly believe that we need to try to make something positive come out of terrible, tragic situations. I fall sadly short of that mark on many occasions, but today, I would like to try, for my friend.

So many times in life, we take for granted the people we are around every day. The co workers, friends, and family members that we see on a daily basis, sometimes never for a second considering the possibility that a day will come when we won't see them ever again. We exchange cell phone numbers with vague promises to call "sometime" and get together. We work long boring nights together and remark that we should do something together "sometime". Well, what if "sometime" never comes? Today I watched my co workers and supervisors crying over these very things. I saw my friends family devastated beyond anything a person should have to withstand because they will never have another day with their daughter, fiance, mother. There is a lesson to be learned from this experience, one I hope to never forget.

If you care about someone, please, do not assume that they know how you feel. I cannot express how strongly I feel about that. I will no longer make plans for "sometime" with anyone. I will make sure to make time, no matter what the situation, to have a cup of coffee, a beer after work, lunch on a day off. It is too important, too vital to let people you like and admire know how you feel. Much more important than anything else I might have to do that day. We lead busy lives, to be sure. We juggle jobs, and homes, and families and still try to have a few minutes of peace for ourselves each day. I get that, I really do, and I would be willing to bet the person you want to do things with "sometime" does too. Why not make sometime now, and find out?

Too Much Information

I think I am a reasonably nice person. I try to listen to others thoughts and feelings, and give them value. I genuinely do care about my friends lives, and I am more than happy to talk to any of them when they are having a problem, or when they are happy about some new development. I really, really am. Also, I should add that I pride myself on being friends with a wide variety of people. People of all different ages, religions, political beliefs. I am proud to say that I am able to maintain meaningful friendships regardless of our beliefs, and I enjoy learning about their perspective. However, there comes a point when enough is enough.

Lately, my homepage on facebook is filled with mildly nauseating status updates. "Going out with my baby", "missing my baby", "I love my baby". Gag. Do I really need to bear witness to people, supposedly adults, running their love life online? Is there no point that we keep some things behind closed doors? Mr. Wrong, being not the most mature person on the planet, has ran wild with this. For an entire week, I have recieved updates, texts, and even him SPEAKING "crossing the street with my baby", "shopping with my baby" , "My baby called me an ass", "Why did my baby just punch me? Now I'm sad". I'm telling you, it's out of control.

Just about an hour ago, while I was mentally preparing this very post, I logged into facebook. "Happy three month anniversary,baby! I love you!" So, this, though belated, is for my dear Mr. Wrong. Happy 212 month anniversary, baby!

The Art of Fighting

I strongly believe that the only way to have a good relationship is to have good communication. As I have openly admitted here before, I talk. A lot. All the time. One of the easiest, most certain ways to make me crazy, out of control mad is to walk away from me in the middle of an argument. Mr. Wrong does that. All. The. Time. If you cared enough to get involved in an argument, you have to care enough to see it through. Talk about it, yell about it, whatever. Just please finish it for crying out loud! We struggle with this often, lately. Mr. Wrong gets really angry, and walks away. I understand his reasoning. He feels that rather than saying mean, hurtful things, he would rather walk away and terminate the fight. This, however reasonable and rational it may sound, is not acceptable, or, in my opinion healthy.

Another issue in Casa de Wrong is that we don't have the same approach to disagreeing. I really try to lay my cards on the table, tell it like I see it, be upfront. This hasn't always been the case, I have downright lied in the past, and I am sincerely trying to make amends for that by doing better now. Mr. Wrong approaches things far differently. He hides. Everything. Then, when you least expect it, Bam! Out of the blue, he drops a bomb, it could be hours or even days later, like some kind of sneak attack. I am sure part of this is because I have lied to him in the past. I know the damage I have done. All I can do is try to do better now. I think part of this could also be just the difference between men and women. I don't get men. I never have, and have pretty much given up on the notion. My question now is, how do we move forward together if we aren't even speaking the same language?

The Real Me

You say that you want me back, but I have to wonder, do you even know who I am? I have to warn you, the person you knew, the person you say you miss, doesn't exist anymore. Actually, she never really did exist. The reality is, I made her up. I knew what was expected, knew exactly who everyone wanted me to be, so that's exactly who I was. I wasn't really trying to lie, that was never my intention. I just knew, at the very core, where the real truth can be found, that I wasn't good enough. For anyone. Not for you, certainly not for these amazing people who called me mommy. So, I tried. I really and honestly tried to be the person that everyone wanted, needed, me to be. I was better at it than I thought. I did it so well for so long that I kind of forgot who I really am. I don't know if I ever really knew the real me, but I do now, and from now on, that is who I will be, for better or worse.

Do you know what it's like to have the people you love more than life itself look at you differently? To be in a crowded place, and have strangers look at you with disapproval, judgment, or, in extreme cases, even outright disgust? Do you know what it like to look at those same people and know that they have the right to cast a vote regarding the validity of your soul? I do, now. These things do something to a person. Not necessarily bad things. It makes you stronger, thicker skinned. It gives you a sort of jagged edge, a protection of sorts. The tough, sharp outer layer necessary to protect the soft, bruised interior.

So, before you say something like you want me back, you need to take time. Take time to know who I am, all of me, even the parts you don't like. This is who I am now, and I'm not sure I fit in your world anymore. Are you?

The Things I Carry With Me

Ten years ago, I carried a two year old little girl. She was loving, adorable, and instantly loved by everyone who saw her. Her two older sisters and one older brother were with me constantly, not carried, but attached none the less, with sticky hands and firm, sturdy arms. I carried a diaper bag, too. It held spare clothes, cheerios, boo-boo tape (band-aids) and blankies.

Today, that two year old is a beautiful, blonde, older than her years twelve year old. She has compassion, and a strong sense of right and wrong. Her oldest sister is now far away from us, living her own life, and missed terribly by all of us. Her other sister is now a mom with a diaper bag of her own, and her older brother has somehow changed from my beautiful little boy into a handsome, quiet teenager. They have been joined by another brother, now eight years old. My diaper bag has been replaced by one of many hand bags, depending on my mood, and the cheerios have been replaced by mints and gum, but they are still carried mainly for them, just like the cheerios.

Ten years ago, my son died. I carried the grief of his passing clearly, the pain raw and exposed, probably to the point of making other people uncomfortable around me. His name was spoken in whispers around me, kindness showed to me by caring people afraid to open the wound that had not yet begun to heal. I remember thinking at the time that it never would heal.

I was right. That kind of wound never does heal fully. After experiencing pain that deep, that all consuming, you are left forever with a void. The void can not be filled, not with more children, sex, alcohol or drugs. The pain, however, does lessen. One day you wake up, and you realize that you can breathe, that life has been going on all around you, and people are depending on you, looking to you to help them with their grief and pain. It is always with me, and always will be. The pain has changed me, and carrying it has made me stronger, I think, and so appreciative of my children it's hard to let them grow up sometimes.

Ten years ago, I carried an engagement ring and a wedding ring on my left ring finger. They were symbols to the world, and to myself, that I belonged to someone. I wore them proudly, and in really bad times in my marriage, would look at them and tell myself they meant that I was okay, that I was loved. Ten years ago, I carried with me a deep, all encompassing need to be loved no matter what. I truly believed that if I was loved, if I was "in love", nothing else mattered, I was complete, a whole person. I could overlook anything, as long as I was "in love".

Today, my left ring finger is empty. My rings were taken off, and my marriage is over. They were replaced, briefly, wrongly by other rings, on two separate occasions. Not wedding rings, but symbols none the less. I was "in love", someone loved me, so therefore, I was okay. I no longer carry that need. Today, I feel that the word love is so highly overused, and so misused, that I don't believe in being "in love" anymore. It is a big realization for me to come to, that I don't believe in love. Of course, I love my children, but the other love, the intoxicating, you complete me, you had me at hello, love? No, I honestly don't believe in it anymore. That is kind of sad, I think, but it's okay for now, I'm good with that.

Ten years ago, I carried a secret. I hid this secret from everyone, guarding it with everything in me. I hid it, most especially, from myself. I thought about it sometimes, during long, sleepless nights. I would quickly force myself to think of something, anything else. To reveal the secret to myself, to open it up, lay it out and examine it, would mean questioning everything in my entire life. It would mean questioning my motherhood, my marriage, my role as a daughter, a sister, a friend. Doing that would require a strength almost super human, I thought, although I knew that many, many people had. I applauded them silently, in some hidden corner of my heart even envied them, but I knew, no matter what, I could never be like them.

Today, that secret is still with me. It isn't as guarded or protected anymore, shared with trusted, loyal friends and, finally, myself. The amazing thing is, I didn't die! No one has turned their back on me, no one has stopped talking to me, no one has told me I am no longer welcome in their life. I am humbled and saddened that I didn't give these amazing people the credit that they deserved from the beginning. Because of their openness, their acceptance, their love, I have been able to slowly, timidly, but with growing confidence, open my circle and share my secret with more and more people. People like me, people like you, people willing to turn a light on dark places, and prove, once and for all, that their is nothing so scary in the darkness. I lack the words to express my gratitude to them all.

My load was pretty heavy ten years ago, and I am so grateful that is is so much lighter today. There were a lot of bad things, a lot of painful, scary places that I wouldn't want my worst enemy to go through. I wouldn't change any of it though, looking back. All of the things I carried then have brought me to the place that I am now. While far, far, from perfect, I am in a pretty good place today, and for the first time in my life, I can't wait to see what happens next.

Things I know for sure

I absolutely love Oprah. I think she is amazing. I love that she is a strong, powerful, successful woman. I love that she works so hard at truly knowing herself,and being the best person she can be. In her magazine,she does a feature every month called things I know for sure. This blog is my attempt to decide what I know for sure.

I know that I love my children, regardless of what they do or say. I can think of nothing that could ever change that. I would walk away from just about anyone else in my life, but never them, no matter what. They are aware of this, and as teenagers, don't always like it. I hope that one day they will appreciate it for what it is. Unconditional love.

I know that I am a strong person. Much stronger than most people give me credit for. My ex has always loved to tell me I am weak, that I can't handle life on my own, but I think if he were honest with himself he would see that any situation we were ever in, when our backs were to the wall, when all hope seemed lost, he went ballistic, and I went to work. I have learned that tears are not a sign of weakness, and it is the strongest people among us who can look at their true feelings, really feel them, and move on.

I know that I have spent too many years of my life trying to be the person other people wanted me to be. For years I have been terrified by the thought of someone, anyone not liking me. The danger here is that when you work so hard to be someone you aren't, you tend to forget who you are. For the first time in my life, I am finding out who I am. The good, the bad, the ugly. I like the person I am today enough that it's ok if someone else doesn't like me. That is a great feeling. The important people, the people who stay no matter what, like me in spite of my flaws, and the rest? Well, I guess the rest of the people don't really matter, do they?

I know that loving someone, really being in love with another human being, never makes you sad. It doesn't hurt. In fact, it feels really, really good. The intensity of some of my recent relationships was amazing, intoxicating, and ultimately painful. That isn't love. I know that to have a great relationship, both people have to know the difference, and have to be ready to work really hard to protect that love, no matter what. That relationship is out there for everyone, and it is worth the wait, I know that for sure.