The Ebb and Flow of Life

'And the worst of it is, you understand, that I can't leave him: there are the children, and I am bound. Yet I can't live with him. Anna Karenina


How strange to be living a quote from my favorite book. How well I understand the meaning of being bound, and the desperate longing to be free. I am living a life of single independence, for the most part, yet I share a home with a man who is still legally my husband. He lives his life the way he chooses, yet he sleeps every night on his wife's sofa. Through it all, I try to create a sense of normalcy and safety for my children.

There is an ebb and flow to Mr. Wrong's and my relationship. We pass between friendship to mortal enemies and back again so quickly sometimes even I don't know where we are in that spectrum some days. Truly, if I think about the things that have been said and done in this past year, and throughout our marriage, I can be overcome with rage so intense that it scares me. I know that he feels the same way, and again I will say, I am not perfect and I have made mistakes.
However, if we can sit in the same room together and not argue, I have to admit that I am bound by more than my children, more even than finances, and my stubborn refusal to give in to him ever again. There are 20 years between us. Twenty years of almost daily contact. I was still little more than a child twenty years ago. We have grown up together. There is a friendship that cannot be denied between us. I hope that we can come through whatever comes next in this process and be friends, not only for our children, but for us as well.

The lack of feelings

I feel like I have been living in a bubble of sorts, for several months now. I have the strange feeling of things happening around me, but somehow not to me. To a large extent, this is of my own doing. For too long, my feelings and emotions were out there, raw and exposed, for anyone and everyone to beat on them at will. I wanted to be that person, the open and honest person who could acknowledge feelings, and accept them. Then last year happened. Events and circumstances came hurtling towards me from all directions, with dizzying speed. From October '08 to October '09 I was hit, almost nonstop, with a freight train of emotional hell that left me, quite literally, in bed for weeks. I have written about that time before in this blog. Thanks to amazing friends, and incredible children, I pulled myself out of bed. I moved on. I learned some things during that time. I learned that someone who will bring you a newspaper and starbucks coffee in bed is truly your best friend forever. I learned that kids who will watch you mess up their world and love you anyway are the most precious gift God can give you. And I learned that if you don't want to be in bed listening to All by Myself and wallowing in self pity, you need to put your feelings and emotions away. Far away. Push them down, jump a couple of times to make sure they stay, and build those damn walls high.

So that is exactly what I did. I gotta say, it works pretty well. I no longer get hit with freight trains, I knock them out of the way, or run like hell to safety. This week marked several anniversaries for me, that would make most people sad. The thing is, I'm not. The mere fact that I am not, haven't shed a single tear, is amazing to me, and got me a bit curious. I think I overbuilt my armour. I think that, while trying to give my battered feelings a well deserved break, I have made myself incapable of feeling anything at all. Is that even possible? And if it is possible, what the hell does that say about me?

As final proof of my lack of feelings, I was in the grocery store today, shopping for the rest of the weeks meals. On the music that is piped throughout the store, Goodbye Girl came on. This song has always brought me to tears, it reminds me of my grandfather, who died about a year ago. This time? Nothing. Nada. Am I a cold hearted bitch? It makes me wonder....

Cat turns 13

Today my little girl turns 13.

Wow, what an amazing thing. I truly feel like I have been lied to somehow, that my little girl is still the beautiful blonde baby that wakes up each morning singing, yes singing, in her crib. Sadly, this is no lie, no dream, Alley Cat has become a teenager.

I worried when each of my older girls became 13. I was concerned that they would choose the wrong path, the wrong friends. I worried about drinking and drugs, all the usual teenage acts of rebellion. I am not as worried about Cat.

Cat has the most mature set of morals of any child I have ever known. She is quick to correct her siblings, and occasionally me, if she feels we have done something wrong. She disapproves of cursing. She is adamantly anti smoking. She thinks people who drink or do drugs are stupid and not worth her time.

She has a quick temper, inherited from me, and forgives and forgets just as quickly. She loves fiercely, and will defend those she loves with everything in her. She worries and over thinks everything, also inherited from me, and will lose nights of sleep worrying about things that are important to her.

Cat has always made friends easily, and has many that she loves like family. She enjoys life every day, and it is a joy to watch.

So, happy birthday Cat. I love you more than you will ever know.

Happy Birthday Tinkerbell

Today you turn 17 years old. How is that even possible, when I can remember bringing you home from the hospital like it was yesterday? You wore the cutest little yellow dress, and looked like a little doll in your carseat, which seemed way too big for you.

You were a very different baby than your older sister, independent from your very first breath. So independent, in fact, that you would not fall asleep if someone was holding you. You preferred to be left alone, to do things on your own terms, in your own way. Looking at you now, it is obvious that some things never change.

I am so proud of you for so many things. Your independence, your determination, your unwavering loyalty. You have seen and lived through so much more than you should have, but your experiences have made you who you are today, and I am so grateful that you are you. I know that you will never make the mistakes I have made, or let anyone (even your mom) tell you what to do. I love that about you. I love that you are mature enough to trust you own instincts, and to know what is right for you. I tried to raise you to question authority, rather than blindly follow, and you, more than any of your brothers or sisters, have gotten that message loud and clear.

When you had BabyG at 15, a lot of people were quick to doubt your ability to handle the responsibilities of motherhood. I never for a second thought you couldn't do it. You have proven to everyone that you are a great mother, and can rise to any challenge put before you. Your son is living proof of that.

Happy birthday Tinkerbell. I can't wait to see all you accomplish in the next year.

Becoming Real

What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room…

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

The Velveteen Rabbit

I just read this quote on another blog. It amazes me how much adults can learn from children's literature. For the last year of my life, I have been living this quote. I have finally, at long last, started becoming real. Last August, I took the biggest step towards real I have ever taken, and for the first time, tasted freedom. For many reasons, mostly for my children, I had to backpedal temporarily, but now, now I know. I will not live someone elses life anymore.

I have been called many things in my quest for real-ness. Selfish, a liar, a cheater, a fraud. But, real truly doesn't happen to people who break easily, and I cannot be broken. Not by words, accusations, hatred or anything else anyone wants to throw at me. I have no sharp edges, and I surely do not need to be carefully kept. In becoming real, I have learned independence, and strength, and integrity. You don't become real alone, and thank God, I have the best and most fiercly loyal friends in the entire Universe, and children who are an amazing gift even when they are being impossible, and I owe them more than I could ever hope to repay. They make sure I am not alone. They are helping me to become real.

I thought I was alone. I thought that I was the only one who realized, at the age of 40 that I was living a life that wasn't mine, fufilling someone elses destiny. Thanks to blogs, and online friendships, I have found that is far from true. Sometimes it takes a long, long time. It did for the skin horse, and it has for me. I wish it didn't. I wish I had always known the real me. I can't live my life in regret, however. I can help my children to know themselves, and remove the toxic people from my life. I can be content and peaceful in the life I have now. Yes, I may be loose in my joints, and somewhat shabby, but that only matters to people who will never understand.

Good Enough

The beginning of the end of my marriage came on October 22,2008. Mr. Wrong told me that he didn't love me, hadn't in fact, loved me in years. I should point out that up to that point, I had been completely faithful. I tried, in every way I knew, to be a good wife. He said a lot of terrible, hurtful things that day, but the most hurtful of all was "your best isn't good enough." I have heard that ringing in my head at every low moment I have had from that point on. You. Aren't. Good. Enough.

This past year has forced me to examine myself in ways I never have before. At my very core. I have had to strip away every defense I have ever had, layer by painful layer, to discover who I truly am, physically, spiritually, and mentally. The person Oprah calls my authentic self. It has been a long journey, and it is by no means over. There have been parts of me that I really don't much like, and I have had to change them. I have had to step way outside my box, my safe little comfort zone, and do things that I honestly never thought I was capable of. I have found out what I truly believe in, what I want, who I want to be. To some, this has seemed selfish of me, to take the time and energy to work on my own happiness. To me, it was that or die. I couldn' t be the mother my children deserve if I stayed the person I was a year ago. More importantly, I need to be able to teach my girls how to be strong women. I need to be sure that my experience will never be their experience. That is vitally important for these beautiful girls who have already seen way more than they ever should.

Today, I am totally ok with my marriage being over. The thing about learning who you are is you learn the type of people you want to allow in your life. I still have a lot of anger towards Mr. Wrong, maybe I always will. You know what though? I am good enough. I always have been. If Mr Wrong or anyone else can't see that, well, that's their problem.

No more Miss Nice Guy

I tell ya, sometimes it just doesn't pay to be nice.

I moved back into Mr. Wrong's house to help him out of a crisis situation. I left a situation that was far from perfect, but it was pretty good. I fought long and hard for my independence, I finally had it. I was happy, I could breathe. I should have NEVER left.

Somehow, Mr. Wrong's promises that he was a changed man went out the window as my suitcase came in. As my shirts and pants were placed into the drawers, his real personality was unpacked from it's temporary storage area. The harder I tried to get along, the more obstacles and road blocks were thrown in my face. As the days turned into weeks, I began to feel the familiar acid churning in my stomach. As the weeks turned into months, the return of my insomnia assured me that there was a storm coming, it was just a matter of time.

Last Tuesday the storm hit. Mr. Wrong came home at 11 at night drunk. He then spent the next hour and a half terrorizing my children and my home. There is no way to avoid the truth any more. I married a violent alcoholic. There is no question of if he will be violent, just when. There is no question of if he will drink, because I now know for sure, he will always drink. He may not have another drink for a year or more, he may drink tomorrow, but he will drink.

After his latest display, I told him that he will have to leave. I cannot and will not make my children into human yo- yos. This is our home. We like it here. So far, Mr. Wrong has agreed to leave within a month, but I have heard that before. This time, however I will go to the authorities if necessary. You see, Mr. Wrong might not have learned anything in the past year, but I did. I learned that I am a lot stronger than I ever thought possible. He can call me whatever names he wants, he can do whatever he wants to do, I can say I'm not taking it anymore. This time, I mean it.