Making New Anniversaries

Twenty years ago today …

So many nice sentences start with that saccharine beginning of “x years ago.” Trust me, I know: I’ve used it way more than I care to admit. It’s markedly different when you look at it from the other side, though.

This morning I woke up on the wrong side of 4 am, so after the obligatory attempt to go back to sleep, I checked my Facebook. On This Day has been renamed “Memories” for whatever reason, and I check that section every morning. I love seeing pictures of my kids through the years, but often there’s a painful reminder.

Today was interesting. Apparently, twenty years ago today I got married. I had forgotten until I saw all the posts I’ve made over the years. It was like reading someone else’s life, but yet I could also remember living it. I had to read it twice to really take in the over-the-top declarations of endless love from my ex … The one who left so fast for the first woman who showed interest (and had decent cash flow) that the whiplash lasted years.

In the years since we split, I can see the pain, anger, and confusion in my posts. But this year, the big one, the 20th anniversary … I feel … Very different. I feel lighter, I feel wiser, and yes, more jaded. What I don’t feel though, is sad. I don’t feel hurt.

I spent almost 20 years of my life with an abusive man. He loved to publicly declare his “love” in the most showy (and often trashy) way possible. Behind closed doors, it was a different story. I was screamed at, called names, taunted, not allowed to go places without him, raped, shoved, and kicked out of a car in 10 degree weather in the middle of nowhere. Whenever I summoned the fortitude to think about leaving, he would threaten to take the kids so I’d never see them again.

That’s ultimately why I stayed. I couldn’t lose my kids, and he had me convinced that he’d win in court and have me declared “insane.” That’s what abusers do … They make you doubt yourself. They tell their next victims all about their “crazy ex,” and the new “loves” bask in the attention until they become the next “crazy ex.”

In the last year I’ve undergone growing pains of some magnitude. I struggled with all the time I thought I’d lost with him, the years and the youth that I can’t get back. I cried over my lost health, something I try to hide but when my body gives out at 10 pm and I’m limping it gets harder to hide the pain I’m in. I railed in anger at him from afar, knowing that the stress of his abuse likely triggered the autoimmune disease that left me feeling this way.

But it doesn’t help to be in that place for long. Maybe the anger and the helplessness needed an outlet, but staying in those feelings won’t help me long-term. Because it won’t change anything, and negative emotions only hurt the bearer. So I dug deep inside, to find out what I was truly mad about. And the answer? Me.

I was angry at me. I was furious that I never stood up for myself, that I reached out for help in the past with vague Facebook statuses instead of actually initiating the change that would have given me help. And then I looked at my life, and realized that I can spend 20 more years abusing myself in his place, or I can let go and look at all the gains I’ve made.

I’ve reached a place where I’m no longer willing to put up with horrible treatment for any reason. I cut ties and made changes that propel me forward daily, and I do it on my terms.

And so, twenty years ago today … Did I make a bad decision? I definitely did. But I don’t regret the 4 blessings that came from it.

Five, if you count me finally finding my power.

The Storm

The storm outside seems to be a manifestation of my soul this evening. For weeks now I’ve been churning inside, emotions and anguish bubbling up to the surface unbidden, painful memories haunting my sleep and darkening my days. My hope is that this is the storm that leads to a brighter tomorrow, that the work I’ve been doing on myself has come to this: the memories and pain and loss have created this storm inside me, and it won’t end until I can face all that pain without flinching. I’m finally ready, and so it’s here. I have to stand here, in the midst of the storm, and let all the hurt pass through me and finally away to be able to move forward into the sun.

My introspection has brought up many buried feelings, and lately I have been lost in them … Searching the remembered pain for things I could have done differently. I’ve spent days chastising myself for trusting someone who couldn’t be trusted with my friendship … Let alone my family. The thunder crashes in my head and heart as I feel shame, regret, and the loss of time I can’t retrieve. I look at pictures and feel the weight of the past like a boulder on my heart. I can’t escape the recrimination; it’s mine to carry.

The lightning flashes both outside my window and inside my heart as the anger melts away to pain, and then white hot fury. How dare you take the precious gift I entrusted you with, and soil it with your sick designs?? Why couldn’t you just leave me alone?? It wasn’t for you to play God with my life, and decide to “make it better.” And how is this better, exactly? The only question is if I’m more furious with you for what you tried to do to me, under the guise of love, or me for being so stupid and believing you. I can’t seem to separate where the pain ends and the anger begins, and I’m not entirely sure they’re separate anyhow.

I want to cry into the storm until I have no more voice. I want to scream until all the pain and all the rage and all the injustice is gone. What would I be left with?

When the storm ends, and the world is washed clean, there’s a silence and a waiting. I’m not there, yet. I’m still caught inside the storm. But someday soon, the clouds will part and I’ll see the sky above.

I See Through You

Once upon a time, in a galaxy far far away … or maybe just a few years ago … I actually cared. I’m not saying I don’t care anymore, because to stop caring would be the opposite of who I am. But I’ve taken a page or two from your playbook, and caring is locked away safely where it can no longer hurt me.

I care enough to study what happened to me, like a science experiment. It’s lovely when you can reach that level of detachment, and go over the events and the facts without any attachment to the emotions that used to fill those events up. And I can see a truth, hidden carefully under the wreckage you’ve left everywhere in your wake.

You were at the tail end of a toxic relationship, and looking for a way out. In truth, you had checked out long before. When you formed a new connection, it was intense, deep, and real. It was exciting. But it also scared you … And one of these realizations is that you aren’t as brave as your public persona. It’s less work to take the easy path.

Speaking of the easy path, when someone has had a childhood where they had to be the adult it can produce either a very mature adult, or one that is resentful and anxious to recapture their missing childhood. When presented with the chance of living responsibility-free (or responsibility-lite) many of these people jump at the chance. They pay no attention to the fact that to do so requires they ransom at least half their soul in the process of not being true to themselves.

It looks like a chance to live “free” as a child/teenager would, but it’s anything but. Shirking one’s responsibilities and betraying the trust people have in you isn’t an alluring or attractive life. And whoever holds that carrot on the end of a stick to you has sinister motives at best, and they give away their true nature. As you join with this poor influence and sink to their level, your heart and mind shrinks to the narrow world view and shallow empathy of people like that.

Like begats like. You become like those you spend time with.

It always seems fun at first. “Eat, drink, and be merry” purports to be the way to live. But life is not just fun. And there needs to always be a balance. What did you give up, to shut part of yourself down? Who did you sacrifice on the altar of fun, thinking you could redo your lost childhood? Because you can’t have a do-over on those years.

Or these.

If you’re healthy, strong, happy, and your career is flourishing, then congratulations! You clearly are living your truth and partnered with someone who is your match and complements you. But if the opposite is true … Well, you may want to check what parts of yourself you sacrificed for the chance to live “stress-free.”

Life isn’t without stress. Happiness doesn’t exist without sadness. Childhood, once gone, is over. The tears and smiles of years long past have ended. Just like the feelings of one you sacrificed for an empty promise of good times and an easy path.

When Your Mask Slipped

First day of school!! No matter what those words mean for you (elation, ala the old Staples Back To School ad), or sadness that they’re leaving … either way, they’re momentous, for both parent and child. It’s a huge change, all new everything: teacher, classmates, environment, expectations. It’s so much more than the Back To School Bus Stop pictures flooding everyone’s Facebook feeds around the end of August/beginning of September.

For the record, I don’t think school should start in New England before Labor Day.

Facebook has this cool feature called On This Day, where you can see what you posted on this date 1 year ago, 2 years ago, 3 years ago, etc. I love seeing the pictures of my kids doing all the fun things we’ve always done. Sometimes, though, I see a stark reminder of the abusive, toxic, sick place I was in, and the people who intentionally held me there.

Today was one of those days. My On This Day showed me a picture from 4 years ago of my youngest (4 at the time) standing in front of a homemade cake. The caption was that my oldest (13 at the time) baked it for her brother (10 at the time) for his first day of school. Let me give you a little context for the enormity of this day … my 10 year old son had his first day of public school EVER, having been home schooled his entire life until that day. So, he wasn’t just having a first day of school. He was going to public school in 5th grade in a new town for the first time in his life.

In my mind, this called for a ticker tape parade. In his father’s mind? He opted to go out for a First Day of School Celebration with his girlfriend and her two children for their 1st day of school. This was not their first day of school ever. This was not a new town on top of that. For them, this was just another first day. They were not and are not his children … but his own children? They’ve been consistently pushed aside for his girlfriend’s children, and this night was no exception.

First I was told that the girlfriend’s daughter wanted a special First Day of School night out. Then it was “just her, her mom, her brother, and … my husband and my children’s father.” (check the rest of my blog for the crap I put up with while my husband cheated on me with my former friend) This “dinner out” lasted hours longer than any dinner with children. Did I mention with children? School is out at 3. They were out WITH THE CHILDREN until 10 pm. I messaged continuously throughout the night about: my kids missing their father, it being a school night, and when to plan for their arrival. I was lied to all night long.

My son, when he asked where his father was and I told him, turned to me with the innocence he was always known for (I use the word was because his father’s behavior has jaded him in the last few years … ), and said “But doesn’t Dad know it’s my first day of school too? My first day of school ever???”

My heart shattered for him in that moment. I think I might still have some pieces to pick up. My daughter (age 13, still home schooled at the time) happened to be in the room when he said that. Her face contorted into a mixture of fury and desperate sadness for her brother. And then it coalesced into a drive: she took it upon herself to bake her brother a cake to celebrate his first day of school, all herself. She frosted it and everything. When I came into the kitchen she said “He should get something special too – it’s his first day of school EVER!! And he should have been included!!”

I’m not entirely sure the fury from that day ever left her.

I’m also desperately proud of her integrity and love for her family.

We enjoyed the cake as a family, sans their father who had better things to do (an omen for the future), and I put the children to bed. When their father finally stumbled home, it was half in the bag, the girlfriend worse, carrying travel mugs of tequila … WITH her children. Her son took me aside and asked why his mom and my husband were acting so strange at “dinner.” (The adults only had margaritas, no food. I guess it wasn’t enough after $100 worth of booze at the restaurant because they hit up the liquor store after). I tried to laugh it off to her son, but I think he knew. His mom was at that moment trying to log onto his student account and gyrating on the chair while laughing with my husband who was responding … while her kids watched in horror.

I steered everyone upstairs and tried to put people to bed. I was told I was a wet blanket (for being the only responsible adult in the house taking care of innocent children’s minds) and laughed at by the other adults. And the next morning I was told “I don’t remember anything from last night.”

That’s ok. I do. So do your children. Ask me again about the first day of school? About you being a parent? Ask me about the wounds inflicted on my children by you.

Ask me. I dare you.

The Proof Is In The Pictures

I have spent hours going through old pictures. I needed to find something. What was I looking for? I wasn’t even sure at first. But it was this ache in my chest, this pain when I saw anything that reminded me of my past. It felt like a hole in my heart.

My past is couched in terms that are almost opposites. At the same time that I weep for the all-together family moments, I feel fear/anger about the horrible abusiveness I endured at the hands of my partner. I realized recently that I’m grieving a “family” that is half manufactured nostalgia, courtesy of my sentimental nature + the good memories. And that’s been hanging me up.

So I went through all the pictures.

All the videos.

All the journal entries.

Yes, I went through everything. And oh my, do I have a lot of things: so many pictures, so many videos, so many entries. It made me pause. I looked at the other pictures: the kids, the trips, the little things done all the time with them. I looked at both together.

I looked at both together.

That’s when it all hit me. None of it was real. I’m feeling nostalgia for a mirage.

Before I go too far, I am NOT saying that the memories with the children weren’t real. Those were basically the only real things during those dark years. But there wasn’t any real connection between me and my partner. The control and pain he chose to put me through had lasting damage on me. I don’t think of him … like ever. The only time I do is in the context of “Oh god, what now??”

I was ridiculed. Called names. Threatened. Belittled. Berated. Raped. That’s the glossing over. But hey, a close friend said he was an oasis for her as she tore my life and my children’s lives to shreds for her own personal gain, so … who am I to judge a little abuse?

The proof is in the pictures, though. That’s the key. The things we did with the kids, I wanted and not only did but enjoyed as much as they did. And even though I’m now a solo parent, my pictures of our fun times haven’t changed. Not at all.

The only thing that is different is the absence of an abusive spouse. And I don’t miss a moment of that. I have never once thought “Hey, I really miss being shuttled around because I’m not allowed to go anywhere by myself. And it’s been awhile since I was told I was a stupid b*tch. Above all, I haven’t had some guy dragging my life down to his gross and base level … I should fix that.”

Um, no. I’d rather pull my own teeth than ever be controlled and verbally abused again. He really made sure to keep me under his thumb. Well, until I broke free.

Me? I’m still playing with the kids and loving it. We do as much and even more than before. The smiles and giggles are constant.

I don’t need to be nostalgic for my family. They’re right here. They always have been. 💓