Maybe Tonight

The sound of my bedside fan seems to mark the seconds that go by, as I lie in bed staring at the silhouettes of trees standing out against a red-tinged night sky. Seconds turn to minutes, minutes bleed into hours, and I’m no closer to sleep than when I got into bed. The only noise I can hear is the fan blades whirring, stirring the air and insulating me from the sounds of the night. It seems to be a metaphor for me, isolated from the voices of the rest of the world.

You don’t really grasp how valuable human contact and closeness is until you no longer have it. I spend most nights like this, with my soul longing for anyone to want to connect, but getting nothing but white noise whenever I try to reach out. I might get two word responses, or a polite haha, maybe even an emoji … All dismissals, done out of a sense of obligation or just habit.

I have a couple really good friends. Other than them, no one really talks to me. I don’t mean conversation for the sake of it or discussing the weather … I mean really talking, about feelings and dreams and fears and heartbreaks and joy. These are the things that matter, that connect us as humans to each other. But most nights, I lie here and wait for anyone to actually wish for that kind of connection with me. I wonder why people have forgotten me … How can they not see me anymore?

I’ve tried to spark a discussion. Most nights I end up making a fool of myself, sending random memes and one line messages, because I can’t find the words to say “Please want my company. Can’t we connect?”

With a couple of exceptions, and I cherish them dearly, people have all faded into the background of my world. Now I’m alone, shouldering an almost impossible task as a single mom, and at the end of my long days when I fall into bed exhausted, I set my alarm to do it all over again tomorrow … I just wish I wasn’t one of the forgotten.

The fan keeps turning, turning, kind of like the years of my life going by. I’m starting to wonder if it will always be this way, and why. I’ve always tried to do good for others, but at the end of the day … Maybe tonight, someone will want to talk.

Maybe tonight.

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. 💓

I’m Done Here

I’m done. DONE with being used and thrown away. Yes, I’m looking at you. And you. And YOU. You all did the same thing to me: extracted what you wanted from me, and moved on. You also all did the same thing AFTERWARDS: you didn’t look back to see the wreckage you had wrought on my life.

You were all great at telling me how all of it was my fault. But that’s not really the case. I put my open heart out there, and you took advantage of my trusting, my loving nature, and my naivety. Karma WILL catch up with you.

I won’t go into detail, because honestly, it could fill a book. And no one would believe half of it. The things I put up with are so ridiculous that it would be labeled fiction.

Any why did I put up with being treated like an afterthought?

Because I’m really, REALLY stupid, that’s why. Because I believe in loyalty, and integrity, and family. Because I believed YOU and your empty promises, that’s why. Let me see, what does INIFINITELY and UNCONDITIONALLY mean to you???

But instead, you roped me in with lies, and then when you had what you really wanted, you treated me like a stranger at the table and an outcast in the house, in MY family that I brought you into. I trusted you with what I had built, because I believed what you told me. Kudos, by the way, for being great at acting.

You made me believe I was unstable, by your words and actions. You told me I was too disruptive to the family. So, you removed me. And instantly your life became better, right? Well, you made sure that’s how it looked. And a year+ later? The kids are still suffering the after-effects of being forced to live in 2 homes. They’re in various therapies to help them get over what they never should have had to deal with. And the one you threw me away for? The one you put on a pedestal while you made me a footstool? Oh, well, you make excuses for him being callous with the kids. For yelling at people at work. For being rude to me fairly regularly. For being mean. (You know, what he always was, and what you promised me you’d be a buffer for if I just let you into my family? You spent hours telling me how you’d benefit us and make us better. Wait, what happened to my buffer?)

So, the effort you couldn’t be bothered to make to back up your “infinitely and unconditionally,” purportedly because I was upset about being lied to and kicked to the curb, that plus even more effort gets put into someone who can’t even parent the children without needing intervention … and I was the disruptive one?? Hmm … how does that work again exactly? Disruptive, in your mind, means “upset when one gets lied to, especially when that means they gave up their entire life and family for nothing” but doesn’t mean “screams at the children regularly and can’t deal with them.” Ok. I get it now.

But I’m no longer available for being used. I was used in that situation. I was used in the past. I’ve been used by my family. I am NOT here for people to take from and then throw away. So a wake up call is in order … your favorite doormat is no longer here.

 

I’ve Finally Changed

It’s become increasingly apparent to me that I am not the same person I used to be.
Old me put up with vicious and cruel verbal and emotional abuse. I allowed myself to be a doormat, and my life to be controlled. When my health started to suffer, I was blamed for the physical manifestations of major health issues … and I allowed that blame. I apologized for the symptoms of the diseases I didn’t know I had to the person who hurt me consciously and with no reason.

You’d think THAT would have taught me something. But no.

I grabbed for the first lifeline that was tossed my way, trusting blindly in someone who promised to love me infinitely and unconditionally. Someone who told they would shield me from the anger and abuse that was constantly thrown at me. Someone who KNEW how bad off a situation I was in and said they could improve it. Someone who knew everything about me.

That lifeline turned out to be a one-way street to disaster. The love, the infinitely, the unconditionally, the very PERSON sunk beneath the waves of that horrible situation … and became one with the person who had abused me all those years. Made EXCUSES for the abuse. Found reasons to pull away from me and latch onto him. The bottom dropped out of my life.

A normal human reaction, at this point, would be to feel insecure. And most people would understand and try to help. Especially people that “love” you. But instead, things got worse. I begged and begged for things to change, and was told that they wouldn’t change until I stopped being insecure. Um, circular loop much?

And yet I still groveled. I didn’t grab my dignity and stand up. I kept watch over 4-6 kids, cleaned the house, went to work, and continued to humiliate myself to try to get back what was promised to me and what I thought I actually had. The thing is, I never really did. I was shown a mirage, and instead given a desert. I put up with lies, sneaking around, and zero intimacy. And all I wanted was what I deserved … to be close to someone.

Things came to a head, and I was kicked out of my own family for being insecure about being sidelined by the people who were supposed to love me. They chose to make the kids live in 2 homes instead of slowing their roll for maybe 5 minutes and giving me what was promised at the very beginning … considering this WOULD NOT HAVE HAPPENED without that promise, this was a big deal. And so I became a single mom, and my kids now get to go back and forth between 2 houses. My youngest even has to see a therapist.

What really kills me is, I never changed. I was the same person I always was. The same one that inspired “infinite and unconditional love” was the same one thrown out for being … me. It was the people around me who changed. I look at them now and don’t even recognize them. The people they were? They’re gone, disappeared inside each other.

But now, NOW I’ve changed. I look back at the person I was, and all I can do is shake my head. Even though I’m angry that I was treated that way, I’m even more angry at myself for allowing it. I no longer miss that past. I’m not in that Opportunity Hallway and wanting to go back inside. I don’t miss those people or their empty promises.

What I do miss is being with my kids 100% of the time. I’m angry that I allowed people into my life who ultimately thought so little of me that they could throw me away AND make my children’s lives harder just to achieve being rid of me.

But NO ONE will EVER be allowed to treat me that way again. And my kids did get one really, really good thing out of this: they finally see their mom not accepting being crapped all over and thinking that’s normal. And that is irreplaceable.

My House

I’m in the middle of my first vacation from work in 2 years.

This is huge to me. Not just because of built-up work stress, but because it represents 1 more milestone in my independence. MY vacation from MY hard work that I earned – ALL BY MYSELF.

My kids’ father just had his 4th in a year and will be having his 5th in a few weeks … that’s just counting the vacations with the kids, not all the weekend getaways he enjoys due to not being a single parent and having another income to play with.

I spent last summer working 2 jobs, and my time with my kids was worked around that, while he went away on multiple vacations both with them and with his partner, playing and enjoying life as I worked twice as hard for half as much.

This sounds like jealousy, but it isn’t. Don’t misunderstand. It’s pride. I would rather live exactly as I am than have a big house, trips, vacations, and toys because of who I’m sleeping with. I can look around and be proud of all I have, all I do, and every single thing I do with my children. I don’t live in someone else’s house: I live in mine. I pay for everything here, and I run this show.

So even though I don’t have a fraction of the toys/getaways/benefits he enjoys, I don’t care. I have a home filled with love, and that’s something money can’t buy, and no one can take away.

This is a rich house. ❤

Because It Needs To Be Said

A letter to my children …

I’m sorry.

Two small words that amount to so much, and yet can’t even begin to touch all that they encompass for me. It’s been a long year three years, and as I sit here tonight my sorrow at the way your lives blew apart in a million different directions can’t be summed up. But I’m going to try.

First, I’m sorry for allowing your family to be destroyed. I’m calling a spade a spade here, and that’s what happened. Our family, while not perfect, was all you knew. And the one thing you could count on was that you 4 were the center and the focus of the family. And I permitted that to change. The focus shifted, and you knew it. You had no idea what was going on, or why. I’ll be honest: half the time, I didn’t either. It all happened so fast, and everyone around me suddenly changed almost overnight. That isn’t an excuse, but maybe someday, you’ll see it as part of the reason.

I’m sorry for the nights you 4 snuggled around me as I tried not to cry, as the rest of the “family” were elsewhere and I was struggling to figure out why I’d been left out again. Children shouldn’t have to support their mom, but you all did, maybe even subconsciously. On those nights you piled in and around me, and we watched shows, and bonded even more deeply … As much as I hate the situation that put us there, those are some of my best memories. Our family still existed.

I’m sorry for that Halloween. You know the one … I came home and made sure everyone was ready to go and costumed up. I even had time to take photos. And we waited. And waited. It was another night like many others, when they were out together and lingering. The reasons were always different, but they added up to the same thing: their time was more important. It always seemed like there was 1 more thing to do, 1 more task to accomplish, and then maybe dinner, while I was home trying to appease children by myself. And there were tears of frustration. But that’s not even the worst of that Halloween. When we finally got to trick or treat, it was a quick 40 minutes and then they were done. You turned to me and begged me to take you out longer. Trick or treat time wasn’t over, and you’d gotten no real time. I should have. But I didn’t. I was so caught up in the maelstrom that had been created that I was too scared to leave. I should have.

I’m sorry that instead of a strong and independent woman, you saw your mother reduced to someone who allowed others to dictate her life. You saw your mother made to feel inferior and it was presented as normal. You saw your mother cry. When I had the opportunity to show you what not to put up with, I didn’t. I modeled putting up with being pushed aside, taken for granted, and not treated like a priority.

I’m sorry I inadvertently let you believe that love could end. I contributed to you losing your faith in the only thing you should be able to always count on. You shouldn’t have even had to question it, but you did. I’m sorry you have had to move 3 times in 3 years because of the chaos that our lives became. I’m sorry I didn’t grow a pair and stand up for US – OUR FAMILY.

The above all being said, it isn’t the end. We’re still here, and this is our beautiful family. The story isn’t over. For some time now, we’ve been building our life and recreating our traditions. I see you opening up again, like flowers kept from the sun for too long but finally given the light again. I see your trust starting to blossom. I see the light in your eyes again.

You now have a mother who models strength for you. You’re the focus again, as you should have always been. And the peace that lives here is palpable and strong and true. The laughter and real joy that you exhibit daily is irreplaceable. Our family is stronger and brighter than ever, and there isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be.

I love you.

Think Your Day Was Complicated?

Let me tell you about my day. After getting out of work, I headed home to meet the first round of kids off the school bus. They had been with their father for the past 2 days. I had my youngest with me since he had stayed home from school sick.

We hadn’t been home 5 minutes when the phone rang, and it was my oldest son’s archery instructor, wondering why my son wasn’t at archery. Not having seen him off in the morning, I could only theorize that he had forgotten about archery and gotten on the bus to come home. The instructor offered to have him come to the later class, so I said I would bring him.

Here’s where it gets fun.

He wasn’t on the bus. My daughter arrived home without her brother. She hadn’t seen him. I called the school while throwing my 6 yr old in the car to go try to find him. Knowing that the search would likely make me miss my other son’s bus drop-off, I headed to his school to yank him out early. My older son’s school paged him but couldn’t find him. My best guess was that he’d taken the bus to his father’s house. After what felt like an agonizingly long wait, my 9 year old was released from the elementary school (and yes, I had to walk in with the kid who had stayed home from school sick) and I took off for his father’s house.

There he was, hanging out in front of his dad’s house, talking with friends. I scooped him up and headed to his dad’s to get all the things that they had forgotten that morning, and then turned right back around and headed to archery class. We made it just in time, and because my afternoon hadn’t been enough fun already, my 9 year old had a bathroom emergency and both the boys complained that I hadn’t packed snacks. Hadn’t packed snacks? My god, I hadn’t peed in hours and didn’t even know how I’d managed to get everyone there on time.

Over to the high school we went, since it was still open, so my son could use the bathroom. After approximately 17 minutes in there he finally sauntered out, and back we went to the archery field. By this time it was almost 5 pm. My blood sugar was crashing, the kids were whining, it was 90 degrees out, and my 12 year old (the one doing archery) was dressed in long pants and long sleeves and acting like he was about to faint. Naturally Clothing Blame goes right to the mom, even though he dresses himself at this age.

By the time we got home I was ready to go to bed and cry UNCLE on this day, but there’s that pesky dinner thing. And kid refereeing. And trying to remember to actually feed myself. And I get up and do it all again tomorrow. And there’s nothing else in this world I’d rather do, and nowhere else I’d rather be, but MY GOD is this single parent thing hard.

I spent a bit of time choking on self-pity and a fair amount of resentment this evening, thinking about how their other parent never has to deal with this alone, and how much easier it is. But, after a walk and some time thinking, I realized I just have to shift my perspective: I don’t NEED anyone to do all this. All that, that you just read? I did it MYSELF. I don’t need someone holding my hand to get it done. When something needs doing, I make it happen. Why? Because it has to happen.

And that may just be what it’s all about. I’ve got my power, and I don’t want anyone ever having a piece of it ever again. It’s mine.

Can’t Afford To Be Tired

Being a single mom is never easy. I used to say that all the time without ever having to really know what it meant.

Now I do.

I’m a single mom to 4 children who I have custody of half time. I work from home, take them to all their activities, try to go to mine (doesn’t usually work out), keep the house clean, healthy food cooked and ready, pay all the bills, take out the trash, mow the lawn, take care of the cat … the list goes on and on. And all of that falls to me alone. That may sound like complaining, but it isn’t. There isn’t anywhere I’d rather be.

But that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard. Really, really hard. I’ve obviously been given this challenge as an opportunity (oh, how I sometimes hate that word … check out how much in Opportunity Hallway) to learn and grow.

I can now understand why some single parents end up with less-than-ideal partners. The desire for someone to share life with is intense, especially if you’ve – like me – spent your entire adult life with someone. But for my kids’ sake, I won’t make that mistake. Even if it means I remain alone, I won’t turn their lives upside down just to get a partner, and I certainly won’t even introduce them to someone until I know they have the strength to make a commitment to stick around.

So that brings me to the tired part. That’s something I can’t afford to be. There’s no time, and there’s only me. My kids didn’t ask for their lives to be turned inside out, and so they deserve the very best I can give them. Since I’m a single mom, that means I have to be 2 parents in 1 when I have them, and if I’m tired, or stressed, or lonely, or sad, they certainly won’t see it. I save my tears for when I’m alone. Until then, Mom doesn’t get tired!!