Dear Mom #1

I felt like shit today. Worse than shit. You couldn’t know, but I was accused of so many horrible things while you were dying.

I thought I was bouncing back and then I just got knocked down further. I can hear you. “Why are you with people who don’t build you up?” Which is a little weird, coming from you.

What I want to say is, thank you for the message. When I pulled into the parking lot and my favorite spot was available, I remembered you.

You know what I am talking about. Whenever we would drive somewhere crowded you would say, “okay God, find me a space” and voila it would appear. You would say “see that, God is looking out for me” and your grin would be huge. I found it fascinating that God knew we were going to the mall.

I burst into tears when I remembered that. I miss you so much and the world appears more cruel without you. I hope you are at peace – thanks for the parking spot.

Aldi

Easy. Tension free. Less expensive. Who knew how good life would be? Yes, solo. Solo can be hard. The last alternative was not worth sacrificing my peace and relaxation.

Taking a moment to reflect. Oklahoma.

I look at this picture and feel nothing. I am almost healed.

People ask, how did you stay so long? Well, he had me good. He had me right where he needed me to be. He is an expert. He knows all the right things to say, at all the right moments.

This picture is in Oklahoma. We came to attend my 3rd son’s completion ceremony from Army basic training. It is the first Friday in September 2016.

I had sent this man away just a few months before. I wanted the relationship to be over. He went. He lived with his step mother for 8 weeks during the summer.

He talked himself back into my life:

1. When we are on, we are amazing (It had been a year since we were “on”)
2. You’re a therapist, therapists help people to change, how can you not believe I can change?
3. Look at all the amazing changes I’ve made. Even my mom noticed.
4. We’ve been together almost 4 years and you want to throw that away?

He returns August 15th. Our four year anniversary of the day we met is August 18th. He has absolutely nothing for me:

• “You sent me away, it’s all I could think about, how hard that was on me”
• “The date came up so fast I didn’t have time”
• “There I go again, not meeting your expectations” (hangs head)
• “I haven’t been able to do anything because the pain has been so high, you know that.”
• “I just haven’t had the time to get you anything”

He grabs his car keys and says he has to run out.

“Where are you going?”

“Meghan is out of Cannabis. She is in a lot of pain. I’m running to the bank and then I have to run to Carl’s and then I’m going to meet Meghan.”

“I thought you were in pain and didn’t have time to do anything.”

“Really? I’m helping someone and you’re going to criticize me?”

He left.

“That isn’t nice, is it, Mommy?” my son with an iq of 55 says to me. 55. Even he knows how to treat people you love.

Back to the picture. Ten days later he is in Oklahoma in a pool on my dime. Never once does he open his wallet.

I realize now that he moved back in with me in August 2016 with no intention of staying together. His goal was to use as much as possible and then watch me break down and send him away for good. He has orchestrated his victimhood like an elegant maestro. He has moved on to his next prey.

Imagine if that brain and heart were used only for good? It is a pity that he lost so much love. It was right here the entire time, but he could not live in it and receive or give.

I still have that love. I keep it close to me, waiting for the right person who will receive and reciprocate. I don’t know what he has and fortunately I no longer have to be involved.

Deal With It

Get your fucking foot off my heart

It hurts

Your fear, he sneered, deal with it.

And

So

She

Did

She took that hitop (beautiful hemp, because lovers give, yes?)
between her hands that once held hope

and twisted that shoe near right around,
pushed and scrambled away.

blood peeked through her bra, her shirt, a mural of ache

but she stood

she leaned in

and all he could do was limp away.

Thank you for not showing up.

I sat in the coffee shop.  It is an old favorite.  The coffee was strong as tar (if I ever drank tar) and I loved it.  We met online and agreed to forgo the silly back and forth and just meet for coffee.

I didn’t mean to “like” his profile.  It was an accident and he liked me back and I felt guilty.  My thumbs get me in a lot of trouble and phone screens are unforgiving.  He wrote that he had retired early and held a patent that he sold to IBM.  Impressive.  The most important thing in his life is his son.  Sad.  Flags were starting to go up the pole.  I questioned his conservatism silently and joked about it.

He said, “this will mess with your 2nd amendment views, my nonprofit teaches gun safety to children to help keep households secure and people alive.”  I responded, “actually, I think that is a good thing.  I’m surprised your guns weren’t taken by Obama, though.  Poke, Poke. Poke.”  He wrote, “I will see you on Friday.”  I wrote, “looking forward to it”.

I arrived.  I sat.  I sent a message 3 minutes before our scheduled time “I’m here”.  I could see that he saw my message.  No response.  I waited 20 minutes, used the nongender restroom (sometime I will tell you about not using the restroom before getting on the road without going when you really should, urine trouble)  and then left.

He did me a favor, a favor I couldn’t do for myself.  That’s the part that nudges me.  Still trying to be nice.  What the hell is that about?  Now I have even more to think about.

The coffee was good, though.

 

Sound of Silence

This told me much about where we were and how I ranked.

When I heard this song: Sound of Silence  I immediately brought it to him to share.  He is (at that time) my number one – anything I love I want to share with my number one.  We lived together.  We were planning on being together for the rest of our lives.  I want the space between us to be the first thing I focus on, don’t you, as much as possible?

“This is amazing!”  I said.

“I know!!! Isn’t it?  I love it.  So powerful.  I first heard it six months ago and shared it right away with my Facebook friends.”  he said.

That would make me #3789.

Then I started to move even farther away.

Turning it back

What was it?

when he said his posts weren’t about me, then admitted they were about me, then insisted he never said they were and I needed to stop thinking everything was always about me.

when he told me what I meant, what I felt and told me I should go to therapy to get healed.

when he insisted he didn’t mean that I needed to go to therapy to get healed, he just said it.

when he called my kids fat and lazy.

when he couldn’t finish the projects he started around the house, projects I never asked him to do, but he felt I needed done.

when he sat around all day doing nothing, while I worked, then asked me what I was gonna make for dinner that night.

when he told me we needed milk and I don’t drink milk.

when he asked if I was allowed to eat those cheez-its.

when he said fat girls are usually better at blow jobs, they kind of have to be.

when he said I don’t have time to get you anything, I’ll be right back I need to pick up something for this other person I know.

when he said he would never date again, but had someone lined up before he left.

when he said I needed to change my hair, my clothes, my size.

when he said weight didn’t matter to him and I was imagining it.

when he said it was okay for people to disrespect me and I needed to get over it.

when he wouldn’t take his dog, who had to be euthanized.

when he said he was heartbroken because his dog was euthanized.

when he said he knew this would happen with his dog.

when he said his job was to be naked and buff and mine was to be wet.

when he said I couldn’t be his friend because I didn’t know how, because I said we were just getting lunch and it wasn’t gonna be naked/buff/wet day.

when he said people must wonder how a person who looks like me, could get a man who looks as good as he does.

when he made my children cry.

when he ran to his room, slammed the door and told my 18-year-old to “go away, I’m not talking to you”

when he told me I did a good job, and I didn’t even need his help.

when he took me away for my birthday, but needed to play games on his kindle and phone.

When was it?  It always was, I just needed to wake up and realize me and my children really do deserve better.  As a therapist, I am the perfect target, my entire life is about believing people can change.  If someone keeps telling me how hard they work and how much they change I want to believe them.  I am guilty of wanting to believe.  Have I stopped believing?  No, I just stopped believing him.

 

No more silence

I am back and have much to explore.  Whether my silence was self imposed, the result of emotional suffocation or pure laziness doesn’t really matter. 

I am grateful to return to expression.  I am grateful for my friends who want the best for me and yet can stay with me while I make my own way.  I am grateful to support my son who is enlisting in the national Army reserves.  I am grateful that I am here.

Run Away! Run Away!

Nanowrimo…You Shall Not Pass!

any way…I digress.

So, around 8 or 9, I started to get a bit curious.  As the youngest of a large brood, I didn’t have much baby action.  I loved them, cute, tiny, unpredictable.  I never wondered where they came from.  That bugs me.  I don’t know why – it is such a common question.  My best friend at the time, Hippo (you’ll get it in another chapter) had a gazillion babies at her house, adopted babies, babies with red hair, babies with freckles.  It was a baby extravaganza!  She knew where they came from, but she wouldn’t tell me.

I had to think on this.  Who could tell me where they come from?  How do people come from anywhere?  I was quite confused.  “I come from Philadelphia” sure, you took the high-speed line, but babies don’t do that.  They just appear.  Weird.  Of course I knew that they were in a woman’s tummy.  Are they growing in there?  Just bizarre.

Ah-ha.  My parents had seven babies, I bet they knew how they got them.  So into THE STUDY again.  Ugh how I love/hate THE STUDY.  My father’s sanctuary.  He was a very busy, very stressed man.  I never remember him with anything but gray hair.  I blame my older sister.

Entering THE STUDY meant you had to be quiet until commercial.  (Reminds me of my marriage)  It meant that if I commented on something or leaned over to tell my mom something, a harsh “Shhhh LISTEN” was thrown over me like a cloak of shame.  Damn, that cloak is sticky.

So, I waited until commercial.  I stood before my dad, my mom was sitting behind me.  I took a deep breath and began to do the side step, rocking back and forth.  “So, Dad, (rock), I was (rock) thinking (rock rock) and I wanted to know (roooock) where babies (rock rock rock) come from.”  The room froze.  My mother lowered the newspaper and looked at me over her glasses.  Her face was blushing fiercely.  My father looked at me over his glasses.  I couldn’t believe it.  Babies make my father speechless.  Boy, where they come from must be really complicated and slightly embarrassing.

He cleared his throat, uncrossed his legs and nudged his foot into my crotch and said, “They come from there”

Oh My fucking God.  Babies get peed out.  That’s why it’s called a wee wee!

I could have one tonight!  Yay!

But wait.  My dad just put his foot in my crotch.  Suddenly I was mortified.  I turned around and ran upstairs.  I heard my mother sigh and tsk.

I laid on my bed bewildered.  That answer didn’t seem to give me what I was looking for.

My mother came in my room and sat on the bed next to me.  She was much gentler that I had ever remembered.

“Honey, sometimes your father does things he shouldn’t.  Are you okay?  Do you have any questions?”

“Yes I’m fine”  Questions…well, that seems a bit dangerous.  I know who to go to for a kick in the crotch, now.  “No, no questions.”  I get it.  The origins of babies is not something to be discussed.  My mom has stated proudly over the years that she taught her daughters about babies and their bodies.  Jeez, I hope that thought process isn’t hereditary.

I finally got the logistics of baby creating in health class, 5 years later.  I was excited, but really, sometimes riding the high-speed line can be just as much fun.

Cherry Picking 101

Five years old.

It is weird to look back at being a small girl.  I can’t remember too many details.  Things pop out here and there about me, my body and attitudes about my body and being a girl.

Many moms, dads and siblings make up words for genitalia.  It makes me crazy.  One of the worst things we can do to our children is to apply shame, discomfort to a body part.  My hackles are rising as I think of all the phrases I’ve heard.  “PeeShee” and “Peachy” and prize for most damaging: “Junk”

I had a “wee wee”  I don’t any more.

VAGINA

If you just squirmed a bit, you can thank the media, the adults and peers of your early years.  Or curse them.  As an adult, sure it is fine in the right moments to have a little fun…but for a child…viewing their bodies seriously and proudly is vital.

Babies naturally begin exploring their bodies when they become physical able.  Imagine the wonder and joy when a baby begins to find places that give them comfort.  My 2nd son still twirls the same spot on his head he began rubbing as an infant.  I bet he started in the womb.

I don’t know when I started to explore my genitals.  I do know when I stopped.  My parents and a brother were in the study (apparently with the pistol…) watching television.  When I came into the room my brother said, “Someone’s been cherry picking.”  My father laughed.  My mother gave me a look that shriveled my insides and told me not to touch my wee-wee.  I must have been really at it – because everyone knew when I came the room.

There it was…I had done something wrong, bad, unacceptable.  I didn’t even know the effect that moment had on me until much later.  It took me 37 years to get COMPLETELY past that.  That fun filled story will be told in a week or so.

A bit later I learned that boys and girls had different “privileges”.  One particularly hot day I walked out into our back yard without a shirt on.  I was 7.  I never saw my mom walk around with out a shirt, but as far as I could tell, I looked just like my brother from the waist up (never dreamed that the waist down was different – hah! How do you spell naive?)  I look bewildered at my brother who was angry and shouting at me to get back inside and get a shirt on.  The question that soon became repeated over an over again until it echoed inside was “What were you thinking?”

I was thinking as a human being who is biologically formed, yet molded by the conscious of others who ignore developmental biology.

Sometimes I stand in front of the mirror naked and say “Hello there, I’m thinking that this is beautiful and naked it just fucking fine.”

It is easy to look at the past through adult eyes and dismiss these “minor events”.   For a five year old it is not minor and realizing that it happened to a brain not yet developed is key to releasing the damage.

Want to share your learned, early-years words for

VAGINA

because I’d be interested to know…