Space to Cry

For those of you not on Facebook with me, I should probably update here about my life.  Sunday afternoon we had plans for the husband to visit his mom, while I went to either the cemetery to see my dad's grave, or to visit my mom - I hadn't decided which.   Started to change clothes, and the phone rang.  A woman from my mom's church called me - my mom had fallen down some stairs at the church, and was at the ER.  She fractured her shoulder in two places, and her pelvis in three places. She's now situated in a rehabilitation center (a nursing home, actually.) while she gets therapy and heals.

For three days, I have done all the right things - worried about how we were gonna take care of her if she had to stay with us: Where would she be released to? How would I get her to appointments? What would happen if I missed too many classes or internship hours? What did my mom need in the hospital? Who did I need to call for her? Did I need to pack anything to bring to her?  I visited, made calls, ran errands... I was a good daughter. I did what good daughters do.  (At least I think I did. I have no idea what good daughters do, or are supposed to do, in cases like this.)

Today, I'm tired. I have not let myself really cry or stop to deal with any of this, and as a result, I've lost my emotional equilibrium. I'm filled with doubts, about myself as a person and myself as a daughter. I've seen myself in the eyes of people who knew me when I was a teenager - angry, bitter, depressed, and hurting more than anyone knew how to deal with.  The people at my mom's church at the time looked at me like I was a monster. They loved my mom - she was so good, and sweet, and pure.  What kind of monster could control and verbally abuse her?  They had no idea what I had been through, what she had ALLOWED me to go through. For years and years, their eyes were the measuring stick I held myself up to.  I felt unworthy, dysfunctional, monsterous.... I let people walk all over me, allowed friends to screw me over in a thousand ways, tried to "save" people like I once was... a quest to prove the monster was gone. 

Years and years later, I still am haunted by that.  I still wonder if my mom prays that I not get pregnant, because she is afraid I will abuse my child.  I wonder if God won't let me get pregnant, because he sees the monster inside me too. I'm so sensitive to this crap that after like 2 years of counseling, I still haven't been able to really talk about this.  I'm ashamed of the things I did, the mistakes I made.  A part of me knows that I was an abused child, never given any help or counseling to deal with the trauma, wounded and hurting and lashing out.  A part of me watches the children at my internship with RAD and other explosive disorders, and breaks when I think of the weight that guilt will have on them for the things they have once done. No child deserves to feel like a monster. No child deserves to feel like they are unforgiveable, horrible and unlovable and permanently broken. 

And what about me? How do I forgive myself, for things I am so deeply ashamed of?  How do I form relationships with a person who I hurt so deeply, and who still makes me feel like I need to apologize for them.  How many times do I need to apologize for being a monster, to the person who nurtured the monster and allowed it to grow?

Living Nightmare

Exhausted, I laid down to sleep
I was transported into another world
One long forgotten

I was a child again
Smal, vulnerable
Terrified

I searched and searched for my mom
Terrified of what I would find
My father said only
That she was in a restaurant
He wouldn't tell me where, or why

I was trapped in a van with him
Powerless
Terrified
Trying to stand up for my mom
But afraid of the consequences
Trying to tell someone, anyone
who would listen and help

I woke up from this nightmare, completely shaken. This was one of the first times since I married my husband that I had to wake him up from a nightmare... and the first time I had to just have him hold me as I cried.  The scene wasn't real... I never wondered if my dad HAD killed my mom.

As an adult, I had pushed the experiences with my dad into the background of my mind... forgetting the terror, the powerlessness I felt knowing I lived with a man who had the potential to kill.   Waking up from that, I feel so shaken.  I have sat and cried... how could I forget the little girl I once was, and the things she had survived to get here?

The feelings from the nightmare were like a tidal wave that I was completely unprepared for.  A tsunami in the middle of a beautiful sunny day at the beach.

How much of the life I have made is just running from the pain of the past, pretending it isn't there?  What else have I forgotten?

A Difference

Today's question at Wishcasting Wednesday is: "Where do you wish to make a difference." This seems like an awesome question for me today, as I had my meeting for "displaced" employees this afternoon... seeing the other employees who were cut was pretty traumatic, but one very very very good thing happened:

I found out that I CAN take college classes WHILE drawing unemployment. In fact, because I am "displaced," they may even help PAY for my classes!!!

Suddenly I actually have the tools at my fingertips to accomplish my dream - to become a social worker, and make a difference!

CAN one person make a difference? Yes, I wholeheartedly believe they can. One person, being kind to a person from another country, can make a difference toward world peace. One person, being generous to another, can cause a ripple of generosity to spread and make the world a little less selfish. If even one child is given a word of encouragement when life seems like more than they can take, when they feel like it's impossible to overcome the obstacles in their way, or when everyone else is telling them it's not even worth trying... generations of children to come can be affected.

Do I feel strong enough for this? No. I feel completely inadequate. I am terrified of huge caseloads and broken children slipping through cracks. I'm worried that I'll become overwhelmed by the pain of those around me, or frustrated beyond repair by adults who can't see the damage they do to each other and their children. But for this moment, I'm chosing to give it a shot, and to show love and encouragement to as many children as I can for as long as I can take it. Maybe it is just a tiny drop in the gnormous bucket of abuse... but it's one more drop than there would be without me.

Working through working through

Yes, I'm working through the process of working through my emotional issues as I work through my social work homework lol

Since it's rather obvious that I have crap boiling to the surface of my life, and need to get it out in the open where I can deal with it, I'm going to just keep this open and post my random thoughts as I finish reading my article.

"Subsequently, they often deny their own needs because of love and compassion for their parents and a fear of losing them." - It's creepy that I didn't do that so much with my dad, but I DO find myself doing this over and over again for so-called-friends, and for that same reason... I'm afraid they'll leave. "This poses a risk that over-responsibility and co-dependence may occur when the focus is on the needs of others." Hello! That is SO me. How is my picture not right there in the article? LOL



"Learning to step back from triggers of their childhood" - Yeah, I am so going to need to do this. Studying these things, along with the 30 hours of volunteer work required for this class, will be good practice for me.

"They are susceptible to anxiety when stressed and often present with somatic symptoms. They have a high potential for burnout... " - This explains SO MUCH. Reading this article really is making me feel more normal. I've found myself getting burnt out often from kids ministry, and just assumed I was a terrible person. I worry, often, about my ability to survive social work... will I get burnt out?

Well, today's reading was obviously not as fraught with drama and emotion as yesterdays... but now the article has officially been read, and all that's left is the paper to write! Wooo hooo!!!!

OH.

Tonight I attempted my first call to Child Protective Services. Due to a wierd phone situation (James's cell is from a different county than we are in), I wasn't able to get the message through and will have to call from work tomorrow... but you know what got me? The woman who originally asked what was going on so she could send me to the right number listened to the story, gave me the number to call... and ended with three simple words that spoke volumes.

Thanks for caring.

Trapped

Sometimes people don't really grasp the impact their advice could have on a marriage.

For the past 2 months and 13 days (HOLY CRAP. It's been THAT long?! *filled with anger and hurt*) I've gotten an earful as I walked to work daily waiting for James's car to be fixed. (James works an hour drive from home, and was taking my car.) James was not showing much initiative about getting it fixed... (Yes, my husband does read this blog, and he won't argue with that fact.) much to the dismay of my coworkers.

I heard a lot of advice from them... "get in his face EVERY DAY and nag him about it until he cracks!", "If that were my old lady, the first day she had to walk to work.... *insert dire consequences here*", "someone's got to wear the pants in this relationship, and it doesn't seem like James is going to do it..."

Now, may i just remind you that I come from a seriously nasty verbally/emotionally abusive home? I even posted a collage (somewhere? lol I can't find it) about how I see in myself both the abused and the abuser...

I don't talk about how through my teenage years I emotionally abused my mother to the point that it still haunts me. I don't talk about how I emotionally abused my friend Jade to the point that she probably still needs counseling. I don't talk about how I almost didn't marry James because I was afraid I'd abuse him too. This is my worst fear.

So now, here I am, completely trapped. By not doing anything about the situations in our marriage, nothing will ever change. The dominant phrase of our married life seems to be "If I don't do it, it won't get done." I've begun saying things... pressuring him to help me more... and in some ways it's worked! We've worked out a plan for meals! (Whoever cooks, the other one does the dishes immediately after the meal.) Our kitchen has stayed clean for weeks!

But at what cost?

I feel the angry abuser rising up inside of me, more and more each day. I don't WANT to wear the pants in our relationship. It's not fair that I should be asked to wear the pants! I ALREADY WEAR THE FREAKIN' SKIRT!

It's not fair that people think it's my job to nag James every day to do things he darn well knows need done! I'M NOT HIS FREAKIN' MOTHER! Why is the success or failure of our marriage placed entirely on MY shoulders?!

I'm beyond angry... at my self for letting him use my car, which is what started this chain of events... at my husband for not giving our marriage more effort...

But mainly I'm angry that after decades of women fighting for equal rights, THIS is where we're at. I'm still seen as a failure if our relationship has issues. I'm still expected to have a clean house, but also expected to work a full time job and care for any children we might have. I'm expected to control my husband, but if anyone hears about it I'm called a b#$%&.

And do you know who puts the bulk of this pressure on me? OTHER WOMEN! WTHeck is their problem?!

So, at the moment the only options I see are:

1. Abuse James - hate self - commit suicide.
2. Medicate myself deeply - not care - loose self completely - never have babies.
3. Don't abuse James or medicate - crack under the pressure - come to hate James - kill him as he sleeps.

So far, I'm still going with option #3. I'm hoping that if we ride things out, we'll learn to get a system going for more and more things, and life will improve. Maybe I won't have to kill him as he sleeps. (Maybe instead I'll poison his food... black-eyed peas, James?)

But if I hear ONE. MORE. COMMENT. about how it's a woman's lot in life to be her husband's mother... especially if it's said BY A WOMAN... i may have to add an option:

4. Kill woman who said it - Go to prison - Become the newest "friend" to Bertha the 500lb lesbian cellmate - Learn to love orange clothes and ugly slippers.

The Case of the Quiche

To me, making and eating the perfect quiche is the ultimate victory.

Growing up, quiche was my father's favorite thing to make fun of my mother about. (Not tease, in a fun way... make fun of, in a humiliating way.) It was a symbol of the ultimate domestic failure to him.

I came home one day from 4-H... I was probably about 9, and had gotten a ride home from the meeting with my Sunday School teacher. I came home to the smell of food cooking... and my father ranting because his dinner was late. The ultimate crime.

My mom had been brave enough to try something new that night. When she told me today what she had made it of, I was seriously impressed. The recipe called for her to peel and grate potatos (I would have been out at that point, I hate peeling potatos), chop onions, and then go on with the normal quiche preparations. But I digress. For my mom to make anything new was a major act of courage... and this would be one of her last until her later divorce. My father was not a fan of anything new.

So, eventually the quiche did get done... and like my first quiche, it fell. (I'm not sure why hers fell, but mine fell because I didn't read the directions Suzie so awesomely gave me.) We bit into hers... and my dad spit his out, gagging, in a rage. The onions were not done. OH THE HORROR. My father taunted her about this failure for years... telling all of his friends, so they could laugh with him at her humiliation...

As an adult, I look back on that and it makes me sick. How much time did she spend on that stupid quiche?! HOW COULD HE DO THAT TO HER?? And then to make fun of it to his friends, watching her blush in humiliation and quietly take it? It physically makes me sick.

This Monday, after tasting the awesome goodness of Suzie's quiche, I decided to try another recipe I had found in the Taste of Home magazine, using this weeks IOTW (Ingredient of the Week) - Cottage cheese. I mixed it up, according to the directions...

And put it on to bake. It came out absolutely perfect this time (practice makes perfect), and my husband absolutely loved it.


I can't help feeling sad for my mom.... she was a much better wife than I am... she deserved her husband to praise her cooking and share it with his coworkers. She didn't deserve for it to be his means of humiliation for her.

Tonight my mom and I discussed the quiche... and the symbolism of it. Each time I make a quiche, I feel closer to healing. Each time I make a quiche, I feel like I'm saying a huge "up yours!" to every abusive man on the plannet...

And each time I make a quiche, I tell my father that I will NOT live my life in fear of humiliation and shame. I WILL BE FREE!

Bullying: Does It Ever End?

Yesterday I was reading a blog, where a mom talked about her children being left out at school. The Boy feels hurt because the other boys in his class leave him out. The Girl came home sobbing because all the other girls were invited to a birthday party, and she was not.

I almost cried as I sat at my desk reading the comments. One commenter, who didn't even have the balls courtesy to use her name, said this load of crap:

"Be comforted by the thought that parents really don't know the facts and what your kids relay is what they are feeling in the moment and not as a result of research and soul-searching pondering."

This reminds me of long car rides with my Grandma... her telling me "if you just ignore the meaner kids, they will go away!" As if it was MY fault, that kids tormented me?

Every day, I got onto a bus for a one hour ride to school with children who hated me. I got to school, and went to a class with kids who hated me. No one wanted to sit with me, work with me, or even be remotely near me. I was not invited to my first birthday party until I was about 11. I was made fun of in classes (whenever the teacher turned her back), at recess, at lunch (assigned seating... bleck)... and worst of all... the bus ride home.

3:20-4:20 - The bus ride home. One hour of HELL. The kids made it their personal project to make my friend Bridgette and i cry each and every bus ride home. what did they say? I was ugly, stupid, crazy, wierd, gay, gay with Bridgette, dirty, smelly (okay, in their defense, those last two were true... personal hygene was NOT my parent's strong point at the time.),... and so on and so forth. The kids would literally torment us until we cracked, either into tears (me) or anger (Bridgette). And what did the bus driver do? Yell at us for crying and making a scene.

When I was in kindergarten, I came home in tears after being made fun of on the bus. I told my dad, looking for comfort... instead he called me a "baby @$$" and laughed at me. And just to help "toughen me up", he made sure to make fun of me at home whenever possible too.

HOW WAS THIS MY FAULT?! I was made fun of at EVERY corner of my life. I was made fun of at home, at school, at church, at clubs... by adults, teens, and especially by kids.. about my apperance, my intelligence, my sexuality (before I even knew what sex was lol... at about age 5, they asked me "Are you gay?" repeatedly. I was FIVE! I didn't even know what the word meant! And when I asked my mom, she told me it meant "happy"!! *sigh*), my personality, my sanity... pretty much everything.

My point? I really don't have one. But if a child tells you others are making fun of them, or beg not to be sent to school or on a bus... Listen. It'll save you a ton on therapy bills for them later in life.