While sitting at the dining table this week, a gem was revealed to me, one that I would only appreciate a few days later. A delayed reaction of emotion hit me well after our meal was finished.
Daddio and I always try and teach the kids a couple life lessons, as I would imagine most good parents do. We reflect on morality, right from wrong and our feelings almost every dinner time. Our dinner time has become our family time. Somewhere between bathing, homework and prepping for lunches, dinner time is our time to communicate and reflect as a family, as a team, unconditionally.
So while we sat chatting about the day, we start talking about bullying at the school they are at. It is a problem that has escalated well past the point of urgency since my days at their age. Bullying has become the most concerning of all activities at their school other than the teaching standards and pass rates that keep dropping.
Besides that, the youngest tells us about his day and eldest pipes up as he does at every opportunity he can get, contributing his two cents of anything that comes to mind.
"It's okay if people don't like you", he says as his shoulders shrug at me. "If people don't like you, you just send them love, love them anyway. That's what you taught me." he says chewing on his carrot. "That's right my boy", I reply encouragingly and just like that dinner was over.
It was only the next day that I realised just how poignant that statement was. While all this acting up, insubordination and school time shenanigans were taking place, something had sunk in. Something positive, something deeply good and wholesome had germinated within his psyche.
He's been listening and even though I can't recall the exact moment that I instilled this unconditional pearl of love and wisdom, he credits me. He knows that even though his friends (or in my case, his mother) doesn't like me, you can still send them love. I am still sending her love. I will always send her love.
Clearly, I'm doing a lot better at this than I realised. My heart is full of pride, my soul is full of purpose. I am their teacher and they are mine.
Monday 21 September 2015
Sunday 20 September 2015
Are expectations premeditated resentments?
I remember sitting in therapy a couple of years ago explaining that an ex had told me that "expectations were premeditated resentments".
For a while, the therapist and I debated whether or not his outlook was a negative one, or perhaps if expectations were in fact, necessary.
This past week, I realised that most of my resentments have come from expecting the other party, the children, my partner, even my boss, to do certain things, provide in certain ways and then, in turn, fulfill my needs and my expectations - all of which revolve around me.
I don't mean that I expect them to drop everything, yet I do, I have an unrealistic expectation that everyone is happy, everyone is on my side and everyone wants to pull their weight and add joy to my life. A cotton candy bubble of denial, that's me, the eternal optimist. Facts are, people are people.
Sometimes for example, the ex fails to pay her part toward her children (that I'm paying for and currently raising) or she sets up the children for failure when she doesn't arrive with her family in tow as promised to their soccer matches - I simply get resentful. I expect a mother to be more than that. I expect her to be - me - to do what I would do, to move heaven and earth to be there, to ensure that my word is my bond.
But when you learn to expect that the unexpected is going to occur, when you learn that your expectations may be unrealistic, aggressively optimistic or even completely off course, you're growing. Perhaps, like myself, you keep thinking that maybe this time will be different, expectations are often our greatest cause of pain and disappointment when we don't accept people for who they are and who they've proven to be.
We expect from others, what we would do ourselves. Accepting that people will let you down, or at least fall short of your desires for the outcome in mind, is your greatest freedom. It's not that one shouldn't expect better from people, but it is necessary to free yourself from judgement of them when they fail to rise.
So this week, I decided to see the circumstances in which I expect certain outcomes to prevail, exactly as they are. I expect that each time the children get home from school, there may not be a welcoming committee nor a parade of love showered from them to me. I don't take it personally anymore, it is expected. I have come to expect very little, perhaps expect humanness, routine and a little less pizzazz - then I can't be disappointed. They are after all, moody, complex and individual human beings.
The same applies when their mother reacts with childish comments and hurtful accusations, I've learned to expect this, my expectations cannot cause resentment, because I know that she's incapable, or at least unwilling, to rise above the pain and anger she feels toward us and be a present and active parent. In the past, I had high hopes she would soften, change and reason with herself if not with us.
A stone is a stone, and I shall no longer see the stone as a feather. So now, I let go and at the same time embrace expectations. They can be premeditated resentments or they can set you free.
It's lighter and my life feels like my own again.
For a while, the therapist and I debated whether or not his outlook was a negative one, or perhaps if expectations were in fact, necessary.
This past week, I realised that most of my resentments have come from expecting the other party, the children, my partner, even my boss, to do certain things, provide in certain ways and then, in turn, fulfill my needs and my expectations - all of which revolve around me.
I don't mean that I expect them to drop everything, yet I do, I have an unrealistic expectation that everyone is happy, everyone is on my side and everyone wants to pull their weight and add joy to my life. A cotton candy bubble of denial, that's me, the eternal optimist. Facts are, people are people.
Sometimes for example, the ex fails to pay her part toward her children (that I'm paying for and currently raising) or she sets up the children for failure when she doesn't arrive with her family in tow as promised to their soccer matches - I simply get resentful. I expect a mother to be more than that. I expect her to be - me - to do what I would do, to move heaven and earth to be there, to ensure that my word is my bond.
But when you learn to expect that the unexpected is going to occur, when you learn that your expectations may be unrealistic, aggressively optimistic or even completely off course, you're growing. Perhaps, like myself, you keep thinking that maybe this time will be different, expectations are often our greatest cause of pain and disappointment when we don't accept people for who they are and who they've proven to be.
We expect from others, what we would do ourselves. Accepting that people will let you down, or at least fall short of your desires for the outcome in mind, is your greatest freedom. It's not that one shouldn't expect better from people, but it is necessary to free yourself from judgement of them when they fail to rise.
So this week, I decided to see the circumstances in which I expect certain outcomes to prevail, exactly as they are. I expect that each time the children get home from school, there may not be a welcoming committee nor a parade of love showered from them to me. I don't take it personally anymore, it is expected. I have come to expect very little, perhaps expect humanness, routine and a little less pizzazz - then I can't be disappointed. They are after all, moody, complex and individual human beings.
The same applies when their mother reacts with childish comments and hurtful accusations, I've learned to expect this, my expectations cannot cause resentment, because I know that she's incapable, or at least unwilling, to rise above the pain and anger she feels toward us and be a present and active parent. In the past, I had high hopes she would soften, change and reason with herself if not with us.
A stone is a stone, and I shall no longer see the stone as a feather. So now, I let go and at the same time embrace expectations. They can be premeditated resentments or they can set you free.
It's lighter and my life feels like my own again.
Thursday 3 September 2015
The woman in the mirror
Sitting across from the therapist, I realised that I didn't have much to say to her, to ask for assistance with or to get answers about. My opening words were literally, "I have no idea why I actually came here today."
Without sounding like I know it all, I realised that I had to find myself again and reconnect with my identity - and of course work on my resentment. But, for the life of me, what was a professional therapist going to tell me that I didn't already know?
The Disconnect
As I sat blowing my nose while rehashing a year of emotional distress, it became apparent through my session that I've disconnected from this picture. Disconnected from people, from feeling. Disconnected and in turn, bitter. And guess who sits at the fore of my distress? Their mother.
My issues, concerns and frustrations, albeit a huge responsibility I've taken on, have lead me to childhood and previous relationship matters that I simply haven't addressed until now. I never wanted to be the homewrecker, I never wanted to be the thorn in the side of a family union. That is how I grew up, how I was influenced and traumatised.
To reconnect, one needs to empathize, release fear and work through the mirror image of the problem being presented. My problem is a person I cannot see nor speak to, yet I have eaten from the sweet fruit of drama and poisoned myself with her bitterness.
Mirror Mirror
The therapist turns to me and asks, "What is it that this woman represents to you?"
Immediately all the irresponsible things she had done, said, felt and confessed to came to mind. "She's the complete opposite of me", I retorted, "her lack of responsibility and accountability."
But, this in fact, is not what she represents. This woman, the mother of these two children I'm raising is my karmic lesson of compassion and unconditional love that I've chosen to turn my back on.
I am no better than her, she is no better than I. We are two people that have chosen two different live paths and her children are a constant reminder of a polar opposite I've never experienced until her. She is, my mirror.
A lesson in empathy
The therapist turns to me again, after a long gap of silence between my tears. "Imagine, for a moment, how it must feel for her. Imagine being alone, with someone else raising your children, with someone whom you shared 10 years of your life with. Imagine for a moment, how she feels, being a weekend mother, realising her shortfalls, her dreams and aspirations not materalized and seeing you with her family, living a life she perceives as perfect."
My face went numb, and that hollow feeling one gets in the pit of their stomach when a loss is felt. The slow, creeping vines of anger and resentment, transformed into sadness and withered inside me. How lonely she must feel. How much lose she too has suffered.
While I realise that I wasn't the cause of her relationship breakdown, I've stepped into a relationship with a man that I have so much history with, that she too has so much history with. A man we shared at different times of our lives, children we share now, children that weren't part of my plan. Children that I've given my all to, sacrificed for, loved and been hurt by. Children that constantly remind me of a time in my life when their father and I could have been more, could have prevented their existence by staying together as teenagers. Their relationship wasn't based on what ours is, but that doesn't make her loss and grief any easier to swallow - for both of us.
I felt like the other woman. I felt like, in a surreal way, I had stepped into and invaded a family that had nothing to do with me. A family that I hadn't chosen, and a family that I felt alienated from - because I never made them - they did. And while this realisation made me sick to pits of my being, I feel the happiest with him, the most content together that I've ever been in my life. As if, he was always mine, borrowed from me by the world and returned to me as destiny and fate would have it.
Perhaps, this is how it's meant to be. Perhaps, I'm the love lesson that needs to be reflected into her life with action and in time.
Extending love and letting go
So before everyone gets on the bandwagon of cliche's, "Everything happens for a reason", is top of my mind. I know that I cannot go back. I know that everything has happened by choice, by purpose and that these two little souls need the good from both of us, all of us. She is their mother, I am their guide and they have a very capable, very hands-on father. We should be a power team, not a toxic divide.
I've never spoken ill of their mother, while there are always constant reminders of how she's slated me in my absence to them, in front of them. Funny how it always gets back to my ears through the children.
My choice, right now, is to change my perspective. My choice is to let go of my unrealistic expectations that a bond that I share with their father is enough to get us through and make everything okay. Everything was not okay before I arrived. Everything is getting better, but this isn't a quick fix. This is life, these are lives, my life, his life, hers and theirs.
The therapist closes her book at the end of our session. "You can live with bitterness and become twisted with resentment, or you can choose to love her in her imperfection."
I may not be ready for that, I'm still trying to come to terms with feeling like she stole my life. The life that in retrospect, I was meant to have. Not raise her children.
Knowing she willingly carried children that would be subjected to alcohol and drug abuse makes me resent myself even more for not being brave enough to say yes instead of no to a child that would have changed our entire lives.
Perhaps I'm just living out my own guilt, perhaps this is the bigger picture. Perhaps, I've got so much more to learn and gain with so much less to sacrifice than I realise.
Let the healing begin.
Without sounding like I know it all, I realised that I had to find myself again and reconnect with my identity - and of course work on my resentment. But, for the life of me, what was a professional therapist going to tell me that I didn't already know?
The Disconnect
As I sat blowing my nose while rehashing a year of emotional distress, it became apparent through my session that I've disconnected from this picture. Disconnected from people, from feeling. Disconnected and in turn, bitter. And guess who sits at the fore of my distress? Their mother.
My issues, concerns and frustrations, albeit a huge responsibility I've taken on, have lead me to childhood and previous relationship matters that I simply haven't addressed until now. I never wanted to be the homewrecker, I never wanted to be the thorn in the side of a family union. That is how I grew up, how I was influenced and traumatised.
To reconnect, one needs to empathize, release fear and work through the mirror image of the problem being presented. My problem is a person I cannot see nor speak to, yet I have eaten from the sweet fruit of drama and poisoned myself with her bitterness.
Mirror Mirror
The therapist turns to me and asks, "What is it that this woman represents to you?"
Immediately all the irresponsible things she had done, said, felt and confessed to came to mind. "She's the complete opposite of me", I retorted, "her lack of responsibility and accountability."
But, this in fact, is not what she represents. This woman, the mother of these two children I'm raising is my karmic lesson of compassion and unconditional love that I've chosen to turn my back on.
I am no better than her, she is no better than I. We are two people that have chosen two different live paths and her children are a constant reminder of a polar opposite I've never experienced until her. She is, my mirror.
A lesson in empathy
The therapist turns to me again, after a long gap of silence between my tears. "Imagine, for a moment, how it must feel for her. Imagine being alone, with someone else raising your children, with someone whom you shared 10 years of your life with. Imagine for a moment, how she feels, being a weekend mother, realising her shortfalls, her dreams and aspirations not materalized and seeing you with her family, living a life she perceives as perfect."
My face went numb, and that hollow feeling one gets in the pit of their stomach when a loss is felt. The slow, creeping vines of anger and resentment, transformed into sadness and withered inside me. How lonely she must feel. How much lose she too has suffered.
While I realise that I wasn't the cause of her relationship breakdown, I've stepped into a relationship with a man that I have so much history with, that she too has so much history with. A man we shared at different times of our lives, children we share now, children that weren't part of my plan. Children that I've given my all to, sacrificed for, loved and been hurt by. Children that constantly remind me of a time in my life when their father and I could have been more, could have prevented their existence by staying together as teenagers. Their relationship wasn't based on what ours is, but that doesn't make her loss and grief any easier to swallow - for both of us.
I felt like the other woman. I felt like, in a surreal way, I had stepped into and invaded a family that had nothing to do with me. A family that I hadn't chosen, and a family that I felt alienated from - because I never made them - they did. And while this realisation made me sick to pits of my being, I feel the happiest with him, the most content together that I've ever been in my life. As if, he was always mine, borrowed from me by the world and returned to me as destiny and fate would have it.
Perhaps, this is how it's meant to be. Perhaps, I'm the love lesson that needs to be reflected into her life with action and in time.
Extending love and letting go
So before everyone gets on the bandwagon of cliche's, "Everything happens for a reason", is top of my mind. I know that I cannot go back. I know that everything has happened by choice, by purpose and that these two little souls need the good from both of us, all of us. She is their mother, I am their guide and they have a very capable, very hands-on father. We should be a power team, not a toxic divide.
I've never spoken ill of their mother, while there are always constant reminders of how she's slated me in my absence to them, in front of them. Funny how it always gets back to my ears through the children.
My choice, right now, is to change my perspective. My choice is to let go of my unrealistic expectations that a bond that I share with their father is enough to get us through and make everything okay. Everything was not okay before I arrived. Everything is getting better, but this isn't a quick fix. This is life, these are lives, my life, his life, hers and theirs.
The therapist closes her book at the end of our session. "You can live with bitterness and become twisted with resentment, or you can choose to love her in her imperfection."
I may not be ready for that, I'm still trying to come to terms with feeling like she stole my life. The life that in retrospect, I was meant to have. Not raise her children.
Knowing she willingly carried children that would be subjected to alcohol and drug abuse makes me resent myself even more for not being brave enough to say yes instead of no to a child that would have changed our entire lives.
Perhaps I'm just living out my own guilt, perhaps this is the bigger picture. Perhaps, I've got so much more to learn and gain with so much less to sacrifice than I realise.
Let the healing begin.
Tuesday 1 September 2015
Seeking professional help
Today, fate had plans for me.
I had decided that after my recent melt down (and a couple mini ones thereafter) it was time to seek professional help. I needed to speak to someone about my resentment and my fears, boy do I have a lot of both.
As destiny would have it, a cancellation came through for the Psychologist I was trying to get an appointment with, apparently quite a popular Dr. with many patients waiting to see her months from now. Today, I was meant to be there, meet her, chat.
My first steps
"I have absolutely no idea why I'm here", I started. To be honest with you (and her) I realised that I had a lack of balance, needed more 'me' time and had thrown myself into a role that had nothing to do with me. But, I didn't know why I was sitting in front of a professional therapist when I knew all the answers already. I knew and still know that only I can fix this by changing my attitude towards this new life.
What I didn't bank on was hearing that all of it, all of it, was my choice. Now, I'm not ignorant to the fact that I chose to take on this step mommy role, but I didn't really think that it would get this far, the drama that is, to the point of breaking my soul. Turns out, it's all part of the permission I've granted. Hashtag let's take some ownership here.
It's still not about me
In short, I have to let go. It's not about me, not in the sense that I want to be the centre of attention, but about putting myself in everyone elses shoes. Surely I've been doing so much of that, that this is the reason why I snapped? I need to change my perspective, positive versus negative. Happy, healthy versus down and depressed. I realised today, I've become addicted to the drama of not knowing how this works and choosing to be stuck in the middle of someone else's fight.
My challenge is to accept the things I cannot change, sound familiar?
So, I identified today that my expectations haven't exactly been realistic and that I "signed a contract without knowing what the terms and conditions were", as my therapist so rightly said today. It doesn't mean we're doomed, it means I have to learn to deal. Always a choice to accept my present circumstances or leave.
I choose to stay.
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