Take no action - get more results

So recently I found myself (yet again) in a very dark and sad place, pondering the how's and why's about my life and my circumstances. Things with the kids still suck - I've disconnected and I can't get back to loving them like I did. 

In case you didn't realise it, I toy between embracing my step-mommyhood and despising it to the point of no return. Here I am with my latest gem - "Take no action - get more answers". 


On my personal blog (that I sadly can't share with you for anonymity reasons) I wrote about a lady I recently discovered in the field of guidance and wisdom through spiritual awareness. If you're into this kind of energy aware, New Age thinking you'll enjoy Jocelyn Daher. She's a young mother, writer, Herbalist, Astrologer (and so much more) and she just emulates positivity and is a wellspring of enlightenment for conscious living.

In my blog I wrote about how Jocelyn had recently quoted Lao Tzu who said:

“If you are depressed you are living in the past. If you are anxious you are living in the future. If you are at peace you are living in the present.”

It's a quote I've heard many time's before, but it's it funny how you can hear the same thing over and over again and one day it just makes sense!

While I've been mulling over my resentments, my concerns for my future and my worry about how my life is going to turn out (and while all valid concerns, obsessing about them won't guarantee their success or failure) I realised that I've been spending my time sending energy to worse case scenario's that haven't even transpired. 
So, I decided to be more present and in doing nothing and living in the present moment, one moment at a time, I allow myself to open myself up to more answers - because I'm open to listening when I'm not depressed or anxious. 

The next time you're wondering how or when your situation is going to improve, be it work or personal, remember that in the stillness of simply being, we clear and mute the rumblings in our busy minds and bring ourselves back to our true, authentic state of existence.

It is in these moments that all is right with the world, because everything is already okay. 

Bombyx mori

I've never really been afraid of bugs. 
Sure, I'm not a fan of locust's or things that may have a stony exoskeleton, but besides that, I can handle most insects. 

It's that time of the year

Three weeks ago, our eldest brought home a box of Silkworms. No longer than my smallest fingernail, each little worm now depended on him for survival. "This will be a good life lesson", we thought, until one night he went to bed knowing they were in need of food and couldn't have cared less.

Perhaps too young (at the age of 9) to understand the responsibility he had undertaken, perhaps too naive to consider the consequences should they not survive due to his neglect. 

Not a care in the world

A few days later, the kids are off to their mom for a full 10 day mid term break. The box of Silkworms sits on our dining table, dried leaves need to be changed and scatterings of digested Mulberry leaves need to be cleaned out from the box. 

What happened next was truly shocking, although I shouldn't have been appalled - I was. Eldest skips out the door with bags in hand, gives me a half-hearted hug goodbye and leaves the worms behind.  When I stopped to suggest he takes the worms with to mom for the next 10 days, he sheepishly hands over responsibility to me with a detached grin. Three worms had died in his care, my heart was broken, so needless to say they were mine to care for. 

To live or die

Thankfully there is a Mulberry tree in our road, literally a couple steps from our house. There were jokes about putting the helpless grubs in the tree and let nature take its course. There was talk about giving them away and even throwing them in the dustbin. For some reason, I just couldn't do it. 

Perhaps the hassle and the responsibility was my own fault, I could have chosen to give up on these little stinkers and continue with my 10 day holiday from the kids. Yes, even though I'm still working as usual, no children for 10 days feels like a vacation on its own and I was excited. 

So I decided to keep feeding them 

There were days of box changing and cleaning that I resented. The heat had been unbearable and the worms needed leaves morning and night as they grew and doubled in size. But there were days where (and I still do) just sit and watch them be. Their main purpose in life, unfaltering commitment to grow and spin cocoons. They eat, they poop, they eat, they poop and on the odd occasion they will sleep. 

As they grew, they would shed their skins to accommodate their growing forms. By this stage, one of the worms had given up and spun his cocoon prematurely, as if to just shut out the world and retreat to a cozy, yellow safe haven. 
I could relate. Yes it was premature, but he simply did what came naturally, even though it wasn't 'the right time'. 

My box of lessons

One day last week, while cleaning their box out, a small golden shell caught my eye. It seemed that a Silkworm had transformed itself into a pupae without spinning a silky cocoon and died. We had just experienced day 4 of a massive, national heatwave. Perhaps my own neglect had caused this little critter to pass on prematurely?

I gently picked up the little casing, and on inspection, a transparent half-moth, half-worm had developed inside. How on earth did this creature manage to go into this stage of it's life without spinning a cocoon first?

Adapt to survive

I gently prodded the alien creature that lay in my hand and to my surprise it began to wiggle. The wiggle of life, the wiggle of survival. The wings were developing, I could see the changes happening and the adaptation within the casing before my eyes. It had failed to cocoon, but it hadn't failed to survive!

In that moment of awe, I became so aware of my own journey over the last few months with the kids in my life. My instant motherhood journey, trials and resentments. My ability to see that some instances are permanent, some are temporary and some are choices that have all prepared me for this change. 
Sure, I wasn't ready to do this. Perhaps this little pupae was a metaphor for the journey I've been on.  

Sometimes, we go against the norm. Some circumstances will make us feel judged, some may make us feel 'abnormal' and others will prod and poke us to remind us that we're still alive.

As we transform and grow before everyone's eyes, we may struggle with change and may even forget that all we're meant to do, is simply do what comes naturally. The change doesn't happen when the bell rings, the change happens as its meant to, be it break down, spin or retreat.

We may struggle with transformation and we may even need to adapt to survive. Some of us will be pushed to spin a cocoon and retreat within as we change, emerging as that butterfly (or in this case moth) that we inevitably will become. Some of us may transform, unaware that the change was happening anyway and yet everything is exactly as it should be. 

You don't always have to be comfortable and protected to develop. Sometimes the shift happens when you're in the midst of a heatwave. 

My box of Bombyx mori

If its uncomfortable, it's probably a growth period!

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. 

Give yourself permission

There's an old adage about serenity.  The first time I heard it was at an AA meeting for the friends and family of alcoholics when I went with my mother as a young child, to a support group for the multiple addicts in our family. 

Years after that I found myself repeating this mantra over and over again at the various meetings I found myself at when my partners (quite a list of them) were all addicts themselves. I had chosen, albeit unconsciously, to surround myself with this behaviour way into my 20's. 

Until a couple of years ago, I chose addicts. I chose those with depression, anxiety, childhood issues. I chose people, broken and worn down by their own demons, ones that disguised themselves as real problems. Ones that simply needs to be acknowledged and set free by recognizing and accepting their own fears. Fears that turned their issues into monsters, into controlling parts of a soul and spirit that was always meant to be living a life of love, joy, peace and prosperity. 

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. Courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." 

No doubt you've heard this before, today I'm reading it as if it's the first time I've ever laid eyes on it. And today it makes more sense that it ever has. I've found the wisdom to know the difference between what I can and cannot change.  

The Victim Triangle  

The victim triangle, otherwise known as the Karpman drama triangle, is basically a social or psychological pattern of human behaviour we choose in our daily lives. One takes on the roll of the Victim, The Persecutor or the Rescuer, each with their own unhealthy and unstable consequences of self induced, toxic repetition.

The triangle is used in psychology to assist those in choosing the right behavioural approaches to their problems. In fact, I am quite au fait with this tool because one uses it in psychology sessions when discussing co-dependent relationships and the roles we take on within them. 

After my previous post, and in case you missed it you can read all about my burn out here, I decided to detach from the drama by choosing to step out of the roles that I found myself  put myself in and willingly chose to take on.  

Photo Credit : Google Images - David Emerald 2014 - www.PowerofTed.com

Drama-lama no more!

You often hear about how people get pushed to breaking point, or as you'll read in the previous post my doctor called it "rock bottom, adrenal fatigue". It's basically when you take on so much, that your body literally cannot keep up with the stress you're under. 

Here's what I was dealing with before I took my life back: 

• Their mother not paying maintenance after numerous months of promises while the kids live with us full time. Not - one - shiny - little - contribution.
• Financial loans I had undertaken to 'carry' his kids and us, while the money came in from his side, in a couple of months. A couple more months - still nothing. This includes lunches the kids don't eat because now they are fussy eaters since I gave them choices and treats. Payment of annual school photographs and every other conceivable item that this household needed for a full year, waiting on the hope and prayers of....
• A partner with the best intentions (and heart) in the world to pay me back, or hell even just contribute more than his half of the rent and pull his weight while he found a higher paying job (while I found myself paying for everything including his fuel in his car every week for a month. 
• Two small children under the age of 10, confused as hell, acting up and being generally bratty. One failing 2 of the school terms this year alone, getting into trouble with authority at school and the smallest literally just breaking everything he gets his hands on. 
• Resentment - a lot of it - eating me up like a cancer from the inside out. 

I'm sure you're reading the above thinking, "Hell's bells, is this woman mad, who gives up so much for so long and doesn't realise she's got herself a raw deal?", well my body gave in and my mind caught up later. And here I am. 

I am not a victim. I am not a rescuer and I will no persecute or be persecuted any longer. 

So, last week, while on the road to recovery mentally and emotionally as well as physically, I gave myself permission to not be the hero of this story. It is after all, not my responsibility, not my fault, not my doing, not even my duty to look after or even like these children. For a year, I've been carrying everyone and enabling everyone to just coast along and use me as a buffer from their drama, while I juggled pieces of broken communication, frustrated conversations and lack of funds. This, is supposed to be our dream come true. Instead, it's been a nightmare and I've allowed it.  No more. 

My steak in the ground

Sometimes you have to put your stake in the ground, in other words, make a big move. I chose to move in the direction of self preservation. I gave myself permission to leave the drama triangle and start living for myself, the bubbly, authentic and whole person I was before I chose this life, this drama, this man and his baggage. 

Does this mean that I'm leaving? I don't have to leave him/them to be free from these toxic emotions, resentment and hurt. I just have to set boundaries - and so does he with her. Yes, I have given an ultimatum and I know what needs to be done, but I will not accept being at the bottom of the prosperity list, while everyone else thrives. This isn't a charity, this is a team effort and I don't really like anyone right now, not even the person I've become. 

So here I am. I've booked movie nights with my girlfriends next week and I'm going to do a fun run with some of my friends at the end of the month. I'll be back at gym in a few weeks too. Unfortunately, if that excludes dad while he looks after his brood, that's his problem/duty/responsibility. It's not mean, it's not selfish, it's about being whole. I came into this as a whole person and I lost myself along the way. 

If you need me, I'll be getting my own life back. There will be times for family, time for romance and time for everyone else. One cannot be whole, when one spreads oneself to breaking point, so it is time to find balance by putting myself first once again. 

See you on the flip side of resentment, give yourself permission to live and free yourself from responsibilities that have nothing to do with you. My responsibility is to look after myself first, without burn out, fear, shame or destruction. 

I choose life and everyone is about to benefit from it. 

The day I got out the car

Let me not try fake my way into your book of approval by telling you all the things I want you to read. Things that make me look bigger, braver and bolder than I am. I'm no pushover, I'm not a wilting flower either.

I'm a lover

I'm a lover by default, factory setting and origin. Even when I tried martial arts for 3 years, I never managed to grade past the first three exams. If I'm honest it's because I just didn't have the personal discipline to get involved or pursue a sport that included me hurting people. There were many times that I would be reprimanded by my coach for smiling while sparring, a defense mechanism or perhaps, that I just saw the fun in jumping around a ring while neither of us took shots at the other.

Don't get me wrong, there were times that I won gold in my division and even provincial colours for my weight and grade category, but I'm not a fighter.  



Up against Goliath


I have no doubts about the physical contact possibilities that could erupt the day I get out of the car. The days when we have fetched the boys from their mom, I have stayed in the car, not from fear so much as respect for daddy. If I get out the car, I may regret it. I have to think of the children.

We're not dealing with a civil situation here, I have witnessed the many physical brawls that the ex has engaged in. We're talking punch up's with family and kitchen pan's being used as weapons. These people are the opposite of lovers. They are of class and culture that encourage fighting. They are the dog eat dog of our society. And I'm over here blogging - just saying.



The anticipation will kill me


Today I decided that I was going to get out the car. Not because I wanted to fight but because I wanted to get it over with. I needed to see what this mother of 2 children really looked like after her grief, guilt, pain and separation from her kids. I wanted to see the face of anguish. I was tired of waiting in the car every time with baited breath, worried that an extended fist would ambush me. 

Personally when I get angry I don make up, I work out, I feel sexy.
I knew she had been running around the neighbourhood over the last few months during her 'job search'. The version of her that I remembered, had been of a petite woman, with long pitch black hair that she flat ironed at her best. 

Her frame is much smaller than mine, in fact, eldest has actually asked daddy a couple months ago why men have smaller legs than woman. I cringed thinking my thunder thighs has contributed to that question. 

I recall my most recent break up and remember how I flung myself into 2.5 hour gym routines, personal spoils and spa sessions. I bet she looks amazing. She holds their hearts as their mother, perhaps I was competing against more than just emotional rights, perhaps she was the sexy, stellar vixen that had left me with the scraps of a man who had been downsized by her all his adult life. What if I get out the car and she's so fit and trim and takes a swing at me with her defined arms. What if, because I'm so unfit of late, she gets me on the ground and pummels me to oblivion in front of the children.

Even worse, what happens if her whack-job sister comes at me with a knife, or glass. She does this, all - the - time  so my fears are real and valid. Today, I'm getting out the car because it's time to introduce the kittens to each other. Time to let them hiss and spit and soon they will be friends. 

Now when I'm backed into a corner, feeling down or hard done by, I put on make up. I have no idea why but I put about 1 hour longer into my routine than I usually would. Last Sunday I felt horrific, sinus that turned to a chest infection and then bronchitis had me feeling (and looking) less than super confident. 

It was 15h30 in the afternoon, I had been laying in PJ's all weekend. Believe me this effort was necessary, I was about to face Goliath, and if I was to land up in hospital, I'd like to at least look shit hot. 


Then I opened the door


I sat in the car outside the driveway. Her crazy sister was parked inside the gates. My heart, pounding to say the least. How the hell would this go down? Was it too soon? I felt like it was the right time in my heart, I just felt that the plaster needed to be ripped from this festering wound and heal naturally, fresh air and dry blood. 

Taking a deep breath I opened the door, unsure if the shaking of my knees was adrenaline or perhaps the bronchitis kicking my butt. "I'll stand at the boot", I thought. This is where everyone usually all congregates. I mean, this is MY car after all, so I do have rights to open my own boot. Can you hear me reasoning with myself. 

Perhaps I could just open the boot and return to the front passenger seat. Like running to the out of bounds area at school and returning to safety just to say you did it. I would have felt far more in charge and confident in my drivers chair. But, love conquers all, I keep reminding myself.  This is the reason I'm standing facing the back side of my own car waiting for the axe to fall as the boys run to greet me and mom follows. 

She's never greeted me. She wouldn't, it's not her style. Her style is hate. Mine, love. We are the complete opposite of the other. She hates me. I feel compassion for her, not to say I like her, don't misunderstand me. I have enough resentment to fuel a small forest fire. But, I have compassion for her pain because it is the lack of light within her that makes her so, incredibly mean. I will shine, I will shine and hopefully keep all my teeth. 

And then she saw me. 

Her sister stood behind her, hardened face and scowling as if I was a dirty secret, the mistress, the concubine that broke up her "loving, pure and healthy" relationship with daddy. In fact, she referred to me a couple of months ago as a Jezebel. I was impressed, I didn't realise her vocabulary was that evolved. 


"The Monsters turned out to be just tree's" - Taylor Swift


I managed to calmly release a "Hello HER NAME HERE* and she mumbled in response. I knew I was doing the right thing. Her frame, still small, and although our eyes never met, my womanly radar managed to scan her once over in an instant. Her hair now cut into a frumpy bob above her ears, puffed out and blow-dried like an old woman. Her face devoid of make up, how could she have left out the make up? It's not like she didn't know I was going to be there, she always does. Where's the warrior paint? What is the trick up her sleeve or her version of strength and integrity?

As we climbed back into the car and drove off, I was injected with the rush of facing my greatest adversary. For years, even when daddy and I were not together, I would speak of her and her unsavory decisions to drink and drug through her pregnancies. I would refer to her when speaking to people about the effects of such. She was and still is, my greatest lesson. My greatest mirror.

Today she had set me free. Free from my own idea of how I was failing, heck, I was winning at this, I was winning at life! I had make upon, my war paint, AND I was the nice person who had persevered through the name calling, hours of comparison in my mind and feelings of failure. I had let myself down, beaten myself up and left myself for dead. It was never her that I needed to face, it was me.


I rejoiced!


Once alone I had a chance to speak to daddy about my new found insight in a way that wasn't conceited or boastful. I was giddy like a high school girl that just found out her crush liked her back. 

I asked him if he saw her hair - her hair, the lack of make up, OMG her hair!! He nodded and mentioned he had seen it in court two weeks back. He didn't mention it to me, did that mean he liked it? Did it mean it was so trivial that he didn't care to? 
I wasn't bothered, I was too happy and high on life because I had realised that I was in fact, the complete package. Not because I'm better than anyone else, not because she wasn't wearing make up, not because she had a crappy hairstyle but because I had released myself from the comparison war inside myself. I was good, happy and beautiful on the inside AND out. 

Later the conversation leaked further insight to their lives together. She never wore make up, ever! She never hugged, cuddled or kissed him. She never returned "I love you's" or reciprocated his efforts of sexual intimacy. She was devoid, incapable and detached from him. Once again my heart went out to her, once again my ego took a back seat and compassion stepped in. This is what happens to addicts, they let themselves go. They leave their self care at the door of addiction and get dragged down a road of decomposition. 

Yes, I rejoiced. The monsters turned out to be just tree's. I had been my own worst enemy, imagining that Kim Kardashian herself would pop out down the drive way with Louis Vuitton bag in hand. She'd be carrying tresses of well looked after hair around her shoulders and perfectly manicured fingernails that I hadn't had the privilege to afford since I took on this role. 

I imagined she would greet me with white teeth and sparkling eyes, that her life would be better, greater and more awesome than mine because she was looking after herself these days while the kids lived with us. She was their mother, surely this meant she was better than me?

I imagined smooth skin and long black eyelashes, that she would smile sensually at me and then daddy with this look of 'You know you want me' as she bent down to pick up the book that had fallen from the youngest's school bag while squeezing her pert bum cheek. 

But she didn't, she didn't because she's not. And if she was perfect and composed on the outside, I would have needed to extend myself just the same as I had with poise and grace.
I've extended the olive branch. If she decides to replant it, or use it as firewood, this is her choice and I can live with mine. My slate is clean, my heart is open and I'm sorry that I've been so incredibly hard on Me! 

I got out the car and with that I got out of the cloud of deception I'd been living in for so, so many years! I am good enough. Hell, I'm the best version of a mom without her own kids I can be and that, is why I got out the car in the first place.