I sat before my client Beaulah, she's a real gem to call on.
She's become a trusted friend, the older sister I never had. I held back tears as I shared where I was in my life at that moment.
I had come to the point in this instant family, that I resented the children without remorse. I resented their father for the decision's he'd made. I resented myself for choosing these struggles.
The past week stung
The previous Monday I sat in front of our youngest child's teacher. She was factual and direct about her concerns, almost expressionless in desperation.
"He's failing, he doesn't concentrate for more than a minute at a time", her eyes wide with anticipation.
I cried and cried in the car park as we left for the start of our day. The decisions his mother had made while carrying him were finally being felt. It stung like acid reflux in the chest of reality, a reminder of past mistakes every time I look into his eyes. I carried his hurt because he never chose this, neither of them did. Yet I stood crying for them, me, not their parents. Me.
Refusing to put him onto anything strong enough to alter his personality we found a short term solution and put him on a trial of scheduled medication for concentration. We have 1 month's supply of the stuff to prove ourselves and by we, I mean him.
The night I met Zelna
Zelna is a world reknown child therapist, psychologist and kids life coach. Her talk on assisting children found myself and dad at her workshop the same night we found out about our youngest child's concentration issues. I didn't mention the eldest, but he's snowballing his way right into 'juvie' if he carries on the way he's going. They needed help, so I wanted to start with us - because of finances that is - not because the kids weren't a priority, but perhaps if we could learn something new for a couple bucks, it would help us in the long run when they got the therapy they needed. I was beginning to lose faith that I would find the person I needed to assist with the therapy I wanted for them on the financial terms we could afford.
Beaulah listened with her eyes as she always does. She is so kind and caring this earth angel friend of mine.
"I've built a wall Beaulah", I said, "I can't imagine smiling, laughing or caring for them anymore. I've checked out!"
I had shared with her how our meeting with Zelna had brought about a change of perspective in me, how it had softened my hardened heart and made me realise that my walls needed to come down, not just for the kids but for my own sanity.
The only way out of this mess, would be to go back to where I started. Open my arms, open my heart, forgive and shine my light.
"Do what you do well with your children", Zelna had advised, and so I decided to share my gifts and talents with them and let them back into my world.
My world had peace once. It had transparency and joy. Somewhere along the line the walls had become so high that I couldn't see my own light.
Beaulah continued to listen, her kind words and tender advice echoed my hearts desires for laughter and serenity to be returned to our home. "It starts with you, your time with them, your one on one moments together", she explained, "you just need love, share your time and let those walls come down. These are the moment's that will not only make the difference now, but will be treasured forever!"
Yes, I felt guilty. I felt like I'd forgotten how to love to the point of being blind to what was really needed in our home. My maternal instincts, my humanity and my authentic self had flown out the window because of my anger and resentment, twisting a vine of animosity around my heart and suffocating my soul.
Beaulah smiles at me and whispers, "If anyone can love those children the way they need to be loved, it's you!" And I smiled back because I knew she was right.
We have since found a therapist and the children will commence emotional support and play therapy within the next 2 weeks. Anything can happen when you want it badly enough, and all I want for them is more than they will know.
Showing posts with label step parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label step parenting. Show all posts
Monday, 9 May 2016
Wednesday, 16 March 2016
The Wood From The Tree's
I won't lie, it's been a challenging start to the year.
The eldest is failing, the youngest doesn't listen - to anything.
They are both incapable of going aday a moment, without a lie.
Somewhere along the line, I questioned to myself if this was all worth it, somewhere along the line, I reminded myself that I've committed my life to their father and that in turn, this is part of the package. I'm still trying to figure out if this is a raw deal or an opportunity.
Mommyhood - no training required
So here I was thinking to myself, that things would progress. That life, like everything else in my daydreamers mind, would fall into it's perfect place with enough attention. Sadly, I've been wrong all along. This isn't about me and this isn't about how I can fix them. They are damaged children, with damaged perceptions about life.
I often hear my hubby-to-be repeating himself to the kids. Another day, another session of shouting at two children who know the rules, know the routine, know what is expected. They still don't do it. They are addicted to the drama that comes with the fight.
Later, I realised that no parent actually know what they are doing, how can they? You get children that don't come with instruction manuals, advice that comes from people with their own set of ideals for their children, no "one size fit's all" here, I'm afraid. Everyone, is just winging it!
Another little meltdown
I'm almost getting used to being in a state of depression and frustration. I know that I need to love them, but I also don't have to. So somewhere between wanting to be this vessel of unconditional love and purity, the resentment is real.
Somewhere along the last couple of weeks, I realised that I don't have the answers, and that these children aren't exactly 'normal' either. They are little Bonsai tree's of toxic belief systems and emotionally absent parents. They manipulate and feast off the carcass of emotional maturity like a savage beast that is driven by the ego. And then, my ego gets sucked into the same, and our ego's feast as my Higher Self sits and shakes her head at another lost battle.
What is normal anyway? Is lying normal when it involves hurting people you love? My gut instinct tells me these kids aren't normal children. Recently, their mother was informed by the youngest child, that I drove over his hand (which I obviously hadn't) and on further investigation found out he did it to make his mother angry. Mission accomplished!
When we asked why he would do such a thing, he admitted that he knew his mother would lash out at his father. He explained that (please sit down for the next part) he wanted to make his mother angry, who would in turn get his father into trouble and all for the sake of revenge because he was angry with his father for reprimanding him every morning for dawdling through the morning routine and fighting with his brother. (Insert psychosis here!)
The repercussions of parenting
After listening to and witnessing how two people can make children but not be accountable for their emotional well-being, due to their own lack of personal awareness, I'm sitting with two children in my life that have not only experienced a separation in their family as they knew it, but have never really had the role models they should have had, until now.
I've been made so aware that, although we have the best intentions for our children, if we are not whole, we cannot impart wholeness onto them and into their lives. If we are not emotionally stable, secure and growing, we cannot expect, emotionally stable, secure and developing children in our lives. What we put in to ourselves, really is what we get out in them.
I've witnessed how my positive, spiritual influence, my life lessons, my affirmations and guidance hasn't fallen on deaf ears. What you invest in your marriage, your partner, your children and your family will, for the most part, allow you will live in peace as everyone grows in their own time and at their own pace with a healthy, solid foundation.
My challenge is learning to stay positive in a seemingly depressing environment, with children who aren't my problem, children I didn't bring into this world or want in any shape or form in my life. My challenge is learning to be that positive influence when (almost always) I've checked out emotionally to prevent further hurt and protect myself from the pain and inconvenience they cause me.
How do we become the best versions of ourselves, and in turn, how do we stay the best version of ourselves as our children watch our motivation, lack thereof, our inspiration, depression, anxiety, frustrations, joys, victories and pain.
I look forward to doing this all again for my own flesh and blood, I imagine that it would be worth the sacrifice.
Right now, I'm incredibly grateful that school holidays are here, so that they don't have to be - and I'm okay with feeling that way.
The eldest is failing, the youngest doesn't listen - to anything.
They are both incapable of going a
Somewhere along the line, I questioned to myself if this was all worth it, somewhere along the line, I reminded myself that I've committed my life to their father and that in turn, this is part of the package. I'm still trying to figure out if this is a raw deal or an opportunity.
Mommyhood - no training required
So here I was thinking to myself, that things would progress. That life, like everything else in my daydreamers mind, would fall into it's perfect place with enough attention. Sadly, I've been wrong all along. This isn't about me and this isn't about how I can fix them. They are damaged children, with damaged perceptions about life.
I often hear my hubby-to-be repeating himself to the kids. Another day, another session of shouting at two children who know the rules, know the routine, know what is expected. They still don't do it. They are addicted to the drama that comes with the fight.
Later, I realised that no parent actually know what they are doing, how can they? You get children that don't come with instruction manuals, advice that comes from people with their own set of ideals for their children, no "one size fit's all" here, I'm afraid. Everyone, is just winging it!
Another little meltdown
I'm almost getting used to being in a state of depression and frustration. I know that I need to love them, but I also don't have to. So somewhere between wanting to be this vessel of unconditional love and purity, the resentment is real.
Somewhere along the last couple of weeks, I realised that I don't have the answers, and that these children aren't exactly 'normal' either. They are little Bonsai tree's of toxic belief systems and emotionally absent parents. They manipulate and feast off the carcass of emotional maturity like a savage beast that is driven by the ego. And then, my ego gets sucked into the same, and our ego's feast as my Higher Self sits and shakes her head at another lost battle.
What is normal anyway? Is lying normal when it involves hurting people you love? My gut instinct tells me these kids aren't normal children. Recently, their mother was informed by the youngest child, that I drove over his hand (which I obviously hadn't) and on further investigation found out he did it to make his mother angry. Mission accomplished!
When we asked why he would do such a thing, he admitted that he knew his mother would lash out at his father. He explained that (please sit down for the next part) he wanted to make his mother angry, who would in turn get his father into trouble and all for the sake of revenge because he was angry with his father for reprimanding him every morning for dawdling through the morning routine and fighting with his brother. (Insert psychosis here!)
The repercussions of parenting
After listening to and witnessing how two people can make children but not be accountable for their emotional well-being, due to their own lack of personal awareness, I'm sitting with two children in my life that have not only experienced a separation in their family as they knew it, but have never really had the role models they should have had, until now.
I've been made so aware that, although we have the best intentions for our children, if we are not whole, we cannot impart wholeness onto them and into their lives. If we are not emotionally stable, secure and growing, we cannot expect, emotionally stable, secure and developing children in our lives. What we put in to ourselves, really is what we get out in them.
I've witnessed how my positive, spiritual influence, my life lessons, my affirmations and guidance hasn't fallen on deaf ears. What you invest in your marriage, your partner, your children and your family will, for the most part, allow you will live in peace as everyone grows in their own time and at their own pace with a healthy, solid foundation.
My challenge is learning to stay positive in a seemingly depressing environment, with children who aren't my problem, children I didn't bring into this world or want in any shape or form in my life. My challenge is learning to be that positive influence when (almost always) I've checked out emotionally to prevent further hurt and protect myself from the pain and inconvenience they cause me.
How do we become the best versions of ourselves, and in turn, how do we stay the best version of ourselves as our children watch our motivation, lack thereof, our inspiration, depression, anxiety, frustrations, joys, victories and pain.
I look forward to doing this all again for my own flesh and blood, I imagine that it would be worth the sacrifice.
Right now, I'm incredibly grateful that school holidays are here, so that they don't have to be - and I'm okay with feeling that way.
Wednesday, 25 November 2015
Mr N(ASS)ty and the idle threats
I won't lie, it's been a difficult couple of months - hence my absence.
I'm at the point of no return with my nonchalant and completely blatant discontent with my life. I wish things could have been different, why can I still not see the blessing in this situation. Why does it feel like I'm being punished.
Parenting is hard, and off-putting
Someone asked me the other day if I was still interested in having children of my own. Of course I'm wanting my own children, but raising a pre-teen and a 9 year old is hard, and off putting when I think that I may need to do this all over again. I know they say it's different when it's your own children, but gosh, this is a constant battle between cooperation and defiance. The latter dominating at the best of times.
Mr N(ASS)ty was introduced to me a couple of weeks ago by a client of mine. "It's time to step up and hand out some good old fashioned discipline", she said "it's not always easy dishing out hidings, but we all grew up with them and we all laugh about it now."
She was referring to Mr Nasty as if he was the benchmark of parenthood, as if, when you're at this point of idle threats, Mr Nasty is at the top of the list when it comes to distributing physical reminders of who is boss. Today the kids met Mr Nasty, although, as you would imagine my luck, it was a giggle session between them while I sampled some Mr Nasty to their backsides. The introduction was futile as the youngest scoffed at my soft and harmless blows. "That wasn't sore", giggles the youngest, "do it again".
At this stage I'm over it, I'm also considering taking an online mental wellness quiz to check that I'm not, in fact, losing my mind to the insanity I call my afternoons.
Maybe it's not meant to be
Today, for the first time, I questioned whether or not I should walk away. I wondered what it would be like to just say, 'Sorry everyone, I'm done, I need a permanent time out in a remote location with a couple of cocktails around an adult only pool', but I know I could never, I don't want to.
Every fibre of my being is battling through this challenge of acceptance. It's not them, it's me. It's my frustration and my resentments and my regrets. I love their father, and they are good kids, but I'm selfish and I wish they hadn't been born. There. I said it. I wish, they hadn't inconvenienced my life.
If that makes me a bad person then I'm a bad person. But the fact that I'm still here, still committed, still doing my all for them with no expectations and no return on investment is a very clear form of love. Love isn't a duty, it is a privilege. I choose to share my home, money, time and knowledge with them. I choose to give of myself even when it means I'm near tearing out my hair and making idle threats with a bamboo spoon that I brought for a couple bucks at the local store.
I love them, I love him, I just don't know how long it's going to be before I can accept them in all their humanness. Perhaps I've just forgotten how to be patient, tolerant and accepting of others. Perhaps they are my reminders that all things, including love come at a price and mine is loving their father with the burden and privilege of raising them at the same time.
C'est la vie.
I'm at the point of no return with my nonchalant and completely blatant discontent with my life. I wish things could have been different, why can I still not see the blessing in this situation. Why does it feel like I'm being punished.
Parenting is hard, and off-putting
Someone asked me the other day if I was still interested in having children of my own. Of course I'm wanting my own children, but raising a pre-teen and a 9 year old is hard, and off putting when I think that I may need to do this all over again. I know they say it's different when it's your own children, but gosh, this is a constant battle between cooperation and defiance. The latter dominating at the best of times.
Mr N(ASS)ty was introduced to me a couple of weeks ago by a client of mine. "It's time to step up and hand out some good old fashioned discipline", she said "it's not always easy dishing out hidings, but we all grew up with them and we all laugh about it now."
She was referring to Mr Nasty as if he was the benchmark of parenthood, as if, when you're at this point of idle threats, Mr Nasty is at the top of the list when it comes to distributing physical reminders of who is boss. Today the kids met Mr Nasty, although, as you would imagine my luck, it was a giggle session between them while I sampled some Mr Nasty to their backsides. The introduction was futile as the youngest scoffed at my soft and harmless blows. "That wasn't sore", giggles the youngest, "do it again".
At this stage I'm over it, I'm also considering taking an online mental wellness quiz to check that I'm not, in fact, losing my mind to the insanity I call my afternoons.
Maybe it's not meant to be
Today, for the first time, I questioned whether or not I should walk away. I wondered what it would be like to just say, 'Sorry everyone, I'm done, I need a permanent time out in a remote location with a couple of cocktails around an adult only pool', but I know I could never, I don't want to.
Every fibre of my being is battling through this challenge of acceptance. It's not them, it's me. It's my frustration and my resentments and my regrets. I love their father, and they are good kids, but I'm selfish and I wish they hadn't been born. There. I said it. I wish, they hadn't inconvenienced my life.
If that makes me a bad person then I'm a bad person. But the fact that I'm still here, still committed, still doing my all for them with no expectations and no return on investment is a very clear form of love. Love isn't a duty, it is a privilege. I choose to share my home, money, time and knowledge with them. I choose to give of myself even when it means I'm near tearing out my hair and making idle threats with a bamboo spoon that I brought for a couple bucks at the local store.
I love them, I love him, I just don't know how long it's going to be before I can accept them in all their humanness. Perhaps I've just forgotten how to be patient, tolerant and accepting of others. Perhaps they are my reminders that all things, including love come at a price and mine is loving their father with the burden and privilege of raising them at the same time.
C'est la vie.
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.
Monday, 31 August 2015
No one understands it, not even myself.
I've been rallying through this instant family role for a year now, properly since the beginning of this year (2015) all on my own steam, no one gets it, it's not encouraged, nor endorsed by anyone who knows, loves or meets me. People don't get this, not even I do.
I read a short Babble article this morning that just summed up all my emotions and put everything into perspective that's pretty much, what I call life at this moment.
I have no village.
During a very real chat with Daddio recently, I lay all my cards on the table about boundaries. I've found that resentment and fear are buddies, and that where there is resentment, there's most likely an underlying fear that someone or something is going to have to be sacrificed. A least in my mind.
Having identified this conflicting duo of emotions, I've managed to stop, take a meaningful breath and then ask myself, "What are you afraid of in this moment of resentment?"
Nine out of ten times, it is the fear of loss I'll endure, loss of something physical or precious that I've worked for. The other side is the fear of lack of appreciation I'll receive from anyone, lack of gratitude, being taken for granted, being resented back. Something may get damaged that I've worked hard for (when they sit swinging their legs on my new camping chairs on the lawn or perhaps I'm concerned that I'm at the bottom of the priority list as the last bits of my favourite mayonnaise are put up for auction to the highest bidder without my consideration and yes, it's just bloody mayonnaise, why do I act like it's important). I'm constantly wrestling with resentment and releasing it by speaking about my fears and concerns as they arise, which set me free from the burden of carrying them silently, sometimes for days.
Try discipline a child without raising your hands, your voice or asking yourself why you signed up for this. I've tried, been and done everything in my power, perhaps this is my emotional rock bottom, my cry for help.
I need a village, and my tribe is very, very small. I don't know anyone who is in the same position as I am. I'm gapping this and I may just be losing my mind.
Why am I putting myself through this?
So here I am, letting it all out. The toothpaste in our bathroom has been forced down into the basin drain by 6 year old fingers his solo game continues in silence.
Thousands of little germs greet his dirty fingers, the same ones he was meant to wash prior, along with the booger in his nose that needed to be removed. Yes, he's 6, I get it, but it's my basin too.
I stand watching from a distance as he takes his toothbrush and sweeps up the remains of our dirty basin (please don't act like yours is spotless 24/7) bringing the debris to his little mouth. It is in this moment I realise that my en-suite bathroom has been overthrown, my sanctuary and only place to hide has been taken over because two little boys have to be separated otherwise there are distractions and fighting and nothing really gets done. This is bullshit.
When I realise that he is in possession and alternating 2 toothpaste tubes (and neither are the junior brands I brought him last week), I in turn, realise is our tube of adult toothpaste.
He has now managed to mix up the only 2 tubes of toothpaste in our bathroom, one of which was for his exclusive use during a severe mouth infection he had two weeks ago. Now I know where my ulcer and sinus infection have come from *rolls eyes*.
My blood pressure starts to rise, I've been sick and perhaps this is the reason why. Perhaps, if these were my own biological children, my willingness to share bodily fluids with them, including germs and diseases, I wouldn't be so pissed. Why am I putting myself through this, why! I share my resentments, Daddio quickly takes the tubes back to their original bathroom. I'm sans toothpaste I can trust. Now would be a good time to tell me I'm being oversensitive.
Toughen up or leave
I will admit, that leaving this place I call home with two small manipulators with very obvious psychological issues, has become a very real option. It's not because I don't love their father, God knows how much I love their father, it's because I'm wondering if I've got what it takes to do this.
But maybe, this isn't about loving myself more, maybe it's learning to dance in the rain as they say, about setting boundaries in place and being happy - for the most part - without losing my own sense of identity.
So I made myself a priority. (Ha.)
It ends by starting anew
And this week I look forward to so many exciting new adventures, on my own, because that's what all women need, with or without a village, with or without offspring. They need time out, pampering, friends and that moment when you get to a set of traffic lights, get checked out by a cute guy next to you and feel that ziiiiiiiing of, "Yeah, I still got it!".
So I've set out a date for myself, all my needs cannot be fulfilled by everyone in my life, so I'm making my own list and prioritizing myself once again. I'm seeing old friends for lunch and coffee dates that I've failed to prioritize over the last year, I've got a gym date with my bestie (me) I'm starting to drink green tea, with the intention of getting my sexy, un-mommied body back in shape - because that's what I signed up for. For independence, for self preservation, for date nights and movies and memories. Sorry Daddio, it's not personal, well it is, but not like that :)
Not because I'm selfish, but because I'm worth it. Not because you don't make me happy but because you can't give me everything I need, all of the time, and that wouldn't be sensible to expect anyone on this planet to make me (or you) whole. As my dad always says, "Life is a Do It Yourself Job".
No one gives 100% of their effort, 100% of their time to 100% of anything - it's not possible. Balance will set me free, balance is the answer, balance is the difference between expecting to be priority and then commanding it when the time is right.
Balance cannot allow resentment to come into play when balance allows for new adventures, stimulus and experiences. Time out, time away - without romance, without partners, without even being angry about it. Simply, just - for - you! So you can grow, so you can live, so you can create your own memories, experiences and identity.
Balance is in my own hands. Maybe then, people will stop asking me what I'm still doing with a man and his two children and all their baggage. An ex and her shopping list of tendencies to give less f#$%s than anyone I know about her responsibilities.
And perhaps when I'm smiling again because I've sorted myself out - everyone will realise, including myself, that love is enough and boundaries are everything.
I read a short Babble article this morning that just summed up all my emotions and put everything into perspective that's pretty much, what I call life at this moment.
I have no village.
During a very real chat with Daddio recently, I lay all my cards on the table about boundaries. I've found that resentment and fear are buddies, and that where there is resentment, there's most likely an underlying fear that someone or something is going to have to be sacrificed. A least in my mind.
Having identified this conflicting duo of emotions, I've managed to stop, take a meaningful breath and then ask myself, "What are you afraid of in this moment of resentment?"
Nine out of ten times, it is the fear of loss I'll endure, loss of something physical or precious that I've worked for. The other side is the fear of lack of appreciation I'll receive from anyone, lack of gratitude, being taken for granted, being resented back. Something may get damaged that I've worked hard for (when they sit swinging their legs on my new camping chairs on the lawn or perhaps I'm concerned that I'm at the bottom of the priority list as the last bits of my favourite mayonnaise are put up for auction to the highest bidder without my consideration and yes, it's just bloody mayonnaise, why do I act like it's important). I'm constantly wrestling with resentment and releasing it by speaking about my fears and concerns as they arise, which set me free from the burden of carrying them silently, sometimes for days.
Try discipline a child without raising your hands, your voice or asking yourself why you signed up for this. I've tried, been and done everything in my power, perhaps this is my emotional rock bottom, my cry for help.
I need a village, and my tribe is very, very small. I don't know anyone who is in the same position as I am. I'm gapping this and I may just be losing my mind.
Why am I putting myself through this?
So here I am, letting it all out. The toothpaste in our bathroom has been forced down into the basin drain by 6 year old fingers his solo game continues in silence.
Thousands of little germs greet his dirty fingers, the same ones he was meant to wash prior, along with the booger in his nose that needed to be removed. Yes, he's 6, I get it, but it's my basin too.
I stand watching from a distance as he takes his toothbrush and sweeps up the remains of our dirty basin (please don't act like yours is spotless 24/7) bringing the debris to his little mouth. It is in this moment I realise that my en-suite bathroom has been overthrown, my sanctuary and only place to hide has been taken over because two little boys have to be separated otherwise there are distractions and fighting and nothing really gets done. This is bullshit.
When I realise that he is in possession and alternating 2 toothpaste tubes (and neither are the junior brands I brought him last week), I in turn, realise is our tube of adult toothpaste.
He has now managed to mix up the only 2 tubes of toothpaste in our bathroom, one of which was for his exclusive use during a severe mouth infection he had two weeks ago. Now I know where my ulcer and sinus infection have come from *rolls eyes*.
My blood pressure starts to rise, I've been sick and perhaps this is the reason why. Perhaps, if these were my own biological children, my willingness to share bodily fluids with them, including germs and diseases, I wouldn't be so pissed. Why am I putting myself through this, why! I share my resentments, Daddio quickly takes the tubes back to their original bathroom. I'm sans toothpaste I can trust. Now would be a good time to tell me I'm being oversensitive.
Toughen up or leave
I will admit, that leaving this place I call home with two small manipulators with very obvious psychological issues, has become a very real option. It's not because I don't love their father, God knows how much I love their father, it's because I'm wondering if I've got what it takes to do this.
But maybe, this isn't about loving myself more, maybe it's learning to dance in the rain as they say, about setting boundaries in place and being happy - for the most part - without losing my own sense of identity.
So I made myself a priority. (Ha.)
It ends by starting anew
And this week I look forward to so many exciting new adventures, on my own, because that's what all women need, with or without a village, with or without offspring. They need time out, pampering, friends and that moment when you get to a set of traffic lights, get checked out by a cute guy next to you and feel that ziiiiiiiing of, "Yeah, I still got it!".
So I've set out a date for myself, all my needs cannot be fulfilled by everyone in my life, so I'm making my own list and prioritizing myself once again. I'm seeing old friends for lunch and coffee dates that I've failed to prioritize over the last year, I've got a gym date with my bestie (me) I'm starting to drink green tea, with the intention of getting my sexy, un-mommied body back in shape - because that's what I signed up for. For independence, for self preservation, for date nights and movies and memories. Sorry Daddio, it's not personal, well it is, but not like that :)
Not because I'm selfish, but because I'm worth it. Not because you don't make me happy but because you can't give me everything I need, all of the time, and that wouldn't be sensible to expect anyone on this planet to make me (or you) whole. As my dad always says, "Life is a Do It Yourself Job".
No one gives 100% of their effort, 100% of their time to 100% of anything - it's not possible. Balance will set me free, balance is the answer, balance is the difference between expecting to be priority and then commanding it when the time is right.
Balance cannot allow resentment to come into play when balance allows for new adventures, stimulus and experiences. Time out, time away - without romance, without partners, without even being angry about it. Simply, just - for - you! So you can grow, so you can live, so you can create your own memories, experiences and identity.
Balance is in my own hands. Maybe then, people will stop asking me what I'm still doing with a man and his two children and all their baggage. An ex and her shopping list of tendencies to give less f#$%s than anyone I know about her responsibilities.
And perhaps when I'm smiling again because I've sorted myself out - everyone will realise, including myself, that love is enough and boundaries are everything.
Tuesday, 5 May 2015
6 signs you've broken through those walls
Time is an amazing resource, you either have plenty of it or wish you had more.
The space between the time we start and, say for example today when I realised I'd arrived, takes so long to happen but seems to arrive all at once.
If you're wondering what today is, it's the day I've been waiting for. It's no special day to anyone else, it's not day of celebration in the typical sense.
Today is the day I write about a breakthrough, the breakthrough of a certain child in my life that has exchanged a hairy eyeball with a loving one. It is possible that I may just have cracked the armoured exterior after months of stress and struggle - but I'm here. I think. Maybe.
How We Got Here
I realise I may have started this blog a little late, perhaps I should clarify that eldest hasn't really displayed that warm, fuzzy feeling inside when he's with me - and he's not even trying to pretend.
Littlest brat is different, he's accepted me from day one, I'm the aunty he wraps his arms around and smothers with kisses. Right from the word 'Go!' eldest has always been visibly torn between letting me in and being 'faithful' to mom by despising me just as much as she does. And if you knew her, it's a lot. A lot!
If you had asked me to start this blog a couple months earlier, I would have had a plethora of content to fuel at least 20 or so decent angry posts, ones filled with resentment and questions as to why and how I got involved with someone elses 2 children instead of my own. Seeing that I started writing this far into my journey, I guess my role is in fact to help others understand their role in a blended family.
So how did we get here? When did I realise the breakthrough with said angry, Piranha child? How do I know that it's permanent, authentic love for me and not just a sick ploy to play with my emotions? Honestly, I don't know. But the good news is that I do know I've hit the proverbial gold mine with this corner I've turned and I'm so excited to share it with you.
1. I let him think I didn't care about what he thought of me.
OMG do I care. Over the last 7.5 months I've cared more about this little boy's acceptance of me than completing my outstanding logbook for my personal income tax.
I had to respect his pain, his skepticism of me and his timing - yes, his timing. I had to ignore the shoulder shrug I felt every time I extended a gentle hand toward him. I had to swallow knots every time he went to bed and didn't willingly say goodnight. What was there not to love about me, why did he hate me so much? I persevered through my own emotions because that's what love does, love doesn't quit.
2. I had to let love come out of my mouth. Even though I was thinking it, he wasn't hearing it. Isn't it ironic that when you're being openly rejected you still have to find a place within to pour out love from you mouth and mean it, I think they call the former pride and the latter, love. I learned that there are some adults in my life that needed my verbal recognition too - he was my mirror.
I realised that while I was so busy playing with his younger brother, laughing and joking - he wasn't getting any of my positive affirmation. I had learned to keep him at arms length, waiting for him to warm to me. What I didn't realise is that my absence of contact and emotional availability was separating us even further.
So I let him into my heart and treated his wounded soul with large doses of love along with physical and verbal affirmations. He didn't need fixing for the sake of it, he needed time and patience. Not the person his mother may have him believe I am, rather the kind person I know I am.
It took some time but I started with the simple things, kinda like the way you woo your partner in the very beginning stages of your romance. I bandaged his grief with back tickles at night before bed and praised him for his soccer match victories with an enthusiasm that I had to muster from the deepest part of my authentic self. It wasn't that I was insincere, it was that a part of me often felt like my inner child said, "I'm not your friend anymore!" and would want to stick out her tongue in his direction.
Instead, the adult in me had to sit that child down and take over. None of this is personal even though it feels like it.
In the end love won, love always wins.
3. When the going got tough, I had to stay fair.
Love is in my opinion, the opposite of fear. There were moment's when I had to stay firm and consistent in my disapproval's as well as my praises toward him and his behaviour.
There were times when I was tempted to throw in the towel and let my new-found bond get in the way of fairness and diplomacy, like when you know that the bully at your school is wrong but you give her your approval anyway by smiling as he turns from the crying child she just abused.
In being fair in my views I gained his respect even when I was afraid I would have lost him forever. When he was wrong, I told him. When he was right, we high fived.
4. I had to learn to listen.
To him, to them. To their day, to their fears, to their tall stories and pipe dreams. My role isn't to just dictate opinionated facts in their direction as an adult, but rather guide them with love ever so gently towards fuller understanding as they approach adulthood.
When you put yourself in their shoes, children spend so much of their time being silenced. Teachers tell them to keep quiet, adults tell them to keep quiet. Children live in a world of censorship, "learning their place in society" while very few people listen - really, listen.
So, when they speak I look them in the eye with my fullest attention (which is very difficult for me to give most adults). I give them options, respect their choices and ask their opinions while I watch the questions stir inside their minds in a quest of self discovery.
I disagree with decency and grace when I point out the immaturity of certain thought patterns. How their father and I deal with each other, with conflict and with them, reaffirms confidence, boundaries and healthy coping mechanisms. All of these things come from listening, not just hearing. I listen to what they say even when they aren't speaking, being attentive is what makes one a good parent.
5. I had to accept myself.
I'll never forget sitting in the front seat of our car and singing outlandishly and without apology to 101 Nursery Rhymes I had downloaded off iTunes just for them. Eyes rolling in the back of his head, eldest tells me that I'm weird. Weird!!!
Every part of my heart grimaced at the apparent rejection I was dealt.
"He thinks I'm weird, OMG, he thinks I'm abnormal"
I remember panicking in silence while contemplating whether to admit to his observation or hide it. So I smiled, drew a deep breath and calmly responded with, "Isn't it just awesome!" trying so hard to hide the pensive look on my face.
He stared back at me with disapproval, I may as well have been made of glass. It was as if every flaw and insecurity had been drawn to the surface of my face and manifested through the tiny blood vessels under my skin.
It wasn't that I was ashamed of my quirkiness, it was that he saw it as a flaw. I was wide open and vulnerable, chirping and acting out "The Wheels on the Bus" and he comes back at me with an assault on my character! I embraced my authenticity, I am in fact, quirky as hell. It would be a sad and boring contrast if I sat with laced fingers on my lap and didn't speak a word.
6. I had to giggle my way through to him - adults already have a bad rep for being boring and serious. This one took me a while, when we are laughing we are also vulnerable. Laughter really is the best medicine - for everything - including winning over children. It's a safe space for bonding and being deemed 'cool' by the little humans in our lives.
Tonight I did a ceremony just for him. His lips were dry and he wanted to use my lip balm. I got up from the dining table and dug through our hidden medicine cabinet as I beckoned the family to stand around him.
"Do you, Poopy Pants, Brown Hair, Brown Eyes, Zippy Toes accept this token of love in the form of a miniature Vaseline tub?", I holler in a booming voice. "Yes!", he giggles.
"And do you, Poopy Pants, Brown Hair, Brown Eyes, Zippy Toes promise to cherish and keep safe this token of love?", I continue. "Yes!", he retorts back in a fuller chuckle.
"Then, it shall be yours!" I declare as I pass him the mini Vaseline tub to take to school the next day. Humour is a blessing and the funny bone is connected to the heart.
No one mentioned the perseverance clause
Fast forward a couple months and here we are.
Last weekend he returned from a long weekend with his mother. He seemed visibly detached from the world and nonchalant about being back home for the week. He was ice cold toward me, more-so than ever.
I went to my partner with my concerns, "I'm worried about him, he's worse than he's ever been", I fretted while at the dinner table. It was as if he had reverted back to day one - and then over the next few days, this little boy went from "Drop dead" to "Help me, I need you".
I don't know when it was exactly but I think we broke through a few days later. Today I put a note in his lunchbox that said, "You're special to me, I love you and have a good day". Again I had hesitated to include it in his lunchbox, the fear of rejection so real.
Tonight at the table he said nothing, he hardly acknowledged it when I brought it up. What the hell happened to the big 180 he did? Why is he shrugging it off as if it meant nothing? What were you trying to prove with all the clutching onto me when I said goodnight this week, the laughter and jokes we shared and all the random hugs? I thought we were getting closer!
His dad insists on further evidence of this secret note - I hadn't told him and he's curious now.
Eldest quietly gets up and scratches through his lunchbox. "I got your note", he says, "I even replied!". He fights the embarrassed smirk on his face as he hands me the note I left him.
As I unraveled the little brown jotter page covered with evidence of peanut butter and syrup, there in the top right hand corner stood my breakthrough.
"I love you too".
The space between the time we start and, say for example today when I realised I'd arrived, takes so long to happen but seems to arrive all at once.
If you're wondering what today is, it's the day I've been waiting for. It's no special day to anyone else, it's not day of celebration in the typical sense.
Today is the day I write about a breakthrough, the breakthrough of a certain child in my life that has exchanged a hairy eyeball with a loving one. It is possible that I may just have cracked the armoured exterior after months of stress and struggle - but I'm here. I think. Maybe.
How We Got Here
I realise I may have started this blog a little late, perhaps I should clarify that eldest hasn't really displayed that warm, fuzzy feeling inside when he's with me - and he's not even trying to pretend.
Littlest brat is different, he's accepted me from day one, I'm the aunty he wraps his arms around and smothers with kisses. Right from the word 'Go!' eldest has always been visibly torn between letting me in and being 'faithful' to mom by despising me just as much as she does. And if you knew her, it's a lot. A lot!
If you had asked me to start this blog a couple months earlier, I would have had a plethora of content to fuel at least 20 or so decent angry posts, ones filled with resentment and questions as to why and how I got involved with someone elses 2 children instead of my own. Seeing that I started writing this far into my journey, I guess my role is in fact to help others understand their role in a blended family.
So how did we get here? When did I realise the breakthrough with said angry, Piranha child? How do I know that it's permanent, authentic love for me and not just a sick ploy to play with my emotions? Honestly, I don't know. But the good news is that I do know I've hit the proverbial gold mine with this corner I've turned and I'm so excited to share it with you.
1. I let him think I didn't care about what he thought of me.
OMG do I care. Over the last 7.5 months I've cared more about this little boy's acceptance of me than completing my outstanding logbook for my personal income tax.
I had to respect his pain, his skepticism of me and his timing - yes, his timing. I had to ignore the shoulder shrug I felt every time I extended a gentle hand toward him. I had to swallow knots every time he went to bed and didn't willingly say goodnight. What was there not to love about me, why did he hate me so much? I persevered through my own emotions because that's what love does, love doesn't quit.
2. I had to let love come out of my mouth. Even though I was thinking it, he wasn't hearing it. Isn't it ironic that when you're being openly rejected you still have to find a place within to pour out love from you mouth and mean it, I think they call the former pride and the latter, love. I learned that there are some adults in my life that needed my verbal recognition too - he was my mirror.
I realised that while I was so busy playing with his younger brother, laughing and joking - he wasn't getting any of my positive affirmation. I had learned to keep him at arms length, waiting for him to warm to me. What I didn't realise is that my absence of contact and emotional availability was separating us even further.
So I let him into my heart and treated his wounded soul with large doses of love along with physical and verbal affirmations. He didn't need fixing for the sake of it, he needed time and patience. Not the person his mother may have him believe I am, rather the kind person I know I am.
It took some time but I started with the simple things, kinda like the way you woo your partner in the very beginning stages of your romance. I bandaged his grief with back tickles at night before bed and praised him for his soccer match victories with an enthusiasm that I had to muster from the deepest part of my authentic self. It wasn't that I was insincere, it was that a part of me often felt like my inner child said, "I'm not your friend anymore!" and would want to stick out her tongue in his direction.
Instead, the adult in me had to sit that child down and take over. None of this is personal even though it feels like it.
In the end love won, love always wins.
3. When the going got tough, I had to stay fair.
Love is in my opinion, the opposite of fear. There were moment's when I had to stay firm and consistent in my disapproval's as well as my praises toward him and his behaviour.
There were times when I was tempted to throw in the towel and let my new-found bond get in the way of fairness and diplomacy, like when you know that the bully at your school is wrong but you give her your approval anyway by smiling as he turns from the crying child she just abused.
In being fair in my views I gained his respect even when I was afraid I would have lost him forever. When he was wrong, I told him. When he was right, we high fived.
4. I had to learn to listen.
To him, to them. To their day, to their fears, to their tall stories and pipe dreams. My role isn't to just dictate opinionated facts in their direction as an adult, but rather guide them with love ever so gently towards fuller understanding as they approach adulthood.
When you put yourself in their shoes, children spend so much of their time being silenced. Teachers tell them to keep quiet, adults tell them to keep quiet. Children live in a world of censorship, "learning their place in society" while very few people listen - really, listen.
So, when they speak I look them in the eye with my fullest attention (which is very difficult for me to give most adults). I give them options, respect their choices and ask their opinions while I watch the questions stir inside their minds in a quest of self discovery.
I disagree with decency and grace when I point out the immaturity of certain thought patterns. How their father and I deal with each other, with conflict and with them, reaffirms confidence, boundaries and healthy coping mechanisms. All of these things come from listening, not just hearing. I listen to what they say even when they aren't speaking, being attentive is what makes one a good parent.
5. I had to accept myself.
I'll never forget sitting in the front seat of our car and singing outlandishly and without apology to 101 Nursery Rhymes I had downloaded off iTunes just for them. Eyes rolling in the back of his head, eldest tells me that I'm weird. Weird!!!
Every part of my heart grimaced at the apparent rejection I was dealt.
"He thinks I'm weird, OMG, he thinks I'm abnormal"
I remember panicking in silence while contemplating whether to admit to his observation or hide it. So I smiled, drew a deep breath and calmly responded with, "Isn't it just awesome!" trying so hard to hide the pensive look on my face.
He stared back at me with disapproval, I may as well have been made of glass. It was as if every flaw and insecurity had been drawn to the surface of my face and manifested through the tiny blood vessels under my skin.
It wasn't that I was ashamed of my quirkiness, it was that he saw it as a flaw. I was wide open and vulnerable, chirping and acting out "The Wheels on the Bus" and he comes back at me with an assault on my character! I embraced my authenticity, I am in fact, quirky as hell. It would be a sad and boring contrast if I sat with laced fingers on my lap and didn't speak a word.
6. I had to giggle my way through to him - adults already have a bad rep for being boring and serious. This one took me a while, when we are laughing we are also vulnerable. Laughter really is the best medicine - for everything - including winning over children. It's a safe space for bonding and being deemed 'cool' by the little humans in our lives.
Tonight I did a ceremony just for him. His lips were dry and he wanted to use my lip balm. I got up from the dining table and dug through our hidden medicine cabinet as I beckoned the family to stand around him.
"Do you, Poopy Pants, Brown Hair, Brown Eyes, Zippy Toes accept this token of love in the form of a miniature Vaseline tub?", I holler in a booming voice. "Yes!", he giggles.
"And do you, Poopy Pants, Brown Hair, Brown Eyes, Zippy Toes promise to cherish and keep safe this token of love?", I continue. "Yes!", he retorts back in a fuller chuckle.
"Then, it shall be yours!" I declare as I pass him the mini Vaseline tub to take to school the next day. Humour is a blessing and the funny bone is connected to the heart.
No one mentioned the perseverance clause
Fast forward a couple months and here we are.
Last weekend he returned from a long weekend with his mother. He seemed visibly detached from the world and nonchalant about being back home for the week. He was ice cold toward me, more-so than ever.
I went to my partner with my concerns, "I'm worried about him, he's worse than he's ever been", I fretted while at the dinner table. It was as if he had reverted back to day one - and then over the next few days, this little boy went from "Drop dead" to "Help me, I need you".
I don't know when it was exactly but I think we broke through a few days later. Today I put a note in his lunchbox that said, "You're special to me, I love you and have a good day". Again I had hesitated to include it in his lunchbox, the fear of rejection so real.
Tonight at the table he said nothing, he hardly acknowledged it when I brought it up. What the hell happened to the big 180 he did? Why is he shrugging it off as if it meant nothing? What were you trying to prove with all the clutching onto me when I said goodnight this week, the laughter and jokes we shared and all the random hugs? I thought we were getting closer!
His dad insists on further evidence of this secret note - I hadn't told him and he's curious now.
Eldest quietly gets up and scratches through his lunchbox. "I got your note", he says, "I even replied!". He fights the embarrassed smirk on his face as he hands me the note I left him.
As I unraveled the little brown jotter page covered with evidence of peanut butter and syrup, there in the top right hand corner stood my breakthrough.
"I love you too".
Tuesday, 21 April 2015
The Lies We Tell Ourselves - Then Believe
I sat with my mother in law on the couch, I've been blessed with such an amazing woman to share my life with,and as usual our home is full of laughter and playful jokes.
I've had my fair share of scary mother in laws, but this one I would say this is the closest I've come to the real deal FairyGodMother type. Recently I recall finding a plaque that read, "If I didn't have you as my Mum, I'd choose you as my friend."
True story!
I'm a little fibber
As we sat chatting on the couch, I found myself talking about the way I've managed to 'accept the hand that has been dealt' in the form of taking on two kids and trying to fit into their lives. I try and keep my conversations open and frank no matter whom I'm trying to impress, believe me I don't hide my emotions - never have, never will. Being transparent has this cathartic effect on me, my mom had always said that you "can't get any higher than the truth", so here I was sharing mine. I was sad, deeply sad.
While talking about my apparent lot in life, I'm taken aback by the deadpan stare I'm receiving back from my mother in law. "You see", I continue, "I realise that I'm not going to be able to have those two kids I've always wanted, I'm going to have to sacrifice my happiness because of finances, no one can raise 4 children in this day and age. My dreams have all been shattered" (someone que the violin) The deadpan stare continues on in my direction, followed by a wail of "Said whooooooooo?" from a now, almost giggling, in-law. Her eyes wide with investigation.
"Ummm", I manage to reply, "Well, I did".
Mother in law parts her lips with steady focus, as if she's about to pounce on me like a cat stalking it's prey. "There is no fact is what you're saying, you have no idea how your life is going to turn out or what God's plan is. You have limited yourself to your beliefs!". Her face now stern with conviction.
Penny dropped, famous "Oprah Winfrey "Aha" moment follows suit.
Change Your Dialogue
This candid conversation hits home like a ton of bricks. Yes, I've been feeling as if my mental monologue has been accurate all this time, because my conditioning has dictated that 2.5 children and 2.5 Labrador's are standard ambitions in one's life.
With 2.5 step children and 1.5 cats already in the equation, my averages for having 2.5 of my own biological children just seemed too low to dream about. The truth is, no one knows!
Not me, not you - only God/Higher Power/Insert Holy Deity here.
Our Words Have Power
I won't lie. I felt really stupid in that moment, an adjective I seldom use to describe myself at the best of times. An invisible load lifted off my shoulders in a couple of seconds as I felt the information penetrate my cerebral cortex (particularly my frontal lobe where decision making occurs) and all the cogs literally turned at the same time. No one, not one person on this planet, has the power to decide how my life pans out. No one, not even myself, has the knowledge of how many children I will conceive, birth and/or love in my lifetime - present step children included.
In fact, all of it became so clear in the moment that I, in turn, realised that none of this was part of my plan, nor was it foreseen this time last year. That's right, only God Himself could bring someone into my life that I could love so easily, so hard and so true. Someone so compatible, who makes me laugh and sing and be my 'Authentic Self' with. Someone who does in fact come with 2 little humans that now share a household with me and my 1.5 cat's. A reality I never, ever dreamed of. A reality only God Himself could have conjured. A reality that I would have laughed at a year ago, yet here it is. Who says I can't have the same reality I've always dreamed about.
If God can bring me to it, surely He will get me through it. Time will tell, until then I choose to trust in the process. You never know, until you know.
When discussing this new-found knowledge with my partner, he replied with, "You've been talking about having one child for so long that I've made it my reality too."
Just goes to show, that as women, we need to be strong and focused. Know what you want and go for it, don't waiver! Know that a good man, a really, genuinely good man, will in fact follow your lead if it makes you truly happy.
I've had my fair share of scary mother in laws, but this one I would say this is the closest I've come to the real deal FairyGodMother type. Recently I recall finding a plaque that read, "If I didn't have you as my Mum, I'd choose you as my friend."
True story!
I'm a little fibber
As we sat chatting on the couch, I found myself talking about the way I've managed to 'accept the hand that has been dealt' in the form of taking on two kids and trying to fit into their lives. I try and keep my conversations open and frank no matter whom I'm trying to impress, believe me I don't hide my emotions - never have, never will. Being transparent has this cathartic effect on me, my mom had always said that you "can't get any higher than the truth", so here I was sharing mine. I was sad, deeply sad.
While talking about my apparent lot in life, I'm taken aback by the deadpan stare I'm receiving back from my mother in law. "You see", I continue, "I realise that I'm not going to be able to have those two kids I've always wanted, I'm going to have to sacrifice my happiness because of finances, no one can raise 4 children in this day and age. My dreams have all been shattered" (someone que the violin) The deadpan stare continues on in my direction, followed by a wail of "Said whooooooooo?" from a now, almost giggling, in-law. Her eyes wide with investigation.
"Ummm", I manage to reply, "Well, I did".
Mother in law parts her lips with steady focus, as if she's about to pounce on me like a cat stalking it's prey. "There is no fact is what you're saying, you have no idea how your life is going to turn out or what God's plan is. You have limited yourself to your beliefs!". Her face now stern with conviction.
Penny dropped, famous "Oprah Winfrey "Aha" moment follows suit.
Change Your Dialogue
This candid conversation hits home like a ton of bricks. Yes, I've been feeling as if my mental monologue has been accurate all this time, because my conditioning has dictated that 2.5 children and 2.5 Labrador's are standard ambitions in one's life.
With 2.5 step children and 1.5 cats already in the equation, my averages for having 2.5 of my own biological children just seemed too low to dream about. The truth is, no one knows!
Not me, not you - only God/Higher Power/Insert Holy Deity here.
Our Words Have Power
I won't lie. I felt really stupid in that moment, an adjective I seldom use to describe myself at the best of times. An invisible load lifted off my shoulders in a couple of seconds as I felt the information penetrate my cerebral cortex (particularly my frontal lobe where decision making occurs) and all the cogs literally turned at the same time. No one, not one person on this planet, has the power to decide how my life pans out. No one, not even myself, has the knowledge of how many children I will conceive, birth and/or love in my lifetime - present step children included.
In fact, all of it became so clear in the moment that I, in turn, realised that none of this was part of my plan, nor was it foreseen this time last year. That's right, only God Himself could bring someone into my life that I could love so easily, so hard and so true. Someone so compatible, who makes me laugh and sing and be my 'Authentic Self' with. Someone who does in fact come with 2 little humans that now share a household with me and my 1.5 cat's. A reality I never, ever dreamed of. A reality only God Himself could have conjured. A reality that I would have laughed at a year ago, yet here it is. Who says I can't have the same reality I've always dreamed about.
If God can bring me to it, surely He will get me through it. Time will tell, until then I choose to trust in the process. You never know, until you know.
When discussing this new-found knowledge with my partner, he replied with, "You've been talking about having one child for so long that I've made it my reality too."
Just goes to show, that as women, we need to be strong and focused. Know what you want and go for it, don't waiver! Know that a good man, a really, genuinely good man, will in fact follow your lead if it makes you truly happy.
Tuesday, 14 April 2015
The challenges are real
It's 18h31 on a Tuesday evening. My head is pounding and it feel's like flu or a serious head cold is looming. It doesn't matter though, regardless of how I feel, the little voices will not be silenced. They tear through the house full of energy and gusto that couldn't be found some two hours ago when it was homework time, funny that.
There is always something that needs attention, always a demand of some sort. I've filled their cups with Oros but of course they want my Woolworths Litchi that was gifted to me by my visiting mother just yesterday. The empty carton stands on our kitchen counter. So much for that. It's very hard not to growl, roll my eyes or erupt with a sarcastic reply - but just then dad steps in. Thank God for grown up's, perhaps it's time for me to grow up, perhaps it's time for me to set boundaries?
Story time on the couch and I'm sitting at the dining table with earphones in my ear. I've turned the meditation music up so loud that my ear canal's are quivering, but I'm trying to drown out the chatter - just for 10 minutes please. It's not that I want to distance myself from their fable fun time, but this is the first break today and I'm embracing it. Call me antisocial, I feel feathers.
"Parenting is hard!", they said
My day has consisted of a balancing act of chores, children, collecting and dropping my helping hand, reports, calling cycles, a pounding headache, a sick partner, a needy cat that follows me around the house and an impending business trip that needs my attention. I cannot connect to the VPN and my computer has just crashed. Roadworks, a burst water pipe in our complex and the next thing that happened.
I had just collected a whole jumble of school uniforms from the school. Yes, I was that parent digging in the lost property bins under the sick bed, in the hopes that I could find something that I could claim and that would fit them both. In all my years at school, no matter how much I thought we had suffered at the 'hands of poverty', I never saw my parents do this.
Yet, here I was digging through paint splashed shorts and holey vests to try and find a set of winter replacements for the kids - because neither of us have money to replace an entire wardrobe of clothing that they've both managed to lose.
Unclaimed jersey's, long pants and winter jackets now in my possession, I pay and leave the school with rosy cheeks and a sheepish look on my face. If circumstances were different I'd pay for their uniforms myself, but then again, these little people don't understand the meaning of money and they don't realise the value of the items they wear. Besides, this is a challenge their parents faced, I'm here to step in remember? So on instruction and came and we leave. I pop all into the washing machine, I'm feeling all proud and accomplished. Look at me, look at me!
It's how you handle stress that defines your character!
Eldest and I have gone through spelling, maths and reading homework. Dad will be home soon. "This wasn't so bad", I thought. I felt quite proud of myself for sharing a second 'first' with said eldest child. The first 'first' we had was a trip to the dentist a couple months ago and today was the second 'first' - learning to spell the word because. "Betty eats cakes and uncle sells eggs". Eldest is most impressed, I high five myself for a well executed win!
And then it hit me, the washing machine seemed to be carrying on a little longer than the usual 30 minute 'econo' cycle. To my horror 1 hour has passed and I can't get the machine to switch off. All I see is a spin cycle of Rand's before me, I cannot switch this bloody machine off at all!
I also notice that it's so incredibly hot inside there, that the heat is emanating off the front glass cover toward me. I've pushed every button, turned every knob and turned off every power source and still this machine won't reset. As if the demon of parental nightmares has taken hold of my machine, I stand before it staring at the blue coloured water and realise that life at this exact moment has an infinite amount of suckage attached to it. A blue shirt has run due to thehot water molten lava within the machine and all the kids clothes are stretched, blue and beyond recognition.
Eventually I get the machine open and the inner contents now so hot that I'm forced to remove them with braai tongs. Braai tongs. Braai, tongs! The kids white collared shirts are blue, I'm talking Smurf. "God I know you're there", I recall thinking. "I know you love me, but why would this happen to good people?" I pleaded. All that money and I'm standing here shaking my head wondering what the hell I did to deserve this, what the hell possessed my machine and why the hell I'm still here.
And then I realised that I'm dealing with parenting problems. This isn't a personal affliction, this is a parenting one and therefore I need to find a parenting solution. (Oh look who just became inventive and mature at the same time.) Bleach, bath and blue panties (that were once beige) and an hour later half my problems have been resolved, unfortunately track pants are longer than my own legs and jersey's look big enough to cover a small car.
It's 19h56 and I'm ready for bed, so much still to be done.
This is a thankless job this parenting thing. The challenges are real and every time, I question why I'm in this. I could leave if I wanted. I could leave, but I don't. And I don't because I'm invested. I've made a commitment not just to the man I love but to the children that are part of his life, part of the package, part of him, now part of me.
Just when I question things for the millionth time, something special comes out of it. "We'll miss you while you're away aunty", "Love you lots and sleep tight aunty". Little arms around my waist, little hands with little fingers that glide over my knuckles while we say grace at the dinner table. Moments of awesomeness as I look over to the couch, little people listening intently to dad as he reads. Dad's facial expression as he giggles through the book with them.
Tears that stream down my face as I type this, there is reward in the hard work. There are blessings if you're willing to see them, they are part and parcel, equal and opposite to the agony of raising a child.
Biological or otherwise.
There is always something that needs attention, always a demand of some sort. I've filled their cups with Oros but of course they want my Woolworths Litchi that was gifted to me by my visiting mother just yesterday. The empty carton stands on our kitchen counter. So much for that. It's very hard not to growl, roll my eyes or erupt with a sarcastic reply - but just then dad steps in. Thank God for grown up's, perhaps it's time for me to grow up, perhaps it's time for me to set boundaries?
Story time on the couch and I'm sitting at the dining table with earphones in my ear. I've turned the meditation music up so loud that my ear canal's are quivering, but I'm trying to drown out the chatter - just for 10 minutes please. It's not that I want to distance myself from their fable fun time, but this is the first break today and I'm embracing it. Call me antisocial, I feel feathers.
"Parenting is hard!", they said
My day has consisted of a balancing act of chores, children, collecting and dropping my helping hand, reports, calling cycles, a pounding headache, a sick partner, a needy cat that follows me around the house and an impending business trip that needs my attention. I cannot connect to the VPN and my computer has just crashed. Roadworks, a burst water pipe in our complex and the next thing that happened.
I had just collected a whole jumble of school uniforms from the school. Yes, I was that parent digging in the lost property bins under the sick bed, in the hopes that I could find something that I could claim and that would fit them both. In all my years at school, no matter how much I thought we had suffered at the 'hands of poverty', I never saw my parents do this.
Yet, here I was digging through paint splashed shorts and holey vests to try and find a set of winter replacements for the kids - because neither of us have money to replace an entire wardrobe of clothing that they've both managed to lose.
Unclaimed jersey's, long pants and winter jackets now in my possession, I pay and leave the school with rosy cheeks and a sheepish look on my face. If circumstances were different I'd pay for their uniforms myself, but then again, these little people don't understand the meaning of money and they don't realise the value of the items they wear. Besides, this is a challenge their parents faced, I'm here to step in remember? So on instruction and came and we leave. I pop all into the washing machine, I'm feeling all proud and accomplished. Look at me, look at me!
It's how you handle stress that defines your character!
Eldest and I have gone through spelling, maths and reading homework. Dad will be home soon. "This wasn't so bad", I thought. I felt quite proud of myself for sharing a second 'first' with said eldest child. The first 'first' we had was a trip to the dentist a couple months ago and today was the second 'first' - learning to spell the word because. "Betty eats cakes and uncle sells eggs". Eldest is most impressed, I high five myself for a well executed win!
And then it hit me, the washing machine seemed to be carrying on a little longer than the usual 30 minute 'econo' cycle. To my horror 1 hour has passed and I can't get the machine to switch off. All I see is a spin cycle of Rand's before me, I cannot switch this bloody machine off at all!
I also notice that it's so incredibly hot inside there, that the heat is emanating off the front glass cover toward me. I've pushed every button, turned every knob and turned off every power source and still this machine won't reset. As if the demon of parental nightmares has taken hold of my machine, I stand before it staring at the blue coloured water and realise that life at this exact moment has an infinite amount of suckage attached to it. A blue shirt has run due to the
Eventually I get the machine open and the inner contents now so hot that I'm forced to remove them with braai tongs. Braai tongs. Braai, tongs! The kids white collared shirts are blue, I'm talking Smurf. "God I know you're there", I recall thinking. "I know you love me, but why would this happen to good people?" I pleaded. All that money and I'm standing here shaking my head wondering what the hell I did to deserve this, what the hell possessed my machine and why the hell I'm still here.
And then I realised that I'm dealing with parenting problems. This isn't a personal affliction, this is a parenting one and therefore I need to find a parenting solution. (Oh look who just became inventive and mature at the same time.) Bleach, bath and blue panties (that were once beige) and an hour later half my problems have been resolved, unfortunately track pants are longer than my own legs and jersey's look big enough to cover a small car.
It's 19h56 and I'm ready for bed, so much still to be done.
This is a thankless job this parenting thing. The challenges are real and every time, I question why I'm in this. I could leave if I wanted. I could leave, but I don't. And I don't because I'm invested. I've made a commitment not just to the man I love but to the children that are part of his life, part of the package, part of him, now part of me.
Just when I question things for the millionth time, something special comes out of it. "We'll miss you while you're away aunty", "Love you lots and sleep tight aunty". Little arms around my waist, little hands with little fingers that glide over my knuckles while we say grace at the dinner table. Moments of awesomeness as I look over to the couch, little people listening intently to dad as he reads. Dad's facial expression as he giggles through the book with them.
Tears that stream down my face as I type this, there is reward in the hard work. There are blessings if you're willing to see them, they are part and parcel, equal and opposite to the agony of raising a child.
Biological or otherwise.
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