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.
Wednesday, 25 November 2015
Monday, 12 October 2015
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.
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! |
Monday, 21 September 2015
They are always listening
While sitting at the dining table this week, a gem was revealed to me, one that I would only appreciate a few days later. A delayed reaction of emotion hit me well after our meal was finished.
Daddio and I always try and teach the kids a couple life lessons, as I would imagine most good parents do. We reflect on morality, right from wrong and our feelings almost every dinner time. Our dinner time has become our family time. Somewhere between bathing, homework and prepping for lunches, dinner time is our time to communicate and reflect as a family, as a team, unconditionally.
So while we sat chatting about the day, we start talking about bullying at the school they are at. It is a problem that has escalated well past the point of urgency since my days at their age. Bullying has become the most concerning of all activities at their school other than the teaching standards and pass rates that keep dropping.
Besides that, the youngest tells us about his day and eldest pipes up as he does at every opportunity he can get, contributing his two cents of anything that comes to mind.
"It's okay if people don't like you", he says as his shoulders shrug at me. "If people don't like you, you just send them love, love them anyway. That's what you taught me." he says chewing on his carrot. "That's right my boy", I reply encouragingly and just like that dinner was over.
It was only the next day that I realised just how poignant that statement was. While all this acting up, insubordination and school time shenanigans were taking place, something had sunk in. Something positive, something deeply good and wholesome had germinated within his psyche.
He's been listening and even though I can't recall the exact moment that I instilled this unconditional pearl of love and wisdom, he credits me. He knows that even though his friends (or in my case, his mother) doesn't like me, you can still send them love. I am still sending her love. I will always send her love.
Clearly, I'm doing a lot better at this than I realised. My heart is full of pride, my soul is full of purpose. I am their teacher and they are mine.
Daddio and I always try and teach the kids a couple life lessons, as I would imagine most good parents do. We reflect on morality, right from wrong and our feelings almost every dinner time. Our dinner time has become our family time. Somewhere between bathing, homework and prepping for lunches, dinner time is our time to communicate and reflect as a family, as a team, unconditionally.
So while we sat chatting about the day, we start talking about bullying at the school they are at. It is a problem that has escalated well past the point of urgency since my days at their age. Bullying has become the most concerning of all activities at their school other than the teaching standards and pass rates that keep dropping.
Besides that, the youngest tells us about his day and eldest pipes up as he does at every opportunity he can get, contributing his two cents of anything that comes to mind.
"It's okay if people don't like you", he says as his shoulders shrug at me. "If people don't like you, you just send them love, love them anyway. That's what you taught me." he says chewing on his carrot. "That's right my boy", I reply encouragingly and just like that dinner was over.
It was only the next day that I realised just how poignant that statement was. While all this acting up, insubordination and school time shenanigans were taking place, something had sunk in. Something positive, something deeply good and wholesome had germinated within his psyche.
He's been listening and even though I can't recall the exact moment that I instilled this unconditional pearl of love and wisdom, he credits me. He knows that even though his friends (or in my case, his mother) doesn't like me, you can still send them love. I am still sending her love. I will always send her love.
Clearly, I'm doing a lot better at this than I realised. My heart is full of pride, my soul is full of purpose. I am their teacher and they are mine.
Sunday, 20 September 2015
Are expectations premeditated resentments?
I remember sitting in therapy a couple of years ago explaining that an ex had told me that "expectations were premeditated resentments".
For a while, the therapist and I debated whether or not his outlook was a negative one, or perhaps if expectations were in fact, necessary.
This past week, I realised that most of my resentments have come from expecting the other party, the children, my partner, even my boss, to do certain things, provide in certain ways and then, in turn, fulfill my needs and my expectations - all of which revolve around me.
I don't mean that I expect them to drop everything, yet I do, I have an unrealistic expectation that everyone is happy, everyone is on my side and everyone wants to pull their weight and add joy to my life. A cotton candy bubble of denial, that's me, the eternal optimist. Facts are, people are people.
Sometimes for example, the ex fails to pay her part toward her children (that I'm paying for and currently raising) or she sets up the children for failure when she doesn't arrive with her family in tow as promised to their soccer matches - I simply get resentful. I expect a mother to be more than that. I expect her to be - me - to do what I would do, to move heaven and earth to be there, to ensure that my word is my bond.
But when you learn to expect that the unexpected is going to occur, when you learn that your expectations may be unrealistic, aggressively optimistic or even completely off course, you're growing. Perhaps, like myself, you keep thinking that maybe this time will be different, expectations are often our greatest cause of pain and disappointment when we don't accept people for who they are and who they've proven to be.
We expect from others, what we would do ourselves. Accepting that people will let you down, or at least fall short of your desires for the outcome in mind, is your greatest freedom. It's not that one shouldn't expect better from people, but it is necessary to free yourself from judgement of them when they fail to rise.
So this week, I decided to see the circumstances in which I expect certain outcomes to prevail, exactly as they are. I expect that each time the children get home from school, there may not be a welcoming committee nor a parade of love showered from them to me. I don't take it personally anymore, it is expected. I have come to expect very little, perhaps expect humanness, routine and a little less pizzazz - then I can't be disappointed. They are after all, moody, complex and individual human beings.
The same applies when their mother reacts with childish comments and hurtful accusations, I've learned to expect this, my expectations cannot cause resentment, because I know that she's incapable, or at least unwilling, to rise above the pain and anger she feels toward us and be a present and active parent. In the past, I had high hopes she would soften, change and reason with herself if not with us.
A stone is a stone, and I shall no longer see the stone as a feather. So now, I let go and at the same time embrace expectations. They can be premeditated resentments or they can set you free.
It's lighter and my life feels like my own again.
For a while, the therapist and I debated whether or not his outlook was a negative one, or perhaps if expectations were in fact, necessary.
This past week, I realised that most of my resentments have come from expecting the other party, the children, my partner, even my boss, to do certain things, provide in certain ways and then, in turn, fulfill my needs and my expectations - all of which revolve around me.
I don't mean that I expect them to drop everything, yet I do, I have an unrealistic expectation that everyone is happy, everyone is on my side and everyone wants to pull their weight and add joy to my life. A cotton candy bubble of denial, that's me, the eternal optimist. Facts are, people are people.
Sometimes for example, the ex fails to pay her part toward her children (that I'm paying for and currently raising) or she sets up the children for failure when she doesn't arrive with her family in tow as promised to their soccer matches - I simply get resentful. I expect a mother to be more than that. I expect her to be - me - to do what I would do, to move heaven and earth to be there, to ensure that my word is my bond.
But when you learn to expect that the unexpected is going to occur, when you learn that your expectations may be unrealistic, aggressively optimistic or even completely off course, you're growing. Perhaps, like myself, you keep thinking that maybe this time will be different, expectations are often our greatest cause of pain and disappointment when we don't accept people for who they are and who they've proven to be.
We expect from others, what we would do ourselves. Accepting that people will let you down, or at least fall short of your desires for the outcome in mind, is your greatest freedom. It's not that one shouldn't expect better from people, but it is necessary to free yourself from judgement of them when they fail to rise.
So this week, I decided to see the circumstances in which I expect certain outcomes to prevail, exactly as they are. I expect that each time the children get home from school, there may not be a welcoming committee nor a parade of love showered from them to me. I don't take it personally anymore, it is expected. I have come to expect very little, perhaps expect humanness, routine and a little less pizzazz - then I can't be disappointed. They are after all, moody, complex and individual human beings.
The same applies when their mother reacts with childish comments and hurtful accusations, I've learned to expect this, my expectations cannot cause resentment, because I know that she's incapable, or at least unwilling, to rise above the pain and anger she feels toward us and be a present and active parent. In the past, I had high hopes she would soften, change and reason with herself if not with us.
A stone is a stone, and I shall no longer see the stone as a feather. So now, I let go and at the same time embrace expectations. They can be premeditated resentments or they can set you free.
It's lighter and my life feels like my own again.
Thursday, 3 September 2015
The woman in the mirror
Sitting across from the therapist, I realised that I didn't have much to say to her, to ask for assistance with or to get answers about. My opening words were literally, "I have no idea why I actually came here today."
Without sounding like I know it all, I realised that I had to find myself again and reconnect with my identity - and of course work on my resentment. But, for the life of me, what was a professional therapist going to tell me that I didn't already know?
The Disconnect
As I sat blowing my nose while rehashing a year of emotional distress, it became apparent through my session that I've disconnected from this picture. Disconnected from people, from feeling. Disconnected and in turn, bitter. And guess who sits at the fore of my distress? Their mother.
My issues, concerns and frustrations, albeit a huge responsibility I've taken on, have lead me to childhood and previous relationship matters that I simply haven't addressed until now. I never wanted to be the homewrecker, I never wanted to be the thorn in the side of a family union. That is how I grew up, how I was influenced and traumatised.
To reconnect, one needs to empathize, release fear and work through the mirror image of the problem being presented. My problem is a person I cannot see nor speak to, yet I have eaten from the sweet fruit of drama and poisoned myself with her bitterness.
Mirror Mirror
The therapist turns to me and asks, "What is it that this woman represents to you?"
Immediately all the irresponsible things she had done, said, felt and confessed to came to mind. "She's the complete opposite of me", I retorted, "her lack of responsibility and accountability."
But, this in fact, is not what she represents. This woman, the mother of these two children I'm raising is my karmic lesson of compassion and unconditional love that I've chosen to turn my back on.
I am no better than her, she is no better than I. We are two people that have chosen two different live paths and her children are a constant reminder of a polar opposite I've never experienced until her. She is, my mirror.
A lesson in empathy
The therapist turns to me again, after a long gap of silence between my tears. "Imagine, for a moment, how it must feel for her. Imagine being alone, with someone else raising your children, with someone whom you shared 10 years of your life with. Imagine for a moment, how she feels, being a weekend mother, realising her shortfalls, her dreams and aspirations not materalized and seeing you with her family, living a life she perceives as perfect."
My face went numb, and that hollow feeling one gets in the pit of their stomach when a loss is felt. The slow, creeping vines of anger and resentment, transformed into sadness and withered inside me. How lonely she must feel. How much lose she too has suffered.
While I realise that I wasn't the cause of her relationship breakdown, I've stepped into a relationship with a man that I have so much history with, that she too has so much history with. A man we shared at different times of our lives, children we share now, children that weren't part of my plan. Children that I've given my all to, sacrificed for, loved and been hurt by. Children that constantly remind me of a time in my life when their father and I could have been more, could have prevented their existence by staying together as teenagers. Their relationship wasn't based on what ours is, but that doesn't make her loss and grief any easier to swallow - for both of us.
I felt like the other woman. I felt like, in a surreal way, I had stepped into and invaded a family that had nothing to do with me. A family that I hadn't chosen, and a family that I felt alienated from - because I never made them - they did. And while this realisation made me sick to pits of my being, I feel the happiest with him, the most content together that I've ever been in my life. As if, he was always mine, borrowed from me by the world and returned to me as destiny and fate would have it.
Perhaps, this is how it's meant to be. Perhaps, I'm the love lesson that needs to be reflected into her life with action and in time.
Extending love and letting go
So before everyone gets on the bandwagon of cliche's, "Everything happens for a reason", is top of my mind. I know that I cannot go back. I know that everything has happened by choice, by purpose and that these two little souls need the good from both of us, all of us. She is their mother, I am their guide and they have a very capable, very hands-on father. We should be a power team, not a toxic divide.
I've never spoken ill of their mother, while there are always constant reminders of how she's slated me in my absence to them, in front of them. Funny how it always gets back to my ears through the children.
My choice, right now, is to change my perspective. My choice is to let go of my unrealistic expectations that a bond that I share with their father is enough to get us through and make everything okay. Everything was not okay before I arrived. Everything is getting better, but this isn't a quick fix. This is life, these are lives, my life, his life, hers and theirs.
The therapist closes her book at the end of our session. "You can live with bitterness and become twisted with resentment, or you can choose to love her in her imperfection."
I may not be ready for that, I'm still trying to come to terms with feeling like she stole my life. The life that in retrospect, I was meant to have. Not raise her children.
Knowing she willingly carried children that would be subjected to alcohol and drug abuse makes me resent myself even more for not being brave enough to say yes instead of no to a child that would have changed our entire lives.
Perhaps I'm just living out my own guilt, perhaps this is the bigger picture. Perhaps, I've got so much more to learn and gain with so much less to sacrifice than I realise.
Let the healing begin.
Without sounding like I know it all, I realised that I had to find myself again and reconnect with my identity - and of course work on my resentment. But, for the life of me, what was a professional therapist going to tell me that I didn't already know?
The Disconnect
As I sat blowing my nose while rehashing a year of emotional distress, it became apparent through my session that I've disconnected from this picture. Disconnected from people, from feeling. Disconnected and in turn, bitter. And guess who sits at the fore of my distress? Their mother.
My issues, concerns and frustrations, albeit a huge responsibility I've taken on, have lead me to childhood and previous relationship matters that I simply haven't addressed until now. I never wanted to be the homewrecker, I never wanted to be the thorn in the side of a family union. That is how I grew up, how I was influenced and traumatised.
To reconnect, one needs to empathize, release fear and work through the mirror image of the problem being presented. My problem is a person I cannot see nor speak to, yet I have eaten from the sweet fruit of drama and poisoned myself with her bitterness.
Mirror Mirror
The therapist turns to me and asks, "What is it that this woman represents to you?"
Immediately all the irresponsible things she had done, said, felt and confessed to came to mind. "She's the complete opposite of me", I retorted, "her lack of responsibility and accountability."
But, this in fact, is not what she represents. This woman, the mother of these two children I'm raising is my karmic lesson of compassion and unconditional love that I've chosen to turn my back on.
I am no better than her, she is no better than I. We are two people that have chosen two different live paths and her children are a constant reminder of a polar opposite I've never experienced until her. She is, my mirror.
A lesson in empathy
The therapist turns to me again, after a long gap of silence between my tears. "Imagine, for a moment, how it must feel for her. Imagine being alone, with someone else raising your children, with someone whom you shared 10 years of your life with. Imagine for a moment, how she feels, being a weekend mother, realising her shortfalls, her dreams and aspirations not materalized and seeing you with her family, living a life she perceives as perfect."
My face went numb, and that hollow feeling one gets in the pit of their stomach when a loss is felt. The slow, creeping vines of anger and resentment, transformed into sadness and withered inside me. How lonely she must feel. How much lose she too has suffered.
While I realise that I wasn't the cause of her relationship breakdown, I've stepped into a relationship with a man that I have so much history with, that she too has so much history with. A man we shared at different times of our lives, children we share now, children that weren't part of my plan. Children that I've given my all to, sacrificed for, loved and been hurt by. Children that constantly remind me of a time in my life when their father and I could have been more, could have prevented their existence by staying together as teenagers. Their relationship wasn't based on what ours is, but that doesn't make her loss and grief any easier to swallow - for both of us.
I felt like the other woman. I felt like, in a surreal way, I had stepped into and invaded a family that had nothing to do with me. A family that I hadn't chosen, and a family that I felt alienated from - because I never made them - they did. And while this realisation made me sick to pits of my being, I feel the happiest with him, the most content together that I've ever been in my life. As if, he was always mine, borrowed from me by the world and returned to me as destiny and fate would have it.
Perhaps, this is how it's meant to be. Perhaps, I'm the love lesson that needs to be reflected into her life with action and in time.
Extending love and letting go
So before everyone gets on the bandwagon of cliche's, "Everything happens for a reason", is top of my mind. I know that I cannot go back. I know that everything has happened by choice, by purpose and that these two little souls need the good from both of us, all of us. She is their mother, I am their guide and they have a very capable, very hands-on father. We should be a power team, not a toxic divide.
I've never spoken ill of their mother, while there are always constant reminders of how she's slated me in my absence to them, in front of them. Funny how it always gets back to my ears through the children.
My choice, right now, is to change my perspective. My choice is to let go of my unrealistic expectations that a bond that I share with their father is enough to get us through and make everything okay. Everything was not okay before I arrived. Everything is getting better, but this isn't a quick fix. This is life, these are lives, my life, his life, hers and theirs.
The therapist closes her book at the end of our session. "You can live with bitterness and become twisted with resentment, or you can choose to love her in her imperfection."
I may not be ready for that, I'm still trying to come to terms with feeling like she stole my life. The life that in retrospect, I was meant to have. Not raise her children.
Knowing she willingly carried children that would be subjected to alcohol and drug abuse makes me resent myself even more for not being brave enough to say yes instead of no to a child that would have changed our entire lives.
Perhaps I'm just living out my own guilt, perhaps this is the bigger picture. Perhaps, I've got so much more to learn and gain with so much less to sacrifice than I realise.
Let the healing begin.
Tuesday, 1 September 2015
Seeking professional help
Today, fate had plans for me.
I had decided that after my recent melt down (and a couple mini ones thereafter) it was time to seek professional help. I needed to speak to someone about my resentment and my fears, boy do I have a lot of both.
As destiny would have it, a cancellation came through for the Psychologist I was trying to get an appointment with, apparently quite a popular Dr. with many patients waiting to see her months from now. Today, I was meant to be there, meet her, chat.
My first steps
"I have absolutely no idea why I'm here", I started. To be honest with you (and her) I realised that I had a lack of balance, needed more 'me' time and had thrown myself into a role that had nothing to do with me. But, I didn't know why I was sitting in front of a professional therapist when I knew all the answers already. I knew and still know that only I can fix this by changing my attitude towards this new life.
What I didn't bank on was hearing that all of it, all of it, was my choice. Now, I'm not ignorant to the fact that I chose to take on this step mommy role, but I didn't really think that it would get this far, the drama that is, to the point of breaking my soul. Turns out, it's all part of the permission I've granted. Hashtag let's take some ownership here.
It's still not about me
In short, I have to let go. It's not about me, not in the sense that I want to be the centre of attention, but about putting myself in everyone elses shoes. Surely I've been doing so much of that, that this is the reason why I snapped? I need to change my perspective, positive versus negative. Happy, healthy versus down and depressed. I realised today, I've become addicted to the drama of not knowing how this works and choosing to be stuck in the middle of someone else's fight.
My challenge is to accept the things I cannot change, sound familiar?
So, I identified today that my expectations haven't exactly been realistic and that I "signed a contract without knowing what the terms and conditions were", as my therapist so rightly said today. It doesn't mean we're doomed, it means I have to learn to deal. Always a choice to accept my present circumstances or leave.
I choose to stay.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)