Angry & Jealous

I would like to consider myself a strong person. 

Most days I feel okay and I am on top of the world despite my world around me.

Other days I feel I have the weight of the world on my shoulders.

At the end of the work day I would love to come home and trade off with a spouse.  I would love for someone to  cook me dinner, let me rest for  5 minutes or 5 hours for that matter.  But I don't have all of that.

When I come home I am the spouse.  I am both parents, so I guess I am super woman.

This gig is hard!  Going through all the crap has made me tap into a strength I didn't know that I had.  I do and do and do and I get it done. Giving up is not a choice.  But its still hard.

My kids look to me for everything because I am their everything.

Part of me gets so annoyed when people cry and whine about their 1,2, or 3 kids when they have help at home.  Do they hear me whining? No, I don't think so.

Being a single mom has given me more compassion for other single moms that I did not have when I was married. I could care less about single parent house holds then.  But now that I am in one, I know that the struggle is real. 

SO today, I don't want to hear about your fancy outings, and the money you drop on your kids toys and clothes.  I don't want to hear about how your spouse cooked you some fabulous meal or how you two are going out on a date.   I don't want to hear about how your spouse is pissing you off because my response will be at least you have a body to get pissed off at.

 And while I'm getting used to my new normal, I don't want to hear about how warm and fuzzy and full of togetherness your holiday was because today I face the fact that I will only see my kids for half a holiday and  I don't care about you and yours. While you look forward to the holidays, I have to figure out ways on how to even like them again and how to make the holidays special in light of knowing there is great possibility that I will not get an invitation extended to me, after my kids are gone.  And instead of bragging how fabulous your perfect life is how about asking us single parents how we're doing.


Today I am working through the jealously and anger.  Today I'm working on making new memories and traditions and recognizing that  my house is still a home even with one parent in it. I guess I need to give myself more grace that what I am.

Blessed

Today was the last day of school before winter break.  Its a little bitter sweet.  I get a chance to do some things in our new place that I haven't had a chance to do but, I will miss having a pay check.  I never wanted to be one of those single moms who worked 2 jobs.

It would be painfully grueling and hard on my children who have already dealt with enough.  Let alone hard on me who already has sleep issues. I have no doubt that God takes care of me and will always take care of me.  I  just have to work harder at trusting Him.

I am blessed with a safe place to live but part of me still misses the old house.  I still miss the lake, I still miss my huge kitchen.  I miss drinking tea while sitting in the window seat.  I miss being able to hide in my walk in closet. 

I keep telling myself that I am blessed.  Blessed even though the kitchen is small.  Blessed even though I have one less bathroom and the walls are thin. 

I keep reminding myself that even though I no longer have the lake, I have a pool and a park within walking distance.

I keep reminding myself that even though I miss the deck that I stained last summer, I have a cozy balcony with a swing on it.

I keep reminding myself that although I had 3000 square feet, 1300 square feet isn't bad.

I keep reminding myself that every night I lay my head down I am safe and I am blessed.

Praying

The house is quiet. The babies are with their father for several days.  My head is pounding with a stress headache from the week.

Tonight my heart breaks over the fact  that few of  us ever escape home without the residue of our parents broken relationship. 

My prayer is that God will reach deep into the hearts of my children and fill in those places that I can never reach.  That He would erase any abuse that there little ears have heard and their eyes witnessed.

I pray that that the fear and anxiety they have felt and still may feel will be calmed by Gods presence in their little lives.

I pray that their future relationships are completely satisfying.  That there future partners would be whole enough to honor them.

I pray that they never question  whether or not they are wanted or loved.

I pray that they will always feel protected.  I pray they will never live in fear.

I pray that the true love they find would build them up and draw out of them the ideas and dreams they want to fulfill.  I pray that their true loves would be their biggest fans.

I pray that love is not an illusion and Cinderella is more than a fairy tale.

I matter

Somewhere down the line he stopped caring about me, he stopped caring about my dreams.  My life was centered around how to build him up and how to encourage him and how to be his 'helpmeet" ( I hate that word).

But it was never enough.  Never enough positive energy, never enough help, never enough building him up.  Ever thought or feeling I had, had to be stuffed so that I wouldn't rock the boat.  I had to keep the peace.

If I disagreed with him, I was accused of many things. I was accused of working against him, being contentious, having a Jezebel, controlling spirit.  I learned  that it was best to keep my mouth shut, and not  say anything.  Even doing that got me in trouble.

 My dreams did not matter.  My ideas did not matter.  At the time he stopped asking me about me, I stopped sharing, I stopped talking about me.  It took a while but I caught on that the life I was in would never be about me.  And its not okay to express how you feel.

So I hold back.  I hold back because, I don't want to rock the boat.  I hold back because I fear being told "NO!"  I hold back because even though in my world I think I'm brilliant, those around me may not think so.

Somewhere in my brain, I have been conditioned to believe that when my ideas are rejected, I am being rejected, therefore I am a reject.  I know that I'm not a reject but, of course the enemy of my soul would love for me to buy into every self defeating, self destructive thought that runs across my mind.

 I have lived through the feeling of not being wanted or only being wanted for sex or as a doormat or an object to take anger out on. 

In the middle of the fight to regain my life I'm holding tightly to the fact that I am not a reject, and I am loved and wanted by my Creator.

I am embracing the reality that I have a heavenly Father who is incredibly in love with me and the thought of abandoning me never crossed his mind.


Today, I am embracing that  my thoughts matter, my ideas matter. 

I matter.



  

I refuse

I refuse to be an old bitter woman who was burned by divorce and still angry at her ex, infecting everyone around her with her cancer of bitterness.

I refuse to be that woman! She foolishly thinks she's over it but her very soul seethes with anger and bitterness.  As much as she tries to contain it, it spills into every area of her life.  It spills into her home, her career, her social life or lack thereof.  It creeps out at the most inopportune times.  The anger creeps out in traffic, on the check out line...with friends.  Her reactions to offenses her off balance.  She literally blows things out of proportion.

I refuse to be that woman!  She dies a lonely death. And although no one says it, and mourners appear sad at her funeral, there are some who are secretly happy, relieved even that she is gone, that she is finally dead.

I stopped it

 

 

 

It's so easy for you to say what you would do if someone...your spouse mistreats you.  Your conversations usually start like, "If it was me I would...."

 

Well, let me tell you , coming from a girl who used to say the same, "If it was me I would...."  You don't really know what you would do until you are in that situation.  You might have a general idea of what you might do, but you really don't know until you're in it.

 

I hated the yelling, I hated the cursing.  I hated the pretending that we were one big happy family. When things were good, they were good.  When things were bad, they were very bad. Very bad. 

 

I hated the coldness. So much coldness! I hated not feeling protected or provided for.  I hated the unpredictability.  I hated having the rug pulled from underneath me constantly.  I hated being afraid. I hated going without.  I hated being stressed. 

 

 I hated feeling unloved.  I hated not knowing what to expect when I came home.  I hated being yelled at and treated like crap.  I hated being ignored. 

 

 I hated that my dreams meant nothing to someone that promised to love me. I hated that he was crushing my spirit and that I stood there and took it for years.. hoping and praying things would change. 

 

I hated being ashamed.

 

I hated feeling used.  Used as a maid, used a chef, used as an accountant, used as babysitter,...used.

 

My world grew dark and lonely.  My circle of friends grew small.  I was isolated.  Too ashamed to cry out for help.  Too weak, too overwhelmed,  and deceived to run away.  Where was  I going to go?  Who would take me in with 4 little kids?  Where would I get money to live from?  Why didn't my family care? 

 

When I did reach out for help I went through so many counselors, so many well meaning people, and lousy pastors.  After opening up, to these "helpful people" we were treated like we had leprosy.  Rejected. 

 

I turned to church and what did I find?  The church will talk a good talk about how when you hurt, they hurt.  When you rejoice, they will rejoice with you... It was a lie. The church failed me.   I can count on one hand those that did not give up on me.  Including God.

 

When my life was in danger, I did what I thought was best.  When others wouldn't or couldn't help, and his hands were pushing me, and he was yelling at the top of his lungs, and trying his best to hurt me,  I called someone who listened and believed me, and helped me.  The police.  I did what I was supposed to do.  I stopped caring about what people thought about me and saved my own life.

 

 I think it was Maya Angelou who said it: "When people show you who they are, believe them".  I woke up one day, and started believing.

 

 

 

 

 

 



My dirt

In the dance of abuse, I am not completely innocent.  I engaged and fed into the cycle.  I am just as guilty of yelling and name calling.. Whether out of frustration or retaliation or defense, I yelled, I called names.....nevertheless, its never right.  Early on in our little hell we called marriage, our fights were at times physical, where things were thrown..by me. So I would in no wise say that I did not participate in this dance of hatred and anger early on, because I did.

As time grew on, and I became a mother, I grew and made better choices of how I would respond to the ugliness that took up residence in my home.  Yet, I would still yell back at times. Which I guess really isn't a better choice.

 As the other party morphed into someone I no longer recognized, I knew something was desperately wrong and fixing it was beyond what I was able to handle.

All of the couples counseling in the world did not help. All of the books I read on my own did nothing.  Both of us were not committed to the process of change or invested in the time it took to make change occur.  I couldn't wrap my brain around if I was doing what all the books told me to do, listening to seminars on tape, doing what pastors, and counselors told me to do, why weren't things improving?

The bottom line is unless each party involved makes a concerted effort to do the work, its not going to work. Simple as that.    I could not make him change. I tried to say the right things, wear the right things, have sex as much as he wanted to, make the right meals, keep the kids quiet, pray more, read my Bible more, none of it worked. None of it!

People change when they commit to changing. No one person can change another person.  I can not control what other people do.  I can only control my actions and my words. I can only treat others with dignity and respect.

Today I take responsibility for my dirt... and no one elses.

Where were You, God?

"Where was God?" is a question I stopped asking.  I stopped asking:

"Where were you when he hit me in the face with a towel and sent my glasses flying?"

"Where were you when he kicked me with his steel toe boot out of frustration?"

"Where were you when he pushed me through the spindles in the upstairs hallway?'

"Where were you when he shoved me when I was pregnant, causing me to fall backward onto the top rack of the dishwasher?"

"Where were you when he blocked me and had me cornered in the hallway?"

"Where were you when he mercilessly called me names and yelled at me?"

"Where were you when he was throwing furniture in the house?"

"Why was it that you answered so many prayers but, when it came to my marriage you were silent?"

I stopped asking those questions and resolved to believe after a lot of convincing that God does not waste pain.  That every painful place I have walked through in this life, He will use so that others might be touched and healed. 

I stopped asking questions and realized that all of my "situations" are an open opportunity for God to show Himself as a healer.  He will heal this broken heart.   He created me and is committed to seeing me whole... again.

My story starts here

I don't know where to begin.  Most classic "stories" begin like: "Once upon a time...".  I wish it were that easy for me.  My story has many turns, and unexpected plot twists, that  sometimes it's even hard for me to follow it.

Since I don't know what the "beginning" of my story is, I will start where I am. 

Here goes.. 48 hours from now  will mark 1 year to the day that I called 911, for the last time on "the other party".  I was being forcefully pushed out my front door by someone I once knew, in hopes that I would fall down the concrete porch stairs and bust my head open or get hurt in someway or another.  I mustered  up enough strength to brace myself in the door frame so that  I would not find my body broken, or bloody on the porch stairs.  To say I was afraid would be an understatement.

The  intense rage I fell victim to was so surreal, the fear even larger than life. Yet I knew that it was very much reality and it would be the last time I would allow it to go on.  That day I called 911 and the other party was arrested.  That is the short version, with a lot of detail omitted. 

The sad thing is, somedays, I can't remember, other days I wish I could forget.