Some Letters

Angry letters I would write and send if not for recovery.  I have anger, but it is not the boss of me.  I let it teach me and then I get to practice taming it.

Dear Dad,

I experience little conscious memory of you, only of the raging in our house and you bringing home gifts of perfume or Brach’s Sour Ball Candies from your canteen at work. And that I resented you for making me different from others, in ways that couldn’t be masked-my name, my brown-ness, our weird food, my nose, our lack of traditional celebrations and trendy clothing.  I recall with haunting clarity, the smell of your greasy pillow and that you rode a 10 speed and slaughtered Cornish hens in our home, ate lamb, rabbit, tongue, veal and calve’s kidney and liver—knowing it all broke my heart.   Oh, and you enjoyed the beach.  Aside from that, just fighting.  Lots of fighting–but you were different from mom and sister.  You always felt despair over screaming and being unreasonable or hurtful.  You would often apologize.  We are alike that way, the screaming and the apologizing.  I am better about screaming and have learned what to and not to apologize for.

Sometimes months go by and I have not thought of you at all, because whatever there was between us that made us tear at each other, is too painful to recall.

Dear Mom,

Your contempt for me, from as far back as I can remember was terrifying.  I wished I could have felt some sense of safety, nurturing, or confidence in your care.  Between you, your punitive and judgmental mother, and my sister, there was little chance of me, ever getting to know or love myself.  What did you expect to become of me?  Did you think you could shame and banish me out of being someone so terribly inconvenient and with needs to which you could not relate?  If so, you deserve an award for your efforts.  Too bad, it did not work out well for anyone, except Jilan.  She scored much positive attention and traction, from just not being ME.  

Dear Female Sibling,

The way you have touched and spoken to me is vile.  Except for when you were being other Jilan, offering gifts and compliments, but even that was icky.  Often you would ask what was wrong–but it was not in a compassionate way, it was in a scared probing way to see if I knew and understood what had been said or done.  The thought of you touching my children makes me physically ill.  The collective will of you and your mother, violates me as a daughter, sister, and mother of my children.  The way you subtly smear and systematically alienate/pick off women (who dare to displease you–remember, you have bragged about this to me) in your life and work is repulsive.  The arrangement you have with Randy makes my young sons feel conflict, angst, caught in the middle of things which they could have been spared.  Shame on you. Yes you.  For all of the stuff.   You gossip and judge and shame others as if it is your calling.  If it is, bravo.  You are killing it, at those things.  There is no zipcode, white suit, title, last name, or club that can fully conceal the truth of  what you do and have done. Even having beautiful children is not proof of some level of goodness in you which nullifies the damage by your hand.  Your Sisters in law,your cousins, Alison at your work, your aunt…. just to name a few.  Patterns do not lie.

Dear EX-H,

When we first met, I loved the part of you that was confused and pained by the things done to you by your sisters that paralleled my own experience.  I thought together we would make something better.  Do you recall  how your father cautioned you about the affect your sisters would have on us? Do you recall how you were always having to choose between your sisters and me…except for the two years in which we were close with Kendall and therefore banished by the other two? Do you recall how your sisters ignored us and baby Will at Christmas entirely and when you called them out, they said, “what he is only a baby, like he will even remember”  It was sad and really unsurprising when after years of promising to want something better for our family you said to me “I will never change. There is nothing wrong the the way my family or I do things.”  I can see that when I was crying about the dynamic with my sister and mother, you related more to them than to me.  No truer words were ever spoken than when you said you would never change.  May be the only promise to have never been broken—never changing.  Sad.   What I find most challenging are the moods that parallel my sister’s.  The days or weeks of non-malevolence followed by underhanded and disruptive antics for no reason at all.  These times are marked by zero eye contact or acknowledgment when I have spoken, as you did in marriage.  And, because you are my children’s father, I will never fully detail or address the specifics of your choices which put your ego and will ahead of our magnificent children.

There are some very relevant things that you should know, as co-parent.  I am unable to share, because you consistently offer reminders, that you are not safe, unwilling to prioritize OUR family over yourself. You and I are raising beautiful boys and we both know full well that addiction is a real and present danger, for them.  I do not understand how you knowingly, continually place them in situations that require them to disassociate or pretend.  Oh wait, actually, I do understand–and it makes perfect sense.  

If I thought they would make a difference, I might write letters which instead, say for the zillionth time how willing I am to work toward something better and to heal. But healing is for the broken and you cannot possibly be broken so no need for fixing.  And pain is for the weak while anger is for the right.  There is no where to go with this.  

Fuck it

The Part Where You Fucked Up

For the record, my favorite part of every story, is the part where I fucked up and showed up anyway, ready to do better.

The tribal tension in our country right now is a perfect parallel to the dynamic of my family of origin-  overflowing of remarkable efforts toward rightness and to victory, rather than goodness/kindness.  Right in this context, referring to triumph and domination.  As if winning and dominating are evidence of truth and goodness. In my journey of recovery guided by daily commitment to spiritual striving, I seek only to practice living and doing with a glad and pure heart.   I can be fairly good at that AND do not deny the angry part of my heart that wants to punish, shame, and illuminate the non-goodness which I perceive as being forced upon my sons.  I own the reality of that anger and contempt.  I hold myself accountable, spiritually– not just to speaking with factual accuracy but for intentionally examining motives for myself, my children and others.  This blog is not just to assert my own goodness and virtue in stark contrast to someone else’s badness but to chronicle my journey towards living a more wholesome life– not more wholesome than them-  but more wholesome than what I have experienced, witnessed, and done in the past.  I am a work in progress.

I am staying close only to those, who, through action, model and teach loving kindness; not to be confused with favoritism or flattery.  Kindness is not selective.  Kindness just is…anything less—Refer to the meme.  It is never to late to amend.

With two young sons to shape and guide, I feel continually assaulted by the horsehsit models of love and goodness coming from the other side.  Goodness is rooted in humility.  And what I observe and resent, is arrogance and betrayal, dressed up in parties, smiles, well set tables, awkward flattery and favoritism, inappropriate hugs, and the denial.  Behaving as if this is what “family” and “love” do.  Family does not equal love–kindness does.

By my definition, love and family are honest, they own the harm they do, have hard discussions and share the work of healing and mending.  My boys gathered with my ex and his girlfriend, around a table with my sister and mother who have fouled me with lies to me and about me, insults, hardships which they righteously impose–while acting as if all is well –requiring children to dissociate from their mother and themselves is wrong and harmful.  Mentally, emotionally, spiritually, they are harming children.  My ex loves this arrangement, because he feels chosen, special, and preferred(flattery and favoritism totally work for him–the main currency).  Like even after all the bullshit he brought down on our little family, my sick family’s enveloping of him is proof of my badness.  Their collective sickness is unbearable to me.  My wise friend Anna is like, why do you care if they spend time together, it makes perfect sense—yay—the assholes chose each other, of course they did, and do so at your expense.  But it is at the expense of my children.  The disregard for them is beyond reproach.  Their performance as family, having the numbers– to them is a win and proof of rightness.  This may confuse small children. I will object for all of my days.  Hopefully, with less laser focused dedication, at some point.

What this text meme reminds me of, is the fake humility which for so long defied articulation.  In my family and marriage, they will go over the top, apologizing for traffic, burnt meat, forgetting to shut the door or running out of wine.  But NEVER acknowledging or admitting to an error in judgment- words spoken or actions taken in haste or anger.  NEVER.  They literally have never in my experience acknowledged their contributions to tension or havoc resulting from their CHOICES.  Either justified or oblivious. #wtf

I have always been the apologizer. The sorry one.  In both my family and marriage.  Sorry that I experienced bad feelings or behavior and sorry I for causing bad behavior and feelings in others.  What bullshit…participating in the sickness like that.  I am sorry for other people’s harsh feelings and behaviors, but not cuz I am fucking responsible.  Just because they are unfortunate and you cannot help but feel something like sorry, if you have a conscience or a soul.  If we learn and grow primarily from mistakes, what does that mean for people who do not recognize themselves as people who make mistakes?  Traffic, meat burning, and leaving the tooth paste lid off or toilet seat up are not bad choices—no apologies are necessary or helpful here.  How about— I am sorry I said that.  I am sorry I said or did that ???

Ranting time of month.  Sorrrrrrrrrry.  But I simply cannot say or hear it enough:  Kindness is not conditional or preferential or exclusive.  Masking non kindness in gatherings, gifts, or compliments intended to elevate one while diminishing another is both sick and sickening.

The Smiling Poop Emoji

A pile of poop with a smile, is still poop.  Sunday’s sermon began with the smiling poop emoji on both of the teleprompter screens.  The visual presentations were prefaced with, “If I could find a way to best describe this past year, it would be this (the emoji).  I lost my father suddenly to cancer and miss him terribly, our son is struggling with anxiety and depression and my sister in law has moved in with us, heartbroken and confused by a troubled marriage.  And day after day, I paste on a smile and assure anyone who asks, that all is well, that my family and I are doing wonderfully.”

Shane went on- “I realize that I can no longer pretend the mess is not there AND at the same time, work to grow and heal from it.  And I can not do this alone.  I have stuff in my life that is not going well, which is causing me despair–in whom do I trust to share?”  For him, it was God, and also a friend.  The sharing is the first step to coming out of denial.  For a moment, the poop emoji left the screens and was replaced by these words:  “Acknowledge the mess.  Do your best.  Let God do the rest.”  I love this!♥

Shane continues: “I know that I am at my best when I rely on god to help me with the mess.  Working and growing through the messes is the way to our best lives.”  When effort is directed at putting a smiley on the poop, we teach others that it is not safe to share with us, because we are not fit to acknowledge or deal with poop without judgment.  Having the courage and faith to heal, is not only the way to our best lives, it is the way to genuine connection—being able to share the poop, handle the poop, cry and collectively pray over the poop is what people who are intimately connected and spiritually growing, get to do, TOGETHER.

I shared my understanding of the sermon with my sons, explaining to them, that in my experience with my family, we were not able to ever connect in this way, the handling of the poopier parts of life.  My unyielding need to do so, was an offense to their merciless need to NOT.  I cannot put a smile on the poop and pretend it is not there, not stinky and not troublesome.  I just cannot.  This is the key to functioning in both their father’s family and my own.  Everyone wears smiles and moves on as if…  They consider this  moving on, as evidence of strength and positivity.  Anything other–gets labelled as negative, weak, and ungrateful- shaming any soul, unfortunate enough to openly struggle or suffer.  They have a clever way of discussing people with unmasked feelings, they do it as though they are expressing pity, which is not as wholesome it is intended to appear.  What they are doing, commonly referred to, as priming the pump, initiating a campaign to create doubt and discomfort with those afflicted in this way.

The service left me feeling deeply the goodness and love of the people in my life and also reminding me of the stark contrast to those to whom I am related. My sister’s nagging and tenacious pursuit for connection TO my ex-husband and OUR children still affects us deeply as two divorced people who are meant to co-parent and work for the best of our children.  The versions of love and strength(poop with a smile) they model for my children is literally soul-sickening.  The forced betrayal and hugging is awful.  I tell my boys it is ok to say NO and they insist it is not, because that will anger their father.  Ugh.

I dont care if you’re family or friend, old or young, if my kid does not want to hug or kiss you, then that is that’s that.  I won’t be encouraging or bribing them.  Their body, their choice.

This led us right into more intensity and heavy sighing by my boys, as I forced them to endure my mini-rant about the difference between peacemaking and peace-keeping.  I do intend to raise peacemakers who will be driven by wholesome values like courage and kindness, more than the opinions of others.

Another reason I felt called to think of female sibling.  I try hard not to:

We have all seen and used and laughed about this poop emoji.  #allofus

In our home, we shake our heads  at a recurring performance by my sister regarding the swirly poop, recognized by those aging from 2-99, for what IT is.  My sister who wears only angelic white loves to report how she is mortified to have mistaken IT a Hershey Kiss and was sending it to people.  I relayed this to my friend Trish, who exclaimed “Oh Okay, you are almost fucken 60, backdooring your sister, and still so pure and innocent you don’t think poopy thoughts when you see a poo emoji…and you are so terribly embarrassed by THIS– that you share that story at every opportunity”. My sons have reported now, twice in 6 months, being subjected to the “Ohmygaw y’all-  I am so embarrassed because I had mistaken that poop emoji as a Hershey Kiss”-story.

Yesterday, my older son text me from the school bus that he had to go poo and we just laughed at the foolishness.   He is wise to that shit.

Grandma’s Favorite—awww so sweet, y’all

This post is taken directly from how.i.rebuilt.myself.   The “me too ” which I feel when I read her posts is priceless-helping survivors heal, one post at a time.

Fake chivalry of the covert man. He’s the neighbourhood favourite – will jump start your car, run an errand for your sick wife while you’re on a business trip and hold doors open for old ladies. He’ll leap to his feet if a woman is moving a chair or a multipack of soft drinks at a bake sale or barbecue. As you’re getting to know him, you’ll see all this and think he’s a treasure. So will your family and friends. But later, behind closed doors, you’re the one carrying the burdens to the point it’s affecting your health (and finances), while yearning for the attention and affection which is now a distant memory. Every now and then he’ll put on a show but something is ‘wrong’ (cooks you a ‘nice’ meal but leaves you with extensive clearing up while he watches TV, spends Saturday fixing something that doesn’t need fixing when you said you wanted time together) but how can you complain? If you mention you feel lonely and overburdened he’ll shut down – you’ve hurt his feelings, you terrible person! – and the guilt will consume you. Or he’ll offer wonderful words that aren’t followed by any changes – or gaslight you about your mental state under the guise of caring/concern. Play along and you might never know what you’re dealing with, though your insomnia and panic attacks are a clue – but try to leave or stop giving him free benefits and you’ll soon find out that grandma’s favourite is a very different type of beast. [Note covert women/femmes also have the pattern of using gender paragon behaviour – so sweet and warm and giving! – to hide their true selves. It’s one reason I’m passionate about gender freedom. Perfect, paper-doll embodiments of this or that gender don’t exist and to my mind are usually hiding something (abuse victims sometimes appear in this form too if conditioned into a role out of fear) whereas virtues of kindness, honesty and courage are genderless and go beyond window display.

Thank Good Gods

The words below are cherry picked straight from Jen Hatmaker’s post on IG today.  They speak directly to my heart and make clear for me the difference between those I am genetically linked to and those with whom I am spiritually linked.  I see, that with the models of love and loyalty which I was provided, why I could be so edgy, vicious, righteous, and menacing.  I am beyond remorseful and will spend all of my days amending the things I can.

I WAS a beast, learning what I lived and living what I learned.  I cannot help but shake my head in horror and disbelief at what continues.   Thank all of the good gods for unlearning.  It is never too late.   I am breaking the cycle.  Click anywhere on the quote below to read Jen’s entire post.

Anything other than a radically inclusive faith that honors the dignity of every person makes no sense to me.  I cannot find any other road through my faith than one that condemns abuse, neglect, exclusion, and dominance.  Nothing else makes sense.

This post prompted by my ex and his new girlfriend hosting my mother and female sibling for dinner.  Wrong for so many reasons.  And for my boys getting reprimanded one more time for resisting hugs from women who do this to their mother.  They have no choice about showing up for this…but really, telling young boys that forced and unwanted touching is not only ok but required.  No means NO.  

My boys reported feeling disturbed by the usual all white suit(so angelic and pure), the house warming gift to their dad from her and her over the top fawning, apparently worse when her husband is not present. Ugh. Please stop. So awkward– forcing yourself on small boys and grown ones. Nobody likes it. At all. It is yucky.   And Good News:  It is never too late to stop.  Ever.

Undeserving

What an interesting concept.  “DESERVE”.  I cannot help but cringe each time I hear this word thrown about.  Maybe as a person who grew up feeling confused about being both entitled and unworthy, I remain disturbed by this language.  Now, after nearly a decade of spiritual recovery and soul work–this is what I think I know:

All people deserve kindness, love, truth, connection.  Today’s sermon focused on grace, gratitude, and service.  I noticed myself physically reacting each time I heard the word “deserve”.  It has been my consistent experience that those who believe in their own deserving also believe similarly in their right to punish and judge.  This way of believing removes all possibility of Grace.  Reflecting on the damage of the hurricane and hardships of people offered pointed reminders that good fortune no more is a symptom of personal goodness than misfortune is badness.  I descend from long lines of people who are unapologetically  vocal with their beliefs of what they and others do and do not deserve.  To  me, this thinking seems void of God and Higher Power, very selfY.  It feels scary.

As I acknowledge the undeniable love of my friends, children, and Sweet Greg, I am deeply aware that they do not love me because I have earned or deserved it.  They love me because loving is what they do.  I feel the love of them wanting what is good and best for me, celebrating my triumphs and mourning my losses with me.  Believing in why and how they love me, frees me from the myth that I(or others) earn abuse, betrayal, cruelty, or lies.  People do what they do, say what they say, are how and who they are, independently of me.

The teachings of discipleship are something we will learn in church.  An opportunity to be re-parented with opportunities to practice serving God and others– because.  Just because, this is the life we are meant for.  We are graced by this place, of like hearted people who choose to live and practice love in this way.  Discipleship.  Deeply entrenched in our unchurchedness, we may never fully internalize certain parts of the “Stories” of Christianity… we can still learn from the life of Jesus and witness in awe, the badassery of his fierce dedication to loving, loving the marginalized, outcast and needy, full of courage and grace, and an example worth following, better than any human ever could be.

This song is part of the weekly service and it literally grips my heart and I can barely breathe as I listen and read the words.  All I ever wanted from my mother and family, and so completely the opposite of my teachings and beliefs about my place on this earth and within my family.  This is truth and love.  I believe.  I am loved.  I belong.  Big space to anyone suggesting otherwise.  I continue practicing forgiving, from over here.  I deserve the peace that comes with letting go and forgiving and keeping myself safe from unwholesome and unkind words and deeds.   I lack the resilience required to let those things roll from my back and pretend as if they are not real or hurtful.  Plus, I deserve better.  100%.

 

 

Supporting Gay Tweens- Even when they are not “yours”

Last week my older son was initiated by a new neighbor boy, whom we do not know—even a little.  This neighbor decided to “come out” via text message, to my son, who is age 11.  When my son was kind and texted “Ok, but be careful who you tell because people might be mean to you or beat you up for that.  I understand people are born this way and it is ok”, the neighbor, whom I will call Frederick, took that as a green light to pursue my son.  He continued texting him–but only about “gayness”.  Laser focused on this singular topic.

When my son did not tell him to bug off or keep it to himself, he took it a step further and began detailing his crush on a boy in their science class and then proceeded to ask my son “Are you gay?  Do you like me? You have to be honest and tell me” .  Now, my son and this child have never spent time together aside from one week of waiting at the bus stop, never discussed any common interests or normal getting to know you convos.  And yet, Frederick prefaced his sharing with, “I want to tell you something because we are good enough friends and I need you to promise not to tell anyone.”

I count my lucky stars that my sweet son came to me directly and promptly. I explained that telling me was the right thing to do but telling anyone else would be harmful.  We do not keep secrets in this family– but we can be trusted with things shared in confidence.  My son is mature enough to grasp and value  this. He expressed that “this” made him feel icky and anguished.  Boy, am I blessed to have recovery to help me support his walk through this– without encouraging retaliating or retreating…because WE(my lil family) have learned a third way.  The spiritual way.  We can express and hold healthy boundaries.  He asked (via text) Frederick to not bring up gayness anymore then decided to take it a step further and said “Please do not talk to me anymore”.  My son is concerned that IT will persist and he has also expressed confusion about the fact that he feels fearful/ kind of obsessed.  I was able to share with him that it felt bad and heavy because he was violated.  His gut is informing him:  danger danger beware.  And the gut message is  one to be listened to.  Frederick is not dangerous for his gayness, but for his lack of knowing how to navigate safely and with respect for others.  That is not his fault, but it is still unsafe for another child whom also does not know and is not ready.

If my son and Frederick had an existing friendship and Frederick shared that he was gay, that would be different.  If they were 16 and Frederick shared or initiated, that would be different.  Their age and their affiliation is not appropriate for this interaction—and now there is no current possibility for  friendship, because Frederick, young, desperate, not knowing, took it too far.  I have advised my son to be polite only.  Say good morning at the bust stop and then get into a book or his phone…There is a way to be not friends and also non-enemies.  My family did not get or teach me this.  My ex husband’s family also does not see life this way.  Zero-sum all the way.

But WE, we get this and Frederick is one lucky soul that he pulled this with my son who will do no harm and cast no shame or shadow on him.  That a person like me, with a family like my own, can guide my son this way is nothing short of a miracle.  I hope Frederick finds the support he needs as much as I hope he leaves my son alone.  I am so grateful my son trusted and shared with me completely– and that we were able to do this together. Rather than trying to remind him constantly to trust himself and do right, I will use the message board to say what I think needs to be said and remembered.  I do not care if my son is gay or not but I do care that he discuss these things with only trusted others, when it feels right and safe for him.  And even if he is or might be–Being gay is not reason enough to be friends.  I was also able to remind him that he does not ever need to feel as if he must disclose to anyone what or whom he likes.

I am certain I have not done this perfectly.  and I am also certain that for now I have done right by my son and this child, in spite of having lived life that would have directed me otherwise.  Comments and advice are welcome—Just click the picture to my IG page and get in touch there.

It is Not that I Don’t Care..

People have expressed to me, their sense, that I do not care what others think.  This is UNtrue.  I make no efforts to control what others think or how they feel about me.  That is not my job.  If a person does not care for me, that is not a problem (until they decide to punish me), it just means we are not for each other.  I would surely prefer if everyone applauded my decisions and methods, but that is unrealistic and counter to my striving to live authentically, with honest and transparent boundaries(for myself)– which support self care, personal growth and my own well-being.  

This truth and freedom are offered to me by my program of recovery. Many people do not yet understand that recovery is not only for those with obvious and overt addictions to substances, sex, shopping, gambling, food…. Mine, is a program of recovery, for those struggling to recover from abusive relationships, typically with the mentally unwell or addicted person.  For the sake of my blog and journey, abuse is: behavior of others which harms, betrays, diminishes, or disrespects another.  Sustained entanglement in an abusive dynamic can result in trauma and depression(mental unwellness, sometimes temporarily relieved by addictive behaviors)- which require recovery OR denial (offloading or numbing pain instead of healing it).  I choose recovery.  For people who choose power, rightness, and denial, I am definitely not their cup of tea and they are not mine.  It is not a war, just a fact…until attacks begin- typically underhanded–the silent kill shots are the worst, the highly visible ones, to which nobody objects, are equally deadly. (more…)

For the Love

I never get tired of seeing or sharing this image.

As the beginning of another school year– at new schools, rapidly approaches, I imagine and worry dream for my sons– the possibilities that lay ahead.  Of course, I want them to thrive academically and even socially, but more than this, I want them to feel deeply connected to something bigger than themselves, their peers, and especially even their parents(and families of origin).  My hope is that they are more spiritually striving than socially.  (It will offer a more honest and comforting existence.  Oh please.)  We (parents and blood relations) are small and broken examples of how to be in the world, in ways that are too often, far from wholesome and nurturing.  How I wished we had church in our lives.  As I read the wisdom and hopes of Jen Hatmaker, Bob Goff, Glennon Doyle, Brene Brown, I am taking copious notes-no guarantee that they will manifest into immediate and sustainable action.  But still.

Notes for myself and my children:

Hurt kids make easy targets. And cowards, both bully and look the other way. Please let us stand between the abusers and the abused.  Let us refuse to silently watch one person break another down.  Say “no”. Say “leave them alone”.  Do not look away.  The tiniest scrap of hope is enough to save a hurt and lonely person from drowning.

Let us be safe and kind and gentle to all others–to be tender and empathetic.  I pray for your kindness more than your success.  How we love all people is the highest measure of our character.  Well behaved and kind are not the same.  And often bravery and kindness do not take the form of well behaved.  Be brave.  Above all else be kind and loving—unconditionally.  Let’s do this!

Develop eyes for pain.   See hurt people.  Offer them kindness with your eyes, words, or actions.   Please, let’s learn and commit to this as a way of being.  Kindness is the height of bravery.  It is difficult and awkward and feels risky–asking someone struggling, and on the outside,  “What’s up” or if they want to sit with you or what book they are reading.  We can do this.  We can do hard things.  I love you so much, but not always so well.  I am learning too!

 

Because Obviously

A program friend recently asked me if I out my sister  to punish her, and cautioned me against it—because that(punishing) would be bad for my recovery (not out of regard for her).  I share what happens because finally, I can and I must.  Fortunately, what I have to share is observable, undeniable action/behavior, witnessed by my sons and nieces and even my sister herself, not relative, at all.   I do not imagine or cause the overt acts of betrayal and disloyalty.   And– as my boys get older and may one day want clarity about what was going on with me/us, it will be here– where I share my experience of it.  It is a privilege and a duty to exercise rigorous honesty and– my recovery is hinged to sharing—all of the stuff.

Since public appearances are prized by her, and this is unfavorable behavior; I leverage that.  If knowledge of her choices and values causes discomfort, it is not the sharing part, that needs changing.  I am certain she will offer a million justifications for why she must and can and should.  Right things do not ever need justification.  This, all because I unapologetically expressed an honest and clear boundary.

Disrupting our co-parenting and family, and robbing our sons of innocence is a sin against them.   Requiring children to dissociate is not the choice of a kind and happy person.  Her dark and demanding presence, insistence on hugs, the pretending required by my boys…all of it is vile.  This is where I get to state my objection.

My ex-husband laughed heartily, literally roared, when I asked him to step back until we (my mother and sister) worked it out.  My ex declared, with something not unlike maniacal pleasure, how my mother and sister had zero intent of making things right between us.  In foolish disbelief, I went directly to my mother…who confirmed for me the truth of what he said.  Ouch!

I can only imagine the exchanges between them, that led him to his insight.  My sons exposure to the unwholesomeness of this alliance is tragic.  My powerlessness to protect my little guys makes me angry AF.

Apparently my sister (hate to use that word) hosted another dinner for my ex, his father, and my sons this weekend…spent the evening fawning over him, over his basic lettuce, tomato, carrot salad…so amaaaaazing (as disclosed with horror, by my sons). And she is reported to have suggested  more than a few times, how they MUST get together next time– at his house. STOP.  Barf!

The most disturbing thing about this, is that I can fully envision myself, before recovery, being exactly this spiteful and vindictive and feeling completely entitled, victorious, and intoxicated by my indisputable rightness.  It is true.

I am a work in progress.  I am powerless over this.  It is difficult to witness my boys being used and confused—by family, in the name of love.  Especially by someone always wearing only white, always smiling, laughing awkwardly, tryunuh hug up on my boys and ex while claiming love.  Lord, help us all.  Because, obviously….

Then I wonder…am I defending my sharing?  Nah,  I don’t think so.  This blog is more like an ongoing fourth step, where I examine all of my own ickyness.

But it is a party and we are family.  C’mon.  It is love!