The night seemed long. Wilbur’s stomach was empty and his mind was full. And when your stomach is empty and your mind is full, it’s always hard to sleep.
FOOD & TRUTH–Two things I was starved and desperate for, much of my life. Naturally, I developed food and trust issues which manifested in some pretty destructive ways. Living in a perpetual state of fear, uncertainty, and hunger will drive some very desperate thinking. Being frightened and hungry also made it difficult to fully get adequate rest. Like Winnie the Pooh says “going to bed with a full head and an empty stomach” is rough. So then, throw sleep deprivation in the mix within a home, pulsing with unspeakable rage and shame—what a mess. My inability to manage was viewed as the problem rather than the symptom– typical in these arrangements. I was the canary, scapegoat, black sheep. (I will add here, that truth can be subjective. However, TRUST is what I offer my boys truth and trust- stability.) My experience, coming up in the world doubting myself and all others, especially those I counted on. That was a difficult row to hoe. The way we live and love, in our home, is rooted in immense trust in each other and faith in goodness. This way of living, loving, and parenting is one of the many miracles of recovery. (more…)
In just over a week, I embark on a new career opportunity, which I feel reluctant to share about. My boss, and dear friend of 24 years, says that she is happy for me– but the approaching transition has caused growing tension between us. Also, I do (more…)
To remain committed to my spiritual striving is my only Goal. The singular challenge greater than the massive unlearning– is accepting the fact that my wellness and wholeness permanently divide me from those whom rely on me to be broken, confused, ashamed–with desires to contract/conform and to please greater thinly need to expand. (more…)
I hesitate to share when things are going well because if I recap more than a single minute, I easily get spun up in the axle –the entire history of it all, IT: being the “dynamic” of my (FOO)family of origin. I was, for a stretch, enjoying the perks of total estrangement from my FOO and all affiliated, with the exception of my ex and our children, when my mother’s sister emailed Wednesday with an invite for breakfast this weekend. Both anxiety and grief were my immediate gut reactions. It is too a complex a relationship for each of us, full disclosure and authenticity are not well tolerated and our connection is not blessed by the others, which creates hardship for her. I believe she and I are similar in unmentionable ways (sensitive and vocal about being sensitive which troublesome to those who are not(the rest of them)) and it is just too elephant in the roomish and eggshelly for me. I am no good at that and forcing it feels more difficult than wise. (more…)
I intended to post about my holiday time with my sons and Sweet Greg, but this IG post led me down this well-beaten path. I guess I am still deep into proving to myself that my choice to respect and preserve my serenity is sane and prudent. And off I go, when will I finish proving? I guess I will know when I know and I will be done when I am done–def the result of having been erased one too many times.
Her: Why must you rehash and cause drama—invites my ex and his family to gather in her home.
Note:My sister and my ex–Not based on historical relationship—this relationship built at my expense, originating post divorce. This is vile? Right, in which communities and societies do people do this? Oh, wait. Think I know. The family disease–the gift that keeps on giving. The legacy of intergenerational abuse and mental health issues. Who would not feel crazed and broken by this. Oh again, I know—bad abuse getters-totally owning it. I suck as an abuse getter, though decades of practice should make that less true. Fail!
I am a work in progress, unlearning some very bad shit, as a descendant from long lines of other type–No direct communication. Ever. Just gossip,retaliation, and/or ghosting over displeasure. Elevating only those already lifted who might be useful to know.
I have many miracles to share from our Christmas and New Year’s. But for today, I am sharing information which I find immensely comforting, because even in times of joy and peace, I am haunted, at a cellular level,
by what I continue to experience with my mother and sister. Recovery is a process-as much to unlearn as to learn. Sharing is a large part of my process and a great filter, as it weeds out those who are unsupportive: not an asset to my recovery. The Work of recovering from anything, is honestly the most badass thing a person can do. It is not for everyone.
#Nocontact is a painful and necessary decision for some of us to survive and live lives that are more productive than terrifying.
It makes sense that I married a man opposed to any sort of amending or resolving of conflicts and painful moments. Not once, in the span of our short marriage, did we effectively address and resolve any issue. If I brought up a need,concern or feeling of upset, it was met only with rebuttal, tit for tat, score report of all my mis-steps(which are never addressed at the time of offense or with the intent to resolve–just as ammo, to shut down any conversations requiring self reflection) to which I would respond “we can address each of these things, but we can not resolve it all at once”. And the standard goto response to that is still: “get over it why must you rehash?” Wait, me bringing up something in the moment and you listing shit from the past, is me rehashing? I still don’t really get it. By resolving nothing, he, like my sister and mother stoically reserve the right to blast me with past incidences that are never on the table for discussion and resolution– to be put to rest. Oh, I see, this is how we got all of the eggshells that you get to claim are my doing and yours to deal with. So “shut up and pretend you are ok and that it never happened and manage or deny your pain in ways that do not burden others.”
Asking what’s wrong or if something was amiss was always the beginning of infinite tension and emotional banishment, which was attributed to the original sin of having asked “What is wrong?”. “Nothing is wrong, goddammit”. Oh ok. That dynamic is too volatile and scary for me. Thus, earning me the labels of: thin skinned, unstable, resentful.
The likeness of him to my FOO is both jarring and makes perfect sense. My sister also does this thing where she knows she has screwed me over in some way and then keeps checking me with “what is wrong? are you ok?” And from my marriage and recovery, I learned that those are baiting questions. It is her conscience, her looking for something to create drama to justify the turbulence she feels inside herself. Because if I do say “Yes, this or that bothered me”, I am first placated with I am sorry that you feel_________ which is unhelpful bullshit. And then when that doesn’t magic wand fix it or ME(the broken one with sensitivity issues) I get the diatribe of “Yeh, well you did this and that and I didn’t say anything” implying, so now we are even or on unspeaking terms because of me. I don’t want to be even, I want to be connected and safe to make mistakes, make amends and to openly have feelings. But those are not options with people of this constitution. Never bring up the past. Never have a feeling. Never ask or need anything that is not offered or that is difficult and requires self reflection or compassion–For that is not only trouble-making and emotionally unstable, BUT unreasonable. Anne Lamott and her buddy Tom Westin illuminate this with the Five Rules. Click here to read, laugh, relate.
You know what I find to be selfish and unreasonable? That thing I mention all of the time, but I won’t outline here, today, because, well, that is not where I am going with this. After barely 2 weeks of re-submitting myself to contact with the boys’ father, outside of the essential logistics for co-parenting, he has now asked twice for me to take them– because he needs my help. This is what it means to work “with him” to hold him accountable for nothing and to help him and give
Hugging and eating and having sex with my abusers is something I can no longer do. Put out or Fuck off. Totally choosing option #2. Forevvvuh
what is asked of me and expect zero reciprocity. I want to tell him NO, you have sick days and vacation days, luxuries afforded to you always by your freedom from having to assist with care for our boys after school, during school holidays, sick days. (until recently—that was entirely my responsibility, very life limiting–not many jobs accommodate that).
I want to say “use a sick day or a vacation day or ask my sister”…but that will not lead us anywhere wholesome. My choices are to “put out or fuck off”. It is difficult to not feel angry about that—my inability to be free from THIS. With my FOO, I am happy to fuck off as I have most of my life. With him, there is not that option, so long as I choose to prioritize my boys. WE definitely learn what we live and then marry someone not unlike those who first showed us what “love” is.
Unlearning. Reparenting. Recovery. One day at a time. I get to break the cycle. I cannot change the familiar(literally, of the family) dynamic– ONLY my amount of exposure and my reactions. Yes, it hurts. it sucks. It is my life’s work to grow through it all. I am grateful that in spite of how he treats me, he is a loving father. With adults, he sees all people as fitting into one of two categories, people to impress and get stuff from and people who are in the way and for his use and disposal. “You support me by doing as I wish or I destroy/ discard you” It must be a different kind of lonely to never have an equal, thinking all people are better or worse than you and that all who do not do as you wish must be erased or destroyed. DELETE. All I ever wanted with him…was to walk and work together as equals. Thank good God that Sweet Greg and I walk and talk and work and play as equals.
So, what I am saying is; I will probably do as he “needs” without declaring how RIGHT it would be if I could count on him also, for anything more than his alliance with my FOO and my position as his grateful assistant/helper. For him, I must put out, because Fucking off is not in my children’s best interest. For the FOO, yeh, it is a painful, but obvious sane and sad choice to make.
Update from Boys’ return. They were asked to hug their aunt and S2 said he had to use the restroom and escaped. My sister got my ex a gift and followed him around laughing awkwardly while telling him how great he and his appetizers were. It is reported she hugged and kissed my ex goodbye. And, here is the thing. Imagine the person who has hurt him most in his life. Imagine that I take up with that person and gather with my sons there and call them family and ask our children to embrace them– and then “request” favors and pretended it is no big deal. Shaking my head. Cannot wait to give zero fucks. Boys got iPhones for Christmas and one of them just sent me this meme. Love them–
Love that he spelled her name this way. Just makes it even better.
Yes, I am still talking about and working through this. Healing and recovery are a process. My sons and I recently had dinner together, with their father and grandfather, which is another freaking miracle- that my dedication to my sons is greater than my resentment of their father’s affiliation with my sister. I officially resolve to no longer allow my female sibling’s initiatives to interfere with ourfamily–bysetting aside my feelings for my ex’s willingness, if not enthusiasm, to engage my sister’s agenda; foul for too many reasons to count or list. What she pursues, with my ex, requires our boys to participate in gatherings rooted in betrayal of their mother. I am their rock 24/7 365, their mama-bear. Please let them be. Honor their right to remain innocent. Show some respect. (more…)
My sister would frequently snap: “Not everything is about you” when I expressed anything difficult or needing. And it made me confused in a sad and shameful way. Like it never addressed anything but the collective need for me to shut up and be different. Under the guidance of my older sister, parents, and extended family I failed to learn about me, myself, in relation to whom I am, only in relation to how pleasing or displeasing they found me to be, mostly the latter. For example, my birthday gifts and foods weren’t about me, weren’t on my list of things I liked or wanted. I was informed that those were expressions of whom they were and what they wanted to share with me and that I should be grateful…yet their raging and diminishing behaviors were purely about me AND I should remain unaffected. I still do not really get it. I have stopped trying–as that made me want to not live. (more…)
The intention for Wholesome Badass is to share my journey, my UN-learnings- openly, inviting community with Trusted Others who also are intensely feeling beings.
By design, it seems, he became my everything; my comfort, my laughter, my peace, my joy. He is the place where I have felt the most alive, the most connected, the most whole. And yet, he is also the thing
I’ve been nursing a heavy ache in my heart — one that’s hard to put into words. It’s about my boys, how they see me, how they see their dad, and the painful gap between what they witness and what
I’ve shared before about the mantra I use to punish myself: “Winners keep winning, and losers keep losing.” Lately, life has felt like an uphill climb, made harder by a tangled mess of medications. With my memory and focus already
I look back on the girls and women I’ve known, and the difference is clear. Those with parents who were intentional and loving —who made them feel welcome, safe, supported, and protected, like they were beautiful and had what it
I had never been in a relationship with someone who both spoiled and protected me—who would fight for me, stand by my side, no matter what. Not my parents. Not my marriage. I have been “loved,” but never by someone
There are moments in parenting that bring me a deep sense of grief, moments when I know I’m falling short. I think about my boys, the love I have for them, and the ways I wish I could be more
I didn’t expect to hear from my ex-husband on Valentine’s Day, especially after years of no contact. When his call came through, I assumed it was urgent—something about our sons. Given our history, I expected it to be disturbing, so
I am seeking healing in the form of a way to channel all of this old information and energy out of me, so that it doesn’t continue backfiring, making me sicker, sadder, and more afraid. What I long for is
single minute, I easily get spun up in the axle –the entire history of it all, IT: being the “dynamic” of my (FOO)family of origin. I was, for a stretch, enjoying the perks of total estrangement from my FOO and all affiliated, with the exception of my ex and our children, when my mother’s sister emailed Wednesday with an invite for breakfast this weekend. Both anxiety and grief were my immediate gut reactions. It is too a complex a relationship for each of us, full disclosure and authenticity are not well tolerated and our connection is not blessed by the others, which creates hardship for her. I believe she and I are similar in unmentionable ways (sensitive and vocal about being sensitive which troublesome to those who are not(the rest of them)) and it is just too elephant in the roomish and eggshelly for me. I am no good at that and forcing it feels more difficult than wise. 
I realize that their lack of regard for creating an environment that promotes connection and a sense of safety and protection is IT. Por ejemplo (the urge to speak Spanish struck suddenly and briefly), if you are one who alienates or disrespects others, any others, I don’t want you near my children doing what you do and labelling it love. Desire is not love. Control is not love. They desire my children. Benevolent people strive to be loving and kind as a way of life, even to those who displease them.
