I Can Only Imagine

If the opportunity to exchange goodbyes with my mother had been possible… I would have wept, thanked, apologized, forgiven–even if she remained silent and unreceptive. It could have been beautiful. There could have been healing.

I can only imagine how that might have been for the two of us.

Today (or tomorrow or the next day), I will write a letter to my mother, in which I will express my anger, sadness, grief, pain, gratitude, fear, longing, regret, resentment, and forgiveness. All the things I was not to openly need, feel or say, I will feel and say.

To those who righteously stood squarely in the way, yes, you possess the power to divide. That is clear and undeniable. (That is nothing to brag.) And– I am embracing my power to feel and to heal. Congratulations on robbing my mother, her daughter, and her grandsons from a wholesome ending. Perhaps one day you will be courageous enough to seek the strength to consider the nature of your behavior and then maybe even take accountability for your actions. This is unlikely. I am decades from being able to forgive the pain and struggle you impose(d), simply because you can/could—and for reasons which would be humbling for anyone with the ability or willingness to examine and self reflect. No matter what it is you claim I have done, your divisive antics reflect only who you are and what you are like-the essence of your spirit and character.

Was it worth it? What point has been established– about you and by you?

I will continue to work on the practices of mercy and compassion because my anger for you hurts my children-and me.

An Altruistic Donor

Altruistic Donor is the term for a living donor who chooses to part with an organ for an unknown and unspecified recipient. Totally fascinated by words and language, I frittered some time contemplating how much the term applies to me. I am willing to donate a portion of my liver to a complete stranger, but would how would I feel if I were to learn my sister or ex needed some liver?

Well, of course I would for my boys’ father, because our sons love and need their dad. As for my sister, only with the condition that she acknowledge and work to repair the damage to my children, resulting from her scheme. I feel certain she would choose death over this.

Zero guilt for declining opportunities to be diminished by the words and behaviors of another. Saying No to what harms me is a healthy boundary, not a retaliation. Daily spiritual striving calls for the practices of self care and self preservation. THIS does not sit well with some. I am okay with that.

Surviving divorce and single parenting and co-parenting counter-parenting is tricky enough. To stoke those fires of tension and resentment to further your agenda, is indefensible, though I am certain something said or done by me circa 1992 would be referenced as justification. I cannot help but feel curious to know what she tells herself and others to justify her choices, which knowingly harm children.

I firmly reject any invitation for more of the same. So- Sorry, no liver for Jilan. Honestly, aside from Donald Trump, I can identify nobody whose principles, pretenses, delusions, and entitlement, I think less of, than those of my female sibling. The one difference between her and my ex–My boys need him. They need their parents working together for them. They deserve that.

While BF(boys’ father) is denied access to me, our home, our dogs, even– I would show up to serve, in the name of our sons. I prefer nothing to do with any person who chooses to harm us– to soothe or advance themselves. I elect for NO CONTACT, but as the father to my children, I support his longevity on this planet. AND- that is altruistic enough for me.

Liver Anyone?

While Sweet Greg and I were out for his birthday lunch last Saturday, I went to the restroom to wash my hands and saw a flyer posted- for a local man in need of a Kidney and it made me first sad, then curious and excited about what I could do. I came home and applied with Duke Medical Center to become a Living Donor. And then I researched—yes, in that order, of course.

It turns out that 30% of people on lists to receive Livers and Kidneys from deceased donors, die waiting. Also, it turns out that our Livers fully regenerate and parting with a portion of my liver therefore seems less scary to me, than letting go of an entire Kidney.

I love getting tattoos and claiming my body and skin in that way. Having and seeing a scar on myself, from saving a person’s life, a stranger even, would be amazing. Working from home, at a job which requires no lifting, makes me feel extra qualified for this. Plus staying home is one of my favorite things in the world. I would miss out on almost nothing, during my physical recovery.

Having no financial security does leave me fearful of potential complications arising and demanding money and time from work. I feel that I NEED assurance of coverage for anything related. From what I understand, this is not possible. So it seems that only a person with financial security can confidently take the risk to become a living donor. Boo.

In my liver donor fantasy, someone needing my liver would be financially and legally able to guarantee me covered, for any issues resulting from the procedure. If not for my two beautiful sons, I would surely roll the dice on this. I am not afraid of surgery, scars, (most) pain, or dying– but the idea of added or lasting financial burden seems terrifying. We scraped hard, for several years, when the boys were small and their father could not be counted on to consistently provide court ordered support and care costs. I think I still have PTSD from that.

I bet my liver is big and beautiful. We (My strong liver and I) still have about 9 years before it is rendered non-ideal for donation. I will continue researching.

Just Because

I once did pretty much all of the same shit I now will not tolerate. In recovery, I am unlearning and growing, not pretending as if I have not been guilty of some very unfortunate attitudes and behaviors. I began my journey into recovery in my early 40s. Before that, I could be pretty assholey. When we know better, we do better.

If a person is bringing up things you did long ago to discredit you, chances are, that they are attempting to deflect attention away from their own current behaviors and actions. Offer them the chance to resolve the thing they are still upset about, but if it is only being used as ammunition, they want war, not resolution.

I realized recently (possibly) why people like my sister and ex prefer states of war to working together toward resolution and peace. Those require mutually agreed upon terms. They are not interested in mutual regard. Collaboration and compromise tend to lack appeal for certain types: making them feel less powerful, less in charge. To those people, I offer space.

Emotionally Barbaric

Emotionally stunted people fail to learn to accept, process, or even tolerate a full range of emotion, leaving them emotionally primitive—limited only to recognizing pleasure and displeasure. “Me like” (waves club(friendliness, laughter, praise, flattery, gifts)). “Me no like” (pounds club(exclusion/shunning, withholding of information or communication, casually expressing diminishing things, gossiping and smearing, undermining). Important to acknowledge is the stone cold silence between the realizing of the displeasure and the standard generic REaction. And even though club pounding is undeniably displeasure, it is not uncommon to feel bewildered as to what has currently set off the club pounding. The consistent lesson seems to me: You’d best please me or else- this! I experienced a lot of the this. That way of living is too scary and stressful. My fear and stress cause more frightful silence and club pounding. Vicious cycle. My recovery allows me to remove myself, to choose a more virtuous cycle.

For decades now, I have worked toward feeling less– because that is what I was told was needed in order to be normal and welcome.  I was collectively admonished: THE problem was— that I felt too much.   The problem actually is that nobody was modeling or teaching me how to live life with full and complex feelings, of which I had many.

VERY IMPORTANT REMINDER: THE OPPOSITE OF SENSITIVITY IS NOT STRENGTH, BUT INSENSITIVITY.

To say that I have a lot of feelings is an understatement and the only expectation/requirement was that I mask and deny.  My consistent failure to do so, was judged as a willful and punishable breach. The shunning and berating left me with even more feeeeeeelings:  fear, shame, guilt, rage, despair–all intense, of course.

For decades, I lived far away and reported via hand-written letters that I was fine. This especially pleased my uncle and grandmother who served as the chief emotional police and demonstrated eagerness to always help my mother “gain control” over me. This was their loyalty to her. I kept physical distance and claimed to feel less fine.  My mother and sister also adopted roles as emotional police and I later married a man who is identical in this way. “Don’t make waves by directly expressing needs or feelings, but make difficulty for a person if they annoy, challenge, or inconvenience you.” This is what THE emotional police do.

I see now that feeling less (which often attempts to pose as strength and sophistication) and feeling better are not the same.  In my efforts to feel less, I have lost vitality— also known as— I suffer from depression.   

The Cavemen and the Happiness Police are no longer the bosses of me. Funny how Happiness Police and Higher Power have the same initials. I definitely have HP guiding my life and my recovery– diametrically opposing practices. One calls for drugs and alcohol to numb while the other relieves you with steps, principles, and fellowship– teaching how to feel and work through (rather than around) difficult feelings and people.

Healing is Excruciating

Because Sweet Greg did not flinch, pout, or punish me for declaring myself absolutely physically and emotionally unavailable for the weekend, I feel beyond humbled and blessed. There was no hint of guilt, shame, or fear intended to manipulate me into being, feeling, or offering what I simply could not.  What a gem of a huMAN—Strong, kind, humble, generous and trustworthy in ALL that he does. My Sweet Greg.

It is nothing short of a miracle to experience connection so pure. Another amazing thing is that I know better than to take his goodness personally. Sweet Greg is not these ways because of me or for only me. This is the way he moves through the world–unconditionally good.

To love and be loved in ways which feel wholesome and affirming is new and therefore challenging for me.  I look forward to getting better at it and wouldn’t it be nice if I could learn it all fast enough so that my sons might be spared some of the turmoil of my recovery. Grief and healing are messy, requiring time and work and a fuck-ton of solitude to rest.

My recovery continues to be a process rather than an event, which seems both exhausting and discouraging.  May I please just fucken learn it already– and be done? Nope. Like patience, it is a practice, calling for constant contrary action.  I guess that is why it is suggested that we do it one day at a time.

I will continue to work on myself. On days when my thoughts are less wholesome, I tend to prefer to work on others. hahaha– Laughing but not joking.

To Struggle Is Human

I struggled mightily, since my earliest days.  My formative experience strongly suggested my defectiveness as the cause, willfully imposing, as only an asshole would, on those whom I counted on to comfort and nurture and provide for me.  The list of things over which I struggle(d) is too great to begin.  Life was scary, confusing, and seemingly impossible. I was pierced by anxiety and depression from my deep knowing that I would struggle and that trouble and shame were guaranteed to follow.   What a mess.  My difficult feelings were appraised as “a lack of gratitude or a negative attitude”. If I were grateful, I would just be happy and the same as them.

My distorted and unwholesome understanding of struggle made me judgmental and harsh toward myself and others.  Often, when I saw another struggling, my trained instincts begged me to race to the rescue, mock it, call it out– but mostly to leverage it. It makes me ill to recall moments of bragging about my helping while underhandedly pointing out the issues of the struggler.  Ew!

As a naturally empathetic person mostly, I wanted to help.  But my urges and efforts to help were unhealthy—a manifestation of my desire to be needed and to not be the pathetic one, but the strong and able helper. So dirty. I believe the roots to most of my sadness and anger are are here: Feeling disconnected, persecuted, unprotected, unheard, insignificant, unwelcome, and unsafe. The MYTH of my unworthiness drove some very sick behaviors.

It is human to struggle.  It is woke AF to hold space and show up as a compassionate ally who may have nothing more to offer than a kind presence.  Sometimes, the broken me will emerge when I am run down or burned out and I will react unfavorably to someone’s “unnecessary and tiresome” needs.  I am pretty quick to catch myself and make immediate reparations.  Old habits die hard.  

In this home, we are breaking the cycles of shame, denial, addiction,  secrecy.  One day at a time.  We are growing and changing together. When we know better, we do better.

The 12 Steps teach us how to show up as allies, not heroes, punishers,  nor fixers- intent on taking charge —forcing an end. We learn to strive for understanding, compassion, and empathy.  Frequently, the icky helpers show up from a place of feeling elevated and they confuse pity for empathy. (In reality, we each struggle at times. Learning to accept struggle as a part of life allows us to offer and to receive wholesome support as an ally, something I first experienced within the fellowship–one which stresses HOW we are equals– because get this: not a one of us is more or less worthy than another.) The dynamic of the helpers and the helpless is a key contributor to the legacy of the alcoholic family cycle.

I do seek help when needed, but not from anyone possessing judgmental and entitled beliefs about what it means to help and be helped. I am very clear that I do not wish to have the support of anyone believing themselves to be in charge of rescue and fixing–as I no longer need or accept that definition of help. An authentic ally lacks interest in acknowledgement/praise for helping, as well as any expectation of something being owed to them.

There are actually such things as bad help and bad love. They make you feel worse, in an unnameable way. NOTE: If a person’s love or help leaves you feeling helpless and alone-ish, that is powerful information to be explored. (Plus—fuck that!)

Either Or

I never tire of this reading and continue hoping that it may become a more common practice– reaching for The Third Way– in times of conflict . Doing so requires courage, humility, transparency — willingness to say and listen to difficult things and then to reflect on wounded parts of our spirits which beg to be healed and allowed to mature. To choose this way may be impossible for people who need to believe themselves right, in charge, infallible. With them, we get to grieve the relationship and move on, as the Third Way must be mutually desired an sought.

I simply can not allow my boys to believe themselves limited to only these two options for addressing a circumstance in which a person has been harmful:

1- Pretend it did not affect you or even happen.

2- Retaliate (openly or passively)

We must reject the zero-sum mentality–one winner/one loser. Winning is for games and wars, not wholesome and sustainable relationships. I intend to model and create a better experience and a different example for my sweet sons. I still sometimes do the old shit I learned before recovery, though. I am aware and working on myself.

If you catch yourself begging someone for human decency, a response, time together, clarity, respect, come compassion, some kindness...

The Bare Minimum

Last week as I relished a much-needed break from being used, taken advantage of, I was able to feel a smidge of compassion for the BF(boys’ father).  Mercy and compassion are large parts of my spiritual striving and development.  They evade me utterly though, when in the midst of abuse which persists, and from which I cannot extricate or separate myself.  I read stories of people who forgive murderers, rapists, and molesters, once they are behind bars.  I get how it is possible to forgive and even empathize with the recovering, dead, or incarcerated– after the harmful behavior has been contained.  

I think back to our final Christmas with BF’s sisters.  Nobody spoke to us or acknowledged our baby of one year.  It was intense, like Amish shunning.  My husband would not agree to leave early.  He was unwilling to confront or challenge his sisters.   On the car ride home, crying, I declared that I would not submit our child to another family arrangement like that.  He later confronted his sisters and one responded that: “Your baby is not even one, and will not remember.”  Therefore admitting to the cold stonewalling of us and justifying how it was not harmful to the baby, yet.  The other sister stopped speaking to him, altogether.  All-because he attempted to have a boundary and a standard for himself.  How dare he–and of course this was my fault, my irreverent influence. 

The sisters eagerly embraced him when he crawled back to them three years later, at the onset of our divorce.  They welcomed him back to his place of compliance and submission in exchange for access to their children (his nieces and nephews) and their resource$.  

He is terrified of being on the other side of them.  I watched in pain as they excluded him from birthdays, graduations, and bat mitzvahs and consistently treated him as extra. But he was grateful to not be permanently banished as his father and other sister had been.  I observe and understand, even relate to that pain and fear.  

I had believed that he had wanted something better for himself and our children- until it became that clear he did not.  He wanted only to be like them…to also be in charge.  As if that is the only way to be in relationship. The controller(s) and the controlled.

I hope he will recover and experience wholesome and lasting peace and connection.    I cringe as he continues to paw at people of means, people who he is impressed by or whom he perceives as useful.  His struggle is saddening—but not nearly as much as what he chooses to do to our little family.  I recognize his pain and fear as tied directly to the controlling and mean behaviors—but I can find no compassion or mercy for him while he is actively involved in things which compromise us all.  He doesn’t recognize his behavior as harmful or problematic.  He has learned what he has lived and is unwilling to challenge or change that.

When he requested my help a few weeks ago, I reminded him, in detail, how he made life terribly difficult for us for so long and on purpose and that the urge to repay him is immense.  He responded right back with an irritated and entitled “So are you going to help me or not?”  

I hated myself for wasting words and energy and not saying NO, right off the bat – putting an immediate end to the exchange.  I suppose I hoped he would acknowledge some things so that I could say yes to him.  Foolish me.  The truth is– I want to work with him.  I have not found it possible to be in healthy partnership with someone who does not actively work for the best of our family.  I am officially, yes- it is official- healthy enough to no longer participate in my own abuse.

I am disrupting if not breaking this cycle. I wish BF wanted the same for himself and our children. I have not yet given up all hope for this. I just do not see his life working for him. Tonight, Favorite is throwing a belated birthday dinner for our older son with all the people and foods he loves. I really would do anything for BF to be at the table with US.

I will not change who Iam. I will not get angry with you. I won't seek revenge and be spiteful. I will be smart and change the role you play in my life.

I Will Change The Things I Can

Shame is confirmation of emotional and spiritual unwellness. I know of no other thing which will so swiftly turn a person to unkindness, dishonesty, and fraud: desperate to do and say anything to offload or escape the shame of feeling less than–to deny the unbearable sense of unworthiness.

Over the weekend, at a wrestling match with peers, my younger son said something diminishing about his brother to their group.  The comment was 100% intended to make big brother feel small and separate. It worked. This is a frightening pattern of behavior, which runs deep and wide through both sides of my sons’ families.

Big Brother’s reaction to feeling unsure and wrong footed, was to deny the thing which his brother reported.  Little Brother’s mocking and bonding with others, at BB’s expense were hurtful and harmful.  AND little brother, who is exceptional in his inherited lying and bullying skill sets, is eager to point out how Big Brother lied, while showing zero interest in self-reflection for his darkness part. Hopefully, this is nothing more than standard middle school insecurity / meanness, which he will outgrow.

We are breaking the generational curses of lying, bullying, alienating, and shaming.  Each of which are found to be linked to loneliness, disconnection, addiction. We will not UNknowingly default to these ways. We shall, together, look head on and regularly, into the reality of these issues.

I am grateful for discussions of how to manage ourselves in situations where someone is belittling.  We shall be intentional in our wellness: practicing kindness, honesty, humility, courage, boundaries, and offering generous space to those imposing anything other.  Becoming and staying well is a daily practice and process.

Take a moment to be thankful for the healing and humble people in this world who neither suffer from nor arouse shame. In their presence, we get to be and feel free. Choose freedom. Offer freedom. Unrecovered me needs to say; “Don’t be a shaming asshole. If you are a shamer, it is because you have shame. Heal that shit and quit offloading it. Grow TF up.”