Aha!

I am now recognizing how, after moving here, if we would have continued as a blended, healing, fixed family with my FOO, my ex, my kids and myself, that would have kept me in some sort of center position, like I would have been at the hub, not in the driver’s seat, but the common link.  I see how unsettling this would be to my sister, who works hard to reside IN the center.  And it is undeniable that for my sister and my ex, the desire to punish me runs deep.  For each of their decades of attempts to control me leave them feeling less powerful and important than their egos can bear. (more…)

Happy Birthday ?

Thank Good Gawd Almighty for the most marvelous friend —who loves family, God, selfies, presents, fun, joy, travel, celebrating, and even me— to the end of the earth and back, she loves me.  Crying as I type that, because it is so damn special, the friendship that we enjoy.  Truly BFFs!  Yesterday was my 50th.  For my special day, I planned to run a time consuming and far away errand (the result of a 80 mile round trip drive to get a birthday gift for my ex, from our boys) and then go to lunch with my best girl in the world.  Awake at 5 am, I remained pinned under my weighted blanket, listening to Option B on Audible until 11am, knowing I was missing my window of opportunity to make the errand or lunch happen. I was runnin’ down the clock.  I texted the Bestie (friends of more than 40 years, I will call her “Favorite”) informing her that I was too

For my birthday, I purchased a ticket to see Glennon speak at one of her upcoming events!!!  Yaaaay

sad to do any of the things.  Favorite rallied, invited me to meet her at work and drove the 40 miles to the errand. She was present, loving, fun, and comforting, not probing or trying to fix or cheer, just WITH me, like a fucken boss of a friend.  She declared, before my arrival, that it was ok that I feel however I did as long as we were together– and went to lunch.  I even panicked at her plan to take me anywhere I like for lunch,  because I could think of nothing I wanted.  We figured it out, though!  The whole day together and birthday dinner too.  Possibly, my best birthday yet.  Favorite and her parents, my sons, dinner of my choice, with cake and gifts and even a photo–with my boys.  If I can do exactly and only this, every year for all of my birthdays, I would be blessed.  God, it was so sweet and wholesome– each of us just being exactly who and how we are.  LOVE.

I recognize that it is normal and healthy to want to celebrate, and I wished that I did.  In general, I require space and solitude, more so in times of heightened struggle.  My experience with depression is that I stop liking and wanting even the people and things which, when I am feeling healthier, I like and want.  I cannot make that be different, not even for my boys whom I would do anything for.  It is possible that I could exercise & get outside more, and make healthier food choices–those things would not hurt.  But, apathy is at the wheel more of the time than I care to admit.  The anguish over certain things/people seems to be in endless supply, and the grief and shame over the anguish are oppressive.  Recovery has taught me to now offer generous space to anyone finding it necessary to make a person look or feel bad for feeling bad.

Having the calendar create expectations that all people should feel/act/perform happy is a freaking nightmare.  When I reflect on all special occasions, I can recall only, my overwhelming panic and shame of not feeling(and therefore behaving) the way in which I was supposed to.  I can feel the stinging disdain and remarks directed at me for being so selfish, just heaps of shame.  Oh jubilant ones, I am so sorry that I cannot be happy for and with you as a result of my brain chemistry and family experience, which have left me with sometimes crippling anxiety and depression.  (The best– is that they would debate this.) My anxiety, surprisingly is not lessened by the consequences imposed for being this particular brand of selfish menace.  Oh, and why won’t I just  lighten up and stop being so defensive, they wonder?   Because when you are depressed, you may actually just be a bad person, making a selfish choice to be miserable, at the expense of all the joyful good people, who will rightfully school, shun, and gossip about you for that sort of bullshit.  And best of all, they will insist you return for the next “celebration” and punish you when you do not, or even when you do.  Good Times.  Shaking my head.  So glad THE day has passed…and so grateful for Sweet Greg and Favorite just loving me through it.

Here is what I know to be my truth.  I can now(since recovery)be counted on, to: tell the truth, do as I say I will, apologize when I blow it, help you and be there for you in hard times.  You can count on empathy, encouragement, and inappropriate jokes.  But please, DO not count on me to be happy because you need for me to be.  That is unfair and insane.

Brilliant quote from C.S. Lewis ➡️ “Part of every misery is, so to speak, the misery’s shadow or reflection: the fact that you don’t merely suffer but have to keep on thinking about the fact that you suffer. I not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief.”

My first choice would be to have peace and or the potential of healing with my mother and HER family. However, being loved and connected to and surrounded by the finest people, unrelated to me, is not a shabby Option B, at all.

Why Lie

Alone in the car with my younger son, today, I pretended to take credit for saying something fantastic, a quote which actually came directly from him.  He was like:  “Mawm,  I said that, not you.”  In all seriousness,straight-faced, I replied; “Nah-aaaaah, I am totally the one who said it.”  He was rightly disturbed- I admitted to playing and went on to share about about gas-lighting–how it can make a person feel crazy when someone repeatedly insists that things are different from how they know them to be.  I explained how gas-lighting is a real thing that some people do- and that it is a form of abuse.  He recalled how his bully did that to him in 4th grade(which he then began doing  relentlessly to his brother(we have nearly fully recovered over the course of a year))  I explained how it is especially troublesome when a person who is older or in a position of authority, whom is believed to be trustworthy, does this to a person who must depend on them.  The person being gaslit will begin to doubt everything, lose trust first in themselves, and then in others.   And that is an impossibly scary way to be in the world.  Depression and anxiety often result and can sometimes be healed.  I stopped with that.

We have a deal, my sons and I– If they ever catch me in a lie, of any sort, I will pay them $500 each, on the spot. I do not have $500!!   We have clarified what makes a lie a lie, is when person intentionally conveys a message which they know to be untrue or inaccurate.  Anytime they doubt me, which is rare, I just say “Why would I lie? I have no reason to lie.  To anyone.  I am not afraid or trying to get anything.”   Plus, I now have faith and courage.  Yay,me, finally. (more…)

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.