What a novel concept! Learning to be mindful of the choices I have- sometimes the menu of options sucks, but as an adult with recovery, I do have choices. For my weekend with sweet sweet Greg, parting only to go to my sweet Brazilian Jiu Jitsu class, I am immensely pleased and grateful. All my BJJ fellows and Greg make me very glad to be alive. Miracles are happening.
What/Who makes you glad to be alive? What deserves a little space?
Because I experienced trauma around food, I have spent the second half of my life learning to develop a healthy relationship with it. Still, I find it challenging to eat right foods at right times, in right quantities for right reasons. I have the metabolism of a hummingbird and so I do need to eat a lot and frequently or my hands become shakey and I am taken down by headaches and nausea when my blood sugar gets too low. Also, I have been known to quit a job, end a relationship, move out, or tear a person’s head off due to hunger induced insanity(Hanger)—completely irrational. Usually once I was so far past hunger and the next opportunity to feed myself felt too far out of reach; I would just lose my mind.
I am deeply affected by touch, sound, smell, texture, and appearance, as is my older son. So, many food items were simply unthinkable. This is part of our unique sensory processing. Being told what I must like or not like, but eat anyway (the unspoken: if I wish to connect and be worthy of love and safety) and when I should and should not eat, based on the clock, really fucked me up. Also, the absence of daily food options that were manageable for me at a sensory level did not help me to thrive. When I would go away to a friend’s home or camp and college, I was nuts with food. Binging and purging several times within one meal or sitting. I couldn’t get enough and then it would be too much. It wasn’t for weight that I did this. It was not knowing how to process the
satisfaction of foods that were comforting offering a full but not overstuffed belly– abundant and available to me at my time of hunger. The generous offering and
safety to just eat things that were unscary with people who were unscary. I could not manage myself, at all. I had not learned.
My boys and I joke about the calve’s tongue that would torment me from my childhood fridge: grayish purple with the enlarged and irregularly shaped white-ish pores and the roots on the back as if it had been yanked out rather than cut. I still see it vividly plastered tightly with saran wrap to the white styrofoam with with the slapped on label “beef tongue”. Also, there were calves’ liver and kidneys which seared their haunting images into my mind. My mother at times, would ask me what I want for dinner and then would follow quickly with—“and do not name all the things you don’t want” But I hated all the shit we had– and what I did want and crave was not available, so the question was just silly, if not antagonistic. Was there hope that I might just say “Oh, I will have some baba ganoush with fava beans and Prime Rib(gag just thinking of it) or chicken livers?” Lambs are angels, my favorite animal, so the mention or sighting of their chops or an entire leg was distressing to me. Food was scary, not only because the idea of animals dying and the terrifying people who slaughtered them, but food was a guaranteed source for judgment and fighting. I was too hungry, too picky and just a pain in the ass. “If she gets hungry enough she will eat it, right?” Nope. Never happened. Never. I was hated was when I was hungry and/or stressed, and yet…..
So, what prompted this post is that tonight, my older son wanted burgers while my younger son wanted tacos. I was glad to prepare each to order. I informed them how they owed this to my mother. That if I had a normal relationship with food, I would make ONE dinner from a list of things that they like- and some nights it may just not be what they are in the mood for(but never anything they dislike). They eat as much and as frequently as I do and they enjoy eating, as much as they like/need. Our only food rule is- dessert: only for those who have eaten enough dinner. For them, with me, food is not scary. I do not require them to try things that I think would taste or feel bad to them. And they have become quite adventurous lil eaters. My sons share my objection to “wiggly meat” which to this day my mother claims to not comprehend. That is ok. I no longer need her to. Sweet Greg is also disturbed by most meats and will have nothing to do with any sign of muscle, fat, tendon, skin or goo. On one of our first dates when he brought steaks over, I knew I loved him because he also brought these things that I refer to as “meat grabbers”. He has never touched raw meat. He refuses. He got me my very own pair of meat grabbers. It is a miracle that I prepare food for my boys because honestly, the texture and touch of most all foods on my hands makes me feel physically ill. Even the foods I like. To the touch, avocados, strawberries, cantaloupe, salmon, all meat, even pasta—things I like upset me at a sensory level when they come in contact with my skin. I am grateful to have a son who is similar and allowed me to learn to nurture him in these ways. Parenting him and protecting him from overload has been an immense part of my recovery from food abuse and other stuff.
My mother was actually avant garde and gourmet in her cooking preferences and skills. It was just not a good fit for me and that seemed to insult her authority and effort. I still require enormous quantities of food and eat frequently. I genuinely struggle to know when I am hungry, full, need a time out, or a restroom. Mostly, I wait until it can no longer wait, shaky hands and tell me to eat, a stomach ache tells me I am full and a barely contained bladder informs me of necessary action. Honestly, my wiring and my upbringing made it challenging to know what was true and necessary to take care of myself. I hope that I am preparing my children to care well for themselves and others, to seek serenity, to have their most basic needs and rights honored, if by nobody else, than themselves.
Anyway, all to say if not for my mother, I would be making only one meal only and we would eat at designated meal times only rather than the 6 meals per day that we enjoy. So in addition to good medical and dental care and my college education, I am grateful for the cautionary tale of how to make your kids fear food and family and struggle to control it or themselves with it. I am a work in progress and they are my best teachers. With them, I practice eating 
sanely and exercising; becoming as healthy as I can be. They deserve a healthy mom. Anything for them. Always.
PS–I think it goes without saying. I do so many things I am not proud of as a parent. I by no means claim anything near perfection in anything I do. I tell my boys, I am not perfect at anything ever….but telling the truth. My experience is my truth. We are only as sick as our secrets and lies. Secrets and lies are neither wholesome nor badass. Ever. Truth seeking and sharing is difficult, it is not the easier way.
What is your truth?
For 4 brutal decades, I was distraught over the confusing swings of mood(with me indicated as THE cause) by my mother, sister, and later my husband/now ex-husband. At times there would be eye contact, engaging conversation, and something resembling connection– then long periods of averted eyes and zero acknowledgment when addressed, or a surprising character assassination in response to something from months or even years earlier. Then, compliments, gifts, or initiatives to engage, close on the heels of emotional vacancy or barely contained rage- impossible to discern which. It is too much.
(more…)
My recent exchange with my mother awakened in me the exact “nature” of my lifelong experience, as her dependent and child. If I said I was cold, rather than a sweater, snuggle, or blanket, I was offered a reading of the thermostat as proof that I could not feel that way (if I were normal, worthy, and honest). When I reported hunger or need a restroom, similarly, I was reminded of having recently eaten or relieved myself, OR that I was just too fucken much. Support was available only when she shared the sentiment. When my experience differed, I was reported to be equal parts incorrect and troublesome. I literally learned to doubt myself at a cellular level. I was wrong about things, over which technically, I would be the ultimate authority: hunger, exhaustion, fear, sadness, cold, a full bladder. Right? (more…)
we who are
your closest friends
feel the time
has come to tell you
that every Thursday
we have been meeting
as a group
to devise ways
to keep you
in perpetual uncertainty
frustration
discontent and
torture
by neither loving you
as much as you want
nor cutting you adrift
your analyst is
in on it
plus your boyfriend
and your ex-husband
and we have pledged
to disappoint you
as long as you need us
in announcing our
association
we realize we have
placed in your hands
a possible antidote
against uncertainty
indeed against ourselves
but since our Thursday nights
have brought us
to a community of purpose
rare in itself
with you as
the natural center
we feel hopeful you
will continue to make
unreasonable
demands for affection
if not as a consequence
of your
disastrous personality
then for the good of the collective
I fucken Knew it! hahaaha
-the gifts of the mentally ill and addicted family–they never stop giving
After nearly a year of NO Contact-My mother and I have a seat in her living room.
Me: So, lets just get this behind us. What exactly are you confused about, regarding this arrangement with my ex and how it affects me?
Mom: I feel confused that you say you don’t feel safe with us.
Me: Mom, You all hosted a dinner with everyone including my ex, his sister and my kids that excluded me.
Mom: you were invited. I remember.
Me: I found out when the boys called and said they were on their way home from the dinner. I emailed the next day asking why you all would do it. I got a character assassination email telling me all the ways I earned it, but that I was welcome to join any future events, though it is highly unlikely I could ever be a true member of a functioning family. The letter confirmed and justified the plan to exclude me. All attendees of the dinner were copied on the email.
Mom: Well, you write things on your blog that are outright lies.
Me: I write my experience. You say I was invited to your secret dinner. Is that a lie? Or Is that your experience? Ok, I didn’t come here for this. I see you have no inclination to think or say that you all have behaved in ways that are unsafe for me. Your only issue is why I wont come to dinner still. Mom, I used to sit at tables and fuck people who spoke to me as you do. I don’t anymore. I wont. You using my ex to circumvent our issues and gain access to my young sons is damaging to my family. My boys are footing the bill for that arrangement.
Mom: I don’t believe that to be the case.
Me: Ok, tell yourself that. I am going to go now. My sons understand that what you all choose hurts their mom, and they do not like you. They will never trust you. How sad, for everyone that you are ok with this.
Mom: (Quick to stand and escort me out) Maggie, I wish you well.
Me(Screaming, for the last time at my mother, desperate to be heard, to matter enough): That is a lie. You having an arrangement that divides the boys’ father and me, making it more difficult to work to arrange the most basic of things, is evil-unnecessary stress for my sons, not well wishing. Pure fucken evil.
Miraculously, I turn and close the door without slamming it and I hear it lock behind me. THE END
Tragic endings are better than tragic continuations. The truth of her intentions to heal or connect have been made clear, infinitely. I am grateful. To have any doubt or false hope removed for me. Truth and clarity seeking is badass. Needless complexity is just plain bad.
PS–To be clear here, what divides my boys emotionally and spiritually from my mother and sister is the breaking of our code. We never are silent bystanders to someone being diminished by another. My boys are well known and praised for this at their school. They witness the pain this causes me and the the pronounced stress between their father and me. For now they have no choice. They are called and their father takes them there. And in their hearts, they know what is happening and that it does not feel healthy for OUR family, their chosen arrangement is harmful.) My mother can enjoy her shared opinions and values with the like minded. My boys are not of like mind. We have different values in our home. We do not have them AT my family of origin. We choose to live and love by different codes which are diametrically opposed to their own. This is an unpleasant fact-not a problem. Still sad. People righteously harming others is our cue to speak up and then to step away. Still too young, they do not currently have that choice. 
I am grateful for another brilliant hour of basketball spent with Keyaun and Zekaya. They are angels…wholesome badass mofos. My boys get so much good energy from being with them and it is pure magic to observe the engagement. I love them. I found Keyaun at our local Y and loved his energy and offered to pay him to play with my boys. Total Street Basketball. It is magnificent.
I look forward to the day when my life is not entirely focused on survival and spiritual recovery. Until then, I will just be grateful for parts of my life I owe to recovery. Here are some of the items I have shared with my Project Miracle Buddy over the last few months. Being a loving and often present mother, a kind and generous partner, a reliable employee, a non-homicidal co-parent and sibling are miracles of my program.
Thank you GiGi for your comment about your dad being one of those people whom God gave to you. I am grateful for you!
I read, re-read, and listen to all words written or spoken by Anne Lamott. Nearly two years ago, when I first moved here, I read about a project she did with a friend, Project Miracle. I believe it was from Bird by Bird. For Project Miracle, you commit with a Trusted and Willing Other, each day, before anything else, to email a list of things for which you feel grateful, even the shitty things. That turned about to be as challenging as it was fun, the shitty things for which to be grateful. The deal is- you each exchange lists but….no feedback allowed. This project may be the only ritualized part of my life to which I have fully committed, since our dislocation relocation. As I look back over my sent emails, I see how the act of ritualistically acknowledging and sharing my first thoughts has helped me to practice acceptance for unpleasant facts. The no feedback or responses policy allows me to express things like: I am grateful that my mother is not more unkind to me than she is. Because I don’t want a cheerleader suggestion to see it differently. That is my space for acknowledging painful truth, on my way to acceptance. Anyway, below are some items from recent emails: (more…)
My truth is that I mostly do not have a choice about my first thought, but I do have the choice to indulge it or to redirect my thoughts AWAY from obsession or reactive behavior. I learned this practice late in life. Being commanded to lighten up and get over it drove me more deeply into darkness and shame over my complete lack of knowing how. It was essential that I do so, if I wanted to belong. I see now, that it could not be modeled. You can’t teach someone how to be an entirely different person from whom they are. The message was “Be Different from how you are, dammit”. To this day, I cannot. And the miracle is- I do not apologize or even feign an intent to be other than how I am. I strive to be spiritually stronger, and to engage a closer connection to God. That will allow me to mature into the person I am meant to be. Conforming to the will of another human won’t. I don’t know what makes me a sensitive and expressive empath, picking up on energies around me, while others remain deeply unaffected. I did not choose it and I cannot un-choose it or judge it. When having your feelings and truths debated and punished is a pattern, it is time to remove yourself. Patterns don’t lie. (more…)
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Who you spend your time with will have a great impact on what kind of life you live. Spend time with the right people.
— Joel Osteen (@JoelOsteen) November 19, 2016
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