No, No Thank you, Unfortunately, That Wont Work

One of the things I have paid most dearly for in my FOO and marriage was speaking my truth/ saying NO.  I became accustomed to screaming, begging, swearing, hysterical threatening…anything to make my NO legit, heard, to make it stick.  These dynamics were sustained for only as long as I would fight or surrender to their will.  Once I began to calmly and definitively say “No, that won’t work for me.”  without threat,volume, profanity or explanation, those entanglements died.  The name calling and belittling were no longer effective in getting  me to buckle in shame or fear of banishment. When questioning disrespectful responses to my fair, though unpopular boundaries, I was told I earned it by saying the same thing over and over.  Oh.  Ok.  Same question, same answer.  No?  I really believed for so long, that if I said it in just the right way with the right voice at the right time, that it would count, that I might count.

Big Open Heart, Big Fucken Fences
Big Open Heart, Big Fucken Fences

My unemotional NO- is intolerable- and heard loud and clear, not respected or honored-but leaves no doubt-only silence and passive aggressive retaliation.  I no longer do and accept terms that fail to consider my children and/or me.   I no longer participate in my own abuse and neglect.  I no longer hang around those who feel entitled to take as they like, at all costs.  I do experience anxiety before delivering my new faith and courage-backed NO, and then….  relief & self esteem, once I have.  BUT, for the Grace of God, Dare I.

Having nearly mastered “The Art of No”, if I could get to a place of saying yes, yes to things that would elevate the quality of my life, that would be a real miracle.

Some of the No’s that have brought wrathful righteousness (totally denied-because feelings are for the weak, covert retaliation is for the strong) from Catherine Ghoneim Whitney :

No, that dinner time is too late for us. No, I will not miss concert planned for three months for your last minute “invite”. No, I do not think ignoring my emails is kind or ok. No, publicly calling me names and excluding me won’t frighten me into coming around. No, connecting directly with my ex-husband to gain access to my children in order to circumvent healing and amends does not work for me. No, telling me that I earned or imagined my abuse is not true. No, I will not be bullied into doing things your way. No, blessing an email that annihilated me does not seem like the act of a kind or safe person. No, being around you without amends does not seem prudent. No, aligning with my ex is not acceptable. No, I wont pretend it didn’t happen. No, most sisters and NORMAL healthy families would not resort to this. No, ignoring my begging you to stop doesn’t feel like people capable of love. No, creating conflict for my children is not acceptable. No, wrecking our nuclear family is not what a kind person does. No, what you did to me as a child is not ok, and probably does not make you gay, and you don’t need to destroy me for fear I might share.

NO CONTACT is the only sane alternative.  And as my mother responded to me when I asked to work it out:  “I wish you well”.

Simple translation to all of my No’s:   “Please stop hurting my family, my children.  Please let us be.”  Being married to a man, and a judge does not undo the truth of what you do, which speaks to who you are, the nature of your soul.  Love and kindness are not selective.  Home wrecking is nasty, just like the other things you did.  Happy Birthday to my sister.  I wished I could drop all my anger over your words and actions and celebrate with you…just let it go and pretend.  if I could pretend, I would have never moved cross country to be free of you.  If I could pretend, I would still be married.  If I could and would pretend, you would have gotten your way and this would not be happening.  So maybe the real problem is my refusal to obey and pretend.  I will never try harder to do those things. No.

And yes I am angry.  In this family identifying someone as angry immediately costs them credibility and invites open fire.  Of course I am angry.  I own that what is going on is damaging and unfair to my children and I am furious.  Who wouldn’t be.  I am sad and angry and resent being erased and ganged up on by my ex and my family.  If I had less recovery, I would march right into her office and tell her in no uncertain terms what would torture her to hear about herself.  Count your blessings I leave your children out of this. I will never reduce myself to doing that because then you would have just a little something legit to work with, not just a raging frustration to gain compliance from me.  My side of the street is so effing clean.  No behaviors or words of mine aimed at anything except getting peace and space from you and your antics.  “Amen”(as she likes to say)  Afuckenmen!

Having feelings and healing  from trauma is messy as shit, and totally badass.  Going to tell my sister off would not be.  In fact, it would ease her burden just a little.  So technically, it is just a heightened form of withholding on my part….could be a touch more wholesome.  For the record, I repeat, Wholesome Badass is what I work towards…not a claim to anything more.

Memorial Day 2017-Dying for Peace

While our Memorial Day weekend was lovely in the simplest of ways, I, not so silently, mourn the reality of my “family” situation.  They– are more situational than family. ( hahaha)  But seriously, special days are now, a new kind of hard.  My ex-husband and I worked beautiful healing miracles after our lengthy and litigious divorce, to move our family cross country, together.  My motivation  for this post:  Invitation to bbq at my best friend’s home caused me sadness, sad that asking my ex to join is no longer appropriate.   (more…)

Self Love is the Shit

While it is true that I have tapped into the magic of self love, this by no means is an expression of being perfect or finished or in love with myself.  It means I recognize my worthiness of  connection, wholeness, peace, and kindness of people who value me.   I no longer doubt and dislike myself enough to subject myself to the painful brand of love-and I have for now stopped begging for it to be different, with my family of origin. Without self-love, I was willing to come around, to dine with people who name call and behave in ways which are diminishing to me- creating unnecessary hardship and loss of innocence for my children.  I realize how I came to marry my children’s father, emotionally and morally vacant,  concerned primarily with appearances.  Not knowing what being loved and nurtured felt like, I chose more of what I knew.  As I have recovered; learned what it means to offer, receive, and welcome wholesome love and nurturing, I no longer tolerate or take blame for  others whose behaviors and words I experience as foul.
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Stay Close to Anything That Makes You Glad to be Alive

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?

 

Starved

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?

The Broken Clock

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.
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Me Too, Tell Me 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

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

Phillip Lopate, 1943

I fucken Knew it!  hahaaha

-the gifts of the mentally ill and addicted family–they never stop giving

 

I Wish You Well


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 wish you well. Ha!

The Miracles of Recovery

  • 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 am grateful for a BJJ mom in recovery who I am connecting with.  Her son is in kids class, she is not in mine so we talk during their class and it is just so easy and I of course want to be BFFs always.  Maybe one day we will plan to do something or exchange phone numbers.
  • I am grateful for the nail in my tire that required that I leave my house today to have it repaired.
  • I am grateful that I was foolish and courageous enough to email my mother asking if an honest conversation between us was a possibility?  I either get a yes or I get the chance to tell my children how I responded to her telling them how she wants to see me but does not match her actions to her words which I find painfully confusing.  All I can do is try.  I match my actions to my words and I respond and I choose others who do the same.  That is how I know who is safe for me.   In 22 minutes, I will drive to visit the woman who gave me life- and for nearly 50 years left me wishing for death or any sort of release from THIS. It is still unclear to me who thought less of me.  Her or me?  Things have gotten progressively worse between us as I recover from life in her family. She is 85 fighting cancer and probably not apt to change.  I won’t tolerate abuse.  Apparently my definition of abuse is the problem.  But I will show up and see what is possible.  I am angry that my sister dropped her selfish righteous bomb and left us to clean up unnecessary and extensive damage.  What makes me angriest is that my boys foot the bill.  I am not sure I can forgive, though forgiveness is not being requested.  So, no worries there.