Thief

Grief.

It sneaks in - like a thief. Unwelcome. Unexpected.

All the hard work of healing, recovering, moving on;  stops. The spinning begins again. It's as if everything is muted. Colors become dull. Thoughts are disconnected.

Anger wells up. Every fiber screams,  "IT'S NOT FAIR!"

And it isn't. It isn't fair. It never was.

The moment washes over me, like a wave. Threatening to pull me under. Pulling and tugging at my heart ...

The grief fades. It has taken its toll. It will be back. Maybe this next time it won't be so great ...

Grief

Somewhere in the middle of all the energy fighting to keep my kids safe, to get them the help and resources they need, somewhere in all of the living and surviving, I have had zero time to grieve.

I find lots of time to be angry, to shout in frustration at my kids, to let bitterness well up so much that I feel I'm being crushed under it's weight.

But sadness? Who has time for that? That's where the anger keeps me safe. Or, so I think.  I think being angry will keep me safe. Safe from the hurt. Safe from the lost feeling. Safe from being frozen with inaction. Safe from the unknown.

All it really does is drive a wedge even further between my trauma and the trauma my kids have suffered. It steals my joy. Anger takes away from MOVING ON.

I can't say I know what to do with it. I have come to recognize many of the things that trigger my anger; fear, exhaustion, feelings of helplessness, financial stresses ... sadness.

Added to that fact that we experience ongoing trauma due to visitation and transition issues, it feels like the anger is always there. Festering. Waiting to rear it's head and EXPLODE.

My fear is it's too much. That no one can or will stay with us through all this difficulty. It's big. So big. Overwhelming ...

Slowly, the anger turns to tears. The sadness threatens to crush me. It's as if I can't breath. I'm drowning ... drowning in sorrow ...

Reflections: 20 Year Reunion ...

Wow. Twenty years. Twenty years have passed since I graduated high school. Twenty short years. Or, maybe they have been long. The past 5 years have definitely been some of the most difficult of my life ...

As I look forward (still debating on attending ...) to my 20 year high school reunion I can't help but reflect on the past 20 years. Many good. Many memorable. Tough times. Trying times. Joyful times. And, our share of hard times. Some very, very hard.

Twenty years. Two decades representing my entire adult life. In that 20 years, I graduated high school, went to college, gave birth, graduated college, secured employment in my field, gave birth to a second son, went to grad school, started my own business, bought a home, finished grad school, gave birth to a third son, continued building my business, then gave birth to a fourth son. I have given birth to 4 amazing boys. FOUR. Yup. Amazing.

Also during the past two decades, I struggled. Relationships struggles. Big struggles. Ongoing struggles.In 2007 I was informed of (then) husband's family history of extreme violence; alcoholism, abuse, instability, mental health issues. Lies. Lots and lots of lies. The man I was married to was not who he portrayed himself to be.

In 2009, due to a traumatic incident (see "But ... he doesn't hit me"), I filed a restraining order and began the process of legal separation/divorce. It was/is brutal. Not only does this year mark 20 years since high school graduation, I also celebrate the 5th year of my separation/divorce.

Twenty years ago I was a high school senior with plans. What plans? Plans to go to college and become a teacher. So that's what I did. I went to college. I became a teacher. I taught briefly after graduating college and then decided to stay home with my son and worked part time. I don't regret for one moment making my family a priority. Not one. However, due to being out of my profession for 8 or so years while raising a family, I am now at a cross-roads. My options in the education world are; substitute teach or work as a para educator. Options are limited.

Finding work outside of education is absolutely a possibility. This is the question I get at nearly every interview;

"If your background is in education, why don't you just go back to teaching?"

And, thus my dilemma ... Lots of education. Little work experience (outside of running my own business). The other issue I personally struggle with is this - I love teaching. I'm good at it. I had my dream job running my own tutoring business. Earning an income AND having fun doing it. I was good at it. However, due to ongoing family issues; including mental health, self-harm, and ongoing behavioral and emotional concerns with all of the children I decided to close my business and focus on family.

Twenty years ...

But ... he doesn't hit me ... [part two]

So on October 24, 2009 I asked him for a separation. His reply was to barricade himself in the back bedroom with a shotgun. But ... he never hit me.


[Continued from But ... he doesn't hit me ... [part one]]

October 24, 2009. A day forever etched in my memory. Much like the birth of a child, wedding anniversary, holiday or other important event. Only this day wasn't a day for celebration. At least not in the traditional way. In a way it marks a day of freedom; freedom from confusion, freedom from toxicity, freedom from fear.

So, he didn't hit me. He was in the bedroom with the shotgun, door barricaded. I found myself asking, "What are you going to do?" At least I think I asked that. It's been awhile since I've thought about that day ... He made no reply.

At that point, I ran to the phone in the kitchen and dialed 9-1-1. I was hysterical. I calmed down enough to explain to the operator, "My husband is in the back bedroom with a shotgun. I don't know what he plans to do."

Operator: "Where is your husband now?"

Me: "In the bedroom with a shotgun."

Operator: "Where exactly in the house is he? Do you know what he's planning to do?"

Me: "He's in the back bedroom. No. I have four children under 10."

Operator: "Do you have a cell phone?"

Me: "Yes."

Operator: "Get your children, your cell phone and call me back when you're safely on the road."

Of course, in that moment there was fear, lots and lots of fear. To date, the experience I'm describing is the most fearful, terrifying moment I have ever experienced. If I ever had any doubt of my ability to react to a challenging situation it has been erased by the memory of this event.

I gathered up my children. I had my keys. My cell phone.

We left.

Reviewing the incident report several months later I became aware of some serious grace. First, from the moment I dialed 9-1-1 and the time I contacted the operator on the road again was between 4 and 5 minutes. Who buckles 4 children, 2 under the age of 2, into a vehicle and drives several miles in less than 5 minutes??? Miracle.

I'll be honest. It's hard to even think back to that day. It's almost easier to forget. To brush it off as a bad dream ... but it was real. It is real.

So, my ex never hit me with fists. But his "punches" with words and attitude where and are designed to destroy, attacking your very soul. In the 4 years since separating, I've felt like I've been on a roller coaster or a yo-yo of emotions. Anger, sadness, pity, grief, rage, joy. And around again. Currently, I have minimal (as little as possible) contact with my ex. I do struggle with the ongoing challenges of visitation and transition issues. The verbal, emotional, and psychological abuse continues with my children. I focus on helping us all get through this. The court issues are "final" - meaning, I believe that unless or until a recognized criminal abuse is perpetrated and charges filed, this is our "new normal" - breaking the chains of a legacy of family dysfunction and violence. The court system will not save us. The police will not save us. CPS will not save us.

I'm not a superhero. I just play one in real life.

Some days it feels like we are a "normal" family - whatever that is - the teasing, the loving, the bonding, being together, laughter, enjoying each other's company. Other days, I'm consciously aware of our brokenness. I recognize this is part of the grieving process. Part of accepting what is and letting go of how I thought  or think things should be. Most of the time, I feel like something's missing. I long for healthy partnership. For comfort. I feel like I'm not good enough. I worry I won't ever be good enough. I think about how maybe I could have done something different ...

But then I remember, I'm only responsible for my attitudes, actions, behavior, beliefs ... I tell my children I wish it were different. I make room for me, for us, for healing, for growth. I focus on healthy relationships, building community, asking for help, risking rejection.

And then I look at the beauty that is my family. The brokenness. The healing. The laughter. The screaming. The tears. The anger. The joy. The sadness.

The grace.

And, I cling to the belief, no to the knowledge, that what I am doing is worth it. It's worth every tear, every fear, every struggle, every hardship and challenge. For me. For them. For us.

I am worth it.

But ... he doesn't hit me ... [part one]

When I initially separated from my ex I didn't even realize I had been in an "abusive" or toxic relationship.

When the advocate went over the packet "Am I Abused?", all I remember thinking is, "But he doesn't *hit* me ..." In fact, I even told her this.

Now, however, I know even the "minor" physical assaults were serious (he minimized them of course, or blamed them on me -- "She was out of control. I had to restrain her for her safety.")

But, I was in a relationship that was primarily emotionally and psychologically abusive and manipulative. Just because s/he doesn't hit, doesn't mean there isn't abuse. And, here I am talking to both men AND women. Women are just as apt to abuse verbally and/or emotionally. In fact, I've met many divorced men who I would classify as having been in a dysfunctional controlling relationship with their now ex's ...

So, on October 24, 2009 - three years ago now - my entire world changed in an instant. Before I talk about what happened on that day, I need to give you some background; I met my (then) husband at our local Junior College. He was a bit of a bad boy. Musician. At the time, he seemed "strong but silent" (Now, I would say moody and insecure ... I digress.) At first he seemed attentive, said all the things I wanted to hear ... we quickly began to spend much of our time together. Very quickly, within a year of meeting and dating, we marry, move to another town to finish college. I get pregnant between year 2 and 3 of our marriage and give birth to our first son. Graduate college. Move back to my home town. Get a job(s). Have another child. Build a house. Get a Master's Degree. Start my own business. Have two more children (the count is now at 4 for those keeping track).

And, like things in life tend to be, there was good and bad during that second half of our marriage. Challenges and successes. In my professional life, my business was doing well. I was able to keep up with my growing family and do well in my work. It was extremely satisfying. He was working for a local school during this period. Things seemed to be happening according to schedule. The kids were growing, the house was purchased, jobs were going well ... or, so it seemed.

With the birth of my 3rd child, things began to change ... I can't pinpoint the exact moment but it seemed with only 2 kids I could still manage to get everything done. I was able to "keep on top of things". He was still working. Although his job wasn't terribly "demanding" you would think it took everything he had. There was very little help (read no help) with the day-to-day managing of the children or household. Unknowingly I had taken on more and more responsibilities with each addition to our family. And what was he doing? Well, that is a very good question.

Around this same time, my (then) sister-in-law came back into communication with our family. At around the time my 3rd child was 4 months old, she began to disclose to me their family history of violence, extreme physical violence in many cases, along with alcohol abuse. I won't traumatize you with details about the stories she shared. They were stuff you read about in the newspaper. It was appalling. I couldn't believe the kinds of situations she was describing. I had compassion on my husband. I expressed sorrow about his awful childhood experiences. His reply? "I don't remember," he claimed.

I started seeing a counselor. I was exhausted. By now I had 3 young children. As I reasonably expected the other adult - my partner, the person who was always quick to declare his love - to help, his mind games increased. He would be the first to leave the dinner table and not return to help clean. I was doing essentially all the management of the growing needs of 3 children, the household, and myself. When I would make an effort to connect with him by sitting down next to him at the end of the evening, he would get up and immediately leave the room. I was utterly confused. He complained we didn't spend time together. I resolved to spend more time with him, yet he would physically leave anytime I was even in the same room. When I confronted him about this he denied it happening. He pushed back and said I was imagining things. Etc. Etc. Etc. And on ...

I was also feeling more and more isolated. I focused on my business. My kids. Church. My family (which is also dysfunctional by the way, but that's a post for another day ...). It seemed with the information about the family violence in my husband's past, things in our relationship "clicked". I began to get help. I began to observe patterns. I started paying attention to his speech patterns. How he always seemed to have something negative to say. About everything. How he told me I was angry. I was sensitive. (Wait? Didn't he just say I was angry? How can you be angry and sensitive?). He denied his childhood experiences had anything to do with, well, he denied his childhood experiences.

But, for me, I was moving. Growing. Living. Getting information. At the height of our "relationship" difficulties, I became pregnant with my 4th child. Where does a pregnant mother of 3 go for help? How does it look to be suffering "relationship" difficulties when you are having his child?" I'll tell you. It doesn't look pretty. In fact, as I look back, my "partner" (ha! you have to suffer through my extensive use of "quotation marks" in this post!!), so, my "partner" didn't really do much to support me, help with the other children, or take any interest in my pregnancy. I simply chose to focus on myself. Staying healthy for my baby. Taking care of his brothers. Running my business. In essence, I absolutely ignored any marriage problems for that period of time. I couldn't deal with them.

Shortly after the birth of my 4th child with him, I realized I needed help. I was in individual counseling (he claimed I had post-partum depression). My counselor recommended marriage counseling. Well, the marriage counseling worked -- I'm no longer married. Nor am I miserable. Nothing changed. Our "relationship" didn't work. I could no longer keep up with only being a slave for my ex. I had four children who needed me. I needed me. I realize now that he didn't hit me because I would have left. Immediately. Instead, he played games. Denied. Minimized. Blamed. If that didn't work, he outright lied. He would name call. Tell me I was wrong. Tell me I liked to fight. And much more.

So on October 24, 2009 I asked him for a separation. His reply was to barricade himself in the back bedroom with a shotgun. But ... he never hit me.


To be continued ...

She let go.

She let go.

In a moment, without hardly a thought, she just decided. It's time. In that moment, there was no struggle. It wasn't exactly planned. It just happened.

All that had happened. All the pain. The heartache. The betrayal. The fear. The abandonment. The anger. The sadness. The grief.

She just, let go.

It wasn't something she dwelt on for days or even moments. There was no real conscientious decision. It really didn't take any effort.

In that moment, all the weight was lifted. It was gone. The past. The present. The future. Everything just was. She was. She is. I am.

It came without a storm and left in a whisper ...

She let go.

I. Let. Go.

Signs

We've all seen them.

You know.

The person standing on the street corner holding signs.

The ones we pass judgment on without even knowing their story.

Yeah.

"Those" people.

Today I was out preparing for my oldest's birthday. As I was driving to various stores looking for a "blizzard" style ice cream cake I noticed a guy. With a sign.

It read - "FAMILY OF 4. ANYTHING HELPS, GOD BLESS"

This was the second time I had seen him that day.

The first time I was moved with compassion but since I generally don't carry cash I went on my way dragging my three year old to the next stop.

The next time I saw him I had realized I did have cash on me. For whatever reason earlier in the week my debit card PIN was rejected. My card was locked and I had gone into the bank (again, something I rarely do) to get cash to buy gas and a little extra until the PIN issue was resolved. So, I happened to still have a $20 bill that I had overlooked earlier.

The second time I saw him I decided to go up and talk. To find out his story.

"I'm Susan. What's your name?" I asked.

"Dylan," he replied.

"Are you looking for work?" I inquired.

"We just came up from Oregon," he said, "I'm trying to find whatever I can."

We talked some more. He told me about his wife and two kids; a boy and a girl. He shared some family challenges - history of alcoholism in wife's family, they had left Oregon due to mother-in-law not being in recovery as she had let on, etc. Our conversation maybe lasted 4 or 5 minutes. I asked if he had help in the area and he told me he was attending a local church. It was daytime, cars were passing by, lots of people coming and going, so I felt comfortable talking.

I moved closer and asked Dylan, "What do you need?"

He replied, "I need $9 to pay rent today."

I pulled out the $20 and said, "Here. You're done for today."

He seemed relieved, genuinely relieved. I actually sensed his relief. It was as if a huge weight was lifted.

I can't imagine ... the stress of not being able to provide for your family, your children, yourself.

Actually, I can.

I have had to face struggles during my divorce that I never experienced before. Questions like, What do I do about bills I can't pay? How do I keep my kids safe? What if I can't do it? And on ...

So, I guess what I think is ... we don't always know "everything".

What does YOUR sign say?