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 ...

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.

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?

Letting go ...

Letting go.

It's hard.

Letting go of the past. Moving on.

Letting go of expectations;

• of myself
• my children
• my ex
• my family & friends
• my future

Letting go of guilt.

Am I stuck? Am I learning to let go?

I don't think so ... I think I am letting go.

Wrestling with anxiety. Wrestling with doubt. Wrestling insecurity. Wrestling against settling for what's "safe".

For me, my most difficult struggle is learning to let go.

Losing relationships. Losing security. Leaving unhealthy situations. Taking responsibility for my attitudes, actions, and behaviors.

Letting go of a lifetime of poor boundaries.

Letting go ...

... is hard.

The healing journey

Jesus, come and break my fear
Wake my heart and take my tears
Find your glory even here
When the hurt and the healer collide ...

http://www.klove.com/music/artists/mercyme/songs/the-hurt-the-healer-lyrics.aspx

So, healing. What is it? How do you do it? Can you make it happen faster?

Hmmm. For me, healing from a history of unhealthy relationships and learning healthy boundaries has been a definite process. A process that takes TIME.

(Does 35+ years sound like a long time???)

How much time? I can't say. I have to say I have come SO FAR since leaving an extremely unhealthy relationship (marriage). I know I still have a long, long way to go in my journey and also realize that some of the struggles I have today will continue to creep up as I continue my journey toward health and wholeness. Oh, maybe I won't be quite so "psycho banshee" when triggered by difficult circumstances (yes, I have a tendency to externalize ... it isn't always pretty). But, I am so thankful that God has allowed me to heal and continues to stand by and provide while I work on my, ehm, er, "issues".

One thing I have learned (or, maybe am still learning - yeah, still learning) is not to take things personally. I grew up in an environment in which every little criticism I took personally. "Someone" did "something" and suddenly I was defending myself. I am learning to let go of this defensiveness. I am learning to take responsibility for MY feelings, MY attititudes, MY actions and MY behavior.

So, how did I manage to get so healthy and so suddenly?? Ha ha ha ... no, really. I have discovered I am a raging recovering codependent. What does that mean? It means sometimes I try to rescue other people. And sometimes I want others to rescue me. It's really just niceness taken to an unhealthy, really poor boundaries kinda place. It is work. Hard work.

And, just when you think you are done and have worked on all you possibly can, there's more W-O-R-K. Yup. Work.

Good news

So I have some good news. It doesn't involve a new job. Or lottery winnings. Or even that things have significantly changed in the past few days. I will say I have been on the edge. But, the good news? Are you ready? The good news is I'm still holding it together. I have been in the raw place of not knowing how I was going to provide for my family, of questioning everything I ever believed. But, we are here. We have made it through the day. We are getting help. We are healing. We are getting better. We are together. And, one day - soon - our family will be restored.

On the edge ...

Well, folks, I will say that this isn't an unfamiliar place but I had worked so hard to find stability, safety and peace. And, suddenly I find myself without employment, in the middle of a drama similar to my own experience - finding I have to distance myself from - with a child acting out in aggression endangering others in day camp, feeling exhausted and just at the end ...

Have you ever found yourself in that place? That place you work so hard to avoid or deny exisits? You know what I'm talking about. That place at the end of yourself where you think you couldn't go another inch, another minute, or maybe even one more second longer?

I've been to that place. The place where you question everything. The place where you wonder aloud, "Can this really be where I'm at again???" The place where you have to ask, "Is this it?" and "Is this all there is?"

I worked SO HARD. SO VERY HARD. To heal. To hope. To protect. To be healthy. So. Very. Hard.

What have I learned from the past few years of leaving the life I was accustomed to? From surviving an unhealthy marriage? From going through extreme emotional difficulty?

I have learned;

• I can do this.
• I can ask for help.
• I can take time out.
• I can choose to live in the moment.
• I can have joy.
• I can choose peace.
• I can not allow others free rent in my mental space.

That's right. I can. I can do this.

Do I like how it feels? No.

Do I want to be "saved"? Maybe.

Is this the worst, scariest, most annoying, most traumatic, most awful place I've ever experienced? Close.

Is it pretty? No.

Can I do this?

YES.

No longer in denial ...

..... Originally posted on Saturday, March 12, 2011 .....

A lot has happened in just a short amount of time. Sometimes it's overwhelming. Others I wish we could just hurry up and get everything "done". Wow. I didn't even know life could get so hard.

Marriage was such a struggle. I worked so hard on my relationship but then to come to the realization there was no "relationship" to begin with because it was always just a game - a means to an end. I can't even really speak as to what he was playing at because what I do know is he really didn't care about me. Ever. Oh, well maybe in the way one keeps someone or something around because it makes us look or feel good about ourselves. But to realize I was NEVER in a true partnership with the one I chose to share my life with ... heartbreaking. Absolutely heartbreaking ...

How to even begin to process this. I was and always have been a single mom. I am a single parent. I am single. I was single even when I was married. Wow. It's still overwhelming. I am right in the middle of it all and I can hardly believe it myself.

I am a single mom of four kids. I carry the load and responsibility for the five of us. I always have and I always did. I just didn't realize it. How could I have missed that? What was I thinking? Where were all my friends and family? How come we didn't notice?

Well, we didn't. Unlike the marriages that end mutually or with some agreement that the partners are not right for each other, mine ended with a threat to life and a new awareness that it was never even really "marriage". It was something like slavery I guess. As long as I did everything he expected (which he hardly ever told me what that was so I was being held accountable for things I did "wrong" when I wasn't even aware ...) everything was fine. Or so it seemed. I didn't know. I just didn't ...

I am a single mom. I have four children. How will we get through this crap? When will it be over? Will this fight ever end or will we be constantly on the look out for danger?

I don't know. I hope it will end soon. I know we will "make it" somehow, someway. I just don't know how.

Transformation: a Beautiful Dance or Messy Fall?

..... Originally posted on Monday, February 14, 2011 ......

This is it. The time where questioning sets in. This business of "transforming" has gone on long enough. I am tired of it. Actually, to be honest, I'm EXHAUSTED.

If you've experienced divorce (even the not quite so long and drawn out kind like mine) you may know what I'm talking about. If you've experienced any kind of "rock-your-world-question-everything-you-ever-believed" event in your life than you may also have an idea of what I'm talking about ...

The thing that no one ever mentions is just how MESSY the whole transformation is. Is it just that others are so much more "graceful" when they experience a season in life that challenges them? Why is it that I feel like I'm not doing it very well? Why is it I feel as if I'm failing? Why does it feel more like demolition than rebuilding?

Without going into too much detail (yes, I am learning the art of NOT oversharing ...) this past year and a half dealing with the legal and court system, counselors, concerns, advocates (some who, in my opinion, aren't very "advocatorial" if I can use that made up word), judges, betrayals, loss of dreams, grief, and emotional highs and lows has been a real challenge for me. And I thought I was tough!

What I am realizing is that this business of life is messy. Even under the best of circumstances. I will admit my kids have seen me at some pretty low moments in this transition. Realizing and recognizing the need for change begins with me has not been comforting. I don't want to change. I want the dream. I want happily ever after. Damnit! I feel robbed. Ripped off.

And then, I have to let go. I have to CHOOSE to let go. LET GO. Sometimes several times a day. Let go of the lies that held me back. The lies I told myself about how it "should" be. Lies about me. Lies I believed that were buried deep. So deep I didn't even know they were lies. Breaking down the lies. Forgiving myself. And then forgiving myself again. And again. Learning to forgive.

Sometimes I feel like it's "too messy" - that even acknowledging just how messy it is might somehow jinx me. It seems as if we are expected to have it together all the time. We put on our best face when others ask us how we're doing; like if I really get into the seriously messiness of it all no one will want to be around me. It's so big. So big and messy.

I know I will get through this. I look around and see that others have overcome situations so much harder and they made it. I will make it. We will make it.

But it's messy. This rebuilding. This rebirth.

That's it. Birth. Just like having a baby. The incredible joy that comes after pregnancy. Then labor. Pain and labor. And after laboring comes the birth. The miracle of birth. Birth that is messy. The mess from labor that results in unimaginable joy. The joy of bringing forth a new life. I am blessed with the miracle of four amazing children as a result of the pain of labor. I remind myself to continue to labor in this work of birthing (our family, myself, this new life) because it will produce UNIMAGINABLE JOY.

JOY.

I am clinging to the hope this pain we are experiencing will be used to help others. It will be used to help us. To save us. To save others. To point others to what has been my saving grace - the knowledge that the One who made me is still here in the middle of this mess. He is here loving me, holding me, accepting me, helping me, leading me and cheering me on.

Just when I think I can't go on, I am reminded to stop and take a breath and look ahead to the finish line. I'm not sure exactly how far away it is but I know it's there. I can see it now. I refuse to give up after coming this far. And so, I labor through another contraction, another messy situation, another screw up, another opportunity to get it right (unlike the last 10 times when I just blew it ...) I practice doing it better the next time. Growing, learning, transforming ...

This transformation I am sure will result in a glorious, more mature, less anxious version of me. A stronger me; a stronger, more connected family. But most days I feel as if I'm falling with just about as much grace as an elephant on ice skates.

It is my hope that God turns this fall, this mess, into a beautiful dance. A dance of life.

A dance that we can teach to others dealing with their own mess.

Who Calls Me Beautiful? Finding Your True Image ...

..... Originally posted on Wednesday, January 19, 2011 .....

 

So I have been ruminating about a bazillion (that's a lot) of things to blog lately. I'm still mulling over all kinds of things I want to get out but this is one that struck me as I go through this trial. I have really struggled with my image and the way God sees me. Also, I have struggle with loving myself and believing myself to be worthy of God's best for me in my life.

This is actually an excerpt from a fabulous book titled Who Calls Me Beautiful? Finding Our True Image in the Mirror of God;

Before the beginning of time, I knew you*. I knew what color your eyes would be, and I could hear the sound of your laughter. Like a proud father who carries a picture of his daughter, I carried the image of you in My eyes, for you were created in My image. Before the beginning time, I chose you. I spoke your name into the heavens, and I smiled as its melody resounded off the walls of My heart.

You are mine. My love for you extends farther than the stars in the sky and deeper than any ocean. You are My pearl of great price, the one for whom I gave everything. I cradle you in the palm of My hand. I love you, even in the face of your failure. NOTHING you can say or do can cause Me to stop loving you. I am RELENTLESS in my pursuit of you. Run from Me -- I will love you. Spurn me -- I will love you. Reject yourself -- I will love you. You see, My love for you was slain before the foundations of the world and I have never regretted the sacrifice I made for you at Calvary.

When I see every part of who you are, I marvel at the work of My hands, for I whispered words of longing and desire and you came into existence. You are beautiful, and I take pleasure in you -- heart, mind, and body. You are My desire. When you turn your head in shame and despise what I have made, still I reach for you with GENTLE passion.

You are My beloved and I am yours.

Love,
God

(adapted from 1 John 3:2; Isaiah 43:1; Matthew 13:46; Ephesians 1:4; Revelation 13:8; Psalm 194:4; Song of Solomon 7:10; 6:3)

* [remove "you" and replace with your name - God is speaking to "you"] :)