Processing

I’m one of those people that has more hope than sense when it comes to planning.

I always think it’s going to be simple. I make a plan, I execute it, my life improves. It’s like a line graph, right? Clear unbroken upward progress.

I am just now realizing that (duh!) life doesn’t work like that.

It’s more like work hard, improve a little, plateau. Work hard, improve a little, plateau.

SLOW. I just want to be better already.

…and that’s me after a year or so of practicing patience. You can imagine what it was like before.

But the most disconcerting thing of all in this process is that I’m not controlling when I start growing and when I plateau. Someone or something in my life will trigger something and I’ll start processing the trauma and damage and then when it’s done, I stop and wait for the next trigger.

There’s probably a more efficient way to do this. But as much as I want to be better now now now, I don’t want it enough to find the answer to how to make it better faster. I used to. I said to my therapist, give me a checklist so I can do some homework and be done. And she’d shake her head and tell me no. And now I’m starting to get to the harder stuff, and I don’t want to process any faster. I’d almost prefer not to do this at all, because it’s no fun.

And I’m in the worst part of that process now. This first stage is when I’m finding myself triggered by something and living in a state of heightened anxiety and stress and not entirely sure yet why I’m being triggered. And I can’t fix what I don’t know.

I have an idea of what this is…I think we’re about to head into a phase where I process some of the worst physical abuse from the marriage. I’m basing this primarily on the nightmares I’ve been having. The thing is…this is going to be really bad. I have trauma based amnesia regarding a lot of my marriage. I was married seven years and have only a handful of distinct memories for portions of it. I have scars from injuries I can’t remember receiving. I’m not sure how many of these memories I can even access.

I was reading a treatment manual and it said the first stage of treatment for this is to remove the person from the abusive situation and make them feel safe. My first thought was that I’m totally screwed, because I have 14 more years of shared custody with my abuser. And he’s not letting go, he’s a classic abuser in that way. I took away his power over me and even remarried and with a baby on the way he can’t stop trying to get it back. I’m not physically afraid any more, because I have things in place. A security alarm, a protective order, and what keeps me safest of all, his overwhelming lack of interest in doing anything he could be arrested for. He did not enjoy his last stay in jail. But as long as he’s holding on, he finds little ways to control me and hurt me and so I don’t think I’ll ever be really free until the kids are grown, and that’s a hard thing to work around.

But I knew this day would come. I knew someday I’d have to find a way to acknowledge that yes, I was hurt. I’m not the same person I was before and I’ll never be that person again. Without pity, without self-indulgence, just stating what is, not how it makes me feel. It’s part of the recovery process and it’s part of how I can begin to process the trauma that I’ve been hiding from for years.

So I’m going to say it. I was hurt, a lot, during my time with him. I was raped, yes, but that is something I already processed and dealt with. I was choked until I lost consciousness, I was slammed into walls and held there. My face was held into the mattress and I thought I was going to die. I was locked into the house, my keys and the phones removed. Doors were broken when they were locked against him. Countless bruises, a sprained knee, some swelling, a few burns, some bumps on my head, a couple of times I would have sworn my nose was broken but it apparently was just badly bruised, a chipped tooth. And those are the ones I remember.

I don’t feel sorry for myself, actually. For the abuse, anyway. I feel a little pouty now because I hate this process and I hate the heightened anxiety that goes with it. These things…they happened to the me I was, not the me I am. I always reference Christopher Marlowe, “That was in another country, and besides, the wench is dead,” and that’s how I feel. That wench is dead, but this wench needs to find a way to bury her. Or something. It’s not a perfect analogy.

Long post. I’m not sure anyone will read this far. It’s more about not hiding from my abuse than it is about telling others what happened.

Living with Death

The universe seems to want me to think about death this month. Not my first choice.

First, I witnessed a man get killed when he sprinted across a busy street.

Then, my ex-husband’s grandmother died.

And then Sunday, the dog I got when I was 19 developed a fast-growing cancerous tumor and had to be put down.

Clearly, there’s a lesson here.

I think the lesson is about self-sufficiency, about living in the moment.

I think of the man that was killed on the street and I think, that’s too pointless. He was a person with a life and a family and people who loved him and because he wanted to get across the street quickly, it’s just over.

Mema…that was hard. I loved her so much during the marriage, but after the most epic divorce in Texas history, it wouldn’t have been appropriate to see her or talk to her, and she wouldn’t have remembered me anyway, she had Alzheimer’s. And I couldn’t go to the funeral, either, for obvious reasons. It was less of a death for me in that way, and more the realization that she was lost to me when I left my husband.

Cali was my constant companion. No matter what happened, from the time I got her she was always there. And now, that’s not true. And the house is quiet without her.

The thing is…I spend too much time planning my future and not enough time living. My addiction to my electronics is part of that problem, too, of course. I like my virtual world better than my real world. Life comes with no guarantees. We could make a bad decision and be gone tomorrow. We could lose our friends and our families at any time. We could have the basic shape of your life changed at any time.

The question isn’t, how to prevent that from happening, because you can’t. The question isn’t how to cope with losing people you love, because when it happens, you do cope out of necessity. The question is, how can you live your life so that you have the minimum of regrets when it happens?

Do I wish I’d walked Cali more? Of course. Would I feel that no matter how many walks I took her on? Probably.

But I do regret not keeping some form of contact with Mema, even if it was just sending her pictures of the girls.

And I think, I’m still in the process of shaping my life. If I were hit by a car today, I’d feel outraged and robbed because I’m not done yet. I’m not even close to done. I’m just beginning to build the life that I want.

So that’s my takeaway from this series of events. More living, less planning. More dreams fulfilled than dreams created. Go hard, go strong, allow no excuses, take no prisoners.

Learning Silence

I’ve spent the last two weeks exploring my new world. No dedicated schedules, no real contact with anyone that I don’t seek myself.

Silence.

The last time I was alone, I was miserable and sought company wherever I could find it.

This time, I embrace the silence.

I’ve tried a few different schedules for my writing and I finally realized that the answer was obvious. The insomnia I’ve been fighting with for a few years is the answer. For now, I’m embracing the insomnia and the night.

I’m living in the dark, and the silence at night is far more complete and absorbing than during the day. In surrounding myself in silence, I’m hearing what lives inside me, and for the first time I can remember, I am at peace with myself.

It was only a few months ago that I shrank from examining myself in this way, because when I looked within I saw a desiccated shell. I quoted Hamlet, “Thou turn’st my eyes into my very soul; and there I see such black and grained spots as will not leave their tinct.”

Now, I find that I’m not broken. Darkness and silence don’t frighten me…my soul doesn’t frighten me, either.

And the light…the light has always been within me. I was just burying it in fear and loathing. I listened to the abuser I lived with, and in time I came to see the world from his twisted viewpoint. The world was an ever-shifting miasma of fear and uncertainty and I believed him when he blamed me for all that happened.

It took years to break the spell, years filled with work and doubt and turmoil, but I’ve broken free and I see myself more honestly than I have in my entire memory. I see my own strength. And my weaknesses as well.

I don’t have to earn the love of another person to know I have value. I can finally see that everyone is just as flawed and damaged as I am, and we all have strengths and weaknesses. Those that hate me, hate me. Those that love me, love me. The hatred doesn’t change my intrinsic value, and the love doesn’t change it either.

Learning to accept silence, soft and gentle, has brought me freedom and peace.

Musical glittery sphinxes!

The last of the mommy blog posts.  :)

Ok, when last we left our fearless adventurers, they had explored the Natural Science Museum in Houston and made some paper lanterns and sugar cube pyramids.

This time, we managed to get to the “Children’s Art Park” with the Austin Symphony in time to play with the instruments. Or as they charmingly call it, “The Instrument Petting Zoo.”  Honestly, I think Tori was a little disappointed at the lack of goats after getting pumped for the “petting zoo.”   Which might explain why this is the only picture I have of her with the instruments:

Whereas the difficulty with Elizabeth is picking which instrument picture to post.  She had SO much fun with the instruments, even if her refusal to listen to even the most simple instructions from the symphony volunteers resulted in a number of almost correct instrument positionings, like so:

We had to leave before the face painting because Beth was VERY over the heat and sitting on the stone steps, and when Tori realized that it was Beth’s fault she didn’t get face paint, she tore into her bigger sister like a tornado. Yet more proof that child is related to me, because wow, I recognized THAT temper.

So we went to Ruta Maya that weekend for some Circus Chicken Dog and face painting.  Incidentally, the Circus Chicken Dog guy is a genius.  I sincerely hope he manages to get rich off of his act because he has managed to make playing with his dogs into an enjoyable and apparently profitable enterprise.  More power to you, Circus Dog guy.

But enough about that, onto the face painting!

Two things about this picture: 1) seriously, how gorgeous is Elizabeth?  Look at that beautiful little face!  I tell you, that kid has a future in modeling and 2) Tori’s face, in the background, cracks me up.

Finished Tori:

And OF COURSE it’s a tiger.  For months, whenever we would play “20 Questions” Tori would think of a tiger.  (“I’m thinking, I’m thinking, I’m thinking….ok, I’ve got it.” “Is it a tiger?” “Yes!”)

And we FINALLY managed to get some use out of our Children’s Museum membership.

Yes, that is a faux grocery store checkout counter.  And yes, she is VERY sure she needs the hard hat.

I’m not sure why, but she kept that face the entire time she was dancing.

And we did get to make the sphinxes:

WHY does she make that face whenever I ask her to smile?

And I just discovered I have no picture of Beth with her finished sphinx. Ah well. You’ll survive it.

Here we are, 4 days after I gave them back to their father and I’m just about done with the initial grieving period I endure every time I give them back.  Regular blogging to resume from here on out.

And there’s so much to talk about! Starting a new fitness regime and new work system. Accidentally adopted a new cat. The usual chaos.

Stay tuned…same bat-time, same bat-channel.  :)

Museums, Birthdays, and Deaths

This was not the best week in kid-world.  We started our butterfly project but didn’t get it finished.  We didn’t even look at our sphinx project.  I forgot the camera for most of the photo-friendly activities, and we missed the free movie AND the Children’s museum.  Fails all around.

However, it was not without some redemptive moments.  Last weekend we went to the Natural Science Museum in Houston where the Elizabeth demonstrated some incredible dinosaur and Egypt knowledge.  She was the star of the tour group and not even by a small margin.  Super awesome.  :)

Tori’s lunch of choice is always “meat sandwich, no cheese.”  And frequently she prefers just the meat, no bread.  Today she chose to combine it will her other favorite, raisins.  It’s a little wacky, but she liked it.

Elizabeth and Tori are rocking the burial arm positioning of Egyptian queens.  Obviously.  :)

Elizabeth asked the tour guide if the sarcophagus was from Egypt and he said, “It’s a reproduction, I think it came from Ebay.”  LOL.

Elizabeth holding fossilized poop.  This was a high point for her in this visit.  :)

Tori holding a T-Rex tooth.

We also went on a trip to the bunny shelter to get more bunny supplies.

And then, tragedy.  Our male bunny, Snowy, died suddenly and unexpectedly.  We were all heartbroken.  Snowy was a wonderful pet.  He’s the white one in this picture.

But we also had some happiness, as it was Tori’s 4th birthday.  We went a variety of places where I forgot my camera (GAH!) but we had a lovely time and she did get a few presents, although I prefer experiences to objects for the girls.  And of course, cupcakes.  :)

Egyptians and Tissue Paper

Welcome to week one of this blog’s temporary transition to Mommy-blogdom.  I would apologize but I know how many pageviews I have, which means all of you do indeed love my offspring.  :)

As you know, I have recently left the world of stable employment–a place where I was paid the same regardless of whether I was frantically busy or playing solitaire–and am now pursuing a world of merit-based pay.  Why yes, it is terrifying, thanks for asking.

But the biggest upside is that the entire month of July that I have my children, I actually HAVE my children.  We’re together pretty much 24/7 and I’m cramming as much happy fun time as I can into that time frame.  Which I manage to do while maintaining my constant “available” status on gchat because I am just that awesome.

A brief look at the joys of the past week:

Fourth of July!  Stupid drought meant no fireworks, but we did make this:

Which actually, I’m not a fan of.  Next time I’ll use my own favorite white cake recipe and a different frosting altogether.  Fortunately, as the picture proves, I’m in the minority.  And it IS visually striking, no question.

Next up, family paper lantern project.

This was fun, but we learned that there’s a fine balance between enough layers of tissue paper to make the lanterns stable and enough layers of tissue paper to obscure the tea lights we have inside.

Beth, naturally, was very focused:

This picture may show the only piece of tissue paper Tori actually applied to her own lantern:

I think the resigned look on Jason’s face tells you everything you need to know about making paper lanterns with a 3 year old.

TA-DA!

And our Egypt project of the week was sugar cube pyramids.

This was amazingly fun.  Learn from our mistakes: a hollow pyramid is NOT a happy pyramid.  We ended up frantically stuffing ours with tissue paper to keep it from collapsing on itself.  Also, if you saturate a sugar cube with glue, it WILL begin to melt.  Finally, keep an eye on little fingers and the sugar cubes because there is a clear inverse relationship between the amount of sugar cubes consumed and the amount of focus the children have on pyramid construction.  They are faster than you think and faster still after a couple of sugar cubes.

Tori is so focused in this picture….clearly an early portion of the project.  :)

Elizabeth has developed an inexplicable desire to “bunny ear” herself in pictures….

And of course, the dramatic conclusion:

HOW CUTE IS TORI’S FACE IN THAT PICTURE?!  I mean, seriously, who could resist that level of cuteness?

That’s all for last week’s activities.  This week, we had the Museum of Natural Science already, and we’ll be doing the Children’s Museum, a butterfly project and a sculpted sphinx.  I can’t wait!  :)

Eternal Connections

I’ve been thinking a lot about relationships lately.

More specifically, I’ve been thinking about permanence.

It’s not something I’ve ever really thought of in an adult way before.  I thought of it, when I thought of it at all, in a “happily ever after” way.

Curse you, romance novels.

I had a shift in my perspective towards the ex-husband this week, and it altered my view of a lot of things.

Anyone who knows me, knows I have issues with my ex-husband.  <—-understatement of the year, folks.

And despite what he probably thinks, I didn’t feel anger for him when I decided to leave him.  I didn’t feel anger because of the things he did to me or the things he did to the children for a long, long time.  In fact, it was 18 months almost to the day from the separation, and 8 months from the final decree before I felt anger.  And even then, it was in a dream.  I woke up scared and sweating and terrified that I was a horrible person for feeling those things for a man I’d loved for years and had two children with, no matter how horrible the situation had become.

I’ve been dealing with the frustration and anger in therapy ever since, of course.

The shift came again in a dream, where I was interacting with him like there hadn’t been this kind of misery and trauma.  We were talking and I wasn’t afraid of him any more.  When he did something that would cause me angst in real life, I just walked away, with the knowledge that sometimes he’s like that.  It was like being with a family member.

And I suddenly realized what I don’t think he has yet…that we will always be bound together.  Even when the girls are grown, they’ll have the same discussions over which of us to visit at the holidays and so on.  The pledge I made on my wedding day will be true, in that way.  We will be, in some tangible way, together until death do us part.  It’s like a three-legged race at a fair.  We’re bound and how easily or difficult we move through life is determined by us.

Which made me think of other connections.  There are certain people in life that you resonate with and you know you will always feel that resonance with.  I believe these people will stay part of your life, even if it’s only in your heart.  They will hover around the periphery until there is another opening in your lives and then they slide back in.

This is the case with my best friend…we lost each other for years and slid back together like we’d never been apart.

One of the reasons I chose to marry him was because I wanted that extended family, Norman Rockwell-esque experience he had.  My family is not ever going to look like that, and I knew it then.

But isn’t it better like this?  I may only have a few true loves that I have faith will be around me in my life in some form forever, but those few people are the ones that match my heart and my soul and share that resonance.  We are special to each other.  I don’t need a lot of people, because the few I have are so valuable.

Eternity is for better and for worse.  I love the ones I do without reservation or condition, even when they upset me.  I believe they feel the same.  And if the charming ex-husband never sees that he can make this easier as well as harder and we hobble through life together, well, so it shall be.  I’m not angry, and I won’t be angry.  I will not judge him through my filter, my viewpoint.  Maybe he’ll come to it in time himself, and if he doesn’t…well, again, so it shall be.

Living in the Gray

I’m a black and white person.  Things are one thing or another.  They are right or they are wrong.  I do things in a linear fashion and I’m relentlessly logical.

This can be problematic, of course.  Life isn’t black and white.  There are shades of gray everywhere and I’m not comfortable with them.  I want things to be settled and definable.

But I’m in a weird place right now where I’m between two lives in a lot of ways.

I still work my day job, but not for long as I’ve given my notice.  I’m also working the writing thing.  I still wear my ex-husband’s name but not for long as I have a name change back to my maiden name in the works.  There are a few other things, of course, but you get the idea.  I’m straddling two lives in a lot of areas.

It’s ridiculously hard.  I know people who live in the gray and I never really understood how they do it.  I’m still not sure why they would do it by choice, but now I’m beginning to understand how they do it.  Cognitive dissonance.

You have to be able to pretend to yourself when you’re doing one thing that you’re not ALSO doing a contradictory thing.

Giving full effort to each item as it comes, with no concessions to the other things you might do later.

It feels stupid.  It really does.  Every once in a while I hear the voice in my head, “Why are you working so hard on X?  You know you’re just going to do Y later”….and that’s right, of course.  But you can’t half-ass life.

I’m still not sure why people do this for so long, and I’m doing better with this because I can see an end to the gray.  But it’s a baby-step towards a more complex and experience-oriented life.

I have visions of a coffee shop by the lake and a warm breeze and a voice murmuring in my ear, “Relax…go with the flow…”

I’m getting there….each moment I live in the gray is a step towards a more relaxed life that flows from one thing to another.

Ambien

After dealing with intermittent insomnia for two years, I finally got a prescription for ambien.

Ambien is not for the faint of heart. The first day, despite being advised to start with half a pill, I took a full pill. The next morning I had a hangover of epic proportions. And I was a total idiot. I lost my ability to spell, I couldn’t remember my best friend’s mom’s name, I angered a good friend for no apparent reason…not awesome.

After that, I went to half a pill.  And that seemed to work.  Except a few nights ago, I took it with a few glasses of wine.

BIG MISTAKE.

Woke up in the morning, felt fine.  Went through my day like normal.  Get home, reached for the last cupcake we had in the house (Lick It Bite It or Both FTW!) and lo, it’s gone.  I assume the fiance ate it.  He gets home and disavows knowledge.  We conduct an investigation.  We find the cupcake wrapper on my bedside table.  Best theory: I ate the cupcake in my sleep.  Per ambien’s product information, you can sleep eat, engage in sleep sex, even sleep drive.

So, obviously, we’re hiding my car keys at night from now on.  But seriously, ambien, wtf?!  If I’m going to eat a nomlicious cupcake, I’d like to remember it.  :(

Balancing Act

It’s been an interesting week or two here in the world of rebuilding.

See, I’ve been taking a shortcut.  My therapist is so opposed to this, you would not believe it.  But I found someone who acts as a mirror to me, and I see myself differently through him, and it prompts me to make changes.  Some are small…most are big.  These are good changes, of course.  Changes I’d have made eventually, if I’d allowed the process more time.  But I don’t LIKE the process, I don’t like waiting, I have patience issues. I know that.

Obviously, the shortcut pleased me.

When the mirror took four days off for vacation, I was a little worried.  I wondered how I’d do without the boundaries he gives me.  I was off the grid, too, in my own way.  And it was ok.  Near the end I started to get a little lost, but I wasn’t too far off course.  When he came back, I saw where I was and figured in time he’d nudge me back to the straight and narrow.

But then almost immediately I pissed him off.

Yeah.  Not a great idea to piss off someone you love.  Even worse of an idea to do it when you’ve come to depend on them for guidance.

And so I sat here last night, feeling a little lost and a lot hurt.

Until I remembered my therapist saying, you can’t expect that of him, that he’ll nudge you back to where you need to be.  You have to do that yourself.

And I thought, you know what?  I’ve been doing the work these last several months.  I have.  He might have nudged me here and there, but the work is mine.  And if I’ve been doing this myself for months, even with varying levels of success, I can do it again.

I sat down and did a few minutes of meditation.  Calm and even.  Counting my breaths, feeling my body, feeling the lingering pain of many past unpleasantnesses.  I stretched my body out, and pondered what I had lost, what had actually changed.

Nothing has changed.  He’s angry and hurt, well, yes.  I can’t change what happened.  He knows I’m sorry and he will decide in time if he’ll forgive me or not.  It’s always possible he’ll decide not to forgive me and he’ll become someone in my past, a treasured memory and a big loss in my heart.  I imagine it’s more likely he’ll eventually forgive me and we’ll be friends again…but that’s not something I can control.

What I can control is my response, and my recovery.

I was off balance before…and then I felt like I’d been turned upside down and abandoned.  But the night and some meditation brought clarity.  My recovery continues unaltered.  My balance is mine to control, mine to dictate.  And I know that as painful as yesterday and last night was, it was a good thing for me to experience.  I feel like I’ve had the training wheels taken off.  I’m ready to do this alone now.