I am a work in progress and so is this blog.
First, some chronology to set the stage:
5 1/2 years ago - Stuff three boxes, buckle two young kids into car seats, leave husband, nice house, financially secure future, perpetual stomach aches and nicest yard* I’ll ever tend. Continue reading →
She hadn’t written him a letter explaining. She hadn’t told him she was leaving. She didn’t realize – until she saw her hands putting her journal, a laptop, and some clothes in a box – that she was leaving. Continue reading →
Whether it comes from years of looking inward, or years of not seeing clearly, I don’t know. Their eyes take on a cloudiness that makes it look like they have a difficult time focusing on the rest of the world. Continue reading →
One step forward, two steps back.
One step forward, two steps back.
One step for……
I know, already!
Yet I can be found grumbling, kicking rocks and beating myself up with each one of those steps taken back.
My cheerleader voice says:
“Focus on the progress.”
“See how far you’ve come.”
“Hello, Girl! You are way better off now than you were five years ago!”
“It’s okay to slip up once in awhile.”
And because I was never a cheerleader in real life – is high school real life? – I gravitate to the curmudgeon side of me that says:
“Why do you let him get to you?”
“Wow, Jesse, way to emulate grace and poise,” in a most facetious tone.
“Hello? Have you forgotten what the pattern is here?”
And then the wise old soul in me – the one who lightens up, the one who doesn’t take all this shit too seriously, the one gently encouraged by the Universe, the one whose cup is empty says:
“Jesse, it’s okay.”
“That’s what it’s like to be human.”
“Slip-ups happen on the way to progress.”
“You are showing your kids that it’s okay to make a mistake, own it, and move on.”
“Remember that thing about the bitter and the sweet?”
“Just keep moving, honey, and don’t put so damn much emphasis on those two steps back.”
I have a choice.
I could wake this morning, annoyed that winter is on its way, and I’ll soon be shoveling walks and hauling firewood; or I could appreciate the built-in exercise routine that doesn’t require a monthly health club fee.
I could be angry that I am a single mom with full responsibility for raising two kids by myself; or I could appreciate how fortunate I am that they are with me 98 percent of the time.
I could be missing the much nicer house we used to live in, and the lack of money worries; or I could appreciate that this home is full of love and comfort, and my kids have learned valuable lessons that come from living within our means.
I could be annoyed by the mess from the English Muffins and coffee makings; or I could appreciate that they can make their own breakfast, and make me a cup while they’re at it.
I could be anxious that I’m single and 49; or I could revel in the sheer joy of being single and 49.
I could be worried about what the future holds, and whether I’ll benefit from the choices I’m making; or I could trust that the level of contentment I see in the three of us is a good indication that we are headed in the right direction.
I could be cranky about having started a bathroom remodel when I know next to nothing about such things; or I could turn this into a homeschool project where all three of us learn in the process.
I could bark at the kids when I can’t handle the mess; or I could acknowledge that this is their house, too, and gently ask them to help when I feel overwhelmed.
__________
I could choose to see what is wrong in our life and our choices; or I could choose to see what is right.
I can choose to wake with a positive attitude and greet my two with a smile and a kind voice that gets the day off to a good start.
I have a choice.
*Thank you, Kate. ;)
They are in there.
I promise.
You might have to train yourself to look at things differently.
Some bright spots may require a little effort on your part.
Some bright spots just happen.
Once you notice them, savor them.
Scary is having your son’s 1st grade teacher ask you if there are problems at home that might explain your son’s nervous tic.
Scary is loosing contact with family and friends because your husband doesn’t like you to keep in touch over the phone or have company come for dinner.
Scary is not being able to sleep because you fear the treatment you’ll receive the next day because you will – once again – disappoint him and fail to meet his expectations.
Scary is believing that you have done something to bring about the treatment you are receiving.
Scary is staring out the window while sipping the morning’s first cup of coffee and realizing that the emptiness you feel every day is what you are going to feel for the rest of your life, if you don’t get out of this situation.
Scary is realizing you have forgotten who you are.
Scary is finally getting the courage to write him a letter explaining your fears and desperation, only to have him tell you that the issues are yours and he’ll support you in your efforts to fix them.
Scary is believing you don’t deserve any better.
Scary is knowing that your husband can’t see his own children for who they are, but tries to mold them into what he wants them to be.
Scary is knowing that if you stay, your children’s spirits will be snuffed out.
Scary is feeling so frightened and desperate that you pack your bags and leave the house you’ve lived in for thirteen years without having a backup plan.
Scary is knowing everyone thinks you are crazy for leaving such a wonderful person.
Scary is getting out, and fearing you’ll end up in another relationship with a narcissist.
Who am I to question the wise words of Maya Angelou? Continue reading →
At his address, the toys are neatly put away, the art supplies stay tucked in the cupboard and the towels are folded the minute the dryer buzzes. Continue reading →
