Moving On


2
Aug 11

I’m Scared

Last night I was re-reading the book I’ve been working on.  I’ve been excited to put this project together for you.

As I was reading, those crappy voices assaulted me – the ones that say, “Who the hell gives a shit about Jesse Blayne’s messed up choices?  Who wants to spend two more minutes of their time reading about this woman?  What difference does it make?”

So at 10:30 last night, I fired off an email to my aunt.  She has read the book and offered some invaluable comments and suggestions.  She is smart and wise and good.  She’ll set me straight.

I asked her, “Is this book just a bunch of narcissistic B.S.?  Is it going to help anyone?”

I went to bed prepared to rewrite the whole book.

__________

This morning I realized I’m doing it again – I’m worrying about what everyone else will think.  My default position is to always head in the direction that others think is best.

The others might be my family, or the blogging experts, or the SEO gurus or the ebook generators or the bean counters or whoever else plants seeds of doubt in my already crowded, full-of-doubt brain.

So I did what I always do when I feel the need to take a flyswatter to all those doubts buzzing around in my head.

I started thinking about you.

I started thinking about what you are scared of.

I started thinking about the doubts buzzing around in your head.

You are the person I’ve been writing this book for.

Not the SEO gurus, the ebook generator people, or my mom or Kevlar Man or even my aunt, much as I love her.

__________

I’ve been scared before.

I’ll be scared again.

I’m not changing anything – except for some typos and the whole it’s/its thing – if I catch ’em all.

 

*Just as I was about to hit publish, I got a response from my aunt.  The gist was this:  “Don’t change a thing!  Go Girl!”



13
Jul 11

Waiting

waiting-on-the-moonWhen her babies were small, she had an urge to knit tiny striped mittens with pink and green and purple fuzzy yarns.  Now her kids wouldn’t be caught dead wearing handmade mittens.  Friends were having babies who needed their precious hands protected from the harsh winter winds.  She could make mittens for those babies.

She was waiting for her mom to teach her to knit.

He often found himself at a friend’s house on Saturday afternoons, and after swilling a couple beers, someone would suggest playing a pickup game of basketball.  He’d laugh and say, “I’ll sit this one out.  I’m lousy at basketball.”

He was waiting for his dad to teach him how to play basketball.

He’d read all he could find on SEO, blog traffic, building customer loyalty and what the experts had to say about making money on the internet.  He’d finished his most recent course, made some progress and signed up for the next impressive looking webinar that would surely push his project over the edge.  He lacked the confidence to believe that he had the skills and knowledge that would make his project a success. Continue reading →


11
Jul 11

It’s Good To Have Friends

good-friendOn my third hike up the hill I was breathing hard, wiping the back of my neck and wondering why I wasn’t sitting on the front step with a cup of coffee.

Then she darted out from the tall yellow wildflowers.  Startled, I said, “What are you doing here?  Are you walking the hill with me?”  She meowed and took the lead – for a bit.

She didn’t block my route, and I didn’t block hers.  When the path was wide enough, we walked side-by-side.

We I chatted and talked of the flowers and the wide river and the scent of sage in the air.  I told her it was nice to see her and that her presence made my walking more enjoyable and less of a chore.

Then she let me take the lead.  We walked over the short flowers and around the tall ones, and when we got to the top she stopped and meowed. Continue reading →


26
Jun 11

The Last Straw – An Excerpt from Seeing My Path

the-last-straw…  I reflect on the events that happened right before I decided to leave my marriage. Obviously, as in any marriage that is on the verge of crumbling, there were many issues. Everyone has their own last straw. Mine will not be yours. Your last straw will look completely different from another person’s last straw.

In fact, I’m convinced that we don’t know when that last straw is approaching. We get so busy putting up and shutting up, that we don’t see that the scale has been tipped.

The scale was off balance long ago and we are so busy keeping the peace, scrubbing the floors, making the apologies and hiding the toys, that we don’t notice that nothing more can be added to the scale.

That’s why the last straw is often infinitesimally small. The last straw could be a sideways glance, a pair of dirty socks left on the bedroom floor, or an off-handed comment about the way the chicken was prepared for last night’s dinner.

I didn’t see my last straw coming.

To this day, I marvel at the smallness of the infraction.

But, take many small infractions over years of disappointment and resentment and failed expectations and bars raised too high, and suddenly I met my last straw.

We were sitting at the dinner table with Will and Jenny and my husband’s older kids from his previous marriage. Over messy burgers, fruit salad, Domestic Beers and spilled Kool-Aid we had the disjointed kind of conversation that families have – the kind where you laugh and try to interject something and miss the beat and it just doesn’t matter because after dinner you’ll go outside and eat popsicles and play Bocce Ball.

Somewhere during that conversation, the patriarch – the man of the house, the provider, the role model, the man whose job it is to make us feel loved and welcomed and safe – got up from the table,  mid-bite, and walked upstairs.

(He later told me he was tired of the conversation. He was sick of the boring exchange. We simply no longer interested him.)

His oldest son glanced at me with a look that said, “What did I say that he didn’t like?”  Later, when we cleaned the kitchen together, the oldest told me his father often did that  – left the dinner table – when he and his brother lived with Mark.  I thought he only did that with his new family.

I came up with a feeble excuse about how dad is tired from work, or dad isn’t feeling well.

But that night, his getting up and leaving his family sitting at the table, still eating  their dinners, was my last straw.

After years of seeing the lack of spirit, the inability to make a decision, and the fear of disappointing their father – in these two older children – I realized that by staying in this marriage, I would be letting history repeat itself.

I couldn’t save his oldest kids.

I could try to save mine.

 

Seeing My Path is an ebook that tells the ongoing conversation I’ve been having with myself, and the questions I ask.  It’s a look at how I ended up marrying a narcissist, how I got out of the marriage, and what I’m doing to try to get back on my own path.


23
Jun 11

On Reframing

When he told her he liked her hair longer and that her face looked too full with a shorter cut, she got up the courage to tell him that his comment had hurt her feelings.

He reframed the incident by gently reminding her that she was far to0 sensitive and that he was just trying to help.

 

When he got home from work and commented that she must have had one crazy day since she hadn’t found time to clean the floors, she tried to defend herself.   She explained that she’d been folding clothes, changing diapers, feeding children and preparing dinner and that she hadn’t found the time to get to the floors.

He reframed the conversation and pointed out that dinner would be more enjoyable if the floors were clean. Continue reading →


15
Jun 11

The Filing Cabinet

filing-basket1She’d had the filing cabinet since college, or maybe even high school. It was a bland almond color and it leaned to the right under the weight of all the files. It was a struggle to open the drawers. When she did, the drawer scraped against the metal sides of the cabinet, opening to reveal a mess of papers, their crumpled corners poking out of worn manila file folders.

There was no real organization to the drawers.

She had categorically filed in the beginning, but the sheer number of papers now prevented an orderly system. The drawers of the two-drawer cabinet could not hold any more folders. She was considering buying a larger cabinet.

Each filed note or paper represented a hurt, a slight, or a rude comment. She hadn’t filed based on intent. There wasn’t a drawer for intended hurts or a second drawer for accidental digs.

On rainy days, when the kids were busy playing, she’d go into her bedroom and slowly open a drawer. For some reason, she couldn’t resist re-visiting the hurtful comments written on the worn pages. Continue reading →


7
Jun 11

What To Do With A Crate of Lemons

Sunday evening someone left a big wooden crate of lemons on my front step.  There were lemons spilling out of the crate and rolling down the steps into my front yard.

Lemons were everywhere.

Oh, what to do with all those lemons.

While I could have decided not to bring the lemons inside, that thought never occurred to me.  I picked up the lemons that had rolled down the stairs and brought them into the house.  I went back out to get the crate.  I placed them all on the kitchen table.

Jenny’s best friend was spending the night, so Jenny was happily oblivious, and didn’t even notice the lemons.  Will helped me pick up lemons, all the while asking questions. Continue reading →


4
Jun 11

The Commencement Address I Wish I’d Heard

Congratulations!  You did it!

Pat yourself on the back.  While that might be the only pat you get, it’s the only one that matters.

You’ve proven that you can sit still, be quiet, stand in line and follow rules.  Those skills will come in handy.

Now it’s time to create your future.

You don’t have to know what that is today.  In fact, you don’t have to have a plan.  You don’t have to pursue a title or a label or lots of dollars.  You do, however, owe it to yourself to find something you love doing.

How do you know what that is, you ask? Continue reading →


25
May 11

The Making of a Passive-Aggressive

you-bore-me“Dad’s here!”  Instead of heading to the door to greet him, she ran to her bedroom to change her shirt.  As he walked into the living room, she came walking in from the hallway wearing a hand-me-down t-shirt.  She smiled up at Mark, and said, “Hi, Daddy!”

I don’t think he noticed her shirt.  If he did, he didn’t say anything.  If he did, he certainly wouldn’t have thought it applied to him.

After he left, I asked her why she’d decided to wear that shirt.  She stretched the shirt out in front of her so I could read it better.  She looked up at me and grinned.  She didn’t say anything.  She didn’t need to.

I didn’t discuss the appropriateness or inappropriateness of her choice.

______ Continue reading →


20
May 11

Not Your Typical Birthday Post

presentsAs I sit here sipping coffee, smelling blueberry pancakes and looking at the birthday presents my kids made and wrapped, I can’t help but think I ought to be writing an inspirational post about what it’s like to be turning 49.  Gasp!

I could write about 49 lessons learned in 49 years.  That might be tricky since many of those lessons I didn’t get the first, second, or even third time, so that list could get pretty redundant.

I could write about being grateful that my mom is still here to make me what I want for my birthday dinner.

I could write about the surprise of my dad remembering my birthday, inviting me to lunch and suggesting that Jen and Will come along, too.

Or, I could mention the amazing growth I’ve experienced in the last few years, from learning all I can about narcissism and how that has helped the three of us.

I could write about how blessed the three of us are with old and new friends, wonderful extended family and the folks who read this blog and contribute to our learning and healing.

But while I’m sitting here waiting for Will to serve me a second pancake, smothered in butter and a splash of real maple syrup, I have to say that I’m wondering if there’s anything to this Rapture/End-Of-Our-Days stuff, that is supposed to happen tomorrow.

I can’t get beyond thinking….

 

Holy Shit!  If this Rapture stuff is true, I won’t have to spend the whole next year agonizing about turning 50!

 

Woot!


19
May 11

You Tell Me

So…

I received what I thought was a spam comment, only I wasn’t sure.  It/he/she said, “I can’t view your site from my phone. Help!”  So I got to looking and checking on plugins and upgrades and CSS stuff.  I even considered pursuing a degree in Computer Software or How to Pretend Like You Know What You Are Doing With Computers, and then I thought I’d ask you.

Would you like to be able to view this site on your phone?

What would you like to see here?

Is there a subject you’d like to see discussed?

Are there topics or discussions that you’d like to see more of?

I am loving my random approach to topics, but I always go back to thinking of the survivors out there and the ones who read here.   I want to continue to share the tools that have helped the three of us.

If there’s something that you’d like to see here, that you think would help your corner of the world, please list that in the comment section below.

 

Thank you, spammer or nice person or whatever you are for asking about how to view this blog on your phone.

 

One day I might be savvy enough, or even care to want to view a blog on my phone. Don’t hold your breath. I’d have to wrestle my phone away from Will, first.

In the meantime, thank you for reading, commenting, and recommending this blog to your friends. This site only gets richer if more take part in the sharing.


16
May 11

A Charmed Life

skater-dudeThe front door flew open.  I looked up just in time to see him toss his helmet on the couch.  “Mom!  You got the house phone, right?  Did dad call?”

“Not yet, Will.  You sent a bunch of texts and a couple voice mails.  He must be busy.  He’ll get back to you.”

Against all odds, Will had invited his dad to check out the remaining snow on the ski hill.  It was the sort of outing that Mark usually suggested, so there was a good chance he might consider going.  In fact, Mark had said that it sounded like a good thing to do on a Sunday since he’d be done with work.  Later, when Will realized what he was in for, he said, “What did I do that for?  Why did I invite dad?  I always think it sounds like a good idea, but it’s never that great when we actually go.”

 

That’s how it is for the child of a narcissist – they crave the attention of that narcissistic parent like any kid craves attention from a parent, only when they get the attention, they usually end up hurt, rejected or dismissed.  Or, they get hurt when the parent doesn’t show up, even if there’s a sense of relief that they are spared another unpleasant visit. Continue reading →


13
May 11

On Antiperspirant and Aha Moments

dandelionsShe’d just walked in the back door from checking on the neighbor’s dog.  Time to start baking treats for the church banquet and making calls to beg for donations for the school fundraiser,  in between loads of laundry.  She had the T.V. on for background noise, even though she didn’t have time to watch anything.

Her Aha Moment was delivered by the Power of Oprah, as so many Aha Moments are, these days.

She paused long enough to lean against the kitchen counter, a spatula in one hand, cell phone in the other.  She ignored the sound of the dryer buzzer while she let Oprah’s message sink in.

She would be turning 50 soon, and she finally realized that she’d spent her entire life in a flurry of activity trying to please, make nice, and earn love, all because she never really felt love coming from her mom.

After taking the clothes out of the drying, and de-panning the rest of the chocolate chip cookies, she sent me an email. Continue reading →


6
May 11

The Deer or the Tick

She dipped another bite of chicken in ketchup, and stared out the window.

I could see she was contemplating something, but I asked, “Are you going to take that bite?”

She put the fork down and got off her stool.  Then, in uncharacteristic fashion, she picked up the stool and slammed it on the floor five times.  She sat back down and said, “There!”

I looked at Will to gauge his reaction.  This wasn’t like Jenny at all.

“Um, Jen…  what was that about?”

“I’m just frustrated with dad.  I’m tired of crying.  Eight year old girls shouldn’t pout, it’s embarrassing, so I figured I’d slam my stool a few times.  I do feel a little better, except look at all the junk on the floor from slamming the stool.  Sorry about that.”

_____

I could have launched into another of my “motivating” talks about how feelings are important.

  • It’s good to talk about it.
  • I know how you feel.
  • What’s the funny part of this story?
  • Do you really want to be in a funk right now?
  • Let’s choose a new attitude.

blah blah blah blah blah

I’m tired of hearing myself say the same things over and over again.  I have to think they are tired of hearing the same things, too.

So I acknowledged her frustrations.  I let her calm herself down.  I think I said something wise like, “That sucks, doesn’t it?”

We finished dinner and went outside to skateboard, draw on the sidewalk with chalk, laugh at the cat and walk the hill.

_____

The next morning we eased into home school in our most favorite way – I read a couple chapters to them.

This is the pearl we uncovered that morning:

“… your pain, like all you feel, is great.  Yet I fear that instead of stepping through your pain, as you and I have stepped through many a marsh, you have let it cling to you, like the blood-thirsty tick that rides our backs for months on end.” —Eremon, the stag
an excerpt from T.A. Barron’s book, The Fires of Merlin

 

Therein lies the power in storytelling.


4
May 11

Three Candles

candles-beforeThey’d been walking hand-in-hand down the sunny side of Main Street.  She stopped in front of a window displaying candles, flower arrangements, leather-bound journals, potpourri sachets and tiny jars of hand creams.  Just then the door opened and they were enveloped by floral and citrus scents, sandalwood and patchouli.

Against his resistance, she pulled him inside the boutique.  She’d eyed these tiny clear blue votive holders.  They spoke to her of honesty, purity, timelessness, commitment and truth – all the things she believed she felt in this relationship with this man holding her hand.  They were a symbol of this new life full of promise and light.

She had to have them.

She could see herself – at the end of a day – lighting these candles to remind her of how lucky they were to find each other.  These candles would bring them close together at those times when life would get in the way and try to drag them apart.  These lit candles would be the glue that held them together.

She was sure that some nights he would light the candles for her or, at the very least, he’d light them with her. Continue reading →