I could have said, “Geez you guys! I can’t handle this stuff laying around everywhere!”
I could have said, “I want more time to do what I love, instead of having to pick up after you two!”
I could have said, “I need a break from this mess!”
I could have said a number of things, but while I was washing off the metaphorical dirt in the shower, I hatched a better plan.
It went something like this:
Take out a piece of paper. 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.”
One day, I’m going to get an internship at the Behr Paint Factory. I’ll show up for work in jeans and sit in one of those spinning desk chairs that tip back. I’ll prop my feet on the desk and throw Nerf basketballs in the net above the coffee machine. I’ll spend the whole day brainstorming with my jean-clad co-workers about paint names.
I’ll yell out, “Champagne Moon, you know, for that iridescent yellowish quality that a full moon has.”
The gal at the corner desk will say, “Crushed Grass, you know… when you step on grass and it gets that lighter shade of Kelly Green.”
There will be that guy in the office who hits on every female, and he’ll say, “How about Wet Sheets, for….”
And the girl at the corner desk will roll her eyes and cut him off. Continue reading →
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. ;)
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?
When I discovered that quote, it didn’t sit right with me, and yet I still posted it. Now, I’m wondering if I posted her quote because I wish – with all my heart – that we could allow kids to be uninformed. (I like uninformed better than ignorant.)
I wish my kids could waltz through their childhoods believing in the mischievousness of Larry the Leprechaun, the eternal kindness and generosity of Santa and the mystery of the Tooth Fairy without having to know the darker sides of human nature.
I’d love nothing more than for them to think all teachers are as endearing as Miss Honey.
I want them to sail through these years without having to know what sexting is. I want Will to go to the skate park without my having to define the terms he finds written in spray paint in the bowls of the park. I want Jenny to be able to wear her hair in braided pigtails without other girls teasing her that she still dresses like a little girl. 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.
At her address, the toys are everywhere, the baby dolls have dinner with the family, the art supplies are never tucked away because they are used constantly and the clean towels are grabbed out of the laundry basket on the way to the shower.
Dinner at his house is something adults would enjoy eating and kids would pick around while hoping to get a PBJ after the dishes are done. Around the table in the orderly dining room, more attention is paid to manners and less to conversation.
Dinner at her house is about coming together, helping with the prep, making sure there’s something on the table that each person will eat, and moving art supplies to make room for plates. There might be a gentle reminder about not talking with a mouthful of macaroni. There will be lots of laughing, stories of the day, and sometimes a few tears. Continue reading →
Through tears she asked, “How come he says other kids do things well, but he can’t say that about me? How come he doesn’t think I’m great? What do I have to do to get him to say those things about me?”
Will turned to me and said, “Mom, you have to call him. Tell him! Tell him he needs to say that stuff about Jenny. Tell him it hurts Jen’s feelings when he brags about other kids and doesn’t talk about what Jen does. Call him!”
I asked Will to hand Jenny a kleenex.
“Honey, I can call your dad if that’s what you want. I can talk to him about this – again. If you think that will help you to feel better, I’ll do it.”
She wiped her tears and said, “It never does any good. It never makes a difference. He won’t change. He doesn’t hear us. What’s the point?” Continue reading →
For what it’s worth, the following is a list of pearls – advice I’ve received over the last so many years.
Some was delivered by a caring family member or a dear friend.
Some was gleaned from a magazine article or a self-help book.
Some was uncovered while searching the internet in the wee hours.
Some was initially ignored.
These are the most useful words that I turn to when I don’t know where else to turn. These aren’t direct quotes, but paraphrases of helpful bits that have gotten us through.
*Share your favorite advice in the comments below. Let’s compile a fabulous list.
“If you think this isn’t very hard, that’s because you have been steadily working on getting to this point this whole time.
If someone set us down in front of a block of stone and said, “Here, get going. Create a magnificent relief of a Goddess, and don’t get up until you’re done,” that would be daunting. But if that block of stone came with instructions to create a Goddess by chipping away a little each day, the project wouldn’t be quite as overwhelming.
The work we’ve done didn’t happen overnight. You didn’t just wake up and decide to get the clear picture, stand in the wind and dust on this plateau, stretch your arms and legs, fill your lungs with fresh air, and jump onto a new path.
This has been a long time in the making. Every choice and path correction has led to this point. Continue reading →
We ran out of Fritos.
Now we’re on to a 3-layered, sinfully dark chocolate cake. The layers are filled with chocolate flavored mascarpone cheese. I’ll cut you a thin slice because it’s so rich.
We’re celebrating the 2nd birthday of the blog and the release of my first e-book!
I know! I said I was going to write this book.
I did it!
This book is all new content!
There’s nothing quite like setting a goal, realizing a dream and having Will and Jenny by my side telling me how proud they are.
__________
I’m going to eat some more cake, pat myself on the back, and smother my kids a bit.
I’ll be back here to reply to some comments and write another post. Soon.
In the meantime, thank you all for encouraging me on the book. Thank you for visiting this site and hanging out with us. Thank you for your compassion and wise words.
I am blessed to have you touch my life.
Pass the cake!
Edit: 5/31/21
The sidebar includes links to free copies of my e-books. Please help yourself.
It feels good typing the title of this post.
I hope you like Fritos. We’re also serving lemonade because, well, we have all those lemons. I have to enjoy a little wine on a birthday. Jenny is throwing confetti. Will is tech decking in the background.
And there’s gratitude flowing through the room
It’s the 2nd birthday here at survivingnarcissism.com.
I don’t know how it happened.
Yes! We’ve journeyed through another year on this blog. Continue reading →
Because a little girl’s imaginary pony can get so very hungry.
I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living, it’s a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope. Which is what I do, and that enables you to laugh at life’s realities. Theodore Geisel
I wanted to find out what happened to Lisbeth Salander – really, I did. I made it to page 532, out of 600 pages. I almost got there. In the middle of the book, where she’s attacked by the bad guy, I almost quit reading. I told myself, “Oh come on, you wimp, certainly there will be justice in the end. Keep reading.” But at about page 489, I’d walk by my nightstand and I’d swear the book was growling and baring its teeth at me. I felt the need to cross my arms in front of my chest to protect myself.
I returned the book – unfinished – to my girlfriend. She’d also loaned me the second in the series. “I’m sorry,” I muttered, “I can’t do it. It hurts to read it.” She knows me. She just smiled. I looked at her coffee table and saw another book that looked intriguing, and started to say, “How’s that one?” She politely stopped me and said, “You won’t like that one, either.”
*sigh*
I wanted to watch Javier Bardem in “Biutiful“. Last night I tucked the kids in and sat down for a rare treat – a grown-up movie. I made it through 50 minutes before my stomach started to tighten and I noticed my fists were clenched. It was raw and edgy and artsy and he was biutiful. I had to stop watching to protect myself from the anxiety I feel whenever I’m exposed to turmoil.
*sigh* Continue reading →
