He said he’d be here at 9:oo a.m.
Then he changed his mind.
He didn’t want to do what the kids wanted to do so he said, “I’m not coming at nine. I don’t want to go where they want to go.”
The kids called and sent texts asking why he didn’t want to go where they wanted to go.
He avoided answering calls and texts.
I went to his house to ask him why he is manipulating the kids in this way.
He refused to answer the door. Continue reading →
When 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 →
… 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.
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 →
She’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 →
“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 →
They’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 →
Last week I got a word salad in my inbox. Whether in oral form or written form, I’ve taken to mentally and physically preparing myself before making my way through these salads. If he’s delivering the word salad to me in person, I usually prop myself up against a door frame.
History has taught me to settle in, because these can take awhile.
If the word salad is in written form, I usually make myself a fresh cup of coffee and find a comfortable chair.
Last week’s sermon was about the difficulties he was experiencing trying to get the kids stuff for Easter. Within the run-on sentences about, “I just don’t know what they like…” and “They are growing up so fast…” I found a sentence that made my blood boil.
“… I understand that they aren’t supposed to come over to my house.” Continue reading →
As I walked through Target looking for something to get the kids for Easter, I passed the poofy, over-the-top Easter Dresses. I remember getting a couple Easter Dresses for Jenny.
She didn’t wear them to church.
She wore them in the garden while digging for worms.
She didn’t really need an Easter Dress. I needed to be able to buy her one. I needed to be able to take a picture of my little girl in a frilly, crinoline-stuffed, white dress, with a pink satin ribbon tied at her tiny waist.
That dress and the picture were on my list – the long, guilt-driven, impossible-to-achieve list of All Things Moms Do. Continue reading →
“There’s no such thing as certainty.”
“Take it one day at a time.”
“People grow and change.”
“Forever is for Twinkies and the winter of 2010-2011.”
“There are no guarantees in life.” Continue reading →
Will is still struggling with images of ghosts entering his mind every night at bedtime. Jenny just cut five inches off her long blond hair.
I’ve been mopping up the mess as best I can.
I’m providing them with lots of distractions – there’s packing to do, new books to check out, sketch books and art supplies to gather and journals to fill.
We are leaving town in search of Spring and a new perspective.
I’m hoping some sun will warm our winter-weary bones, and heal our bruised psyches. Continue reading →
Will is a compassionate fellow with a tender, sensitive side and a fearless streak that makes him charge down ski hills at a speed that launches him into powder and shrubs and stuff that he can’t see. Occasionally he checks out the landing before he jumps, but not always.
He’s like a lot of twelve year old boys in that he’s fascinated with the unknown, the risky, the adventurous and the slightly scary. Kids thrive within the safety of boundaries – set rules of behavior, established bed times, and defined expectations. That’s why they find it exciting to step just beyond those boundaries once in awhile. It’s thrilling to tempt fate, stay up late, skip school one day or ski out of bounds and brag to your friends.
When a child has a parent who doesn’t stand firm on boundaries, that child will have a tendency to feel untethered. There will be a need to talk about boundaries. He’ll have to ask and be reassured that the boundaries haven’t changed. That kid’s foundation is tilted. They don’t have a secure knowledge that they truly know where the lines are drawn.
It’s okay to discuss the latest slasher film on the chairlift with a buddy, when at the end of the day, that kid goes home with a parent who reassures him that he is safe and protected, and that the doors are locked and the bad guys can’t get him.
It is not okay to have your dad tell horror stories in the car as the day comes to a close on the way home, only to drop you off and say, “Hey, Buddy, I’ll tell you more scary stories next time.” Continue reading →
“Oh, sweetie! You should have seen the darling little eight year old girl who wanted to dance with me at the meeting. She had long curly blond hair, and a big beautiful smile. I know her parents. She came up to me, jumped in my lap and asked me to dance with her. She was a really good dancer, too.” Mark could hardly contain himself when telling Jenny of the story of the little girl who fell in love with him.
He quickly switched gears and said, “Jenny, honey, we’re getting ready to go. Shouldn’t you find socks that match? Let’s go look in your dresser drawer to see if we can find two socks that match.”
“Daddy, you told me to hurry, so I just grabbed the first two socks I saw. I’m wearing boots, Daddy. No one will see that my socks don’t match.”
“Isn’t that funny that you wear mismatched socks. Did you brush your hair today?”
“Yes, Daddy, I just brushed it.” Continue reading →
“Mom, will you help me make a bunch of paper airplanes? I’m making an Army of Love.” Jenny showed me how to fold the paper, told me the color order and where the gas tank went, and we made 13 paper jets. As we were folding and coloring and giggling and talking of paper cuts, I asked her how she came up with the idea. “I dunno,” she said. “It’s a good idea. I think they should fly over the world dropping candy hearts, like little love bombs.”
While my daughter might have a fine imagination, she also knows of the practicality of forming an Army of Love. I don’t need to spoil the fun by saying, “Come on, Jen, do you really think there’d ever be such a thing? Wouldn’t it really be an Air Force of Love, even if it could be real?”
She’s exploring possibility through art and writing. She’s gotten a taste of the more unpleasant aspects of life. It’s good to balance that with the freedom to try, to imagine, to pretend.
It’s good to be free to wonder.
It’s good to be allowed to try, with the belief that anything is possible. Continue reading →
Monday, I received an email from Mark. In the email he told me that Jen and Will are truly amazing children, and he thanked me for doing such a great job raising them.
I know.
Hard to believe, isn’t it? Continue reading →
