Pain

As my oldest son D looked at me crying and yelling “It’s not funny mom when you joke you may have a boyfriend! Dad’s house is NOT my house. Stop telling me to keep some clothes there!” my heart was breaking. It quite literally felt like I was being smashed into tiny little pieces. I had no words in that moment. Just pain. This burst was apparently building inside of D. His pain glaring at me as his tears quickly slid down his beautiful cheeks. He yelled at me to “fix it.” His reference – the divorce, the two homes. As a mom, that’s what you do right? You fix it. But this I can not. So I walked heavily to the hallway that leads to his room and with a cracked voice flooded with emotion and so full of tears, I spoke the truth…”I believe your father and I have provided you with a wonderful life. And continue to give you a wonderful life. This (situation) is not what I wanted. But I have done and am doing everything I can to make this the best situation for T and you. I would like to think you’d feel I am deserving of happiness.” I just did not have the strength to look at him as I spoke. The hallway was dark and I knew he was tucked in his bed listening. His response was a sincere “I know.” Walking back to my own room, I cried myself to sleep.

My mother had given me a mug she had won for her dad at a carnival about 50 years ago. He passed away several years prior to my birth but many have said he is so much a part of me. Someone about two years ago accidentally broke the handle. I was able to superglue it back together….it continues to sit on my bureau holding miscellaneous items. Even though it was cracked, it was put back together with love and thoughtfulness. Just as it had  been presented to my grandfather from my mom so long ago – with love and thoughtfulness. It’s obviously not the same. When you look closely, you can see the crack. But it’s whole. And it’s perfect. And it represents so much.

Sometimes it’s more about how the pieces are put back together.

It’s Not Okay

Hanging up on me – it’s not okay.

Telling me every time I place the key in the house door, or my car door, or see my boys, it’s because of you. Because you gave me a great life. It’s not okay.

These actions and comments represent a lack of respect. A lack of any acknowledgement of what I do, of what I contribute.

And every time I feel these words, like knives, they cut so deep. So deep I am not sure where the damage ends.

Stating how I feel only lends itself to comments that I am controlling. Exaggerations become truth. The web becomes insular. Yet, the weaver is ignorant to this, only projecting.

Truth is…I am so tired. Physically, emotionally, mentally. I know I will be okay. I know this. I have to be.

Hmmm….Dramatic?

Is Divorce dramaticOr does that description lend itself too much to a theater production? Maybe it’s that the act of divorce is not dramatic so much so as the consequences.

Divorce is breaking apart. But quite possibly it can also be pulling together. Ironic right? In the end, it’s all significant, life altering, and yes dramatic. Truthfully it has rocked my world. My gait unsteady. My mind a tornado of mismatched thoughts. My heart pulled in many directions yet all the while growing bigger and stronger as a result.

Synonyms for dramatic include – significant, considerable, substantial.

Significant? A path reworked. A family redefined. A heart aching for its loss.

Considerable? A life quite literally scheduled differently. A risk leading to vulnerability.

Substantial? Loss. Gain. Strength. Clarity.

So, yes, dramatic. In all its waves of change, divorce has left a lifelong imprint. And while the drama of it all can often implicate a negative aftermath, it continues to be a priority to find the balance. To provide the lesson. To foster growth, truth, and perseverance. To take something so crushing and manipulate it in a way that results in something positive. Something good.

There is no other option – I am a mother.

So I was Told

“No one is telling you how they really feel about you. You force people to lie to you.” With a quick text, a second…self-doubt encompasses me. Others, close and not-so-close, have made me aware of their opinions about me as a person. Some positive and some not so much. And for the most part, fairly accurately. So who is it? Or who are they? Who is not being honest with me? And tell me why I need to care? I expect the truth.

Funny how someone, someone so incredibly close, can take any bits of self-confidence and shred it in a second. “…….But words will never hurt me.” I beg to differ.

Truth

“Being true to yourself means looking within to discover what you know in your heart to be right and then acting on it.” – Baron Baptiste

Truth can be meddled. Does that even make sense? Twisted, manipulated. Even science has a way of dictating results which favor the researchers desired outcomes. Yet, for me, I seek it. I am drawn to truth. Existence is not possible without truth. For me. And I’m beginning to understand, truth is everything. But, it makes everything, at this moment, that much more difficult. Isn’t that paradoxical? It feels it.

 

Truths

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I took this picture recently. After uploading it to my computer, I realized it was more symbolic than initially anticipated. The ferry ride had been a relatively smooth one until we started to break through the ice. You could hear the ship struggling as it made its way through, vibrating the floors, chairs, and tables. Looking down at the ice was beautiful. But looking ahead to the shore line was almost breathtaking. There was beauty in the struggle and beauty in the destination. I must admit, I have been struggling. I am desperately trying to stay focused. To take deep breaths. To calm my mind. My thoughts. I have started to think about truths. And mostly what they mean to different people. Truth is black and white – to me. There are no shades of grey. It’s a yes or no. I think when people try and grey their truth it’s simply a way to manage a mistake. Or maybe a weakness. Truth, bare-boned truth, can hurt. But is undeniable so easier (not to be confused with easy) to accept for that very reason. Truth bares no excuse. It doesn’t need one. It just needs to be accepted. It’s the shades of grey that align with excuses and ultimately hurt more than one can imagine. I don’t believe truth to be flexible. In fact I find that contradictory. It is what it is. What are your truths?