Boundaries For Love = Self-Control

"This is not a good time to talk. I don't know what to think. I think you should leave. I am not in a good place right now. This is not a good time." My heart was racing, my hands trembling as I tried to concentrate on keeping my arms from appearing to flail wildly while I spoke.

The Mr. had shown up at the door unexpectedly yesterday, to do some damage control with our kids after we were all exposed to some hurtful information about him. He refused to leave...

Everything escalated after that, though I believe none of us truly wanted it to. I don't regret anything I said, because I spoke truth but I was too frustrated and wasted too many words that were not received and didn't want to be heard. Pearls to swine...

I am still figuring out the whole healthy boundaries and relational health 'thing'. It doesn't come naturally to me yet.

While I feel and one could say my husband didn't respect my boundary-the truth is, I didn't. It's always about self control. I could have (and should have) removed *myself* from the situation.

I also realized I have done the same thing my husband did many times...He has expressed in tense moments, that he didn't want to talk-and while there was some rejection and avoidance at play there, it never went well nor did it build trust to not respect the limit he was trying to convey.

Controlling ourselves with boundaries is not meant as punishment or emotional manipulation like the 'silent treatment'. It's meant to preserve our love and prevent damage to relationship.

My path to healing and relational health involves leading my children along this path with me. The Mr. ended up giving them permission and respecting their desire for 'space' (a healthy boundary) after yesterday's upset. The middles long for relationship with their dad but not at the cost of their own emotional health, well being and personal value system. They have decided they are OK talking on the phone to him when he calls but not hanging out with him.

When we create space, teach our children their worth which includes valuing their feelings, how to adequately manage them and use self control, they can then feel confident to recognize and stand up for their own boundaries/limits and learn to safely disengage from mistreatment.

We were able to convey that we all love, respect and forgive my husband and he is free to continue on this negative path along with the consequences of that choice, which includes a lack of intimate and close relationship with us, his family. He did not like that nor want it, he wants it *all* with out consequence...but surprisingly, so far, he accepted their decision. He also tried to reassure *them* of his love, though his actions convey only *self love*. We all accepted his choice as well.

We all, including the Mr, looked a bit battle worn today. The Mr was subdued and possibly remorseful and humbled as he came to get the kids. Only the 5yo went with him. I suspect this is affecting him, as in the past he would have approached arrogantly and upbeat, as if nothing had happened.

Sigh.

Keep pursuing healthy love and healing.

I Don't Want to Have Anything to DO With Him Ever Again!

Last night, I went to bed with a heavy heart, nearly heart broken all over again. My middle son was triggered and began to share his heart. We MUST STOP what we are doing when those who share so tentatively, take a moment to trust us with their tender vulnerability, and REALLY LISTEN--not only to them but to God, at the same time, for divine wisdom--parenting can be challenging sometimes.

His jaw was set hard but it didn't stop those big, silent, crocodile tears from streaming down his 14 year old face, over the peach fuzz above his lips. "I don't want to EVER be compared to dad. I don't like that. I am nothing like him and I don't want to be!"

He continued, "I am ready to move on...I am ready to let go." His shoulders tensed as the tears came in waves. Fourteen year olds should not have to be stoic.

"What do you mean by move on? Let go? What does that look like for you?" I asked softly.

"I mean, I just want to forget about him. I don't want to be around him. I don't want to have anything to do with him." He said, his anger and pain rushing again to the surface.

"You won't ever forget him...I mean every time you look in the mirror..." I smiled. "I know you love him and that is why you feel hurt. People disappoint us. I am sorry you are facing this situation."

Barely holding back my own tears, I tried to use my words sparingly. A hand on his shoulder...wishing I could cuddle him in my lap and he didn't have to feel what he was experiencing. Silently saying my own prayer for wisdom...I reminded him of the WORD. "God says He will use what is meant for harm, for good." I continued to speak intentionally into his life, heart and soul, "You are forgiving. You have a heart of compassion and you know, maybe more than others your age, how God is your provider and because of the pain you have felt, you feel compassion for others...."

More tears, more words, more heart ache...

"His DNA is in your blood, along with mine, you are part of both of us. You also have the DNA of Christ, which over rides negative behavior. You stay humble and continue to rely on Christ and you will be a responsible and loving husband and father some day... It might be helpful to focus on and remember the good times you shared with your dad. I know you have good memories with him."

In the end, we were both worn and it was late.

Today, the Mr was scheduled to pick them up for a couple hours before work. Everyone slept in later than usual. No one was in a hurry to leave either when dad showed up at 10am.

I checked in on my 14yo and in typical 14yo fashion, he was 'fine.' Tired but fine. He still chose NOT to express his heart to his dad...none of them feel safe enough for that yet...but the burden was lifted. He said he just needed to 'release' what he had been holding in.

Amazing what comfort a listening ear can be. Also a reminder that negative emotions can be handled appropriately, redirected and they DO PASS, therefor, we do NOT have to act on them. 

I wanted to be angry. For both of us. For him, having to feel so hurt. For my pain, cause he was hurting AND for having to deal with it ALONE. I was tempted to text my older son (21yo) who was out w/ friends-to come home immediately, for 'back up' (they have a good relationship)--BUT knowing I had to be the parent God has created me to be! I AM the parent & I have been CHOSEN, qualified and capable of handling the *hard stuff*.

JUST AS YOU have been! You CAN do this. No, you DON'T have to play BOTH parental roles...just YOUR role. I am not perfect. I *consistently* pray for WISDOM, not only as a human on this planet BUT specifically as a PARENT...in this 'situation'. We are dealing with circumstances above and beyond the normal call of duty. God promises to give wisdom. Start or KEEP reading Proverbs--EVERY day. Keep praying. Keep speaking life. Don't give up.   

{this was NOT all of his or our conversation--as I want to respect his privacy, but I feel free to share portions of MY part. I know you all understand.  }

Happy Birthday to Me

It was the day after the investigative interview. I was still reeling and felt pretty confused and depressed. Before I was even out of bed my daughter greeted me with a large gift bag containing a gift her dad, my estranged husband, had taken them to get for me. I immediately burst into tears.

Once again, I was only left with the same plaguing thought, How did we get here?

In less than 24 hours my husband had chosen to disown both our oldest son and myself on social media.

Any birthday plans I imagined I'd have, all went up in the air when the middles got a last minute call for an audition in Santa Monica. That was going to take a significant portion of our day just for the drive back. Oh well.

We had rehearsal that night and arrived late to a surprise shout of HAPPY BIRTHDAY from my cast mates. That filled my heart with warmth.

I fought not to get down. It's just a day, in the big scheme of things. Tears dry up quickly.

As I left to get oldest from work, a friend showed up at the same time bearing gifts! What a fabulous surprise. I was literally on my way out the door and there she was ready to knock. This isn't a friend I see very much, if at all, anymore but here she was. How special to know that God had laid it on her heart to remember me and bless me like this. We talked way too long, or I did at least, and she was kind enough to listen and understand.

Later, I sat on my couch, everyone finally in bed, reviewing the day when a message popped up on my social media account. Another friend wrote to tell me they left a gift on my porch for me. What!?! It was almost midnight too. How exciting is that? I jumped up, threw the door open to find a pot of fresh Easter Lillies, and a gift bag of goodness. This was another friend I don't see very often either. Again, God put me on her mind to bless.

Happy tears this time. Grateful tears. Tears of gratitude and love. My day had come full circle, starting and ending with tears, accompanied by opposing emotions.

In a dark time and space, God remembers us. He shows us His love for us. He created us in our mother's womb, hand crafted...how could He ever forget our birthday?

Happy Birthday Mom

Mom,

Well, the tears started last night. Are you surprised? You didn't really know the non-robotic me, I don't think. I started the memory wreath tonight, I'll finish it tomorrow I guess. I think I started this 'tradition' last year, in memory of you and Ernesto's dad and grandma. It's something I guess...to keep my hands busy, moving. I don't know. It just seems like a nice sentiment. It's made out of rosemary, which is symbolic for remembrance.

There's so much going on right now, mom. I can't stop the tears, even though I try. I've really made a mess of things and I don't know how to fix it. I can't fix it I guess and I wish so bad I could. I don't know what else to do.

My life has pretty much come full circle. And it really sucks. I've been completely rejected and abandoned...pretty much a repeat of my birth, huh? Funny how that works. I guess you would really understand if you were here...and if I told you. I think there were things you wanted to tell me--but you didn't. I suppose that is because I didn't let you, maybe. I'm not sure.

It wasn't fair of you either, you know. You resolved your self of the guilt of your 'secret' but you didn't stop to think how you were transferring the burden on me to carry. That's not really fair to a little girl, don't you think? I'm not mad at you for it, but I think it's long past time to be honest about this. It wasn't fair to put that on me and then be unwilling to answer my questions about the situation. How can a little girl process the idea of abandonment & rejection--that I didn't even know about until you chose to tell me? What did you expect me to do w/ that information? Why did you act like you were willing  to answer questions when I was seven, and didn't have any, but not when I was 17 and did? Why couldn't you be mature enough to answer MY questions about it then?

I know why. Because you weren't. I don't really blame you--it wasn't your fault. I know things didn't go as you expected and probably dreamt about either. Wow, how I can understand that now. I can see your disappointments now. I understand why you were so tired and seemed so angry. I feel it now. I'm feeling that same disappointment and anger and fatigue.

I guess, maybe, we both bought into the fairytale, huh? I never thought this before, but maybe we both were actual romantics at heart. I didn't even realize it for myself until the fairy tale began to unravel. I thought love would save us...I still hope it can--but that just might be the hopeless romantic in me.

How did I get here, mom? I really believed my life would be so different from yours. From my perspective--it really looks like it's nearly the same--in all the disappointing ways. The childhood abandonment, the welfare, the depression, even going back to school--and I might have to give up being a stay-at-home-mom at some point too, like you did. At least you and dad stayed together. For whatever that was worth. I'm sorry--I know it was worth it. Did you know that mom? It meant something. It meant a lot.

I'm sorry we weren't as close as you wanted us to be--sooner anyway. I really thought since you and Birdy hit it off, you'd have the best friend you always wanted in me. How could we know the time would be so short? I thought I was stronger than you mom--but I don't really think I am. I don't think that anymore. I don't think I can do this mom. I don't think I can deal with all the disappointment. I don't know HOW to 'get over it'. Did you? Did you really?

Or maybe you didn't and that was why you were depressed. What did you ever figure out, at all those therapist appointments? What was the secret? How did you do it mom? Cause I really need to know. Really.

Sometimes people mention you, a perception of you--and I don't know that part. I didn't see it. Someone called you a prayer warrior. Is that true? Cause if so, I didn't know that. How did I not know that? But if you were--guess what? So am I. I guess. I am. More like a prayer desperado (ie: desperate criminal) than prayer warrior.

Why did you stop journaling? I tried to find your journals. I wanted to read them. I wanted to know all your secrets. I wanted to read about myself, from your perspective. The things maybe you wanted to tell me but didn't. I only found a few books, maybe, but they were BLANK mom! Where are they? I found one and it only had writing on ONE page--about dieting or something. Really, mom? Dieting!?!

I write mom. I know you wanted to write--I think, right? You liked it. You started that blog--I'm sorry, I forgot the password so now it's lost in cyber-space. Both of them, and I regret that. You'd be excited about my writing. Not the personal stuff, but the writing I get paid for. Thank you for always being encouraging. It meant a lot to me. Really. Even if I didn't believe you, thought you were just saying it because you were my mom and that's what moms do. But I still really liked hearing it.

Why didn't you say anything before you died? Did you really not have anything to say? Did you tell dad? Were you waiting for me to ask?

I want to go to the cemetery. I'd actually like to go more often. At the same time, it feels silly-because I know you're not even there. I put flowers, for what? For who? There's a lot of cemetery peer pressure mom. A lot. It's strange. I feel guilty for not going more often when I see other sites so decorated. Some people come and seem to stay all day, having a picnic. I thought I would do that. It seems pointless now, though. I'm sure I won't go tomorrow.

At first, there was a spot near yours, it was a younger man--maybe my age--I can still consider myself younger right? I think he was gay. I think it was his mom, cause she looked older. She brought roses all the time. He had extra vases on his plot, maybe six of them. I think they are even in the shape of a cross. Anyway, she was there all the time, at first. All the vases filled with red roses. Not anymore though. His is just one neglected plot, like yours, out of many more than when you first arrived.

The tree is really big now too. I hung a wind chime once, while it was still smaller. Other people had hung some too. I guess someone stole it cause it wasn't there anymore a few visits ago.

I wish you could have met Kurtis. Of course, you would have loved him and really liked  him. I named him after you and grandma you know. And me I guess, technically. I wish you wouldn't have rushed back down the hall when I was in labor with Sam-or was it Birdy? I would have let you stay.

I was crying earlier and Kurtis said, "I love you mom, don't cry." He thinks he needs to say that I guess, cause he's witnessed a lot of crying from me the past few months.

I tried to reassure him, "I'm crying because I miss my mommy. Don't you cry sometimes when you miss me?"

"You mean your mom?"

He's sharp, mom, real sharp.

I understand a lot more now, mom. About being a mother. That pain and sorrow. Did you think I was fearless, mom? You thought I was brave but that's not the same as being fearless. With out fear. I was afraid mom. Not of the dark. Not of monsters. I am not really afraid of anything...but this, if I am being honest. I guess I can be, I should be. What does it matter now?

I tried not to be, didn't want to believe my fears would come true...but they are. They are mom. It's happening. I don't know what to do. It's all fallen apart. What did you do when you were afraid? I can't remember. I don't think you ran away, did you? Did you give up? Did you write? Tell me mom. Why didn't you tell me what to do?

What should I do? Did you pray? Did it work or help? What were you afraid of mom? Were you afraid of dying? You didn't say you were. I know you didn't want to, but...I am glad I was with you. I'm glad you let me be with you. I was afraid I would miss it. I wanted to be with you. To feel it. To feel everything.

You died in my arms, mom. Did you know that? In our arms; mine, Nancy's and Shari's. I didn't realize it at the time. Thank you for that mom. It was amazing. Like birth. Your rebirth.

A few more hours and you would have been 57. I can't imagine you at 57, of course. I don't think I can do this mom. I will try--what choice do I have? Like you, what choice did you have? You couldn't do anything to stop your death, to save your life. I can't do anything to save my marriage, mom. There. You were brave though. You trusted. Anyway, you trusted. I think it takes a lot of faith to die mom. No one can tell you, what's on the other side. No one can tell me what is on the other side either, not really. You had to go alone, no one could go with you. I have to go alone too. It's just me. I'm trying to trust. Finally. Be brave, whatever bravery is worth these days. I guess it just depends on what the going exchange rate for fear is.

Maybe if you could do it...I can too.

Sorry for asking so many questions, by the way. I have been told my questions are very irritating, apparently.  I guess that could be true. I don't know. Maybe, they are only irritating to people that don't really care about you, as a person. Does this sound like a lot of whining? I know you would get it, mom. I think you knew me better than you gave yourself credit for. I knew you a lot less than I gave myself credit for.

Thank you for being good enough mom. You were always good enough and that was enough. You were enough.

Happy Birthday, mom.

Just.Can't.Shake.

I feel like I'm truly going to crack into a million shattered pieces. It's beyond overwhelming. My life feels as if it's in shambles. My support system is currently unavailable. The support that really should be there-here-and the whole reason I'm in the place I am to begin with-isn't.

I'm bleeding out...again. Did I ever really stop? I guess it just slowed down. Occasionally it gushes.
Not tonight. This isn't gushing.

So I, isolate myself. I avoid. I go to my room. Do my kids really need to see me crying, again. They always follow. The tears spill out at any given moment.
For no reason. For every reason. For the same reason.

A deep breath. Back together. I'm not a million pieces.
I'm just one piece-in a story of a million moments.

It's lonely-in my head. It's been a long time, I think. Dreams, hopes, a planned future destroyed and I don't even have an explanation as to why. I wish I knew. Because I'd fix it. I would.

I've prayed, been praying and prayed some more. Yes, I do read my Bible. Daily, for hours. I pray for hours. A girl's gotta eat at some point right? I've fasted. I'm fasting again.

I listen to God. I listen for God.

I take it to the Lord. I cast my cares upon Him. I lay my burdens down...at the foot of the cross.
I put on my armor. I encourage others. I give myself pep talks. I praise. I put on make-up. I wear the nice skirt. I clean, I smile, I rest, I read, I dance. I cry out to the only one who truly hears...and knows the desires of my heart.
I can't shake it. I can't let go.

Still--I'm here, at the end of the day, facing it. Alone.
I am alone.
Don't tell me I'm not alone. When you aren't here. No one sees these parts. These moments...these memories...and the analysis that happens, repeatedly, in my head.
That I can't shake. I can't let go.

There isn't anything you can do to make it better.
No one can really understand what I'm standing for.
Or why. I'm not sure I understand. It's just...
I can't shake it. I can't let go.

It seems ridiculous, most days, even to me. Yet...
I can't shake it. I can't let it go.
I certainly can't get over it.
I'm not trying to make anything happen. I'm not trying to win approval.
But I still can't shake it. I can't let go.

I ask for dreams, insights, revelation.
Words, a voice, confirmation.
But I still can't shake it. I can't let go.

I suppose I should.
I know I'm not the problem, not really. I'm not the solution either.
I wish I was-both.
I'd do whatever I needed to do. I'd fix it. I would.
But I can't. Can't even fix me.
I can't shake it. I can't let go.

I've surrendered. A million times, given up.
Then I wake up, the sun is rising again. So do I.
And I still can't shake it. I can't let go.

I'm the only one holding on. Holding a hope in an empty hand.
Faith from a broken heart-in the impossible. 
A dream. A future. A hope. A faith.
That I just can't shake. Just, can't, let go.

Sorrow

tears in hidden places
brokenness in public spaces

darkness envelopes the soul
and it feels as if it will last forever
sleep can't come swiftly enough
and it's never enough

light shines through a cracked window
the sun? the moon? the porch light?
the light from stars that died years ago

unrecognizable, the life you've been living
memories stolen, retold, rewritten
crafted into the blur of a nightmare

Rejection leads to Love

At the beginning of the  year, instead of a to-do list I made a NOT-to-do list. One of the most significant items on this list was to *not* with hold love. I thought I was pretty good at this already. We all like to think we are generous, loving people. Right?

Then things began to change. I can't say exactly when it was. My heart began to feel rejected and abandoned. This led to a survival mentality, wanting to avoid that pain of rejection, I withheld my love. I didn't even realize it. I wanted to reach out in love, but at the same time, the FEAR of being rejected over ruled my heart. It makes complete logical sense. Even children know not to play with fire once they've felt the burning sting of a flame.

The rejection went beyond a simple feeling to a fact. I was and AM rejected....along with abandoned. I thought I was past my 'abandonment' issues. Such a cliche' right? As the rejection became more real and solid in my life, my mind went right back to the times I had been abandoned. Moments I thought I had dealt with and moved past. The pain from those memories over rode any love I had been given along the way. Over road any acceptance. I was surprised that my mind went back to those places because I thought I was 'over' it, healed.

I thought I had hit rock bottom in my pit of rejection. Then there was another instance. I recognized clearly that I was making a conscious choice to with hold love in moments I felt God telling me to act out on that love & I didn't. No way. I was NOT going to put myself out there, for FEAR of rejection.

The fear was still alive and well, brewing in my heart and deep within my soul.
Then something happened. I was brought to a place of complete and hopeless despair. The rejection broke through to my soul. It tore it apart. My soul and my heart, shattered into a million tiny pieces. My hope was destroyed. For the first time in my life, I actually felt and admitted I was completely devastated. I had never used that term in my life before. I was determined NOT to be broken. Sure, I might be cracked, scarred and hurt, but definitely not broken.

Until now.

I said it aloud. I admitted it. Devastation. Brokenness. Rejected to my core. The sobs wrenched my gut so deep--I thought I would vomit my soul. I couldn't imagine a human body being capable of producing any more tears than I sobbed that night. I couldn't deny my sorrow anymore.

I was spent.

I had nothing to hold on to.
Like a zombie, I was the living dead.
I fell asleep and didn't dream.

I awoke the next morning, remembering all that had transpired. I was numb. Robotically I got up, got dressed, put on my make-up and drove to church. I would pray and worship out of obedience but nothing more. I took my broken pieces, my broken heart and gave it all away. I was empty and finally, truly, had nothing to offer but the shell of myself.

There was something different. I wasn't sure what it was exactly until I faced the source of my rejection and realized I felt nothing...but love.

No anger. No malice or even pain. Only love. Love with out fear.

I knew that I couldn't BE any more rejected. There was no more reason to hold back. The fear was exhausted.

The fear had been holding a space in my heart, crowding out the true unconditional love.
That space was empty and there was more room for love. More room for forgiveness. More room for peace. More room to understand Christ's motives. He knew he was going to be rejected. That rejection killed him.

I thought it killed me too. I certainly felt dead.
Then I woke up. Christ woke up.

And loved.
I love.

Here we are again.

I am shocked but mainly disappointed to be here, in this place, again. I'm trying to be strong--sure 'they' say I don't need to be strong--but how has weakness EVER benefited someone? Spilling into a puddle in the middle of the floor never helped anyone or accomplished anything---at least not when people are around.

Alone, the dam breaks and I am flooded by all the old emotions. The wounds, that lay buried, six feet under, dead and forgotten, rise again, they engulf me and once again I am the zombie. Dead inside but driven by craving. Craving to feel alive-no not alive, the pain reminds me I am alive, craving to feel loved.

Here I am, reliving the deep pain of rejection again and again and again. Counting the moments I was left, forgotten and barely an after thought from birth.

I thought it was resolved...but if so, why am I still rejected? WHY told, basically, that I am a person incapable of being loved.

The tears stream down as the bleeding begins...the wounds can not be stopped. I need a tourniquet. It is severe. My body aches and wracks itself with sobs that sound like one vomiting. The only thing that exits is mucous and the salt water. Down on my face, my head to the floor, they mingle with the dust on the hard wood. I am eye level with dirt. Can I get any lower? I want to. I want to be swallowed up. I want to go down and not face the sun light that taunts me with it's smile giving rays.

Words replay within my mind....."I just don't feel anything for you. I don't want to waste any more time." My house swirls into irritation around me. I WANT TO SCREAM when they approach me with their petty irritations. KIDS STOP!!!!!!!

Rejection. over and again. WHY? Forgiveness and trust--rejected to produce cruel words and insults. Words that go deep to the core, like a blow to the stomach. I want to vomit. If I can, the emptiness inside will come out. Send it away. Vomit it down the toilet. When the tears are spent--then there is nothing but hollowness. An echo where love used to be. Now, a dark cave that no one wants to go near.

Twenty years? Was it ever easier at six years? Or seven years? Is it easier tonight than Monday? Will it really be easier tomorrow?