Mom Fails

It was a week of mom fails...well one of many.  I shoved coins in Graham's pocket as he was getting out for school.  He was supposed to bring 20 little items for Show & Tell.  I didn't even count the coins.  Brady went without a belt.  Neither of them brushed their teeth.  I forgot Brady's medicine three days in a row.

There is no chance of me getting a big head as long as I'm a mom.  So, like, no chance. EVER.  I'm doomed to a life of humility.  Maybe humiliation is the better word.

We watched Benji for our Friday movie night in Mom's bed last night.  We all cried.  The single mom in the movie struggled harder than I do...she was widowed with two kids and no family.  Brady couldn't stop telling me he loved me while we watched.  He got it.  Maybe for the first time he understood the weight that I have.  Though they do have their dad, the weight of parenting typically falls on the mother.  Doctor appointments, dietary restrictions, medicines, vitamins, clothing, extracurricular activities, homework, school obligations, emotional well being, spirituality....all of these things are on my plate.  Even if someone wanted to take them from me, it just wouldn't fly.  Moms are just like that.

Most days, I'm just thankful that my boys have clothes that fit, a roof over their heads, are well fed and rested and aren't completely stinky.  If I do more than these basic things, I try to mentally high five myself.  All moms can use a cheerleader in their head.  Mine screams at me most of the time, but sometimes she's forgiving and encouraging.

Show & Tell and belts aren't always on my list of triumphs.

I just made myself a new post-it note to add to my other list of encouraging mantras.  It reads:  "You're a great momma."

I feel like everywhere I turn, I see evidence that I'm a failure at this role.  I see it in the faces of my parents, my siblings, my friends, the teachers and administration.  But I am most likely reflecting my own feelings about myself on other people.

I feel like a failure every time I get an email from a room mom with all the things we should/could be doing to be involved.  Failure every time my boys bring a personal treat home from one of their classmates.  Failure when we run out of milk.  Failure when we're rushing out the door.

Failure when my boys are sad.

The truth is, there won't be much that happens to them that I don't shoulder the responsibility for.  Oh the joys of motherhood.  It's the height of happiness and the depth of despair all in one word: mother.

When Harry Met Sally

When Harry Met Sally....

Harry Burns: Would you like to have dinner?... Just friends.

Sally Albright: I thought you didn't believe men and women could be friends.

Harry Burns: When did I say that?

Sally Albright: On the ride to New York.

Harry Burns: No, no, no, I never said that... Yes, that's right, they can't be friends. Unless both of them are involved with other people, then they can... This is an amendment to the earlier rule. If the two people are in relationships, the pressure of possible involvement is lifted... That doesn't work either, because what happens then is, the person you're involved with can't understand why you need to be friends with the person you're just friends with. Like it means something is missing from the relationship and why do you have to go outside to get it? And when you say "No, no, no it's not true, nothing is missing from the relationship," the person you're involved with then accuses you of being secretly attracted to the person you're just friends with, which you probably are. I mean, come on, who the hell are we kidding, let's face it. Which brings us back to the earlier rule before the amendment, which is men and women can't be friends.

He said he didn't want to talk to me anymore and told me to take care.  It wasn't the first time I had heard these words.  But they never stop hurting. 

He wanted to date, but I waffled enough to infuriate the situation and caused him to cut me out completely instead.  It wasn't my intention.

I generally trust friendship.  Relationships?  Not so much. 

I don't like it when people leave me.  But the truth is...they leave either way.

If this is the case, then why the need to befriend who you date before you date them?  I didn't want to lose him.  I wanted him to be my friend.  But in the end, it wasn't enough for him.  I lost him.

If men and women can truly be friends, then there must be a way to convince your attraction of just that.  They aren't yours to have.  They are simply there to enjoy in a completely platonic way.  Which means you should be able to convince your heart of something if it's important enough.

I suppose most of the time it's not important enough.  The role you play in some people's lives is just a limited role.  You aren't meant to be there forever.  You're simply there to fill a need that is immediate.  If you can't fill that immediate role, then you are cut from the movie and another takes your place.

My dad told me when I was younger that people were not disposable and to treat them as such was wrong.

He was never a single person in his 40s.

If my fear of people leaving me drives every relationship I have, then only the truly persistent ones will stick around.  If I temper every interaction with the deep seated belief that I will be left in the long run, my interactions are superficial and limited.  People can wade in the superficial only so long before they get antsy.  They want a genuine piece of you.  They want to believe that you will invest in them also.  It takes one persistent mo-fo to be my friend....and an even more persistent one to date me.  And frankly, people just don't have that kind of patience or staying power.  So they move on to the next.

People are disposable.

I am disposable.

To believe that you are unique to someone in a world where we have access to millions of people is a bit outdated.

I remember telling my husband when we were separated that he would have to work to get me back.  I had discovered that there were other men out there and he was not at all in their league...so I thought.  He became disposable to me compared to these seemingly amazing men I had met.

How wrong I was.

I quickly learned that our years of history would never be replaced.  I would never be with another man who was the father of my children.  Who cried with me when our son was in ICU.  Who held my hand when I was birthing both our babies.  Who renovated our house with me.  I would never find someone who would be able to fill that hole that he left in my history.  Try as I may...as appealing as all those men with impressive jobs and sculpted bodies were...he was the one who stood beside me all those years.  He stood in the fire with me he just didn't have the desire to watch me emerge from it.

Getting to know someone takes time.  It takes energy and resources.  It takes patience and love.  It is hard work.  It requires character and staying power ... and persistence.  It demands that you stay even when they hurt you.  It's not an easy task.

A resume on a dating app will not give you this information.

When I look back on my history of friendships, it's the ones who have stuck beside me through my worst that are the dearest.  They didn't leave though they had every reason to because I had nothing to give but ugliness and pain.  They loved me harder.  Prayed for me with more fervency.  Carried me if they had to.  They loved me when I ugly cried.  They loved me when I pushed them away.  The ones who couldn't handle the fire left quickly.  It was the ones who were willing to get burned that mattered.

So maybe the question isn't whether men and women can be friends...it's whether you can love someone when they ugly cry...and stay long enough to see them emerge from the house they just burnt down.

That kind of love isn't disposable.



 

Momma needs a Nest

nest: noun; a pocketlike, usually more or less circular structure of twigs, grass, mud, etc., formed by a bird, often high in a tree, as a place in which to lay and incubate its eggs and rear its young; any protected place used by a bird for these purposes.

I hadn't felt overwhelmed like that in a while.  I was distracted and worried.  I couldn't stop thinking about the house.  It was on my brain as I ate lunch with friends. They knew something was off.  I thought about it as I worked.  I couldn't concentrate.

I had just looked at a house to rent and it was perfect for us.  A place I could truly call home for me and my boys.

We need this.

We lived in the family house for almost a year after my husband left.  Then with my parents for 8 months.  Now a small apartment.

The fear of not getting the place is intense.  I didn't realize how important it was to me to find a home for us until I saw this one.  We have been living in a small apartment for 8 months and we are all a bit stressed out by it.  We just need space.

Having a home is probably one of the most important things to a woman.  We are nesters.  We like to settle in and make it our own.  We hang pictures strategically placed.  We paint if necessary.  We arrange items to be appealing.  We organize.  We love our laundry rooms and our pantries.  We are just nesters.

I was floating around for a bit...both in actuality and in my head.  I didn't know where I was going to go.  I didn't know who I was going to live with.  I was just a bit discombobulated.  I guess the reality that this is my life now recently settled on me and I'm now prepared to make decisions.

It's just me and my boys.  And this momma is ready to set up a place of protection.

I haven't stopped praying over this place.  When I walked in, it was as though God was using it to get my attention.  Whether I get the house or not, He was using it as a tool to speak to me.

There is nothing more important that I will do in my lifetime aside from being a momma.  It is my sole purpose.  And that task has been given to me alone.  I have two little boys whose world revolves around me and their dad right now.  I have been overlooking the responsibility that I have to them to provide a home for them.  With stability and protection.  Love and happiness.  We have just been surviving up to this point.

It's time to build a home.  I'm all prayers that it is the house that caused me to realize all this.  My birds need a nest.  And this momma needs a home.

Should I stay or Should I Go?

 "What would you tell me if I were in your shoes?" I asked.

She blushed.  Knowing it would be the same thing I was saying to her.

It is quite different when you are living the situation.  Friends can give you advice.  And it is probably sound and good, but the truth is the reality of acting on that good advice is not easy.

Her particular set of circumstances is familiar to me.  The "he's not a good guy and we need to break up" set.  She was in my shoes...the giver of good advice...many times.  Rarely did I listen.  I had to let the situation blow itself up beyond repair before I did anything proactively about it.  I'm prepared to watch this same thing happen.

I hear it in my friends' voices who are married.  They call me when they are at the bottom, full of despair and know I can relate.  And inevitably, when I check on them the next day or a few days later, they are hopeful again and embarrassed by what they told me.  Their tune is quite different this time.

"He's really a great guy."
"I was just having a really bad day."
"We talked about it and I feel so much better."
"I just misunderstood what happened."
"He really does love me."

And all sorts of similar responses.

We both know it's bullshit.

I lived in two marriages where I did this exact same thing to my friends.  So much so that some of them asked me to stop talking to them about it.  Some didn't have to ask.  It was just a natural progression.  I knew that until I left, my attitude about our marriage would be predictable.  I would hate him and want to leave....then I would love him and be glad I stayed....

Rinse and Repeat.

Over and over.  And over.

I lived like that in my first marriage.  For three long years.  I was on a roller coaster of emotion and I couldn't get off of it.  Until I felt at peace and made a decision.  One that I did not regret.

It was God.  I don't have that kind of resolve.

In my second marriage, we just stayed inside a hurricane.  Most of the time things were good and we were at peace in the eye.  But the storms got more frequent and the duration longer.  The winds picked up speed and stuff started flying around.  The flood waters began to rise and I knew drowning was inevitable.  I wasn't happy, but it wasn't anything I couldn't endure.  I didn't evacuate.  I was hunkered down with my two boys, my step daughter and my dog.  But he opened all the windows and doors to let the flood waters in, and instead of boarding up windows and shutting the doors he had opened I cut a hole in the roof and let us drown.

Sometimes I regret that response.

Relationships are full of ups and downs.  Some are just worse than others.  My first marriage was like playing poker everyday...most days my hand was pathetic and I needed to throw it in.  But there were a few days when I had a winning hand.

It just wasn't enough.

It's all about what we can tolerate.  Can we live in a relationship where we are constantly doubting our happiness, our choices, our spouse?  Is it what's best for us and our families to stay?  Or do we need to fold and throw in our hand because the consequences are too high?

As I told my friend, I would love her regardless of what she decided because I know better than anyone how difficult it is to get away from what is by most accounts a bad relationship.

But she is the only one who can make choices for herself.  And it's not my job to judge her.  It's simply my job to be there for her regardless.

The best thing my sister ever said to me was to keep a journal of everything during my marriage and divorce so that when I start making the same mistakes, I can read through my journey and remember.  How quickly we forget the pain.

It's a blessing, actually.  I would so much rather remember the beauty.

No Hard Feelings

Avett Brothers

https://youtu.be/tFGs7HP15d4

When my body won't hold me anymore 

And it finally lets me free 

Will I be ready? 

When my feet won't walk another mile 

And my lips give their last kiss goodbye 

Will my hands be steady?

When I lay down my fears 

My hopes and my doubts 

The rings on my fingers 

And the keys to my house 

With no hard feelings

When the sun hangs low in the west 

And the light in my chest 

Won't be kept held at bay any longer 

When the jealousy fades away 

And it's ash and dust for cash and lust 

And it's just hallelujah 

And love in thoughts and love in the words 

Love in the songs they sing in the church 

And no hard feelings

Lord knows they haven't done 

Much good for anyone 

Kept me afraid and cold 

With so much to have and hold

Mmh

When my body won't hold me anymore 

And it finally lets me free 

Where will I go? 

Will the trade winds take me south 

Through Georgia grain or tropical rain 

Or snow from the heavens?

Will I join with the ocean blue 

Or run into the savior true 

And shake hands laughing 

And walk through the night 

Straight to the light 

Holding the love I've known in my life 

And no hard feelings

Lord knows they haven't done 

Much good for anyone 

Kept me afraid and cold 

With so much to have and hold 

Under the curving sky 

I'm finally learning why 

It matters for me and you 

To say it and mean it too 

For life and its loveliness 

And all of its ugliness 

Good as it's been to me 

I have no enemies 

I have no enemies 

I have no enemies 

I have no enemies

Rebekah...or...Abby...?

I have friends who jokingly refer to me as Abby at times and Rebekah at others.  Abby is the fun one who has less restrictions.  Rebekah....not so much.

Rebekah is more constricted.  She is a rule follower.  She's a good Southern Baptist girl...most of the time...

Unfortunately, Rebekah's not a super happy person and remains stressed out and confused.

Abby beats to her own drum.  She doesn't align herself with rules just because she is supposed to.  She doesn't feel unnecessary pressure to perform societal duties like Kate Chopin's character in The Awakening.  She lives her life as it aligns with who she is.

She's a pretty happy person.

Since this joke began, I've been digging into why I have two sides to myself and why they are so highly conflicted.  I'm not so daft or tied to social pressures that I can't acknowledge that this is in fact a problem within my own identity.

I am always drawn to people who knew who they were and lived their life accordingly.  They are kind to others who disagree with them, but this doesn't change their convictions.  They are steadfast and sure, confident and strong.  And they see right through me.

Two of my dear friends saw this within the first few weeks of knowing me.  I remember being supremely surprised and disturbed when he told me that he thought I didn't know who I was.  I was offended at first, but then so thankful that someone had the courage to tell me.  He knew himself well...and could spot someone who didn't out of a crowd.  He was right, of course.

I have been fighting two personas most of my life.  Most of my life I have been the conservative side of my personality.  Most of my life has called for it...or so I thought.

I am 41 years old and just now trying to mesh the two sides.  I want to be who I am, unwavering in my convictions.  I don't want to be wishy washy or conflicted anymore.  That state is more exhausting than just dealing with whatever repercussions come with being myself.

So why the fear of being my entire self?

I'm a people pleaser.  And people all have different opinions.  Thus, the conflict in who I am in order to please others.

I was raised Southern Baptist, in a family of incredible people.  But there are many rules in this way of living.  And for a rebel, it's a bit stifling.

Thus the conflict.

I have seen a big chunk of the world.  I have been friends with people from all walks of life.  All races and economic statuses.  I have read my fair share of literature that exposed me to all sorts of ideas and theories,  but lived in small cities compared to the settings of much of my literature.

Thus, conflict.

I am a preacher's daughter who has a hard time with religion.  I've grown up with people watching me, telling me how to behave and how not to behave.  Using words like, "sin" and "fallen nature" and "self-seeking" to describe behaviors that were outside of the Southern Baptist religion.

Thus, conflict.

As a single mom, I am now being required to find happiness within myself.  No one will be able to provide that for me.  I don't have a distraction in a mate.  I am being forced to find peace within myself.  And this means combining my two personalities.

The beginnings of this metamorphosis has already caused a few to worry.  I have discovered that as much as I love my children, I need more than just them to thrive.  I need to work.  I need to have adult interactions on a daily basis.  I need to write and read and spend time alone.  I need to have breaks from the responsibilities that come with being a full time, single mother.

Moving to the North Shore was on the table at one point.  And I seriously considered moving.  But then I thought about all that would mean.  I would be the sole provider for my boys.  I wouldn't have help.  I would have to drive for my boys to see their dad.  And they would rely solely on me for everything.  That idea was nixed once I processed all that it would mean for me.

Coinciding personalities challenge #1 solved.

I work largely alone in my cleaning business.  I do sometimes see clients, but they are not there to catch up on how my week went.  And nor am I.  So I have set up office at my favorite bar/grill after a day of cleaning to do invoicing and billing.  With or without a drink, I'm there.  I'm surrounded by people I know and this provides the adult interaction I need.  Instead of working at home alone on all the back office daily requirements, I do it from my phone in public.  At first, I felt superbly guilty for this and like a bit of a bar fly, but that guilt was coming from others not me.

Coinciding personalities challenge #2 solved.

There are times when I use a sitter.  And not my parents.  Sometimes I've worked hard on a project and need to get a late lunch with a friend instead of pick my boys up from school.  Or there is an activity happening that I want to attend and I go after I put my boys to bed.  This use of sitters was also a very sensitive subject.  I get a lot of push back for using babysitters when my boys are with their dad 10 days out of the month.  But when I think about how little time other parents spend with their kids and how much time I get to spend with my kids in our little apartment because I set my own hours, this guilt somewhat subsided.  I take my boys to school every morning.  I pick them up most days.  The reality is that I am a working mother.  And working mothers have to be careful about the balance between play and responsibility.  And I need my alone time if my boys are to get the best version of me.

Coinciding personalities challenge #3 solved.

I've never been a huge fan of the Southern Baptist religion.  I love Jesus.  I love my family.  I love praise and worship music.  I love listening to my dad preach.  I love seeing people I love and sitting by my mom.  But attending a Southern Baptist church is not something I would do on my own.  I do it largely because I want to please my parents and spend time with them. With my parents moving, this conflict will be removed and I'll be free to explore other religions. (Not that I'm not going to miss my parents badly....or my church....but Abby is trying to join Rebekah here)

Coinciding personalities challenge #4 solved.

I've dated many men since my divorce, and though I always said I would be monogamous if they ever showed that they were serious about me, I'm relatively certain this is not true.  I like the freedom I have of not answering to anyone.  I like my boys having just their dad to be their dad.  I like living alone and having my own space.  As much as I enjoy the interaction that dating provides, having that one special person seems like a fairy tale.  I've discovered in this modern world of dating that we are all too scared to commit and would rather just keep relationships light.  Though I'm not prescribing to having light relationships, I am prescribing to being non-committal.  I enjoy people and all the different things they bring to my life.  One has a shared love of music. One literature.  One of them makes me laugh unhinged.  One just gets me.  One takes me on fancy dinners and explores New Orleans with me.  One of them helps me discover new things about myself.  One reminds me of what it's like to be a kid.  One of them stimulates my intellect.  They are all kind.  All respectful.  All lovely men who just enjoy spending time with me and vice versa.  Instead of feeling like a "player" I now just feel lucky.

Coinciding personalities challenge #5 solved.

I love to clean.  It is my passion.  I love making people happy.  I love teaching them about how to clean their house and what products to use.  I love having the alone time it affords to listen to music or Ted Talks.  I simply love it.  I felt like perhaps I should find a "real" job that had stable hours and benefits at one point.  But I know deep in my soul that I won't be as happy.  I had a client tell me this past week that I make her life better.  Another who told me having a clean house was just what she needed after her surgery.  Another who told me that I relieved stress for her.  I. Love. My. Job. and have zero desire to do something else.

Coinciding personalities challenge #6 solved.

My life is my own. Well, it's God's but aside from that obvious fact, it's my own.  And in order for my boys to live a life where they will find peace and strength in who they were created to be, I must emulate that.

Abby is disappearing into Rebekah.  I'm thankful because I like my name just fine.

Love isn't a Spider Web

“I love my children.  I would give up the unessential; I would give my money, I would give my life for my children; but I wouldn’t give myself.” 

--Kate Chopin, The Awakening

I have read this book so much, the pages are no longer bound to the center.  I read it at every stage in my life.  It's about a woman who is a wife and mother and wakes up to find that she hasn't lived her life at all.  She has simply gone through the motions of living.  It's set in the 1800s where women's entire existence was to care for their families and put on social graces.

I would have a hard time living in that time.

She shirks her responsibilities and begins doing what she wants.  She rents her own flat.  She starts to paint.  She vacations at the beach without her husband.  She is a serious rebel.  

Rebel, I get.

I always repeated this quote when my kids were little.  Even before I had kids, it was one of my favorite quotes.

No question, I would die for my kids.  In a heartbeat.  

And I thought that living a life that was solely devoted to them was repulsive, where I sacrificed who I was at every turn.

But now...not so much.

Something changed in me when I became a single mom.  I became a fierce protector of my boys.  There isn't a move that I make that doesn't have them in mind.  Even if it's a mistake...they are there haunting my bad decisions.  I cannot live without thinking about them.  They have overtaken everything about who I am.

One of the hard parts of dating with children is knowing that you cannot introduce your kids to them for a while.  Which makes getting to know me a bit cumbersome...because they ARE who I am.  Yes, I enjoy music and reading and swimming and good times outside with my friends.  And I really, really like Mexican food.  But THEY are the central thing that makes me me.

I thought Kate had it right.  It made total sense when I was younger and married.  I had to work to maintain my identity because it's easy to get lost in the midst of so many little people (and a big man) who needs you.  

But now I just think she's selfish.

Kate's wrong because her quote was purely from a self-serving place.  It didn't have anything to do with the well-being of her children, but the well-being of herself.

I would be willing to be a wall flower without a personality for the rest of my life if it meant my boys would be complete people.  If giving up everything about who I am would make them happy and whole, I would do it.

But we know the reality is that this isn't how God made us...or how He made love.  We don't become better people when we cause others to lose themselves.  We don't get love if this is true.  God created us to be fully ourselves with the ability to love others who are also fully themselves.  And that love is patient, that love is kind. That love does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. That love does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.

So if we are to love our children the way that God loves us, we maintain our identities because we know it's for their good.  We know that it would not benefit them to fade out so they can live.  Because ultimately, it's not the decimation of a person that encourages them to love and live as God loves us.  

I had many relationships where it was a requirement of me if I wanted to stay to fade.  They were angled and twisted and dark.  I couldn't make a move without finding myself stuck even more.  I told people I felt like I was living in a cobweb...the more I moved, the more steadfastly stuck I became.  I remember thinking that if I continued in the relationships, I would become a shell of myself...like so many abused women before me had become.

Knowing that loving in a healthy way is for the best, doesn't remove the fact that the desire to lose myself for my children to be happy isn't there.  It just means that being a parent, fully and totally loving your children, means also embracing that they will love others as you have taught them to love.  And requesting the annihilation of another person is not the kind of love you want your kids to emulate.

So maybe Kate did get it right...in the end she did find herself and her love for her children became healthy and fierce also.  She just needed a starting point.

It's a progression...loving your children.  So full of dichotomies and latent responsibilities.  But love...love is the #1 goal.  

If loving my kids means giving up Mexican food for the rest of my life....ummm... thankfully that will never be a choice I have to make.  

https://youtu.be/dHWajFVon_A

Rows of houses, all bearing down on me

I can feel their blue hands touching me

All these things into position

All these things we'll one day swallow whole

And fade out again and fade out

This machine will, will not communicate

These thoughts and the strain I am under

Be a world child, form a circle

Before we all go under

And fade out again and fade out again

Cracked eggs, dead birds

Scream as they fight for life

I can feel death, can see its beady eyes

All these things into position

All these things we'll one day swallow whole

Fade out again

Fade out again

Immerse your soul in love

Immerse your soul in love

--Radiohead, Street Spirit

Dating Men who Live where Happy Goes to Die

I couldn't believe my eyes.  I read and re-read the article, hoping it wasn't true.  I dissected the picture...surely it wasn't him.  But it was and I officially was a fool.

I had dated a pathological liar, apparently.

None of my close friends would be shocked by this news.  They always thought his behavior was shady.  But I felt as though someone had just punched me in the gut.  He had told me that he had retired.  He told me how good he was with his money.  He said all the right things to a single momma to get her to date him.  None of it was true.

My friend just looked sad when he showed me the article.  His response was, "I just don't know how you successfully date so many losers.  How did THAT man make his way into your heart and your life?  You are such a good person and you date people who are so not good people.  Surely you know you're better than that."

I had no response.

I thought I knew better.  After years of therapy and books on boundaries and trust, you would think I would know better.  But I am legit naive.  I believed EVERYTHING he told me.  I had more than one reason to not believe him.  His lies weren't stellar.  He said one thing and did another...which is a repeat pattern in my dating career.

I don't listen to Oprah who says, "When people show you who they are, BELIEVE THEM."

My motto instead is, "When people tell you who they are, DON'T BELIEVE THEM BECAUSE THEY ARE JUST HURT PEOPLE WHO DON'T BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES AND IT'S MY JOB TO BELIEVE IN THEM SO THEY FEEL BETTER ABOUT THEMSELVES," I say in my most Co-Dependent voice.

I'm not sure how I've held onto this naiveté for the duration of my life, but I indeed have.  I do not have the discernment that is necessary when meeting friends and potential partners.  Or perhaps I have the discernment, I just simply don't exercise it.  I like to live in La-La Land where the flowers are always blooming and the sound of waves is steady in the background for a quick walk on the beach.  I really like the beach.

The reality is a bit more bleak.  Most people are not beach-worthy material.  Most are more like living in a scary movie.  They are waiting behind closet doors to jump out and scare me.  They live in a dark house that is falling apart with weird dolls and sleep with knives under their beds and drink black coffee at 2 p.m. with a piece of dry toastwhile a roach scurries across their empty kitchen table, the curtains drawn.

They do not own sunglasses or a beach bag.

But I'm at the door in a yellow sundress with both in hand, in my happiest persona complete with a cheerful Cold Brew from Starbucks and trying to ignore the dead plants, inches of dirt and debris, and spider webs on the porch.  And when he answers the door all pasty white wearing dirty, black clothes, smelling of cigarettes and stale booze and tells me he forgot to water the plants just one day and that's why they're suddenly dead and the spiders come regardless of how often he sweeps, I believe him.

Everything about this picture screams that he is indeed bankrupt in his soul.  But somewhere in my soul I muster up the hope to believe him and go inside...all the while fearing for my life.

Why don't I listen to myself the first time?  Why do my flight responses not trigger a sprint to the door in my yellow sundress and happy sandals when I feel like I'm in danger?

I recently explored a relationship with someone that I dated previously, hoping this time would be different.  Believing him when he said he had changed.  Telling myself and him that time would tell.  Well time told, and the shocking news... he had not changed.  Thankfully, the only emotional result I felt from this revelation was a slightly upset stomach.  I had cried enough in the past over him.  I'm happy to say my tears weren't wasted again.

When my friend first introduced me to this song, I cried despite it's happy tune because it was me...through and through.

https://youtu.be/tVPwWF34u2U

What you do with trash? You take it out

So why are you letting him hang around?

Girl, you gotta know when to clean house

And throw his shit out in the yard

If it was the first time, I would understand

But it's the third time, you got a second chance

There's a fine line between an accident

And an L-O-S-E-R

It's bullshit, you know it

Yeah, I see it in your eyes

Every time that you tell me

Deep down he's a really good guy...

Until I can get a grip on running away from men who live where happy goes to die in my fastest self, my friends and family will be getting to decide who I date.

Wildfire of Emotion

The old, familiar feeling of rejection was creeping into my psyche and beginning its usual course. It spreads like wildfire.  It makes its way to my face, leaving it hot and red.  Then trails down to my heart and begins the increased rhythm of my heartbeat.  Then to my stomach, causing it to flop with discomfort.  And then to my hands, that start to shake.

It's familiar.  Routine.  Predictable...this response to the emotion tied to rejection.

Before it had the pleasure of bringing tears, however, I was able to intercept it.  I sat on the floor with my legs crossed and meditated.  I focused on my breath.  I breathed deeply enough to settle my shaking hands, my upset stomach, my pounding heart, my red face.

When I stared down my emotion, the logic was able to find space instead in my unsettled body.  I became focused instead of panicked.  I became confident instead of destroyed.

It was a small battle, but I had won it.

I have been trained to defeat emotions that are sneaky and often unfounded.  Rarely do I use the tools I have educated myself on because life seems like a big balloon taking up all the space in my small apartment, and I end up just muddling through.  But this time, I had the wherewithal to shut it down.

So much of our lives are about training our brains to respond in healthy ways to unhealthy situations.  Instead of getting unnecessarily upset over a small incident, we have the power to accept the disappointment and use it as equipment for the bigger incidents.  We get to choose how we respond to every situation.  Do we use the tools we have to bring peace and joy to our lives and those around us?  Or do we allow ourselves to be defeated in the face of seeming struggles that are doing their best to make us feel unworthy and small?

I surround myself with positive sayings so I can remind my brain, which is often daft.

"You are smart."
"You are honest."
"You are fine alone."
"You deserve better."
"You are worth it."
"You are kind."

All day, it's a decision to ignore the negative and embrace the positive.  Instead of looking at loss as something that defines who I am, I can instead choose to look at it as making room for something that suits me better.

Instead of missing my boys and worrying about them intensely, I can be thankful for the fact that their dad has a relationship with them and cultivate things in my own life that will improve theirs.

Instead of crying over insignificant relationships, I can instead choose to focus on what I want instead of who they wanted that I failed to be.

Instead of getting worked up over a mistake in my business, I can instead use it to make me more productive.

I can choose to make my life different.  Will I receive life's happenings as positive or negative?  It's pretty simple.  I have the ability to stop the wildfire from burning out of control.

It should have been different

It could have been easy

But pride has a way of holding too firm to history

And it burns like wildfire

https://youtu.be/r9jwGansp1E

He loves me Intimately...and not the sexual kind

It was one of the few times I felt heard...and valued by a man.  He asked questions.  He was curious about my life, my broken heart, my boys, my business.  He wasn't looking at me with lust.  He was looking at me with curiosity and kindness.

It is apparent I have been hurt by men.

My colleague has a daughter who is behaving in ways that scream trauma.  Her therapist said it was likely sexual trauma that triggered her behavior.  She lies.  To everyone all the time.  She hurts herself.  She is superbly insecure though she is stunning, smart, and successful for her age.  She has parents who adore her.  But she finds trouble.  Often.  And the dangerous kind. 

She may be 21, but I get her.

I've often wondered if something sexually traumatizing happened to me when I was younger.  If it did, I have no memory of it.  But I act in ways similar to those who do have a memory of it.  So I suppose it's a moot point.

Sexual trauma wreaks havoc.  It's like buying a bulldozer to drive.  She has her whole life ahead of her, and she is choosing to destroy it as best she can.  She isn't comfortable proceeding until she knows she has wrecked everything around her. 

Simply because someone along the way devalued her.

The women before us have fought long and hard to drag our gender out of the pit of sex and slavery.   Our value as individuals was lost, and we were simply a vessel for heirs and food...

...and sexual gratification.

I feel it when I get gas.  When I'm at the grocery store.  When I'm at the pool with my boys.  With or without makeup.  With or without having showered.  The eyes of men on me likely having inappropriate thoughts as I pay for Gogurt and string cheese and juice boxes...my two boys watching.

I have been objectified.  More than once.  I will continue to be.  I know that I'm not unfortunate in the looks department as my parents are two good looking people, but this fact makes it more frustrating.

I've often had the thought that if I shaved my head, perhaps I could find a man that didn't just want me for my appearance.  Perhaps then I could have an intelligent conversation with the opposite sex and feel valued.

Graham put a bag over his head the other day, and my thought was, "I get it, son.  I really do."

I don't believe it's the fault of men.  I believe it is the fault of our culture...and our fallen nature.

Women are still slaves in a sense.  Serving the whims and fantasies of the opposite sex. 

With or without our consent.

I'm afraid for my boys. I'm afraid that they will grow up learning also to objectify women.  I'm afraid that they will be bewitched by a woman simply because of her appearance and will forget to find her heart in the midst of it.  I'm afraid they will treat women as I have often been treated.

As an object.

God, however, knows me.  He can listen to me drone on for days about how happy I am with my new cleaning product, or how amazingly smart my boys are, or how I love literature.  He sits with me when I watch YouTube music videos.  He loves my brain, my heart, my soul.  He looks at me with kindness and grace and giggles at my jokes.  He LOVES me intimately.  And not the sexual kind.

So if you see me with a shaved head, please tell me how big my brain looks...not how good my hair (or lack thereof) looks.

And He is jealous for me,

Love's like a hurricane, I am a tree,

Bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy.

When all of a sudden

I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory.

And I realize just how beautiful You are,

And how great Your affections are for me.

And, oh, how He loves us, oh,

Oh, how He loves us,

How He loves us all

https://youtu.be/TCunuL58odQ

Rumors and Bunny Slippers

Rumor: definition

1 : talk or opinion widely disseminated with no discernible source

2 : a statement or report current without known authority for its truth

"I heard you and [insert random man's name] .... [insert scandalous act]."
"I hear you're dissolving your business."
"I thought you were getting back together with your ex."
"I heard you guys aren't friends anymore."
"I heard you paid for everything for her."

If I had a quarter for every time I heard a rumor that wasn't true, I'd be rich.  I'm sure most of us would.

Rumors have a way of threatening temporary insanity.  You're just having a normal conversation with someone when supposed information comes up and immediately poisons your psyche.  You get hot in the face and short of breath.  And you want to stand up and scream at the injustice of the falsehood.  And you do this mentally, but you keep the crazy inside so more rumors aren't started.  Instead, you just chuckle and shake your head pretending that your interior temperature did not just skyrocket.

I wish sometimes I could stand up in a public place and cry out about all the injustices against me.  I'm pretty sure there are people who do this.  They are likely in a padded room with bunny slippers on.

I want some bunny slippers.

If I had the bunny slippers then I could remind myself that I am one step away from being in a padded room.  And to keep it together already, Rebekah.

But truthfully, a fevered response to the insanity of untruth shouldn't be labeled "crazy."

But we are all too ridiculously reserved to act in a way that would be considered too emotional.

I have the personality that causes people to talk.  I laugh loudly.  I say too much.  I ask pointed questions and am curious about everything.  I'm not shy and have never met a stranger.  If I see someone in need, I insert myself into the situation to help.  Try as I may, me and the wall flower will never be pals.

There are many situations like this that present themselves.  So I can either choose to run home and put on my bunny slippers and get my mega phone out, ready to be the town crier.  Or I can laugh loudly and continue to give them fodder for rumor.

As much as I love bunny slippers, I love laughter more.

Country Road Lined with Opinions

Nothing is more conducive to peace of mind than not having any opinions at all. 

Georg Christoph Lichtenberg (1742 - 1799)

This dude was a physicist.  I'm pretty sure he was smart enough to have lots of opinions about lots of things.  People probably would have been better off if they listened to him.  But he discovered peace of mind means not having any.

I bombard myself with the opinions of others.  I allow them to give me feedback simply by sharing with them everything.  When you open your life up to someone else, this is a normal part of the relationship.  Hearing their opinion on the matter.

I am, unfortunately, in a position where few of my trusted group has been.  Both my siblings are in stable marriages.  My parents also.  Nothing like adding this to the already cumbersome Middle Child Syndrome.  

Pause for dramatic effect....and a little chuckle.

Such is life.  Finding your own path.  No one can walk it for you.  You have to simply know who you are, what your strengths are, what your weaknesses are.  You can't will yourself to have a different personality.  You can, I suppose, change your weaknesses to become strengths.  But this is a long road that most likely lasts your entire life.  And I'm 41.  I still have years ahead of me of decisions, career, watching my children grow.  I have years of living with what I've been given and who I am.  The possibility that I MIGHT change can't determine my now actions.

Walking your own path sometimes means being lonely.  Because there are places your loved ones can't go with you.  It's just you and the road.  The windows are down to let in the air, but you are driving solo.  The wind, road and radio your only friend.

A man that I dated for a minute said we were on different paths.   I don't know what his path is, but mine is to live honestly, love hard, laugh often, and be the very best mom and person I can be.  I'm just on a country road while he's walking on a sidewalk maybe.  But the living honestly part is probably what separates us from others.  Because our honest looks different from anyone else.  

My friend said it best....just live your life as honestly as possible and your people will come alongside you who are living in the same way.

Part of my honest path is going to the gym....gotta honestly lift some seriously honest weights.  Alone or not.

What about Bob ... Rebekah?

I took a trip to see my sister, planning a quick detour to see my BFF in Georgia.  My parents let me drive their car since theirs is newer and has a DVD player.  We broke down.

When on the phone with the dealership and realizing that I would be here through the weekend in Georgia, I chuckled to myself at the irony of the whole situation.  I almost stopped at my sister's because it was closer and I was exhausted.  I would have been broken down at her house had that happened.  I almost took my own car, but decided it would be safer to drive my mom's.  I left a day later than I was planning to.  So many little decisions went into this crazy happening, that it seemed like I was supposed to break down at my friend's house.

Small?  Maybe.  But it meant that I got to rest...REALLY rest.  I got to reconnect with a girl I've known for years who now lives a life that I'm not a part of...and vice versa.  Our boys got to play together more.  They got to see dolphins in their habitat, crabs in traps, explore a small island, hunt Easter eggs on a huge estate.  I got to love on her teenage daughter that I've known since she was in utero.   I got to know her husband better.  I got to have the most fantastic meal I have ever eaten, perhaps.  And meet the owner who was masquerading as a waiter in one of the coolest restaurants in Savannah.  And get the recipe to a soup that may just be one of my signature dishes.

Small...

We go to a party we're dreading and discover that the man we will fall in love with is also there grudgingly.  We fail a class and it changes the course of our education.  We have unprotected sex and make a beautiful baby.  We lease an apartment to a girl who will be your friend for life.  We find ourselves sitting in a waiting room in the ICU being told our baby may die when an hour previous, we were just washing our car in the driveway. 

Cars, parties, passion, classes, jobs...all small things...

Clearly EVERY SINGLE MOVE WE MAKE, no matter how "small," matters.

I have often said this to people.  And it makes them really uncomfortable...like REALLY uncomfortable.

"I know we're not great friends, but your actions mattered to me."
"I know we're not dating, but how you responded mattered to me."
"I know I don't reciprocate your feelings, but your words mattered to me."

Or worse...
"What you did CHANGED me."

My 5 yr. old and I were walking on the beach yesterday...this abandoned beach that inhabited just our little posse of people for the afternoon.  So we were exploring, picking up shells and marveling at other untouched signs of life.  He paused when he saw footprints and insisted they were those of a wild animal...when we were just a few feet behind my friend and the other two boys.  The footprints obviously belonged to them.   But Graham's little inquisitive look was priceless.  He was convinced that the prints did in fact belong to some unknown creature, though they matched his own in every way but size.  He was a little detective faced with a big mystery.

What is it about wanting to live a life that is incognito?  Where we aren't recognized?  Where our footprints don't show up in the sand as belonging to us but to some unknown subject?  Or so we hope...

Are we really that scared of owning our lives as ours?  Of being tied to our actions and our words?  Of declaring the consequences of our actions as ours alone?  Of them being important?  Of affecting other people??

I believe we are incredibly quick to dismiss our actions as unimportant, our words as stupid or meaningless.  We have a habit of divorcing ourselves from our own lives.

Being with a teenage girl that I love like my own niece has been an interesting adventure.  I'm able to see how she interacts with her parents, her brother, her friends, her possible romantic interests.  I'm able to get a glimpse into what I was like at her age.  Was I kind to strangers?  Did I understand that the small acts of being fully engaged mattered to anyone?  Or was I just on autopilot, hoping no one was really seeing me?  All the while hoping to be seen?

We are desperate to be seen...while simultaneously desperately afraid of being seen. 

We are little detectives in a great mystery.  This mystery of unveiling ourselves...our thoughts and feelings.  Of owning our actions and words.  Of staying married to ourselves despite the tragedy of poor decisions and misplaced words and missed opportunities.

If we do, however, want to fully engage we must  be brave enough to take ownership of our lives.  We must accept that we do, in fact, MATTER.  We must be able to revel in the fact that we are going to get it wrong sometimes.  That we are going to also get it right sometimes.  We are going to cause other people pain.  And joy.  And anger.  And humiliation.  And happiness.  We must fully embrace the heaviness that comes with living life fully engaged...understanding that wherever we go, whatever we do, MATTERS.  We must believe that life is a combination of heightened senses and awareness.  We must be willing to live life with a brain fully sober and active so that we are present in our own lives.  We must wrap ourselves up in the reality that every connection with every person we come in contact with is full of meaning and consequences. 

Eating a meal with me is like eating one with Bill Murray in "What About Bob?"  I moan with each bite.  I am fully engaged and aware.  My senses are heightened and there is no other place I'd rather be in that moment.

If I could translate that to every part of my life, perhaps I wouldn't feel so small and unseen.

Because our "little" actions and words change the course of our lives...and the lives of others.  Our lack, therefore, of being engaged robs us of joy and fulfillment.

All I know is that I am a small person in a huge world.

And I, Rebekah Rose Crosby Deris, matter.  (And I eat loudly.)