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.)


 

I'm a New Orleans Girl....?

The older I get, the more I become reticent to stay in the city.  Perhaps it is because my parents will soon be gone and residing in wide, open spaces.  And when they go, they'll be taking a piece of me.  Perhaps it is the level of noise and stress my soul is able to absorb.  Maybe it's because I have boys who are loud and messy and need room to run.  Maybe it's because deep down I have always been a country girl.  Whatever the reason, I have grown tired of the hustle and frequent unecesaary bustle.

I love New Orleans.  I moved here when I was 19 with my family and stayed for a semester to be with my brother in his senior year in high school.  For the first year, I hated it.  It was dirty.  And loud.  And inefficient.  Not like Texas at all.  But after that first year, I must've left a small crack open in my heart for something crept into my personality and injected it with an intense love for the city.  And when I was deciding where to land after my many adventures post-college, this place called me persistently.

Chris Rose said of New Orleanians, "We dance even if there's no radio. We drink at funerals. We talk too much & laugh too loud & live too large, and, frankly, we're suspicious of others who don't."

This is a part of my personality.  You can always count on Rebekah to make the party lively.  I live hard and loudly.  And yes, I am highly suspicious of those who don't.

I am dating a man who is through and through Cajun country.  He drives like a grandpa and naps frequently (granted, the man works long and hard).  He is the equivalent of a Texas country boy sans boots (though he is the owner of a very large, Texas-sized belt buckle).  He behaves like a Texas man...quick to care for all the women in his life and slow to care for himself.

This discovery about my personality was a bit of a shock.  As much as I love being the independent woman who can live alone and take care of her damn self, I am just a bit exhausted of the scene.  It's been shot.  I have done the re-takes and the edits.  I have lived life on my own, explored all avenues of the many possibilities that could be my life as a single mom.  I've done it.  And still, I crave to just play the role of wife/mom/daughter/sister/friend/school volunteer/sunday school teacher (ok, maybe not the last one...that was my most hopeful self writing that).  I may be the life of the party, but I crave the stillness.  I just went outside to bask in the day ahead and instead was greeted with cars speeding by, electricity poles and wires, street lights, and no stars.  Needless to say, the basking did not take place.

I suppose the two reside within me...the need to be still and the need to live loudly.  The need to be independent and the need to be taken care of.  The need to see stars and the need to see people.

The older I get, the more that independent, live life loudly girl is fading.  New Orleans doesn't quite have the same appeal it used to.

I'm not too sad to see her go.  She's had a good run.

Lifeless or Forgiveness?

Matthew 18:32-35 21At that point Peter got up the nerve to ask, “Master, how many times do I forgive a brother or sister who hurts me? Seven?”22Jesus replied, “Seven! Hardly. Try seventy times seven...
...32-35The king summoned the man and said, ‘You evil servant! I forgave your entire debt when you begged me for mercy. Shouldn’t you be compelled to be merciful to your fellow servant who asked for mercy?’ The king was furious and put the screws to the man until he paid back his entire debt. And that’s exactly what my Father in heaven is going to do to each one of you who doesn’t forgive unconditionally anyone who asks for mercy.”

She responded with harshness and coldness.  I was confiding in her about something that I had been struggling with.  It was not the first time she dismissed me.  But I continued to let her into my closed circle where few reside.  And as was typical of her behavior, instead of feeling encouraged I felt beaten down and ashamed.  We had been friends for 20 years.  Twenty years of treading lightly.  Twenty years of bracing myself for her reactions to my behaviors.  I was the definition of insanity in our friendship...I did the same thing and expected a different result.  

She had to "break up" with me in order for us to part ways.  The break up was painful and came at a time when I could have used her wisdom, albeit harsh.  She had the guts to do what I didn't.

An old flame did much the same.  I stayed with him despite his persistent attempts to
break up with me.  I was loyal like the Golden Retriever I am (I'm Golden Retriever/Otter personality type).  I had many reasons to leave him.  But like my friend, I put him in the awkward position of ending it in an abrupt and cold way.  Unfortunately, that was what was needed in order to get me to really move on.


I have a hard time "being done" with people.  Friends, family, pets (lol), men, co-workers...you name it.  I allow people (and animals...sometimes one and the same) back into my good graces without much thought about what they have done to me.  I have hung in there when friends have taken advantage of me over and over again. I have stayed close to people who habitually make me cry.  I wouldn't say this is a positive trait because it has brought with it unnecessary pain most likely.  

But...

Forgive your debtors as you have been forgiven.  Forgive UNCONDITIONALLY anyone who asks for mercy.  Forgive them seventy times seven times.

So what is the balance between the two?  The world both secular and religious tells you to establish boundaries.  To be wary of people who have trespassed against you multiple times because the reality is they will probably repeat the behavior.  This requires you building a sort of wall between the two of you.  Making intimacy damn near impossible.

In marriage, forgiveness is key to making it last.  Which is partially why so many marriages fail...we are simply not great at forgiving.  We don't believe in having to forgive people that truly love us.  If they did, how could they treat us so poorly?  Choose alcohol over us?  Cheat on us?  Lie?  Gamble?  Not communicate?  Is it possible to have a spouse that acts terribly and still believe they love you?  Why is forgiveness even necessary in a close relationship?  If they claim to love you, then surely their actions will line up with that.

This is simply not the state of the human condition.  We are selfish beings.  This fact, however, doesn't make us incapable of love.  It doesn't diminish the fact that we do indeed love.  

I've often thought that we are a bit extreme as people.  We expect forgiveness when we mess up, and hate being called anything that lines up with our faults because we know we are not the summation of those faults.  We criticize people who speak ill of someone and then turn around and are nice to them.  Why can't the two reside within us equally?  Can we, in fact, love intensely and have equal disgust with the same person?  I believe we can.

We are quick to judge others for this, but we behave in the same extreme manner.

We are universal hypocrites.

I asked my ex to forgive me for my contribution of the demise of our marriage.  I forgave him for his part in it.  He, however, could not.

Without forgiveness, there are no relationships.  Lasting ones, at least.  We are doomed to be loveless and essentially lifeless dolls without it.  If we can't embrace the dichotomy of the human condition, we are dooming ourselves to a life without intimate relationships.

My friends of many years are my friends because they have forgiven me as I have them.  We love each other intensely.  We accept that we aren't perfect and will continue to wreak havoc at times.  We have nodded at the darkness and decided to embrace anyways.


So despite the pain of being a seeming door mat, I'll continue to forgive.  The alternative is way too empty for me.

The Woman my Younger Self would be Proud Of

I got to spend time with my best friend since 5th grade this weekend.  It was precious time.  She gets me since we've known each other so long.  And she loves me.  Despite all my flaws.  Seeing someone that you've known that long makes you take mental account of your life.  What have I been doing since we first met?  Have I changed for the better?  Who was I?  Who am I now?  But mostly...have I become the woman that little girl would be proud of?

I snuggled up to my mom in church yesterday.  Something I used to do often before I had kids.  I was crying a bit harder than I was comfortable with during one of the songs and she never lets me cry alone in her presence.  I knew it was safe to make her aware of my tears.

My mom doesn't love to be in the limelight.  She would rather just help out behind the scenes ... assisting her family to succeed in the world. She is amazing.

She is someone I would be proud to have become.

Unfortunately, I've not done well with developing into someone like my mom.  I've taken my stress and turned it into instability.  I'm hard on my kids.  They have seen me at my very worst...despite my attempts to hide it.  (There are just times you can't quite hide the fact that you are crying loud enough for the neighbors to hear even though you're in the bathroom with the door shut and the bath water running...though I like to pretend that is enough noise to distract them.)  They have seen me be irrational.  They've overheard conversations they should not have about their father.  They've heard their dad and I argue.  They've seen me lose it because they spilled something.  I've not been a stellar single parent.

The beauty of life is that every morning when the sun rises, you get a re-do.  Today I get to choose whether I allow life to pee in my cereal or whether I allow it to serve me with a piece of buttery toast w/ jam.  I get to choose.  I get the chance to snuggle my mom often like I used to.  I get the chance to speak softly to my kids instead of yell.  I get the chance to praise them instead of criticize them.  I get the chance to bring joy into the house I'm cleaning instead of anxiety.  I get another chance to speak kindly to strangers, to listen to music that uplifts my soul instead of songs that dampen my spirit.  I can choose to be hopeful instead of jaded.

My dad preached on the woman at the well yesterday.  With her 5 husbands and current, live-in boyfriend.  I get her.  She was obviously a "sinner" in her village...as am I.  She was going to the well at a time when no one else goes so she can hide her shameful presence.  But Jesus saw through it and spoke directly to her pain.  Though it doesn't say so in scripture, I would assume she was not without tears during this conversation.

My friend/bartender asked if I was OK when I was picking up food from my favorite bar.  She saw something in my face after I interacted with someone that made her question my peace of mind and had the wherewithal to ask me.  "No, I'm not OK," I replied.  And the tears came and I quickly left.
Her simple question about my well being was a little piece of heaven in an unlikely place.  But she was intuitive and kind enough to see my pain and check on me.

She is someone I would be proud to become.

I want to be like my mom and like my friend... like Jesus.  I want to be able to live in a way that causes me to tune in to others and their needs instead of focusing on my own.  I want to be able to show my boys what it means to care for others instead of worry about yourself so much so that you can't see your own feet, you're so pregnant with worry.

Thankfully, today is a new day.  And it is beautiful outside.  And I have another chance to become the woman my 10 yr. old self would be proud of.  I have the chance to become like my mom.  Like my friend.  Ultimately, like Jesus.  Thank you, God for another chance to get it right.   Even if for just today...

We sang this song in church.  My Aunt Becky sings it beautifully.  All around appropriate.

FILL MY CUP, LORD
Like the woman at the well, I was seeking

For things that could not satisfy.

And then I heard my Savior speaking—

“Draw from My well that never shall run dry.”

 

Fill my cup, Lord;

I lift it up Lord;

Come and quench this thirsting of my soul.

Bread of Heaven, feed me till I want no more.

Fill my cup, fill it up and make me whole....

I Could Use a Love Song

I grind my teeth.  I grind them so badly my dentist had to make a thicker mouth guard than what he normally has to make.  I am currently breaking that one also... at his horror.  He prescribed a muscle relaxer for me so that I can give my poor jaw a break.  Last night was day one of the prescription and yuck.  Just yuck.

I feel awful.  I have felt superbly emotional for a bit so I'm guessing it's a combination of running out of my Plexus supplements, getting off all my anti-anxiety & thyroid meds, and trying to cope with my stress au-naturale.  I didn't choose to do it, it just kind of snuck up on me.  I got busy.  My debit card expired so all my auto ships were cancelled, and things just kind of spiraled and led me here.  To feeling like a complete mess with a mouth guard that is obnoxiously thick and breaking.

And wreaking of stress.

Stress is sneaky.  I think I underestimate his sneakiness often.  It's like being smacked in the butt by one of my boys when I'm bending over to get the laundry out of the dryer.  I'm just all in the get 'er done mode, and wham!  Out of nowhere my buns start stinging.  Or walking outside expecting a certain temperature only to rush back inside to don more clothes.

It's totally unexpected and a bit unnerving.

My doc told me long ago that some people had brains that were capable of handling quite a bit of stress without physical manifestations.  Others had a different threshold and therefore needed to approach with caution.

I am, unfortunately, in the latter category.  As my teeth can testify to.  I have a history of not coping well with stress.  I get by like most do, but sometimes the natural coping solutions are not enough.  When I'm in that state of being completely unable to function without being a walking Medusa, nothing that is good for me is appealing.  In fact, healthy things get my middle finger often.  Working out?  Screw you.  Vegetables?  No thanks, Whole Foods.  Now binging on Netflix, wine and pizza...that always sounds appealing when my brain is stressed.

And of course, that solution backfires on me.  Like a smack on the butt.  Or a crack in my mouth guard.

I am a Ted Talk addict.  I heard one the other day that talked about why we screw ourselves out of the lives we want.  It's all about doing things when you don't feel like doing them.  Because, let's just be real, ain't nobody ever FEEL like achieving greatness when your ass is begging you to stay in bed.

And of course being my solidly single SOUTHERN woman self, I yearn for someone ELSE to achieve the greatness.  I'd like to just assist in HIS greatness.  That feels like the right answer.  Surely my stress will diminish if I had someone to take care of me.  And vice versa.  I'd like to just stay in bed.  All warm and cozy.

But that answer also makes me laugh out loud.  LOL.  LMAO.  ROTFL.

I sure could use a love song.  One that doesn't make me grind my teeth like Pac-Man and alleviates the need to binge on things that are generally bad for me.  And for the sake of my teeth.  Let's get this stress thing resolved.

But the reality is, I'm the problem....and the solution.

Bad TMJ and all...this Southern homegirl just needs a break from believing in things that won't come true.


https://youtu.be/9UcyrWn5uAw

I Could Use a Love Song

Maren Morris

Usually a drink will do the trick

Take the edge off quick, sitting in the dark

With a shared cigarette

Seeing eye-to-eye, and heart-to-heart

But maybe I’m just getting old

Used to work but now it don’t

A long gone drive

You know the kind where you take a turn and you don’t know why

But it clears your mind, a surefire cure

I need something stronger

That’ll last a little longer

I could use a love song

That takes me back, just like that

When it comes on

To a time when I wouldn’t roll my eyes

At a guy and a girl

Who make it work in a world

That for me so far just seems to go so wrong

Yeah I could use, I could use a love song

I wish I didn’t know so much

I peeked behind the curtain

Now that magic rush

Feels like a trick that isn’t working

But I haven’t lost all hope yet

Yeah it’s hurting but it ain’t dead

I could use a love song

That takes me back, just like that

When it comes on

To a time when I wouldn’t roll my eyes

At a guy and a girl

Who make it work in a world

That for me so far just seems to go so wrong

Yeah I could use, I could use a love song

Give me a sign or a rhyme or a reason

Just something that I can believe in

Unintentional Viewings

I'm a Texas girl.  I love New Orleans, but my soul craves wide, open spaces.  I drive across the lake sometimes just to breathe.  The city wears on me.  I can hear my neighbor yelling at her kid.  She can hear me yelling at mine.  I can hear my other neighbor rustling around late at night.  He can hear my kettle whistle early in the morning.  I can't go outside without someone seeing me.  (I forget this fact often and end up running inside to put on more clothes.)  When I took a dumpster dive to retrieve my keys, word spread to my friend whose daughter goes to the school across the street from me.  I may  publish my life in a blog, but these are manipulated words and thought out topics.  Being seen without the intention of being seen is quite different. 

I have lived in many different cities.  But somehow I escaped the crowds.  Houston was by far the biggest city I lived in, but my little corner of the world, although it was busy, still afforded me space.  We had a huge lot, a pool, and a horse.  I lived on Long Island as a nanny in an estate with no neighbors that I could see.  I lived in Winnetka, IL outside of Chicago in a large house also as a nanny, in a quiet neighborhood with sprawling houses.  My apartment in Austin was on the outskirts of the city.  You could see for miles in the landscape that was my back porch.

I'm not generally a fan of such tight quarters as the ones I live in here.

I have thought about moving to a house in the country that would provide more space.  But then I remember the lady in the movie Misery and decide maybe that would be a bad idea.  I could be her.  Woman turned psycho because she had too much room to think. (maybe that's not at all what made her psycho but for my purpose, we'll go with that theory.)

And truthfully, when my boys aren't with me I'm not home much.  I can only take quiet in my house in small doses.  Isolation may sound great when I find myself in awkwardly tight quarters, but my sanity needs people.   Awkward or not.  I shouldn't be left alone to my own devices.

I am unintentionally seen in the city.  I sing loudly with the windows rolled down only to find an amused onlooker watching me.  I run into the grocery store early in the morning before I've brushed my teeth (ok, let's be real...this could be anytime of day because I often forget to brush) and run into a client.  I take a jaunt at the lake and get a text from a friend who's just seen me.  I go to my favorite bar and someone stops in because they see my car.  There is no hiding in this city of close quarters.

And with the rate I'm going as a single mom, I can't afford to lose my sanity in the woods.  I have two little boys watching me at all times.  Their eyes are much more precious than anyone else's.  And my guess is the amount of insanity versus sanity in a country house would outweigh any benefit it may provide.  So for now, I'll happily run to the store in inappropriate clothing with stinky breath and smelling of garbage from my recent dumpster dive and sing loudly with my boys while onlookers gawk. 

Unintentional or not, it's good to be seen.

Online Dating - Yeah or Nah?

Like most singles, I have taken a dip in the online dating world.   I met both my husbands on Match.com.  You would think I would run in the opposite direction now, but I'm obnoxiously persistent sometimes.  Nah, I'm more likely just daft.

The online dating world is all around funky.  I do it mostly for entertainment when I'm bored.  When they message me, I then realize they are actual, real life people.  This realization is both shocking and amusing.  I no longer cater my responses to the profiles of who is messaging me.  My favorite is when they ask immediately if I work out.  I really, really, REALLY want to say, "no, my hobbies are eating pizza, chips and ice cream, and spending hours on the couch watching reality TV with my five cats."  It would be a lie, but the entertainment value of seeing how fast he unmatches me...priceless.

I used to answer in my most hopeful self...
"Yes!  I love to work out!  I swim, bike, run, lift weights, do yoga....you name it!"

My profile pic

All of which are true, but like once a year for the cardio exercises.  Weights I do often.  But that honest answer to a fitness fanatic doesn't get me anywhere.  So in the past I lied because I just really wanted him to like me.  Regardless of whether I liked him.  Yes, I was that sad.

The real answer is: "yes, I do work out but am not a fanatic and do not enjoy spending more than an hour a day on it.  I have other crap to do."

This answer is appealing only to a certain group of people.  But headliner:  I should personally appeal to only a handful of people.  And vice versa.

Honest answers usually weed out the ones who aren't a good fit or genuinely interested.  As interested as you can be with a few pics and a few words on your phone screen.  Honesty is always the best policy with someone you haven't met yet.  As long as they're not asking anything intimate and inappropriate.  Which unfortunately happens.  Often.  No, I do not want to share my favorite position.  No, I will not show you what undergarments reside under my clothes.  Firm. Eye. Roll.

(Pandora just played the score to the Cinderella movie.  Dear Pandora: if I wanted to listen to sappy movie music, I would have created a station for such.  But I chose Chopin which is the opposite of sappy and romantic...epic fail.)

I annoy even myself these days.  I can't watch romantic movies.  I quickly change the channel if a country song is about love.  I am the epitome of the disgruntled woman who has been burned one too many times.  I actually told my friend that her husband is going to mess their 9 yr. old up by being too sweet to her because she will have a skewed perspective of what men are like.

Pause for dramatic effect.

Check on the old, crotchety woman now taking over my body.

I've often thought that maybe my dad is to blame for my failure at romance.  It doesn't get better than him.  Even when I was young and wounded by seeming daddy issues, I knew how amazing he was.  He didn't quite set the stage correctly for picking a mate.  He was too good.  Is too good.  I should have allowed him to pick my mate.  Maybe I would still be happily married if we had gone this route.

As it is, I'm stuck in a world where lasting love is everywhere and nowhere at the same time.  We can do romance.  Temporarily.  But most of us can't keep that candle burning for long before we tire or run far away because the reality of loving someone through thick and thin causes us to drown.

People, including my lovely non-fanatic fitness self, are hard to love.  We desperately want love, but our instinct is to push everyone away.

Or maybe we are genuinely happy with our couches, N
etflix, and online dating apps.

For now, this is where I am camping out.

Matriarchal Momma?

Brady woke up and said, "Momma, we need to go to Nina and Papa's for breakfast before they leave."  I grabbed him and held him tight knowing his little heart was hurting and his mind was going a million miles.  Like his momma's.

"Why can't we move to Texas with them?" he asked.
"Your daddy lives here, honey.  We can't move away from him."
Silence.
"How much am I going to see Nina and Papa?"
"Hopefully once every two months." I reply.
Tears.

I wasn't prepared for their sadness.  I wasn't even ready for my own.  Theirs is far worse.

The beauty of having a son who is emotionally intelligent is sometimes hard to absorb.  I love this about him, but man is it ripe.  Brady doesn't have your typical, childish temper tantrums.  He has the cold reality of life moments of overwhelming feelings.  He is able to express how he feels better than I at times.  And he is no longer able to be placated with empty words or promises.  He is too aware of reality for this.  It is challenging for this momma to speak truth when I just want to soothe him with false hope.

Most of the time all I'm able to do is hold him. Tightly.

Graham, however, will be the one who has temper tantrums without the understanding as to why he's upset.  His tears are intense and center stage in whatever scene he is in.  And most of the time, I'm not even sure he knows why he's crying.

I'm not sure which end I'd rather be on...the one in which my emotions spill out without understanding or they sit inside and affect everything else because I am fully aware of the reason for my sadness.  And I know I'll just have to work with it because it's not going away.

I guess they both have a place.

What has happened since fully understanding that our lives will radically change soon is that we are closer than we have been to my parents.  If that is even possible.   What used to be mundane moments are now too precious to waste on robotic behavior. 

It's also affected my prone to play.  Instead of spending time on unproductive tasks, I find that I am more focused on what has to be done.  I actually return phone calls the same day lately.  Shoot, sometimes I get a wild hair and actually ANSWER the phone.  My friend AKA financial pimp Philip can testify to how poorly I return phone calls.  He knows when he calls it will be at least a week until he gets ahold of me.  And that is the hopeful time table.  It's typically a month.  Hi, my name is Rebekah and I am an I Don't Return Phone Calls Addict.

But lately, the adulting is taking over and homegirl is acting all grown up.  I think perhaps my parents have been a security blanket for me.  They are there, always in the background ready and available when I have issues.  This mental removal of them is making my responsible brain kick in.  I don't have the patriarch/matriarch of my family to fall back on in my brain anymore.  I'm the matriarch.  With or without a husband.

Who knew single women could be matriarchs?

I admit to feeling pathetic that I'm a grown woman with a fear of living in a city without her parents.  The thought of this when I was in my 20s would have been ridiculous.  I never would have believed that I would have a hard time living away from them.  In fact, the more miles between us the better.  But that 20 year old wasn't a momma.  Her concerns were more about where she was going on a Friday night and what shoes to wear.  Or what mascara to buy. (OK, maybe I am still concerned about these things.  Is L'Oreal as good as expensive mascara?? After 25 years of donning makeup I still don't know the answer to this mystical question).

Matriarchal duties require a woman with her head firmly on her shoulders.  She has food in the fridge always and bandaids.  She remembers to stop and get donuts for the class.  She spends an hour after the kids go to bed preparing herself and her kids for the next day.  She remembers to order her Plexus so she and her kids don't run out.  (I have recently failed at this and we are all a little unhappy.)  She wakes up before everyone and mentally prepares for her day.   She finishes her errands before she takes a day off.

She is a badass.

I have done most of these things for years.  But I didn't fully own it.  It was like I was playing house.  I was pretending to be a matriarch.  It wasn't deeply rooted in my persona.  I actually resented the responsibilities, I am ashamed to report. 

Our brains are simply baffling.  Now that I fully believe that I am the matriarch,  my choices are reflecting such belief.  My brain has alerted me to the dangers of not fully owning this responsibility and I am adjusting my behavior accordingly.  I see less and less of people who have been my playmates.  I am spending more time with those who understand fully the difficulty and complexity of being a mom.  Single or not.  I see myself more as a single MOM than a single WOMAN these days.

I'll be visiting my therapist again to get me through this transition to matriarch. 

So while Graham throws his temper tantrums and Brady ponders the sadness, I'll be in the kitchen baking some gluten-free/sugar-free cookies.

I think to complete the transformation, I will buy myself an apron. 

Poser with a Flashing Habit

Crazy: adj. kooky, insane, screwball, nutty, silly; senseless, impractical, unsound.

He said, "do I make them crazy or do I just attract crazy?"  My good friend and I were having a phone conversation about behaviors of
exes that were particularly odd while I was cooking dinner for my boys.  Knowing him well, I responded with, "I'm pretty sure most women are a bit crazy so don't blame yourself for their erratic behavior.  You were just the catalyst for their crazy."

I have often felt this sentiment in my life.  People often behave in ways that are unbecoming or "crazy".  If you don't know them well, it causes a panic response in you that makes you run away from them.  Quickly.  If you do know them well, it becomes an intense process of trying to understand why one would act in such a way.

But the truth is, we all hold this trait closely.  Some just hide it better.

I have been resisting the reality that I'm a bit "crazy" for a while.  Perhaps my whole life.  I feel like a poser.  I'm hard on other people and how they respond when in fact I get it because that would be my response if I just let it all hang out.

So maybe I'm a bit of a poser.

Poser: n. pretender, hypocrite, imposter

There are few people who see my crazy daily.  I'm comfortable enough with their love for me to not hide that part.  I know our bond is strong enough to defeat the vulnerability and irrationality that comes with being human.

And then there are those who I show it to accidentally.  I'm like a flasher, unexpectedly exposing myself and catching them totally off guard.  That mental picture makes me giggle.  Their response is not as forgiving and my response is to close it up tightly, buttoning the top button on my jacket that was previously unbuttoned.  Now that I've shown it and received a negative response, I'll do my damnedest to conceal it.

When we do behave irrationally, shame is our first response.

"I'm crazy."
"I can't keep it together."
"Everyone does life better than me."
"I need to get on some meds."
"I will just stop confiding in people."

These thoughts are prevalent in conversations with even my best friends and family.  Though they see my crazy more than most, I temper my actual thoughts and actions even with them.  I hide.

One of my soul sisters and I were chatting about a man that appears to have it all.  Looks, success, personality, love of Jesus, stability.  "That is who I want to be with," I said.

Then I laughed heartily because the chances of a man like that wanting me is ridiculous.  (Like my "R" necklace that my sister in law bought me.  It stands for Ridiculous, not Rebekah.)   I said, "If I do get a man like that we will all know it's God because that would be a miracle."

I'm a crazy poser.

Crazy people generally don't make good decisions consistently.  Their go-to is decision first, repairs later.

God, however, is not frightened off my by bouts of insanity.  He knows my thoughts.  Spoken and unspoken.  He knows them before I do.  He invades my soul in a way that no one else can.  He sees my hurts.  He sees my reactions.  He sees my brain and the reason it functions the way it does.  He knows it all.  He is a necessity to this poser.

He doesn't run when I expose myself.  He holds me tight.

Thankfully because I have two little people relying on His strength to keep me together.

Hold me Tight this Girl gonna be Alone

I left to take Brady to school and said goodbye to Graham.  I was coming right back to get him.  When I came back, my parents said Graham was upset that I left.  "Not even Nina and Papa could make him feel better about his mom being gone." 

Thank goodness for that because soon they will understand what it means to be without their grandparents.

Months ago my aunt began asking how I would be when my parents moved.  I was confused by her concern and thought to myself, "I'm a grown woman who has lived here for 20+ years.  Why wouldn't I be fine?"  But sitting by my parents this past Sunday knowing their decision would soon be made public verified that she should indeed be concerned.

Sometimes adults just know better.  (I say with a bit of irony as I am technically also Adult-ish.)

I have not quite been able to keep it together since their announcement.  I'm near tears most of the time.  Things that are not usually upsetting make me cry.  I'm thoroughly frightened of raising my boys without their grandparents around.  My parents.  I'm a bit of a mess these days.

Like Graham, no one can make me feel better about my parents being gone.

It is not atypical for us to be found at their breakfast table.  My boys gather the eggs, harass the chickens and play outside with their papa.  My mom and I drink coffee and argue jokingly over how much chocolate milk she gives my son and share stories about cleaning (she also did this as a job for a bit).  I share my daily life with them.  I see them at least three times a week and talk to them daily.  I steal groceries from them.  I use their washer to wash my king sized bedding.  When I tire of corralling my boys in my tiny apartment, I go to their house.  I steal their Plexus when I run out.  My mom often does my shopping for me.  My dad maintains my car for me.  If something goes wrong, I call them and they assist me in finding a solution.  They often are themselves the solution.

The ease and accessibility of our relationship has protected me.  I haven't felt a great amount of pressure to find a forever home because their home is that to us.

This sudden fear of being a single momma without my parents must be something that a great many single parents feel immediately.  You learn to be OK with not being there for your kids.  You learn to let other people who are not family help you.

Unbeknownst to me, God has been preparing me for their departure for a few months.  In the past, I have been the one to bring my boys to school and pick them up at 7:55 a.m. and 2:55 p.m.  Religiously.  My schedule and duties allowed this since I ran a business from home.  I volunteered at their schools.  If they had an early dismissal, I was the one to get them.  It was unusual for me to call on my parents.  But since I started doing the jobs myself, things have changed.  I'm not able to pick them up most days.  I have to use aftercare or sitters...or my parents.  I have been adjusting to being a full time working mom who has to call on help.

Help is usually available if you are able to pay for it.

But paid help is far from the ease and security of parents/grandparents.

My cousin took this picture of me and Graham and sent it to me in this sweet card almost four years ago.  My family was still intact.  I'm holding Graham like everything was going to be alright.  Little did I know that the following year, how I held my boys would be entirely different.

Knowing your kids are suffering because of something you inadvertently caused is rather intense.   In 2014 I had just started the healing process from almost losing my son.  The next year I would have another huge gash that would also require healing.

It is safe to say that I have been healing from something most of my adult life.  I'm sure I'm not alone in this.

It takes a second for your life to change.  I remember the moment when I knew I had lost my husband.  I remember the look on his face.  I remember what I was wearing.  I remember what he was wearing.

It took a second for my son to dive into a bucket.  A second that has changed him forever.  A second that has changed me and all who knew him forever.  A split second.

It took a second for me to realize while sitting in church that my life as I knew it soon would be completely turned upside down.  Again.  My friend texted me after she heard the announcement and said how sad she was.  My response to her was, "You got to hold me tight when they move.  I'm gonna be a mess."

You never set out to hurt...yourself and especially your kids.  It was never my intention when they were little to force them to deal with such loss at such a young age.  It was never my intention to turn their worlds upside down.  I never wanted them to understand the brokenness that comes with splitting up a family.    I never wanted them to learn the lingo.  To view the world with glasses that are just a bit off.  To understand the logistics of bouncing between two houses.

My parents didn't set out to hurt me by retiring.  It was not their intention to settle here and have me follow and start a family.  It wasn't their intention to leave me as a single mom.  But that reality is upon us.

And this single momma is terrified.

Just as how I held my boys changed when I made them kids of divorce, how my parents hold me will also change.  I'll just be found sitting at their breakfast table in a laptop instead of in person.