Wednesday, July 13, 2016

Therapy, bitches, therapy.

I am now seeing two therapists, to help me... help me. One, Susan, is new.  She was a name on a list, to help with divorce and with issues of codependency and addiction. As it happens, her methodology is incredibly woo-woo, and a perfect fit for me.  We talk about the body, and where the emotions lie therein, hello chakras?!, and then address emotions specifically, with curiosity, asking what emotions of protection, anger, sadness, self-criticism are serving my larger purpose in life. It is totally woo-woo, and lovely, and I feel very bolstered by the experience. I see her every week, believe it or not, and it is fab.

Chakra Carol is once a month, although I am not sure why I don't do it more, except that the planning of how to deal with childcare of all three for a longer period of time is probably the ticket. Summer. She takes my calls, too, and I've had to take her up on her generosity on that one, more than once. Today she told me I was all normal, the feeling of self-worthlessness were part and parcel of divorce, and I was okay, moving in the right direction.  Sometimes something as simple as someone you trust telling you this, is enough.  Today it was. Feeling worthless is pretty damn hard to bear.

It's amazing what the fears can be. They are legitimate, yes, but from a place of inconsistent emotion. For example: being afraid that the kids will love 'her' more, because it will always be 'fun', because there is no 'discipline' or 'no' coming anytime soon.  Can you imagine being afraid that your kids will love someone more than they love you/? But the proof is in the ex, right? If he can, they can. It is an query I hope you never know. It is completely devastating, this fear.

It doesn't matter that J says that he says all the floofy stuff to the kids, like how lucky they are to have me as a mother. He obviously doesn't think it true, or he wouldn't be trying to get them to fall in love with another woman like he did.  there is something to that. and then, nothing, at the same time.

But it isn't a true emotion, this fear. Rooting myself in the role of my life, realizing the power of my presence, my loving, fun, consistent and giving presence in the world is very tough, inconsistent right now, but not impossible. I just need to look at the good minutes, the shimmers in the summer doldrums, the baby pictures, the summer pictures, the magic I have made in this beautiful house, to feel more of my own rock in the life of these kids. It is all a trip.

It is also true that the kids are not their father. Nor are they me, thank god. They don't carry his personality in their skins, they are individuals on their own right and they can see for themselves what love has, in all its guises. So there is that.

There is a lot. a lot a lot a lot.
and a lot of therapy is making me a whirlwind on the inside.  but i'm hoping that by focusing so intently, i find myself in a much better spot when it all finally subsides.

in the quiet, the coming storm. in the quiet, the receding storm.
you dig?

Friday, July 8, 2016

There is so much.

there is so much I do not understand.

If my elven eleven can actually articulate that he is not ready to meet his dad's girlfriend, I do not understand why the meeting will go on . (Tonight)

When my mother is mad at me for being too flexible, because my eight year old asked if the girlfriend was coming to his birthday party five months from now and I did not dismiss it out-of-hand but just said a lot of blaghblah about time and whatnot... and I say, 'what choice do I have really? What choice is there?', I am met with silence.

How freaking telephones carried voices through telephone wires, and now through space, to satellites and back.

How I can make people laugh while I am contemplating jumping off the roof. (In theory, in emotion, but not in reality.) My three year old told me I was beautiful when I put on a dress the other day, beautiful like daddy's girlfriend. She hasn't met her yet. (Tonight)
I did walk away quickly after saying thank you, sweetie. I did.

This is a transition to end all transitions and the only good thing about it, is that I will never do it again. I must say.

Tuesday, July 5, 2016

Single mama goes hippy. Not hipster, hippy.

In this, my first summer of single parenting, I've got a long list of things to do. Today it is raining, so all bets are off and I'm hoping everyone sleeps real late, and gets ready to color and do play dough. Think my eleven elven will do this? Heh.

While our list has a lot of kid-driven choices, there are also some of mine. few, but some. And I'm always so happy when we accomplish our things, I'm feeling proud for the experiences and happiness that I'm gifting my kids.

There is this small part of me, though, that is curious about how much I am gifting to others all the time, and wonders about gifting myself. It is true that I often have fun on these outings, almost always really, and watching them have fun is a gift in and of itself. But since I spent so much of my failed marriage arranging and easing and enabling, I am finding myself in a large query about it all.
and my job as housewife-notwife and stay at home mom is basically about constantly gifting others, in its very essence.

It wasn't the way to go in the marriage, for me, and what if there is something more that I am overlooking in the new relationship I've got with my kids? What if my gifting them these times is somehow missing some component that has to do with my own gifts? Does this make sense?

Last night was a new moon, the Fourth of July, and a first night home all-together, all-alone in a few days. Sleepover party, sleepover with dad, sleepover for fireworks... Now, just us. I made a fire for us, and we wrote our wishes on paper and sent them to the sky. My wish for more openness and magic and a more fluid relationship to the time that I need for all this processing was made more palpable by the focus I put on the process. I found it very powerful. The kids were drawn in, away from the television, towards the fire, the yard, the play, the focus. I've got to figure out how to draw them into my own inner life, not 'into' maybe, but shared, seeing what is increasingly important to me, the intangibles, the hopes, the fireflies against the darkness...

the lense is blurred, but there has to be a sparkle, there has to be.

Saturday, July 2, 2016

Growing Things

My eldest has turned eleven. He is a rare creature, so sweet, so sensitive, his light shines through easily, and though he has been clouded by the separation of his parents, he is shining still.  He has always carried his Light lightly, and it is remarkable, and so he is.  Eleven. Elven.

There was a family party, complete with his dad shooting hoops and all his surviving grandparents, and even a visiting cousin.  It was 'normal' for the new time.  I think it was a bit overwhelming for me, watching what is still technically my husband shooting hoops and playing with my kids exactly as would have occurred a year ago. But now I look at his body that is so familiar and yet cannot help but dwell on how he is loving someone else with that whole body. Internal, external. It is so surreal, so much of a stranger.

It brings forth a wild understanding, tree trunk gnarled, that while he is so familiar, there is little I know about him anymore. I like not knowing, honestly, as so much of it I was tired of hearing, and am tired of hearing, and would love to never sit through again. But there are things that I have forgotten, that are probably good things, like how he uses his poetry in riddles for the kids to suss meaning from wordplay.

He is finally learning how to take responsibility for the kids, all three at once, as he has now had opportunity these six months. It was not something he understood when he lived here. Maybe that was on me, but I think it the natural division of labor, gone wrong. But now he knows, and watching the relationships of the children with him, shift because of it, is another growing thing. They, and I, have more trust in him.  A sapling, perhaps.

It is mildly interesting to notice my twist, a man that I used to know, internal external, and do not want to know anymore, and what happens when there is an outside force. Realizing what a bad husband and partner he was for me, and still having the twist is sharp sometimes. I don't judge myself too harshly for it, as I don't take action beyond my inner world and we have all seen much much worse. I take comfort that I am not slashing tires, or making angry gestures to the world.  I would wish myself more immune, but I can vaguely sense it coming, this flat immunity. Again, I don't know what it will look like.  But there is something bright at the end of this tunnel, something bright.  Fools's gold? Chrome in a diner? Diamonds? Prisms? Sunlight in the morning? Brightness, and I'll take it in whatever form it arrives.

Thursday, June 30, 2016

Weird days.

Writing about my hearing a little, as i did in the last post, is a little weird these days.  These days are weird.

fiddling with the aide... 
But, as I have been spending a lot of time in therapy, and a lot of time thinking about myself (which is good. and bad.), my hearing has been coming up more and more as a significant obstacle.  An obstacle to the sorts of work I can do in my future, an obstacle to the social relationships that I may want to forge.  One of the things this hearing does is get in the way of my understanding conversational flow.  If I am sitting in a small group and things are bouncing and bounding as they do, I miss almost all of it.  One on one? I'm a freaking rockstar. but more than that? I start quieting, missing bits and pieces and losing the thread entirely.

Last time I was single, this was not the case, and I enjoyed myself in social situations quite a bit. Still and always an introvert, I still loved witty rejoinders, humor of almost all kinds...not really a fan of humor with 'boobs' in it, but I can dig it sometimes, when I get to then make fun of the joker.

The J is/was a social succubus and can talk to anyone, for any length of time and really make them feel like he is involved.  Just because he can turn and do it immediately to the next person, without a blink, and without any depth of actual intimacy doesn't make him a sociopath, right? Bligh...not true. Emotional Tourette's.
But because he had that skill, I left it to him, and did not make my own way further down this new, quieter path. so now I am.

SO what? How does one share life in a meaningful way when that conversational flow is so stilted? I'm probably too old to hang at bars, and I'd be on my own there anyhow, so What?

What is this going to look like?

I don't know either.  I say that a lot in these weird days.  I don't know what it is going to look like.