Jul 31, 2017
Now.
This morning was different.
Out for a walk, I could hear it. I could feel the pulse. I was so away of the universe breathing. It was alive, I was a part of it, and I was in sync like I hadn't been in five years.
I am focusing on breathing today. I am aware. I am alive. I am breathing deeply and purposefully.
What if this is exactly where I am supposed to be? What if, after a false start, this is the beginning...of everything?
Eternal retour, eternal retour, eternal retour.
Inhale. Exhale. Begin.
*
*
Jul 27, 2017
Struck today.
I've been anxiously awaiting the announcement of Lucky Blue & Stormi Bree's baby. When it popped up this morning, I did not expect to have the reaction I've had. Full body sobs. In waves, I am rocked hard. I swear I can feel my heart breaking in my chest. I can FEEL it. Overcome with a grief, a love, and a special kind of nostalgia that only a mother can know. Like death, you can never understand birth until you have experienced it. There is a beautiful and devastating permanence in both. In the midst of my breakup, I grieve. I grieve the potential of what could have been. I grieve the incredible experience of the birth of my son. I look at this photo, at this moment, and I know that moment. I am sad that moment for me was so fleeting. This moment is precipice. A new life lies ahead. I am sad for those who will soon find out how hard it could be, and who will be crushed by it. I am envious of those who will stay together, and be strengthened by it, and those who will get it again. I have so many wishes. I wish he would have had patience. I wish he would have seen me through. I wish he would have comforted me when I needed it, and been a source of emotional strength. I wish I could have explored with him deeply and openly conversations of how I experienced pregnancy, childbirth, post partum anxiety, parenting styles, my mother's instinct, second babies, timelines, hormones. Hormones, who only let me begin my return to myself after a year. I envy you with men who don't claim to understand, but those who give you time. Who give you room. Who let you breathe. Who let you talk about, until it is all out, who make you feel loved, not scolded, or hurried. I see this photo, and I remember the feeling of having it all. I was full, I was complete. It is a stark contrast to how I feel these days. A new sense of freedom, yes. But also a strange loneliness. Our son now 16 months. And I still feel that it is so very much at the beginning. And that this is all such a shame. We only got 6 months in our new house together, 2 of which he spent moved out anyway. How was this an honest attempt for us? What is wrong with admitting fault? Working hard? Therapy? Communication? I am still trying to process and reconcile so much of the last couple of years. I will forever be haunted that the last time my former love and I were under the same roof, I was called names, scared, trapped, and I will never forget the way his face would change as he yelled. "I wish I had never met you" he said. "I am mad at him", he said of the baby. I will be haunted forever that he didn't want to try. To work through his demons, our marriage, and fight for our commitment. I will forever be haunted by baby Rosemary, who was supposed to come next, and never will. My body feels hollow now. I don't understand why this happened, as I am in the throes of it. I don't understand how I started with so much love, and ended with so much fear. I am left wondering if I was just something on a checklist as he rushed his way through, a hurried imitation of a life he thought he was supposed to have. I am open, wounded, and sad. I'd waited so long. To find the one person I ever wanted any of this with. For the point in my life where taking a break from work in order to be with at home with a baby was welcome. Loss. So much loss. It's enough to drive a weaker soul mad. I can't stop looking at this photo. There is a bittersweet universe that opened up in me upon seeing it. Of all I had, have, and will never have.
To those who have been here, how do you get through?
How??
Jul 25, 2017
One.
I get to do things alone now. I practice writing this sentence.
I can do things alone. I am able to do things alone. I am doing things alone. Why does it sounds lonely? The word alone seems small, and sad. But I do not feel those things as I write it.
I am alone. I feel this nostalgic freedom reserved for New York City. I breathed differently living there. For better, or for worse, and I certainly breathed differently visiting. Visiting. I used to go at lease once a year. Now it's been four years. The plane would touch down and I could inhale. I was released.
I can do what I want to do, when I want to do it. At times, and within reason as I am a mom to a toddler.
A coffee shop with my laptop and my latte feels like decadence. I came in unsteady, but I sit down, earthed.
I am reminded of a book my boy has, "My One Book". Little one lives in the house of one, he makes one bed, he drinks one drink, he hops one hop. You get the idea. One. One one one.
After nearly twenty years of long term relationships, one bleeding into the next, the oneness is...strange. There is no one by my side. No one will be there when I get home. My boy, my dog, of course. But I have no person.
Filling time these days is strange. I long to do everything. I bounce back and forth between needing company, and needed to be one.
It's okay, it's just taking a minute to crawl back into an old skin. A skin I've only tried on here and there, like in New York City.
I can do things alone. I am able to do things alone. I am doing things alone. Why does it sounds lonely? The word alone seems small, and sad. But I do not feel those things as I write it.
I am alone. I feel this nostalgic freedom reserved for New York City. I breathed differently living there. For better, or for worse, and I certainly breathed differently visiting. Visiting. I used to go at lease once a year. Now it's been four years. The plane would touch down and I could inhale. I was released.
I can do what I want to do, when I want to do it. At times, and within reason as I am a mom to a toddler.
A coffee shop with my laptop and my latte feels like decadence. I came in unsteady, but I sit down, earthed.
I am reminded of a book my boy has, "My One Book". Little one lives in the house of one, he makes one bed, he drinks one drink, he hops one hop. You get the idea. One. One one one.
After nearly twenty years of long term relationships, one bleeding into the next, the oneness is...strange. There is no one by my side. No one will be there when I get home. My boy, my dog, of course. But I have no person.
Filling time these days is strange. I long to do everything. I bounce back and forth between needing company, and needed to be one.
It's okay, it's just taking a minute to crawl back into an old skin. A skin I've only tried on here and there, like in New York City.
Jul 22, 2017
This is not love.
I met a beautiful long haired boy. He was oh so sad. I was drawn to his turmoil, to his sadness. "You are sensitive, nostalgic, and sad", I said. "I see you. Your melancholia is beautiful.". I mistook his talk of sadness, for an open heart. I mistook his woes, for connection. I thought he was letting me in. I thought I understood. But really...I knew nothing beyond the surface of his sad.
It is a fragile, convoluted thing, to learn what love is. Three years married. Four together. One month to live a crash course in what love is.
It is not love to be yelled at. It is not love for your spouse to yell to your face that you are a bitch. It is not love for your spouse to yell at you to fuck off, or fuck you. It is not love to be grabbed roughly. It is not love to be run out on. It is not love to be given the silent treatment. It is not love to be without communication. It is not love to never be comforted, to be ignored when you cry, and to called a "little bitch lamb" because you are crying. It is not love to be told your access to your bank account will be stopped. It is not love to be threatened with divorce, and a fight for your child. Time and time again. It is not love for things to be thrown, and broken around you. It is not love to be "taught lessons"..."didn't these last two days teach you anything?" Or, "if you're going to behave like a child, I'm going to treat you like one." It is not love to beg for therapy, to finally get to go together, to last only four sessions, for one of you to get kicked out, and to never make another attempt at repairing. It is not love to be told you must have another baby or you will be left. It is not love to beg not to be left. It is not love to beg for anything.
It is not love to beg.
It is not love for any of this to happen in front of your baby.
It is not love for your baby to bear witness to these things.
There is so much shame, denial and confusion, surrounding emotional, verbal, and mental abuse. Even the strongest women are not immune. It sneaks up. You explain it away, because you can’t possibly have gotten yourself into this situation. You're too smart for that. You are not one of those women. You actually try to start telling yourself that maybe being called names doesn't really matter because, "it's just words". Plus, you are a deep-feeling, loving, and hopeful person, and you have enough love and commitment for the both of you. So that should do, right? When the going gets hard, you don’t run, you fix! You try everything and anything because we declared our commitment for all our family and friends to see, proudly. We have a child together. Leaving is not an option.
But I've learned there is no such thing as having enough love for the both of you. Or having enough faith for you both. Yes, you still have faith. But now you also have fear.
Fear is a slippery slope.
Fear also sneaks up.
You don’t dare to call for help, because you’ll work this out, and nobody will have a tainted view of your relationship. You don't want to call the police, because what if you hurt his career? And what if he takes the baby, like he said he would? You'd better sit tight. You don't dare to tell anyone, you make excuses. You pretend. But it starts to eat you alive. Your appetite grinds to a halt. You begin to have regular anxiety attacks. You are underweight. You are walking on eggshells. You've assumed a new role, of the baby’s protector. Your stomach drops and your heart sinks on a regular basis. You being to have PTSD. You turn down social activities. You say no to your friends. You beat him back home every night. You want to keep him pleased. You are sick. This. Has. Made. You. Sick. But you love him. You love him. You love him.
Letting this behavior happen is not love.
This is not love.
It is not love to excuse.
It is not love to enable.
It is not love to sweep problems under the rug with no communication.
It is not love to put up with this behavior.
It is loving to set boundaries.
It is loving to have strength, to know your son cannot and will not see this again.
It is loving to break your own heart, because you never wished for a fractured home.
It is loving to take time away, to reflect, and remember you are a worthy person.
That’s the scariest part of all. By the end, you are so upside down that your worth is nearly gone. Your WORTH. Hear me loud and clear when I tell you that YOU WILL QUESTION IF YOU ARE A PERSON WORTHY TO BE A LIVING, BREATHING THING ON THE EARTH. Many factors add up to this, including cries for help that were understood, but never responded to from those you truly thought would help. Instead, it was glossed over, and you and your son were left...feeling unloved, sure...but also unsafe. THIS IS NOT LOVE. Not love comes from a cycle of not love, and not love before that. Not love cannot be sustained when matched with real love.
And it's that simple. And it's that hard.
And yet time works wonders.
And in the beginning you're certain you'll never get through, because the man of your dreams is gone. It's gone. It is all gone. And then weeks go by. And then you near a month, then more, and you see things so much clearer now that your source of anxiety is gone. And you're right, it is gone. It is all gone. But what's gone is the darkness. The turmoil, and the sadness, the storm brought with it.
But your love is intact. And you find that you are actually intact. And you no longer pine for someone who tried so hard to leave you, for so long. And when you really take a look back...you see that someone has been trying to leave you for the last year, yes, but also since they met you.
If I stay silent, I do no favors. I enable. I patch over. I pretend. I allow no women to come forward, to say, "me too!" I have heard so many times that it appears my life is perfect. That it looked like I was living the dream. Reality is that my heart, soul, and trust were shattered. That I will pine for who knows how long for the life I thought I had. The family I thought I was building and could save, could fix. The idea that you don't throw in the towel on marriage when it's this level of love, when there is a baby. The idea that raising our baby under the same roof was the only option.
My reality is that I am broken.
As broken as the shadow of the person I thought I knew. The one who told me he never wanted me to be afraid of him. The one who told me that he hated his profession and took it out on me.The one who I both still love, and fear. The one I must turn over our son to at times now - without me. The one who belongs to a family that has now been made clear in court after the protective order, is lost to me. I thought many of those relationships could stay intact. I had a completely different vision of him being helped, and our relationships sustained. I thought family is family is family and family helps. I have been so naive. I now have no choice but to hand over my baby. This will also mean handing over my baby to family that I feel I no longer know, or will be allowed to know. I will hand over my baby to one family member whom I loved, but who always made me nervous because of the effect of their pain pills. I'd witnessed them nod off on more than one occasion...including once when my newborn son was in their arms. That is an image you don't forget. I was told I love my baby too much. But I don't for one second believe that is even a thing. Thank god I love my son and will fight to keep him healthy and safe. Thank god he has me, and I have him. My little boy all but saved my life.
I have no idea how to rebuild my life. I'd been setting myself up to be primarily a stay-at-home-mom. I have had no regular income since I was pregnant. Only freelance work. I have no idea how to pay my lawyers. I have no idea how to pay to recover and start over from any of this. It is total devastation in every aspect. Emotionally, mentally, physically, financially. You name it. So no, my life is not perfect. I am certainly not living my dream.
But what I have learned I am, is an eternal optimist. I am an amazing mother who loves her son more than anything, and will fight to protect him when, and where I need to. I also know that people are good. That men are good. That men are out there who come from communication, or want to learn communication. Who want to dig deep. Who would look at themselves, and choose to sort out their share of the issues. Who speak kindly to and of the women in his life. Who strive to discover who they truly are, and what they want. Who won't tell me that I won't be able to go get a job and provide like he does. Who won't yell at me for buying a cup of coffee. Who won't tell me he wouldn't have to yell if I didn't make him mad. Who won't want to "put me on an allowance." Who dig in to the experience of parenthood. I didn't have what I now know I needed in a partner while navigating my way into motherhood. Lost to the haze of new motherhood, I wasn't able to deeply express and work through my first 6 months of post partum anxiety. I wasn't able to express my contentment with becoming a mother, and my deep connection to our son, or talk about the kind of baby he was, and the parenting styles my mother's instincts told me fit him best. I didn't have those big exciting moments to talk about for years to come when I found out I was pregnant, or when we saw the first ultra-sound. Instead, I had someone who told me time and time again, "I'm a cold person." That his family, "bottles everything up. It's what we do." He was so determined. So committed to the cold. To the bottling.
I've been in long term relationships for the past 20 years. Never in my life did I experience a relationship where I needed to ask for help. Never in my life did I experience a relationship where someone told me I was the cause of everything. Certainly not in the 8 year relationship I was in prior. That was a good man, so good he was willing to come to my defense even now. So I am not without hope. I am confident about the fact that there are good men.
I feel a pang of sadness when I see a baby out and about with both a mom, and a dad. I keep having moments of panic because my wedding ring isn't on. For a split second I'm worried I've lost it. I'm not used to having it off. Ahead of me lies a hard road, and no, I'm not sure how I'm going to start down it, or pay for it. And yes, it still feels like all is being taken. A spouse, my baby, quite possibly any chance at future pregnancies, quite possibly the roof over our heads. I have no idea what we'll do. I am learning how crushed the stay-at-home-mom often becomes in this scenario. Where are the resources?! Life is dealing me cards I have never, ever, wanted. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy. I don't know how anyone can take the required divorce classes and still want to go through this, rather than committing harder, and fixing it. Those classes are devastating.
I'm aware that this all sounds very heavy, so let me leave you with some lightness.
Recently, my bouts of sadness have started to lessen. I have ever so gently begun to feel lighter, and to feel a freedom that had gone missing. I still feel a spark inside. A spark I didn't even realize had started to go out. It is there, it is back, and it is glowing. Urging me on. I have to believe that there is better ahead. There is different, there is new. I have worked too hard, for too long to lose every scrap of myself for this. I know I was certainly not put on this earth to be this sad. And also, "Charlie's Mom" is amazing, you guys. She is tough, and strong, and soft, and sensitive, and in tune, and confident, and fun. No way would she let someone else take her worth. Someone with so much potential, but so deeply wounded. Someone so young. I've lived way too much life to see myself demolished at the hands of another. Parents and friends had begun to comment on why I was always asking permission to do things, wondering where my independence had gone.
I have a lot to figure out, about why I let this happen. Where along the way I got it into my head that romance was tragic. How I could let my attraction blind me so deeply. I am researching and reading like crazy, and will link a couple of articles at the end to help you all better understand.
If you're reading this and you've been through something similar, I hope my words and transparency help you. Help you be less alone. Help you to feel less shame. Help to remind you to stay hopeful.
And if f you ever feel that you need to ask for help - ask. And don't let anyone minimize your fear. They are not living, breathing, experiencing it firsthand. They have no right to tell you your experience is not valid. This is exactly why people feel there is no way out. If someone tells you they are scared, please listen. Respond. I beg you. And if you find yourself in the camp of the other party, help that person with some tough love, rather than a blind eye. Please, I beg you. To stay silent, to stay inactive does them no favors. The cycle will never have an end.
I am in progress. I am both happy, and sad. I am worried, but hopeful. I am full of love for my incredible family and circle of friends. My supportive community. My tribe who reached right out and helped me stay afloat. My therapist. I am learning. Every day I am digging deep and figuring it out.
What I do know now, is love is not cruel.
If it's cruel, it's not love.
It is not love.
This one really helped me understand the why and how of my participation:
22 stages of relationship between an empath and a narcissist
Understanding emotional abuse
Understanding emotional and physiological abuse
Podcast
It is a fragile, convoluted thing, to learn what love is. Three years married. Four together. One month to live a crash course in what love is.
It is not love to be yelled at. It is not love for your spouse to yell to your face that you are a bitch. It is not love for your spouse to yell at you to fuck off, or fuck you. It is not love to be grabbed roughly. It is not love to be run out on. It is not love to be given the silent treatment. It is not love to be without communication. It is not love to never be comforted, to be ignored when you cry, and to called a "little bitch lamb" because you are crying. It is not love to be told your access to your bank account will be stopped. It is not love to be threatened with divorce, and a fight for your child. Time and time again. It is not love for things to be thrown, and broken around you. It is not love to be "taught lessons"..."didn't these last two days teach you anything?" Or, "if you're going to behave like a child, I'm going to treat you like one." It is not love to beg for therapy, to finally get to go together, to last only four sessions, for one of you to get kicked out, and to never make another attempt at repairing. It is not love to be told you must have another baby or you will be left. It is not love to beg not to be left. It is not love to beg for anything.
It is not love to beg.
It is not love for any of this to happen in front of your baby.
It is not love for your baby to bear witness to these things.
There is so much shame, denial and confusion, surrounding emotional, verbal, and mental abuse. Even the strongest women are not immune. It sneaks up. You explain it away, because you can’t possibly have gotten yourself into this situation. You're too smart for that. You are not one of those women. You actually try to start telling yourself that maybe being called names doesn't really matter because, "it's just words". Plus, you are a deep-feeling, loving, and hopeful person, and you have enough love and commitment for the both of you. So that should do, right? When the going gets hard, you don’t run, you fix! You try everything and anything because we declared our commitment for all our family and friends to see, proudly. We have a child together. Leaving is not an option.
But I've learned there is no such thing as having enough love for the both of you. Or having enough faith for you both. Yes, you still have faith. But now you also have fear.
Fear is a slippery slope.
Fear also sneaks up.
You don’t dare to call for help, because you’ll work this out, and nobody will have a tainted view of your relationship. You don't want to call the police, because what if you hurt his career? And what if he takes the baby, like he said he would? You'd better sit tight. You don't dare to tell anyone, you make excuses. You pretend. But it starts to eat you alive. Your appetite grinds to a halt. You begin to have regular anxiety attacks. You are underweight. You are walking on eggshells. You've assumed a new role, of the baby’s protector. Your stomach drops and your heart sinks on a regular basis. You being to have PTSD. You turn down social activities. You say no to your friends. You beat him back home every night. You want to keep him pleased. You are sick. This. Has. Made. You. Sick. But you love him. You love him. You love him.
Letting this behavior happen is not love.
This is not love.
It is not love to excuse.
It is not love to enable.
It is not love to sweep problems under the rug with no communication.
It is not love to put up with this behavior.
It is loving to set boundaries.
It is loving to have strength, to know your son cannot and will not see this again.
It is loving to break your own heart, because you never wished for a fractured home.
It is loving to take time away, to reflect, and remember you are a worthy person.
That’s the scariest part of all. By the end, you are so upside down that your worth is nearly gone. Your WORTH. Hear me loud and clear when I tell you that YOU WILL QUESTION IF YOU ARE A PERSON WORTHY TO BE A LIVING, BREATHING THING ON THE EARTH. Many factors add up to this, including cries for help that were understood, but never responded to from those you truly thought would help. Instead, it was glossed over, and you and your son were left...feeling unloved, sure...but also unsafe. THIS IS NOT LOVE. Not love comes from a cycle of not love, and not love before that. Not love cannot be sustained when matched with real love.
And it's that simple. And it's that hard.
And yet time works wonders.
And in the beginning you're certain you'll never get through, because the man of your dreams is gone. It's gone. It is all gone. And then weeks go by. And then you near a month, then more, and you see things so much clearer now that your source of anxiety is gone. And you're right, it is gone. It is all gone. But what's gone is the darkness. The turmoil, and the sadness, the storm brought with it.
But your love is intact. And you find that you are actually intact. And you no longer pine for someone who tried so hard to leave you, for so long. And when you really take a look back...you see that someone has been trying to leave you for the last year, yes, but also since they met you.
If I stay silent, I do no favors. I enable. I patch over. I pretend. I allow no women to come forward, to say, "me too!" I have heard so many times that it appears my life is perfect. That it looked like I was living the dream. Reality is that my heart, soul, and trust were shattered. That I will pine for who knows how long for the life I thought I had. The family I thought I was building and could save, could fix. The idea that you don't throw in the towel on marriage when it's this level of love, when there is a baby. The idea that raising our baby under the same roof was the only option.
My reality is that I am broken.
As broken as the shadow of the person I thought I knew. The one who told me he never wanted me to be afraid of him. The one who told me that he hated his profession and took it out on me.The one who I both still love, and fear. The one I must turn over our son to at times now - without me. The one who belongs to a family that has now been made clear in court after the protective order, is lost to me. I thought many of those relationships could stay intact. I had a completely different vision of him being helped, and our relationships sustained. I thought family is family is family and family helps. I have been so naive. I now have no choice but to hand over my baby. This will also mean handing over my baby to family that I feel I no longer know, or will be allowed to know. I will hand over my baby to one family member whom I loved, but who always made me nervous because of the effect of their pain pills. I'd witnessed them nod off on more than one occasion...including once when my newborn son was in their arms. That is an image you don't forget. I was told I love my baby too much. But I don't for one second believe that is even a thing. Thank god I love my son and will fight to keep him healthy and safe. Thank god he has me, and I have him. My little boy all but saved my life.
I have no idea how to rebuild my life. I'd been setting myself up to be primarily a stay-at-home-mom. I have had no regular income since I was pregnant. Only freelance work. I have no idea how to pay my lawyers. I have no idea how to pay to recover and start over from any of this. It is total devastation in every aspect. Emotionally, mentally, physically, financially. You name it. So no, my life is not perfect. I am certainly not living my dream.
But what I have learned I am, is an eternal optimist. I am an amazing mother who loves her son more than anything, and will fight to protect him when, and where I need to. I also know that people are good. That men are good. That men are out there who come from communication, or want to learn communication. Who want to dig deep. Who would look at themselves, and choose to sort out their share of the issues. Who speak kindly to and of the women in his life. Who strive to discover who they truly are, and what they want. Who won't tell me that I won't be able to go get a job and provide like he does. Who won't yell at me for buying a cup of coffee. Who won't tell me he wouldn't have to yell if I didn't make him mad. Who won't want to "put me on an allowance." Who dig in to the experience of parenthood. I didn't have what I now know I needed in a partner while navigating my way into motherhood. Lost to the haze of new motherhood, I wasn't able to deeply express and work through my first 6 months of post partum anxiety. I wasn't able to express my contentment with becoming a mother, and my deep connection to our son, or talk about the kind of baby he was, and the parenting styles my mother's instincts told me fit him best. I didn't have those big exciting moments to talk about for years to come when I found out I was pregnant, or when we saw the first ultra-sound. Instead, I had someone who told me time and time again, "I'm a cold person." That his family, "bottles everything up. It's what we do." He was so determined. So committed to the cold. To the bottling.
I've been in long term relationships for the past 20 years. Never in my life did I experience a relationship where I needed to ask for help. Never in my life did I experience a relationship where someone told me I was the cause of everything. Certainly not in the 8 year relationship I was in prior. That was a good man, so good he was willing to come to my defense even now. So I am not without hope. I am confident about the fact that there are good men.
I feel a pang of sadness when I see a baby out and about with both a mom, and a dad. I keep having moments of panic because my wedding ring isn't on. For a split second I'm worried I've lost it. I'm not used to having it off. Ahead of me lies a hard road, and no, I'm not sure how I'm going to start down it, or pay for it. And yes, it still feels like all is being taken. A spouse, my baby, quite possibly any chance at future pregnancies, quite possibly the roof over our heads. I have no idea what we'll do. I am learning how crushed the stay-at-home-mom often becomes in this scenario. Where are the resources?! Life is dealing me cards I have never, ever, wanted. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy. I don't know how anyone can take the required divorce classes and still want to go through this, rather than committing harder, and fixing it. Those classes are devastating.
I'm aware that this all sounds very heavy, so let me leave you with some lightness.
Recently, my bouts of sadness have started to lessen. I have ever so gently begun to feel lighter, and to feel a freedom that had gone missing. I still feel a spark inside. A spark I didn't even realize had started to go out. It is there, it is back, and it is glowing. Urging me on. I have to believe that there is better ahead. There is different, there is new. I have worked too hard, for too long to lose every scrap of myself for this. I know I was certainly not put on this earth to be this sad. And also, "Charlie's Mom" is amazing, you guys. She is tough, and strong, and soft, and sensitive, and in tune, and confident, and fun. No way would she let someone else take her worth. Someone with so much potential, but so deeply wounded. Someone so young. I've lived way too much life to see myself demolished at the hands of another. Parents and friends had begun to comment on why I was always asking permission to do things, wondering where my independence had gone.
I have a lot to figure out, about why I let this happen. Where along the way I got it into my head that romance was tragic. How I could let my attraction blind me so deeply. I am researching and reading like crazy, and will link a couple of articles at the end to help you all better understand.
If you're reading this and you've been through something similar, I hope my words and transparency help you. Help you be less alone. Help you to feel less shame. Help to remind you to stay hopeful.
And if f you ever feel that you need to ask for help - ask. And don't let anyone minimize your fear. They are not living, breathing, experiencing it firsthand. They have no right to tell you your experience is not valid. This is exactly why people feel there is no way out. If someone tells you they are scared, please listen. Respond. I beg you. And if you find yourself in the camp of the other party, help that person with some tough love, rather than a blind eye. Please, I beg you. To stay silent, to stay inactive does them no favors. The cycle will never have an end.
I am in progress. I am both happy, and sad. I am worried, but hopeful. I am full of love for my incredible family and circle of friends. My supportive community. My tribe who reached right out and helped me stay afloat. My therapist. I am learning. Every day I am digging deep and figuring it out.
What I do know now, is love is not cruel.
If it's cruel, it's not love.
It is not love.
This one really helped me understand the why and how of my participation:
22 stages of relationship between an empath and a narcissist
Understanding emotional abuse
Understanding emotional and physiological abuse
Podcast
Jul 11, 2017
Nowhere to go.
"Grief is just love with nowhere to go."
I've stumbled upon the perfect quote, and I'm thinking of it throughout the day. I ping-pong between moments of rest, and being seized with sadness. For a minute I think I'm going to be okay, and then my heartbreak is debilitating.
I can't help but feel this is a monstrous waste. A rash, hurried, angry waste. The depths of what this is are unbearable. I do not want this. I do not want this for me. I do not want this for him. I do not want this for our boy.
My boy no longer lives under the same roof as his mother and father.
He will never see us kiss.
He will never bound into our bed, waking us up early on a Christmas morning.
He will never sit between us on the couch, watching a Disney movie.
He will not take another family vacation.
He will not be given a sibling from the two of us.
He will never hear us tell the other, "I love you."
He will not remember how hard it got for the two of us, but also how much love was there.
All time is happening at once. We are speaking our wedding vows, we are watching our son be born, we are divorcing. Divorcing. And what can I do? What was I to do when I was being taunted with the word, divorce, for over a year? What was I to do, but beg and plead and nearly lose my dignity in the process? Don't leave me. What could I do, if I alone was willing to walk through the fires, to the ends of the earth, to fix anything and everything that came our way?
What if what came our way damaged me emotionally, mentally, and physically in the process? My appetite vanished, my anxiety mounted, and I questioned my self worth. My worth. To feel unworthy is a scary spot to be.
But what if I still I wanted to fight for us? What happens when one won't stop fighting, and the other won't start? What's to be done when you're desperate to draw someone out of communication shut-down, and they aren't a willing participant? What do you do when you ask for help for him, for you, for your baby, and nobody answers your cries?
What if, despite it all, you don't want it to end?
To end without a fight is such a devastating shame. In these moments, where I can't catch my breath, I am sinking. My love with nowhere to go is suffocating. So abrupt.
I longed to talk about the depths of motherhood. But depth became off limits. Wasn't this just a season of life? Weren't we just getting back to dates? Planning our first getaway early next year for just the two of us? We had just begun. Barely at three years of marriage. I couldn't even have three, and I would have given every single one I had left. I am forever altered by this.
How could so much be taken from me? This is a low, low grief.
And when I see him...how will I ever look at him and not see my husband? I will miss him forever. I will love him for always. I move forward off-kilter, housing something broken inside.
It is gone. It is all gone.
Maybe this was never mine to keep. This is not the first time my heart has been shattered by my Great Love. The one who left me behind once for eight months. From that I barely recovered. Here we go again.
My Great Love who talked of our future up until the moment our lives exploded. My Great Love who tried to leave me so many times. It was inevitable. How many times must I be left, or told I'm going to be left, before I believe it, and act on it as well? How many more days can I stay, scared? Physically, mentally, and emotionally declining? Scared of an anger that my Great Love came with, and one that seems to be amplified by life with me.
Yet my heart still screams: Stop this! Stop all of this! End it now! Fight for this! This is can't be how our story ends! Don't run away! Look ahead! This shattered life is not for us!
Grief is just love with nowhere to go. I've been broken, but my love stayed intact.
Thank goodness for our son. Our beautiful, magical son. He is a bit of what was, of what I believe should still be, and all the reason in the world to press on. The brightest spot in my life. The boy who I'm said to love too much. To me, there will never be any such thing as too much.
Thank god for my capacity to love, and my role as his mother.
This tiny boy has saved my life.
I've stumbled upon the perfect quote, and I'm thinking of it throughout the day. I ping-pong between moments of rest, and being seized with sadness. For a minute I think I'm going to be okay, and then my heartbreak is debilitating.
I can't help but feel this is a monstrous waste. A rash, hurried, angry waste. The depths of what this is are unbearable. I do not want this. I do not want this for me. I do not want this for him. I do not want this for our boy.
My boy no longer lives under the same roof as his mother and father.
He will never see us kiss.
He will never bound into our bed, waking us up early on a Christmas morning.
He will never sit between us on the couch, watching a Disney movie.
He will not take another family vacation.
He will not be given a sibling from the two of us.
He will never hear us tell the other, "I love you."
He will not remember how hard it got for the two of us, but also how much love was there.
All time is happening at once. We are speaking our wedding vows, we are watching our son be born, we are divorcing. Divorcing. And what can I do? What was I to do when I was being taunted with the word, divorce, for over a year? What was I to do, but beg and plead and nearly lose my dignity in the process? Don't leave me. What could I do, if I alone was willing to walk through the fires, to the ends of the earth, to fix anything and everything that came our way?
What if what came our way damaged me emotionally, mentally, and physically in the process? My appetite vanished, my anxiety mounted, and I questioned my self worth. My worth. To feel unworthy is a scary spot to be.
But what if I still I wanted to fight for us? What happens when one won't stop fighting, and the other won't start? What's to be done when you're desperate to draw someone out of communication shut-down, and they aren't a willing participant? What do you do when you ask for help for him, for you, for your baby, and nobody answers your cries?
What if, despite it all, you don't want it to end?
To end without a fight is such a devastating shame. In these moments, where I can't catch my breath, I am sinking. My love with nowhere to go is suffocating. So abrupt.
I longed to talk about the depths of motherhood. But depth became off limits. Wasn't this just a season of life? Weren't we just getting back to dates? Planning our first getaway early next year for just the two of us? We had just begun. Barely at three years of marriage. I couldn't even have three, and I would have given every single one I had left. I am forever altered by this.
How could so much be taken from me? This is a low, low grief.
And when I see him...how will I ever look at him and not see my husband? I will miss him forever. I will love him for always. I move forward off-kilter, housing something broken inside.
It is gone. It is all gone.
Maybe this was never mine to keep. This is not the first time my heart has been shattered by my Great Love. The one who left me behind once for eight months. From that I barely recovered. Here we go again.
My Great Love who talked of our future up until the moment our lives exploded. My Great Love who tried to leave me so many times. It was inevitable. How many times must I be left, or told I'm going to be left, before I believe it, and act on it as well? How many more days can I stay, scared? Physically, mentally, and emotionally declining? Scared of an anger that my Great Love came with, and one that seems to be amplified by life with me.
Yet my heart still screams: Stop this! Stop all of this! End it now! Fight for this! This is can't be how our story ends! Don't run away! Look ahead! This shattered life is not for us!
Grief is just love with nowhere to go. I've been broken, but my love stayed intact.
Thank goodness for our son. Our beautiful, magical son. He is a bit of what was, of what I believe should still be, and all the reason in the world to press on. The brightest spot in my life. The boy who I'm said to love too much. To me, there will never be any such thing as too much.
Thank god for my capacity to love, and my role as his mother.
This tiny boy has saved my life.
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