Recently there has been an issue on my heart that I'm never really ever sure how to address. It's 1:30 in the morning and I made the mistake of taking my migraine medicine and coffee at the same time, so of course I'm wide awake and my brain is racing. I've been kind of avoiding writing lately because I want to make sure that what I write is purposeful and meaningful. I've had quite a few topics dropped in my spirit and they will all flourish, but since it's the middle of the night and this is a sensitive topic, I'll start here and "whisper" drop this on my blog/social media feed.
Race and Love.
As a "racially ambiguous" woman I have had some difficulty finding a place or culture to belong to. Recently when people meet me it is immediately assumed that I am half black, others say Hispanic, Indian, the list goes on. Very rarely does anyone ever get it correct. I've grown up getting used to the question, "What are you anyway?" Eventually my sarcastic wit took over and my answer became, "Human." The issue of race and culture has taken on a new life for me because as I've gotten older I have become more aware of the social stigma that comes with racial divides. Even in my marriage (to a black man), he admitted that if I WAS black we wouldn't have conversations about race and ironically the racial conversations we did have were initiated by ME. I was slightly disturbed that as a black man in America (raising a young black boy), he didn't acknowledge his own struggles in the white suburbia where we resided. Was I making a mountain out of a mole hill or was it that I didn't have the right to discuss these racial issues? It was something that confused and bewildered me then and even now. How do I raise a young black boy as a single mother who is not black? How do I explain to him that there are people who will classify and segregate him because of his shade of black? And how do I address these issues with him if his father will not? The same questions can be said for my daughter. She's been asking me why our skin is different shades of brown or why my hair is straight and hers is curly. She yearns for my straight hair and I want her curly locks. I tell her she's beautiful all the time because I never want her to think that because her mom is lighter with longer hair that I am the definition of beauty. If it were up to me, she would be the new definition of all that is perfect.
Then we enter into the widely accepted or not accepted world of love and race. Growing up on a military base, I wasn't exposed to race issues. We were either military or civilian. THAT was our stigma. When I moved to Kansas City I started to notice certain looks from mainly black women when I was with my (ex)husband. Multiple times I overheard bathroom conversations about my "swirl" kids or how I "must have stolen my man." For some reason I was the homewrecker in the eyes of some women and I didn't understand the concept until I realized that I was in a love relationship that couldn't be hash-tagged as #BlackLove. Regardless of how beautiful I feel love is, or how supportive I am of unity in black love, that wasn't who I was when these women saw me. Recently in a restaurant with my current love (also a black man) I saw it again. The look of disdain and disapproval. I discussed with my partner what that look meant to me and how I wasn't "allowed" to have the conversation regarding it because of my race. There's a stigma that I carry, a guilt that maybe I shouldn't be loving who I am because someone disapproves of it and that look enhances that guilt and hurts. I feel like I am in a black love relationship because I love my man and my children and my family, all of whom are black. But because I am not, I cannot be a part of that love unity.
Yes, the relationship I am in is highly supported. My marriage to a black man was supported and that support had to be enough to make me stay quiet about my own pains and confusion about my race/culture and where I could belong. I've been given "the pass" by ALL of my friends. Some even mention forgetting that I'm not black because of the fact that I am so flawlessly ambiguous. At the same time, I still have difficulty being able to connect with certain conversations because when it comes down to it, I'm not black so there are certain inherent claims I have no right to and I know this. When and where is it acceptable for me to be able to talk about my identity when there is no one who identifies as me or my race? My children are TRIracial. How do I teach them about ALL of who they are?
I suppose this post is more questions than answers, but that's where discussions usually start. Statements that question social norms and beliefs. I definitely don't have the answers to these questions and who knows if there really is an answer out there. At the end of the day I'm just a woman in love raising babies that are just as racially ambiguous as their mama.
Thursday, December 31, 2015
Monday, November 16, 2015
Taking a Hard Look in the Mirror
Social media has this way of "flashing back" these days and reminding us all of where we were this exact day years ago. I have found that this turned into somewhat of an independent and sometimes daily mental battle. I'm reminded that I was once a wife. It's a strange feeling, to know that you once were in this position of entitlement and now you're simply the "mother of." That at some point in my young life I was someone's forever, I was the best part of their life, I was the wife and had rights that trumped privileges. On one post I even referred to myself as "the wife." Those words, so simple and easily slipping off my lips, tossed a stone at my heart and I started to wonder how I ever knew how to be a wife.
I don't think I really ever did. Not truly.
I'm much better at being a mother than I was at being a wife. I find fulfillment in being a mother and reflecting on how I was as a wife, I rarely found fulfillment. Whose fault is that really? Can I blame him for cheating if I wasn't excited about being his wife? Could I really have expected him to be honest with me if I couldn't be honest with myself? In trying to move forward in my current relationship, I've been forced to reflect on my past (self). I don't want to make the same mistakes and quite honestly, I'm afraid I will. I grew up in a family that was tainted with divorce. My parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles had all gone through a divorce. I didn't go into my marriage with divorce as an option, but being a product of divorce made the concept real to me and I also didn't go into my marriage knowing what forever truly meant. I've never seen who a wife is supposed to be in a marriage, only what norms have been forced on me. I tried so hard to adhere to those norms and in the process completely lost the small fractions of myself that I once had. I didn't even notice it when it was happening. I thought it was normal to be a wife and have no friends. I didn't think adults made friends. I developed tunnel vision and was blind to everyone else around me.
For the first time in my adult life I have been receiving a massive amount of judgement based off assumptions and what others think of as acceptable behavior. I am by no means perfect, I have tried and failed and with that failure finally realized that perfection is fleeting and in the end not an obtainable characteristic.
For years I would conform to what others wanted me to do, my passions and self love was thrown into the ashes because; who cares about my heart (it's broken anyway)? It seemed the moment I wanted to dust off the ashes and begin to love myself so many loved ones "didn't know me anymore." I'm experiencing being a failure for the first time. Initially I thought it would be a humbling experience, that I would feel stronger even though I had people telling me I was a "sorry excuse for a mother," everything they were "running from," "the worst thing to ever happen" to them, "selfish," "fat and disgusting." I'm a lover of words and words have been taking me out execution style. I never intended to be someone's failure. For so long I would pride myself on making the right decisions and being the one people would stick up for. Having someone you once loved show you nothing but hatred is probably one of the most difficult feelings to deal with (especially when you've chosen to forgive them and move on with your life).
I recently found a couple journals where I attempted to jot things down. I went through phases where I would write down my feelings, but then would be scared he would read them again, so I'd hide them away and forget about them. When I was reading through one journal last night there were numerous entries where I think I knew I was losing. I knew I was losing my soul and my strength and my own identity, but I was scared of how to find it all again. I wanted so badly not to fail and in the process I let go of a lot of the dreams and gifts I was given at a young age. I allowed perfection to dissipate and became comfortable in angst.
Age has forced me to look back at these things and I find myself questioning the younger me. When did I get so lost that I couldn't even see through the wind? I read somewhere that we will never know what we truly look like, only the reflection made from a mirror or in a picture. We'll never get to see ourselves the way others see us. Of course, I took this metaphorically as well. A mirror will only reflect what we impose on it, however, sometimes we forget that if there is a bend or crack in the mirror, our image may be distorted, The same can be said for the people in our lives, and in my case my husband (when I was married). He was my mirror. I only saw myself how he saw me, the reflection I imposed on him was what I thought was a suitable wife, but he was bent in some corners that were invisible to the naked (married) eye and cracked in the middle. I don't think we ever really see the distortions that the mirror has because we're so focused on how we have become distorted and fixing ourselves (in the other person's image).
Here's the hard part. I realize that perfection is only a manifestation of what we feel is flawless and the reality is that as human beings we are incapable of adhering to all the requirements those around us create in order for us to be perfect. However, there is a small population of us, who even in the midst of the opposition, still aim for that perfection with a blind eye to the fact that we will never reach it. But what is perfection anyway? Is it dinner on the table by 6:30 every evening? Is it completely altering your life to orbit another person's? Is it not talking about things that hurt your feelings? Is it being a size four? Is it having it all figured out by 30?
If this is perfection, I suppose I'll never have it, but I guess that's why I don't look in the same mirror any more.
I don't think I really ever did. Not truly.
I'm much better at being a mother than I was at being a wife. I find fulfillment in being a mother and reflecting on how I was as a wife, I rarely found fulfillment. Whose fault is that really? Can I blame him for cheating if I wasn't excited about being his wife? Could I really have expected him to be honest with me if I couldn't be honest with myself? In trying to move forward in my current relationship, I've been forced to reflect on my past (self). I don't want to make the same mistakes and quite honestly, I'm afraid I will. I grew up in a family that was tainted with divorce. My parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles had all gone through a divorce. I didn't go into my marriage with divorce as an option, but being a product of divorce made the concept real to me and I also didn't go into my marriage knowing what forever truly meant. I've never seen who a wife is supposed to be in a marriage, only what norms have been forced on me. I tried so hard to adhere to those norms and in the process completely lost the small fractions of myself that I once had. I didn't even notice it when it was happening. I thought it was normal to be a wife and have no friends. I didn't think adults made friends. I developed tunnel vision and was blind to everyone else around me.
For the first time in my adult life I have been receiving a massive amount of judgement based off assumptions and what others think of as acceptable behavior. I am by no means perfect, I have tried and failed and with that failure finally realized that perfection is fleeting and in the end not an obtainable characteristic.
For years I would conform to what others wanted me to do, my passions and self love was thrown into the ashes because; who cares about my heart (it's broken anyway)? It seemed the moment I wanted to dust off the ashes and begin to love myself so many loved ones "didn't know me anymore." I'm experiencing being a failure for the first time. Initially I thought it would be a humbling experience, that I would feel stronger even though I had people telling me I was a "sorry excuse for a mother," everything they were "running from," "the worst thing to ever happen" to them, "selfish," "fat and disgusting." I'm a lover of words and words have been taking me out execution style. I never intended to be someone's failure. For so long I would pride myself on making the right decisions and being the one people would stick up for. Having someone you once loved show you nothing but hatred is probably one of the most difficult feelings to deal with (especially when you've chosen to forgive them and move on with your life).
I recently found a couple journals where I attempted to jot things down. I went through phases where I would write down my feelings, but then would be scared he would read them again, so I'd hide them away and forget about them. When I was reading through one journal last night there were numerous entries where I think I knew I was losing. I knew I was losing my soul and my strength and my own identity, but I was scared of how to find it all again. I wanted so badly not to fail and in the process I let go of a lot of the dreams and gifts I was given at a young age. I allowed perfection to dissipate and became comfortable in angst.
Age has forced me to look back at these things and I find myself questioning the younger me. When did I get so lost that I couldn't even see through the wind? I read somewhere that we will never know what we truly look like, only the reflection made from a mirror or in a picture. We'll never get to see ourselves the way others see us. Of course, I took this metaphorically as well. A mirror will only reflect what we impose on it, however, sometimes we forget that if there is a bend or crack in the mirror, our image may be distorted, The same can be said for the people in our lives, and in my case my husband (when I was married). He was my mirror. I only saw myself how he saw me, the reflection I imposed on him was what I thought was a suitable wife, but he was bent in some corners that were invisible to the naked (married) eye and cracked in the middle. I don't think we ever really see the distortions that the mirror has because we're so focused on how we have become distorted and fixing ourselves (in the other person's image).
Here's the hard part. I realize that perfection is only a manifestation of what we feel is flawless and the reality is that as human beings we are incapable of adhering to all the requirements those around us create in order for us to be perfect. However, there is a small population of us, who even in the midst of the opposition, still aim for that perfection with a blind eye to the fact that we will never reach it. But what is perfection anyway? Is it dinner on the table by 6:30 every evening? Is it completely altering your life to orbit another person's? Is it not talking about things that hurt your feelings? Is it being a size four? Is it having it all figured out by 30?
If this is perfection, I suppose I'll never have it, but I guess that's why I don't look in the same mirror any more.
Friday, November 13, 2015
Dear Little Matt
Dear Little Matt,
Over the summer you told me that our relationship is "special because we talk about all different things." Any time I ask you to "Guess what?" you immediately know to answer "You love me." Your smile (your real one, not the fake one you use when I'm taking too many pictures) has a way of jumping straight into my heart and pumps life through all my limbs. You're almost as tall as me and you're only eight years old. You are the first boy in my life who is gentle with my heart and I'm positive that it's because you lived next to it for 9 months. You changed my life, my heart, my soul, my vision, and even my appearance.
When I found out I was pregnant with you I wasn't scared. I was calm because I knew I could do it, I could be your mom. It didn't matter to me that I wasn't married to your father (at the time). It didn't matter to me that I was only 21. It didn't matter to me that I was living on my own for the first time. Suddenly the biggest and most significant person in the world was living inside me and I wanted you. You didn't get to choose me but you love me as though you hand picked me from a sea of mothers and it makes me feel more than unique.
Music brings you alive and you're so weird that my weird loves your weird. Is that weird? You and I have a slightly off beat tempo that seems to match one another and when you laugh at my jokes, I become this superhuman who has scaled a volcano and suddenly I can conquer anything.
I want you to know that I will die protecting you. I will clasp your heart in my hands lightly and only allow a woman righteous enough to peek at it. I will consult God on your present and future. I will support you when you want to explore roads that others are afraid of and I will dance with you in department store windows and mirrors. I will always put ketchup on your rice and eggs in your Ramen noodles. I will buy you small action figures you will lose just so you can be genuinely happy for all your childhood.
When you grow up and fall in love I will let you fall, because that's the best part. The free fall and wind in your face as your heart starts to beat to that of another. And if she's not there to catch you, it'll be okay, because I'm a praying mother and you are strong and you will fall again and we'll do it again and I'll love you through it.
And when you leave me, you'll never leave me. I'll always remember your hugs that turned into grown man hugs at eight years old the moment I no longer had to bend down to kiss your forehead. I'll gradually (and quickly) get shorter than you and one day you'll be big enough to hold me in your arms the way I hold you. But I want you to know, you'll never have arms big enough to hold my love for you. You'll never want for acceptance or a partner. I will fight for you and you won't ever have to ask and you'll never see the battle on my face because for you, I became a warrior at 21 years old.
And I will always be a warrior, for you.
Over the summer you told me that our relationship is "special because we talk about all different things." Any time I ask you to "Guess what?" you immediately know to answer "You love me." Your smile (your real one, not the fake one you use when I'm taking too many pictures) has a way of jumping straight into my heart and pumps life through all my limbs. You're almost as tall as me and you're only eight years old. You are the first boy in my life who is gentle with my heart and I'm positive that it's because you lived next to it for 9 months. You changed my life, my heart, my soul, my vision, and even my appearance.
When I found out I was pregnant with you I wasn't scared. I was calm because I knew I could do it, I could be your mom. It didn't matter to me that I wasn't married to your father (at the time). It didn't matter to me that I was only 21. It didn't matter to me that I was living on my own for the first time. Suddenly the biggest and most significant person in the world was living inside me and I wanted you. You didn't get to choose me but you love me as though you hand picked me from a sea of mothers and it makes me feel more than unique.
Music brings you alive and you're so weird that my weird loves your weird. Is that weird? You and I have a slightly off beat tempo that seems to match one another and when you laugh at my jokes, I become this superhuman who has scaled a volcano and suddenly I can conquer anything.
I want you to know that I will die protecting you. I will clasp your heart in my hands lightly and only allow a woman righteous enough to peek at it. I will consult God on your present and future. I will support you when you want to explore roads that others are afraid of and I will dance with you in department store windows and mirrors. I will always put ketchup on your rice and eggs in your Ramen noodles. I will buy you small action figures you will lose just so you can be genuinely happy for all your childhood.
When you grow up and fall in love I will let you fall, because that's the best part. The free fall and wind in your face as your heart starts to beat to that of another. And if she's not there to catch you, it'll be okay, because I'm a praying mother and you are strong and you will fall again and we'll do it again and I'll love you through it.
And when you leave me, you'll never leave me. I'll always remember your hugs that turned into grown man hugs at eight years old the moment I no longer had to bend down to kiss your forehead. I'll gradually (and quickly) get shorter than you and one day you'll be big enough to hold me in your arms the way I hold you. But I want you to know, you'll never have arms big enough to hold my love for you. You'll never want for acceptance or a partner. I will fight for you and you won't ever have to ask and you'll never see the battle on my face because for you, I became a warrior at 21 years old.
And I will always be a warrior, for you.
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
Dear Ex-Lover-friend-confidant-artist-poet
Dear Ex-Lover-friend-confidant-artist-poet,
I understand that you don't understand me anymore. It seems strange that in the midst of confusion the only time I was able to make sense out of things was when we were talking or laughing or writing or just being. You helped me understand love and that it was okay to be who I was truly. When I questioned my confidence you reassured me that I was stronger than those who tried to emotionally kill me.
Unfortunately in this strange and baffling age of technology and multiple ways of communication, we no longer share air waves or likes or moments of subliminal "I know you are still present in my life" exchanges. It's okay. I understand, but I have to let you know what you taught me.
True, I was a dis-proportioned, hurt, damaged, tainted and confused female being when we met. You found a way to befriend the muse inside me and I didn't even know resisting was an option. I willingly gave into the creative being you managed to break out of my veins and suddenly I found myself learning how to be inspired. My fingers seemed to grace a pen as though they were lost lovers and you had reunited them. I would stay up until 3am writing of my 3am thoughts and allowing them to get lost in hidden posts or the lines of my notebook. I fell for you. Strangely, you never seemed to know how I needed your presence (lack of a presence). Now, here we are. Missing wave lengths and I don't even think you notice. Which is okay. I've learned to be okay with that. Not because I have a "new love" or because I've failed at my "old love," but because you taught me that love comes in different forms and molds itself around different people. You taught me how to love you in a way that I didn't think humans could love...from a distance, abandoned and alone, but okay.
I don't know how else to express to you how much your brief (even though I thought it would be for a lifetime) friendship with me helped birth what was lost for so long. I will remember and appreciate you until my hair ages and my memory falls into the air that once held your voice. I hope one day, you'll catch that breeze across your neck and remember that once upon a time, a distant and lonely girl learned to love again because you showed her it was okay.
And I hope you're okay.
Are you okay?
I understand that you don't understand me anymore. It seems strange that in the midst of confusion the only time I was able to make sense out of things was when we were talking or laughing or writing or just being. You helped me understand love and that it was okay to be who I was truly. When I questioned my confidence you reassured me that I was stronger than those who tried to emotionally kill me.
Unfortunately in this strange and baffling age of technology and multiple ways of communication, we no longer share air waves or likes or moments of subliminal "I know you are still present in my life" exchanges. It's okay. I understand, but I have to let you know what you taught me.
True, I was a dis-proportioned, hurt, damaged, tainted and confused female being when we met. You found a way to befriend the muse inside me and I didn't even know resisting was an option. I willingly gave into the creative being you managed to break out of my veins and suddenly I found myself learning how to be inspired. My fingers seemed to grace a pen as though they were lost lovers and you had reunited them. I would stay up until 3am writing of my 3am thoughts and allowing them to get lost in hidden posts or the lines of my notebook. I fell for you. Strangely, you never seemed to know how I needed your presence (lack of a presence). Now, here we are. Missing wave lengths and I don't even think you notice. Which is okay. I've learned to be okay with that. Not because I have a "new love" or because I've failed at my "old love," but because you taught me that love comes in different forms and molds itself around different people. You taught me how to love you in a way that I didn't think humans could love...from a distance, abandoned and alone, but okay.
I don't know how else to express to you how much your brief (even though I thought it would be for a lifetime) friendship with me helped birth what was lost for so long. I will remember and appreciate you until my hair ages and my memory falls into the air that once held your voice. I hope one day, you'll catch that breeze across your neck and remember that once upon a time, a distant and lonely girl learned to love again because you showed her it was okay.
And I hope you're okay.
Are you okay?
Friday, October 16, 2015
Dear Antonio
Dear Antonio,
Last night, I realized something that I've tried to deny for the past few months. You helped save me. When you entered my life, I was on the verge of self destruction. I never admitted it to you because I wanted to be that woman who had her life together and who you could flawlessly love without witnessing the dirt on her hands. Our relationship came as sudden and surprising as a snowflake in June and ironically we were formally introduced in June. When we met, I never gave you a second glance. You were off my radar and honestly, trying to get to know anyone at that point in my life was the last thing I was thinking about. But there you were, unexpected and present in my life and neither of us knew what that handshake would mean.
When you approached me months later about dating, I was more than hesitant. There were so many things stacked against you and I knew that with my background and freshly healing heart, the odds would be stacked up against us together as well. It took me a whole day to even realize you were interested in me and I threw everything I could at you so that you would find me unappealing. Yet, there, in the midst of all my negative and amplified characteristics you said something so cliche yet so needed, "I could treat you like the Queen that you are. You could be missing out." I don't know why coming from you it was like I was hearing those words for the first time and in reality I kind of was. No man had ever told me I was a Queen (I knew it though). No man had ever publicized that I deserved better. Suddenly, there I was handing you my phone number.
Even though our love formed fast, our relationship formed slow. You were clear you didn't want a commitment and I didn't want to rush into an "official" relationship quickly. However, as soon as we had a conversation about informing those around us that we were dating, I fell for you quickly. My love for you was fresh and I didn't know how it would grow, but I knew that it would. We prided ourselves on our privacy, taking the time to have quality one-on-one time, and being purposeful in sharing "us" with others. Here I was completely out of a failed marriage and for the first time in my life I was not only witnessing a healthy relationship, but I was half of it.
Now...here is where you saved me.
At the hands of other people I was allowing myself to decrease and any time I began to doubt myself, you loved me without question. I need to explain to you how your love for me has changed my life. You willingly prayed for me and my kids at the beginning of our relationship. You reminded me to focus on God and took time to fast with me. You didn't have to, but you did. When I cried over the pains that other men had inflicted on me, you hugged me and apologized for things you hadn't even done. When I got angry and didn't know how to express myself, you let me be okay with just crying for "no reason."
You call. You set an alarm and wake up every morning just to call me. Your voice calms me.
You play with my hair. You learned to play with my hair. Even though you haven't quite perfected it the way my mom used to do it, your effort is enough for me to love you more.
You support me. You do more than support me. You've found a way to include yourself in my life, into what I'm passionate about and you do so willingly and without making me feel like less of a woman or less of a mother or less of a person.
Your presence reminds me that it's possible to to have a custom made love.
You make me coffee in the morning.
You make me coffee at night.
When you did something that hurt my heart, you genuinely apologized and made sure I would never have to endure the pain again, and I never did.
You go on walks with me (even if you have to walk behind me because I'm being stubborn).
You chase me when I try to push you away because you know it's not what I really want.
You accept my apology when I realize I've been an idiot.
You love me even when I'm cranky (which can be often sometimes).
You let me stare at the stars.
You were constant and imperfect. You made mistakes and taught me that being human is okay. You taught me that men could have pride and not be prideful.
You held my hand.
When I felt like I couldn't hold onto life anymore, your hand was the umbilical chord to God.
All these actions, these verbs, are ways that you've loved me and your love helped save me from destroying myself.
God saw it fit to place you as an interruption to where I thought I wanted to be in my life. I'll never be able to clearly explain to you how grateful I am that you took a chance on me, even with seeing me with all my scars and bruises and baggage. Even my bad days are good because I have you. With you I have vision.
With you, I am home.
Last night, I realized something that I've tried to deny for the past few months. You helped save me. When you entered my life, I was on the verge of self destruction. I never admitted it to you because I wanted to be that woman who had her life together and who you could flawlessly love without witnessing the dirt on her hands. Our relationship came as sudden and surprising as a snowflake in June and ironically we were formally introduced in June. When we met, I never gave you a second glance. You were off my radar and honestly, trying to get to know anyone at that point in my life was the last thing I was thinking about. But there you were, unexpected and present in my life and neither of us knew what that handshake would mean.
When you approached me months later about dating, I was more than hesitant. There were so many things stacked against you and I knew that with my background and freshly healing heart, the odds would be stacked up against us together as well. It took me a whole day to even realize you were interested in me and I threw everything I could at you so that you would find me unappealing. Yet, there, in the midst of all my negative and amplified characteristics you said something so cliche yet so needed, "I could treat you like the Queen that you are. You could be missing out." I don't know why coming from you it was like I was hearing those words for the first time and in reality I kind of was. No man had ever told me I was a Queen (I knew it though). No man had ever publicized that I deserved better. Suddenly, there I was handing you my phone number.
Even though our love formed fast, our relationship formed slow. You were clear you didn't want a commitment and I didn't want to rush into an "official" relationship quickly. However, as soon as we had a conversation about informing those around us that we were dating, I fell for you quickly. My love for you was fresh and I didn't know how it would grow, but I knew that it would. We prided ourselves on our privacy, taking the time to have quality one-on-one time, and being purposeful in sharing "us" with others. Here I was completely out of a failed marriage and for the first time in my life I was not only witnessing a healthy relationship, but I was half of it.
Now...here is where you saved me.
At the hands of other people I was allowing myself to decrease and any time I began to doubt myself, you loved me without question. I need to explain to you how your love for me has changed my life. You willingly prayed for me and my kids at the beginning of our relationship. You reminded me to focus on God and took time to fast with me. You didn't have to, but you did. When I cried over the pains that other men had inflicted on me, you hugged me and apologized for things you hadn't even done. When I got angry and didn't know how to express myself, you let me be okay with just crying for "no reason."
You call. You set an alarm and wake up every morning just to call me. Your voice calms me.
You play with my hair. You learned to play with my hair. Even though you haven't quite perfected it the way my mom used to do it, your effort is enough for me to love you more.
You support me. You do more than support me. You've found a way to include yourself in my life, into what I'm passionate about and you do so willingly and without making me feel like less of a woman or less of a mother or less of a person.
Your presence reminds me that it's possible to to have a custom made love.
You make me coffee in the morning.
You make me coffee at night.
When you did something that hurt my heart, you genuinely apologized and made sure I would never have to endure the pain again, and I never did.
You go on walks with me (even if you have to walk behind me because I'm being stubborn).
You chase me when I try to push you away because you know it's not what I really want.
You accept my apology when I realize I've been an idiot.
You love me even when I'm cranky (which can be often sometimes).
You let me stare at the stars.
You were constant and imperfect. You made mistakes and taught me that being human is okay. You taught me that men could have pride and not be prideful.
You held my hand.
When I felt like I couldn't hold onto life anymore, your hand was the umbilical chord to God.
All these actions, these verbs, are ways that you've loved me and your love helped save me from destroying myself.
God saw it fit to place you as an interruption to where I thought I wanted to be in my life. I'll never be able to clearly explain to you how grateful I am that you took a chance on me, even with seeing me with all my scars and bruises and baggage. Even my bad days are good because I have you. With you I have vision.
With you, I am home.
Thursday, October 1, 2015
Finally: The Truth
A week ago God spoke to me so clearly about how He wanted me to use my gift of words. At bible study, I kept hearing Him say "Today is the day, it starts now, " and "Truth. All of it." It's taken me a full week and an opportunity to write for a local girls' healing movement to finally let it seep out of me the way He's asked. When I began to write this post for the "No Scars" movement, I was asked to write about how healing from relationships that have scarred me has helped me grow as a woman. I began to write very...passively. I read back over the colorful words I had crafted together and realized that this wasn't what God had instructed me to do. He had given me very clear instruction, so clear that the enemy heard it too and tried to shut me down through "family." So I deleted the FULL three paragraphs I had written and over three days managed to finally begin my journey into the truth of my life. My truth.
This is also the prologue to my book (or a rough version of it). I hope my words touch, move, and ignite you in ways that even I was unprepared for.
Read.
Enjoy.
Comment.
Share.
Repeat.
This is also the prologue to my book (or a rough version of it). I hope my words touch, move, and ignite you in ways that even I was unprepared for.
Read.
Enjoy.
Comment.
Share.
Repeat.
I’m
30 years old. I have two beautifully weird and unique children. My husband
cheated on me multiple times, emotionally abused me (whether he knew it or not)
and continues to verbally bash me. We are now divorced. My father is in prison
for molesting a little girl and I mistakenly feel as though I could have
stopped him, because when I was a little girl, he sexually molested me. I lied
when I was twelve and said I had forgiven him, but in reality, I didn’t know
what forgiveness was. I was beat, abused, belittled and abandoned over 90% of
my life. Now, at 30 years old, I am the best ME I have ever been and I would be
incapable of becoming this woman if my husband hadn’t repeatedly cheated and my
father hadn’t molested me. God has given me this grand purpose to help heal the
damaged young girls around me, to uplift through the use of words and
inspiration and He knew that in order for me to be as open as He needed me to
be, He would have to open me up. Yes, it hurts to be open and exposed. Because
like a wound, I was open and exposed to the elements, but now… I have been
healed and the scars left over from those open burdens are reminders that God
chose me. Out of all His children, He chose to use me. At the time, I didn’t
understand. How could He allow my father to visit my room nightly and tarnish
my perception of love to the point that I was incapable of loving anyone
without hurting myself? How could He allow my husband to bring another woman
into our bed repeatedly and lie to my face? How through all of this, could He
still put me a position where I wouldn’t leave my abusers? How could He allow
His daughter to cry out to Him night after night and seem to ignore her cries?
I was confused most of my life. Burdened with the idea that men only loved a
woman if she did what he said. That our jobs as women are to give sexual
pleasure and omit any personal hope of happiness. I lost myself in the men
around me and the men around me were lost in the world. I was in a dark place
and I was helpless, faithless, numb and unaware that any of this was happening.
I
got pregnant at 21 (after a miscarriage at 17 and an abortion at 19). Did I
mention I was lost? I was deeply in lust with my boyfriend and the idea that I
would finally have a family. I agreed to marry before my son was born so we
would have at least “done one thing right.” I had no idea how serious marriage
was or how to make a marriage work. I had never recovered or dealt with the
molestation from my father and at the time he was still present in my life. My
husband knew of my past sexual and physical abuse and needless to say, had a
deep dislike/hatred for my father. Meanwhile, my husband’s constant need to
entertain other women had already begun. As a young, insecure woman, I ignored
the signs began a cycle of forgiveness and excuses for my husband’s miniscule
and growing exploits. After all, the way to keep a husband and his love was to
forgive. Wasn’t that what I was told to do when I was 12? The two “most
important” men in my life, the two men that were supposed to be constantly
loving me had both began and continued to mentally kill me, and I didn’t even
know it. It wasn’t until five years into our marriage that my husband slept
with another woman. Just some random woman he met at a club while the kids and
I were away at my little sister’s graduation. I didn’t find out until a month
or so later, when the woman tried to contact him again. I broke. My insides, my
chest, my heart, my soul, my self-worth, my mind, my hands, my entire being
broke. The only thing I knew to do was “forgive” and move on “for the kids.” So
that’s what I did. I had no idea that I
was now broken and functioning as less than half a person. I faked happiness. I
posted pictures to social media of our perfect family; husband and wife, with
two children (a boy and a girl), going to church, serving in the church, and
living the best life. Behind closed doors I became mean, bitter and gradually
detached myself from the people who were closest to me. I couldn’t let anyone
know what I was slowly realizing; I was dead inside. The wounds of my past were
no longer small stabs to my chest; my husband’s infidelities and lies had been
the last fatal shot and I was dead. Over those first five years of marriage my
severe Stockholm’s syndrome (an unhealthy bond with an abuser) to my father
began to overflow into my relationship with my husband and I began to identify
him in the same way. The more my husband misused our marriage, the more I felt
he loved me. He would lie, watch porn, flirt with women, exchange phone numbers
with them, create dating profiles, go to clubs when he was supposed to be out
of town and I would get angry…and “forgive.” I didn’t know it then, but the
more I was being hurt, the more God was exposing me. All this time I was
forcing myself to have a relationship with a man who never knew how to love me
while God was steadily waiting on me to allow Him to take over my life and love
me more than any man ever could.
So
here I am a grown woman, but a baby in my relationship with God. Even though I
have been saved for years, it wasn’t revealed to me until recently the purpose
for my pain and the magnitude of why I’ve been exposed in the way that I have.
The unhealthy and tumultuous relationships with the men in my life have been
the dirt of where my foundation was built. When a house is built the first
thing the construction workers do is tear up the ground. They bull doze
whatever building was already there, because it’s weak and needs to be taken
down. Then they tear apart the ground, shovel and plow into the dirt and remove
all the unwanted rubble. After all this is done, they grate and level the dirt
before applying the stronger foundation. This is what God has done in my life,
in any life of a young woman who has had to endure pain at the hands of an
abuser, molester, cheater, liar, and/or fornicator. I was torn down because I
was weak. I wasn’t going to be able to withstand or hold in the new spirit that
God was going to house inside me. My shell, my THEN spirit was too fragile and
ignorant to understand and maintain the strength of the spirit that He has
placed in me now. During the tear down I was confused and angry with God for
allowing me to be victim so many time, for demolishing my childhood. I blamed
Him for so many things without understanding that He wasn’t at fault. But I’m human;
it was the only emotion I knew. Looking back I realize that he CHOSE me. Out of
all of His children, He chose me and set me aside to do powerful things and
make monumental movements that others are not able to even fathom. He knew that
none of that would have been possible if I was still the same fragile house I
had become. From all of this, all this rubble and destruction, God was able to
rebuild me more beautiful, spirited, and indestructible than I could have ever
imagined. If I had a choice of going through it all again and becoming who I am
now with the inspiration that has been rooted in me currently, I wouldn’t
hesitate to welcome it all again.
Wednesday, September 23, 2015
How to Change the Man You're Dating
Now that I've got your attention...
In life, there are things you will never be able to change. Like the way the sky looks, the size of your heart, doughnuts and Chipotle in excess will make you gain weight, and OTHER people.
We suffer so much through the hands of what others do to us and lack the understanding that it isn't the other person that is the issue, it's us. We can't change them. They won't change for us and if they do, it will be temporary. Personally, I believe that it's a universal pain, trying to change someone so that they fit our mold. We push and pull, stretch in ways we didn't think we ever would, accept and deny problems we said we would never deal with, and begin to implement our own ideas of perfection on this person without ever clearly understanding our own flaws or the fact that perfection isn't exactly a tangible characteristic.
Recently (because my posts are always inspired by "recent events" in my life), I started to question some of my life decisions and personality traits. Had I made the right decision? Was I at fault for my failures in my marriage? Am I a horrible person? Is there a real reason to be hated? I started to look at myself through the skewed viewpoint of a person/persons that no longer knew me. I knew I had evolved, that my spirit man had grown to the point where he had almost collapsed most of my fleshly desires. I knew I could feel myself becoming more free in God and who I have become daily, YET, here I was doubting myself because someone else had APPEARED to make a change.
This doubt threw my mental stability into overdrive for almost a full 24 hours. THEN because God and I have this custom-made relationship and He always has a way of showing me things I need to see (and always without me having to really look for them)...I was sent a screen shot. Now, I know that in this age of technology everyone is screenshotting (that's a word now) their lives away, but I have to say, it's been a very useful form of documentation and a reminder to how far my journey has brought me. So, back to this screen shot. I know what you're thinking, "What was it?!" I'm not going to divulge that information (you'll have to wait for my book, heck, no one reads these posts anyway). However, just know that it was an IMMEDIATE reminder that no matter how hard we may try, PEOPLE WON'T CHANGE for us.
This is where my focus turns a little and to where I believe my words will reach the farthest (however "far" that may be).
LADIES, *types and deletes three sentences*
He's not going to change for you.
Point. Blank. Period. The. End. Thank. You. Good. Night.
Men are human beings. They make mistakes just like us. Yes, their mistakes are magnified because they seem to effect us (if we are related or invested in them in any way), but they make mistakes. The difference is that most men, not all, do not realize that they've made a mistake or that it's as much of an issue as you believe because if they did...they wouldn't have done it. With that being said, a man who continually makes the same "mistake" over and over again no matter how many times you've cried, threatened to leave, broke down, kicked him out (of your life or house that you pay for and he just crashes there "temporarily"), or told him how what he does "makes you feel..." THAT man has a larger issue than just that mistake. This is where things start to get difficult for us ladies because we are, by genetic make up, nurturers and fixers. We want to love and take care of this man and save him essentially from himself. Ladies, we can't do it. It hasn't been done. It may LOOK like you have, BUT (insert screen shot info here), he hasn't and he won't unless his OWN desire takes over, he acknowledges the issue and starts to REALLY evaluate his relationship with God.
Psalms 9:10-"And those who know your name will put their trust in YOU; for you, Lord, have not forsaken those who seek you."
It is our job to pray for Him and most importantly, step back. Continually reminding him of his failures will only force him to focus on YOU and how he is making you feel instead of focusing on GOD and how he is making GOD feel. Because, let's face it, we are not as important as God (and neither is he) and that's the way it should be. Our spouse, love, courting partner, should not be seeking the approval of us, but the approval of God. So many relationships are having fictional family fun and perfection via social media and behind closed doors, dating apps, and Instagram likes, there are hidden monumental sized issues.
A man cannot be the husband/father to your child(ren) that you are trying to mold him into because God hasn't created that mold, you did. If we really think about it; would we want a husband who is missing vital pieces that God was supposed to implement inside him? Would we want a husband who we've had to sacrifice our integrity for? Allow that man to seek God. Get out of his face and stop trying to force him to change for you, because it will never happen. Most importantly seek God yourself. REALLY seek him (I'll give you that info in another post). Because in the end no matter how many meals you've cooked for him, no matter how many pictures you've uploaded to social media, no matter how may likes you got on your profile picture, no matter how much his family likes you, no matter how many dates you've been on, at the end of the day, he's alone with his issue (and phone with a million apps and other women) and only God can intervene in his spirit.
Step back because this is the one time, you can't fix it, this is a man's job. HIS job.
In life, there are things you will never be able to change. Like the way the sky looks, the size of your heart, doughnuts and Chipotle in excess will make you gain weight, and OTHER people.
We suffer so much through the hands of what others do to us and lack the understanding that it isn't the other person that is the issue, it's us. We can't change them. They won't change for us and if they do, it will be temporary. Personally, I believe that it's a universal pain, trying to change someone so that they fit our mold. We push and pull, stretch in ways we didn't think we ever would, accept and deny problems we said we would never deal with, and begin to implement our own ideas of perfection on this person without ever clearly understanding our own flaws or the fact that perfection isn't exactly a tangible characteristic.
Recently (because my posts are always inspired by "recent events" in my life), I started to question some of my life decisions and personality traits. Had I made the right decision? Was I at fault for my failures in my marriage? Am I a horrible person? Is there a real reason to be hated? I started to look at myself through the skewed viewpoint of a person/persons that no longer knew me. I knew I had evolved, that my spirit man had grown to the point where he had almost collapsed most of my fleshly desires. I knew I could feel myself becoming more free in God and who I have become daily, YET, here I was doubting myself because someone else had APPEARED to make a change.
This doubt threw my mental stability into overdrive for almost a full 24 hours. THEN because God and I have this custom-made relationship and He always has a way of showing me things I need to see (and always without me having to really look for them)...I was sent a screen shot. Now, I know that in this age of technology everyone is screenshotting (that's a word now) their lives away, but I have to say, it's been a very useful form of documentation and a reminder to how far my journey has brought me. So, back to this screen shot. I know what you're thinking, "What was it?!" I'm not going to divulge that information (you'll have to wait for my book, heck, no one reads these posts anyway). However, just know that it was an IMMEDIATE reminder that no matter how hard we may try, PEOPLE WON'T CHANGE for us.
This is where my focus turns a little and to where I believe my words will reach the farthest (however "far" that may be).
LADIES, *types and deletes three sentences*
He's not going to change for you.
Point. Blank. Period. The. End. Thank. You. Good. Night.
Men are human beings. They make mistakes just like us. Yes, their mistakes are magnified because they seem to effect us (if we are related or invested in them in any way), but they make mistakes. The difference is that most men, not all, do not realize that they've made a mistake or that it's as much of an issue as you believe because if they did...they wouldn't have done it. With that being said, a man who continually makes the same "mistake" over and over again no matter how many times you've cried, threatened to leave, broke down, kicked him out (of your life or house that you pay for and he just crashes there "temporarily"), or told him how what he does "makes you feel..." THAT man has a larger issue than just that mistake. This is where things start to get difficult for us ladies because we are, by genetic make up, nurturers and fixers. We want to love and take care of this man and save him essentially from himself. Ladies, we can't do it. It hasn't been done. It may LOOK like you have, BUT (insert screen shot info here), he hasn't and he won't unless his OWN desire takes over, he acknowledges the issue and starts to REALLY evaluate his relationship with God.
Psalms 9:10-"And those who know your name will put their trust in YOU; for you, Lord, have not forsaken those who seek you."
It is our job to pray for Him and most importantly, step back. Continually reminding him of his failures will only force him to focus on YOU and how he is making you feel instead of focusing on GOD and how he is making GOD feel. Because, let's face it, we are not as important as God (and neither is he) and that's the way it should be. Our spouse, love, courting partner, should not be seeking the approval of us, but the approval of God. So many relationships are having fictional family fun and perfection via social media and behind closed doors, dating apps, and Instagram likes, there are hidden monumental sized issues.
A man cannot be the husband/father to your child(ren) that you are trying to mold him into because God hasn't created that mold, you did. If we really think about it; would we want a husband who is missing vital pieces that God was supposed to implement inside him? Would we want a husband who we've had to sacrifice our integrity for? Allow that man to seek God. Get out of his face and stop trying to force him to change for you, because it will never happen. Most importantly seek God yourself. REALLY seek him (I'll give you that info in another post). Because in the end no matter how many meals you've cooked for him, no matter how many pictures you've uploaded to social media, no matter how may likes you got on your profile picture, no matter how much his family likes you, no matter how many dates you've been on, at the end of the day, he's alone with his issue (and phone with a million apps and other women) and only God can intervene in his spirit.
Step back because this is the one time, you can't fix it, this is a man's job. HIS job.
Tuesday, September 8, 2015
Yet, here I am, healed
I write a lot about my ventures and mishaps with love, I am indeed a frustrated being when it comes to my interactions with this verb. Love has a tendency to do me dirty. He likes to push me into the mud and then laugh while he watches me try to scrub out his residue before anyone knows that I tried to entertain the little guy. For some reason, even though I know that there is a 60% chance that he will do it again 100% of the time, I can't help but want to squeeze Love's face and ask him to push me again, just so I can feel his touch.
Yet, here I am, content with myself and the woman I've become and in love. Yes, that little verb found a way to hold my hand and not run too fast or jerk on my arm too hard. I'm walking hand in hand with love and we've even managed to only step on each others toes a couple times.
I find encouragement in recognizing true love in other couples. I can always tell when a man truly loves the woman he is with (and vice versa). Being able to breathe in the same air as that couple always gives me goosebumps. There's just something about the unfaltering love that manifests between two people that it becomes so think and consistent that there is a fine line between it simply being in the air and getting stuck in my hair like a leaf surrendering it self to the ground on a fall afternoon. Recently I've had the honor of being the photographer for two weddings. After posting the photos for the first wedding I was told that "weddings are your calling" in photography. I was extremely honored by this compliment for two reasons: 1) it was given by someone I respect in the "photography field" and 2) it showed that someone else was able to see the love I so desperately made sure to capture, I had done my job. I used to loathe weddings because they reminded me of this idea of love that I had become jaded to. That out there all these other people were finding their "one" and I was questioning my own existence as ONE.
I didn't know that I was supposed to exist as one (first) because I was so busy trying to stitch two wrongs into a right. There's a saying that we don't know what we have until it's gone and I think by gaining perspective I've been able to see a different angle to that cliche. Sometimes what we HAVE isn't exactly what we NEED. God has a way of providing us with what we feel our hearts need in order to show us that He will, indeed grant us our heart's desires, but He won't allow us to remain plotted in soil where we won't grow. It took me a long time to see that where I had planted myself (where God had allowed me to plant myself) was NOT where I needed to be. I was trying everything, including fertilizing the soil with what others were claiming was organic and natural fertilizer, but turned out to be....crap.
So here I am now, still in the process. I'm not naive enough to believe that I'm perfect or that my healing is complete. I AM healed (don't get me wrong), but TRUE healing is a process and I'm okay with allowing God to take His time with me. All I keep hearing is Him telling me to have patience. I find it ironic because He knows I am NOT a patient person, but that's what He's been teaching me. My process is slow and intensive and methodical and precise because He can't afford to let me move. Just like a surgeon making the perfect stitches after an invasive surgery, He must take His time to make sure that NO movement will re-open what He has closed so purposefully. Does it make me angry? Yes. I'm human and I get mad because I want my reward now, I want to know that all this RIGHT I continue to try and do, all this passive anger I allow myself to endure is for a greater purpose.
Recently I posted of how in the midst of my waiting God has allowed me to "lick the spoon" while waiting on my perfect blessing. THIS is how awesome my God is. He knows me, He knows I need love, He knows how I need to be loved. After years, DECADES of planting myself in horrible soil, He saw it fit to lift me out (despite my kicking and screaming and plant me in custom made soil by myself.
The key theme here is that I was by myself. I had to learn how to function as a woman on my own and how to identify as the woman God wanted me to be. I found the answer to "Who am I?"
I am Dianna.
Warrior and Queen.
His.
A survivor and inspiration
I am not simple
I am not complex
I am perfect in His eyes
and that's enough for me
I am a woman
stronger than any man's abuse in my past
taller than any negative words spoken down on me
I am His
Yet, here I am, content with myself and the woman I've become and in love. Yes, that little verb found a way to hold my hand and not run too fast or jerk on my arm too hard. I'm walking hand in hand with love and we've even managed to only step on each others toes a couple times.
I find encouragement in recognizing true love in other couples. I can always tell when a man truly loves the woman he is with (and vice versa). Being able to breathe in the same air as that couple always gives me goosebumps. There's just something about the unfaltering love that manifests between two people that it becomes so think and consistent that there is a fine line between it simply being in the air and getting stuck in my hair like a leaf surrendering it self to the ground on a fall afternoon. Recently I've had the honor of being the photographer for two weddings. After posting the photos for the first wedding I was told that "weddings are your calling" in photography. I was extremely honored by this compliment for two reasons: 1) it was given by someone I respect in the "photography field" and 2) it showed that someone else was able to see the love I so desperately made sure to capture, I had done my job. I used to loathe weddings because they reminded me of this idea of love that I had become jaded to. That out there all these other people were finding their "one" and I was questioning my own existence as ONE.
I didn't know that I was supposed to exist as one (first) because I was so busy trying to stitch two wrongs into a right. There's a saying that we don't know what we have until it's gone and I think by gaining perspective I've been able to see a different angle to that cliche. Sometimes what we HAVE isn't exactly what we NEED. God has a way of providing us with what we feel our hearts need in order to show us that He will, indeed grant us our heart's desires, but He won't allow us to remain plotted in soil where we won't grow. It took me a long time to see that where I had planted myself (where God had allowed me to plant myself) was NOT where I needed to be. I was trying everything, including fertilizing the soil with what others were claiming was organic and natural fertilizer, but turned out to be....crap.
So here I am now, still in the process. I'm not naive enough to believe that I'm perfect or that my healing is complete. I AM healed (don't get me wrong), but TRUE healing is a process and I'm okay with allowing God to take His time with me. All I keep hearing is Him telling me to have patience. I find it ironic because He knows I am NOT a patient person, but that's what He's been teaching me. My process is slow and intensive and methodical and precise because He can't afford to let me move. Just like a surgeon making the perfect stitches after an invasive surgery, He must take His time to make sure that NO movement will re-open what He has closed so purposefully. Does it make me angry? Yes. I'm human and I get mad because I want my reward now, I want to know that all this RIGHT I continue to try and do, all this passive anger I allow myself to endure is for a greater purpose.
Recently I posted of how in the midst of my waiting God has allowed me to "lick the spoon" while waiting on my perfect blessing. THIS is how awesome my God is. He knows me, He knows I need love, He knows how I need to be loved. After years, DECADES of planting myself in horrible soil, He saw it fit to lift me out (despite my kicking and screaming and plant me in custom made soil by myself.
The key theme here is that I was by myself. I had to learn how to function as a woman on my own and how to identify as the woman God wanted me to be. I found the answer to "Who am I?"
I am Dianna.
Warrior and Queen.
His.
A survivor and inspiration
I am not simple
I am not complex
I am perfect in His eyes
and that's enough for me
I am a woman
stronger than any man's abuse in my past
taller than any negative words spoken down on me
I am His
Saturday, July 25, 2015
What to feel when you're being told how to feel about your divorce
What did divorce do to me?
Even though right now is where I would try my hardest not to insert some cliche line about hindsight and how one small decision can change your life, but in reality that's what divorce did to me. One day, in the upstairs bathroom one left behind cellphone on a bathtub side, my life changed.
It's been almost two years since separating and almost one year exactly that I've been half of a divorced party. Through my relationship with God, I've found ways to not only forgive him but forgive myself as well. It's a constant battle of letting go of guilt and shame and feelings of failure. During the process, little did I know that I would have so much alone time to reflect on what a divorce would really mean in my life.
All the wheels in my life had/have been spinning at once. Both my father and brother were sentenced to "hard" prison time, my issues with my father have been in the front of my mind every day, I had to let go of my ex and see him move on and love someone else, and I had to come to peace with finding new ways to address my once husband. It seems like such a small thing that we never think about. When addressing him to other people I felt this sense of failure referring to him as my ex-husband but calling him the father of my children made me feel like I was never good enough to marry him. When the water boils away, the residue of the issue is internal. I suppose I never felt good enough to be anyone's wife, which is one of the many reasons why I stayed married for so long.
Don't get me wrong. There were plenty of good moments in our marriage, we have two beautiful children and I learned a lot about myself and at the end, learned a lot about the kind of Godly wife I should have been. (Then maybe I could have single-handedly saved my marriage. See what I did there? I still think I could have done it). But when I'm alone, sitting on my couch alone and waiting for my kids to return to me; how am I supposed to feel?
Are we, as divorced and single mothers allowed to feel triumphant for releasing ourselves from a relationship that was volatile to us? Are we allowed to feel successful for raising our children? Are we allowed to fall in love again? Are we allowed to be happy? Are we allowed to move on with our lives without feeling guilt, like it's too soon?
I've come to the conclusion that there's really no appropriate and definite answer to any of these question. (Sorry if you felt like I was the holy grail of divorce answers for a second). The truth is, I'm still learning all this and as frustrating as it may sound, it's a day by day person-by-person decision. We all deal with pain differently and most differently from our ex's. What we may feel is appropriate or timely may be different than what they feel. The truth here, is that those right or wrong decisions can no longer be entertained by us (a couple) anymore. We're divorced.
Recently my mom texted me and instead of typing "divorce" she wrote "D." I know she was just trying to be sensitive, but I told her that it was okay to say it. I've learned not to treat people and things like Voldemort (that's the evil guy in Harry Potter whose name you're not allowed to say) because unlike Harry Potter, the less I called people and things by their names the less I faced them and the more power they gained.
I know my honesty tends to turn some people off of me and that's okay. All of this is just my truth, my rants, my small pieces of honesty for myself and hopefully somebody reads it and feels like for the few minutes that they are in my blog world that they're not alone.
So, "What to feel when you're being told how to feel about your divorce?"
Any way you want to.
Even though right now is where I would try my hardest not to insert some cliche line about hindsight and how one small decision can change your life, but in reality that's what divorce did to me. One day, in the upstairs bathroom one left behind cellphone on a bathtub side, my life changed.
It's been almost two years since separating and almost one year exactly that I've been half of a divorced party. Through my relationship with God, I've found ways to not only forgive him but forgive myself as well. It's a constant battle of letting go of guilt and shame and feelings of failure. During the process, little did I know that I would have so much alone time to reflect on what a divorce would really mean in my life.
All the wheels in my life had/have been spinning at once. Both my father and brother were sentenced to "hard" prison time, my issues with my father have been in the front of my mind every day, I had to let go of my ex and see him move on and love someone else, and I had to come to peace with finding new ways to address my once husband. It seems like such a small thing that we never think about. When addressing him to other people I felt this sense of failure referring to him as my ex-husband but calling him the father of my children made me feel like I was never good enough to marry him. When the water boils away, the residue of the issue is internal. I suppose I never felt good enough to be anyone's wife, which is one of the many reasons why I stayed married for so long.
Don't get me wrong. There were plenty of good moments in our marriage, we have two beautiful children and I learned a lot about myself and at the end, learned a lot about the kind of Godly wife I should have been. (Then maybe I could have single-handedly saved my marriage. See what I did there? I still think I could have done it). But when I'm alone, sitting on my couch alone and waiting for my kids to return to me; how am I supposed to feel?
Are we, as divorced and single mothers allowed to feel triumphant for releasing ourselves from a relationship that was volatile to us? Are we allowed to feel successful for raising our children? Are we allowed to fall in love again? Are we allowed to be happy? Are we allowed to move on with our lives without feeling guilt, like it's too soon?
I've come to the conclusion that there's really no appropriate and definite answer to any of these question. (Sorry if you felt like I was the holy grail of divorce answers for a second). The truth is, I'm still learning all this and as frustrating as it may sound, it's a day by day person-by-person decision. We all deal with pain differently and most differently from our ex's. What we may feel is appropriate or timely may be different than what they feel. The truth here, is that those right or wrong decisions can no longer be entertained by us (a couple) anymore. We're divorced.
Recently my mom texted me and instead of typing "divorce" she wrote "D." I know she was just trying to be sensitive, but I told her that it was okay to say it. I've learned not to treat people and things like Voldemort (that's the evil guy in Harry Potter whose name you're not allowed to say) because unlike Harry Potter, the less I called people and things by their names the less I faced them and the more power they gained.
I know my honesty tends to turn some people off of me and that's okay. All of this is just my truth, my rants, my small pieces of honesty for myself and hopefully somebody reads it and feels like for the few minutes that they are in my blog world that they're not alone.
So, "What to feel when you're being told how to feel about your divorce?"
Any way you want to.
Thursday, April 2, 2015
Lost My Two-Step
Pslam 31: 1-2 -- "... I put my trust in you...deliver me speedily..."
Okay. For a moment, a long moment, I lost my rhythm, my two-step, my juice. I could feel myself losing it because I didn't quite feel like myself anymore. I was struggling continually to do my day-to-day functions. I was experiencing anxiety, depression, and loneliness (sometimes all at once).I prided myself on beating my own drum, creating my own lane (in life) and now, here I was, lost on a gravel road that was scattered carelessly in front of me. I was on a road that was thrown together by multiple people made from "should be's" and "stay here's" and "be this." I was stuck and scared and anxious and ready to quit.
No one knew that part though. I could admit to the depression and cocktail of emotions, but there was no way I was going to publicize the deeper issue: I had dreams of death and they were calming.
When I was younger I had no problem shouting suicidal thoughts from the mountaintops, I wanted the attention. Now, it's not the same. (Which is why my Facebook is currently deactivated and I write this under the safe thought that no one ever reads my blog). I want to hide. I want to be invisible. I wanted to shed the responsibilities and hardships and simply start over, but I knew I couldn't. My children wouldn't be able to start over and I knew God had given them to me to save me.
I felt ashamed. How could I praise Him, yet allow myself to feel so much pain and betrayal. Daily I was rejected and I had allowed that rejection to consume my life. It kind of still folds over me like a familiar blanket on a cold rainy day.
However:
Pslam 31: 7-18 -- "You have known my soul in adversities... my strength fails because of my iniquity... as for me, I trust in You... my times are in Your hand... let the lying lips be put to silence..."
The shame I felt eventually turned into self inflicted pain and I couldn't hold it anymore. Church had become a place of anxiety and as I watched my heart manifest into a physical representation, walk in suited and manipulative, I fell. I ran. I prayed. I buckled and fell execution style into deepest surrender. I couldn't hold myself anymore and openly admitted that I no longer was strong enough. I could NOT do it. The only thing left to do was pray.
This was two weeks ago.
I haven't stopped praying since. I am attacked daily. I am hurt daily. But I am saved and I am healed. This is the process. I don't like it, it's not comfortable, but it shouldn't be. If I were comfortable, then it wouldn't be a breakthrough. If this is what I have to endure to live a life full of love and free from confusion and anxiety, then I shall endure.
John 5:12 -- "He who has the Son has life; he who does not have the Son of God does not have life..Now this is the confidence that we have in Him, that if we ask anything according to His will, He hears us."
He shall be my drummer and I shall walk to His beat.
Okay. For a moment, a long moment, I lost my rhythm, my two-step, my juice. I could feel myself losing it because I didn't quite feel like myself anymore. I was struggling continually to do my day-to-day functions. I was experiencing anxiety, depression, and loneliness (sometimes all at once).I prided myself on beating my own drum, creating my own lane (in life) and now, here I was, lost on a gravel road that was scattered carelessly in front of me. I was on a road that was thrown together by multiple people made from "should be's" and "stay here's" and "be this." I was stuck and scared and anxious and ready to quit.
No one knew that part though. I could admit to the depression and cocktail of emotions, but there was no way I was going to publicize the deeper issue: I had dreams of death and they were calming.
When I was younger I had no problem shouting suicidal thoughts from the mountaintops, I wanted the attention. Now, it's not the same. (Which is why my Facebook is currently deactivated and I write this under the safe thought that no one ever reads my blog). I want to hide. I want to be invisible. I wanted to shed the responsibilities and hardships and simply start over, but I knew I couldn't. My children wouldn't be able to start over and I knew God had given them to me to save me.
I felt ashamed. How could I praise Him, yet allow myself to feel so much pain and betrayal. Daily I was rejected and I had allowed that rejection to consume my life. It kind of still folds over me like a familiar blanket on a cold rainy day.
However:
Pslam 31: 7-18 -- "You have known my soul in adversities... my strength fails because of my iniquity... as for me, I trust in You... my times are in Your hand... let the lying lips be put to silence..."
The shame I felt eventually turned into self inflicted pain and I couldn't hold it anymore. Church had become a place of anxiety and as I watched my heart manifest into a physical representation, walk in suited and manipulative, I fell. I ran. I prayed. I buckled and fell execution style into deepest surrender. I couldn't hold myself anymore and openly admitted that I no longer was strong enough. I could NOT do it. The only thing left to do was pray.
This was two weeks ago.
I haven't stopped praying since. I am attacked daily. I am hurt daily. But I am saved and I am healed. This is the process. I don't like it, it's not comfortable, but it shouldn't be. If I were comfortable, then it wouldn't be a breakthrough. If this is what I have to endure to live a life full of love and free from confusion and anxiety, then I shall endure.
John 5:12 -- "He who has the Son has life; he who does not have the Son of God does not have life..Now this is the confidence that we have in Him, that if we ask anything according to His will, He hears us."
He shall be my drummer and I shall walk to His beat.
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
Because He Broke Me
You never know your strength until you are sitting across
from your challenge, your adversity, your assumption for punishment and watching
her eat a granola bar and call your children baby, watching her reach out and
wrap her arms around your children. That’s when your strength is tested. That’s
when you know whose “side” God is on. For the past few months I’ve found myself
wondering that very thing as I stood in church and cried tears of defeat,
frustration, agony, and heartache. I mean. What the heck was God doing? What
was He thinking having me stand in His house and witness this almost twice a
week? I would leave church feeling distracted, weak, and confused. I still get
that feeling a couple of times, but today as I type this literally sitting in a
foyer sunken into a brown leather couch and glancing across my computer screen
at a woman who thinks she has defeated me, I am calmed, peaceful and slightly
cocky because I know MY God. I know who He is and what He will do for me.
There is something especially magnificent about the way God seems to hold my hand through moments when I try to fight Him off. When times like this happen, my flesh responds first. I want to throw my arms in the air, blaming my carelessness on the lack of His presence in my moment of weakness, hitting anyone in my way and simply watching the aftermath ensue. I had the right, after all, I told God I had enough and He continued to push me, He continued to test me and I told Him I was done. But I had no idea the strength that was built inside me and that had been growing through each moment of heartache. Each time I found another reason to grow weary, to be angry at Him for giving me a life that you only read about in self help books, He would allow me to cry, allow me to break and then place each part of me back together in His perfect way. Because of this I willingly allowed Him to continue to break me each time, I allowed myself to fall apart and would simply whisper “Why?”
Of course, He never answered; why would He? He owed me nothing and like a stubborn child I would stomp my feet and scream at Him, “WHY?!” Turns out the reason is NOW. If He hadn’t allowed me to fall apart the way that He did, I would not be sitting here NOW. I wouldn’t be free NOW. I wouldn’t be breathing NOW. I wouldn’t be loving NOW. I wouldn’t be strong NOW. I wouldn’t be a prayerful woman NOW. I wouldn’t be thankful NOW. I wouldn’t be worshiping Him NOW. And there are moments where I still ask Him “Why?” simply because the level of pain I’m able to endure is at magnified (and intense superhuman levels that I am am just now acknowledging) and I anticipate He will test me more in order to challenge my growth. But each moment I ask this, I know this answer will always be “FOR NOW.”
There is something especially magnificent about the way God seems to hold my hand through moments when I try to fight Him off. When times like this happen, my flesh responds first. I want to throw my arms in the air, blaming my carelessness on the lack of His presence in my moment of weakness, hitting anyone in my way and simply watching the aftermath ensue. I had the right, after all, I told God I had enough and He continued to push me, He continued to test me and I told Him I was done. But I had no idea the strength that was built inside me and that had been growing through each moment of heartache. Each time I found another reason to grow weary, to be angry at Him for giving me a life that you only read about in self help books, He would allow me to cry, allow me to break and then place each part of me back together in His perfect way. Because of this I willingly allowed Him to continue to break me each time, I allowed myself to fall apart and would simply whisper “Why?”
Of course, He never answered; why would He? He owed me nothing and like a stubborn child I would stomp my feet and scream at Him, “WHY?!” Turns out the reason is NOW. If He hadn’t allowed me to fall apart the way that He did, I would not be sitting here NOW. I wouldn’t be free NOW. I wouldn’t be breathing NOW. I wouldn’t be loving NOW. I wouldn’t be strong NOW. I wouldn’t be a prayerful woman NOW. I wouldn’t be thankful NOW. I wouldn’t be worshiping Him NOW. And there are moments where I still ask Him “Why?” simply because the level of pain I’m able to endure is at magnified (and intense superhuman levels that I am am just now acknowledging) and I anticipate He will test me more in order to challenge my growth. But each moment I ask this, I know this answer will always be “FOR NOW.”
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