Tag Archives: self-analysis

Hiding

I keep wondering if I want to start over with a blog that is entirely anonymous so I don’t worry so much about hurting people. I wonder how much that is about wanting to feel erased. I wonder how much that is about feeling like it is better for me to run from people as hard and as fast and as far as I can.

I censor so many things. I try to be honest. But I’m afraid of the response or the result or the punishment that might result.

Kind of like writing about the Bonus Family. I have danced around so much of that. I dance around things with so many people. I can’t come out right and say why I ended things permanently with my submissive. I kind of wish it had been out of respect for Noah but instead it was because of the resemblance to an issue from my path and I can’t talk about what because other people’s privacy matters too.

I both do and don’t want to make friends here. I want a writing outlet where I don’t feel like I need to be careful about other people’s feelings. Things have been leaking out too much with this nice young lady I’ve been talking to in town. I’m volunteering things about my feelings when I shouldn’t because I talk to her without my kids around and I get so little of that time so I blurt. I don’t get a lot of time to process with Noah. I don’t have a therapist. I feel like writing down my feelings means I’m a selfish, hurtful, nasty asshole who doesn’t deserve to have anyone love me.

I feel like I should be support and kind and gentle with people. I should not share my anger and frustration and my difficulties.

And for the love of cheese I don’t feel I should ever write about a negative situation with my children where anyone who knows them can read about it ever again. I feel sick to my stomach knowing that people judge them based on the teensy tiny snippets I write about. My children are so much more than what I express in writing. They are glorious creatures. Are they also assholes? Well.. they breathe so that’s kind of a given. You are an asshole. I am an asshole. We are all assholes sometimes.

Anyone who tells you different is selling something.

I don’t write about all the things I like because it feels like bragging and trying to show off why my lifestyle choices are better when… it’s not about me. My children aren’t who they are because of any one thing. It’s not because of me. It’s not because of home schooling. It’s not because of travel. It’s not because of reading. It’s not because of video games. It’s not because of food. It’s not because of…..

They are complex creatures who are on a road to discovering themselves. It is 100% mandatory that the process involves times when we have conflict or strife or me not liking something they need to try.

If I write about any of those specifics people will judge them.

They don’t deserve that. It’s funny how I feel like I need to shield them from the consequence of being related to me over almost anything else. No, you can’t meet my family–they are wretched. No, you don’t need to be brough around the large group events my friends go to–I can’t make it safe enough for you. No, I don’t want you to grow up in the place that shaped me.

Be different than me.

Hell, I was in public school all my life, y’all. It’s not like home schooling is trying to make them just like me.

I’m looking forward to time with Middle Child more one on one without Eldest Child around. I think that will be good for both of us. The speed and pace of education will both slow down and speed up.

I feel like everything about me is bad and judged. That’s part of why I lash out. I know I am judged. Fuck you troll site. Fuck you stupid lady in Missouri who I will never write to again.

Why do I care?

If I write for me, for Noah, and so my kids can see it someday if they are interested but sweet cheese they don’t have to…

Why do I care about anyone else? Because I do. Because I defined myself by your opinions for so long and that is a poisoned pill. I want to be pleasing. But I also have no interest in changing anything about what I’m doing to be pleasing. So that’s kind of a non-starter.

But the bookshelves are starting to fill up now that some of the oil is dry enough.

Half the bathrooms in the house are barely usable.

It fucking snowed in the last few days so I’m super glad I haven’t put out my starts yet. I’ve been procrastinating. Turns out it was wise!

I’m hitting 5 miles. I’m not sleeping enough. I feel inadequate and inefficient and like I “should” find a way to feel connected and loved without talking to anyone because I fuck up words so badly.

I am afraid of making friends. I am afraid of keeping friends. I am afraid of not having friends.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

People are so hard.

Sleep disturbances

I get the impression everyone is having sleep disturbances lately. I had a really sad, overwhelming dream about Harry Potter having a very different ending with Draco martyring himself to save everyone. It was intense.

I feel like I could sleep for a solid four days before I caught up on my sleep deficit.

More things have broken in the house over the weekend. And orders for parts have been cancelled so it is going to take much longer to get the house back to a state of not-under-construction. Not being able to clean up and put things away is making me feel crazy. I picked a real lemon of a house. Once we get EVERY FUCKING THING IN THE HOUSE fixed it will be great. But we bought a house at the very top of our price range thinking that we would be able to get away with not having more house spending for a while. Instead we have spent over a year of expected living expenses on fixing things and no sign of a slow down. My anxiety is creeping up massively. We are starting to talk about when Noah will have to get a job again because his runway for getting product-selling up and going is going to come to an end. That feels absolutely nightmarish right now.

Something that I have noticed about many of my friendships from the past. The ones that I am continuing and that feel like they are going ok are with people who understand that when they send me an email it might take two or three months for me to respond. Sometimes six months.

I think my anxiety has generally decreased because I have lost that constant feeling of not-doing-enough for my friendships. In California I knew so many people that I always felt like I was letting a tremendous number of people down by not doing more to keep up the relationship. I “should” call people more. I should have every day of the month booked to sending a certain number of chats/emails to cycle through the hundreds of people I know. I should host events many times a year so that I get enough face time with allllllllllll the people.

Then I moved here and literally the only “should” person is Jenny. Historically speaking we have not done all that well seeing one another often. We are both prickly. We have never had that much in common. We have done best seeing one another a dozen or so times a year and not talking every week.

Then I moved here and she had a massive backlog of being lonely. And I am absolutely used to feeling like I am supposed to put a ton of energy into maintaining relationships and trying to contact people so I transferred a lot to her. We talked a lot about weekly or several times a month in person contact with online chatting being basically daily.

That’s… a lot.

Would things have blown up in the same way if we had slowed our roll substantially when it came to contact? Would we feel like we have to talk about touchy subjects so much if we weren’t using one another for daily support?

It is really rough for me that Jenny wanted me to shove my kids away so that I could instead spend my time with her. Do I need breaks from my kids? Absolutely. Do I need to force my older children into school for 30 hours a week and figure out how to get my toddler into preschool early so I can have a part time job amount of time by myself that I then fill with social visits with her?

That sounds… awful.

Not because Jenny is awful. That’s not my point. Do I get annoyed with my kids? Yes. I just shouted at them to stop fighting over my PT equipment.

There are so many layers of complexity to space from my kids for me. Finding a healthy balance there is not the same for me as it is for other people. I mean, that sounds ridiculous. Everyone has to find that balance; I’m not special. But the things that play into it are different for me. My mom sending me away when I was a kid was super traumatizing and I am not even close to over it. I decided I wanted to homeschool my kids at seventeen so giving that up because I’m tired or want a break is a different thing for me than it would be for someone else. It’s a failure to live up to what I dreamed. I want to home school my kids until they are ready to move off into the world at their own speed.

EC feels fully ready to hit the ground running in August and she knows there will be no more take backs. She is ready to graduate from home school. She did not think that finishing primary school in a public school was right for her. I am trusting her.

MC does not want to go back to primary school. She wants to find activities and make friends that way. I trust her.

YC does a lot of singing about wanting to go to school because her signing program does a lot of singing about how great school is. But I don’t think she is actually aware of any of what it means and I don’t think she would be happy with being separated from the family for 16-30 hours a week anytime soon.

I do not have a job. I am lucky. I choose to be available for this. I do not have to earn a pay check. That means the calculus is different for our family than it would be for someone else’s family. Not that my choice is right. Not that other people are doing something wrong if they make a different choice. If I had to work (for a million good reasons including if I just plain fucking wanted to) then I would figure something else out and I would help my kids learn how to adapt.

We also have such a strong genetic history of severe trauma in the bloodline that this is not the same conversation for us as it is for other families. That matters.

I didn’t move here so that I could give up the commitment I made to my kids and replace it with hanging out with Jenny. I feel like I am being pressured in that direction. I don’t know that she intends to put that kind of pressure on me–that’s outside my ability to know. But I feel it. And I have responded very negatively to it.

In the past month I have spent as much time talking to people as I did in a week in California. And it’s only that high because of forums.

I do need a break from people, from expectations, from having to do a lot to maintain friendships. I feel like I am hurting Jenny by needing that and it’s really complicated.

This doesn’t feel simple to me. I know that I have cut a lot of people off. I have done so to such a degree that it feels… almost callously simple. It is never simple. I don’t want to end my relationship entirely. I also don’t know how to carry the weight of it.

I feel like I am doing wrong no matter what I do.

Can’t you just visit as adults?

This gets complicated. Jenny and I don’t have that much in common anymore. We both lead fairly small lives that are fairly hyper focused on our families. Our hobbies don’t overlap much at all. We have fairly different values about how we want to live.

I genuinely don’t believe my way is the One Twue Way but I am also not very open to being questioned or argued with about what I do. I have worked very hard to reach the set of lifestyle habits I have and I am not interested in defending them. Jenny, even if it isn’t intentionally hostile, often questions me in ways I have a hard time with.

It is hard to talk about these kinds of differences without sounding like “my way is better”. For me, for her, for almost anyone. I don’t think I recognized just how different we were until I got here and stood more face to face with it.

I am a workaholic without a job. So my kids, my house, and my garden are the things I hyper-work on. Jenny wants more downtime than that. She seeks out ways to hire or acquire help so she can do less and she can spend more time relaxing.

I tried relaxing for a while here. It was incredibly unsatisfying to me and Noah has decided not to hold me to that whole “I’ll spend a year with no projects” thing because I was freaking out all the time keeping the house spotlessly clean. I wasn’t allowed to focus on anything bigger so I was an asshole about small, stupid details. Now I’m working in the yard more and dealing with the construction projects (I got to spend 14 hours so far painting oil in the bookshelves for preservation) and I’m not being a neurotic asshole about cleanliness.

I’m kind of like those dog breeds who need to work a lot or they destroy your house.

I’m still doing pretty well with keeping my exercise quantity up. The TRX is now installed so I get to restart my PT exercises. That will be good for my shoulders. They hurt quite a bit.

But Jenny and I have opposite approaches to work. I seek out more work with an almost maniacal focus and she… would prefer to do as little as she can get away with.

What do we talk about?

I am so high energy I feel like I burn with unexpressed energy. The idea of sitting still for hours knitting and watching telly makes me twitch.

If Noah wants to read to us for hours I usually do 2-3 other things while I listen. I watch television programs while I clean or cook. I take intense pride out of my house and my yard looking the way they do because of the work of my hands. I don’t like that I’ve had to pay for as much help as I have had to since I got here.

An awful lot of what they are doing I could do but I’d have to buy all the tools and my hands would go numb. This frustrates me.

Jenny hires someone to come change her lightbulbs and put together her Ikea furniture.

Very different attitudes towards work.

What do we talk about? I don’t know. I don’t say this to be an asshole I mean… I don’t know what we can build a friendship on at this point. We can’t talk about our kids because we parent very differently and sharing our different perspectives sounds like judgment. We can’t talk about how we spend our time unless we take turn monologuing while the other is chewing their tongue off because they don’t understand why someone would want to work so much/little.

We don’t read the same books. We don’t watch the same shows. We don’t make the same kinds of things with our hands. We can’t even talk about food because we eat so very differently.

And so much of this does come down to: I cannot spend time around someone who has negative judgments about home schooling despite doing basically no research. If you are well researched and you have concerns, I can engage with that. I can’t even deal with negativity that springs from ignorance. Just shut the fuck up about things you don’t understand.

Which is not a great attitude when it comes to ones friends!

Did I expect to have more of a friendship? Yes. Is it working out? Well, we have grown apart. In California we would have drifted apart long ago with little fanfare or objection on either side. The fact that we maintained a bond over great distance and great time means that now being in the same place makes it all so much more complicated.

And I genuinely don’t know how to bridge this gap. I don’t know that I want to suck it up and bite my tongue and put up with things that offend me. Which means I am hurting Jenny because I am crushing her dreams and that makes me feel pretty bad about myself.

We are not family. We have no background of shared experiences nor shared future goals nor shared culture.

I feel like a bully and a selfish person. I feel like I “should” just suck it up and figure it out and try. I also feel like I don’t have much energy to throw at situations that give me so little back.

Needing a break

I find it kind of interesting that I do a lot of processing my feelings about Sarah and very little really going into the situation with the Bonus Family. I think it is relevant to what is going on now so maybe it is time to start.

I would say that set up came the closest to being “chosen family” for us as a family unit over the past decade. We really shared the four kids. We really gave one another assistance and breaks. That was by far the most help I got with my kids and it was a very mixed bag.

The mom and the dad in that family both had a fair number of issues as individual people. I strongly suspect the mom was pretty far on the autism spectrum but she grew up in a time and place where as the quiet daughter of an immigrant she just got flunked out of school and that was that. Even though she was very intelligent. The dad had PTSD from growing up with a violent alcoholic mother and a father who completely abandoned him despite living only a few miles away. He then went into the military and things got worse for him. When I met them (I didn’t know this at the time, it came out through the course of the relationship) they had already been in a very physically, verbally, and emotionally abusive relationship for a long time. Then they had kids because surely that would fix everything, right?

Things were complicated. I did as much advocating for the kids as I could from 30+ miles away. When the kids came to my house for their weekly stay (we pretty much split custody for a few years there. We each had all four kids for 24 hours a week meaning their children spent one 24 hour block at my house every week and every other weekend my kids spent a full weekend at their house) the kids would do these epic roleplays in the back yard. They were clearly trying to cope with what they were seeing. Screaming fights and divorce threats and hitting each other and calling each other really mean names. When I would come out to be like, “Uhhh, dudes… what is going on” they would all drop role instantly and say “This is just a game. We aren’t really saying any of this.” I would blink. They would resume roles.

They told me they were playing family.

I let it go on longer than I should have. I needed the breaks from my kids. I needed the support time for going to therapy. I really couldn’t access any other childcare for most of that time period. Things cooled off when I finally found a babysitter.

We met through a hippy dippy parenting forum. I have a whole bunch of crunchy things I try to do as a parent but when things aren’t working I am open to changing. My youngest child got raging diaper rashes from cloth diapers so despite being fairly fanatical about them for years, I stopped. I do long-term breastfeeding except I will cut it a bit short when my kid is biting me and I just don’t fucking think so anymore. We eat hippy granola food except when it isn’t easily accessible then we just eat fucking food.

My friend… she was not open to reconsidering her ideals. Her kids had open, bleeding wounds on their bottoms because cloth diapering wasn’t working and she wouldn’t entertain the idea of doing anything else. She couldn’t nurse for medical reasons so she drove all over the state collecting donation breast milk to the point where she was probably actually putting her children at risk because they were in the car seats so much. And a lot of it hadn’t been properly stored and it smelled off and she expected her kids to drink it anyway because she had gone to so much trouble to get it. She structured her entire life around getting hippy granola food and that was all she would let her kids eat but she would eat a box of donuts on the way to the long-way-away pickup because she just couldn’t deal. Her children were absolutely not allowed to have the unhealthy foods because she was fat and she didn’t want her kids to be fat.

She told me she gained so much weight on purpose so she could outweigh her husband (who was 6’7″ tall when she was 5’3″ tall) and win when they physically fight. She was well over 300lbs.

My kids told me later that she regularly controlled their behavior with threats of beatings. They said they didn’t bother to tell me when it was happening because they were sure I wouldn’t care and I would tell them they had to go because “family”.

I didn’t end the relationship. The other mother ended the relationshp because I told the dad that the kids couldn’t home school. She didn’t work with them. The kids’ language regressed every week in between visits to my house because she wouldn’t speak to them. (She’s a pretty non-verbal person.) She would not help them with any fine motor activities because she either found them boring or sticky and she wouldn’t touch anything that made her skin feel weird. To the point where she would cook food in dirty pans because she couldn’t handle washing them.

I’m not talking about seasoning cast iron.

I told the dad that if he allowed her to continue to neglect the kids the way they were being neglected it is equally 100% his fault that it is happening. He said they can’t go to school without vaccines and she won’t vaccinate. I said you are equally their parent.

That was over her line. She was afraid of vaccines. Like, couldn’t have a rational conversation about them and was going to severely educationally and emotionally neglect her kids afraid of them.

He told me she might divorce him over it. I asked him if he cares more about his kids or supporting his crazy wife.

She didn’t talk to me again. Fair enough. I earned that cut off. The only thing I would do differently at this point is call CPS sooner. I feel a lot of guilt and shame that I subjected my kids to that environment because “I needed a break.” I miss those kids so much. I am really sorry I didn’t get to be close to them as they grew up. I loved them a lot. But their mother has the right to decide who she exposes them to.

I put my kids in school here because they wanted to try and because I needed a break. They got beat on. Adults came on campus to threaten them.

I will not put my “need for a break” over my children again. I don’t feel I can be a moral person and do so.

And I have some really intense feelings about pushing “chosen family” on my kids ever again.

We spent ECs birthday last year with Jenny’s family. It went remarkably poorly. Jenny’s oldest child spent the evening… being a kid who was annoyed about not being the center of attention. We tried a couple of other visits after that. After a couple of these EC said, “I don’t want to spend time around that kid again and if she is in my house I will feel like I have to supervise because you want to talk to Jenny and she’s not very nice to YC.”

I can’t do this to my kids again.

So Jenny is pretty upset with me right now. (I asked her not to read my blog for a while so I could try to process this without making her feel like shit.) Jenny feels like I have spent years complaining about how much I want family and years saying I want breaks from my kids and years talking about how my friends aren’t there for me and she wants the same things and she has been so alone here for ten years. She feels absolutely devastated that I have had a huge number of boundaries and I have not launched into hanging out with her and I have flat said my kids don’t like her kid and that’s a problem.

I don’t know how to solve this.

She is absolutely being hit with a ton of backlash that is way bigger than the situation with her and I agree that it isn’t fair. I am hesitant and standoffish and distrustful. I look for tiny red flags and I turn and run like a honey badger is chasing me.

I don’t know what fair would even mean in this situation. It’s not that I don’t love Jenny. It’s not that I think people have to be perfect in order for me to be in a relationship with them. It’s not that I think I am perfect. I have made whopping mistakes and in many cases my children paid for them. I am afraid to treat my children getting hurt like it is just the cost of doing business and my kids need to put up with whatever friend of mine I am choosing to call “family” today.

They have been very hurt by the actions of people who made promises to them and then didn’t keep the promises because of me. I mean, that makes it seem like I think I am more important than I am… it’s complicated.

The godmamas wanted to have more control over the kids lives or no deal.

Dad wants to have a relationship where I chase him and loan him money and provide him all the support a child gives their doting parent… without him having ever done anything to earn that from me.

The Bonus Mama needed me to tolerate her being abusive and neglectful without ever calling her on it.

I can’t ignore mothers hitting their kids when the kid has a panic attack ever again.

I can’t not call CPS when I am concerned ever again.

Sarah promised she would spend a lot of time with the kids then she cancelled because she was too tired from hanging out with her boyfriend.

The list goes on and on.

Has Jenny let me down? No. She hasn’t. She has been there for me in ways big and small. Has she said things that hurt me? Holy fucking shit yes. Are there some red flags in how she parents that worry me? Holy shit yes. I am very worried about getting involved with another family where I see dynamics that trouble me. I am very worried about forcing my kids to deal with kids who have a bunch of behaviors they are not ok with.

I don’t know how to solve this. So yeah. I have been pushing Jenny away and she is hurt. I don’t know what else I can do in this situation.

My big kids are old enough and competent enough that I do get breaks now because the three kids can play together. Do I feel the need to push really hard for more breaks no matter how it impacts my children? Not at all.

I feel like if I need a break from anything it is from obligation to “chosen family” who bring more strife than joy to my life. And that doesn’t feel very nice at all to my friend who was so happy I was moving here. It feels downright cruel.

I don’t want chosen family anymore. I have a family. And they are enough.

Is that cruel?

Compartmentalize, look for your contributions

I am not being fair. I am conflating my feelings about a lot of different people and situations and I am bordering on cruelty. I don’t mean in the “everything is all my fault because I suck” way.

When I rant ad nauseum about chosen family letting me down that is taken in very general ways and implies things about people who are not in the group I mean to be speaking about.

I have so many conflicting feelings about the Godmamas. I did not behave entirely, totally honorably there. I liked one of them and I grudgingly, barely tolerated the other. I judged their relationship in ways that were none of my business. As a result the one I didn’t like very much quite deliberately got in between me and my friend. I asked to support M after the head injury and her wife told me she would let me know when that was ok. Then when I contacted M after a while she was very upset I had left her alone. But I did behave in less than supportive ways towards their marriage and it was fair that M’s wife didn’t like me very much. She wanted me to treat her like an authority and respect her despite her having beliefs that were very counter to mine and her being a lot younger than me with very little relevant life experience or education on the topics she wanted to tell me how to manage. I was a dick about it. I don’t think I am blameless. But other than accepting direction that really didn’t work for me or pushing past boundaries that were put up I’m not sure I could have done more.

When I’m ranting about chosen family I am talking about the various people who told me that they wanted to be my mothers or fathers. There were more than a few of them. For a while I collected Daddys. My leather mom wanted me to do things for her and show up for her events and make her feel special. On holidays or in times of crisis she had real children to take care of and I was supposed to go manage my own life. Dad explicitly told me that he wanted to be in my life but I couldn’t ever expect him to do anything to help me because he has biological children to support. When he needs money he comes knocking on my door. To the tune of tens of thousands of dollars and many requests.

I’m talking about people in the poly community who told me I was family and then when I stopped fucking them they never called me again.

I’m talking about Sarah. So. So. So. So much about Sarah. My baggage around Sarah could fill several jumbo jets. I feel like an exploited resource. I feel like my help came with strings of expecting something back from her and that is fucked up of me.

I can’t even begin to parse the ways my expectations of Pam have been inappropriate. I just can’t right now.

I showed up in Scotland with so much pain. I feel full of rage and disappointment and distrust. It’s not a good head space for dealing with Jenny. She has tried to help in the ways she perceives me asking for help while not fully understanding the intricacies of what that means. She has misspoken. She has apologized.

I have not been able to accept that apology nor have I been able to be there for her. I feel like I have been a user. I have felt judged and I have done a fair bit of being vicious in my head. I have mostly contained that viciousness in my head, but not perfectly. I can be so mean.

I am upset about a lot of people and I am taking it all out on Jenny. That is horribly unfair on a lot of levels.

I can go through our history and point out times when I felt belittled by things she said. Did she intend to belittle me? Did she intend to insult me? Did she feel negatively in her head?

Didn’t matter. I felt it. I reacted as if that was her point. I am assigning her motive and intent when I have no way of knowing what is going on with her. I know that she fairly regularly puts her foot in her mouth and says things in ways she doesn’t mean. When she does this in my direction I act like it is a vicious attack and totally intentional even though I see it as a pattern in her entire life so it clearly can’t be about me.

But I make everything about me. I act like everyone is mean to me so that I can be a victim of everything and everyone.

That’s…. really shitty and unfair.

I think I project my dislike of myself onto other people and then get angry with them and act like I should cut them off for being mean to me. I want to get chances from other people but I very much act like other people don’t deserve grace or forgiveness. I am selfish and cruel to people who have done quite a bit to show love for me.

For all that Jenny’s words sometimes… definitely lack grace and can feel very hurtful her actions aren’t vicious. When I hurt myself trying to help Sarah years ago she showed up to help me. When I needed support after the suicides in my family she showed up. When I have directly asked her for help with almost anything… she showed up. She did start out judging me when she didn’t know me and over the years she has learned about alternative lifestyles and she has been supportive of my behavior. She offered to throw me a party in celebration of me hitting a three digit body count. That’s… not exactly the action of someone who thinks I am bad for doing that.

But I judge her so harshly. I assume so many negative things about her intentions and her motivations and that sucks so bad.

I can think of years of times when I have over reacted to things she has said and I have been nasty in response to feeling hurt. In the vast majority of the times I can remember being hurt by her words she has apologized.

She’s spent a lot of fucking time apologizing to me and I don’t act like that matters very much compared to my towering feelings of rage because how dare she offend me.

I feel like such an asshole.

I am not great at setting boundaries with her. That’s a fact. I have been thinking that it is kind of like sexual boundaries with Noah. I don’t set them until I explode with rage and act out in ways that hurt him very badly. I mean, I tried to set them but I wasn’t very clear and I wasn’t direct and I hurt him.

Given how much time I spent talking about wanting and needing a break from my kids it doesn’t seem like a cruel and vicious attack that Jenny pushes me to send them to school. I absolutely act like I need to martyr myself to my children and she pushes back on that idea with force. I act like I need to martyr myself to bullshit repetitive tasks that get on my nerves and she pushes me to consider that I don’t have to do that. And I get really angry with her.

Because being a martyr to my children and boring tasks is part of my core identity? Then I get mad at people who don’t affirm that view. That fucking sucks.

That was where I got to on day one of trying to process this. Now it is the start of day two. I spent yesterday arguing with people I used to respect about UBI and how to survive the pandemic and I got told how stupid and ignorant I am. I’m waking up in a bad fucking mood.

How can I be both a martyr to my children and a big fat meanie pants who expects so much work out of them that other people gasp and tell me that it borders on cruelty? (Uhhhh I have cleared my chores expectations with experts because I am a fucking coward.) Other people think it isn’t worth their time or effort to teach kids how to do things because it is easier to just do it themselves and therefore they think that how I raise my kids sounds super high effort and not worth it.

But my Middle Child (9 years old) made dinner last night. She made a green salad, fried potatoes with leeks, and venison with spring onions. Then she thought it would be good with a wine sauce so Noah talked her through how to do that.

I think the effort I put into teaching my children skills is paying off very much!

Sure, an adult stood nearby the whole time to say things like “this is when you should seasoning, what herbs and spices do you think would go well with this?” and “you need to scrape the bottom of the pan pretty hard or you will end up with a burned layer that will taste bad” and “let’s talk about how to make a sauce…”. But she did the work. We are still around for supervision and advice. My nearly 12 year old Eldest Child does not need such advice or supervision anymore. Sometimes I feel nervous and I stay in the room anyway and keep my mouth shut… but that kid is more competent at cooking than I was at 21. I didn’t have anyone around to teach me.

My kids know with surprising sensitivity the difference between a well swept floor and a crappily swept floor. They know what a good mop job looks like and they can critique the hell out of someone who does a bad job (i.e. their sibling).

They can go through whole maths curriculum books and ask the occasional question and otherwise do the work correctly 90% of the time.

They can go to foreign countries and plop down and talk to people and have interesting conversations. They are getting better and better at asking questions instead of treating themselves as a traveling monologue show. They are curious about people and they are learning how that goes.

They are currently doing a grid layout of the yard for science and looking up what plants we have so that they know what to weed in the future. They are digging a pond (sometimes with whining) because they want our yard to have one. (This was their project suggestion!)

Their unit project is coming along nicely. We are working on it fewer hours a week at this point because with the pandemic anxiety, frankly we are all super exhausted and we needed to trim our academic hours a lot and that’s ok. They have made sample meal plans–checked what that means against the jobs they gave their families, checked it against the dietary needs of the families (they really like giving the people in their families disabilities and food allergies?) and had to start over from scratch with an entirely new understanding of how calories and carbohydrates play in people’s lives. They understand what insurance is and how to use it. They have learned a lot about mortgages. They are having to talk through interpersonal dynamics around family layout in order to explain/justify how things would work in their house.

In short, they are learning what it means to be a grown up and they are doing it at fairly high speed. I am really impressed with how much they have learned in a short period of time. This project covers maths and nutrition and handwriting and typing and internet research as a skill. Hell, one kid is having to learn the layout of a town in the middle of Australia because that’s where she wanted to put her family and that means she’s learning about central Australia’s supply chain and what it means for people who live there and where the kids in the family are likely to go to college.

I feel pretty deeply offended by the idea that my way of raising someone will retard them. Do you know what is coolest about all this learning? Less and less of it is hands-on for me. I sit nearby and I answer questions and I give suggestions about where they can go to find their own answers. I critique work and explain why it isn’t the solution to the problem they were trying to solve and I tell them to start over from scratch over and over and over again.

But sure, let’s go with the idea that she just meant that my kids lack the social skills to deal with the school environment because they have been blessed with not having to deal with bullies.

I am sure that there are adults in this world who have to deal with school-yard level bullies. I have had many jobs. Noah has had many jobs. Most of the people we know work. I have not had the experience as an adult that primary-school-type-bullying is a thing that extends beyond that age group. Are there some stilted people in the world who try it? Sure, of course. But you can route around them once you leave school. That’s the important part. In all of life there is one period of time where you are locked in a room with bullies and told to not inconvenience adults with complaining about it. Why is that socialization desireable or something to tell me my children must acquire? Why is that something to bring up in nearly every conversation to say that my kids must learn it? Why? Because it is what you experienced? Because it is what you choose for your child?

I’m not teaching my kids to follow your religion why would I pick teaching my children that an artificial education environment is mandatory?

I mean… I actually support public school quite a bit. And if I had to work I would help my kids work through how to survive in that environment. It’s not that I don’t understand that sometimes it is unavoidable. I don’t think everyone has the correct personality or education to home school! I think schools must exist! I think my kids are privileged (insert vaguely negatively-judgemental word because despite making my kids rich I still have negative feelings about the rich) who get to avoid a major trauma that is inflicted on the vast majority of “normal” people.

There is no fair.

My Middle Child is quick to tell me how unfair it is that she has to do chores because when she went to school almost no one in her class had any chores at all and they mostly got more allowance than her and had almost no limitations on screen time when they got home!

I don’t give a flying fuck.

Everyone gets to parent how they can afford and how they see fit.

I can afford a lot of time and energy spent on my kids. Do I spend a lot of money on them compared to average? Well they have a lot of learning materials. They have gotten to travel a lot. They eat very well per my definition of eating well. Do they have a lot of toys? Not really. More toys = more shit for me to clean up and feel angry about. Do they have fancy clothes? hahahahahahahaha they are still wearing third-hand hand-me-downs from the kid down the street in Fremont along with a few cheap replacement items from when we traveled. Do they have expensive electronics? Well, we did upgrade to a nice desktop unit that is shared by the whole family when the hand-me-down 12 year old laptop stopped being able to upgrade to modern operating systems and could no longer run necessary programs. The other kid is still on one of Noah’s old work laptops from several jobs ago. They do technically have phones, one has an old phone of mine where the battery dies in less than 24 hours and the other kid has a phone that was new about five years ago. Neither kid has turned on one of these phones since we stopped traveling because we have our paper books now and they don’t need them. These phones were always about being reading devices…

So they are definitely part of the modern world but they are not tremendously spoilt in the “having stuff” department. They got mocked at school for how out of date their stuff is. I don’t give a shit. I’m from Silicon Valley. I’m not impressed with trying to keep up with the technical standards of anyone because I deeply understand how messed up that process is.

I don’t think 7 year olds should walk around with phones. I think the city we walk around in is about as safe of an environment as can exist and children need to be able to be away from the control of their parents. My kids go on walks and runs without me. They know when to be home and they bloody well make it back in time.

If the school stuff was being pushed because there was the perception that I need a break… well… there are lots of more creative ways to manage that.

Slowing down to the pace of this place and no longer having a bunch of friends I feel like I “should” be seeing has done a lot to lower my ambient anxiety. That is a break by itself. In exchange for the cats (which apparently belong to the kids and not to me) each older kid does 5 hours of babysitting a week so that I now have a reasonable amount of time kid-free. I did join hook-you-up-with-a-babysitter-sites when I moved here. Guess what I got? The privilege of paying for a matching service and a chance to send emails to lots of people who didn’t respond. Basically my entire experience of searching for childcare was duplicated directly from California. Fucking cheers.

But between the big kids helping with the toddler and Noah not having a full time job… I’m exercising independently more. I have more time to vegetate. I’m getting a lot of stuff done that makes me happy. The big kids are pretty close to where I always wanted them to be on independence for school work. When the big kids faff about and refuse to get their chores done when I ask they get to do fuck tons of extra chores until I’m not annoyed anymore and I get way more down time.

I am taking more of a break. And it didn’t require school. So pushing school as the answer to my problems does not feel like a very honest explanation.

So saying now that you never meant medically retarded you meant school dynamics would be hard and you were just trying to help me get a break… feels like gaslighting.

Breakfast is ready and the day must begin. I will come back to this. I need to figure out what the fuck I am doing with this topic in my brain. I need to fully process this so I can decide how I am moving forward. I need to separate how upset I am about this topic from how upset I am about everything else in the world and I’m totally failing by keeping it in my head.

The thing about sand castles… you can’t live in them.

This is the chapter I couldn’t write in November for Part 2 for the kids.

Occasionally people will ask me why I am so focused on friendships. Why do I pursue them with such vigor and to the point of my detriment. Because I am both trying to replace and replicate family relationships. Because without my friendships, for many years, I felt like I had nothing. As much as my romantic partnerships have tried to form “family” feelings with me… I’ve always been deeply aware that they could end at any time. I am tremendously aware that I am lacking in many ways and even with Noah I am always kind of holding my breath waiting for someone to leave me. But my friendships lasted through so many romantic relationships. They had more staying power. What was the price?

I spent many years talking about the tripod of women who supported me and made me feel like I could keep going through anything. In order to do that I had to be in an awful lot of denial. I had to do a lot of pretending problems weren’t happening.

All of those relationships are in a state of collapse. It is hard for me to wrestle with how much of it is “my fault”, how much of it was ever in my control, and how much it was inevitable if I ever developed a higher level of self love.

Sarah I’ve been writing about for quite some time. Sarah used the shit out of me and made big promises and didn’t live up to them. When I got angry she would tell me that I have a personality disorder. She had almost ten years of using me to partially fund her vacations. She literally took money from me (intended as food money for the household) and used it to go visit her sister. She said she would be there to do the hard work of raising children. She lied up one side and down the other. Instead she took from me until she wrung me dry and then I was the problem because why did I have these outrageous expectations of her–it wasn’t her job to support me. No. It wasn’t your job. But you told me you would do it because I did so much to support you.

Pam has always been in my life in flighty hit-or-miss ways. I spent over a decade dropping anything I was doing (at work, at school, with friends, with people I was dating…) when she wanted attention because “she only had a few minutes to spare in between her exciting life.” I always felt honored she wanted to know me. I was the only person in her life who was supportive of some aspects of her behavior and she wanted access to that support 100% on her own timeline. The couple of years when she consistently came over to our house in Fremont? That happened because she was otherwise an around the clock care giver for her elderly grandmother and she wanted a break and no one else had that kind of time available to spend with her. I loved seeing her! Don’t get me wrong! I appreciated all of the time she chose to share with me. But I can no longer pretend it was ever about my needs–I was there for her when she wanted me to be. We were supposed to go see her in December. We didn’t go because the flights were going to be over $5,000 and right now I just don’t have that going spare. After the fact she said, “It was a good thing you didn’t come to Taiwan because it turns out I wouldn’t have been able to spend any time with you.” I feel utterly gutted. I am glad she sees that she wouldn’t have spent time with me, at least she is that self aware. I am glad that I now know that I will never ever prioritize going to see her like that because if I try to ask for time on my own schedule I can go fuck myself.

And I have not been writing about Jenny. That’s been very much on purpose. If I look back in time… I have chased Jenny from the beginning. When we met I basically begged her to be my friend. I always called her. I asked to come over. I offered her a chance to go swimming in my pool. (It wasn’t my pool, but I lived in a house that had a pool and she was a competitive swimmer.) She thought I was super rude because I thought she was judgmental but she described me as being a stupid slut and she thought that was totally ok. Through high school I chased her. Through college I chased her. After college I chased her into hobbies and blogging and social groups.

I have been chasing Jenny and begging her to be my friend for most of my life. She was the person I went to when my dad and my brother both killed themselves. I thought that meant she was there for me. I never wanted to look at what that meant I had to put up with.

I wrote about her when I first arrived here in Scotland. I said she was a ride or die friend who was doing so much for me. All of the stuff she so thoughtfully provided to ease our transition? Was stuff she didn’t want anymore but she didn’t want to deal with doing the work to donate it without owning a car. Most of it was broken or has broken since. She was here when one of the glasses finished shattering. She said, “It’s ok I won’t be mad at you.”

She said that my children are retarded. She said that anyone who is home schooled is going to end up retarded–she doesn’t mean that in “the mean way” she means it in “the medical way”. So she constantly tells me that I have to make my kids go to school so that I can stop fucking them up.

She has almost zero Scottish friends. Her friends here are all American Ex-pats but she constantly tells me all of the things I am doing wrong and why I have to change in order to assimilate. SHE HASN’T ASSIMILATED. But she is right and I am wrong and I need to stop being like me. You know how chatty and sociable and outgoing I am? That’s wrong and I need to stop it. Whatever I am doing that gets people to open up to me is wrong and I need to stop it.

I don’t think Jenny actually likes me very much. Hanging out with her makes me feel terrible about myself. I leave visits with her and feel like I want to cry and cut myself. I am just so fucking wrong. Nothing about me is ok or admirable.

Oh, but can I make a cake for her daughter’s birthday? Thanks.

Pam has literally talked to me a couple of times since I got here. I still send her emails. Why do I chase these fucking women? Pam only wants to talk to me if by chance I happen to stumble upon a topic that is part of her hobbies.

In general my anxiety and depression have been better since I got here. I only see Jenny about once a month and I think that is going to end. I called child protective services on her. That’s a story. She came over for a visit and she was telling me about how her seven year old was having a tantrum (it sounded like an anxiety attack) and she didn’t want to deal with it so she spanked the kid. That’s literally illegal in this country.

I was talking to a buddy about this (I do have some people I am still talking to a fair bit–I really like the Marco Polo app) and she told me that she thinks it is really weird the way white people are so anti-spanking. She’s from China and in her experience parents are considered abusive if they don’t spank their kids. You are neglecting your responsibility to shape their character. I told her that in my opinion there is a difference in result for kids who are spanked in a society where freaking everyone gets spanked and it is the norm and a place where spanking is not acceptable and you now have to hide your parent’s secret. I think that the secrecy and the shame of “I am so bad that my parents are forced to break the law to deal with me” is as big or a bigger problem than the spanking. The fact that Jenny doubled down and defended it because “There was nothing else she could do to stop the behavior and it had to stop right now” when the behavior wasn’t hurting anyone else it was just annoying and inconvenient really put up a whole passel of red flags. So now her kid’s doctor and school and everyone is on notice that the family isn’t coping.

I think I may have just burned that bridge to the ground and I don’t feel bad. I didn’t make the call because I wanted to nuke the relationship. But I was not going to live in Jenny’s fantasy world where she is “always right” and she can do whatever she wants to her kids because they belong to her. Fuck that. The kid has rights. It’s not ok to spank a child just because you don’t like them having a tantrum. Gain some new god damn skills.

Ok, full disclosure time: I spanked Middle Child once. She spent months beating on Eldest Child to the point where EC was bleeding. We tried a lot of things. She was in therapy. We tried a variety of interventions. We did a whole bunch of fucking things. I talked to her therapist about it. I finally told MC “If you do this again, I am going to have to spank you because apparently nothing else I do is going to convince you that being hit sucks. You don’t get to beat on your sister every time you have a bad mood.” She beat on EC again. We separated. We all went to different spaces to calm down so that nothing was done in the heat of the moment or as a rage reaction. When I was fully calm I went back in and asked her what happened and why. I asked if she understood what was going to happen now. Over her clothes with my bare hand I swatted her.

She has since said that it didn’t hurt physically almost at all but she felt emotionally devastated. She continues to fight with her sister verbally and in normal snotty kid ways like throwing things, but she hasn’t made her sister bleed again. I’m glad. I don’t ever want to do that again.

You can’t beat your sibling until they bleed forever without consequences. If I allow that I am neglecting my other child and I can’t do that.

Is that different than spanking a kid because you don’t like their temper tantrum and buying their cooperation didn’t work this time? I don’t know. I don’t sleep easy at night knowing I did this. I don’t feel good about myself. I sure as shit am not going to stand up and say that I did the right thing. I know that we worked on it for months. I don’t really feel like I have moral superiority. I did it in a place where it was a legal parenting practice for me to do. Does that make it more ok?

I don’t know.

But the only things Jenny has tried are offering toys, candy, and money as bribes and when that doesn’t work she said “Ok fine then I have to hit you”. She won’t set boundaries because that’s “too mean and she is supposed to be their safe place where anything is ok.”

My kids have thrown a lot of tantrums. I have never decided in the moment to hit them to make it stop. I don’t know that it is morally superior, but I have a fuck ton of tools in my tool belt for handling misbehavior without having to hit a kid. I ran out of tools when it came to making other people bleed on a regular basis. That was my failure. Has every parenting tool I have ever tried been good? Oh hell no.

When my kids tell me that a thing we are trying makes them feel bad we don’t do it again. I apologize for failing. I don’t act like it is their fault for failing to comply in a way that is easy for me. I am failing to figure out how to meet your need in whatever manner it is coming up right now. I am sorry that I fail so much. It isn’t your fault. Sometimes my best is genuinely not good enough.

That is the part that never feels reciprocated in my friendships. Not Sarah, not Jenny, not Pam can admit that sometimes the best they can put into the relationship is not good enough and they are failing and doing wrong. I am the problem if I am not willing to describe whatever they offer as the best.

That’s the part that is toxic as fuck. They are right and I am wrong. I know that I am fucked up and I often create that dynamic in my head without help but a number of people have heard me describe these relationships over many decades and in general that is feedback that other people give me. “Why are you always wrong and that person is always right? I don’t think that is true.”

Sarah would absolutely act that way. Jenny literally has it as part of her internet presence that she is “always right” and she moves through the world that way. Pam would never ever admit out loud that she uses me.

I’m the one with the fucked up expectations. It’s totally reasonable to expect your friends to just be happy funding your lifestyle or to have to drop whatever they are doing if you want attention or to accept being told how stupid and damaging to my children I am.

I am the one who isn’t ok. Duh.

I circle back and back and back to these women.

I think it is time to let the waves knock these sand castles down.

I've had a few people ask me for a running update. Sure. I love requests. My attitude has been better while running. I am past the hump of it feeling "too hard" to do what I am doing. This week I am running sixteen miles. Next week is twenty. I'm not up to ten miles on Saturdays yet. Next month. Most days and most runs I've been maintaining 5.10-5.30 mph. Occasionally I crawl for a bit and come in just under 5mph but that is rare lately.

One of the things that I am disliking the most is my changing perception of my body.I've mostly been on the chubby side but I've never been all that big. My lifetime maximum weight was 212 while pregnant. Not-pregnant it was 208. I spend a lot of time hanging out in the 180's with occasional dips down into the 160's when my activity level goes up. That seems to be my "active" weight range. Occasionally in times of great mental/emotional distress I drop down into the 150's. I have usually had a lot of mixed feelings about these periods. On one hand they are by far the most psychologically unhealthy periods of my life on the other hand random people in public no longer stop me to tell me I should lose weight.

Lately I feel like I am bordering on body dysmorphia. I have always had an hour glass figure. That's just how my body looks. I have hundreds of pictures to prove it. I don't any more. Right now I'm doing the apple thing. I don't tend to feel hostility about other people having that basic body shape but right now I feel intensely bad about being shaped that way. I think about it a lot. I'm having to deal with the fact that my clothes don't fit at all the way I am used to them fitting and I feel angry and ashamed and bad because my body isn't looking like me. It's weird. I'm used to my waist being a size smaller than my thighs. Now my waist is at least a size bigger. I feel fat in a way I haven't ever felt before. I feel repulsed by the way I look. I think about it a lot. A really lot. 

I watched the Harry Potter movies recently. At the very end there is this long panoramic pull back shot of Harry, Hermione and Ron. I was fixated on the fact that it looked like I could put my hand between her thighs and be able to hold my hand horizontally and barely touch skin on either side. Holy moly she has skinny thighs. It felt really dramatic. It looked very childlike to me. I'm used to women having thighs that touch. This isn't to say that all women have heavy thighs. There are lots of grown up women with thing legs. I know this–I still had this visceral reaction to Hermione in that shot. For the past few days I keep standing in front of mirrors and feeling very perplexed because if I stand with my feet directly below my shoulders and look in a mirror my thighs barely touch. Mine have touched full on down to the knees for most of my adult life. Now the top inch touches. I don't think my thighs will rub by the time I get to the marathon.

I feel weird in my body. I feel like I am borrowing a body. I am pretending to be an athletic person. I feel disconnected from my legs–like they represent someone else. They just don't fit the rest of me. I feel weird and bad about the baby belly. Like all of a sudden it is magically a problem. My body has always been proportional! I liked being proportional! Fuck you belly! Everything else is getting smaller what is your fucking problem? But I this attachment in my mind to not trying to lose weight. So I eat a lot trying to keep weight on. My belly is not getting smaller. Ahem.

Especially with my hair this short. Especially with how dark of a tan I have now. I no longer look pale and goth-like. I savored that pallor for many years. Now I garden and run and spend the whole f'in day in the park. I don't wear sunscreen. I don't burn so I don't see the point in putting cancer causing agents on my skin. Noah needs to wear sunblock. Oh man.

I feel very uncomfortable about my body. I don't recognize it. I don't know it. I have a lot of time understanding its pleasure sensors and food needs. I feel very disconnected. I'm not sure if I have always been this disconnected or if it is a recent change. But all of a sudden I feel loathing for my body I am not used to. I was fairly cheerful about being fat. I knew how to dress to look good. I was "friendly fat" so to speak. I had some size 18 clothing, but not much. Mostly I was in the no-womans-land between Misses 14 and Womens 14. I certainly was encouraged by society to feel bad about my size. I was told by the media that I was disgusting. I didn't feel disgusting. I liked my body. I thought I looked quite good naked and that was what I cared about.

I don't like how I look naked right now. I feel lumpy and floppy and disproportionate. I feel like my breasts and my hips look sad and deflated next to my belly. I don't like looking at my belly and yet I do it compulsively. I think this is just my lizard-brain looking for another way to self-harm. If I decide that my belly is my enemy and disgusting and I should do something about it while I am simultaneously training for a marathon I am going to hurt myself quite badly. 

I'm afraid of a lot of the process of training for running. If I want to meet my goals I have to treat my body gently. I have to meet its needs. I'm not sure I even know what its needs are. I'm struggling with finding balance between needing to "work on my diet," because I do need to work towards more nutritious food, and not wanting to obsess and punish myself for being bad. It's hard when I realize that my approach to myself in my head is entirely punitive. If I breathe too loudly I should be punished. I'm taking up space in this world that wasn't meant for me. I am struggling with the size of the box in my head I am allowed to fill. 

Right now my weight is hanging out in the upper 150's/lower 160's. My legs are thinner than they have ever been in my life. My arms thinned out in pregnancy. My face thinned out in pregnancy. My upper back thinned out in pregnancy. Now my upper body really wants to hang out in a size 8. My hips would probably be happiest in a size 10 or 12. My waist is quite firmly still in size 14. With muffin top. I feel like my body is taking up the wrong space. I am wrong. I am out of place. I am out of order. I tell the kids my belly is awesome. Shanna is very affectionate with my belly and I encourage and support that. But I feel distant from this body. I want her to have only positive associations with her mothers body. I talk to her about fat redistributing on your body at different stages and sometimes you have more and sometimes you have less. I keep it very value neutral. I am extremely verbally positive about heavy people being attractive.

And I look in the mirror and I see not my body. I feel gross. I feel like I am not right. I am bad. I am too big and I am too small. I am not me. I'm trying not to show any actual panic. I really am a good actor.

It's interesting and useful for me to think about this current set of obsessive thoughts just as this week's version of self-harm. I'm really enjoying Over the Influence. It's the book on Harm Reduction Therapy. If the goal is just to be always moving towards less harm then I can give myself a little bit of a break. I know how much less harmful this thought process is than most of what I've done. I can see that I'm trying to justify feeling bad. I know that really I just feel bad and I don't need a why. If I can talk to my Lizard brain about it a bit I can see where the need to feel bad lives. 

I've been spending a fair bit of time in front of mirrors. I try to close the door so folks can't hear me. I look at myself. I say all of the things I wish that other people would say. I need to stop looking outside myself for validation. I can't have it. So I'm trying to give it to myself. I feel silly. I cry. But I say it. 

You are good. You are kind. You are patient. You are generous. You are honest. You are trustworthy. You work very hard. You have come a long way. Your body is perfect. Your body made two of the most delightful creatures in the world. What could possibly be wrong with it? You are strong. You will get stronger. Keep working. You will be able to do all of the things you say you will. You keep your fucking word. You are gentle. You are smart. You are resourceful. If you do not find a way you will make a way. Keep going. There is a lot left to do and not a whole lot of time.

 I am no longer defined by my sex appeal. I no longer need to worry about attracting attention the way I once did. I no longer particularly need to worry if my hip to waist ratio is appealing. It feels like I am getting a divorce from my body. I no longer live in it. I'm doing other things. I want to come back but I don't know this person. This person is invisible in different ways and visible for different reasons. I don't know how to handle it. I feel scared of this person. Not because this person will hurt me but because this person is vulnerable in ways I don't fully understand. I can't see the scope of it properly. I don't have much experience being this person out in the world. I have only been this person a short time. I'm still adjusting. I hear it takes four years to be properly past the postpartum period. My organs don't even know where they are going to live forever yet. What kind of home do I want them to live in? How much control do I have?

It's all quite terrifying, really.

{heavily filtered} Triggers

Can I say that I'm getting fucking sick to death of how the word triggers is used?  Mostly I hear it mean: 'So this person is crazy and reacting to ghosts… it's not my problem that they are over-sensitive but I guess I can give a lame-ass "I'll try to respect your 'triggers'" line.'  Fuck you all.  No really.

I'm kind of tired of having people throw it in my face that they are trying to be "sensitive" to my "triggers".  Bitch you don't even know what the fuck that means.  By the way, I'm kind of angry.  Apparently having a trigger means that someone does the same asshole thing to you that someone else has already done.  Or at least caused you to think hard about the previous time and consider how you want to react this time.  People are so dismissive of "triggers" because it is a good way of saying, "You were already hurt here so it's not my fault you are hurting now."

Actually, an asshole act is an asshole act.  Lying is lying.  When you negotiate extensively for activity A and you instead engage in activity B… that's not a miscommunication and that's not about me being triggered.  

You want to know the "trigger" part?  My gut-level response to this behavior is to go sleep in a different bed and cry and assume there is nothing in the world that will change it.  Because that kind of lying is something that people just do.  I should stop listening to what people tell me.  There isn't a point.

Things that were effective coping mechanisms during your childhood are hard to abandon as an adult.  When someone lies to me, I have to withdraw trust.  Fast.  I have to shut down affection towards that person.  I have to stop being vulnerable because if they smell blood… I'm dead.

I suppose that triggering me means acting like my family.  So that I have to act like I do with my family.  It's not about a set word or phrase or experience.  If you act like my family… I have nothing for you.  

My family would set terms on who you can know.  If you had the audacity to want to be friends with someone they didn't like… well… that's going to result in nastiness, name calling, threats of abandonment (that aren't followed up on because the piece of shit bully is dependent on having you around to kick), and of course threats of suicide.  

Wow.  That all sounds like what I say and do when I tell Noah that I don't like him dating.  Ironic.  No wonder I feel like I shouldn't be saying no, no matter what.  Because I have this gut reaction of not wanting to be like them.  It's bad to say, "Actually this behavior is toxic to our marriage for 'x, y, and z reasons.'"  Because then I'm trying to control him inappropriately.  My adult spin on not wanting to be this person is to think that I should start shutting my mouth and putting my head down.

My family would rewrite history.  Oh, it's not that anyone lied.  We just miscommunicated, that's all.  No one ever has to be accountable for their actions.  That's why I have a scorched earth policy.  Someone who is going to lie to my face and then go behind my back and do something else all the while maintaining a dialogue with someone else that perpetuates a lie… wow.  I need to run, not walk away from that.  You want to know what a trigger is?

It's the sure knowledge that a liar is poison.  Someone who will lie to me… I can't know.  I can't be vulnerable with.  I can't pay attention to them.  I can't worry about what they want.  I know it will be a facade and I'll never know them anyway.  As soon as you lie to me, and then tell someone else that we "miscommunicated" well…  Yeah.  Ok.  The solution to this "miscommunication" is for me to assume you are lying going forward.  Sounds great.

I lie too.  I lie compulsively sometimes.  I say things in the heat of an argument that aren't true no matter how you look at them.  And I hate myself for it.  That makes me want to run too.  Because these topics are things that I can't be honest about.  So I'd rather not discuss them.

At any other point in my life this kind of behavior would be cue for an abrupt turn on my heel and exiting the premises permanently.  I would much rather leave than try to fix something like this.  My life is complicated now.

I understand a lot of things differently as life goes by.  I think about why women stay in domestic violence situations.  I think about why my mother and my sister are the way they are.  Why do they lie compulsively all the time?  They were taught to.  That's what hanging out with liars will do.  It teaches you to lie.  

The problem with being married to a sociopath is I am never sure if his vision of enlightened self-interest lines up with mine.  My best-interest is considered to the extent that he wants to manipulate the correct
behavior out of me, preferably while volunteering as little as possible.  Because the less he volunteers, the more control and power he has.  There are cracks in my Stockholm Syndrome.

It's hard having such extreme opinions about Noah.  Mostly I feel better about/toward/with him than anyone else on the planet.  And then sometimes I don't.

(ETA: the formatting is weird and I don't know why.)

Hunh.

Noah and I have been doing a lot of that needy clingy “Nooooooo! Don’t Gooooooooooo!!!” lately. We are both insecure. I wonder if part of the transference was simply that it was transference. I’m used to feeling that during sex lately. Hm. Maybe?

Checking in

Thank you for the phone calls. I really appreciate my friends. I’m trying to keep a more firm line in how much I talk about my shit with Shanna standing nearby. The last couple of times I have really unloaded about what was in my head repeatedly in a day she woke up with night terrors. Today I had the one outburst at my mom on the phone outside in the yard. Then I had one ~15 crying thing immediately following. Then I was calm the whole rest of the day. And Shanna didn’t have a night terror. That, to me, means I erred on the correct side of freaking out. I did a lot in the midst of my mom actively treating me like shit, but I did it outside and away from the kids. I did a little bit in the house with the kids nearby. Then I stopped. I was probably slower than average for the rest of the day, but I kept it together.

Mostly I did this because my friend, K, was due to come over in the morning anyway because she was coming over to babysit my kids while I went to therapy. Handy. Mostly at Jenny’s suggestion (Ack! Two Jennys! My brain is overloading and I will figure out that situation later.) I asked K to drive me down to therapy and they hung out in the park right across from the office. By the way, I’ve realized I’m going to have to do some work on my feelings around unsolicited advice. If I’m going to really do the blogging thing then I’m going to have to just deal with it. Oh man. That will make me twitchy.

And I’m up in the middle of the night trying to figure out what to think and feel about this latest development. I’m trying to decide how many cycles in my brain it gets to have. It doesn’t get as many as it wants right now. I have already decided I need a break from processing this kind of stuff right now and my mother does not have the right to override my decision making process. She doesn’t get to ruin my life anymore. I am on a semi-manic upswing right now. I am trying like hell to get upward momentum started. I can’t stop to obsess about this. Today I need to just get into my head that my mother is doing this to me because she is acting out the story in her head. She is not interested in doing the hard shitty work to break the cycles she has established. That’s not my problem. I am interested in doing that hard work. I am doing that work. Part of doing that work is stopping and telling the quiet, scared little girl inside me that she can’t actually hurt me anymore. Never again will she be allowed to send us to a monster. Tyra’s childhood was ruined too, but Shanna and Calli are escaping. My brother’s kids are escaping. One of my siblings absolutely continued the cycle but I have hope for Tyra. The way forward can’t be me staying up all night obsessing and it can’t be me feeling distracted and apathetic all day with the kids. That’s not acceptable. My life is good, wonderful, and I have all the possibilities in the world. I am not yet 30 years old. My life isn’t over yet. I get to grow up and be anyone I want to be.

Ok. I think I’m going to follow a few random paths for a while as I try to figure out which direction I want to grow in. But that’s ok. I have time.

Picking up my basket

I really like the movie “The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood”. It’s far from being a perfect analogy for my life but I see familiar things in it and ultimately it is a hopeful movie. Yeah, the mom fucked up pretty bad and she is hurt and ashamed by that for the rest of her life. And her daughter has issues, but she also has a pretty great life and a wonderful partner etc. It’s one of those, “Yes moms can be really imperfect and the kids still turn out somehow” sorts of things. Given how frequent a trope that is I’m pretty confident the worry exists in other minds as well, minds that don’t work like mine. Anyway. At one point the mother describes her own mental breakdown as “I dropped my basket.” Since I heard that line I think of it often when I’m having trouble carrying around all my shit. It’s like the basket got too heavy so I had to set it down for a while. For most of my life I have set it down as long as I needed to and slowly picked up one item at a time. But uhm, things are different now. I’m reading parenting books and near as I can tell every single one says, “Hey! You know how you behave when you are cheerful and doing ok? Yeah? Ok! That’s perfect! Do that for the rest of your life without let up and everything will work out!” Cause yeah, when I’m on the ball I do this parenting thing pretty well like I taught well. I genuinely enjoy interacting with kids like this. But it is hard. It is unrelentingly hard. And I dropped my basket. But Shanna has informed me that it is time to pick my basket up again. Her behavior is slipping. She’s acting out more. I honestly don’t know how it will work to just decide, “I am not going into denial or ‘stuffing’ my feelings I just need to set them in this box I look in once a week.” I don’t know if I have really tried this before. I can tell you right now that I am nervous. This is hard. Honestly this feels slightly like a step in the wrong direction in terms of worrying about multiples. 😛 But these thoughts are dominating my entire life and that just isn’t working. I can’t be that self-absorbed anymore. I had like a 7 week breakdown. That’s a fucking long time in the life of a child. It has to just end, now. *beat head against wall*

Boundaries.

I’m noticing that I’m not using good boundaries lately. That’s a problem in pretty much every part of my life. Maybe I need to try and shelve the old shit again for a while and try to switch focus to more immediate boundary issues. I wonder if this will work. :-\

Called my brother

So really what happened is I called my brother days ago and we’ve played phone tag since then. Anyway. Tonight we really talked. We talked for 45 minutes and there were so many little subtopics. He said he believes me absolutely 100% without question on all of it. I spent a while sobbing and spilling out my memories of our father and what he did to me. I kept apologizing to him because I know he doesn’t want to hear it but he told me that he is willing to listen to whatever I need to say. He considers my mental health more important than his momentary discomfort at hearing these stories. That’s huge. That’s monumental. I mean, it’s not like we are suddenly going to be close and spend time together. But I was just told by a person in my immediate family that the fucked up version of reality I knew growing up was indeed happening. I am not crazy. I am not imagining any of it. I am not lying. My mother and sister can go fuck themselves.

He believes me. He heard what actually happened and he believes me. He told me that yes, I am used as the scapegoat by everyone. My brother believes me.

Sentry

Right now I am sitting sentry duty next to my elder daughter’s bed. Her beloved bed. You see, it is a Big Girl Bed! She even climbs a ladder to get into it. Picture an overly intense cherubic blond haired blue eyed german ploughhorse. She’s stocky and perky and deliciously incongruous. She wants people to love her so much. We shower her with love constantly. I carry her until my arms give out and then I put her in a carrier and keep going even now that she’s my big 30 lb going-on-three-year-old. Even while her baby sister is on my back. I do this because I remember that agony of need of assurance of love. I remember feeling no one in the world would ever love me enough and desperately clinging to my mother. I was so very attached to my mother. On MDC they think that is a good thing but I’m not so sure it was good for us.

I think of my beautiful child. And I think of my mother. And I think of the power she had over me. The power I have over my beloved, adored, forever wanted Shanna. I begged God for her. I named her and wanted her when I was 13 years old. To think that my mother most likely received the exact same blind absolute trust and love. My mother saw that in her child’s face and let a monster violate her. I can feel my whole body quake with hate and fear and rage. Most of the muscles in my body alternately cramp and flex. This hurts so bad. I hate her. I think if I drove to her house right now I would honk the horn until she came outside and run her over. Oh god. I’m trying to calm the panic attack closing my throat. You fucking bitch. I hate you so much. You did this to me. At the end of the day you stupid bitch. This is all on your head. I hate you. I hate you so much.

Why didn’t you love me?

And that question will never be answered. And no matter how much terror I feel. No matter the nightmare I face sitting next to her bed, my baby needs me to be happy. My baby needs me to take in her love and return it to her as joy. It is so hard to appreciate her like she deserves. I wish that my sweet girl didn’t have to show me her remarkable empathy so often. I wish my baby didn’t offer me hugs and kisses to feel better.

And every time one more person tells me more reasons that who I am or what I am doing is bad or wrong it just makes it one little bit harder. Like what I am doing is not hard enough.

On clean houses and class

So my dear oldest friend in the world, Brittney, is coming to visit me today. She is doing so primarily because her mother is in town and her mother would like to meet my children. Brittney’s mother met me within days of my birth and has supervised to a greater or lesser extent our friendship of 29 years. It would be quite logical for me to want to “impress” Brittney’s mother. (for the record: Brittney reads this journal) So yesterday I felt like I should rush around doing the flight of the bumblebee making the house at least look completely neat and orderly even though it looks shabby and kind of run down. At some point while nursing Calli to sleep I had a great series of thoughts.

I’m thinking like a poor person. A poor person apologizes for the stains on the carpets, the chips in the paint on the wall, the weird cracks in the ceiling. A poor person notices and feels pain because a poor person can’t fix these blemishes. A poor person cleans everything to within an inch of its life and never has an item out of place. A poor person has to be visibly trying to look like a “good person” and feel shame about the visible slippage from grace.

But I’m a rich person now. My house is not degrading because I cannot afford to repair it. My house has not been remodeled because I would like to spend a month traveling in Europe this summer. We did not fix the interior of the house in favor of putting solar panels on the roof. We took out the lawn on purpose to reduce water usage and I haven’t gotten my act together to figure out a more visually attractive low water solution so my yard looks like crap. I don’t have better furniture because I fully expect my kids to absolutely destroy any furniture we have in the first few years and that’s ok and I don’t want to try to stop them. The list goes on.

My house is in various states of degrading because I bloody well don’t care and I have other things I want to do with our money. Ha! Flight of the bumblebee my ass. We played with Lego’s instead. 😛

I miss Traci

So I’ve been seeing this woman (that sounds more interesting than it is) occasionally since the first miscarriage. She’s not a bad therapist, but she has a strong focus on EMDR and some weird thing where you pinch the bridge of your nose and tap on your third eye. Not so into the talk therapy part. I feel like the EMDR worked pretty well for me when it came to things like Francesca’s death, and losing my baby, and Traci’s death. Those were fresh and new hurts that were pretty easy to isolate and treat. But right now it’s just not working for me. The last time I saw her she had to ask me, “And who is Noah again?” If you don’t even know who Noah is then you know nothing about me. I’ve been seeing her periodically for over a year and she doesn’t know my husband’s name?

I don’t really have anyone to talk to about the super hard stuff right now. I have Noah, who has nothing more to give. And I have Sarah, who is also really at max capacity. I just can’t unload on them anymore than I already am. I don’t have a space where I can talk about my Byzantine feelings about my children and myself and my future and my family. (Noah’s not really on that list because other than occasional minor irritations he’s just not any kind of problem.) I miss Traci. I hate that I feel so bad for how much I miss her. It wasn’t exactly a ‘friendship’. But she did care about me. I saw her basically every week and some periods more than once a week for over 3 years. She knew every single terrible, horrible, disgusting thing about me and she never blinked. I’m pretty sure there isn’t a person on the planet who knows as much about me as Traci did, not even Noah. It feels kind of pathetic to say that.

I feel very alone and very lonely. And I feel like no one sees me. I miss Traci. The new therapist emailed me today to check up on me. The last time I went in to see her I really really needed to talk and she shut me down to follow her EMDR script and I felt so upset. I’m sorry, visualizing myself as a little girl and giving myself a hug is not going to solve all of my problems. She seemed very aware that I left the session more upset than I arrived. I should respond to her but I don’t know what to say.

Failure and growing up

I think that the best thing I have gotten from Noah (other than a cushy life and two of the best kids on the planet, of course) is a willingness to fail. I have recently jumped off a lot of cliffs in terms of trying things I’m not good at. I’m cooking from scratch with whatever random ingredients I have around and I’m adding spices and things turn out ok or awesome. When something sucks I think, “Ok… this didn’t quite work. Why not?” Instead of, “I’m so stupid and pathetic. I should never have tried this. I obviously failed because *I* am a failure.” It sounds kind of melodramatic when I phrase it that way but that’s been my internal dialogue for most of my life. I’m not doing that–I want to say any more but that’s not quite true–as much as I used to. Now when something fails I look at it as an opportunity to learn more about the process and what I should do next time. I keep trying until I figure it out and I have fewer temper tantrums. Far, far fewer temper tantrums. I feel kind of embarrassed admitting out loud how often I have had temper tantrums through my adulthood when I fail at doing something. But that’s just kind of naturally scaling back. And part of it is just that I’m getting older and lowering my standards, but mostly it is that I am just plain more ok with failing being part of learning.

And that’s because of Noah. I don’t know what I did right in my past lives to deserve him, but please God I hope I never fuck this up.

Thinking about judgment

So everyone has times when their behavior doesn’t exactly match up with their stated positions/world views. It’s a normal thing. There are a few ways this can be dealt with. Someone can more or less subconsciously refuse to look at the discrepancy and continue on their merry hypocritical way–I think this is the majority reaction really; it is certainly the easiest. You can examine your world view more closely and decide that it no longer works for you and you should change it to align with your behavior. You can examine your behavior more closely and decide that it is inappropriate and you need to change it to align with your world view. Or, as Noah points out, you can look at your world view and behavior and decide they both kind of suck and change both. I think this last one is uncommon and maybe a bit drastic. 😉

This got really really long. Continue reading