Battle Scars and Exit Wounds

His Side has left the building

2011-12-08T21:50:00.006-05:00

... along with Elvis and my battle to balance hope and disappointment.

As an overachiever, I didn't end this battle after quiet contemplation. That's too simple. ::eyeroll:: There were neighbors... and cops... and domestic violence papers... and changed locks. Thankfully, two guests didn't show up to the party: Tears and Regret.

Lemme go back. His Side recently made a remarkable move. He reached out to medical professionals for the help he needed to fight his formidable demons. I supported him as a friend, allowed him to remain in my home, and actually witnessed a marked improvement. He stopped drinking, gave up his tendency to try and control everyone (but himself), and conducted himself like a rational person experiencing a prolonged moment of clarity.

Then came the lapse. The meltdown.

He decided to get drunk on the vodka we purchased for friends and lost his damn mind. Seriously. And literally. He went to that place where the light behind his eyes go dark, reality escapes him, and a target must be sought. As I sat silently waiting for the storm to end, he couldn't stand my unwillingness to engage... so he threw me to the floor. By. My. FACE. It was the mush heard round the world. I hit the floor like a rock and went straight for the phone to call the police. He twisted my arm until I let go the house phone and took my cell. I got my son out of bed, went to the neighbors, and called the cops.

To make a long story short, I opted not to press charges so long as he was removed from the home. To his cousin's he went in a police car, as I stared at the police report - wondering how I endured the patience and longsuffering of hope.

Even as I sit here, 3 weeks later, I have trouble finding the words to express how this has changed my life. I am so satisfied that my daily energy isn't spent trying to help somebody who floats in and out of helping themselves. I cook more, relax more, and enjoy the slow process of getting my house back into order. Yet somehow, I don't regret the time I spent loving His Side and hoping he would win the fight against his heavy baggage. Hell, I still love him, but from AFAR.

Even though his apologies have been heartfelt and sincere, I was relieved to see the moment he realized there is no way back into my life. While he fights a new demon - the weight of regret - I relish the freedom of releasing all of his baggage back into his care. Unlike the past, I don't feel concerned that he may not make it. I'm alright with his success or his failure because I let it go without the remnant of feeling any responsibility.

Sadness, embarrassment, and lonliness were fleeting feelings. But this satisfaction I'm feeling is permanent.

A humor break since laughter is my lifelong friend...

2011-09-09T11:52:00.004-04:00

A psychiatrist conducted a group therapy session with four mothers. "You all have obsessions."

To the first mother, he said, "You are obsessed with eating and even named your daughter Candy." He turned to the second Mom. "Your obsession is with money and named your child Penny." He turns to the third Mom. "Your obsession is alcohol and you named your child Brandy."

At this point, the fourth mother gets up, takes her little boy by the hand and whispers, "Come on, Dick, we're leaving."

Seems to me that last mother should have had more than one kid, but I digress.

Have a good weekend!

Tears of a clown.

2011-08-20T21:26:00.009-04:00

The tears. The TEARS. I can't take the tears. Don't tell me what a wonderful woman I am and explain how devastated you are that you have to leave my circle, my home, my LIFE.

Too little. Waaaaaaaaay too late. Like giving a whale a tic tac for bad breath after tooth rot sets in. A waste of time. A useless gesture. At worst... foolish.

I've seen these tears before. Don't tell me what a blessing I've been to you. Don't tell me I'm beautiful, sexy, fun and funny, sweet, and an unbelievable best friend - when you can't control yourself long enough to respect me as the woman you described.

For once, I'm not moved. I can't respond, except to tell you what a relief it will be to be away from you and watch your shadow fade into my rear-view mirror. In fact, as I explained to you over dinner, we'll both be relieved - just for different reasons. My reasons are obvious. For you, you can stop pretending that you ever intended to honor me and quit taking advantage of my love, patience, friendship, and help.

I'm no longer disappointed in you, because you showed me who you were and I didn't listen. Unfortunately, you waited until I was invested, and I boiled with the proverbial frog. That damn frog is the only way I can explain why it took me so long to jump out of this pot. I doubted my ability to see straight. That scares me the most. I'll never distrust myself again.

I thank you for every good time we had. They were just as real as the lows.

I created a category called "breakups" for this blog. It's almost strange to have to use it now with such finality.

I love you although there's no place left for you in my life. In the bittersweet end, I'm okay with that.

I stole the pic from here. So sue me.

Under the wheels and into the rearview mirror goes HisSide in my mind...

2011-08-19T08:22:00.019-04:00

Don't shop when you're hungry. You may buy too much.

Don't blog when you're angry. You may say too much.

FUCK IT.

Under the wheels and into the rearview mirror goes HisSide in my mind. I'd only consider hitting reverse to hear that "THUD" one more time...

I am tired, sleep-deprived, hurt, and angry. My exterior says I have this cocktail of negative emotions under control because my pressure-cook valve isn't at critical mass. I suspect my calm represents more emotional exhaustion than some enlightened state of "letting it go."

Last night, in an epic failure of manhood and maturity, HisSide erupted into an absolute meltdown after his ex-wife stole some money from him. She ran off into the night, leaving me the blindsided convenient target for HisSide's unchecked, unattended, and totally unhinged emotional ANGER.

Yelling in my face with spit flying. Balled fists. Threats of smacking me. Screaming "stupid," "idiot," in my face. The tirade was so long, so unprovoked, so surprising, and so BITTER, that I eventually cried. To which he responded, "You can save that act for somebody else."

You see, I learned to time these things with HisSide. I knew when it was coming. But this one hurt like no other. I paid the train fee and provided the transportation to meet her to split the check from the sale of their old home. I gave him the last change in my pocket so he could eat in the train station while he was there. I listened to his hurt as he described the way she gave him less than his half and literally RAN from the bank with the man she cheated with years ago during the marriage. I met him at the train, hugged him, rubbed his back as pain and anger took turns flashing through his confused mind. "I never thought she would do that to me." I played his favorite computer game with him when he wanted to take his mind off things. And I did my best to absorb the blow when the tirade against me started. Until enough was enough.

I don't want to get too sidetracked, but I had her number AGES ago. This is the same ex-wife who gave it to him up his ass five years ago when she scammed him into living in their old house rent free. I offered to draft a lease for him. I warned him he was placing himself in a precarious position. End result: She never paid a dime and the city took the house for a tax lien. I knew from their phone conversations she was a trickster. Strike one.

Fast forward five years later, the city finally sold the house and sent the check for the profit after the lien was resolved. "Don't trust her to give you your half. Get that check here and send her half to her. Not the other way around."

"But she would never do that."

"She fucked you on that house in the first place."

I was right, but somehow I paid the price for his folly.

HisSide is the only person ON. THIS. PLANET. to ever treat me this way, and yesterday was one of the lowest points of my life. Although I parted romantic ways with him over two years ago, I don't want to believe he has the capacity to treat me with such horror. But we've been here before, so why am I so hurt? I already know who he is, when he isn't the man I fell in love with. He's an inexcusable monster who I spent too long making excuses for.

How did I get here?

He screamed that he KNOWS I found somebody else since I broke up with him 2 years ago - an accusation he hurls when his Emotional IQ drops to Infancy. He's only half right. Although there isn't another man, I am open to dating and placing myself in a position to give love and get what I deserve in return. (Anyway, how stupid do you have to be to believe that screaming at a woman would make her want you back, anyway? Asshole.)

Is this what some people call the process of "falling out of love?" Nah. I don't believe that. I love HisSide as much as I did 4 years ago. To me, this is a process of placing the love for myself above any hopes that he'll grow up and grow a pair. I see how abused women get caught in a cycle. They skip this last important step and neglect to show their jerk THE DOOR. Love ain't they key. The key is RECIPROCITY! And I reminded HisSide that the doorknob needs to connect with his his ass ASAP.

I learned all I needed to learn about inviting madness and giving it a warm place to call home. I am remarkably thankful for the lesson HisSide represents in my life, primarily because I'll deeply appreciate the future joy of loving and getting a little tenderness in return.

Overheard during prime time...

2011-08-08T21:18:00.000-04:00

Me: C'mon. Turn the tv off.

Him: I'm watching this.

Me: If I strip naked and stand in front of the tv, will you turn it off?

Him: Depends on what you're doing while naked.

Me: Hmph. I'm gonna sit down...

Him: Well if you sit here, I'll turn the tv off.

Me: ::blank stare::

Mothers and Daughters: Amen to the life coach

2011-08-05T09:42:00.000-04:00

This blog is all about relationships. Although I primarily focus on my in-and-out relationship with His Side, I have been a spectator, advisor, player, winner, loser and radical fan of deciphering the code that governs all relationships.

A recent blog post about the tentative relationship I have with my mother led me, via a Google search for artwork, to a woman named Marion. She's an ICF accredited life and business coach with a cool blog called The "Second Half" of My Life. Marion managed to capture some poignant points about mothers and daughters in her blog post:

Mothers and Daughters: 9 Things They Should Know About Each Other

I am tempted to print and send the entire post to my mother in hopes of achieving the relationship we both claim to want. I haven't decided on the wisdom of possibly spinning mother into a tornado of twisted spitfire fueled by the offensive thought that I'm judging her. So for now, I'll invite you to see what Marion has to say.

I added the link to my sidebar because it deserves its own space in the landscape of this blog.
Happy reading.

Mothers and Daughters: One relapse and recovery at a time.

2011-08-03T21:20:00.008-04:00

For sanity's sake, I accepted the wisdom and spiritual guidance that I can't, shouldn't, and simply won't concern myself with trying to change another human being. I have my hands full with ME, so why partake in the silliness of believing I know enough to adjust somebody else's behavior. Aside from solicited advice and addressing outright abuse, I value my peace over misguided control.

My readers already know how I was slow to accept this reality in dealing with my mother. I took long... too long... in deciding it was more important to adjust myself than holding high expectations of what she needed to do to improve our relationship. That was the best decision I ever made.

Today, on top of a series of personal dilemmas with my job, my health, and other nuisances that life can bring, I almost relapsed like an alcoholic trying to socialize in a bar.

My 12-year old gave me a long and frustrating story of a verbal tirade about me earlier today - from calling me a liar, to once again, complaining about His Side's presence in my life. She lured my father and both of my sons into the fray. My body betrayed me as I felt despair, anger, and frustration wash over me. Heat pricked my entire body. My eyes stung with angry tears. I stewed in the car as I drove towards home, wondering why she picked this time in our relationship to attack again - and have the nerve to be WRONG. We just took a beautiful family trip together. Where is this coming from?

Apparently, my ex-husband didn't take my son birthday shopping during a recent visit. He was keeping my son because I was invited to an engagement late in the evening. Somehow that made me a liar about why my son was visiting his father.

But something happened during that ride. I can only describe it as a "calm resolve" resulting in a deep desire to remain free from the paralyzing emotion I used to feel when her own spite and control issues got the best of her.

I walked into the house and cradled the phone in my hand. I looked at it for a moment as if I expected the phone to give me the last bit of advice I needed to handle this. For a moment, I considered avoidance as a solution. But in too many ways, that silence would scream a lie I simply couldn't live with. How is cowering better than fighting the wrong fight?

So I made the call. Without judging her behavior or psychoanalyzing her into submission, I respectfully exerted my disappointment and offered an option to improve the relationship she claims to want with me. I explained the birthday incident sans the usual tone of trying to defend myself. Without blaming her, I gracefully laid out what I desire for her and my children:

Children shouldn't bear the weight of hearing their parents criticized. It isn't fair to them and it creates unnecessary rifts in the family.

Hearing an accusation against me from my child hurts and integrity says to approach the accused.

The fervent attack against me with little information, in my absence, turns an apparent misunderstanding into an unfortunate roadblock. And it hurts.

I expect the respect of a conversation before the fever-pitch of anger takes over.

I'm at a point in my life where I don't want to fight about these things, and your claim that "I get upset" is a function of the argumentative way you approach me with your opinion.

I want a peaceful relationship where I can come to you with girl talk instead of trying to avoid sharing with you.

And a miracle happened. She agreed. Not the bitterly angry agreement that gets thrown on the table to end a conversation. The inflection in her voice indicated she wants to do this differently.

She made her own request, "Don't lie to me. I want the truth." In fairness, I admitted that I simply don't tell her things to avoid her criticism, but I'll never look her in the face and lie. I went over a major issue she thinks I lie about, and for the first time since this problem started, we had a conversation that revealed things she simply didn't know about it.

I couldn't have asked for a better moment with her. For 10 minutes, I had the mother I always wanted, one who listened without criticizing, one who promised to value girl talk over controlling criticism.

I have no idea or preconceived fantasy about our relationship past this day. She may or may not keep her stated resolve about the way she communicates with (and about) me. The best part is IT. DOESN'T. MATTER. I did my due diligence in the way I chose to address her. I have to believe there's a reward, even if it's just keeping my blood pressure low, for acknowledging her right to do what the hell she wants.

Today was a win. Not because mom said she would do better... but because I left the decision up to her while guarding over my own integrity. That's freedom at its finest.

Photo lifted from this site for IFC Films.

Love, American Style

2011-07-25T08:40:00.003-04:00

One lazy morning, as I flipped aimlessly through the channels with hopes of finding some mindless entertainment, I stumbled across a well-known television pastor whose words gripped me. I don't recall the direct quote, but he described the prevailing expression of love as 'a thin veneer of acceptance that is easily scratched away when human frailties and flaws emerge in the object of our affection.'

That's love. American style.

I won't pretend that our limited human experience can fathom and sustain the pure God-like love the pastor went on to preach about. In fact, it is a promise of the human condition that we'll be flawed in ways that make us quite difficult to tolerate. Even when we think we have it all together, we're still a pain in somebody's ass who just may love us in spite of...

When I assess my own history with that thang called "love," I can see where appearances, circumstances, personal resumes, and other surface "veneers" played a role in choosing mates. I know for a fact I was doing the best I knew how at the time. I had no clue that I often made choices like a frazzled mom shopping while hungry after a long day. The groceries all look good until you get home, open the bag, and see the excess of junk food that seemed all-too-perfect on the shelf.

And all of this leads me to...

My girl Negril is the only person who knows and understands the trials, tribulations, and uncertainties I've faced while navigating my relationship with HisSide. He is the object of my true love. His flaws are many, to the point where I understand the need to be away from him. But not once in the throes of his deepest personal battles did I love him any less. Even when I became a convenient target... Even when forced to put some space between us... Even when he wanted to blame me for problems he's had for longer than I've known him... I loved him and did what I could to help him. When asked, he'll tell you the same.

We remain friends that can't stand to be away from each other. The feeling is mutual, but then again, love isn't a "feeling" anyway. It's the energy that keeps you attached to another while doing what you can to make their life better. Because their pain is your pain. When they hurt, you hurt. And for no material reason at all, you can't imagine life outside of their presence because their soul is woven into your outlook.

We're like two children on a playground. He knocked over my blocks. I kicked his sandcastle. We cried. Then we made up and kept playing.

It's been about two years since I broke-up with HisSide. But he's still at home and we still love each other like crazy. I requested that he leave because the reality of some human frailties means making hard decisions. I still don't know where this will take us. But I know I love him and I am loved in return.

I wouldn't have it any other way because I want more than Love, American Style.

The most important relationship in my life

2011-01-12T12:40:00.005-05:00

I am deeply fascinated with relationship dynamics. Mothers and daughters. Men and women. Parents and children. Even political "relationships" like liberals vs. conservatives. But today I was hit with an urgent, almost electrical need, to address a relationship I rarely discuss - my relationship with myself.

Many would argue that a relationship with God trumps all others. But as I approach age 40, I can't relate with Him, the parental units, the kids, His Side, or the damn Pope until I get a love fest going with the me inside this skin.

You see, I can name what I like and dislike about the people who surround me. I can name the ways God has been good to me. Dammit, I can even tell you what I respect about the differences in liberal and conservative political views. But I would be stumped for words if asked about me. Sure, I could describe my job and my roles in life as they relate to others (e.g. motherhood). I could even repeat the ways that other people describe me and I feel slightly horrified that I would need the references.

No worries... I'm not having an identity crisis that will lead to a self-discovery journey while backpacking across Europe. But I do crave an experience with myself that I can articulate with the same colorful clarity that I use to describe my attachments to others. Those attachments are important. But they're only reflections that can be distorted like funhouse mirrors.

The year 2011 entered with a fizzle for me. For the first time, I didn't receive the new year with an open heart and open arms. I didn't join the usual rally cry "this is going to be my best year yet." But alas... it just might be.

Emotionally Abusive Mothers and Adult Daughters: Part 4 of 4

2011-01-05T15:40:00.004-05:00

Subtitled: And joy comes in the morning.

From the time I was young until this very day, witnesses have commented on my relationship with my mother. They’ve called her everything from bipolar to mean to simply jealous. Books and blogs that deal with emotionally abusive mothers describe everything from Borderline Personality Disorder to Narcissism. Hell, I have stories that could support any one of those theories. Several years ago during an innocent car ride, she sneered at me “You look just like those women your father cheats on me with… light skin and big boobs.”

Even though one or more of those theories could be true, I subscribe to the basic idea that my mother is chronically and fundamentally unhappy, attempted to relive her life through me (“live vicariously through me,” as she says), and punishes me like an out-of-line prisoner for attempting freedom.

I took the long route to get here, but last night’s a’ha moment may have saved my life. Mom had another epic mental breakdown because my 18-year old son will travel by train to see his father this holiday. His father and I agreed to this and I helped my son arrange for his ticket. Mom believes his father and I should drive for hours on dangerous Christmas Eve-roads to “exchange him” instead.

To make this long story short, she told both of us off over the phone. One at a time. And of course, my tongue lashing came with a sprinkle of unrelated insults, unfounded accusations, fake tears, and a self righteous hang-up. In times past, I may have joined in the escalation – flustered and crying and raising my voice. Not once did I raise my voice or disrespect. In fact, she commented on my calm with disdain. I suspect she was angry that I wasn’t moved by her next epic meltdown. She did all of that in front of my 18-year old son who was sitting on a couch in the same room with her. What kind of mother and grandmother DOES THAT?

After bitter tears of hurt, I finally realized with amazing clarity that it JUST DOESN’T MATTER. It doesn’t matter if I don’t raise my voice. It doesn't matter that I was too big when I carried weight and too small when I lost weight (true story). It doesn’t matter if I use a plane or a train. It doesn’t matter if I post my straight-A report card on her proverbial refrigerator. If I’m not doing something that makes her the center of my world to soothe her emotional needs, then I’m doing something that deserves her verbal abuse. Period.

Today, I freely give up on feeling guilty for ending the plight to please her.

I gladly release myself from pretending to be an extension of her and for protecting her public image to my own emotional detriment.

I readily give myself permission to feel adequate, a feeling I once ran from to escape the cognitive dissonance of having a mother who said I wasn’t.

With relief, I throw away the need to make or accept one more excuse why it’s okay to disregard me as a grown woman and a mother.

With a sincere heart, I can say: “Mom. I love you and forgive you. You don’t ever have to change a single thing about yourself. But I won’t subject myself to this anymore, and I’m willing to gracefully part ways with you if you won’t respect me as more than your whipping post. You aren’t welcome to project your emotional shortcomings and unmet needs onto me – either directly or indirectly through my children. You don't have a right to interfere with my personal life or give unwanted advice. And most of all, I HAVE THE RIGHT TO LIVE THIS LIFE UNDER THE TERMS I SET FOR MYSELF AND MY FAMILY.

Bonus Link for your Reading Pleasure:
FAMILY JEALOUSY-The Shameful Secret Behind Abuse And Betrayal

Emotionally Abusive Mothers and Adult Daughters: Part 3 of 4

2011-01-02T11:02:00.000-05:00

Subtitled: Control, Family, and Secrecy.
When we left Part 2, I had just returned home as a single mom at the age of 21 after having my son.
=========================
One day during dinner, as we all sat in the kitchen with the baby quietly watching us eat, mom told me about a social organization for single parents. She went on and on about this “wonderful” organization and the social status of some of the members. I wasn’t really interested, but I promised to check it out (with the aim, once again, of making her happy and escaping her criticism). The escape wasn’t a clean one, because she ended her speech with, “When you go, don’t tell anybody that you’re my daughter. I am so embarrassed of you.”

Tried as I might to keep a straight face, a steady stream of tears betrayed my efforts to conceal the physical pain of betrayal throbbing in the center of my chest. At that moment, I didn't understand why she had interrupted my new life in another state and asked me to come back home if I was such an embarrassment to her? In reality, it was the only way she could get me back under control and criticize me into submission. My father yelled at her, and I simply continued to eat my dinner. This was the only mother I knew, and heck, I was under her roof… right?

I spent the last 5+/- years searching for ways to understand why my mother didn’t love me enough to stop hurting me. Although I received spankings, slappings, and snatchings, by far, nothing hurt more than the things she said to break my spirit. During my search for an answer, I continued the pattern of seeking a hint of approval. At times, that search meant presenting my accomplishments; much like a child posts a good report card on the refrigerator. Other times, that search meant concealing a personal failure or disappointment; with the knowledge she would criticize me in that moment and throw in some old failures to increase the sting.

I can't think of one self-inflicted prison more demoralizing and emotionally destructive than seeking the approval of a person who can't be pleased. It's like throwing yourself off a cliff repeatedly until you're so broken you can't drag yourself to the peak anymore.

While you're waiting for Part 4 -
Bonus Link for your Reading Pleasure:
Cutting Ties - Knowing When It's Time To Walk Away

Emotionally Abusive Mothers and Adult Daughters: Part 2 of 4

2010-12-30T11:33:00.000-05:00

Subtitled: Control, Family, and Secrecy.

All aspects of my life were open to mom's criticism and could be used, at any moment, to trigger a verbal assault. Even the most obscure points of my life could be cited as a reason to berate me and make her point about my flaws. She'd hit the finer points of issues real and imagined about:

My education. My employment. My address. My clothing. My boyfriend/husband. My child-rearing. My purchase of a pet. My vacation. My finances. My friends. My hair. My sex life.

Sometimes, I'd laugh if I wasn't fighting the urge to cry. Or yell. Or take up yoga. Just 2 short years ago, I disagreed with her about my son's need for braces. She had a tantrum like a child, and turned the conversation into criticisms of my parenting and choice of boyfriend. She threw in the fake tears and cursing to top-off a brilliant performance.

During the various stages of my life, my mother became visibly flustered whenever she lost a tool she could use to criticize and control. I remember the assault she waged when I decided to move out of her house at the age of 26. I stopped accepting her excuses for why I should stay and I experienced an unbelievable wave of relief as I carried my last bag from her home.

She also lost a grip during the time I was married. She didn’t dare challenge my husband’s right to rule the home and reveal herself to him as a controlling mother. She picked the times he wasn’t around to criticize him (to me), to challenge my choice to marry him, and to complain about our parenting.

Just last year, she gifted me a timeshare vacation. I only had to pay the booking fee and transportation. A gift is never truly a gift from a controlling mother, which I realized (again) when she made it clear who I could and could not travel with on my vacation.

I spent countless years wondering why I had chronic feelings of inadequacy even when faced with contrary evidence. I couldn’t understand why I didn’t respond to my mother’s “concerned advice” with joy and appreciation. Why in the world did I always want to turn down the help she offered and even continued to push on me when I turned her down? Worse, I didn’t know why I was growing to dread spending time with my parents.

The last one… losing my desire to hang with the parental units… was the hardest of all. Mom always pushed the concept of “family” (although she is amazingly and chronically estranged from her own birth family). It was nothing short of blasphemy for me to ever speak ill of her, to prefer another family’s company, or even call my mother-in-law “mom.”

Along with the “family” theme came the “secrecy” theme. I was never to speak about home outside of the house. Mom always claimed that other folks didn’t need to know about the problems my dad caused the family. I never stopped to think that she might be protecting her own public image as a wonderful and attentive wife and mother.

I have a vivid memory of how she always saw me as an extension of her and her precious reputation (which must be protected at all costs). At the age of 21, I became pregnant with my oldest son while attending college. She sent me $500 – for the abortion clinic. I had a choice: Hit the clinic or go start my life somewhere. She couldn’t stand that I chose to “go start my life somewhere,” so she and my father retrieved me shortly after the birth. I believed she cared since she wanted me back under her roof….right? Well…

While you're waiting for Part 3 -
Bonus Link for your Reading Pleasure:
DESPERATE MEASURES: When They Sense They’re Losing Their Grip On You - 5 Surprising Ways Of Keeping You Attached

Emotionally Abusive Mothers and Adult Daughters: Part 1 of 4

2010-12-27T12:30:00.004-05:00

Subtitled: When the last straw outweighs the excuses.

Last night I experienced the liberation of leaving the State of Denial. In fact, I left the state so fast, I barely had time to wave as the landscape disappeared in the rear-view mirror. This came after another round of bitter tears following an unwarranted attack from my mother – who has been emotionally abusive for as long as I can remember.

Judging by my experience and the experiences shared by others, emotional abuse often gets veiled under “less offensive” terms. The abuser may be characterized as overly critical, controlling, misguided, unfair, grouchy, or just plain mean. I find that these words mostly act to whitewash the intent, malice, pain, and emotional stress that targets must endure.

Denying the crushing weight that 30+ years of emotional abuse placed on my broken heart also meant I had to devise excuses – and even accept the excuses that she and others offered.

She lost her mother at a very young age, so she just wants to be very involved in your life.
I can understand a desire to be present, but not to mistreat.

It’s a generational gap.
Culturally, her generation knew more about honor and respect of fellow man. This doesn’t explain a damned thing.

She means well.
In what way? If you know you’re hurting me, and keep repeating the behavior, then you mean it.

Blood is thicker than water.
It simply isn’t, and this has been an excuse to ignore the physical, emotional, and sexual abuse that occurs in family structures.

All families are dysfunctional.
No. All families face issues – not necessarily dysfunction. When love and respect are present, those issues can be overcome.

She was frustrated about my father abusing her, so she took it out on the nearest target.
Even if this is true… and even if one can agree that she deserves sympathy… none of that erases her culpability or explains how she is getting worse long after she and dad parted ways.

She’s controlling because she cares.
That doesn’t even make sense. You care for things that you care for. You don’t control things you care for. It is dangerous to claim that wanting to eradicate another person’s free will and their right to enjoy life on their own terms is an act of caring. Nonsense like that leads people to stay in abusive relationships.

You’re taking it wrong/overreacting.
You can’t take pain “wrong.” If you call me a name… it hurts. If you withhold love and punish me for disappointing you… it hurts. If you wrongly accuse me of doing something evil… it hurts. If you do these things repeatedly, knowing that it hurts me, I am not overreacting to excuse you from my life. Period.

Maybe you’re doing something wrong.
Let’s pretend I’m doing something wrong. Let’s pretend I went against her advice and failed. Let’s admit my ex-husband wasn’t the best choice for me. Which one of those “crimes” should result in a personal, low, verbal bashing that includes attacks on my character, rude comments about my personal life, lies about things I never said, and a reminder about things my childhood flaws (although they were really just signs of being a child)? Maybe I am doing something wrong. Or maybe you should just mind your business and stay in your lane.

She’s like that with everybody.
How in the world does knowing how my mother also mistreats strangers make me feel any relief when she mistreats me? Do we assign points now for “equal opportunity” in this case?

Finally, the latest gem she actually offered to me: “Now that I’m getting older, I feel like I’ve earned the right to say exactly what’s on my mind.”
It’s funny how some use the term “what’s on your mind” to describe criticism, spite, and vitriol. You never earn the right to hurt others who’ve done you no wrong. Never.

While you're waiting for Part 2 -
Bonus Link for your Reading Pleasure:
The Silent Partner (aka the other family member(s) who watch and may even make excuses for the abuse)

Emotionally Abusive Mothers and Adult Daughters: Series Intro

2010-12-24T11:39:00.004-05:00

If you were hoping for the next installment in my Insufficient Postage series, you may be in for a treat. The next four posts regarding emotionally abusive mothers and adult daughters can be read as one long letter to my mother.

Don't look for the spills and thrills and chills that come with bitter cat fights. I won't be calling my mom a bucket-full-o-bitches in this one - although that would probably make for a good reality television episode. No siree, this one has a happy ending that releases me from the guilt of wanting to divorce my mother after decades of her verbal slashing.

Here's how it works: The posts are already saved. They're timed to appear on the blog 3 days apart - the first one beginning in 3 days. There simply was no other way to share a 4-page long document without jamming an overstuffed post into one space and possibly losing your attention due to size. This assumes everybody has a touch of ADD. Like me. :-)

Have a Very Merry Christmas and a Prosperous New Year.

Insufficient Postage: Daddy of the Month Year Century Millenium

2010-10-16T18:36:00.002-04:00

In this series, I write letters to people in my life - past, present, and possibly future - without the tension of actually mailing them. See the original post about the new series for more info.

Dearest Dad,

There's no lie in the idea that fathers are the first and most important men in a daughter's life. For the past 39 years, I always felt safe in the love you have for me. I can count my disappointments on one hand with plenty of fingers left to spare. Those disappointments were always short-lived because forgiveness is an automatic mechanism that operates in our relationship.

You never hid your pride in having me for a daughter. In spite of the mixed criticisms and praise from mom, I developed a confidence with roots in the love you always express. After long days of construction work... with icicles hanging from your beard... you let me know my importance every time you used your tired arms to lift me into the air with a weary yet surprisingly bright sincere smile.

As mom told, and pictures confirm, you made sure we laid in the sunlight together whenever possible. You wanted your baby girl to get enough sun, right beside your protective side.

As I grew, your protective spirit towards me never changed. I'll never forget that day in 7th grade when I got my feelings hurt at a school dance. My date ran off with other girls, and you pulled your pump-action shotgun in response. The moment of fear I felt in that instant was quickly overcome by a deep love for your regard of my young feelings. As mom talked and you fumed, I got an early lesson about not settling for less.

When I entered young adulthood, you left our home to live with another woman. You didn't call or keep in touch. I was hurt until I realized you were mostly concerned that I'd reject your decision. I was wise enough to know that sometimes children need to reach out first. I visited you there and let you know I still loved you as my precious father. I didn't judge your relationship for two reasons: (1) I was relieved that you ended the tension with mom and (2) You didn't lose an ounce of value as my beloved father. We never lost touch again - even as you eventually grew out of your new romance.

As I made the leap from girl to woman, I watched you become an amazing grandfather. I smiled with eyes full of happy tears as love for me pour into my sons. They love you with the same energy that I do, and they're immensely blessed to be a part of your life.

As you grow older, I am forced to consider the day - hopefully a day far away - that you may no longer be a part of our lives. You don't know this, but I have cried advance tears at the thought of losing you to heaven's call. As I write, I cry them again. Know this:

Whenever the moment comes that you must face your own mortality, you leave behind a daughter who still sees you as the strong, protective, loving father who lifts her into the air as an endless expression of amazing love. Heaven must have a special place for premier fathers, and I'll see you there when I arrive.

I love you daddy. You're the best of the best.

Insufficient Postage: A New Series

2010-10-14T13:02:00.007-04:00

The pen is a dangerous thing. With one flick of a wayward Bic, you can leave indelible evidence of your wisdom or produce an unwanted record of your ignorance. With one stroke, you can enlighten a day or usher in storm clouds of contention.

Either way, I have a pen in my hand today. I decided to take the age-old advice to start writing letters to the people in my life. Some letters represent hopes of squashing old hurts. Some letters signify my need to express love to somebody I may have neglected over the years.

Of course these letters will never see the blue-uniformed image of a US mailman. Time and circumstance may change the way I see things. A penned letter may become permanent (perhaps damaging) evidence of an old thought kept mercilessly alive in somebody's underwear drawer.

So I’ll send them in my mind… all returned to sender for Insufficient Postage.

I suspect this series will feature a multitude of tears, fears, and cheers as forgotten memories begin flooding the pages. Names will be changed to protect the guilty and the innocent. But I’m sure if anybody knew to find me here, they’d also recognize themselves in my growing pile of returned mail.

Won’t you join me over the next several weeks?

Keeping fear in the cage where it belongs

2010-08-02T20:13:00.006-04:00

Heidi posted another great piece at the Fitting Words blog. This time, she got more personal than usual about her fight with fear, and she asked that her readers provide some input.

I didn't start my response to Heidi as commentary on relationships, but the end product mentions "letting go," which is something we don't do well when it comes to friends and lovers. Once I was done basically blogging in her comments, I decided to share my rambling here.

Enjoy.

=====================

Warning… I think I’m feeling philosophical again. lol

Fear is a useful and necessary emotion. It helps us to preserve life in the face of danger. It’s the meter that lets us know we’re in danger in the first place!

When left unchecked, fear can rule in our efforts to preserve more than life and limb… Preserve our pre-conceived notions…. Preserve our expectations… Preserve the control we want to have over the random things of life. This unchecked fear is a misuse and abuse of the proper function for fear, and I believe we have a choice in letting fear out of the cage… or not.

I may not be the best advisor here, because I fight with fear in many forms… most notably… fear of failure and fear of what others, mostly mom, think of me.

BUT, whenever I can dance to a small victory over fear, I can say faith was my fighting buddy. Whether it is faith in God’s benevolence, karma, or the way the universe always seeks a level – I believe I am always where I should be. If a job falls through… that means something better is coming. If a friendship fails, I can accept that his/her precious role in my life came to an end.

In doing this, I find that there are no “bad” situations. Just learning experiences – many of which reveal the lesson as time goes on. In times where faith fails, I tap my own reserve tank with one reality: Allowing a situation to steal my joy is like sticking a knife in an open wound. I become the force making the situation much worse than it should be — which makes me the author of unnecessary additional suffering.

The rare times I want to wallow and let joy chill on ice… well… those times don’t last long. There’s nothing like feeling the power of letting something go.

=====================

How do you battle, win, and/or lose against fear?

Monogamy is selfish? I'm not convinced...

2010-07-21T17:42:00.007-04:00

Kenya Stevens of JujuMama LLC left an interesting post on her Facebook wall today:

The nature of monogamy is selfishness. Most people would gladly have another lover, but what kills the dream is they would have to accept the same scenario. They deny themselves to further deny the one person they profess to love most. That to me is the real drive behind infidelity, the selfishness, and wanting to keep... your lover in darkness while you explore the light. (via Shannon Roberts)

Now I love Kenya's unconventional approach to strengthening relationships and her book is in my Amazon shopping cart for quick purchase this Friday. But her recent statement ate at my thoughts until I replied on her page and moseyed here for more commentary.

My original message to Kenya:

I don't agree that monogamy is selfish in itself. Pretending to be monogamous while cheating on a partner that you told something different is selfish. When both agree on the structure of their relationship -- that's harmony.

My His Side values monogamy as much as I do. As such, we have harmony in that area. Isn't it better to say that either ... See Moremodel works... so long as it is a shared value & desire?

Footnote: Monogamy does have its virtues... like the possible resulting children, the possible shared disease, etc. since there's no 100% method of preventing both. Discounting one structure to promote the other denies the value to those who chose it.

I couldn't resist spilling this conversation into this blog, because monogamy is central to my desire in a relationship. Kenya chronicled her journey into sharing her husband's goodies on her old blog, and it was clear it took a long time for the choice to sit well in her soul. That alone tells me that she clearly had a different preference for her marriage - which also features young children. As far as I was concerned, it took a pretty selfish motive on her husband's part to ask her to endure the ordeal.

What say you, or dear readers? Hit us in the comments.

Footnote: This blog will feature a book review of Kenya's book "Change Your Man: How to Become the Woman He Wants." I agree with Kenya's premise that men and women are different - and attempting to change your man via confrontation won't lead to harmony. I ordered her husband's companion book for His Side.

Bitter Pills to Swallow

2010-07-17T20:00:00.008-04:00

Several weeks ago, my parents received bad news. "Although you are legally married, you've been living apart for many many years. He must be dropped from your retirement insurance."

In a funny twist, my parents are together almost every day. She cooks for him. He helps her with the house. They introduce themselves as husband and wife. But they can't stand living together. Mom is too controlling and dramatic, which doesn't mix well with the healthy doses of testosterone pulsing through dad's veins. Even in their 60's and 70's, some of their encounters mirror the hilarity of tweens trying to navigate puppy love.

Anyway...

Since mom couldn't produce a single utility bill or bank account statement in dad's name at her address, he is left to his own sparse insurance. They estimate his medical bills could increase by $1000 out of pocket per month. Nobody on retirement funds can afford that nonsense.

As my mother shared this crisis with me (and lamented about my father's annual visit to his girlfriend's hometown - a total other story), she said the bitter words I hear from far too many older women. "STAY. SINGLE." She meant it. "Share your life and your resources with no-one. You'll have to help them one day."

I have thrown my hands to the sky and raised my face to the wind many times with the same objection. "What part of that advice offers me the option and information I need to experience the beauty of a loving relationship?" Doesn't choosing a partner come with the absolute promise that one day I'll have to hold them up during a time of need? Doesn't the anticipation of their love and support during my darkest hours balance the perceived hardship? If that isn't love, then WHAT. IS????

Wounded people wound others. That concept is one block in the foundation of this blog. The wounded spread their bitterness like a disease... cleverly concealed under the shroud of "loving relationship advice."

Keep this in your back pocket: If the advice you get doesn't explain how love can win, then the puppet strings of bitterness and fear are showing all over the messenger. Smile. Keep it moving. Brush the bitterness off your clothes and find a trail that leads to love. It is the only truly positive power this planet has ever known.

Photo yanked from Legal Juice.

Rewriting History and Distorting the Present

2010-06-02T19:44:00.004-04:00

Big Mark said something at his blog that gripped me. It wasn't even the main point of his post, but I stopped reading. Dead. I couldn't go on until I digested the truth of his statement:

The trap of looking back is that the past sometimes looks better than it really was.

Say it out loud. Now say it again. Close your eyes and recall the times you fell into this trap. Now here's my story...

I was miserable when I was married. I chose my husband for all the wrong reasons. He looked great on paper, and he was an out for me as a 26-year old single mom dreaming of moving from mom's house. I had a great career, but my life was minus the savings and the guts to step out.

He walked out one week before our 4th anniversary. He was chasing a single welfare mom with a brood of kids who was willing to sell her soul for the BMW she thought he paid for.

After his departure, fear gripped my life. I wasn't sure how to care for two boys - the one previous and the one we shared - and make ends meet without a second income. I became physically ill, and I decided to get him back as I rewrote history to convince myself that "it wasn't that bad."

He never came back, and I continually count that as one of the biggest blessings of my life. Because it was that bad. Not because he was so bad (although that's arguable), but because I was losing myself to be a "good wife" in exchange for the security of two incomes and a reputation of "good wife."

Three years later... almost to the exact day... I met His Side. Like a precious puppy rolling in the grass at play, I languished in the freedom I found to be myself and still be loved.

In response, I did my share of distorting the present. A new fear of losing that feeling drew me to focus on His Side's flaws as an excuse to be alone again. Because His Side isn't fatally flawed in one critical way: He doesn't hide a single ounce of his love for me in spite of his flaws. Like children, he makes me crazy, but love keeps me wrapped in his life.

I left him. I put him out. I demonized his flaws. But he presses on with protecting me from harm, loving me, putting that love into action (in endless ways that deserve their own post), and reminding me that he is committed to loving me for the rest of his life.

Rewriting history. Distorting the present. Neither is healthy or fruitful.

He bought me a beautiful ring over the weekend. I wear it on my middle finger. He held onto the matching band, and wears it on his pinky. In spite of my fearful defiance, I have enough information about his character, his fight, and his love, to concede that one day both will be on the proper finger.

He promised to stop by here and write. I can't wait to hear what he has to say.

Stay tuned...

An Open Letter to HisSide...

2010-05-20T18:43:00.009-04:00

To my best friend, my ex-boyfriend, and my road dawg:

Your uncanny ability to "say too much" always leads to a heartache that you regret. From what I have learned, common wisdom says to "speak little and listen much."

You spend more time than you wish to admit talking down about others... including folks you've never met. Please tell me how you know that the woman standing on the corner must be a whore who cheats on her husband? Your unfounded judgments know no bounds, and your negative outlook isn't erased by your monthly statements that 'I'm a very positive person of faith.'

I find it increasingly difficult to enjoy my time around you, because your criticisms - about me and others - come more and more frequently. I find it difficult to deal with your negativity - much of which stems from personal issues that you choose to project onto others. I am the closest, so I receive the most fire.

You have a strong negative opinion about the people who don't like your demeanor. You claim 'they don't know you.' You dismiss their opinions as hogwash. Do you not realize that karma is knocking at your front door?

You are responsible for the aftermath of placing your mouth on the lives of others. When you talk at the rate of a teenage girl, you will eventually - almost always - encounter folks who tire of the over-the-top dialog.

More importantly, if you trespass on my property and get shot in the process - I won't apologize if you bleed to death on my lawn.

As the saying goes: Shouldn'ta-been-talkin'-shit.

Today we sat in a restaurant and I listened to you diss my mother about her relationship with her sisters. You went on and on, while my brain tried to compute: "Where did he earn the right to speak on such a thing?"

I took about 8 seconds of your time to ask the question, "So why is it that you don't ever call your own sister?" And yes, I added the footnote: "So shut the F*CK up."

You went off like a rocket about disrespect and the rights I don't have to talk about your family. You missed the priceless lesson that your dumb ass was doing the same thing.

I know you'll read this post. And I don't really care that you're offended. Clean-up your own shyt, and you'd be amazed at how little you have to say in criticism and judgment of others.

My advice for your usual critical and judgmental behavior remains the same:

"Shut the f*ck up. Smell your own shyt. You're on my property and I have a gun. TRESPASSING laws are in full effect..."

End rant. Back to life.

I (kinda) apologize to the blog followers who cheer for our happy ending but witness this bullshyt on the way...

Dropping by my own crib to say hello and share a random bit...

2010-05-11T12:50:00.005-04:00

I drive by this blog, peek out the side window, and speed off like I don't live here. The problem is... I DO live here, and I am neglecting the crib.

On any given day, I have loads to say. Those words simply haven't made it to this blog in 2 months. It's time to change that. Blogging is free therapy. Sharing my words with others make me accountable to myself. When I pen my thoughts, bullshit gets illuminated. Kinda like the the gems of time when you catch yourself giving advice to your kids that you haven't even applied to your own life.

I started reading a series on male promiscuity today. A friend sent the random link and I found myself engrossed in this man's take on the subject.

The series is still in progress. You can check it here while I continue to get my thoughts together:

Blog Name:
The Black Bond Blog

Links for the Series:
1. Intro Male Promiscuity

2. Male Promiscuity Part 2. How it Starts

3. Promiscuity Interlude: Apparently a warning that the rest will contain vividly graphic language.

It doesn't take long to figure out the reasons this blogger claims to have received hate mail. He doesn't mince a single word - which is a trait I tend to appreciate as others may loathe.

Enjoy. (Or Not) hehe

My Birthday Card from HisSide...

2010-03-17T23:56:00.005-04:00

I celebrate a birthday this week. For a quickie, I thought I'd share the card I received from HisSide:

You Mean
So Much
To Me

Do you have any idea
how much I value
you and our relationship?

Let me give you a hint -
you're one of the few people
in the world
who truly know the real me.

That's because you've shown yourself
to be someone I can trust
with my secrets, my feelings,
and, yes, even my failings.

You listen to me and accept me unconditionally
and always give me
the benefit of the doubt.

You've made our relationship
a place where
I always feel safe,
knowing I won't be judged,
and that means so much.

Honestly, I don't know
what I ever did
to deserve having
someone as great
as you in my life...
and I don't know
what I'd do now
if you weren't!

You mean the world to me.

Love always.

Happy Birthday.

HisSide

[insert crazy ass drawing of happy face and hearts].

He said he searched hard for the right one, and it says everything he wanted it to say.

He inserted "Forgive Me" at the top.

He knows I love his flawed ass like crazy, as much as he loves my flawed ass.

So begins the birthday weekend of a lifetime.

His is only 3 days after mine.

Party on...

Card courtesy of Hallmark. Who else?

Ya' girl was featured at Fitting Words

2010-03-10T18:58:00.004-05:00

I recently found a gem of a blog named Fitting Words. The blog focuses on providing advice about finding the perfect words to deal with problematic relationships between everybody from spouses to co-workers.

The blog authors are polar opposites, one who uses "fight" techniques and one who favors "flight" as a means to respond to conflict. They each provide feedback without reading what the other has to say. The results represent their competing "fight or flight" views, which I find infinitely useful for somebody looking for alternatives.

I was moved by the story submitted by Verklempt, a woman reaching for acceptance from her parents. I responded with a comment that was featured as Rush of Expectations.

If you are fascinated by the constant dance it takes to initiate, grow, nurture, or even leave relationships, give the blog a bit of your traffic. They rock.

Setbacks, Love, Patience, and DECISIONS

2010-03-08T13:18:00.005-05:00

His Side spent a week in jail after the justice system saw fit to incarcerate him in a dangerous state prison for $200 overdue in child support payments. I spent that week fighting to get him out. I presented in court. I sidebarred with the prosecutor's office. I slept in my car in front of the prison. And miraculously, I drove away with him before sundown on that cold dismal day.

He was deeply and sincerely appreciative. But he couldn't avoid the setback that slowly crept into view. Old habits. Old ways. Anger. Bitterness. All directed at the wrong targets.

This came to a head during a very public and very embarrassing scene where I did. not. play the role of a patient friend. I was frustrated. I was hurt. And I was so done with it.

Any reasonable observer would have arrived at the same conclusion. But there's a side to this story that nobody knows. Well, not until now.

His Side experienced what I consider to be one of the most traumatic events a child can endure. By all professional accounts, his angry self-medicating behavior is almost a direct trace to that dark place in his history. The story is his to tell. I won't detail it here, but... He shared this with me years ago, and at the time, it explained e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. It was so difficult for him to share and sit before me in a puddle of his own tears. But for me... well... I already knew trauma with the only explanation. It didn't surprise me one bit. The only surprise was that he finally told somebody and that person was me.

But His Side missed an important step: He didn't get any help... and I couldn't help him. I was the only person who knew, and I was also the safe haven where he acted out. Walking away from the carnage was about the only wise choice I had.

Something quite different happened after this post-prison episode. He confided in his older cousin, who's been like a mother to him since his own mother's death. He said he was actually able to sleep that night - something he hadn't done in ages. After that, he called a doctor. In simple terms, he told the doctor he wants to stop hurting the person who has loved him the most. Dayum. He has new medical benefits and even better... a fvcking appointment.

For this I am proud of him. He's being true to his claim that watching himself spiral out of control hurts him because it hurts the people he loves. And right when I was ready to make a decision to trade our friendship over a setback, I was compelled to embrace him as he takes the wisest step he's taken so far.

Love's a bitch.

Why does His Side remain in my heart and in the circle of my life?

2010-02-12T19:20:00.011-05:00

At the height of turmoil during the looming breakup, LoveBabz asked me a simple question (paraphrasing):

'Why do you answer the phone when the departed His Side calls?"

I didn't have a ready answer, and I felt disturbed about my inability to respond to such a simple query. I knew answering the phone would probably expose me to a pained and frustrated His Side. I knew he would compel me into my own frustration. I knew he would fluster me into wishing I hadn't answered the phone.

For a while, I dealt with this by writing about the war between my own hope and deep disappointment. Much of my analysis focused on my legitimate frustrations with His Side's flaws. More accurately, I was focused on the hurtful ways that his flaws manifested against me in very personal and destructive ways.

But I always answered that phone for one reason: I never spent a day pretending with His Side. And he never had to spend a single minute pretending in an effort to secure my approval.

He always accepted my darkest and most annoying flaws. And I loved him in spite of the decimating wars he fought with his demons. He was unwavering in his sincerity to fight for a love he credits with changing his life. And by all accounts from his family, his love for me represents the most faith and fire he's lived since digging from beneath truly harsh circumstances.

So I kept answering that phone. We eventually fumbled and stumbled into the friendship we share now. Satisfying. Gratifying. Transparent. Tight.

I'll openly admit that many demons fled his presence. That man knows how to fight a good fight, especially after grasping the truth that loved ones should not receive any blows during the battle.

I recognize him now... as the man I saw looming beneath the armor while fighting the wrong war. We're not back together, but we're still a dynamic duo. I know better than to interrupt his transformation with the stress of caring for a romance. And I stay true to myself not to interrupt my own journey. Timing is everything.

I answered that phone because no matter the hardship, it was always real. I enjoyed the luxury of being myself in all of my glorious wonder and broken glory. I have never felt more human, loved, accepted, and powerful in all my life.

I don't worry about our future. I don't stress over the "ifs" of becoming a couple in the future. In truth, it may nevah happen. None of it draws my attention because I must live this day before I can live the day named "tomorrow." And my "todays" are good because 90% of the time, I'm glad I answered the phone.

A special shot-out to LoveBabz for this thought-provoking post:
What Am I Doing, Seriously?

Photo lifted from: Freelancedom

Some Relationships Will NEVAH EVAH Work Out (TMI Warning)

2010-02-02T14:29:00.009-05:00

Oh how I longed for a tall crisp glass of milk today. As I tucked my Special K into the cabinet and slid the milk into the fridge, my touch lingered as memories of an old friend swept through my mind and dissipated. Glasses of comforting milk pepper my childhood experience as one of the few things that never dissapointed.

When returning from a tour of Europe at the age of 16, my mother purchased a gallon of milk each day for a week because I just couldn't get enough of it after stepping off the plane. In between gulps, I almost forgot about the searing blow that came after first landing in France:

"Can I have a glass of milk?"

"Milk? Goats milk. You are American, so you probably don't drink this."

"You mean milk from a GOAT? There's no. cows here?"

"Only goats milk."

::blank stare:: "No thank you."

Well, with age comes wisdom and decreased tolerance for the stuff we stuff into our young faces. For me, a few more years rolled in with a bag full of lactose intolerance. One glass of milk at night can mean an ugly trip to a dark place at about 3am.

But today. This day. This February 2, 2010... I just couldn't resist the call of the milk. It was like the call of the wild. Raw. And loud. And primal. And begging for a side of cookies.

So I had a glass. A tall glass.

And then I had another.

I resumed work and all felt right in the world.

Until that rumble hit.

My mind races: "Oh no. This isn't supposed to happen until 3am. It sounds like a 5th grade marching band in my belly. And they're all farting. And clanking their instruments. And belching. And..."

So I rush to the corporate facilities, launching wolf-bait rockets, wondering if somebody will hear... or wonder if I went home... or walk by and wonder why I ate the precious 5th graders with their marching aspirations.

I give myself the giggles, magnifying fears that somebody outside the door will call a mental-help facility to come pick-up the "suddenly crazy co-worker laughing like a loon in the bathroom."

I rise from the throne, put a gallon of Febreze Air Effects® into the air, and realize the relationship with milk is OVAH. Seriously. Never again.

::blank stare::

What? You thought this was about me and His Side? I'll talk about that next time.

New Year, Same Old Bullshit.... NOT.

2010-01-05T16:15:00.004-05:00

Warning: I am not feeling particularly deep today, so this post contains no advice or deep reflections. If that's what you needed, contact 1-800-SOWHAT.

===================

I have never gone into a New Year with a bad attitude about the future, and this New Year is no different. As the icing on the cake, there's something spectacular about this New Year doubling as the mark of a new decade. Can you believe it's 2010?? What a blessing to see another decade. I just wish we had the shiny suits and the flying cars that all the old movies promised by 2010.

Anyway, this is a relationship blog, so I won't bore you with my loosely-formed list of resolutions that will probably die an ugly death by February. But I will share this: I am enjoying a front-row seat to a wonderful transformation in His Side. And I'm not talking about the selfish list of things I'd love to see change about him. I'm talking about the joy of watching him like himself again. He's jumped some hurdles, ducked some bullets, and ran through other random obstacles. He achieved some personal victories that he's proud to claim. And it shows all over his happy-ass glowing face.

Yeah, we tried the "let's still be friends" thing too soon after the breakup. Silly rabbits... Tricks are for kids.... BUT... I can ultimately measure the current friendship as worth the original chaos. Shit, nobody died, the stuntmen got paid, and no animals were harmed in the making of this drama. Isn't that a success? hehe

See ya next time... and Happy New Year!

Humor Break Featuring Little Johnny

2009-12-11T09:54:00.003-05:00

I love my girl Negril. I rely on her for relatively inappropriate humor because she knows the geography of my funny bone. As I fight a migraine today, I leave you with the ongoing antics of Little Johnny as Negril dropped them in my inbox. I saved the relationship humor for last. Now I'm off to partake of the miracle wonder called "Excedrin Migraine"...

Little Johnny on Beauty Products:
Little Johnny watched, fascinated, as his mother smoothed cold cream on her face. 'Why do you do that, mommy?' he asked. 'To make myself beautiful,' said his mother, who then began removing the cream with a tissue. 'What's the matter?' asked Little Johnny.. 'Giving up?'

Little Johnny on Law Enforcement:
Little Johnny's kindergarten class was on a field trip to their local police station where they saw pictures tacked to a bulletin board of the 10 most wanted criminals. One of the youngsters pointed to a picture and asked if it really was the photo of a wanted person. 'Yes,' said the policeman. 'The detectives want very badly to capture him.'Lit tle Johnny asked, 'Why didn't you keep him when you took his picture ?'

Little Johnny on Inspecting Products Before Purchase:
Little Johnny attended a horse auction with his father. He watched as his father moved from horse to horse, running his hands up and down the horse's legs and rump, and chest. After a few minutes, Johnny asked, 'Dad, why are you doing that?' His father replied, 'Because when I'm buying horses, I have to make sure that they are healthy and in good shape before I buy. Johnny, looking worried, said, "Dad, I think the UPS guy wants to buy Mom..."

And now a break for the Tiger...

2009-12-09T12:22:00.010-05:00

I know I just returned to the blog. I know you're waiting to hear what's-up in the land of Her Side and the elusive His Side. But I need to stop by and say something about our nation's current fascination with Tiger Woods' bedroom shenanigans.

Stop it.

Just stop it.

Even if that poor man wanted to reconcile with his wife, our prying-ass nosey eyes are making the man's plight difficult. Not too long ago, I would have quickly recruited myself to team Leave His Triflin Ass. But I slowly find myself creeping to the sidelines of team Make Dat Shit Work. Because folks want the fairy tale ending without the big bad wolf or the evil stepmother.

Not one day in my life will I condone cheating. Even if you spouse is a first-class jerk. Leave their ass first. But I'm all for couples looking for ways to reconcile such breaches before the lawyers get their grubby hands on the assets.

Can we leave the Tiger alone long enough to pay attention to the shit in our closets?

I'll do my best to say-no-more about this, but ooooooooh, I'm just itching to debate all theories from sex addiction to the stress of the good-boy image.

Would somebody be kind enough to stop me from turning this into a series???

Dammit People... I KNOW!

2009-12-08T14:10:00.010-05:00

I can just see y'all walking through the blog... staring at the blank walls... kicking at the dust... and shaking your heads about how abandoned this place has become.

Pass me a broom and STFU.

I'm not sure why I haven't been writing. Almost every day, my thoughts lead me to questions, answers, and personal commentary perfectly fit to share with you here.

But my body won't make the trip. My limbs won't cooperate in the terror of sharing what has been going on, what I have been thinking, or my comfort level in walking towards the uncertainty called "tomorrow."
So I stopped in today after taking a trip to The Breakup Diaries.

Part of me keeps waiting to write because I like things all wrapped-up... like the resolution of family issues in a single 1/2 hour TV spot. But this shit is a process. A PRAH...SESS. I'll be 50 by the time I could box this story and present it to you with a bow.

My real goal today:
To break the ice for a return to the blog I love to hate.

Balancing Hope and Disappointment After a Breakup, Part 3 of ?

2009-08-13T08:35:00.000-04:00

= = = = = = = = = = = =

The weekend ended when His Side returned to his cousin's house, tried to call me, but I was on the phone with an old friend that I reconnected with. The old friend was a flame in my late teens, and we've had a good time catching-up on all the changes that 20 years can bring. His Side Lost. His. Mind.... first when the reconnection was revealed through the magic of Facebook friends lists, and then when His Side actually couldn't reach me because my phone was busy. The nerve of me using my phone. Based on the accusation, clearly old friends only reconnect to make plans for hot steamy affairs... right?

Anyway, I take ownership of three mistakes I made in this process:

1. I underestimated the challenge ahead of me and got loose on my watch.

2. I greatly underestimated how difficult it would be for His Side to fight his own personal battle with hope and dissapointment.

3. I didn't take the sage advice to go "no contact" for at least 30 days straight after the breakup. Somewhere deep inside me, a naive hopeful girl believes friendship should never die. Well part of that girl died this past weekend. She needed to. And the next time I see her, I'm gonna slap her in the mouwf.

Everything happens for a reason. (Dammit. Another cliche I couldn't avoid because of the unmistakable truth at its core. But I digress...) Even our mistakes become springboards for lessons that we need to learn. I count this the tuning point in successfully balancing hope wiht disappointment.

I suspect there will be a Part 4 to this series. Shit, I may do like Rocky, forget when to stop making more "parts," and just continue this until ~~I'm too old to box~~ I complete all the transitions that come with the territory.

Holla at me in the comments... even if it's to spank me for being dense. Y'all know I can take it.

A Relationship Public Service Announcement...

2009-08-12T11:52:00.010-04:00

This PSA comes with a T-Shirt: STOP BLAMING ME FOR YOUR SHYT.

I believe I've had this conversation before with my BFF Negril. I'm kinda glad we're not in the same office today, because she might be foreced to slap me. In spite of sage advice and hard-earned wisdom, it is amazing how the mind plays tricks while submerged in the middle of a situation. Before today's PSA story comes the conclusion: You really can't do enough to appease a person who wants to blame you for their problems. End. Of. Fracking. STORY.

His Side called me first thing this morning. I'm talking before I oozed out of bed to prepare for the morning routine. I didn't expect to hear from him, because he lost his job yesterday and claimed he didn't want to hear from the rest of the world - including me - for a few days. He only had the job for about four weeks.

"Hello."

"Do you have COMPANY?"

"Wha???..."

That's how the conversation started. Because of course if I choose not to sleep with him, I'm whoring around town looking for random dyck to satiate me.

[Note to self: Don't be offended. Hold it together. He knows you're not a ho. If he really believed that dumb shit, he wouldn't be interested in you in the first place.]

Anyway, his monnologue consisted of declarations of his love for me coupled with a tongue-lashing for having friends other than him. Male. Female. Straight. Gay. It doesn't matter. They all make him feel threatened, like he has to complete for my affections. I was told how I should understand him and his request, because of things that have been done to him before. He went on to lament his life and his mistakes, and rolled right back into what I should and should not be doing for him.

Now I spent most of this monologue rubbing crusties from my eyes and staring at the phone like I just got a call from aliens. I very calmly ~~said fuck you~~ informed His Side that I object to his calling my house for such nonsense and he'll nevah own the right to play Director in my life. I kindly declined the challegne to defend myself against his ridiculous accusations. He apologized, which historically only means "excuse me for a moment, and I'll see if I can implement my mind control in another attempt I have planned for this afternoon."

I feel badly for him. This empathy led me to overlook too much as his girlfriend... and sometimes engage in the fray trying to make things right. And now I'm starting to overlook too much as his "new-found" friend.

I thank Susan Elliott for this great post dealing with taking the blame for our partner's actions. Today's PSA comes from Susan's blog post (which you should stop and read, by the way):

They will not change. There is NO such thing as acting “right enough” or loving someone “good enough” to keep them from doing crappy things. A monster will act like a monster. A cheater will act like a cheater. A liar will act like a liar. And a bananahead will act like a bananahead. No matter what you do or do not do.

The bottom line is that everyone is responsible for his or her own behavior. Do not let someone else blame you for their bad behavior. No one can make anyone do anything they don’t want to do. [Source]

Reminder: Part 3 of my Hope vs. Disappointment series will auto-post tomorrow morning.

Balancing Hope and Disappointment After a Breakup, Part 2 of ?

2009-08-11T18:45:00.016-04:00

Welcome to Part 2 of The Shittiest Lesson EVAH

= = = = = = = = = = = =

I have been working on Part 2 of this series for weeeeeks. The landscape of this battle changes so often, that my draft posts go stale before I have a chance to dot the i's and hit "publish."

But today I reached a place where I can say something important about the ongoing battle - a battle I never expected to present so many challenges. I have to thank Mark again for forcing me to pay attention.

Most of the time, I'd say 85% of the time, His Side and I have a great time re-exploring friendship without the stress of "working on relationship issues." Those issues became deeply distracting, and we owed it to each other to go to our separate corners to work it out. That 85% represents "Hope." But the other 15% of the time, OH GOOD LORDIE, we take randomly unexpected turns manifesting "Disappointment."

His Side fluctuates between two ends of the spectrum: Deep understanding of how much time it would take for us to come together again in the future and hurt frustration that wants to make it happen right now.

I stay firm on the expectation that reconciliation would take a looooong time, but find myself feeling frustrated at key times that he seems to avoid his personal business with eyes fixed on recreating an "us." Dammit, how is that time gonna come while I'm still young enough to have wild sex if you keep wasting the days on dumb shit?

Anyway, it isn't fair for either of us to dump our disappointment on the other. My style is to go all blue and get motherly about his decisions. His style is to have a blow out until he hits the right button and I go up like a flare.

This weekend was particularly bad. We spend time together every-other weekend, but this weekend he was on a deep romantic mission. He got nasty when I didn't flow with it, and he said more hurtful things than a single human should say in a lifetime. I was floored. And I reacted. Talk about a flare. I think my hair caught on fire.

He continued the rip bouncing back and forth between apologies and more frustrated words. For the first time, I wondered if this was a person I even wanted as a distant associate. I simply told him, "Friends don't treat each other this way, and there's no way I can count you a friend."

It was like the end of an era. It was like breaking up all over again.

Worst of all, it was like looking into the eyes of a stranger who evokes fond memories because he bears a striking resemblance to a lost loved-one. Except it's not the loved one, and you have to deal with the reality of who is standing in front of you.

:: breaking the rest into Part 3, which will auto-publish in 2 days, because this is a long one ::

Balancing Hope and Disappointment After a Breakup, Part 1 of ?

2009-07-18T13:38:00.000-04:00

The words of BSEW regular, Big Mark, triggered this series for sure. He offered the following words to describe the His Side/Her Side split (and pinpointed a deep feeling that I had yet to specify on my own):

Keeping the disappointment from mixing with the hopes is a challenge for sure.

So instead of cussing out Big Mark for swimming around in my head and finding the words I couldn't even express, I decided to blog about it. LOL

Just as Mark ~~prophesied~~ suggested, the war between hope and disappointment started the moment I asked His Side to leave the home. In fact, the hard line I took on the decision constantly drew swords to fight off hope that "well maybe he doesn't have to really leave the house." Memories of the last time we split kept me on track. The in-house split featured him on the couch and absolutely no work done to resolve the root of the problem. Bzzzzt. Not gonna do that again.

I won the first round of the battle between hope and disappointment because reality dictated the necessity of pushing the STOP button and gracefully exiting the ride. Misdirected anger, bitterness, and even rage stole so much peace from the home, and efforts to resolve the problem were met with an increased frequency of bad moments. Sometimes you have to admit when a problem is over your head. And this one was waaaay over my pay grade...

You see, I won't declare Armageddon over routine spats, droughts, imperfections, and petty squabbles. That stuff always exists in relationships where two imperfect people come together and their human frailties collide. I am not going to lose any sleep over occasional nuisances. There ain't enough hours in the day and there isn't enough malice in true love to be that petty. His Side faced issues that only he has the right to tell (or keep to himself, dammit). And I am not one to blow up anybody's business in a public forum. Besides, technically it's irrelevant if he shares or not, because I only have two concerns

(1) How am *I* going to conduct my life and

(2) Does my home currently offer an environment that is good for my boys?

Because really, those are the only two things I can control - my behavior and my decisions.

The entire thought process (at times a small act of mental gymnastics) led me back to a conversation I had with Negril about men/women who simply "settle" in a relationship. Men and women settle for bad mates all the time out of fear... or dysfunction... or plain old stupidity. Shortly before asking His Side to leave, I made a declaration. Out of the blue. No warning. Just a sudden moment of clarity. I WON'T SETTLE FOR THIS. THIS IS NOT OKAY.

There's a fine line between patience and settling. That line is just about as fragile as the distance between love and hate. For instance, a temporarily unemployed husband requires patience. So long as you're in it together, you can overcome. A chronically unemployed husband who prefers TV over the classifieds requires that you settle. Settle for disrespect. Settle for financial hardship. Settle for less than you hoped for or deserve.

The day I diagnosed that His Side and I were facing a chronic condition that needed the shit slapped out of it, I was sold. My hope that we could overcome was drowned by the disappointing realization that only one option existed...

As the story continues:
My first battle to balance Hope and Disappointment ended in a successful decision to split. Next time, I'll describe what happens when Hope tips the scale (in the wrong direction) and leads to an ugly post-breakup episode.

Young love is great, but the grown game ROCKS

2009-07-14T13:27:00.016-04:00

I just finished reading an article, "Over 40 and Ready for Love?" Men and women ranging in age from 40 to 79 got their groove back and found love, with some entering marriage for the first time.

Too often, I think, pop culture characterizes the excitement of falling in love as a drink best served during youth. Teens and twenty-somethings are pegged as having the most fun with self-discovery, dating, marriage and even sex.

But in the spirit of the Over 40 article, I find something deeply sexy about relationships as I get closer to my 4th decade on this planet. The fantasy slowly transformed into the experience and wisdom it takes to attract, recognize, and nurture more fulfilling experiences.

In other words, I enjoy earning the right to say "Been There. Done That. AND Got the T-shirt."

Trial and Error: The Beauty of Experience and Learning from Failures

I read a lot of books about finances, business administration, and management. If anybody deserved an honorary MBA based on their library, I'd be that chick. The first time I was presented with the idea that 'we learn more from a failure than a success,' I was hopelessly intrigued. Many wealthy men and women give credit for the quality/depth of their success to memorable failures that shook their foundation, imparted priceless lessons, and sometimes almost broke their spirit. Failures present some of the best opportunities for growth, a unique view of "what not to do," and a powerful springboard for "what to do better/differently next time."

I wholeheartedly believe this concept applies to relationships. Isn't that why we bother with courting, dating, and engagements before jumping headfirst into marriage? We feel our way around the relational landscape, learn how to use the maps, discover how to stay on the road, and stumble upon ways to avoid pesky land mines left behind from all the wars fought in the land.

I find it particularly disturbing that casual observers can criticize couples - especially young couples - for "not making it work." There's no friggin manual for relationships/marriage. If there was, we wouldn't have terms like "hook-up" and "side piece" to describe the unfortunate purgatory that folks live in while pretending to look for love. And hell, divorce lawyers wouldn't be able to fart around with the rich and famous. Some might cite the Bible as the closest thing we have to a Relationship Users Manual. But even the Bible makes room for dreadfully-flawed human nature.

I have dated (seriously) since I was 18, but some of those puppy-love, budding love, and mature love stories stand out:

When I was 18, I had a boyfriend whom I loved as much as an 18-year old heart could stand. To me, he was the epitome of what a boyfriend should be, and he never proved anything different. I was the one who broke his heart to experience the sudden newness and freedom associated with attending college far from home.

When I was 26, I fell head-over-heels for an island man and our time together always took my breath away. For eight months, we worked, played, laughed, and loved. The sex was... the... SHIT. Suddenly, when his internship in the area was over, he was on the road to home to marry his ex-girlfriend. WTF? I was devastated. He was my first truly adult love experience.

When I was 28, I married somebody completely outside of my "type." He looked great on paper, but there was no true fire. In fact, I still had a small fire buring for the island man, who I remained in contact with. (What kind of crap is that?) I was compelled by the promise of stability - financial and otherwise - that my ex-husband seemed to represent. Three years and 11 months later, I learned why a resume of practical considerations won't do much to sustain a marriage.

When I was 35, I met His Side. I didn't date at all after my divorce. I was celibate and mastering life as a single mother. His Side looked awful on paper. No money. No assets. Past problems with some still unresolved. And. I. Didn't. Care. I was crazy about him, and he was clearly crazy about me.

We had a wonderful "phone" relationship that resulted in dating, which led to an intimate relationship (OMG, talk about finding extra icing on top of my cake), which led to him moving in. Together, we marveled about the organic, simple-yet-complicated, raw, unadulterated bliss that comes with falling hopelessly in love. Yet here we are in the chaos chronicled here at this blog. I am still in the process of recognizing and embracing the necessary lessons from this one...

In spite of it all, I feel poised to keep living a vibrant life armed with the lessons from each of these experiences. I am thankful for what I learned, primarily what I learned about myself as each of these stories played their necessary role in my life.

The Frickin Point I am Trying to Make Is...

In spite of recent developments as I watched My Favorite Relationship of All Time devolve into chaos, I am deeply happy and satisfied.

I don't have to cry my eyeballs out.
Been There.

I don't have to just accept the chaos out of fear of being alone.
Done That.

I don't have to worry if love still exists or can be a part of my future.
Got the T-shirt.

I'm all grownded up. hehe I am as free as I allow myself to be. I'm as wise as the experiences behind me - according to the degree I opened my heart to receive. And I know fo'sho that the ups-&-downs of living and loving during the uncertainty of youth never EVER felt this good.

Crazy-Making sounds like the funniest term... till you live it.

2009-06-29T14:47:00.016-04:00

Oh sweet dear Jesus, Son of Mary and one whom folks call when shit hits the fan... What the HELL just happened??

I asked myself this question a million times during my time with His Side. Keeping true to his ways, he lured me into another useless argument, making me look and feel crazy, right up until the time he left my home. It went like this:

Him: "I sure would live a lot longer if somebody would BLESS ME!"

Me, (turning from the computer screen): "Wha..???"

Him: "Yesterday. Riding in the car. I sneezed. And you didn't say BLESS YOU. I would NEVER do that to you. I always say 'bless you.' See how you are?"

Me: "Are. You. Serious? I was in traffic. I only vaguely remember you sneezing. Now I am responsible for you not living longer???"

Him: YES!

You can only imagine how the remainder of this conversation devolved into one of the most ridiculous exchanges I've ever had with anybody in my life. And the worst part is, this happened with His Side more than I would like to admit during our time together.

It didn't matter what... His Side found something to make my fault. I defended myself against some of the most juvenile and petty accusations - real and imagined. If I ignored him, he would rage for hours about how right he was about the thingy I won't defend... or worse, get angry and escalate to get a better reaction from me.

But here's the kicker. During the course of defending myself, without fail, he eventually said... "Look. Look. See how you're talking to me. Why are you acting like this? You blame me for everything. But Look. At. You."

That, my friends, is textbook CRAZY-MAKING. Because in fact, I did look and feel like a crazy person defending myself against the indictment of forgetting to say bless you. Grown-ass mature men don't initiate such petty conversations. I certainly looked like a crazy fool taking the time to actually respond.

When this passive-aggressive, crazy-making behavior first emerged, I did what most normal people would do: I took a moment to wonder if I was doing something wrong.

"You want somebody else. I can see it."

"You're going to cheat on me."

"You blame me for everything."

"You don't love me."

I was exhausted trying to trace the source of these sudden accusations which came along with his increasingly aggressive behavior and threats. The accusations were a ruse to provide ample excuse for his worsening treatment of me, stacked on top to cover his deteriorating self-esteem.

As one woman kindly put it, 'a crazy-making mate is also suffering, just in a different way.' And I believe every word of that. His Side was miserable. I was an easy target. And on some level I see he regretted that I was unable to provide what he needed to fix things for himself. But really, nobody can. What he needs right now can't possibly descend on him like a blanket from heaven and make everything hunky-dorey.

I didn't catch the signs early as they emerged. I left room for him to get comfortable. "She loves me. She'll never leave." I tend to get stuck with that label, including at work. There's dedication. Then there's stupidity. When somebody believes you're blindly loyal enough to stay no matter what, that is no badge of honor. Don't smile and say "Thanks." It means you are not recognized as dedicated to your own self interests. I believe His Side thought I would never arrive at this step. While I "stood up for myself" during the course of the chaos, I didn't really stand up to the plate with the best solution - which is stop taking the bullshit altogether.

About.com provides this summary under crazy-making emotional abuse:

Emotional abuse is used to control, degrade, humiliate and punish a spouse. While emotional abuse differs from physical abuse, the end result is the same…a spouse becomes fearful of their partner and begins to change their behaviors to keep their partner happy. The happier their partner, the less domestic violence the spouse has to suffer. By the time a spouse identifies the true problem they have begun to feel as if they are crazy. They will doubt themselves and their own sense of reality because emotional abuse is meant to cause the victim to question their every thought and behavior.

The article goes on to offer examples, and I have experienced most. Harassment, intimidation, including countless accusations that I must be cheating.

I'm exhausted y'all. I'm finally truly exhausted because the struggle is over and I can stop fighting. And defending. And hurting. And feeling more disappointed than words can express.

Sometimes I wonder how long it may take His Side to address the addictions and heartaches that drain his life. In reality, he's just a "hurt person hurting other people." Other times, I really don't care because I am relieved that he is no longer searching for that answer on my dime.

His Side is leaving our home but not the blog...

2009-06-26T10:51:00.013-04:00

So here you have it, folks. After His Side had one-too-many and crossed some lines, I asked him to leave my home. He's packed and ready for his move on Sunday.

I took a hard hard line on this, and it stands as one of the most difficult things I've ever done. I am living the Battle Scars story right now, because I see where both of us picked up enough baggage to arrive at this place.

:: His abusive father.

:: My uber-independent mother whose biggest hope was for me to be intellectual and ambitious.

:: His ex-wife who cheated endlessly and then ran off with his kids.

:: My attraction to things that are broken.

:: His 18-year military history of watching things we hope to never see.

:: My tendency to batten down the hatches when I feel like things are out of control.

In the midst of the chaos, in the center of the storm, at the intersection of battle scars and exit wounds... I stand there still in love with His Side. But I do not like who I am with him when his baggage manifests.

Do you understand what I just said?

My biggest problem really isn't him, because I am not in control of - nor responsible for - his life. I don't like who I am with him. When I get angry. When I push too hard. Or even when I feel afraid... I don't like that woman. She looks like a stranger. And there's no peace in her home. There's too much turmoil out there to welcome any turmoil in here. In spite of the race I still need to run, I paid the price to reach an unbelievably positive place in my life. And when I am her... that person dealing with him, I am momentarily set back. I'll give my life to you. I'll share my life with you. But I won't sacrifice the spirit of my life for you.

I aspire to living an honest life that is full of... well... LIFE. Colorful. Sincere. Energetic. Authentic. Peace. Love.

With tears in his eyes and without clear understanding of how he keeps arriving here, he agrees with my decision and wants to go do what's necessary to fix his broken spirit. I know for a fact he is more than able to transform his life. As I reflected on the past year - when some of the biggest changes occurred - I see where unforgiveness has robbed His Side of precious life. He is stuck on a small but piercing set of past hurts that literally haunt him. I don't use that word lightly. I can physically see and spiritually sense when the movie reel starts playing. Reality exits. He doesn't even talk the same, as if paging through the book to make sure he has his useless references correct. He gets lost in a frame of reference that paints everybody "here" with the same ugly colors as those "there."

When the painting is finished, he admits to hating the result. Worse, he admits that breaking that chain has eluded him. I have an idea...

I wish him the gift of forgiveness, especially since the short list of those he needs to forgive includes his name. For me, learning to forgive helped me enjoy the "right now." I can love (or hate) every moment for exactly what it is... not for how it reminds me of pains from another place and time. Nobody gets this 100% right, but I bet my batting average would land me in the hall of fame.

Nothing is ever a total loss. I am grateful for what I learned about my strengths and weaknesses. Even more, I am shocked, amazed, and utterly thankful to see how the crushing weight of unforgiveness can affect a human soul.

I love ya, His Side. If this journey you are about to take on your own leads you to the wholeness you crave, I suspect you'll have a friend waving, cheering, crying, and celebrating where the road merges back into the life you hoped for.

Do I Hear a Blog Nomination???

2009-06-21T12:48:00.002-04:00

Click the image to join the nomination party for Best Group Blog, Best Sex and Relationships Blog, Blog to Watch, and Best New Blog.

Because you can never get enough inappropriate humor involving the nether regions...

2009-06-18T10:03:00.004-04:00

Nursing Home...

Ethel was a bit of a demon in her wheelchair, and loved to charge around the nursing home, taking corners on one wheel and getting up to maximum speed on the long corridors.

Because the poor woman was one sandwich short of a picnic, the other residents tolerated her and some of them actually joined in.

One day Ethel was speeding up one corridor when a door opened and Kooky Clarence stepped out with his arm outstretched.'STOP!' he shouted in a firm voice.. 'Have you got a license for that thing?'

Ethel fished around in her handbag and pulled out a Kit Kat wrapper and held it up to him. 'OK' he said,and away Ethel sped down the hall.

As she took the corner near the TV lounge on one wheel, Weird Harold popped out in front of her and shouted 'STOP! Have you got proof of insurance?'

Ethel dug into her handbag, pulled out a drink coaster and held it up to him. Harold nodded and said 'On your way, Ma'am.'

As Ethel neared the final corridor, Crazy Craig stepped out in front of her, Butt- Naked, and holding his 'You-Know-What' in his hand.

'Oh, good grief,' yelled Ethel, 'Not that Damn Breathalyzer Test again!'

[Sent via email by a very close female friend who apparently knows I could laugh myself silly over a wrinkled johnson getting a toothless blowjob. - Author unknown]

How do you complete a puzzle when you purchased the last one and some of the pieces are missing?

2009-06-17T13:22:00.010-04:00

The answer is... YOU DON'T.

Many years ago, in the midst of my own divorce, I read a fantastic book that spoke to something I needed to understand. The book wasn't a stellar representation of world class writing worthy of the Oprah book club. But it did exactly what it needed to do and explored a simple point: Forget what your math teacher taught you. Two halves don't make a whole. Not in the land of relationships.

In fact, two halves make a hot mess. The blind leading the blind. A train wreck waiting to happen.

I couldn't resist sharing this thought after catching this gem over at Getting Past Your Past:

"When damaged people marry, they begin to resent their partner for not making them whole. – Robin Norwood

From the movie “Jerry McGuire” came the phrase “you complete me.” But, the truth of the matter is that no other person can complete us when we are incomplete and damaged and have not dealt with that damage.

We cannot leave to someone else, the work that is our own.

We cannot rush into relationships hoping to keep our mind off the fact that we are damaged or need more to be complete. We will never find that completeness through another person or a relationship or a job or a situation." Read the entire post [here.] It's worth the read...

I literally took 3 years off after my divorce. No dating. Not even a little bit. Not even physical contact and certainly not sex. In fact, I ate lunch with a male coworker twice towards the end of those three years. That was the closest I came to bothering with idea of dating.

I was on a mission to discover what "whole" meant. I found out, and I liked how it felt. I freed myself from the notion that "whole" meant "perfect" - and thankfully so - because "perfect" is relative and otherwise not attainable. "Whole" comes down to experiencing true, deep, and sincere satisfaction with who you are as a person (inside) aside from any dissatisfaction with things that objectify you (such as weight, hair color - because those things don't define your human value.)

As I told one of my bestest bestest girlfriends yesterday, I learned how to say "I'm proud of myself" without feeling guilty.

"You know what. I used to think it was bad to say. But I am proud of myself... not for being the creator of my essence, but for accepting the essence that the Creator gave me."

His Side was the person who ended my 3-year strike. In fact, we met almost 3 years to the exact day that my ex-husband walked out of our home and into the sunset - well - the sunset of his mistress' tits. hehe But anyway ...

More and more often, I find myself reminding His Side that I am not responsible for making him whole. Because more and more I see him setting me up as the punching bag for his fears and insecurities. The moment he feels fear or gets insecure about something, I can confidently predict he is about to find a petty flaw to lay into me about. If you're having a personal meltdown because I left a closet door open in a rush to secure some TP for a bathroom emergency, you need to make an adjustment buddy.

But the truth is, I don't believe much in coincidence. While I am nobody's savior, I know my trials and tribulations make me an effective vessel for understanding and helping those struggling with the same.

Without going into detail or starting another post, His Side will have an opportunity to chase his wholeness without offering me up as a sacrifice to the Gods of Broken Spirits. God I love that man. Like any other intervention, sometimes you have to offer a kind of help that isn't wanted... especially when it's time to spare your own health and sanity as a borderline accomplice named Enabler.

His Side Finally SPEAKS!

2009-06-14T14:04:00.010-04:00

All you folks didn't really think I was here. I'm a real person. Her Side didn't make me up in some kind of schizophrenic dream.

I want you to know that I got my woman's back from this day - actually long before this day - and forever more.

But I found out for a fact, last night, that she has a really big issue with reference to sleep. First of all, she thought I was snoring when I really had a bubble caught in my throat. I wasn't snoring. I wasn't sleep. I was checking the health of the inside of my eyelids. She stole the fucking remote while I was in the middle of my health check.

Her Side interjection: That fuckhead was SLEEP y'all.

But anyway, she claims she was joking while asking "ARE YOU READY TO GO TO SLEEP? So I had to check her for establishing my fucking bed time.

Her Side interjection: It was 4am.

But any-fucking-way... On a Saturday night, after running around and acting a fool together all night, how da' hell does she have a problem sleeping when she can snore through a thunderstorm in the woods with no tent? So I carried my ass downstairs.

Everything was fine until about 5:30a when she decided the FUCKING DOWNSTAIRS TV WAS TOO LOUD FOR HER BEAUTY SLEEP. So this is what she does...

She stomps on the fucking floor and I think Armageddon has begun. I didn't panic and didn't answer... Until she hollered downstairs. Mind you, we have intercom phones. What need for the phone when she has lungs like that? I had no idea...

So I turned the TV down.

Her Side interjection: After yelling up the stairs like a Beyotch.

So I hear her go to the bathroom. So I thought. She throws the dog in the fucking hallway and says "Go downstairs to your FATHER." and slams the door.

Her Side interjection: Cause the dog shit on the bedroom floor while I was sleeping.

And to my surprise, it goes to show she has a very good heart, 'cause she had planned to leave the shit in front of the door as a booby trap for me to step in. How do I know? Cause she TOLD ME SO.

It goes to show, that she really loves me so. And couldn't wait to hear the squishy sound of dog poop between my toes.

And that lets me know that she loves me so. And that's it for the day.

Peace. Be cool.

An now, a short break for some inappropriate penis humor

2009-06-14T12:36:00.005-04:00

A woman went into a store to buy her husband a pet for his birthday. After looking around, she found that all the pets were very expensive.

She told the clerk she wanted to buy a pet, but she didn't want to spend a fortune.

'Well,' said the clerk, 'I have a very large bullfrog. They say it's been trained to give blow jobs!'

'Blow jobs!' the woman replied.

'It hasn't been proved but we've sold 30 of them this month,' he said..

The woman thought it would be a great gag gift, and what if it's true ... no more blow jobs for her! She bought the frog.

When she explained Froggy's ability to her husband, he was extremely skeptical and laughed it off.

The woman went to bed happy, thinking she may never need to perform this less than riveting act again.

In the middle of the night, she was awakened by the noise of pots and pans flying every where, making hellacious banging and crashing sounds.

She ran downstairs to the kitchen, only to find her husband and the frog reading cook books.

'What are you two doing at this hour?' she asked.

The husband replied, 'If I can teach this frog to cook, your ass is gone.'

[Sent via email by a very disturbed relative, author unknown - probably out of desire to conceal a sick fetish with bullfrogs and blowjobs.]

Randomness that just might break the strike rule... but fugh it...

2009-06-05T09:10:00.007-04:00

Operation Save the Kidneys
His Side straight stopped drinking. Just stopped like ::snap:: that. He certainly wasn't a raging alcoholic, but balance was certainly missing. He simply detoxed. Drank lots of water. Went through the kidney pains, and *poof*.

Power Couple
We've really rallied over the past few weeks. We were productive - attacking important items on the to-do list and feeling the high of what happens when partners prove their union has power behind it.

De-Stressing Through Resolution
Together, we recently closed a long-standing legal issue that kept His Side on edge. He approached with trembling hands, and I held those hands as I told him it would be okay. Somehow, I just knew it would. In about 10 long but amazing minutes, the problem was solved and he was free from the worry. Years of worry. I saw a marked change in him that day. The stress dissipated like fog under the heat of the scorching sun. Without trying to sound cliche, it was amazingly like God smiled on us that day.

What's Mine is Yours
I noticed something about His Side. Not really noticed - but discovered just how deep it runs. He shares everything with me. It doesn't matter how big or how small. It could be his last bite of food or the only paycheck he'll see in weeks. He makes sure I get some, most, or all of anything he has. I mean anything. The gesture is always without thought or hesitation, and he doesn't take anything from me to "make it even."

And before you go getting all sappy, in spite of all that His Side does right, I may still be forced to kill him if he doesn't show his face on this blog in a minute. Now go back to what you were doing while I sharpen my knives.

Semi-cheating my way out of a strike...

2009-05-21T13:24:00.015-04:00

I know I'm on strike. Stop looking at me funny. I just need to stick a single toe over the picket line to share what I thought was a FANTASTIC article about assessing the health of your relationship (past or present). The author, Susan J. Elliot, offers 10 evaluation factors that hit the damn nail on the head.

If you're pining over an ex, use the checklist to see if you're deluding yourself about wanting them back. If you are already in a relationship, use the checklist to see if you need to run screaming into the night.

= = = = = = = =

THE CHECKLIST:
Recheck: Was Your Relationship Good for You?

SOURCE:
Getting Past Your Past (Blog)

AUTHOR:
Susan J. Elliot,
Lawyer, Counselor, and Author of Getting Past Your Breakup.

Have you noticed something friggin MISSING around here???

2009-05-14T15:57:00.006-04:00

Me too. I'm talking about His Side and his view of the world (from the Mountaintop of Wisdom that exists only in his head).

See? Did you see that? I just threw some snark out there... and it was like a tree falling in the woods with nobody there to hear it. No reaction from His Side, 'cause he's over on the sidelines drinking a cup of Gato.rade with a thumb stuck up his ass.

In other words, I am officially on strike until His Side says something... anything... on this blog.

While you're waiting, how about taking some time to read this blog post, plus the interesting (and sometimes heated) conversation that followed in the comments:

Blog: The Breakup Diaries
Post: Birthday Gift

Bad Boy, Bad Boy... Whatcha Gonna Do... (Part 2 of 3?)

2009-04-27T09:31:00.009-04:00

No bitter relationship debate blazes hotter than the discussion of a woman's attraction to Bad Boys. In fact, I witnessed quite a few nerds with high-water pants and pocket protectors explode into a messy heap trying to contain their angst about women falling for the stereotypical Bad Boys. So here's Part 2 of my yet-to-be-numbered series on Bad Boys. [Catch-up with Part 1 if you need to]...

Now I am quick to dismiss the culture of "every problem/attitude/behavior deserves a psychological name and new drug treatment." I frowned at that idea once energetic children received labels and got medicated into a stupor. I jumped ship completely when "Road Rage" received it's own designation... and yes... even it's own drug. I don't even want to talk about my reaction to the warnings on depression drugs, which include "depression" and "suicidal tendencies." Give me a friggin break.

In fact, I go so far as to suspect that most labels slapped on folks come from two major sources: Xenophobia (fear of others who aren't "like us"), which I believe leads to believing everything different must be bad, and Laziness (such as a parent who would rather use drugs than proper diet or discipline to handle a child's behavior). If I go off on that tangent, y'all will be here all day. Moving on...

But to do this series justice, I took a detour into the world of psychology to see what explanations exist for Bad Boys and the women who love them. Without injecting more of my personal opinion, yet, I offer you a few findings:

The features people talk about when describing a bad boy are closely related to those of Antisocial Personality Disorder, a specific classification of personality pathology found in approximately 3% of adult males and 1% of adult females.

According to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders 4th Edition Text Revision, individuals with this type of personality pathology fail to conform to societal norms, are often unlawful and sometimes violate the rights of others. They tend to be deceitful or manipulative, especially if they believe their tactics will result in personal gain. In addition, they display impulsivity, irritability, aggressiveness, disregard for safety, continuous irresponsibility and lack of remorse. Although the bad boy or girl in your life might not meet diagnostic criteria for this disorder, the mere presence of certain features may lead to dysfunction in their school, work and private lives.

Antisocial Personality Disorder is difficult to treat and tends to be chronic, but there are some options. The first step involves helping the individual realize that they have a problem and may benefit from treatment. If they are willing to seek professional consultation, a primary care provider or mental health practitioner can assess for a diagnosis, contributing issues and make appropriate referrals for treatment. Often, treatment for antisocial features entails recommendations for one or more of the following: individual therapy - particularly cognitive behavioral therapy, group therapy, psychoeducation and/or medications. [Source: April 14, 2009, Psychology Today, "A Prince Charming Your Bad Boy Is Not"]

(Okay, so how did I know I would find some type of disorder, counseling, and/or drug treatment when researching Bad Boys? ...But I digress)

Nando Pelusi Ph.D. drops his own opinion on the women who seek Bad Boys. He seems to believe that long-term vs. short-term relationship values and the "fantasies" women read about in romance novels have women... well... twisted... into wanting a Bad Boy to reform into a great mate:

A love of boldness helps women find strong males as mates. Secretly they harbor the fantasy of turning their genetically gifted cads into loving dads who stick around long-term, long enough to help raise the kids. Think Warren Beatty and Keith Richards; fairy tales sometimes come true.

But wait; don't all women want a kind, understanding guy? Of course; it's just that nice isn't a high-caliber turn-on in the short term, unlike bravado. Says Kruger, "Women want their emotions activated." And audacity grabs attention, even if only in the service of marshaling good genes.

A clue to female psychology emerges in a study examining the cheesy best sellers that set millions of women on a Harlequin high. The male protagonists are invariably studs on steeds who morph into devoted dads by novel's end. That is, the women get the best of both worlds.

When women want it all—great genes, and a reliable breadwinner—the odds of finding satisfaction grow slim. It's human nature to want it all; what man doesn't want a gorgeous young woman who is equally devoted to having sex and washing his car? But it's a slightly elusive proposition, because in reality we have forced choices. [Source: Psychology Today Magazine, Jan/Feb 2009, "Neanderthink: The Appeal of the Bad Boy"]

(I can't argue with the underlying implication that women can get fixated on changing their man into who they think he should be. But I don't believe the phenomenon is reserved for converting Bad Boys to Good Boys...)

Rhonda Oliver [Dallas Relationship Psychology Examiner] believes the explanation lies simply in the "roller coaster" and unpredictable nature of Bad Boys:

Bad Boys exude an arrogant, macho-istic, “gangsta” dominance of untamed masculinity (M. Fitzgerald, askmen,com) , which serves as a type of intoxicating attraction to women who like men who live on the edge. Some sport tattoos, the more tattoos the better. If muscles accompany those tattoos, watch out! The psychology of it all is the challenge of "pursuit and conquer". Women who are attracted to the "bad boy" persona tend to be extreme risk takers or seem to dangerously live on the edge. Consultant Psychologist, Petruska Clarkson posits that women have a sexual attraction to bad boys (B. Vaszily, 2006). The movies have, for decades depicted the "Tarzan" image of rescue and protection. Women tend to associate a type of "sexy ruggedness" with the bad boy image.

The thrill of unprecedented, uncertainty is an added attraction to the adventure of relating to a bad boy. The unpredictableness is much like a roller coaster ride's thrill. Remember when you embarked on a roller coaster for the first time? Lack of not knowing what to expect adds to the excitement. Women are "fixers" by nature. The challenge of taming a "bad boy's" roar to a big cat's purr will validate the bad boy's love for the attracted woman. Relationship with a real man, who seemingly breaks all the love rules or makes them appear more exciting, will attract women who are looking for adventure. Living life on the edge is attractive for some….especially the rescue part. There is a thin line between danger and passion. Instinctively, women desire to be pursued by a strong, sexy man of their fantasies and dreams. [source]

(I won't bother with the depth of the cheap stereotype that Bad Boys and tattoos go hand-in-hand. Lord how I hate that...)

One doctor, Donald M. Black, wrote an entire book dedicated to Bad Boys and Antisocial Personality Disorder. According to one editorial review of the book:

"...ample new evidence from genetics and neuroscience supports a biological cause for antisocial personality disorder (ASP), lending truth to the adage "some people are simply born bad." ASP is intimately connected to many of society's ills, including crime, domestic violence, drug and alcohol abuse, and even rape and murder. For men with severe ASP, life becomes an opportunity to break all social and moral rules without remorse. But there are ways of detecting warning signs in troubled children, and there are procedures, various combinations of medication, psychotherapy, and social institutional interventions, to prevent and treat ASP." [source]

(Damn. The definition of Bad Boy goes from tattoos to merciless criminal...)

Anyway, I hope to end the series with my personal interjections on the unfortunate stereotypes that pollute the debate, on my specific theories on why certain women seek Bad Boys, and very personal experiences with the Bad Boys I've encountered.

Bad Boy, Bad Boy... Whatcha Gonna Do... (Part 1 of 3?)

2009-04-16T13:48:00.025-04:00

Whatcha gonna do when we come for you...

No bitter relationship debate blazes hotter than the discussion of a woman's attraction to Bad Boys. In fact, I witnessed quite a few nerds with high-water pants and pocket protectors explode into a messy heap trying to contain their angst about women falling for the stereotypical Bad Boys.

The blogosphere is loaded with outbreaks of heated exchange about "the good guys finishing last" and I call bullshit on most of it. Far too many of these outbursts feature psycho-babble about women with low self-esteem who cling to Bad Boys while "settling for less" - and worse - enduring all kinds of abuse. Lemme introduce a few points that I hope to break-down later:

The Hypocrisy of "Bad Girlism"
Most of the "good guys" complaining about empty black books perpetrate the same level of discrimination against "good girls." They want "Perfect 10" beautiful women who know how to have a good time. Why not take a second glance at intelligent Plain Janes? In other words, the good boys who complain about dateless nights are ignoring many of the good girls available on Friday nights. Hypocrite much?

Values and Offerings
Without a doubt, we typically chose dates and mates based on current desires and values. My ex-husband looked great on paper. I valued that. I wanted a family man with a great job. I wasn't overly concerned about head-over-heels love or great sex. I didn't think the first was necessary and I had already had tons of the other.

Years after the ~~fiasco~~ marriage ended, I realized I wanted to be madly in love and have great sex. That doesn't mean I dropped the other values, but I adjusted my scale. Money can never compensate for romance and intimacy (unless you're Donald Trump), so my sweetheart... well... let's just say he's looking for work right now but the rest is TIGHT.

Good and Bad Defined
While sniffing around the internet for more blog dialogue about "Good and Bad Boys," I came across Ndel's definition of each:

Good Boys: He’s nice. He has a good job. He brings you flowers. He is faithful. He is honest. Okay, three out of five ain’t bad. Momma said he would be a nice boy, from a good family. Hopefully, a doctor, but not a lawyer. A banker, but not a broker. In insurance, but not in assurance. A police officer, but not a security guard.

Bad Boys: He’s dangerous. He’s fast. He runs with the wrong crowd. He’ll get you in the wrong way. He won’t be faithful. He’ll leave you, or even worse, he’ll leave you with no money. And a vaginally disfiguring disease.

While many definitions seem to focus on looks (nerd vs. hottie), money (doctor vs. janitor), or chivalry (opening doors vs. grabbing crotch), Ndel gets my standing ovation by nailing the heart of the matter:

But let’s expand the definition of Bad Boy. It really includes men with high levels of toxicity of all types – emotional and physical.

And to me, that's the point. So many of these Bad Boy debates are polluted with stereotypes of the hopeless nerd vs. the leather-clad bike rider, and too many participants are arguing from specific bad experiences with a certain "type."

I've dealt with toxic men in all forms... from Bad Boys to those with the appearance of a textbook gentleman. I have also had wonderful experiences with others, including a Bad Boy during my youth who I drove to his probation check-ins (and ultimately returned to jail years after we parted).

So in the next part, I hope to deal with the stereotype and get back to examining "toxicity" as the better foundation for determining what's "Bad" for relationship health.

How childhood advice killed many adult relationships

2009-04-10T12:30:00.011-04:00

This blog post came to me as I drove to work today. Seriously. (Damn I watch too much Grey's Anatomy, but I digress.)

Anyway, I thought of the four major bits of advice that my mother offered about marriage/relationships:

1. Men want a lady in public and a freak in the bedroom.

2. Keep your hygiene tight.

3. Don't be dependent on anybody. Be an independent woman with your own stuff so you can take care of yourself.

4. Men are intimidated by smart women. You'll probably need an older man to appreciate and keep pace with you.

Some of that information is useful, or at least backed by a reasonable principle. But do you see what's missing?

Don't see it? Lemme take you to a conversation I overhead in the ladies room between a young teen and an older ~~bitter hag~~ woman:

Honey... Please. Forget about the fantasy. Find yourself a rich older man and get yourself some money. My husband is a pain in the ass.

Do you see what's missing from this advice?

Just in case your brain is functioning at the same level as the nearest coma patient, here's one more try. This came from a slightly older woman as I lamented during the lowest point of my failed marriage:

Marriage isn't great. You're just supposed to be content, not necessarily elated. You raise the kids and have a partner.

What's desperately missing from the stories we pass down is what a strong partnership can and should be. Relationship advice from bitter adults is loaded with warnings... and flags... and hurt... and sirens... and selfishness. How in the fucking world do we hope our kids find love when we made marriage seem like a black hole of despair? How do we skip over the lessons about the giving nature of love right to the "get yours or get out?" How do we roll our eyes at romance and wonder why girls and boys invent words like "da hookup?"

This is where I admit that I am a lucky sonofabitch. My man and I somehow managed to come out of such mine-fields with deep faith in the power of love. We didn't buy the hype that marriage is a booby-trap and life-long love can't exist. We still fight the demons that cling to our clothes as we sprint away from the lies and experiences that almost broke us. Shit, sometimes I give him the side-eye as a potential cheater only because his anatomy features a twig and man-berries (or because I'm overcome by demonic PMS). That's the baggage, ladies and gentleman, that we need to spare dumping on the next girl or boy who just might grow-up to make a great spouse if we let 'em.

Slow Your Roll, Wild One

2009-04-07T15:15:00.004-04:00

So I walked into this blog with my guns blazing. If you happened to mosey into the joint while enjoying the scenery and eating an ice cream cone, you probably felt like you stumbled into into a bank robbery. Not the quiet ones of today with concealed weapons and sissy notes to the teller. I mean the old time heists complete with horses, gun battles, chases, and those sexy spurs.

You see, HisSide isn't computer savvy, but he surprised me several months ago with a fantastic suggestion: "Let's start a blog about our relationship and tell folks all the stuff that others won't admit to."

This was shocking pillow talk coming from a man who thinks the internet is evil. (Seriously. He does.) I was drooling over the idea. I often complain about the useless nature of the sugar-coated love stories that elders tell younguns to help promote relationship bliss.

"What? You never had a single fight your entire relationship, grandma? That is awesome. You really love each other."

I dislike such nonsense. I once lost an eye when it dislodged from the socket during an eye-rolling episode in reaction to a story much like that one. (I'm better now. And I'm also kidding.) Never fighting means you were never engaged with enough passion to bother. I bet grandpa argued more with the mistress than grandma. (Damn. Did I say that?)

So I eventually managed to actually start the damned blog, and my timing was fantastic. As you can see from the archive, me and HisSide were fighting. Not once, but in a chronic downward spiral. Now that I've been here for a minute and my guns aren't blazing, I must slow down long enough to say: The man with which I share this blog is my best friend, an endless source of laughter, a die-hard protector, and one of the greatest joys of my day. He has flaws that make me think twice. And some of those flaws even robbed numerous days of peaceful existence.

But guess what? My shit stinks too. Some of that criticizing I do has a lot to do with my human ~~flaws~~ qualities such as impatience and selfishness. (Yeah, I admitted it. Can you?) While improved communication skills (and such) can be learned by two dedicated people, you can't "learn" friendship, love, compatibility, commitment, or the blessedly-balanced sexual and non-sexual "chemistry" that leaves two people stuck like glue inside and outside of the bedroom.

See you back here next time.

HerSide History: Part 0 - Introduction ('Cause Big Mark made me do it).

2009-04-03T10:15:00.001-04:00

I love love love reading the comments at this blog, and Big Mark's recent comments reminded me of something important: Y'all don't have any historical context for the rantings on this blog. That's probably because I finally got this thing rolling while HisSide and I were in the middle of some energetic conflicts. I skipped right over the "how we met" and "why I'm in love with him" -- straight to the "why I wanna stab him right now."

So in the spirit of fairness, I will run a series called "HerSide History." Those posts will feature something about our past, starting from how we met, and run right up to where we are today. That's only fair since our relationship isn't just a series of fights and flaws taped together like poorly executed gift wrapping. We may even sprinkle in our own personal histories to thicken the plot. Past relationships, family histories, and all that jazz certainly play some kinda tiny role in how we relate.

HisSide will eventually mosey into the room, and give his own history lessons along with other things. Last night he made another pledge to finally say something. It's like he wants to create an air of suspense, so when he finally walks into the room, we'll all scream and grab at his clothes like he's a rockstar.

::rolling eyes::

I just know if he doesn't speak soon, I'm gonna tell everybody what happened to his jeans a year ago when he yelled for me to stop the washing machine... because he had a clothes washing emergency [just kidding honey... kinda...]

Just when you thought I disappeared...

2009-03-30T17:45:00.005-04:00

... I returned from another week away (business trip) and tippy-toed back into my own blog. I used the back door like a common cat-burglar, hoping folks would forgive me for leaving 'em hanging.

Vacation week to Vegas with Dickhead was interesting. A good kinda interesting. We enjoyed ourselves like friends do.

But my business trip just a week after returning from Vegas was a different kind of eye-opener. Or eye-closer. Depends on how you look at it. 'Cause the results are more like a cringe than a grin. A week apart from each other led to soul searching. My return quickly led to disagreements ala sparring Hollywood couples rallying barreling towards divorce and citing the uber-ambiguous excuse "Irreconcilable Differences."

While submerged on a pillow-top bed in front of a large flat-screen HD television, I stole an opportunity to measure and weigh my own observations over the course of our two-plus-year relationship. From the hammock in my mind, I saw how Dickhead's general problem with jealousy is much more about a more specific struggle with bitterness and anger. Too bad he hasn't mastered the art of seperating our existence from the pool of past hurts in which he continues to do the backstroke.

The spark for his fuse can be a simple misunderstanding or a too-long look from another man. His nature is to flare up - and fire off - before really thinking about where his fool ass is going. He has brilliant moments of clarity where he recognizes the behavior, but dark lows when it comes to controlling it with knowledge.

Dickhead's combative nature left me with a decision to make. Do I trust he's dedicated to healing the areas where the fuse was born? Do I believe he'll consider the professional help he talked about? Do I hold onto the truth that his own combative dad and years in the military left literal and figurative battle scars that can heal? Or do I acknowledge my love for the man but keep it moving since combat and peace can't coexist?

I have been leaning - basically falling - to the side of "keep it moving." I don't subscribe to the school of changing anybody... not even attempting to change those who want to flip their script. Too many men and women carry false hope of change into relationships. Changing a person just isn't an option 'cause it isn't fucking possible. BUT... I have also seen people, like my father, change a destructive nature and really thrive in the beauty of life. How do you ignore the fact and faith that people go through transformations in life?

Damnit. Is that just rolling the dice???

Kinetic energy represents the power of something in motion. Potential energy represents the possible power an object possesses. The kinetic energy of Dickhead's path has overtaken what I see as the potential energy to overcome his personal demons. Waiting on the sidelines is less and less an option for me. If that battle stays on the same path, you'll see this blog become The Breakup Diaries, Part II.

I believe couples should fight through trials. The divorce rate proves that people don't have any fight left in them, or understand the enduring commitment that should come standard with "true love." But when do you abandon ship? In a moment of perfect clarity, can you balance the nature of mature love against your threshold for patience (and possibly pain)?

Who knows. Shit. I'm in the same boat with you. I can speak from a mountaintop about my experiences. On a good day, you may even mistake my wisdom for the Wise King Solomon. But experiences teach new lessons each day. What do you keep and what do you throw away? Eat the meat and spit out the bone. What about the damn gristle?

Some days, I feel about as sure as a stilt-wearing clown walking down the side of an icy mountain.

The story continues...

On Vacation

2009-03-09T13:36:00.002-04:00

Greetings! We're on vacation right now, but we'll return on March 17, 2009. Vegas Rocks!

Green-eyed jealousy and irrational rage - Dickhead outdoes himself this time.

2009-03-03T14:02:00.014-05:00

Dickhead perpetrated an epic fuckup this weekend and the whole sordid evening changed the landscape of our relationship. It ended with my very calm and resolute words, "I can't do this. I don't want to be with you anymore." So now lets rewind the tape.

A mutual friend invited us to a dinner party. The dinner party was to celebrate his father-in-law's 68th birthday who Dickhead and I never met. We packed-up my nine-year old son and made our way over. I was actually excited, and you would be too if you ever tasted the mom's cooking.

Anyway, we arrived and met the birthday boy and other guests. Things seemed fine until Dickhead started doing tequila shots and another couple arrived at the party.

Dickhead immediately doesn't like the husband. Sure. The husband talked a little too loud. He was a bit flamboyant. And he kept getting church calls like he was the Pastor of a huge congregation with a direct red phone to God's private office. But so what? We're in somebody else's home meeting their friends. Social grace and basic laws of socializing dictate that you make small talk and keep dat shit moving.

Long and short - Dickhead starts slumping in his chair and staring glaring at the husband during a three-minute conversation about cell phones old vs. new. He appears to be seething about stupid cell phone small-talk. I see this, give Dickhead a smile, take his hand, and say, "Sweetie. You look like you need a cigarette. Come on outside with me."

What happens next? Arnold Alkie almost falls down the porch steps on the way out and finally stops stumbling in the middle of the street. And the house isn't really that close to the street. The stumbling was acrobatic and poetic as I marveled over how he stayed on his feet. (Note to self: Dickhead is a ballerina). I had to quietly call him about TWENTY FUCKING TIMES from the side of the house to get him out of the street. When he finally moves, The King of Stunted Social Growth loses his damned mind on me outside. Really. Out of the blue, he cussed me out about talking to the gentleman at the party. Reason? Because "I can see he wants you."

"But I'm here with you, baby. I don't know what you're talking about."

"But I can see it. You're gonna be WITH HIM!"

"I don't even KNOW him."

Thinking to myself, "If I didn't think I would end up on the news, I'd slap every tooth out of your mouth and make you search through these white garden rocks to retrieve them."

But my body went into appeasement mode to stop the tide I saw rushing towards the shores. This drunk asshole is losing his mind over small talk at a dinner party... the same small talk his dumb. ass. was having with the man's wife. And when he went into ranting how "he wants you and you're gonna be with him..." I knew it was time to grab the kid get get outta there before he could embarrass me beyond showing my face ever again.

I apologized to our friend, who I straight up told that "Dickhead had too much to drink and was tripping again." I apologized to him. Gave beautiful smiles and good-byes to the rest of the house, and left with my heart in my feet. Our other friends hadn't even arrived yet, and once again I had to implement Plan Damage Control for a crazy fiance who took his drunken jealousy out on me.

I honestly don't see how else I could have handled that situation. I was almost whining - almost begging him to calm down. It was like watching myself in a movie, except I was in the audience screaming, "Leave him you dumb bitch!" That night, on the way home, that's exactly what I did. I broke up with him.

He's the love of my life. He's still in the home. And we're still friends. But intimacy will cease as we return to "friends" and he takes time to work out some issues - ones that I wanted to help him bear but can't anymore. I don't want to be an enabler. I especially don't want to be a target, and I actually feel relieved. Right in the middle of feeling guilty for being so happy about the decision, one of my closest girlfriends said this:

"You were able to make that decision without second-guessing yourself because your actions originated in love, honesty, and purpose."

I couldn't find better words than that. I love Dickhead, I live honestly with him, and I see the deeper purpose of him getting over his frightening jealousy while outside this relationship. The pull of his problem was starting to weigh me down. He made me the object of his irrational jealous behavior and the load simply got too heavy. So for now, I'm a best friend helping her Dickhead male friend deal with some issues.

He is overly concerned that this is the end for us. I want him to recognize this as a new beginning for him. There is not "us" so long as there's an angry, unstable, and unhappy him.

He may breeze through here and talk about this. I am pretty sure a history of cheating ex-wives and his own insecurities over his joblessness are major factors - but the depth and fire in his reactions speaks to something even deeper.

I thank you for reading. As a woman, what else could/should I have done after the jealousy fuse was lit?

Bonus PS: Dickhead reads all of these posts, so it's not like we're talking behind his back or anything. He knows very well that I find just the right words to describe the depths of his insanity.

Before you can accept somebody "as they are", you have to accept love for what it really is.

2009-02-25T14:44:00.011-05:00

This is a little long. But sit still for a minute. Don't be an impatient buggar, and I promise to try and say something useful.

"The powerful and intangible beauty and pain of love." I said that to Lovebabz as I responded to her comment at this blog. Those words set off a series of thoughts on the truth about love. While many of us are addicted to the idea that love is like a field of daisies, too many forgot (or suffer denial about) an important reality: The beauty of love comes with all kinds of pain. And just like love means accepting a person for who they are, you need to first accept love for what it is.

What the hell do I mean? Pay attention, dammit.

I once heard Jimmy Evans say that finances, sex, and other common issues aren't the real cause for divorce. Divorce happens when somebody says "when I married you, I hoped for this, and in the end, all I got was THIS." Jimmy made the point that "disappointment" triggers divorce, when the "A" of your hopes doesn't meet the "Z" of what you actually got. Fantasy versus reality. Folks had a fantasy of what a mate should be and burned fucking rubber when the mate turned out to be an actual human - flaws and all.

From where I sit, we don't just experience this disappointment with other people. We experience it with love itself. Every day, I see people "giving up on love" because the truth of love doesn't look anything like the fantasy.

Stick with me. I'm going somewhere.

"I like you for your qualities... I love you for your flaws." You don't need the power of true love to be with a "perfect" person. Love is what happens when you connect and commit to somebody in spite of their shortcomings (because we all have them). And because of the flawed nature of human beings, love becomes a tool to overcome. To beat the odds. To feel the warmth of caring for an imperfect person while enduring the cool of their imperfections. And what a feeling when they love you back in spite of your bullshit.

I can only conclude that love is a powerful intangible force full of beauty and pain. Digging to the deepest levels of the beauty requires some trips through deeper trials. To get to any semblance of the fantasy of love, you're gonna have to get vulnerable. You're gonna have to sacrifice. You have to navigate the obstacle course of self discovery even when you don't like something that flies out of your emotional closet. Yes. It's hard work.

Superficial love doesn't require such pain. It only brushes the surface, like the difference in a scratch and a puncture wound. You may not need to put much into a superficial relationship, but you sure as hell aren't gonna get anything meaningful out of it either. For those who don't want to rub two brain cells together, accept these Cliff's Notes: No pain, no gain.

Despising the truth of love's dual-edged sword will lead you to search for "perfect" people and superficial connections. The wisest of us know where that road always leads. So before you call yourself trying to find somebody to love in truth, school yourself just a bit on the truth about love so your emotionally unstable ass will be ready.

The Gift of "Good-Bye"

2009-02-23T09:59:00.014-05:00

I can't help but believe that knowing how to avoid a bad relationship is just as important as knowing how to find a good one. And to me, the biggest gun in the "avoidance" arsenal is "The Gift of Good-Bye."

After my ex-husband suddenly vacated our home - and my life - back in November 2003, I called myself praying he would return. I was super nice on the phone. I said my prayers at night. I wondered what I could do to make myself "worthy" of his return. Hindsight reveals that I hoped for his return for all the wrong reasons. I was concerned about finances. I was concerned about raising children alone. The best thing I could have done was to let. It. Go. And really, to let him go.

In the three years that followed, I grew more and more thankful that he walked away. My prayers went from "God please reconcile us" to "thank my friggin GOD he walked away." I saw how worthless I'd felt through the entire almost four-year ordeal we called "marriage." I was repulsed by memories of actually wanting him to come home. And one day, somebody essentially changed my life with a piece called "Let It Go" by Bishop TD Jakes. You can read it here, but here's a taste of what makes this piece resonate with readers from all walks of life:

People leave you because they are not joined to you. And if they are not joined to you, you can't make them stay.

LET THEM GO!

And it doesn't mean that they are a bad person it just means that their part in the story is over. And you've got to know when people's part in your story is over so that you don't keep trying to raise the dead.

You've got to know when it's dead.

You've got to know when it's over. Let me tell you something. I've got the gift of goodbye. It's the tenth spiritual gift, I believe in goodbye. It's not that I'm hateful, it's that I'm faithful, and I know whatever God means for me to have He'll give it to me. And if it takes too much sweat I don't need it. Stop begging people to stay.

So what makes us cling to folks willing to walk out of the door? Why are we happy to throw ourselves around the ankles of people who clearly don't value our lives? For me, it was fear of learning to live life alone again. Financial concerns and two sons compounded that fear.

But I tell men and women alike - don't chain yourself to somebody who doesn't give two-shits about your life. Stop trying to remake yourself into an "acceptable" being for somebody else. Right now, I am living the epitome of loving a mate who allows me to be myself all the time. Not just on the third Wednesday of the month.

And here's a bonus secret for you: Although I am the happiest woman in the world, I still wouldn't stop Dickhead if he decided to walk out the door. Why? For sanity and self-worth, The Gift of Good-Bye is the gift that keeps on giving.

Now go home and dump any shitheads that you're clinging to. Life is too short baby, and you're blocking your better mate from meeting you.

Conflict Escalation from a Fighting Pro

2009-02-12T09:56:00.013-05:00

Today you did battle at your job. It was a horrible day after which you renamed your boss The Shiftless Tyrant. Your major accomplishment was maintaining the self control to not quit. You arrive home, kick off your shoes, and hit the porcelain throne. When the golden rain is over, you reach to your left and hit that familiar empty roll. The Mr. used the last bit again and you're stranded.

You have a few choices here, but you go with Plan B, which allows you to give the Mr. all the lip you wished you could have given the boss at work. You request a new roll of toilet paper, but it sounds more like an owner asking a slave to go fetch some cotton. (Well some toilet paper does have cotton in it, right?)

Anyway, not to be outdone or summoned like chattel, the Mr. senses the slave reference and fires back with something you're not even sure you heard right. You have an emotional blackout, and soon the two of you waste 1/2 hour screaming about everything from dirty dishes to who was dropped on their head at birth. And you're still stranded on the toilet.

How does an empty toilet paper roll end in insults and tears? Unnecessary conflict escalation. And that's not good for anybody's relationship.

My house has seen a number of these incidents - some starting with a simple misunderstanding. When the dust finally settles, we both lament over the exponential escalation factor that left us both wounded.

In the toilet paper example, who was wrong? Should the Mrs. have stuffed her bad day at work and not carry the attitude into the house? Or should the Mr. have understood and simply brought a new roll? The point is, assigning fault is less important than making sure you're never any part of the escalation process - whether you "started it" or not. The argument may only last for minutes, but things said during these useless battles aren't often forgotten. You wound your mate for nothing and the cumulative effects can chip away at intimacy.

Pride, human nature, and even selfishness drive folks to "attack when attacked." But we aren't supposed to see our mate as an enemy when something goes down. A deep breath and a "yes honey" go a long way in killing the monster called conflict escalation. That's true for MEN AND WOMEN.

Now go home and stop acting like a spoiled jackass.

Is Peace the Road to Heaven and the Path to a Good Relationship?

2009-02-03T20:00:00.001-05:00

I was strolling through the internet blog park and came across a blog called "Holy Shit from Deacon Blue." An author named Inda Pink wrote an article about "Peace," saying this about peace and the road to heaven:

So I can totally see people choosing to reject heaven because they are afraid of peace. [emphasis mine]

It sounds funny but human nature is a funny thing. We want moments of peace or long periods of peace, but I think most of us would cringe at a lifetime of peace. We would wonder where the spark is. We feed on conflict whether its personal or whether we see it on TV or whatever.

The fear of peace I think is what will drive at least some people to hell. And it makes me wonder how many other hangups we humans have that send us to hell, and not, as we assume, the will or desire of God.

To provide context, Inda sought to understand how a "good God" could send anybody to hell, and ultimately concluded that people choose hell. Her estimation points to the love for peace as a critical factor.

While I may not totally agree with Inda's assessment of the road to the Biblical heaven, she is absolutely right about one thing. Humans love conflict. It represents a spark. And I recognize how this concept works against the "heaven on earth" that relationships can be. The most tumultuous relationships have no peace. We see words like "Drama Queen" to describe people who essentially feed on the chaos that ruins peace - and ultimately ruins their own relational heaven.

My fiance and I talk about this all the time. At times, I see him as angry and aggressive. One of my biggest fears is to not live in a peaceful home. I grew up in a household with arguing parents. Peace came in bit-sized chunks... minutes... hours... and maybe a whole day where the warring sides simply called a truce.

As a result, I can admit that my desire for peace may be unbalanced and doesn't allow enough room for the natural disagreements that come with relationships. Thankfully, we balance each other. My hunger for peace often means I let too many things go. His aggressive style of dealing with some conflict means he may invite more trouble than necessary. But when you smash those two things together.He throws logs on my fire and I douse some of his. You get peanut butter and jelly. You get milk and cereal. You get rice and gravy. Okay, maybe not. But you get something that feels a lot like what "romantic bliss" is supposed to be.

Show me your scar and I'll show you mine.

2009-01-30T09:00:00.004-05:00

My sweetheart expresses a passionately sincere and committed love towards me that seems frighteningly rare in today's romantic relationships. In fact, love and kindness seem to be failing in all kinds of relationships from family to acquaintances to perfect strangers.

The divorce rate indicates the absence of committed love in marriage. The murder rate shows the lack of love and value for human life. Child molestation statistics show that adults don't love children enough to let them grow, without assaulting them. Rape statistics show the lack of basic respect that some exhibit towards members of the opposite sex. Murder/suicides. Infanticide. I could continue this list for pages.

So what's the deal? Outside of legitimate mental disorders, why don't humans love each other enough to respect and value the life of another? Consider the cliche "misery wants company." Consider the battle scars and exit wounds that people acquire in daily relationships. Now imagine how some don't recover from those disappointments. Their unhealed hearts seek company by dumping on others. And the beat goes on.

Battle Scars and Exit Wounds
I guestimate that every single adult on this planet has a scar from a relationship battle. And I'm not just talking about romantic relationships. We've been disappointed by our parents. We've been hurt by siblings. We had a boss that made life miserable. And of course, we entered the game of romantic love and didn't get what we hoped for.

If you're lucky, you sustained a surface wound that healed and allowed you to move on. If you're not so lucky, some of these disappointments left gaping holes - like exit wounds - much bigger than the original entry point. Sometimes, evidence of these unhealed wounds can be detected in daily conversation. And if you ever found yourself saying some of the following, you may be a candidate for unhealed wounds:

"I don't trust anybody."
"I hate men."
"All men are dogs."
"Women are slick and sneaky." (This is one of my beloved Dickhead's favorites.)
"Who needs a man?"
"Men are useless."

I won't pretend I don't have battle scars that infringe on my relationships. After my ex-husband walked out on me in 2003, just 5 days before our 4th anniversary, I thought I would just as soon spit on a man than say hello. While I got over the worst part, I work to keep the memories of an old scar from contaminating what I have today.

So there you have it. The reason for the name of the blog. Me and the Mr. are gonna cover all the good the bad and the ugly stuff about love, engagement, marriage, parenting, and sex (whoo hoooo!) that demonstrate battle scars don't have to rule - and that being madly in love is the best shit since sliced mutha-fuggin bread.

My Fiance is an Insolent Dickhead, And I Love Him Like Crazy

2009-01-28T17:55:00.008-05:00

Fvck trying to start this blog with a feel-good post. My plan was to begin with some flowery-ass description of why we called the blog "Battle Scars and Exit Wounds." You'll have to wait for that, 'cause I have something else to say.

Love is a bitch. That much is true. I'm engaged to a man I am proud to call my best friend, but some days I want to carve the word "shithead" onto his dick. With a dull cleaver. Really. And every woman on this planet knows that feeling, and sent me a cyber-high-five for being honest.

The dickhead (who will be known to you as "His Side") and I decided to start this blog because too few couples are honest about what makes love work. Parents try to shield children from the truth - out of protection or pure embarrassment - and nobody gets to hear the raw story of how a marriage lasts longer than 5 minutes.

So here we are, taking over for the whack parents trying to appear as angels, to cover everything from communication to great sex. No. Not "mom and dad procreation sex," but the stuff teenagers fantasize about during boring History classes.

Today, the dickhead showed his ass because he didn't get enough sex last night. Okay, he didn't get any. And like the mature man he is, he pouted all day and basically terrorized me at work. Every time the phone rang, I said a little prayer it wasn't him. Okay. No need dragging the Lord into this. I didn't say a little prayer. I really said, "Dammit. Here we go with this shit again."

This blog will be the source of many fights, because we agreed to (1) be brutally honest while (2) giving the other person a chance to respond with their side. If it gets bloody, just turn away and move along. That's why you pushed the damned button that said you're mature enough to read this shit in the first place.

Now keep it moving. I must go upstairs to enter the Pout Zone.