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

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.

Emotionally Abusive Mothers and Adult Daughters: Part 4 of 4

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

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

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: Series Intro

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.

An Open Letter to HisSide...

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...

And now a break for the Tiger...

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???

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

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

Continued from Part 2, which I had to break apart because it was becomming its own damn book...

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

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.

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

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

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 ::

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

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...

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.

Just when you thought I disappeared...

... 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...

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

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.

Conflict Escalation from a Fighting Pro

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.