Thanks

Night before last last I laid in bed and cried.


Now...before you guys get all up in arms...especially those related to me, you should know know they were happy tears.


I cried because my sweet husband held me in his arms and asked me why I never gave myself any credit for being smart or pretty or wonderful.


He held in in the darkness as he told me how important I was and how much I was worth not only to him, but to our family.


Trust me, I didn't cry even a quarter of what I wanted to; however, I let silent tears roll down my cheeks wishing I could bury my face in the pillow and release all the poison that had been built up in my system for so long-all the negative thoughts, ideas, and comments that rattle inside my brain. Instead I allowed my slow tears and my bursting heart to purge the negativity.


I'm not sure I've really thanked God properly for my husband...but I did that night. I sure did!

Advice

One of the blogs I follow posts a brilliant question that instantly resonated with me, "What advice would you give your 15 year old self?"

Wow, Julie Musil you just totally rocked my world with that!! You say, just for fun and mention to not wear high waisted jeans or maybe not turning down Bill Gates at the prom, but I'm afraid mine may be a bit more serious than that...just maybe.

Let's see...at 15 I was a 9th grader at Colmer Jr. High. Remarkably, it was actually a good year for me and I do not remember very many things that cloud up that year for me. However, I did begin a pattern that year that would significantly infect the next 15ish years of my life...I passed on "crushes" I had out of pure fear and never took the chance, the leap of faith, to see what would happen.

Now, don't get me wrong, I don't regret anything because, good or bad, I am the person I am because of my collective life experience, but I can't help but wonder what life would have been like had I ever believed I was worth the chance. I was good enough for myself and the world. Would my crushes still have been my crushes? Would my boyfriends still have been my boyfriends?  Would my choices still have been my choices?

Good question...

However, I think I might take that chance.

I'd tell that 15 year old me to look into the mirror and see that the world sees, not what I believe I see. That I am truly beautiful and worthy of love, beauty, trust, and love. That I have talents that have hardly been tapped, but I need to cultivate and promote those talents-not to hide from them or be ashamed of them. And most certainly not be so self conscious of myself that I would wait years to ever show anyone a piece of writing and still feel inept. 

Of course this begs another question...how to you ensure a 15 year old has self esteem? I ask because I know I didn't, but I hope and pray to every Deity I can possible think of that I am able to ensure Caitlin has more than her share.  (Tristan too, but it is mainly a girl issue, especially since she looks like me but acts like my sister and mother. I am just at a loss about what to do with her as she gets older.)

If anyone has tips or ideas on how to keep a healthy self image in girls as they grow up I'd love to hear them because I fear failing her every day. I fear looking to her eyes as a teenager and seeing myself radiating back so strongly that I know exactly what she will do or say next. I'm not sure how I will react to ever see the pain emanating from her the way I always felt mine did. Of course, I guessing it really didn't since no one ever noticed it.

So far, I make sure I tell her daily...

How much I love her (because I do),
How smart she is (because she is),
How pretty and beautiful she is (even though I feel a bit vain saying it since she really does look like me),
How funny she is (because she is a total goof-ball),
How talented she is (She's a dancer, for real, y'all!),
How proud I am of her when she does anything.
And how much I love her...with lots of kisses and cuddles.

Truthfully, that's all I really know to do. I'm sure I will ask for advice man more times as she grows because this issue has plagued me since the day I found out I was having a girl. (Imagine being elated and then terrified in tandem.) How can I help her become the person she is supposed to be?

Smack me in the Face and Let's Start Again.

As I'm lying down to sleep, which I dearly need to do right now, I begin thinking about this search that has gotten started. It's something very akin to The Great Guy Search. I realized that every time I find myself in the vicinity of a male I instantly check out that left hand. It's almost a compulsion now. It wasn't until I was standing in the check out line in Hell Walmart that I noticed I had made a mental note of wedding rings on every male around me.

When did I become this girl? I mean, I'm not feeling some deep societal push to couple up because all of my friends are like "Meh, give it time." I'm not feeling familial pressures because my Pop has already made that one abundantly clear. I believe the conversation went something along the lines of, "I hope to hell you think you have to get married again just to make it because that's bullshit and unnecessary." I might have missed a word here or there, but that was the general message. I've always thought my Pop had such a way with words...

So, back to the whole bed thing...I'm thinking about my newest obsession with wedding rings and realize that, again, I have listened to my Pop, but not heard him. I found the kernel of doubt that has me looking searching and thinking I need a man in my life because (drum roll please) I seriously do not think it will ever be possible for me to live on my own with Things 1 and 2 without any sort of support or help from my Pop.

I mean, examining the evidence in questions so far, it's pretty plain why that issue exists. 

• teaching adjunct online
• teaching adjunct at community college
• no full time job
• no one is hiring (or at least not hiring me)
• I actually had to swallow my pride and borrow money from my Pop for my bills last month. (I get paid very erratically from U of P and won't get a ju co one until the end of Sept. Let's just say that I cried, my Pop wrote a check and couldnt' figure out how to make me not cry. It was just beyond me, but yet, he understood. Yes, pride is my Sin of choice.)
• I have 2, count them 2, children. Two.

Now when I think about "How Long" it been I am slightly deceived. Although I have been "married since June of 2009 (I don't care WHAT the law says; in my soul I was NOT married as of May 21-when I came out of my haze. Damnit!), I have only lived with my parents since after Christmas. This is what? Month 8? now in my head I should already have everything in life 4x4, but I do realize that life just doesn't work that way.

Kinda like losing weight-it took years to put it on so it'll take years to take off. Great in theory, but shitty in practice. I just hate waiting. (Humm, do I smell another bout of pride? Why, yes, yes I do!)  And it's especially hard for me because, lets face it, numbers have never been my strong suit and I have no idea what it would take for the 3 of us to live without me having constant panic attacks over what bill gets paid this month.  I always think, it was easier having two incomes...well, not really. It should have been easier, but nothing was easy living with, you know, whatshisname.

He's the reason I'm still paying off a credit card that I haven't touched since Tristan was born. thank God I've gotten the others paid off finally, but that one has a pretty hefty balance left on it and every time the bill comes in I get so pissed off I can't even see straight because I know that is because of beer, beer, nights he "had" to get out of the house and drink beer in a bar, more beer, and taking me out to eat once in a bluefuckingmoon. Did I mention beer?

Sorry...bitter rant. Should have warned you. My bad. Anyhoo...

I guess  the long and the short of the issue is that I'm afraid. There I said it. I'm afraid and I'd like someone to swoop in and take care of everything and solve all of these problems that I can't see a way out of.

Problem!!!!

Umm, last I looked at my birth certificate, it didn't say "Princess" or place silver spoon here AND the last time I got married it didn't solve a single problem.

I need to remember what started this journey. I started it. And I started it so I could make sure that I had a firm hold of "Me" so if, by some chance, since I'm not all that unfortunate looking, someone does come along I never lose me again. I started it so I could rediscover my voice and my passions and my dreams that got lost amid beer cans and nights sleeping alone.

So, like Elizabeth Gilbert says in Eat, Pray, Love...

Operation self esteem. Day fucking one.

(Take, at least, two. SNAP)

5 Years Ago

*Disclaimer* If you think Katrina hit and destroyed New Orleans you should stop reading here because I'll know you are reading and it will just piss me off...

 My life naturally separates into two parts-Pre Katrina and Post Katrina. For years I pushed every thought, every emotion surrounding "the storm" that shattered my life, as well as so many lives, in twain.



I've denied myself the luxury of examining my feelings for five years now, so perhaps it's time for a bit of reflection-honest reflection. You see, faithful few, I had to be strong and take care of business when it happened (because my ex decided to be completely weak and useless) and a few months later I found out I was pregnant with my son. That was definitely NOT the time to become overly involved with my emotions-they were very occupied by hormones. (BTW, NO, T was not a Katrina baby. I had been off bc for over a year trying to have a baby; the timing was just ironic.) After that I was just told to get over it…now I think I just might.


August 29th marks the 5th anniversary of Katrina demolishing the Gulf Coast, namely the Mississippi Gulf Coast. You see, the eye of Ms. Katrina passed right over Bay Saint Louis, MS, damn near over the roof of my house to be exact.


Yep, I lived in a little rental house in Bay Saint Louis, south of the tracks. Now on August 30th the only thing left of that little house was a couple of walls (literally a couple), moldy wood and plaster, piles or bricks, and a yard dotted with Trivial Pursuit cards. Well, and of course all of my material possessions ruined and waterlogged throughout the house-3 days of clothing, photos, and my car are the only possessions that made it out. Oh, and the roof was perfect....I do so love irony.


I know it was perfect because I saw it on Google Earth when I was staying at TB’s house. (TB is my aunt.) I remember being SO excited that it was there. Feeling hopeful, I so completely crushed when I realized it was all a lie. That everything wasn’t going to be ok after all.


I remember driving into the town and not really understanding what I was seeing, but I still felt that it would be ok. I really did. I was really naive.


As I crested the tracks, I remember looking out and seeing the water. Again it didn't make sense. I'm not supposed to see the water. Where are all the houses? My brain was just not registering the piles of wood and bricks as the beautiful homes I had coveted and dreamed of owning one day were gone. They were just not there, just vague shells or shadows of what had been their former glory.


It was at that moment, at the top of the tracks, that I realized nothing was going to be ok. I felt my heart sink to my feet and my whole body began to shake. No.no.no.no.no.noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. This just can't be happening. Please God this just can't be happening. Don't do this to me, please.


Every sense and sensation in my body shut down as I pulled into the driveway and looked at what was left of my former home. I knew even then it was my former home; that I would and could never live there again. How could I? Destruction of that nature can't be undone. Nothing would ever be the same again. Nothing.I didn't know just how right I was thinking that.


Before we'd even looked over the whole house I was ready to go. I just wanted to leave. The need crawled under my skin and spread until I could no longer feel my body. It was like I was no longer really there. I kept looking around for the camera crew and cheesy host with slicked back hair and toothy grin. Where was he? It's too much and now someone needs to tell me this is all a joke! Maybe I just need to wake up. Quick, I have to wake up or be let in on the joke before I throw up. Shit like that just doesn't happen. It just doesn't.


My chest hurt. I felt like I was drowning and I had no idea whether it was the suffocating heat and humidity or the overwhelming sense of life never being the way it was before.


By the time we stopped at St. Stanislaus and I saw that the ex would not be returning to work because there was only rubble where the band hall had been, I couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t want to see anymore. I didn’t want to feel anymore. I just wanted to get in the car and drive until I couldn’t’ drive anymore. I wanted to be anywhere but on the Coast. Please God, if this is really not a dream and not a colossal joke, please just take me away from here. Please take me away.


I saw my (then) husband starting to unravel and knew that I had to be strong. I had to carry the weight. I had to “fix” everything. So, I plastered a timid smile on my face and asked to leave.


We drove to Pearl that night. I couldn’t face going to Pascagoula because I couldn’t trust my childhood home to be safe and I knew I couldn’t handle seeing it destroyed. (It was fine. No damage. No water. But lack of cell service prevented me from knowing that.) Unknown to me, the ex had used this to his advantage and used my dropped basket to plant a seed of hurt and doubt in my heart, claiming that family members had betrayed me in the worst way. That they were ashamed of me and would never accept me-only he would ever love, support, and understand me. Admittedly I was too addled and too damaged (and too busy trying to be a good wife) to see through his lies and allowed this to take over my heart until I could finally see him for what he really was…umm, that would be a liar.


I’m thankful for the three days I spent with Aunt Jan and Uncle Wayne in the aftermath. Uncle Wayne explained everything that was wrong with the investigations while watching CSI and Aunt Jan told me stories about her experiences after Camille. I remember allowing myself to cry in the shower that first night; so happy to have air conditioner, so happy to have hot water, so happy to not have to face the ruins of my life for a little while.


Knowing that you will never be taken care of, that you will never be allowed a moment of weakness because the person who’s job it is to help you is weak. I wasn’t 100 percent sure at that time, but I am now. That experience defined my marriage. I worked. He drank. I white knuckled myself controlling my fears and emotions to keep my world together. He allowed himself the luxuries of unraveling that I was never allowed to have. I think that was actually worse than the storm itself; knowing that everything I thought I had up to that point was worthless. Four years of empty.


Thank you God that I now can put that pain behind me and I can begin with a new slate-even if it is five years too late.

Give me a Break

I just had a long chat with my buddy, Aggie, because I received the most interesting thing in the mail today.......

a letter from "you know who"

Yep, that's right. "he" (I wanted you guys to realize that isn't capitalized on purpose) sent me a letter letting me know where he was transferred and will spend his time as a "guest of the state of MS".


Of course, he just could not stop there. Oh no!!! he had to continue...

• he goes to counseling and AA meetings now (That might be better had he done that BEFORE there was a problem-just throwing that out there)
• he prays daily for the 3 of us and is in the search for God (Keep looking, buck-O!)
• he realizes how much he has hurt me (Umm, I'm not really sure he really has a fucking clue!)
• he misses the kids and realizes he has never ween Cait walk or heard her voice (Perhaps, as before, that should have been a thought BEFORE he decided to get stupid!! just saying)

As I red the letter I found myself getting more and more pissed off and then... WHAM...tears. WTFHell!!  I mean, it's been almost a freaking year and a half since the world slipped sideways and I thought I'd made great stride in my recovery.


Now, Aggie tells me that I have, in fact made amazing strides and that it is not strange that it triggered an emotional response. We were married for 8 years after all. But it still just flies all over me that I wasted another tears, another sniffle, another second of my life thinking about him and what he has done to the kids.


You see,  I accept my responsibility in what happened. I made the choice to marry him. I made the choice to not leave him when I first became unhappy and the marriage was slipping southward. I made the choice to have not one, but two children, especially when I actually knew in my gut by the time I was pregnant with Cait that he was having an affair. God, help me I knew and I couldn't prove it. I knew it and I never had anything by my personal instincts screaming in my head. For that I take responsibility, but I do not, can not, will not ever take responsibility for the behavior exhibited by that "man" (and I use that term loosely) and the things he did to my children.


Although I must say that all of the things he took away (traditional family until, home of their own, someone to call daddy), those two little monkeys are as happy as any other kids their age, and happier in some ways. They will never have to see me cry on a daily basis or feel so sad and listless that I can hardly get out of bed or fly into a manic episode of scrubbing the entire house and then fly into a rage because someone else got credit for it or any of the countless other attractive behaviors that were pretty normal during my marriage.


So, my final question is whether I write him back to explain that I will never give him access to my children-that he allowed that ship to sail when he started fucking someone who wasn't me. he will never receive a single picture, letter, card, or drawing from from one of my children or about my children. Perhaps his parents will oblige him, but not me. Nope. Nope. Nope. Absofuckinglutly not! If the kids want to seek him out when they are adults and he is no longer a guest of the state that is between them and their personal Jesus, but Mommy aint' having a damn thing to do with it. I will not watch him hurt them again while I am in control of their lives.

To write and express my true and deep feelings or not? The Aggie says no because I do not need to become tangled up in all of that shit again, but part of me really wants to inflict as much pain as humanly possible since I cannot actually put my hands on him and physically hurt him. I'm not normally a violent person, but I have been spoiling to hit someone or something for about a year now since I never got the opportunity to look him dead in his eyes and hit him with the biggest thing I could grab in my little hands. And trust me, I can sharpen my word into tiny, poisonous daggers that will need heal properly, but is it worth it? Will it just make it harder to leave it all behind me? Or will I just always want that last taste of finality that only a scathing letter can truly bring? Perhaps I should write it and not send it, much like my letter to that girl.

What say you, faithful few? I trust your learned opinions. Write and send? Write and don't send? Don't write and leave it alone? Leave me a little message so I can take everyone's pulse to help make my decision.

I will say this...I do forgive. It is not aulturistic though; I forgive him only because it is good for MY soul. Right now the only thing rconcerning around my little mind is the well-being of my little three person family-Me, Cait, and T. Everything else in the world is just lagniappe and I will deal with all of that as I feel like it...and right now, I'm not really feeling like it.

Weekly Wrap Up

There are so many things that happen in the course of a week. Good-Bad-Indifferent-Crazy-And each of them vying to overtake me and control the week as a whole. Most of the time I can keep a pretty solid balance, but I'm afraid I was not as successful this week. Looking over the past week there are some clear winners in the grand struggle for dominance in my life.

Coming into first place is: emotional eating. (Sometimes the physical discomfort associated is at least something to either distract from feelings OR something to feel out of the numbness. My job won't start until October, which certainly doesn't help my pocketbook. I did apply for a few other positions; although it was a bit hard to not think that there is no real point to apply because I probably won't get them anyway. *sigh* Just imagine me not on meds. )

A close second: Listlessness. (I have not written a single word in a week. That's right, a whole week. I'm so 'shamed, but I just have not been able to think or concentrate on anything long enough to accomplish much of anything. Hell, I haven't even to the gym but once because I just couldn't figure out how to get there with the kids not taking naps and Kalan with us. And Lawd, Lawd, did T and Kalan fight and argue.)

Ah, but we just can't forget guilt. (T is not registered for school. I'm not doing very well in the class I've been helping my Pop with. I really, really want to run away sometimes and depending on the day, most of the time I want to go alone. My kids are hyper and crazy and make mj nuts, so I don't feel I can go anywhere or do anything if it doesn't involve my children.)


At the very bottom of the list is a very slight spark of hope. Just because it got a bit buried this past week doesn't mean it won't reemerge this week. After all, tomorrow is another day.

Women, Food, and God - The End / The Final Review

I'm not usually one to ramble on about God and spirituality. I believe in God and I am spiritual in my own way. I'm a pretty good Catholic girl; however, I don't feel the need to inform the world. I'm perfectly happy be-bopping my own marry way and letting everyone else be-bop theirs. My guess this comes from my years as a public high school teacher, you know the whole separation of Church and state thing-I'm very "Don't ask- Don't tell" when it comes to God.

Anyhoo, that being said, I picked up Women, Food, and God with some degree of trepidation, even though one of my most trusted sources in the world told me to pick it up.  Let me tell you, my faithful few, it rocked my freaking world! Seriously. Maybe you have read my previous posts about this book, but now that I'm finished with it, I think I may read it again and give it out as gifts until everyone I know has this book!

It has completely changed my idea of eating and food in general. I'm not saying that my brain is now perfectly clear and rainbows are as far as I can see, but I am telling you that I'm aware of shit now that I knew, but didn't realize effected me. And I also didn't know that anyone else felt the same way about themselves that I fet about myself. Woe Buddy!!

You see, this book doesn't tell you what to eat or how to eat; it makes you think about "Why" you are eating. Are you eating because you are hungry or because you are sad/angry/frustrated/overwhelmed/etc? Do you know? Can you tell the difference? I coudn't. At least I know after I do it now  I realize what I have done.

For example, at lunch, I stuffed food down my face quickly so I could get my kids situated with thier meals, drinks, napkins, and headed off to nap-time; I didn't realize until afterwards that I have no idea what I ate or even what it tasted like. I am only vaugly aware of the after-taste of mustard.) Why could I not have made the meal more pleasureable to all of us? Why did I have to be SO in control for the surroundings and trapping of "meal" that I was unaware of mine. Then, as all moms do, I found myself picking off of the kid's plates as I cleaned up...Hello!! Not hungry, McCarty! Why are you putting food in your mouth?!!!  Sease and disist!!! Unhand those fries!!!

These are the kind of things that are discussed in the book. Begining the moment instead of off somewhere else, hiding from something "unpleasant". I hide from unpleasant all the time, but I realized recently that I miss out on a whole lot of pleasant when I do that. Now I have a guide out of my hidey hole and into the world.

Although I said above the book doesn't tell you what or how to eat, it does give you 7 Guidelines and they are both simple common sense and incredibly difficult-all at the same time.

1. Eat when hungry. (What if you can't recongnize hungery from boredom or saddness or fear?)
2. Eat in a clam environment. (Piff, Dude, I have kids! What calm environment?)
3. Eat without distractions. (See Guideline 2)
4. Eat what your body wants. (It sounds great, but...dangerous)
5. Eat until you are satisfied. (See guideline 1)
6. Eat (with the intention of being) in full view of others. (See below!)
7. Eat with enjoyment. (Problem! I have never felt anything but guilt and disgust when I eat.)

Ok, Number 6 knocked the wind out of my body. I swear I didn't realize other people were as fucked up as I am. As far back as I can remember I have hated eating in front of people because I always "felt" their thoughts and judgments..."She SO shouldn't be eating that! Put down the food, big girl! A salad, yeah right! So, NOW we all know how you got that way!" (The book calls that The Voice. It sucks and I now know I can tell it to "fuck off". Yippy!)  I think I've eaten in a restraunt alone once and I took a book with me because I just HAD to block out the idea that people were watching me eat. The idea that I must be prepared to always eat in front of someone and never sneak a quick snack while no one is looking is terrifying. It breaks everything I have ever thought about eating down to the very core. Honestly, I'm scared.

But I also want to stop hiding. I want to feel every single emotion, even if it is unpleasant or unseeminly or messy. I want to know that I did truely "live deliberately... live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, To put to rout all that was not life and not when I had come to die Discover that I had not lived.” (Thoreau).

W, F, and G - Part 3

This book is kicking my butt! Seriously. For years I have felt these nameless feelings and never knew how to communicate them-how to give them a name. This thing has hit the proverbial nail on the head.

"Wanting what I wanted was not allowed. I needed to sacrifice, atone, make up for being myself."

"Diets are based on the unspoken fear that you are a madwoman, a food terrorists, lunatic. Eventually you will destroy all that you love and so you need to be stopped. The promise of a diet is not only that you will have a different body; it is that in having a different body, you will have a different life. If you hate yourself enough, you will love yourself. If you torture yourself enough, you will become a peaceful, relaxed person."

Luckily, it didn't hurt for long. It was just a little prick and then...calm. Actual calm.

I closed my eyes last night and drifted to sleep without a single ounce of stress or "Ican'tturnmybrainoff" tossing and turning. It was freaking great.

Who knew I could ever stop feeling bad and ashamed for being me...

I think it might just be possible. God, I hope so cause I'm pretty tired of it.