Category Archives: adult-only

Published in the adult-only category

Howdy defensiveness

2 Replies

I would like to point out that I am recording the lowest points in my journal because I don’t want to gloss over them later and pretend they didn’t happen. Mostly we are getting along very well. Mostly we are having fun wonderful days full of playing and laughing. We are getting along pretty well.

And then the stress gets to me and I lose some piece of my control. I don’t want to deny later that the worst parts happened so I’ll write them down. I feel comfortable coming back later and filling in the gaps on the good parts. (Yes, this experience will probably turn into a book.)

I’m scared of not being honest about the worst of the worst. I don’t want to ever be in denial about that.

The kids and I had another intense conversation about boundaries, limits, abuse, and standing up for themselves. We talked about how it is better to hurt my feelings now by telling me to BACK OFF rather than hurt my feelings later when you have to stop having a relationship with me because I have a pattern of hurting you. I’d rather not hurt you. Sometimes I am a giant asshole and I will hurt you. I require feedback. I’m sorry that I do. I do.

This trip has been a wonderful experience and I’m so glad we did this. I will remember this forever as a positive time when we learned how to depend on one another to get stuff done. We take our sense of home with us. We haven’t gotten really impatient and pissy to go home till this last month. That’s pretty incredible. And the kids have never gotten mad and told me they are angry we came on the trip. They might get halfway through a similar sentence and I say, “Oh really. You are sorry we did ____ and ______ and _____ and” then they say, “Ok I’m glad we came. This has been incredible.”

I don’t want to bully them. I don’t want to “get away” with doing it because I’m not being watched. So I watch myself.

It’s the only way I know to try and be better.

Eldest Child had a fascinating question the other day about why is it hard to deal with a lot of these parenting issues. We had a conversation about how we are at a fascinating place in history where parenting ideals are radically changing and adapting is hard. There are always hard crunch points as populations change and grow. We talked about the evolution of beliefs from “You must hit your children to prove you love them” to “You must not hit your children to prove you love them” and why that is hard in terms of managing bodily impulses and frustration.

God I love talking to this kid. She blows my mind every day.

Youngest Child continues to alternate between being a ray of sunshine and having excessive temper. Goodness the intensity of that kid.

I’m told that as often as possible I should just be using “kid” as gender instead of boy or girl. It’s kind of clunky in language. But I’m trying.

I’m trying every day. Only 15 days till we go home. I won’t start frequent blogging right away. I seriously need to let my arms heal.

I have to write this down.

Leave a reply

I feel deeply ashamed. Which means I need to admit that I did this. Can’t hide things I’m ashamed of.

I hit Shanna. In the face. I slapped her. On a scale of 1-10 the intensity was between a 1 and a 2. There was no red mark let alone a bruise, but I flipped out and started crying and apologizing immediately.

That doesn’t excuse it.

She asked me why I don’t want her to feel like she is bad but then I react as if the things she does are so bad. I told her that her actions have never deserved that strong of a reaction. Her actions do deserve a reaction, but not of that intensity. I lost control. If I was in control I might have yelled, I might have put her in time out, I might have more calmly had a discussion. Instead I felt insulted and I smacked. That was wrong.

Today started out hard and went downhill. The day started with me getting woken up by a kick to the face. Then screaming and jumping on the bed for the next half hour. I don’t wake up cheerful under such circumstances. The driving and such was actually fine. But the previous two days were really long drive days. I got to do most of setting up camp tonight in the dark. So yeah. I snapped.

Part of the problem is that both kids keep asking me for tasks and then not doing the work. They ask for a job then won’t do it. I’m out of patience and that’s a problem.

I’m just praying I don’t fuck up bigger in the next 18 days. I’m so tired. I hurt so much. I feel so awful.

I’m done. All my joints hurt. My head has hurt for days. I feel worn to the bone.

Brain dump

Leave a reply

I put a bunch on Twitter, because my arms burn like fire and I only had about 20 minutes on the computer yesterday. This may be a touch repetitive for those who follow me there.

This trip to Texas is flat out weird. It is going so well. I have mixed feelings about this because Noah says that part of the reason it is going so well is because I loudly telegraph my boundaries now and I wasn’t good at doing that in the past. I’m having a hard time with the idea that perhaps they are treating me like a human being because I have finally figured out how to fake acting like one so they aren’t kicking me any more.

That bothers me.

I can’t wait to see Noah’s baby sister. I suspect that things went as well as they did with Noah’s mom because of the intervention of baby sister. She said she was working on things.

They are acting more like I am “one of them” instead of being an interloper who needs to be chased off. They are acting like I am a high status person. I feel almost allergic to what is happening and yet, this is nice.

I am feeling overwhelmed with horror that I am getting to the point where upper class white people no longer feel secure fucking with me but police officers still get to assault black children in school.

The world is disgusting and broken and I want no part of it.

Yet traveling with my children gives me the weirdest hope. They really don’t recognize barriers. They are fine with people “signaling” poor. It isn’t off-putting. They sit down for a chat. “I’m from California, are you from around here?” is a great way to have people tell you lots of stories. I am in awe at how my Eldest Child continues to morph her working-a-crowd techniques.

Last night we went to dinner with Noah’s brothers and their respective SOs and they were a bit flabbergasted when EC walked off in the middle of dinner because she was done and a kid was wearing a Minecraft sweatshirt. I kinda waved like I do to acknowledge that I know where she is. The grown ups at the table were asking, “Uhm, what should we do?” Noah said, “Oh this is her normal.” They all looked at me a bit funnily and I smiled brightly.

You can get away with a lot if you act like it is dead normal.

“Yeah, traveling with her is a bit like traveling with the President. She wants to meet everyone.”

They all kind of nodded slowly and then tried to eavesdrop on her conversation. It was hilarious how they all said things like, “Wow. She’s funny. She’s getting really good at her stand up act.”

Yup. She’s had a lot of practice.

I have some mixed feelings about how hypersocial she is, but I don’t see how I will do her favors by trying to rain on her parade. Near as I can tell, she is getting the support she ought to have. She gets to experiment with people in safe environments basically all day every day. What could be better for a child who has this much need to connect?

She crawled in bed with us this morning telling us about her nightmares. It was fun talking to her about her conscious mind and her subconscious and why she has way more power in her dreams than she thinks. “If you can learn to tell yourself ‘I’m asleep and that means I have all the power in the world’ then nightmares get less scary. You can fight back.” She was incredibly excited about this concept. Thank you, Freddie Krueger movies. I’ve learned so much.

It is really nice having Noah here. I’ve been gone too long. I forgot what it was like to have my mobile self-esteem boosting service around. Noah really likes me and dealing with him is such a treat. He’s nice to me even when I’m sharp.

I really appreciate that my husband and kids act like me getting snippy is a sign that I’m over extended and we should take a break because I don’t need to get so tired. That is… whoa.

They don’t punish me for deviating from cheerfulness. They act like, “Oh poor Krissy.”

Do you know how fucking weird this is?

Last time Jenny was in the country she commented that I’m different. I’m not angry and combative like I was.

I don’t have to be any more. This is what I’m like after 9 years of safety. Imagine what I could have been like with 30+ years. It boggles the mind.

I’m still fierce and I don’t plan to change that. But I’m not looking for a fight in the same way. I’m just fierce. I just have strong opinions and I’m completely happy to share them. I don’t mind that part of my personality.

Staying with the brothers is a bit of a trip. Noah’s parents sent us to this house with a 6-pack of wine. Noah and I each had a glass. The other adults drank 4 bottles. And they had a full bottle at the restaurant.

Whoa. We are out of our league. After EC has spent months convinced that one drink would turn me into a raging alcoholic (BASED ON WHAT?! Have you ever even seen me drunk?!?!?!! NO.) she had quite a spell last night. Telling one of the girlfriends “Oh I see you are the drunk bandmate huh.” The girlfriends response was, “I have never been the drunk band mate. That’s not fair.” But it was funny? A little? Funny in a way that was just a bit too pointed?

The amount of drinking here is pretty scary. And they all think nothing of hopping in the car to drive.

We ain’t in California no more, Toto.

Youngest Child woke up. We think we might run off to the florist and get some flowers to replace all the dead ones hanging out around this house. We are the only ones awake after all.

Kinda funny.

Leave a reply

So last night the kids and I were talking about fussing and getting along. Youngest Child said, “I get so scared when you are angry and yelling at us. I’m afraid… you might ground me.”

This was said with full quivering of lips and big sad puppy dog eyes.

I literally laughed out loud. Kid was kind of annoyed with me. “What! Being grounded is the second scariest thing ever! Missiles are scarier, of course, but grounding is awful.”

You know what? Maybe I’m not as mean as I want  to believe. I think I do a better job of keeping my cranky away from the kids than I think.

And then this morning we aren’t going anywhere because if you’ve dumped all your clean underwear in the laundry basket because that is your version of “cleaning up” then we don’t need to go anywhere.

I am sick to death of these kids acting like “cleaning up” means “dump it where mom has to deal with it and I don’t.”

Frustrated. Angry. SO SICK OF BEING THE FUCKING GROWN UP.

I am not going to go do laundry today just because you feel like dumping all your clean stuff in a pile and telling me to wash it. By my reckoning we have 3-4 days before I should do laundry.

Which means I am medicating.

Just done.

2 Replies

I am at the point where if my children refuse to eat, fine. We will sit still all day. Because if I do anything other than just sitting still I have to hear screaming, whining, and begging for sugar. They are pretty unwilling to eat anything other than sugar at this point and I feel like I’m about to lose my mind.

I guess I won’t see New Orleans.

I sincerely hope that was rock bottom.

2 Replies

Yesterday sucked.

We had two long driving days in a row followed by setting up camp on the second of the days. I’m not feeling in perfect health. My body hates what I’m doing. I’m not sure what piece is the hardest.

I’m making a lot of suboptimal choices as we travel. Things like choosing to drink soda even though I know corn syrup rips up my inside. Things like having carbonation even though it causes intense abdominal pain. Things like too much fast food because I can’t deal with preparing better foods. My body is not doing well at all. I keep spiking fevers and having tremors.

My intestinal health has been all over the map on this trip. I have alternated between some of the most excellent poop of my life (I am really impressed with the size and form of a few of these days. Whoa. I don’t know what the hell I did) alternating with burning awful. I’m not even sure how it maps onto drinking soda.

Mostly I’m drinking soda for the caffeine. I should take the caffeine tablets out of my bathroom bag and put them near where I drive and switch to juice. My body would be so much happier.

My weight is slingshotting up and down. I judge this based on how my clothes fit. I can’t tell if I’m gaining muscle or what.

Last night after I had spent the day being a really terrible mother the kids and I laid down in the tent and I said, “Aunt Sarah suggested that we check in. How was today for you?”

“TERRIBLE”

“Ok. Did you feel like it was ok to tell me to stop yelling or did you feel like maybe you deserved it?”

“Well, I knew I didn’t deserve it and I knew you were being inappropriate… but it’s kinda hard to tell you to stop when you are that fierce. I just kind of wait for it to end.”

“I’m really sorry. I was pretty awful and mean today. It isn’t your fault when I lose control. Me getting so upset is about me and not about you and I’m really sorry that I am doing such a poor job of controlling myself.”

“Mom… you’ve done well for a long time. This stress is really getting to you.”

“Yeah, you see that’s the part that scares the crap out of me. You should not justify people treating you badly. Don’t let people think that is ok. You don’t deserve it and me being under stress does not justify taking it out on you.”

“I think it is going to take more practice before I can stand up to you on those days.”

“Well, we aren’t dead yet. We have more time to practice before I send you off into the world to deal with bigger bullies than me.”

Younger Child wasn’t very verbal during this conversation. I get the impression that Eldest Child just has… an awareness of self that isn’t quite there yet for Younger Child. It’s complicated. EC can cut me off saying, “I think you are being harsher than you mean.” YC just starts screaming, “Stop being mean to me!!!!”

We are working on nuance. It’s coming.

I don’t even know why I crashed so hard. We got to New Orleans and I stopped to get directions to a grocery store. (I know I was kind of freaking out about being out of food. I’m really wacky about it.) I had a hard time because with the trailer a lot of the roads around here are hard. Lots of narrow streets and quick crossings.

The traffic around here is… I don’t know. I don’t like it. Tons of tail gaiting.

It is fascinating to me how different parts of the country treat the speed limit. In some places, no one speeds. In other places if you go the speed limit people try to run you off the road. I can’t figure out the pattern. I think it would take a lot more experience than I’ve gotten on this trip.

The streets around here are narrow, crowded, and everyone speeds. That’s enough to set off my anxiety.

I’m being forgetful about meds. I’m not taking them as consistently as I should be. That isn’t helping my self-regulation.

I feel super guilty about the fact that the single thing that is getting to me the most is… I need to have a good hour every single day where no one is talking to me so I can just think my thoughts. My kids are literally incapable of shutting the fuck up. I love that about them and I feel like I am going to lose my mind at the same time. We are on day 127. I have had childcare help on approximately 12? 14? days out of this trip. I’m really really low on time to myself and the strain is showing. I need to stop taking it out on the kids.

I’m also flipping out because after New Orleans we head to Texas and holy shit on toast I am not in the god damn mood to be nice to Noah’s fucking parents. They haven’t ever been nice to me. That’s a problem. I’m looking forward to the Great Grandmother. She has put a lot of effort into getting to know me through letters. I feel like she has sincerely tried to adopt me and I appreciate that. It isn’t a strain to be nice to her.

I’m feeling this increasing paranoia that I’m just a fucking asshole all the time and that’s all I am and that feeling makes it so much harder to be nice or patient.

39 days to go. 6 more days in New Orleans. (We had beignets today. Eldest child adored the traditional cafe au lait. How in the hell did that kid come out of my body?!) Then 11 days in Texas. Then 15 days of travel/camping to get from Texas to the Grand Canyon and then on to Anaheim. 5 days at Disneyland with Sarah. That’s going to be so nice.

She’s going to help drive home. That sounds so wonderful right now. I’m really glad that of the next 39 days I’m not actually alone with the kids for 18 days. Only 21 more days of being alone together and it’s broken up. Thank goodness.

I have already emailed our babysitter at home. I want to start right the freak back up again. She’s game. Yay!

Not writing increases my sense of being scattered and unfocused and confused and cranky. Dumping stuff here helps so much. So I sent the kids into the tent to play and I’m out here typing. This is the closest to alone time I get right now. I can hear them completely and totally but they aren’t screaming directly in my face.

The internet connection here sucks so I don’t know if this will post or not.

I pulled apart the back of the van and changed the organization a lot. I think this will work better on the last leg of the trip. At this point the sky box is full of presents and the tumbling mats.

This is going to be the Krissy Claus Christmas.

I haven’t slept well for the past few weeks.

My spoon drawer is empty. I think I have used all of Novembers spoons at this point and I’m borrowing into December. This is starting to seriously worry me. My arms are in so much pain.

I’m having very worried thoughts about this whole WWOOF year thing. If I don’t find a way to be in less pain… I should probably give up that dream.

I’m feeling really upset with myself for my weakness. It is hard to not be really nasty with myself because I am spending so much time sitting very still so I don’t cry from pain.

I am having increasing feelings of panic because I am going to have to find a way to make a transition when we come home. I am going to have to figure out how to deal with home school group stuff. That’s going to be so hard for me and every time even a whisper of a thought crosses my mind my stomach explodes with acid.

And Eldest Child has been talking a lot about how upset she is about the Godmamas not wanting to know us anymore.

I’m feeling grateful that they were only around for six years. There is a chance the kids won’t be damaged forever. It would have been worse if they had stuck around for eight or nine years before bailing. These memories will fade. I’m being asked to process a lot of stuff around that ending/break up. “Did Aunt ____ get much more strict in the last few months because she wasn’t liking me any more and that’s why she stopped wanting to see us?” Oh honey. I can’t know why people are behaving how they are behaving. I don’t truly understand the whole break up.

I know that they didn’t feel supported enough. Me offering repeatedly and being told no… well… I guess I should have shown up even when I was told no? I know they didn’t feel that they had as much influence over the children as they thought they would have. I’m not even sure what that means.

I don’t know.

It is really hard processing this stuff with the kids. I really don’t know what to say. They don’t want to be in our lives. I can’t control that.

It wasn’t a good enough deal for them.

I’m really having a hard time with both of them wanting to talk about it. I feel like it is picking at a scab. I’m not 100% sure what all I did wrong and I’m pretty sure this breakup is about stuff I did wrong. I don’t want to get into the nitty gritty of that with the kids though. It’s so complicated.

I wanted to be there to provide support after the accident. I was told that wasn’t ok.

It feels like I can’t do anything right.

If me speculating that I have to cover my ass because if I falter my kids are screwed isn’t being respectful enough… well. My kids are the only ones I have to consider here.

I’m feeling really bad all the way around.

We have had a good day today in terms of interactions, with the kids I mean.

I just… I’d really like to go find a nice bath tub and lock the door and spend a few hours cutting. I don’t like me very much right now and I can’t see anything about me that doesn’t deserve to be set on fire.

I haven’t been mean at all today. I’ve been quiet instead.

I’m glad that my kids know that when I lose control it is about me screwing up and not about them. But somehow that doesn’t seem like enough.

One more night in Florida

Leave a reply

Today we leave Vero Beach and drive to Marianna Florida. It’s just too far to get to Alabama in one day from here. This means we will drive through Alabama and not really stop. We are going to stay in New Orleans for 8 nights because that is less exhausting than drive/camp. I planned to drive/camp and… I’m so worn out. I just can’t. I feel guilty.

I sat still for almost three days in a row here. I’m so tired.

40 days until we get home.

On our last day in New Orleans we pick Noah up. Then we get to spend 13 days with him. That will be lovely.

Of course those 13 days will mostly be spent in Texas with his family. I’m feeling kind of numb to that right now. I’m nervous because I don’t have a lot of patience left. I’m kinda worried I will blow up at Noah’s family.

Depends on what they fucking say to me.

8 days in New Orleans, 12 days in Texas (in multiple cities seeing his whole family), 5 days in Disneyland (with Sarah!).

We are otherwise driving then staying put for a day until we get home. That’s the plan. I might change our destinations slightly so that we can have slightly longer drive days and camp for 3 nights in a row to rest in between driving.

My back is so pissed off at me. My arms hurt. I’m spending lots of time on Twitter because it doesn’t cause as much pain. I think it is funny that I thought I would be off Twitter for six months. Instead I’m not posting much here because my arms hurt so much and I don’t want to be recording all of my emotional ups and downs here.

It gets annoying to me.

Lots of big feelings. Mostly we are having a really good time. The down moments still don’t last that long but we are having harder and harder days. The kids are out of fucking patience. So much screaming lately over anything.

Mostly younger child. I think that kid is always going to have big, explosive feelings. Let’s go home and work on managing them in a lower stakes environment, ok? We can figure this out together.

The gender ambiguity is… different than it was months ago. Most days are she/her/girl. I honestly think that the wedding in New York with lots of women in suits was the big thing. There was all of a sudden the perception, “I don’t have to change genders to change how I look. Oh.”

I’m trying to still be tentative about my assumptions that I “know” what this kiddo will decide long-term. It’s not my body and it isn’t my life. I’m trying to just be accepting.

I’m being too hard on Eldest Child and I know it. I’ve been told that she isn’t going to tolerate me being this bossy once we get home. Heh. “Mom I know that you are being so controlling because we keep changing environments and they all have different expectations… but I’m done with this. It stops when we go home, ok?”

I don’t know how I ended up with a kid like this. I mean, yes she reflects the parenting she’s received but I honestly believe most kids just couldn’t be as sure as she is even with me as a parent. Youngest Child sure isn’t the same.

Sometimes I feel like I’m dealing with a very short 60 year old. She’s not 30 or 40. She’s… just… I don’t know… aware and resigned to the idosyncracies in life? She is accepting and yet completely sure of her limits and needs. I rarely see that in folks who are more in the middle of life. She’s just… I don’t even know. She’s seen it all. She rolls her eyes like a grandmother who is tired of your lip. She doesn’t put up with guff.

It cracks me up.

I was told that when we get back kids will not be doing chores for a full week. They are just done with being helpful. But they both say, “After that week you get a week off. That’s only fair.”

Holy crap y’all are so fucking nice.

It’s funny how they teach me how to teach every day. We’ve had dozens of philosophical conversations about doing dishes. “It’s not like taking a shower. You don’t just run the water over the dishes for a long time and call it good. Really, haven’t you noticed how in the shower we use soap and rub it on our bodies? Yeah. You have to *rub* the dishes with a soapy sponge/cloth or they don’t get clean. No, running enough water to flood the carpet doesn’t get the dishes clean. Bummer.”

I am… liking Disney resorts less as time goes by. Disneyland is different. The thing that is bothering me the most is how this is a closed community of upper middle class/rich people. Everyone here feels 100% confident that their politics are universal.

I am liking human beings less with every passing day.

Fuck your assumptions with a pogo stick.

I think it is really ridiculous that people feel they have the right to yell at me because I am “bailing on the system” by home schooling but when you mention private schools, “Well that’s different.”

You piece of shit hypocrite. So the very wealthy putting their kids in private school is fine. Poor people or lower middle class people providing an education on their own is destroying the moral fabric of our country? Shove your idiocy where the sun doesn’t shine.

The home schooling demographic is all over the place but usually not that common at the top-most rungs. Most very wealthy people would rather put their kids in private school than home school. Most very wealthy people don’t want to spend that kind of time with their kids because they have to work to maintain that lifestyle.

Did you know that ~25% of the schools in this country are private but they only serve 10% of the population of children? How in the hell can that kind of subsidizing not be more of a problem to the public system?!

Especially since many ostensibly home schooled kids are enrolled in charters and are still part of the funding cycle.

I don’t think it is going to be possible to convince me that caring about the larger system is more important than caring about the individual needs of my children. I brought these people into the world. I owe them. I don’t owe everyone else.

Also, I actually was a public school teacher. I don’t think you get to say I have never contributed in a positive way towards other peoples children.

I’m just not going to throw my kids under the bus. What does that mean? My kids would not be doing hours of homework. I would be organizing mass protests through the PTA. I’d be a problem. My kids would be punished for that.

That’s not fair either. And I sure as fuck am not going to teach them that they should waste years of their life not progressing because other people need to catch up. I’m not going to teach them to do busywork to appease a system that doesn’t care about them and doesn’t have their best interests at heart.

The current public school system is a mess. The push towards testing is really harmful. It creates all kinds of stupid anxiety and self-dislike. Children are convinced by their teachers that they can’t possibly be smart if they don’t follow along like good peons.

I don’t really want to raise people who believe that they are required to just follow bullshit orders. I want my children to think about what they should do and why rules exist.

The convenience of a teacher, principal, or political system should not be their highest priority.

Shit like this. My kids are not going to go to school to be subjected to the casual views of my broken culture. No fucking thanks.

Do you know what my kid says? “Well, I used to think I would marry ___ but now I think that is not a good idea. I want a partner who won’t hurt people. You know… he actually used to push me around too. I didn’t like it but I liked him. Maybe I shouldn’t let someone do that to me. I want a partner who is nice to me. I’ll keep looking.”

My children will not be raised in toxicity. They will not be enculturated to believe that abuse is the same thing as love even though that idea is absolutely pervasive in American culture.

No.

If people don’t treat you right, get the fuck away from them. There are too many fish in the sea.

Ok, kids are waking up. Time to push on.

 

Tell the truth.

6 Replies

Well, I’ve hit my kids. Both of them.

I was leaning into the van trying to find things and I noticed that the kids left a milk container in there. It was sideways and leaking onto a pile of books. I yelled for Eldest Child to get over here and help me. She appeared and I meant to hand things back to her but I misjudged distance. I smacked into her belly pretty forcefully. I wasn’t trying to hit, but I did. We’ve discussed it a few times and I’ve apologized. I really didn’t mean to slap a pile of stuff into your belly. I meant to hand it to you and I misjudged. That’s sucky. I’m sorry.

Then this morning Eldest Child thought it was funny to tap on my face. I said that it hurt and I wanted it to stop, but my eyes were closed and I wasn’t that emphatic. So Youngest Child walked up with a toy and slapped me in the face hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. I smacked her body hard enough to get her away from me because she started bouncing the toy on my face again.

I didn’t apologize for the second hit. No, I’m not actually sorry that I hit you hard enough to push your body far enough away from me that you had to stop hitting me.

I didn’t punch or slap that hard. There isn’t a mark at all. But it hurt my bloody nose and I’m not freakin sorry I made your body get away from mine. You don’t get to hurt me.

So, I’ve done it. Shit.

I’m going to have a day of feeling like a bad mother. But you don’t get to hit my fucking face. I don’t care who you are.

Rape & privilege

Leave a reply

I’ve been talking about rape a lot on Twitter lately. I want to organize my thoughts a bit more, even though my arms burn like fire. So this may be a bit choppier than I normally blog. The Twitter character limit formatting is changing my writing. I hope in a positive way. I know I get too verbose for most people a lot of the time.

Noah spends a lot of time telling me that I spend too much time trying to figure out “who is to blame” for various problems. He’s right and he isn’t.

Thing is, dealing with rape is complicated. It is complicated at a personal level and it is exponentially more complicated at the level of a city and … then try to solve that for a state or a country.

My therapist tells me that it isn’t a good thing that the only way I know how to keep myself safe is to keep actual walls between me and other people. Well, it is the only effective method I’ve ever discovered.

That said, I travel more than the vast majority of people ever do. It’s just too expensive for most people. So I put myself in lots of situations. I put myself in situations where I have to keep, not only myself, but my children safe. Am I willfully putting us into danger just to… I don’t know… prove some macho ass shit to myself?

I genuinely don’t think so. Stranger assault is statistically rare. We don’t invite people into our tent/room. We talk to people in crowded public places then move on. It genuinely doesn’t feel risky.

Do you know what was risky? The way I was taught to walk into bedrooms with people because you wanted “privacy” after just knowing them for a few hours. That was how I spent my childhood. Asking to go into peoples rooms and initiating as much sexual contact as I could get away with and only acknowledging rebuffs grudgingly.

Sometimes it makes my heart beat fast when I enforce boundaries with my kids. They are not allowed to walk up and sit on laps any more. Not with a complete stranger. They can’t jump on strange men. Playing for two minutes doesn’t make them close enough to jump on, nope. You have no idea what is going on with their bodies. You don’t know if they just had surgery on their back. Nope. Don’t jump on strange people.

It is really weird to feel like the biggest god damn hypocrite on the planet. Don’t do anything I did.

This experience is how I understand the neglect I experienced. I completely lacked a frame for it before I was a parent. The awareness comes in stages of dawning horror.

How fucking formative that trauma was. Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.

I’ve been acting like a bully with the kids. I’m not asking them to do things I’m ranting that I’m sick of them not doing the thing without being asked. We are talking about it.

I feel really guilty that Eldest Child said, “It’s getting to the point where it’s almost 50/50 nice and mean and that has to change. I know you are tired. Maybe we shouldn’t go out of the room much for a few days.”

I feel this horrible mixture of pride and guilt that she has to help manage me. She can be aware of those kinds of needs. That’s amazing. I don’t want her to parent me though. I’m not using emoticons even though I want to put like 75 frowny faces in a row.

I try to tell myself that the feelings of guilt and shame are because I was raised to believe it is not ok for anyone to ever have to pay attention to me and take care of me. It is not ok for me to want anyone to help me.

I try to tell myself that this is ok. It is a kind of enmeshment, yes, but we talk about how this is not her job and she is going to not be responsible for me long term. I thank her for feedback about her perception of being around me. I seem tired. I should rest. Yeah, thanks.

She acts like I am worthy of paying attention to. I wish that didn’t make me cry.

I’m going to jump back to rape. Why am I confident that my children will not have a life like mine? A kid kind of grabbed at my kids crotch. The instantaneous response was, “You do not have my consent! Get your hand off!”

I win.

I couldn’t save my niece nor my nephew. But my kids don’t think that anyone who wants to is allowed to have access to their crotch. They believe their consent is vitally important.

I win.

That doesn’t mean they will never be raped. I understand that. Let me tell you, I’m not done educating them. I’m just going at an age appropriate rate.

A lot of “staying safe” is a complex web of knowing the right words to say at the right time. If you have highly specific technical language you don’t seem like a good victim and any good predator will walk right by you. Obviously you have the support to protect you. You are not going to be easy to intimidate.

People comment, just about daily, that my children are so aware and ….themselves. It is funny how often the wording is almost exactly that. Another friend commented that it is amazing that people don’t think Eldest Child is bossy. She just has a good plan she wants everyone to follow.

I talk to them about what they want to get from life all the time.

Eldest Child and I have been talking a lot about what she wants to do school-wise when we get home. She has specific requests. She wants to work on languages more. She is frustrated by the limitations on who she can play with. She freaking asked if we can look for a Chinese class (I can hear Pam cheering from here) so she can work on that more consistently. She said we all should take Spanish together (I’ll see what I can do, Youngest child wants Spanish and is not up for Chinese). She said maybe on Hindi for a while. She said we should practice the alphabet and such at home but she thinks we don’t need that as a formal class. So I guess that will be some structure in our days.

We all want martial arts. The kids want gymnastics as well. I can’t teach them many skills like that. I’m happy to pay someone who can.

And she wants to play the violin.

I said we would add lessons one a month until we got up to the full load because all of that at once would crush her. She says that is probably smart.

I appreciate how often she tells me I’m smart.

You know… I think that’s why she does it. She’s a perceptive little thing.

My kids are not going to look like good victims. Not ever. They are going to seem like… they have all the support in the world. It’s only sorta true, but I’m going to give it my all.

But you know what? This option isn’t exactly available to most people. My kids get a full life of having a Ladies Illustrated Primer walking around with them. That’s not what most people experience.

Holy tomato I love my job.

My kids are in touch with their bodies. They know what they like and don’t like and they consider their preferences to be absolutely worthy of consideration at all times. Good prey act like it doesn’t matter what happens to them. They often don’t know what their preferences even are. “And as much as we cannot guarantee our own safety in this life, we can build resilience to weather what may come.”

I can never guarantee that my children will be safe. Not truly. Not completely. But I can teach them a variety of skills that will increase their likelihood of not only escaping from a lot of traumas but being able to cope with the inevitable tragedies in life.

My children will experience loss and pain. That is a non-negotiable part of the human condition. I know that. I’m trying to teach them how to ride the waves.

We took a break from the screens. The kids begged me to go back to the beach. It’s supposed to start storming tonight and rain mostly till we leave so I said yes. Even though it scared the absolute shit out of me. The kids kept asking me to go sit with the grown ups and just let them play.

No. No. No.

I sat between them and the ocean. There were four good waves where they started getting dragged out to sea and I grabbed them and bodily pulled them back to shore. They stopped arguing with my presence after the second grab. But they really didn’t want to stop working on the dam they were building.

They are fucking obsessed with building dams this trip. They have built them in little itty bitty creeks, rivers, lakes, and the ocean. It was awesome watching them lecture much older girls about how “We have to find a variety of materials to help provide structural integrity! Just sand won’t hold!”

That was why I had a hard time stopping the play. It was so… intense for them. But that ocean doesn’t fuck around. Lots of places are currently flooded and people die from being swept into the ocean all the time. It’s not a game. There are no take backs. The ocean is bigger than all of us.

After the fourth time when I grabbed them and I felt like I barely pulled out of the wave I said, “Ok! That’s it! I’m done!”

The kids didn’t really argue with me. They spent over an hour saying repetitively after we got back to the hotel room, “I think you just saved my life. Wow. You care that much. You are going to stand right there so you can save my life. I think you just saved my life.”

My response is, “I brought you into this world and I’m not giving up on you yet.”

They snuggled with me and looked a bit stunned.

The ocean is not something to fuck around with.

Want to know something kind of hilarious? I had a similar experience with the kid who kicked me in the throat at a group beach trip.

The ocean is bigger than you. I don’t give a shit how strong you think you are. The ocean is bigger than you. Never fight the ocean. You will lose.

So yeah. I think I’m done. If it is storming I am definitely not going down there with the kids. If we want to swim in between rain bursts they have a pool. That is risk enough with a damn thunderstorm.

You have no idea what you mean to me. No forking duh I am going to keep you out of the ocean when it is dragging you like that and you are screaming out in fear. That is my job.

It is both my job to teach you to respect that power and my job to protect you from it as you gain enough experience to have proper respect. It’s a complicated operation.

I think I am really feeling the need to cross reference all of these experiences because I am trying to understand the scope and effects and structure of rape culture. What does it even mean?

Do you know who really taught me I didn’t deserve rape? Sex workers. Grown ass women who were god damn sure what was and wasn’t ok to do to them. I know women who have been sex workers for decades and members of the kink communities for decades who have never been assaulted. I study them with a more than just friendly interest. I want to understand their instincts.

I want to teach those instincts to my children and people who aren’t sex workers have never been able to break them down in a way I can understand. They specifically can talk about what they do to manage risk. I know vanilla women who have never been assaulted. They don’t understand why that is true. They just got lucky.

So I talk to the people who can actually give me the information I seek. I am shameless and mercenary about it.

I’m not teaching my kids to be sex workers. I’m teaching them to think of their body as belonging only to them and never to anyone else.

I am doing my absolute best to raise people who will react indignantly if someone tries to abuse them. My kids interrupt me if they think my behavior is getting near a line. They are immediate in their ability to say what is or isn’t ok about what is happening to their body. It is stunning to see.

I have labored for so many years to try and develop those skills.

Sometimes I feel so jealous I want to shove my head through a window. Just to get that feeling away from me.

My brother used to put his head through windows. They made him wear a helmet whenever he wasn’t in a building with safety windows.

We have really liked hurting ourselves in my family for a long time. I feel so grateful that my children showed mild inclination and were quickly reassured that it is not the right decision to hurt yourself when you are upset. Ask for help figuring out how to handle your feelings when you feel overwhelmed to that point. Your parents will listen to you no matter what.

You don’t have to feel pain. We can maybe help.

I feel so grateful that I found a sperm donor who had excellent genetics and sincere interest in being a really involved parent. This is a wonderful experience to watch.

But Noah has committed rape. And so have I.

Do I think all rapists belong in jail?

Jimminy Christmas don’t ask me. 

This rape culture shit is complicated.

I want my children to be able to do better. I want all the children to have better. Education is the single best route to understanding diverse people and life experiences.

I honestly don’t know what else to do. I need to pick up the kids soon. I’m going to stop.

Experiments

3 Replies

My shrink wants me working on specific aspects of my hypervigilance/empathy issues. Specifically she wants me doing woo woo shit trying to work on “creating a barrier that starts inside my spine and goes to the edge of my skin and holds me in without letting me contact other people”.

Woo woo shit.

But I’m GGG and I’m paying for her input on my life so I work on my assignments. It’s funny what I think about and notice when I do.

I notice the angry parents more than I notice the sad/upset people. Trying to “focus on myself” means I notice anger more. That’s kind of funny. I think I partially noticed that  because of a conversation I wrote about on the kid blog. My kid told me I was being average for yelling as much as I am at Disney World.

So I went to multiple theme parks without them (there was one roller coaster I wanted to ride and then that park closed so I went to the one that was open to eat) and I spent my time kind of looking around trying not to be impacted by peoples feelings.

I notice way more angry people than usual.

Want to know something funny about anger? I only notice situations that feel like they have probability to escalate as I’m walking around normally with my kids. I tune out the annoying yellers and ranters who just exist without impacting me. I just don’t notice them. When I’m trying not to emotionally connect with people I notice them and they bug the shit out of me.

Why are people so god damned mean?

(Small break to change the topic: ok, watching weather is way cooler on the east coast than it is on the west coast.)

It’s funny how I’m watching people act out the equivalent of that toddler HALT thing you are supposed to look for. (Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Thirsty) Uhm, it just occurred to me that it is absolutely equally as important for all age groups… but I learned it for watching toddlers.

I’m telling you, I’m learning how to take care of myself by taking care of my kids. It’s a trip.

Anyway. The arguments and fights. Whoo. Just calm down everyone. Clearly I’m not the only one struggling with adjusting to the weather and the distance of walking here. I’m not going to recount the bickering I heard because it’s not central to my story.

I’m the main character here. Stay on topic.

I really and truly love having a space where I get to be the center. I don’t have much desire to “promote” my blog or sell ads to make money. I just want a place where I get to be self centered because I can’t really be in the rest of my life any more. Not if I want to have the life I want to have in thirty years.

I have to think about Noah. I have to think about my kids. I have to make decisions that will have all of us continue this fantastic privileged life we are leading. We are so ridiculously lucky.

I think about that as I spend a lot of money on presents for freaking everyone I know. Yeah. It’s gotten ridiculous.

I think it is funny how it is a mix of things that remind me of you and things that I think will delight you because it will remind you of me.

So so so so many books.

I can’t tell if I am trying to buy peoples love or if I just want to share this ridiculous privilege that I find I’ve stumbled upon. I didn’t earn it. I just… have it. I’m learning so many things. I really want to share.

Want to know my favorite part? I am buying presents for grown ups too, but mostly kids. The won’t care at all if I’m trying to buy their love. They will say, “That sounds great!”

And in the process I will also get to share what I’ve learned. Because they will love me and want to spend time around me. See, it works all the way around.

But it still feels bad. It feels like my mom trying to buy me off from noticing that my life was shit. It feels like trying to buy forgiveness for harm.

I don’t think I’ve harmed them. I really don’t. But I feel scared.

I could let fear keep me from sharing this awesome experience with the kids in my life in the best way I know how. But that seems kind of silly. Even if the best way I know how isn’t The Best Way How Ever it’s ok that I want to do it this way.

“This is why I thought of you when I saw this. This is the aspect of your personality I want to remind you is visible in the world.” My unspoken wish is that this talisman will work as a form of validation for you. I see you. You do matter. I can’t be with you all the time telling you that. Please take this and try to remember it on the dark days. I see you. You do matter.

Is that trying to buy love? I don’t understand gift cultures very well. What I grew up with was very distorted.

My mom overbought gifts because she was brought up Mennonite and poor and she wasn’t allowed to have things. Even when her family was fostering children and the foster children were given presents (to help them adjust) my mom wouldn’t be given presents. So my mom gave her children mountains of presents. By the time I came around it was stuff she has been buying all year long at $.25-$.99 at a time.

I have a lot of feelings about receiving gifts. Then I married Noah. His mom has gift giving issues of her own. We get a lot of stuff. Dealing with it has been an emotional journey.

Apparently Noah’s parents are very happy that we keep sending status updates about our journey to Texas. They are very happy that the kids are excited about visiting them.

I’ve written a lot of 10+ page letters that are probably kind of confusing talking about my background and why I’m not telling the kids negative stories about their grandparents and why I am telling the kids as much about their family as I know. “You get a blank slate with these kids. Whether or not you abused Noah is kind of moot. Don’t fuck this up. The well hasn’t been poisoned even if I don’t like you very much.”

I feel waves of horrifying guilt that I can’t curate this for my mother.

It’s different.

If my niece and nephew hadn’t both been sexually assaulted.

If I had managed to keep it from jumping down a generation. But I can’t do that. I can’t control their story. I wasn’t willing to stand next to them making sure nothing happened.

I get exactly two chances to do that this lifetime. It’s an incredible gift.

Thank you, Noah. I will never run out of gratitude for the fact that you are the reason I get to have this life.

I am watching the sun rise over the savanna as I sit on my balcony. The kids are still asleep.

I’m not sleeping here. I don’t think this is a proper queen bed. And I ran out of sleep aid. So I’m lucky if I catch 4-5 hours of sleep. Even with melatonin and pot. That forking sucks.

I miss Noah. I miss going to sleep without a wad of pills.

Human beings are social animals. It’s a well documented thing that some of the most successful marriages are those in which highly traumatized people have the opportunity to earn attachment.

I am really glad we did this trip. I will be really glad when it is over.

I’ll get to write about it for decades. I only have to live through it once.

I only have to be away from Noah for this long once.

It feels like trying to breathe without my left lung.

It feels like trying to go to sleep only I can’t because I lost Ted and I don’t have Noah and I feel so sad and like such a failure because I can’t even keep my teddy bear.

I can’t keep my mother. And I can’t keep a teddy bear. Clearly I do not deserve to live.

And that’s what keeps me up at night.

Sleep deprivation is known torture. I find that my inability to sleep goes in weird cycles with how safe I feel. The less safe I feel the less I sleep the less safe I feel in a terrible worsening cycle.

This is why I take handfuls of pills when I travel these days. Sleep isn’t optional. We leave the resort tomorrow. I’ll buy more. Driving will be fun before then.

We are spending the night in Miami tomorrow. I want to drive down to the Keys. I want to take pictures of the Everglades. We will have a king sized bed so I can sleep.

I’ve seen so many things. It is becoming kind of amazing to me. It’s not that I think I understand everything I’ve seen. I’m just saying that I have a significantly different impression of the field of botany than I used to have. I used to think plants were boring. I don’t any more.

I’ve seen too many kinds of fantastic plants. I’ve see such incredible growing techniques. I want to keep learning.

I hear my garden is missing me. Sniff. I miss you too baby. Next year will be great. ALL THE FERTILIZER! We’ll come back from this period. It’s ok. Eventually I’ll figure out automatic watering and you won’t have to suffer when I’m gone. I’m sorry.

You know what, Noah? I’m glad Puff didn’t have to spend her declining years dealing with snow. I’m glad she gets to enjoy the last of her life surrounded by sunshine most of the year. And yet she would be pissed here. She’s always pissy the one week we have horrible summer. She had a hard enough childhood with me. I’m glad she is so spoiled now.

I guess things are working out ok.

Today we are going to Typhoon Lagoon because it is the last park we haven’t been to. We’ve been here for like 18 days (minus travel time to/from NYC) and we still haven’t been to the last park. That’s a sign we’ve been resting a lot. Ahhhh. Wise choice.

I’m looking forward to the time on Vero Beach. Hurricane Joaquin means we shouldn’t spend a lot of time playing seriously on the water. Which means we might spend a lot of time sitting alternated with the kids running back and forth in the sand.

Sounds great.

The kids are really frustrated with being on resort property because there aren’t many places where it is appropriate to run.

We like to run everywhere. We don’t have good instincts around that. We spook animals with our sudden bursts of energy.

Good grief we are ridiculous.

Enh, we do fine as long as we move a lot during the day. We can sit. But we only choose to do so when focused on something we find interesting.

Is it really so bad? We are interested in a lot of things. The kids are progressing on skills. Why must it happen in an environment where they are forced to learn to sit all day whether they like it or not?

I just don’t get it. Ok. Wandering off. My arms burn like fire.

Good stuff.

Leave a reply

I need to write down some good stuff so that in the future when I reread my archives (ha ha ha I’ll never do it) I can see that I wasn’t a whiny bitch full time.

Right this minute I’m sitting on my balcony overlooking a false as hell savanna. For all that it isn’t even vaguely a savanna, it’s pretty and the animals seem ok. I have mixed feelings about zoos because I’ve read too much about animals going crazy from lack of stimulation. I’m glad this is fairly large. 26 acres isn’t a horrifying box.

Good things: thank goodness that every aspect of checking into Disney is streamlined and assisted. Do you know why I shop inside the parks and pay way too much money for gifts for everyone I know? Because I know that paying $25 for a t-shirt helps Disney keep this many employees standing around ready to help. If they tried to charge less for food and merchandise they would not be able to float an army of employees.

The kids and I had a chat about my behavior today. I told them that I feel like I’m not being very nice lately. Eldest child said, “Mom it’s obvious you need a break and you are louder than we like you to be but you aren’t being mean. You just… aren’t being as nice as usual. It’s ok.”

Youngest child said, “It is hurting my feelings that you don’t want to snuggle. I wish that would change.”

On one hand that doesn’t sound happy or good so why am I recording it here? On the other hand… I always see me as being mean and evil. My children tell me that is not their experience of me. That’s good.

Oh my goodness. A herd of longhorn cattle (a specific breed I can’t remember the name of right this second–they are indigenous to Africa and we don’t see them much in the US) are playing and running around right under me! Ok, that’s ridiculously cool. They are frisking and nudging each other.

The kids and I have been having really interesting conversations lately. We talk about the patriarchy and feminism and biospheres and sustainability and conservation and responsibility.

My kids perceive themselves as people who have the power to influence the world around them in positive AND negative ways and they pay a lot of attention to their behavior because of this. I feel floored that they care.

I mean…. I’ve told them they must care. But I’ve said that to thousands of kids over the years. Do you know how many have believed me? I could count them on my fingers.

We have 53 days until we get home. That’s a good thing. We are almost 3/4 of the way through the trip. I just went and counted (because people keep asking me) and we will see 30 states on this trip. (Including our home state.) Given how far we are through it I know that for sure now.

That’s awesome.

In order they are: Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Utah, Montana, Wyoming, South Dakota, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois, Indiana, Michigan, Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York, Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, DC, Virginia,North Carolina, Tennessee, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Texas, New Mexico & Arizona.

I originally had hopes for seeing a few more. I’m going to call it good though because we are crispy fried.

That’s a good thing. I’m respecting our limits.

Oh, good thing. I scheduled childcare for four nights this week. I’m already ecstatic. Want to know something better? I booked two massages for this week. I hurt so much.

Lucky bitch. Lucky bitch. Lucky bitch!

Right this second I feel like a spoiled, pampered, selfish princess. It’s kinda awesome. I’ll feel better after two massages this week. Hell yeah.

Good thing! I weighed myself this morning. Right at 160 lbs. Yup, that’s where I want to be.

Also good thing: Uhm, my pooping is doing better than average with fewer incidents of diarrhea. I’m happy about that. It isn’t expected. I can’t really figure out what is triggering what at this point. My eating is all over the place. But I have solid poop at least half the time right now. Well, “solid” is relative. It’s formed and banana-like. I don’t get hard poop. That’s just not part of my life. That’s ok though. I hear constipation sucks. My kids sometimes get too hard of poop and we have to consciously eat fruit for a bit. It doesn’t seem more pleasant than my diarrhea.

I haven’t been reading. It’s just not the year for it. I read a few books before we left home but I have only finished two Ramona books on the trip. Otherwise I’m reading the internet and that’s it. I just don’t have the attention span for more right now. It’s hard. I hate it when my brain is full like this. But, on the good side: I’ve watched several good shows on Netflix on this trip. Strange Empire, Call the Midwife, Grace and Frankie. They have more or less replaced West Wing as I’m traveling.

Good thing: my libido has returned. I miss Noah. I’m going to kill my Hitachi before I get home.

To build on that last one, I’ve occasionally looked at Craigslist Casual Encounters on this trip. That’s something I do for shits and giggles. It’s not like I can follow up. I have my kids. But it’s fun to look. You know what? I’m so grateful I am not still hunting.

 

Kids are wonderful and tiring

2 Replies

I want to write but my thoughts are scattered and my arms burn like fire. This hotel room table is at a bad height for me ergonomically and I never let that slow me down. I’m kinda dumb.

I’m over reacting to a lot of things. I’m having trouble not screaming over little, stupid things. It doesn’t help that the kids truly are being irritating. What is happening is: I’m pushing them away because I need space and time to calm down in my body. When I push them away they feel freaked out, rejected, and needy so they cling harder and whine the whole fucking time they are grabbing at me in ways that hurt and piss me off.

Next week the kids have scheduled child care. They asked. I feel a little guilty because Eldest Child flat said, “Mom can we arrange a bunch of childcare next week? I know it will be expensive but I’m pretty sure it will be good for all of us.”

Holy crap. How did I get a child this wonderful? This insightful? This aware?!?!?

My shrink regularly tells me that Eldest Child is preternaturally aware of how people work. “7 year olds just don’t care that much about other people. She’s unusual.”

This because my kid can graphically go through verbally describing why people get upset and which contributing factors are likely to bother which person. “It makes sense that you are angry mom. It is very frustrating when I do _____.”

I don’t know if it is weird. This is all I know. My kid behaves this way because I model it. I don’t really know another way to parent.

My kid understands that in some situations she messed up, sometimes I’m the one who messed up, sometimes Youngest Child messes up… the kid is just good at saying, “Ahhh I think this mistake happened because x person was tired and we haven’t eaten. Let’s fix that.”

I worry about teaching her to take too much responsibility for other peoples stuff, but at the same time she’s quick to not take responsibility when she wasn’t involved so… I don’t know. Maybe it will all work out? Who knows. But she is an amazing person. I am so grateful I get to stand near her.

My Eldest Child is so breathtakingly willing to accept consequences for screwing up that I can’t possibly avoid them for myself when I screw up. When I am inappropriate with the kids we discuss making amends. “What do you think I should do to help make up for this mistake?” Because I talk to them the same way about their behavior. No one is above making amends.

If you screw up you must take responsibility and find a way to solve the problem as best you can. Some problems can’t be fixed and you just have to live with the guilt of knowing you hurt someone/broke something. But you can learn how to not make that mistake again.

Everyone makes mistakes. The best people make mistakes every day and learn from them and make new mistakes tomorrow.

You can’t get through life without mistakes. You will never learn all you need to know. Mistakes teach you about fringe cases and important details. Mistakes teach you about how your awareness needs to spread to more areas.

Mistakes are as mandatory as breathing. You can’t grow without breathing and you can’t grow without making mistakes.

It’s ok. We all mess up. Sometimes the mistakes kinda suck and someone gets mad and maybe there’s screaming or a fight or grounding. But then you pick yourself and you keep going. Because that is what life is.

I check in with the kids after I scream at them. “I was a jerk and I was too loud… but I didn’t go over the line and start insulting you or calling you names, right? Was I in bounds that way?”

Once Eldest Child said, “Actually you slipped and called us brats. Don’t do that again.”

Yes ma’am.

I haven’t done it since.

And my children have never had the experiences I had at their ages. They have never been told that they are stupid, worthless, unworthy, a bitch, a cunt, a whore or that they are too pathetic to deserve life.

I have to tell myself that an occasional errant “brat” isn’t the end of the world. Especially when my children have the self confidence to turn around and tell me that saying “brat” is over the line and I need to knock it off right now.

This trip is causing me to see both of my children in a bunch of different settings so I’m feeling increasingly certain that Eldest Child needs to be evaluated by someone other than me. She has a lot of sensory issues and avoidance behaviors that she is developing to cope. I don’t want her to get locked into avoidance as the only way to cope with sensory overload. I did that with food as a kid and it is part of why I have so many health issues.

I’m really grateful that for all that she is hypersensitive to a lot of things… she doesn’t have the food texture issues I had. Thank goodness.

I’m watching her struggle with the same things I struggled with as a child. The things that made me feel helpless, incompetent, and like I was a failure as a human being. I have enough education and awareness at this point that I recognize that these patterns mean there is something not wired correctly. Help is available in the world. We just have to figure out what kind of help is needed and access it.

She struggles at the same things that used to cause my brothers to laugh at me and tell me if I “couldn’t even throw a ball I was too pathetic to deserve to live.” I’m not really sure why sports are so fucking important.

She doesn’t need to have the years of self-hatred I had. We can find help.

I feel sad and happy at the same time. I know enough that my kids won’t have to suffer like I did. But there is this part of me that can’t stop grieving over the fact that no one gave a shit about me for decades.

I know it isn’t true now. I know that I am loved and cared for now. I know that if I am in need of help now I can find it and/or pay for whatever I need.

But I still hurt. I feel like a pathetic, self-pitying bastard. It doesn’t feel like it is ok for me to keep mourning all these layers of shit from my childhood. But I hurt so much.

I’ve barely cried in months because I don’t like doing it around the kids and I don’t have privacy. I’m sure that is contributing to how backed up I feel emotionally. I don’t have a lot of release available to me when I’m alone with the kids. I really and truly need private space for the ongoing processing of trauma.

I have really big feelings about that. I’m feeling a lot of shame and guilt that I’m sitting here crying and whining like a dog because I can’t stop because I haven’t cried in a while.

The kids and I have been watching a new show, “Call the Midwife”. It’s borderline inappropriate for the kids because it deals with some really harsh truths about life in poverty. But I’m not one to shelter my kids from the fact that other people suffer terribly. They don’t deserve to go through life not knowing that other people have it shitty. No one deserves that, in my opinion, and I kind of hate the parents who bring their children up in a bubble such that the kids can’t understand suffering of other people.

Anyway.

Last night the episode talked about the “Workhouse Howl”. The keening, crying screaming noise that only happens when people suffer horribly for years with absolutely no chance of ever stopping that suffering.

I felt kind of freaked out because when the character started the cry… I knew that I make that sound. My kids kinda looked at me when the crying was explained. Yes, I make that sound sometimes.

It isn’t true that I have no chance to stop the suffering any more. But once your body starts crying like that… stopping it isn’t a voluntary thing. It just happens. Once you have been in that much pain for that long… you can’t always keep it in for the convenience and happiness of everyone around you.

Suffering and pain are really complicated and layered. I would like to believe that some day I will get to the point where I no longer hysterically scream/cry sometimes without volition because I have so many pent up emotions I can’t suppress the noise.

Being rich doesn’t fix these problems. Being rich means you can slowly begin to get help, but getting help is a confusing, horrible process. Even though I can pay for help, I have to know where to go for help, who to ask for help, and what kind of help I need to ask for.

That’s hard.

I have to find the solutions and then find people to help me implement the solutions. It’s hard. I understand why people who are struggling with poverty just can’t.

Trauma impacts you forever. I’m kind of tired of people acting like trauma isn’t a big deal and you should just “get over it”. You know what, motherfucker? I am getting over it. I am making progress. It’s still a nightmare. It’s been a nightmare to be in my body for decades. It is slowly improving but I have trouble believing that being inside my body is ever going to be a pleasant experience.

I wish I could stop crying.

Empathy is a mixed bag.

Leave a reply

I’m having a special snowflake problem. One of the reasons my marriage with Noah works as well as it does is because I am overly sensitive to emotional nuance and he is… less sensitive than might be perhaps preferable. Which means I don’t set him off and he can just be kind of consistent as a reference for me. This is convenient for both of us. But I can tell him when someone in his life is looking for emotional response.

“Dude. So and so doesn’t come and say such and such without wanting some kind of response. You don’t know what kind of response so you have to ask, ‘Oh no. Would you like x or y?'”

Mostly I do this with the kids of course. I don’t micromanage every relationship he has. Ahem.

Disney World is incredibly hard because when people around me are having big feelings, my body surges with them. The World is pretty much all about big feelings.

This is exhausting. It’s pretty awesome, but it’s exhausting. Every kid who is shrieking sends my blood pressure skyrocketing.

Luckily I have naturally very low blood pressure and I know how to get it back under control relatively quickly… but I still have the reaction and I have to deal with it. Every kid who is crying causes an emotional surge.

I’m kind of tired of my body bouncing up and down because of everyone else’s emotions. It’s starting to physically hurt.

I’m not so good with “boundaries” in some big, dramatic, noticeable to me ways. If my friend is in a troubled relationship I fret and worry and spend almost as much time flipping out as if it were my troubled relationship and that’s inappropriate.

I feel connected to people. Their sorrows, their frustrations, their difficulties impact me.

Yesterday we had a server at breakfast who messed up everything about our order. Everything had to be sent back and redone. To the extant that I said, “May I have milk to go in my tea” and she brought me an additional pot of tea, with no milk.

Goodness woman. Are you listening at all?

But she looked really sad. She looked like she was having a rough time and having a hard time keeping her mind on her work.

I tipped 80% because we didn’t order much and that was about how much I would have left if we had ordered 3-4 breakfasts like a “usual” table for her.

My experience of working service jobs was that someone forgiving you for mistakes can turn a day around. It inspires you to keep trying.

I notice people feeling bad and I just… can’t ignore it. Even when it is to my detriment. Even when I cause myself problems because I’m not keeping my mind on my business and instead my mind is on everyone’s business but mine.

I think I’m getting better about this but this may be a lifelong struggle for me.

I kinda wish I didn’t love all you motherfuckers. My life would be easier.

Abuse & therapy

Leave a reply

I was asked for a little advice. A friend is getting to the point where (s)he believes that (s)he can no longer be in denial about being in an abusive relationship.

I’m going to use very gender ambiguous language here. As ambiguous as possible because this is not a gendered issue. Abuse can happen to anyone regardless of their age, gender, sex, sexual orientation, race, religion, etc.

Abuse can happen to anyone and it is not your fault. You cannot control the behavior of other people. If other people decide to abuse you… you have control over how you react. You do not have control over their behavior.

This is a website that goes through some things to think about with regards to abuse. What things count as abuse. I am intensely bothered by this attitude we have in America that abuse is always (or even mostly) perpetrated by men upon women.

I think we can only say “mostly” if we ignore a lot of more subtle forms of abuse. Yes, men tend to be more physically violent than women or non-binary people. I think that is a result of enculturation as much or more than biology.

Men are abused. Non-binary people are abused. We need to get rid of the narrative that only women are abused.

If you think you might be in an abusive relationship you need to start thinking about some aspects of your life differently. You can no longer consider your partner before yourself. If you are being abused you must act to protect yourself. What does that mean?

Well, I think most people who are being abused would be best served by getting into therapy with a skilled and educated provider because such a person can help you access resources in your area I can’t know about because I’m some chick on the internet who doesn’t live near you.

But I’m 30+ years into my therapy career and I’ve seen 21 therapists and I’m well aware that skilled and educated providers are thin on the ground.

Be ok with firing a therapist if they turn out to not be skilled or educated in the kinds of stuff you need help with. Therapists are service providers and if a service provider doesn’t have the skills you need… move on. You wouldn’t hire someone to dye your hair if the only skill they have is doing a buzz cut.

It’s not about being mean to the therapist. You don’t owe a therapist anything other than appropriate compensation for the time you spend with them. Beyond that you don’t owe them anything. Move on if a given provider isn’t fitting. Therapy is about helping you develop the skills you want to have and you don’t currently have. Their feelings are irrelevant.

I mean, they are people and they matter… but don’t keep seeing  a therapist because you feel bad about breaking up with them. They really should have at least enough training to encourage you to move on to someone who is a better fit. If they are clingy… run fast. Consider reporting them to the state board.

Ok, how do you interview therapists to see if they are right for you? There are a bunch of factors to consider.

  1. Are you looking for help working through a short-term crises or are you looking for a long-term therapy relationship? It is best if you can screen for suitability for your needs early on. If you don’t go in with expectations set it can really be hard. Most people who are not mentally ill can have 3-6 months of supportive sessions to get through a crises and then move on without therapy. Not everyone is a lifer. I am, and if you are then you need to learn how to look for that. At this point I tell new potential therapists, “I’m looking for a long-ish term commitment from therapy. I need an intense relationship with a lot of transference because I’m trying to heal wounds from neglectful parenting. I need a relationship with someone who can be supportive and enthusiastic about me being genuinely a non-standard person. I need a parental substitute who can help guide me without trying to control me.”
  2. Do you know much about different therapy types? It might be most effective if you do a little bit of research before you go in. CBT, DBT, psychoanalysis, Gestalt therapy, Existential therapy… there are as many different models of therapy as there are people who need help, just about. Google these terms. I don’t want to put just random links up next to the terms and there is a lot of conflicting information out there. You have to be educated because most therapists aren’t capable of telling you, “I know x but you probably need y.” You have to learn what the options are and you have to proactively say, “I think I need help with changing my behavior. I believe a dialectical behavior therapy approach would work best for me.” Then go shopping for people who have specialties that match up with your best guesses. Your best guesses are all you have at first. (Personally I now say, “I need Harm Reduction therapists. Period. I don’t work with abstinence only people.”)
  3. Be ok with making mistakes. Life is about screwing up and then learning to do better. You’ll screw up as you try to figure out how to stop being abused. It is really hard.
  4. Document as much as you can force yourself to. If you are married and especially if there are children involved things may get to court. If you go to court you want to have documentation of when you have what kinds of arguments. Write down as much as possible about what you are saying and about what your partner is saying. Date everything you write down. If you are dealing with a bad co-parenting situation, write down every time your partner demonstrates neglect towards your children because it could be vitally important in court for protecting your kids. It’s time to stop thinking about what you want instead you must think about what is best for your children. If you have no children… well, documenting will save you headaches in court. If you aren’t married and things are bad enough for documentation… maybe just run. Rebuilding may not be harder than what you are doing.
  5. If you decide to pursue therapy as a short term process, go in with as much supporting documentation as you can so your therapist can jump in full speed with you. Write up documents. Write up a cast list for your life. Write up diagrams explaining how people are connected. Mention major traumas that may be applicable. Talk about how your work/school/friendships are being impacted by this problem. You need to explain to this professional how much of your life is being impacted. They can’t know unless you tell them. If you write this stuff down as a document they can read it outside of session and you probably won’t be charged for the time. My current shrink read my whole auto-biography when we started working together. Now that’s professional dedication.
  6. Be aware. Joint counseling is NOT RECOMMENDED in abusive relationships. Couples counseling often just adds fuel to the fire. Get yourself in order.
  7. If you are being abused the best advice I can give you is don’t try to change your abuser in any way. That’s a waste of your energy and time and you need to throw as much energy and time as you have at yourself. You need to prioritize you. You matter.
  8. If it is bad enough, you can call your domestic violence shelter in your area and ask for help finding resources.
  9. Calling the police is a very mixed experience. I can’t say if you should or shouldn’t. It depends on how bad the abuse is.
  10. Be aware that the most dangerous time in an abusive relationship is when you leave. That is when the most folks are killed. Be careful. Read The Gift of Fear by Gavin de Becker and learn how to listen to your gut. You can’t move on in life if you are dead. Take threats seriously, but don’t get paranoid. Learn how to evaluate threats.
  11. Reach out for help. Tell your friends. Don’t get isolated. You’re going to need help. It’s ok to need help. Helping you is part of the glue that holds social communities together. Helping people in a time of need is bonding. It’s ok to ask for help. You are still a grown ass woman or a grown ass man or a grown ass person not on the binary. You are not diminished by needing help. You are humanized.

I love you. You need to love you too.

To clarify a point

2 Replies

Pam asked me to clear up a point. In my previous post I mentioned Blacksheep and I mentioned having trouble with a friend not respecting a soft no.

These are two separate people. I’m not being more specific about the soft no problem because I’m having very large feelings and I could be Miss Ranty Pants but I’d prefer to preserve the friendship and figure out a way to manage my expectations and needs that doesn’t torpedo the relationship. So I’m being a bit vague.

Ms Blacksheep is a good Jewish mother. If you hint that something is a no she immediately is there noticing with the, “Oh this doesn’t work for you? Should I try ____ or ______ or ______ or if you don’t want any of those options I’ve got ______ in the freezer.”

No, my big feelings about Blacksheep just come up for me a lot because I can tell I am triggered beyond what is proportional to what is happening in the relationship. I’m really afraid of fucking this one up. Hysterically afraid of fucking it up. So afraid of fucking it up that when I’m with her I’m triggered and ranty and more likely to fuck it up. Because I’m awesome.

I do that with some relationships and not with others and it isn’t clear to me when or why it is different.

I’m trying to figure out why though. Maybe I can do something about it.

Does that help, Pam? I love you. Thank you for asking me questions.

Day off- watched Mississippi Damned

Leave a reply

The kids and I took yesterday afternoon off. We got back to the room around 2 and we stayed in from then on. Now it is noon and the kids don’t have any interest in getting dressed.

So after a light breakfast of Lucky Charms I made myself a huge lunch. I had orange juice, two cups of tea, a ham and cheese sandwich, an apple, and carrots with hummus.

I am stuffed and I haven’t drank all my orange juice yet.

And just now my meds hit.

Hallelujah. Today is awesome.

I actually think I might try to talk them into getting dressed around 4 or 5 and heading into Magic Kingdom for the parades and fireworks. That’s going to be our best shot at seeing them.

So of course, being me… I’m watching Mississippi Damned which is about a dysfunctional family. I hear there will be intense incest and beatings later in the movie. (I’m going to spoiler the fuck out of this movie as I watch it. Just so you know.)

I’m in my feels.

It’s not much like my family or my story. But it is based on a real story and I’ve read a lot of responses from women who say this is like their stories.

This is intense. Like, whoa.

This… you know what? I feel like my mama did me a mountain of favors from the simple fact that she stopped dating.

I’m really glad I only had to deal with one crazy abusive father and one demanding controlling step-father and one inappropriately sexual boyfriend. That’s a short list compared to many women.

She had other relationships in her lifetime, but they predate my memory. Like the father of my sister, who denied that he had ever had sex with her.

My mama did find it in her to go it alone. In some ways… I think that was the biggest gift she gave me. She taught me how to be ok alone. I mean, she’s not ok and she’s not really completely alone. But she doesn’t need Romantic Relationships.

Many women my age believe they aren’t safe unless they have a man. My mama taught me that having a man around is never fully safe.

I feel deeply conflicted about what it is that I’m teaching my children.

I’m going to keep doing it. I’m in it. I’m in it till the end. I’m committed. But I don’t know I’m right. You never know until it is over and it is too late to do anything different.

But as I watch a screaming fight over interrupted sex between folks who are married to other folks and a miscarriage and…

You know what? My mama ran from trouble. She taught me that the safest way to deal with most problems is to run.

I don’t know if she is still running. I know I am. But right now I’m sitting on a porch in sunny Florida at Walt Disney World.

Running has worked out okay for me so far.

This movie is about people who can’t run from their problems. They are deeply invested in their local community. They have roots.

I wonder what that would be like.

What would it be like to believe that leaving everything you know means “moving to a fairytale world”.

No, that’s just life. You move. You start over. You meet new people.

You don’t stay in a small town if you are a dyke with a big mouth. You move on. I didn’t have problems for being queer. No one ever gave a shit about that part of my identity. They were too overall baffled by my presentation to figure out what the hell to object to.

(The dyke in the movie just got in a fist fight.)

And she goes home to get hit more.

I left home when I was 18. I didn’t get out because I was smart or because I was more deserving. I got out because I had the resources to do it.

I believe every one deserves a basic income. I really do. People stay in the most horrifying traumatic situations because they don’t have better options. Money is a disgusting tool.

“If anyone is to blame it is you” said to the woman who interrupted the sex that shouldn’t have been happening. Because the problem is the person pointing out the problem, not the problem.

Yeah. I know that dynamic.

Oh god. Murder. Well, that’s one way to deal with cheating. But why did you shoot the woman who was being cheated with instead of the damn man?

You know what? Fuck the sisterhood.

Shoot the man. Don’t defend the sisterhood of “don’t sleep with my man”. No. Fuck that noise. He’s the problem. She is not someone you have the right to demand such loyalty of that the punishment for disloyalty is death.

No. No. No.

I have not signed such an oath.

You know what? I’ve fucked married men. I’ve fucked cheaters. I don’t owe the sisterhood nothing.

Does that make me a bad person? Add it to the list. Whatever.

Oh golly I respect this man. His daughter flat out asked, “Are you a good father?” He said, “Sometimes. Sometimes not.”

Thank you for that self reflection. I appreciate it even though it isn’t for or about me.

“Some daddies aren’t good at being fathers.”

Yeah. That’s the truth.

I’m having feels about Noah. But I’m not going to write about them. I want to forget them.

Oh no. Here is where the incest stuff comes up. This boy was already victimized. He knows how things work. Now he’s the initiator because he thinks it is how it is supposed to work.

Fuck.fuck.fuckity.fuck.

“Get me a beer.”

Words I’m glad I didn’t have to hear much.

“2nd Notice of Eviction” oh I’ve seen that on my door a lot.

“At least I didn’t let some high school crush be the highlight of my life.” Oh that’s something I was afraid of.  I’m pretty sure I’m safely past that accusation.

This fight right here, between the destitute convict and her mother about money and childhood abuse… that’s part of why I never asked my mama for nothing.

“You gotta watch your back in places like that…. As long as you’re next to family you got heart.”

Oh. My. God. From a family with a lot of trauma and incest and abuse. You know what?! Strangers in the big city are not a bigger risk than your family.

Why do I say that? Because being raped by my “friends” was less traumatic than fucking my actual biological father was. (Friends is in square quotes because at this point I no longer perceive that people who would do that were ever actually my friends. They were guys I knew.)

Hell yeah. Grandmama just brought out a shot gun on the man who was throttling her daughter. ROCK ON!

You know what? I’m not that violent of a person. I try hard to find a way to find solutions without violence. But if you are being attacked I think you have every right to a full throttle defense, from yourself or from a nearby person. And besides the bitch didn’t defend her daughters from her own husband. I’m glad she will at least defend them from their husbands.

Yeah, I do believe in bystander intervention sometimes. I know it isn’t popular. I know that it is frowned upon in some circles. I know why. It is dangerous.

Life is dangerous.

It’s not about being a hero and you can’t think about it that way. That isn’t the point. It isn’t about “being a rescuer”.

It’s about paying attention to the people around you and giving a shit about what happens to them.

But people are so complicated. This movie is reminding me how very complicated people are. We are all so hurt.

“You’ve always gotta make it about you, right?”

Well, we are the main character in our own story, right?

But not everything that happens near me is about me. Sometimes it is, but mostly… I’m not the center of everything. I’m just some chick.

It is complicated how some people are in a position to care more about your intentions and some people are in a position to care about the results of your actions and fuck your intentions you son of a bitch.

Now a woman is fighting cancer. Watching how her family copes with it…

That’s why other people believe they need family. They believe they cannot get such support any other way. But I showed up in the queer community at 18. I watched tight, fierce, chosen families.

I’m an asshole about them. But I know they exist. You just have to show up for them. If I wanted to keep showing up in those communities things would have been different.

I ran away. I went home. I built Wonderland and I had babies and I stopped seeing a lot of the people who were my “chosen family”. A few of the people from back then still come around. Not many.

The number drops by the year.

My loyalty to the people who have made the transition into parent-age with me is decidedly impacted.

And more cheating. More screwing underage inappropriate women. Yeah this movie is a humdinger. I believe this is based on a true story. I know men like these.

I am so grateful I am not prey any more.

I am even more grateful my daughters never will be. It won’t happen.

But doesn’t every mother want to believe that? Even when it is right under their noses and they can’t possibly not see.

I try to tell myself that my children are too blurty. Too prone to share all their business with everyone who walks by. Including every factoid I’ve ever taught them about anatomy or bodily autonomy or bodily integrity or…

I try to tell myself that even though I can’t save everyone… I can keep them safe. Yes, I know I’m throwing everyone else under the bus. I’m sorry.

I didn’t throw them there. I just didn’t roll under with them.

But isn’t that how white feminists justify most of what they do?

What we do.

I’ve got skin in this game and make no mistake.

Oh no. Now we get to the college acceptance letter that decides if the next generation of abuse victims is getting out or staying home to just pass it right along.

She did it. She got in.

In time for her most supportive aunt to die from poverty and diabetes.

Yeah. Life is a real shithole.

The aunt didn’t wait until she actually ran out of insulin. She stopped taking it because she didn’t want the end to be slow and by drips. She had no more money for food anyway.

Yeah. Life is like that.

The last thing she did with her life was tell the girl to “get out. Get away. Go be what we couldn’t.”

Perspective is a nasty son of a bitch. I begged my niece to get out. She wouldn’t.

Ok. I can’t go under the bus with you. I can’t.

I won’t make that choice for my children.

Oh god. The most supportive aunt did have some money left. She left it all to the niece in a lump sum for college.

Yeah. That’s how you get out. You have some support appear.

And the lesbian is in the psych ward. Because she can’t move on from her one high school crush.

Life sucks so fucking much.

Do you know what watching these kinds of movies makes me want to do? Log on to my bank account and transfer more money into long-term investments.

I do not want to end this way. They are killing themselves left and right.

I do not want to end this way. I want something different. And that takes money.

Just like my father in the movie the serial predator kills himself instead of taking his punishment and giving that respect to his victims. Fuck you. Yeah, I know bad shit happened to you too. I know.

Take your fucking punishment you son of a bitch. You earned it.

God damn bastard.

I believe people need to be held accountable for their behavior. So I write mine down as it happens so that I can’t rewrite history. Yeah. I fuck up.

Everyone does. Some of us do it big. Some of us do it over and over. Very very few of us tell the truth about it.

I need truth. Even though truth is sometimes not the same thing as fact. Something can be distorted and still be a truth. Because in every truth there is room for many interpretations. It doesn’t mean it is a fact.

How am I defining these.

It can be true that I need to defend myself even if people don’t feel like they are attacking me. I have more than once needed to physically force people off my body on dance floors because they landed on me and didn’t notice that they were crushing a person and, “Hey why are you so mad?”

I wasn’t assaulted. That’s a fact. There was no intent to harm. It is still true that I had to defend myself. Because they were hurting me and I had to make it stop.

There can be more than one truth. Near as I can tell there is no end to the amount of hurt that can be passed around. I think that means there is room for a lot of different truth.

As I sit here in my posh Walt Disney World condo I reflect on how I don’t deserve to be here.

There is no deserve. Jenny, you asked why I conflate people saying I deserve things now with meaning that I deserved things that happened a long time ago. I love you very much and I take the question very seriously and I may bring it up for years as I try to explain it. I hope it doesn’t get annoying. Tell me to get over it if you need to. I love you.

Saying it is a trigger is short hand. Most people who deal with mental illness can tell you that something is a trigger and that’s about as much as they can follow that path. “I have BIG FEELINGS.”

Well, I’m not like that. I was told that I would know when I was in real labor when I was no longer able to speak. Bitch I was articulately yelling instructions while I was pushing. I was popular for bdsm demonstrations because you can beat the shit out of me and in between screams I can drop down into normal speech and clearly articulate what hurts and where and what is positive and negative about various sensations for what reasons.

I’m special.

I can talk when I’m hurting.

I learned. I taught myself. I worked on it because I was told and told and told to be quiet and I noticed that I only got help when I could tell enough of the story fast enough to get peoples attention. I have to be good at an elevator pitch.

And that skill plus running away has provided the most safety I’ve found.

Let me tell you, things work so well with Noah largely because we are both talkers. Speaking of which, I should go call him. Big feelings.

I want to write more about triggers. But I also want to rest my arms.

Leave a reply

A writer I admire had a good post: http://www.raisingmyboychick.com/2015/09/on_dependence/

Yesterday I was talking to a friend about home schooling our children, a topic that comes up a lot at this stage of our lives. We were talking about how to help kids develop these specific physical skills and we were brainstorming approaches.

I remember, when I was a little girl, I used to go to my mother and cry and say, “But I’m not good at doing anything but reading. I’m so useless.”

My mama would tell me, “You aren’t useless. Maybe you don’t know for sure what you are good at yet but give yourself a few years. You aren’t dead yet.”

That’s an intensely positive memory of my mother and I’m grateful I have it.

At some point in the past few years I recognized my talent: I can teach. On one hand it doesn’t seem like a big deal. On the other hand… I’ve been teaching for a while and I recognize how few people really have it as a talent.

I’m not trying to brag. I’m trying to be self aware.

I am incredibly good at seeing that someone has trouble doing ______ and helping them figure out how to do it. Not doing it for them but helping them brainstorm how to do the task. I’m good at showing people ways their bodies can move to accomplish things they didn’t know they could do. I coach people well.

I can do it with physical skills–even skills I’m not that great at. I can look at what a person is doing now, ask some questions about where they want to be, and help them bridge the gap. “Oh, you don’t see that you have to also move this finger over here like that in order to get it. Yup you nailed it!”

I am good at seeing the potential people have. That’s a real skill and not one everyone has.

Sometimes I don’t even realize how many skills I possess and how much stuff I know until I realize that someone else doesn’t know it yet and I can teach it. I am an accomplished, experienced person. I’m not a single subject expert at much of anything–my standards for “expert” are too high. But I’m acceptably good at a ridiculous range of skills.

Thank you, mama. You told me I’d figure something out and you were right. Thank you.

I am not always the best person to execute a plan of improvement. Sometimes I have to delegate to someone who has more steadiness for long-term execution.

A few weeks ago someone online said there are three kinds of leaders: visionaries, sustainers, and builders.

That really touched my heart. I’ve been thinking about it a lot.

I’m not a sustainer and it breaks my heart. I want to be. I wish I was. I’m not. My Auntie was a sustainer and I have admired her and loved her my whole life, I can’t be like her.

I’m somewhere between a visionary and a builder. I’m not someone who feels strongly motivated to put a lot of physical energy into building things for other people. I’m a selfish bastard. I’ll build in my house and in my yard.

Which leaves me with visionary. I’d better start writing more.

I have some ideas for books. That’s pretty exciting for me. I should start making notes. I’m actually fleshing out a solid outline for a speculative fiction book in my head.

That’s kind of a departure from my normal…

I have no desire to work for policy change. I know that is the route to real difference in the future but I don’t have it to give. I get so agitated and angry and upset. I can’t sit in the room and be calm like that. But maybe I could give the people who do have such energy a few ideas? It’s worth trying anyway.

Never doubt that you can influence people. All you have to do is talk and talk and talk and then act in front of them. For better or worse you will influence them.

Seeing Frida Kahlo’s work in Washington DC motivated me in a profound way. I’ve had men flat tell me that women don’t do anything worth paying attention to.

Maybe for you. I disagree. Many women have done things I want to pay attention to. Let me cut you off instead.

I honestly believe that at this stage my primary duty as a home schooling parent is to teach my children self regulation. That means teaching them to be aware of their bodies and their emotions and figuring out how to manage them. It is hard. I learned most of these skills as an adult, I didn’t know how to regulate myself when I was a child and that fact complicated my whole life.

My children will never have such difficulties. They will be privileged to always have an awareness of themselves.

It can be taught from childhood, this privilege. I recognize it in healthy families and I try to emulate it. I see parents I respect talking to their kids about, “Well sweetie lets talk about what you ate today and lets see if we can figure out why your belly hurts.”

Don’t block them from having experiences. Stand there with them and help them interpret the experiences. Yes, that’s what we’re doing here!

If you do something for your child to make it “easier” for them you aren’t actually helping them. You are handicapping them. All children need to have the experience of struggling through difficulty towards mastery. This is how they learn to walk. This is how they learn to speak Hindi. This is how they learn to throw a ball. If someone helps you by doing it for you… you can’t learn.

Watching your children struggle isn’t always fun, but I’m finding it very validating and rewarding.

Oh. That’s why things were so hard for me as a kid. Because I was a kid. Oh. Ha.