It Could Happen to Anyone, and Frequently Does

I have a past. No kidding...everybody does. My past regrets have more to do with what I didn't do, than what I did. I live everyday with scars from a relationship where I got physically and mentally battered for years. It doesn't matter who the guy was now. What matters is that I allowed it to continue because of my own lack of self worth. So it's my fault then? NO! I got caught up in a situation I had no idea how to handle, add to that the incredible amount of fear and what I ended up with was me, stuck, too afraid to leave, too insecure to think I deserved better and staying because leaving seemed too difficult. Domestic violence situations are sticky. When love and emotional ties are mingled with violence, the clear cut answers we swear we have when we are young go right out the window. The other issue is the embarrassment we feel at having been victimized. I thought I was too smart to allow someone to hurt me. I thought that only happened to other people. I thought I was strong enough to level anybody who laid their hands on me. What I didn't count on was the emotional bullying, the idea that I would caught in a struggle of forgiveness and repeat offending. The apologies would begin right away, only moments after I would find myself on the floor, bleeding, bruised form head to toe from being tossed around like a rag doll. "I swear I don't know my own strength sometimes. It's just that YOU make me so mad. If you would only be quiet and not talk to me when I am like this. I'm sorry, it will never happen again." And it wouldn't, until it did.
My life was wrapped up in this person. Tearing myself away wasn't going to be easy, or simple. My situation was going to be a full blown mess. When I finally did leave, that is exactly what it was, a full blown mess, that lasted for another several years. I had protected this man from others finding out the truth. I wore long sleeves in 80 degree heat to cover the bruises or tell others I was clumsy. I lied for this man who beat the snot out of me for anything he didn't like. I stood up for him against family and friends , who dared to question my judgment when it came to him. He would then blame me for all of his problems and promptly punish me for them. I never knew when it was coming. We would go months, be in love, be happy and then the bottom would fall out again. I found myself hiding from him when he drank. I found myself getting quieter and quieter, trying desperately to disappear within myself. I found myself wishing I were dead so all of the pain would stop. Bruises healed, but the verbal abuse stayed with me all day, every day. "You are a fat, stupid, worthless piece of sh*t! No one wants you. I took pity on you, you ungrateful B*tch!" Those words would play in my head on a continuous loop. I was completely forgiving of him, and completely unforgiving of me. "Maybe if I were thinner, prettier, quieter, smarter, worked harder, then maybe just maybe, he would not hate me so much. And if I could get better and better, not sleep so much, never leave the house and wait on him hand and foot, he would actually love me." Those were the lies I would tell myself, in order to live through another day. By the end of things, I believed every horrible thing he ever said about me. I was as certain as he was, that I was not worth the space I took up. I was unworthy of the oxygen I used to stay alive. It didn't take long before both of us wanted me dead.
To this day whenever somebody scares me, by jumping out of nowhere, in innocent fun, mind you, I fall to the ground and sob. There will be no haunted houses in my future until this stops. The sick games played at my expense, where I had to hide in order to protect myself are the ghosts that live with me. I have the deeply embedded scars of someone who got seriously hurt by someone who was supposed to love them. I had to sit down with my husband and tell him what happened to me. I had to be honest, because not everything has gone away. For the most part, time has healed most of my wounds. The love of a good man brought me back to the land of the living. Every once in a while, something triggers that feeling of desperation and I am back in that horrific place where I thought I wouldn't survive. Every once in a while, I confess to Michael how needy and scared I am, because of things in the past that haunt me, still. I am honest about all of it, because once I was out, I swore to myself, I would do whatever it took, to get ME back.
I no longer blame me for not being "enough". I no longer blame me for being so stupid because I put up with it. I learned my lessons, but I survived long enough to be able to do that. Not every woman is so lucky. Not every person, men, too, get the chance to heal the wounds, and learn to love again without fear.
My past doesn't define who I am, but it certainly drives me to be better and stand up for what I believe. My ghosts are there as a reminder to keep a watchful eye out for others who are need of help, guidance or shelter. When I talk about this part of my past, I still cry, as I tell the story. I cry for the young woman who was too terrified to seek help. I cry for all the wasted time spent loving someone who couldn't possibly love me back. I cry for every bad thing I ever believed that wasn't true. I cry now because I didn't cry for years when it was going on. I wasn't allowed to cry or I would get punished more, harder, and longer. I went for a life time keeping my tears on the inside so I wouldn't make things worse, as if that was possible.
Michael lets me cry whenever I want. He tenderly holds me and allows me to feel anything that my mind can conjure. He allows me to be silly, funny, angry, weepy, needy, loving, hateful, and sometimes disgusting. Because these are all things that are real to every one of us. Michael doesn't love me in spite of who I am, but because of who I am. I am safe with this man. My heart feels it deeply everyday, the security I had longed for and stopped believing existed, exists with him.
My story is not unique. My past is not jaw dropping or shocking. Domestic violence happens every day, to all kinds of people, in every walk of life. If you see someone in your life who is trapped, try your level best to get them help, even if it means calling the police as an anonymous tip. Your singular action could help them find the courage to get out.

Dearest Friend

Anybody who knows me for more than five minutes knows about my wild love for my brother from a different mother. He is my very dearest and oldest friend. Jim, has been my very best friend for many decades now. We have been friends since I was nine years old. I am 47 now, so you do the math. The very first time we spent the day together we did absurd things and laughed at each other. We let our imaginations soar and the games in our head became reality. I remember that day the way I remember the day my kids were born. It really was that important to me.
I am close to his mother, loving her for bringing me the person I first connected in a "chosen to be with me always" way. When I go north and visit, she is always on my list of people to see. We laugh and tell stories of her children and mine. We hug in the bond of love we share for her son. There isn't enough time on earth for me to thank her for producing this brilliant, charming, funny man, whom I have spent much of my life adoring.
Jim and I haven't lived in the same town since we were 18 years old, yet we talk several times a month and send each other letters or funny cards, always mindful that we are lucky to have any relationship last this long. He is single and travels the world, while I am married and raising kids. We are polar opposites in the way our lives turned out. He had no desire to have children of his own, but teaches several hundred children a year as a high school teacher. I have four of my own kids and would rather be beaten with a stick than try and teach anybody's kids to do anything. One of the things we have in common is the tremendous respect we have for each others choices.
I am different around Jim. I forget that I am aging and my body doesn't resemble, even the slightest, what it did when I was nine. I am exuberant around him and dance in his living room as he tells me wild stories of his latest adventure. I sit and listen intently as he whispers the triumph and tragedy of what has transpired in his life. I am riveted by this man, and always have been.
When we were in high school, we were asked if we were going to get married. We would look at each other completely puzzled at the inquiry. Years later we would understand why folks would think we would be together always, but we always knew it would be in so much a different way than any conventional idea anybody else had. As much as we got along and loved each other's company, we were not each other's type. We did go on a singular date to see what people were talking about when they would tell us we were perfect for each other. We went and saw "An Officer and a Gentleman" with Richard Geer and then off to the neighborhood pizza joint for dinner. The evening should have been really romantic. Let's face it, if a couple can't pull romance out of that scenario they are brother and sister. So there it was. We were not a couple, we were family.
Jim is not a web kinda guy. He rarely emails, never gets on social sites and would rather be tortured than cyber chat. He calls when he can, and we see each other when I travel up to see my own parents. I am totally hooked up to the web because of the book. i am grateful to be re-connected with my friends and access information in the blink of an eye. I have a great appreciation for FB, Myspace and other sources where I can contact my kids when I need to since they are scattered to the wind, most days. If I want to know what goes on in their world, I need to check their statuses.
I had wished Jim were more accessible to me. I am definitely into instant gratification, so the idea of having him online was really appealing. "Oh, girl, I cannot!" Jim looked at me as if I had asked him for one of his vital organs. I instantly understood that he hated the idea and would not be participating. Enough said. I have not asked again since that fateful moment when I was certain he would never. I guess I understand why. He is surrounded by high school kids all year who are hyper connected. The last thing he probably wants is more exposure. Jim is a somewhat quiet, and somewhat reserved at home. He relishes his peace and quiet, reading multiple books at one time, rarely watching TV or listening to music. When staying at his house, the silence at first is deafening for me, since I am used to barking dogs, meowing cats, driving stereos and competing TVs. After the first day, I get used to the quiet and start my growing appreciation for all things peaceful. I learned what life is like when there are no electronics on in a house. I retrained my brain to live temporarily without the constant buzz of voices all around spouting a thousand different facts and opinions in a single afternoon.
When I am with Jim, I live as he lives. We eat out or cook in his kitchen, drink wine, talk books, laugh at silly jokes, sit in coffee shops and read to each other. We play games in book stores using the titles as playful weapons at each other. I live simply, delectably, when I am his guest.
I found a page on facebook today where his previous students can go and pay their respects to one of the most loved teachers they have ever had. I sat stunned and smiling as I saw pictures of my dear friend and his students. I saw where he has made his mark. I was able to bare witness to a part of his life I have never really known. It was a good day for me. I felt comfort in seeing his face. He is traveling again, as he does every summer, so I am cut off from talking with him. Soon he will be home, calling me telling me of his trip, laughing at what all went wrong and regaling stories of the people he met and the food he ate (my favorite part). I will tell him about the page where he is highlighted as a teacher celebrity by the students who love him so much, to which he wave away the comment and mumble, "such nonsense" under his breath. His humility will over rule any ego he may be tempted by. That is the great thing about Jim, he has no idea just how important he really is.

Happy Father's Day

It's Father's Day today and I was reflecting on how lucky I am when it comes to fathers. My own dad is a great guy I can laugh and joke with and have big conversations with. My Mom's dad, my grandpa Dennis, was a big teddy bear of a guy who loved me so much, I carry it with me still. My children's father, Danny, loved our kids like no one I had ever witnessed before. His only fear in life was not being around for his kids. He would do anything for them and proved it every day. And now they have Michael. Michael quietly goes about the business, of being a father to our kids, with little or no expectation of anything except the occasional hug. The kids have grown to love and appreciate him, as I do. Michael is a good man, who deeply loves his children. He speaks of how fortunate he is to have a family of his own. He respects the place Danny has in the kid's hearts and memories. The kids don't distinguish between the love of their father, Danny and the love they have from Michael. It is merely a continuation of what they have always known.
When it comes to fathers, yes, I have been really lucky or blessed or whatever you may want to qualify it as. The men in my life have shown me how to be strong, loyal, tough, and loving. They have taught us all that family comes first and honor and dignity are important. My men have shown me that my word is my bond and that I deserve the same respect I afford others.
Today we will celebrate Father's Day and let our guys know how very much we love them. It's the least we can do for the men who have given so much.

The Long Way Home

It seems like a lifetime ago Mike and I decided it was time to give up our big beautiful house, renovate it back to it's former glory, and move on to a different kind of life. So much has happened, much of it unfortunate since we made that decision back last August. I have had to come to terms with the changes to my personal being of having children grow up, losing jobs and having my body give out in ways I never considered. So much letting go in all of this. I have always maintained that I am not my house or job or even my physical body. I am who I am because of the soul that exists within me. Even my beating heart does not define me. Long after this body gives way, I will still exist in the hearts and memories of those I love.
We have suffered growing pains during this time that prevented me from writing positive, uplifting things in this blog. I am , after all, merely human. I have shed tears of pain and frustration at the unfairness that has come to Mike and I during the last year. I felt deeply, that although this has been very uncomfortable, that somewhere along the line, there are better things that await us. I have never lost faith, but it has certainly been tested. I think that is where the real strength of faith lies, in the trials we endure to grow into ourselves.
We were packing up the few remaining items out of the house, and all I could think of was, I want to go "home", where my children, pets and stuff are. The house no longer felt like my home; it just felt like being in some house I no longer felt tied to. The last day, Mike and I peered into the windows, as if we were outsiders looking in, which in truth, we were. The house belongs to a new family now. There are sounds of young children and babies in the house. They are swimming in the pool, swinging on the tree swing that Mike had built for one of my birthdays, laughing and giddy at the prospect of making the house their new home. We said our good-byes to the house, we moved so far from where we came from and went back to the apartment that welcomed us with a ceiling collapse due to flooding from the washing machine above. Boxes are our new furniture and the place is packed with our belongings that have no home. It isn't really depressing, in fact in some ways it represents the relief we feel from releasing our hold on our stuff and big over sized house that no longer suited us.
On our anniversary we signed the remaining papers and gave the new owners our keys, assuring them they had the best neighbors in the world. I think for me that was the biggest sacrifice, giving away my neighbors, who I dearly love and would do anything for. I teased them saying since we were temporarily "homeless" we would rent their upstairs just to stay close to them. When we moved to Houston, we had nothing. Our stuff and my car were in transit and we didn't have a stick of furniture or a single appliance, except the stove. We had no idea what it would be like to live in Houston. We knew nothing of Texas except the single trip we had made to look at houses. We were as naive as babies. Six years seems like a lifetime now, looking back.
We recently found a house that is more suitable to Mike and my new lifestyle. At least two of the four children will be moving out, and our petting zoo will be reduced by at least one rabbit. We gave away furniture, placing it on the tree lawn for anyone who needed, or wanted it. I released some of the "treasures" from when my kids were babies in order to fit more easily into our new home, wherever that happens to be.
I'll be honest, I am not in a comfortable place. My life no longer resembles all that I used to be. It seems I am supposed to be different, changed, even transformed into something I am completely unfamiliar with. The things and children that dominated and defined my existence have moved on, and now it's time for me to move on, too. If I am no longer buying a house for the school system, or moving into a home that is close to my job, or even taking into account space for the kids to live in for years, then who am I? I do not have that answer. The answer I do have is that I am supposed to be Michael's wife first, for the first time in our married life. I feel relief in that, too. Although I have never lived this before, putting us first, ahead of kids, pets and homes, I will say I am up to the challenge. I have desperately missed my man-friend. He and I have been so busy renovating, selling and moving, taking care of kids and their stuff, we barely have seen each other. As we sat across from each other at dinner for our anniversary, we were exhausted, but happy just to be together. We felt so accomplished that our marriage had not only survived the move, but had grown stronger. We laughed because we couldn't remember the last time we had had a meal sitting across from each other that didn't include grocery listing things to fix or move, or problems to solve. I looked at my husband's face for a very long time. I appreciated every wrinkle of worry he has from taking care of us. I watched his expression over the week go from tired planning to complete relief after we signed away our home. He laughed at the table, smiling at me and I knew what I always have known, I would follow him anywhere.
We are making new plans, now. We have no clue what will happen to his job or if I will find a new occupation. We continue to guide the kids in their lives to be happy above all else. We walk the dogs, share coffee in the morning and sigh a lot. We made a new friend, here at the apartment complex. He came over for dinner and we shared food, stories, and laughter.
I have faith that we are in some way protected in our beliefs. I have faith that things will work out for the greater good, even though during all of this cars broke down, people failed to do what they said and the weather man assured us the hurricane season would be bad this year. The relentless heat, has me melting like an ice cream cone left on the sidewalk. The humidity is so thick it is as if we are breathing soup. And yet I feel relieved and happy, most days. This was never going to be easy, that much I have been sure of from day one. What I was certain of was that it was right. Much like a dog with a bone, I held fast to the my belief that if I hung on long enough the end results would be completely worth it. All I can say for now is, stay tuned...