Don't Beat the Poor Horse

Someone asked me recently why I write so much about my ex and all the things he put me through in 14 years together (plus the six years after we separated). I think the rationale was, it’s been 21 years since we separated, so why keep talking about it? Good question.

I’ve mentioned PTSD before. I know most people associate this disorder with combat veterans, and by no means do I suggest that my experiences look anything like theirs, for which I am grateful. But having PTSD means that finding yourself in a situation that is just similar enough to the real-life nightmares you’ve had can cause unpleasant symptoms as you find yourself right back there, figuratively.

Yes, I have been free for 21 years. There was only one occasion after our separation that I literally faced the fear of having my ex-husband spitting threats and profanity in my face, but at that time my now-husband was there within ten seconds to get between us. That moment raised him to the level of hero in my eyes. I tease him that all he really has to do is breathe in order to be a better husband, but how blessed am I that he doesn’t just stop there?

My friends as well as those I don’t know, it does get better. It is so hard to walk away. To this day I have an inner struggle in which I have to remind myself AGAIN that I was the victim and never the perpetrator. Despite his words to the contrary, his actions were not my fault. You need, you MUST have that talk with yourself. You may actually be really annoying or touch all the buttons, but the minute his (or her!) anger or irritation becomes emotional and/or physical abuse, a decision has been made. My hubby now literally will leave the house when we are discussing…okay, arguing, and it gets to the point where he can’t stand being in the same room with me. I hate that. And I love that. 

Part of the healing for me is to remember and then put it out there so that it’s not just festering in my brain. This is part of my journey, like it or not. I wish I had not had to travel it so long, but it’s my past. I am grateful to have found my soft landing who helps protect me from the sharp corners of life, especially as I continue to be abused by a dead man because his family members still cause me harm in ways unimaginable. I’m currently reassessing and rewriting who I am because I am not who I thought I would be at this ripe old age. Much like her being chosen as homecoming queen caused our daughter to wonder if she might just be liked by others, I look at the wonderful friends I have who continue to support me and give me positive feedback, recognizing how blessed I really am to have them. Maybe I’m not so bad after all, right?

Let me end with these words:  It is my job to like myself and to find myself worthy of the fight every single day. While others certainly do affect how I feel, I cannot let them affect how I view myself as a person. I cannot give them that power. Those who support my being able to see the best in myself are the best kind of people to surround me.

I am still a Daughter of God. Always have been and always will be. And if you are a woman, so are you. And the guys, you are Sons of God. Be patient with yourselves. Do not be afraid to speak out about what has happened to you (and please don’t make it up – I really hate that). Be honest. Completely honest. The only way awful things can be overcome is by taking them out of the darkness and exposing them to the light.

You have read this far – I love you for that.

We ARE the Royal We

As a parent, there is a surefire way to bring joy to my heart:  Seeing the dawning of realization by my sweet girl that she does have worth in the eyes of her peers. I still ache from the low self-esteem I had as a teen that only got worse as I grew older. I am growing comfortable in my own skin, but I cringe at how truly weird I was back then. I had no idea. Our sweet baby girl (okay, she’s 17, but we can pretend) is beautiful, empathetic, funny, service-oriented, and a person who knows what she believes and why (not talking necessarily about religious beliefs) and is not afraid to speak up about those beliefs. She has come a long way from the mousy little girl she still was when we moved to Idaho three and a half years ago.

Yesterday she was crowned homecoming queen at her high school. She was shocked on Tuesday to discover she had been nominated. Surely (she thought) someone was playing a practical joke because there couldn’t have been THAT many people who would nominate her, right? She fretted and went through waves of anxiety over the next few days, not because she really, really, really, really wanted to win – in fact, she had immediately resigned herself to the “fact” she wouldn’t win, but the feeling that came with being nominated couldn’t be denied.

Yesterday was a hard day for her. It was a Murphy’s kind of day where everything seemed to go wrong. And then Darryl and I drove to the high school for the assembly where the winners would be announced. It was surreal. Something clicked in my head, and I went from “Gosh, I hope she wins. That would be so cool for her!” to “Kristina is going to be the homecoming queen.” My amazing husband captured frame by frame her reaction as she went from confusion to comprehension to utter shock that her name was really the one announced. Being homecoming queen is insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but I have a hunch that, for some lucky girls, receiving that honor is life changing in a good way.

We had the pleasure of catching sight of her face from afar as she was around her peers yesterday at the assembly and later at the football game – the people who made sure she knew they thought she was good enough. The anxiety that she unwittingly carries about her wasn’t present. It was replaced by an open, glowing face that showed that, for an evening, at least, SHE knew she was good enough.

Which made me think today:  We are all good enough. Our peers might not recognize it, and most of us don’t ever acknowledge it, but we all have something in common:  Each of us is the child of Royalty. While it’s not as important that our peers or strangers find us acceptable, it is the greatest of joys to know that our Heavenly Parents find us acceptable and want nothing but for US to realize that too. They know how much our world would open up if we knew what They know.

Every single day I think about how we as a society treat one another. It is getting worse all the time. It grieves my heart. Just as I mature and adjust my own approach to myself and others, I am acutely aware of the lack of regard we have for one another. Our hearts have “waxed cold.” Yes, it matters very much how we talk to one another, how we see one another. How do you feel when someone does or says something nice for/to you? It feels even better when you can do that for someone else.

Somewhat reminiscent of the ‘80s, there is a lot of talk about how we should accept ourselves and not worry about what anyone else says. While I agree that we would be better off if we developed a healthy self-esteem, the echoing affirmation in our own heads can expand exponentially when others touch our lives in a positive way. I’m not suggesting that the opinions of others are what we should seek rather than standing up for ourselves. I am suggesting that each of us has the power within us to reach out and make others feel the way our girl felt yesterday. 

I hope that as the years go by, when she encounters the difficulties of adulthood, she will look back on this fun experience and remember how she felt. I pray she will always remember that she is acceptable. And I’m not just talking about our daughter here. I am acceptable. You are acceptable. Does that make you feel good right now? Awesome! Please share that feeling with someone else. You may never know whose bad day you have brightened because you didn’t hesitate to say the nice things you think.

If the Bed's Not Made, I Can't Just Lie There!

I love looking at this picture. It’s just a photo I took of our bedroom in our current home. Whenever the bed is made, this sight makes my heart feel peace. And that made me think. Why?

In my nearly 55 years on this earth, I have discovered that there is very little over which I have control in my own life. At my ripe “old” age, I want to go back in time and visit the scared, confused little girl I was back in the day and assure my child self that I am enough, that I should face life fearlessly. But that is a whole ‘nother post.

When I get up in the morning, I have a set list of things I want to accomplish before “starting” my day. Besides the showering and dressing and hair/makeup preparing, I want my bed to be made. I want everything picked up and put away in our bathroom and bedroom. I want the closet door to be closed with everything inside it in its place – which I admit is a challenge, but still. I want the litter box to be scooped and the floor in the laundry room/dining room/kitchen swept. I want the flowers on the porch to be watered. I want the cats and dogs to have food and water in their dishes. If the dishwasher is full, I want it to be emptied. I hate, absolutely hate having dishes on the counter and abhor only marginally less when dishes are in the sink, even when they are rinsed.

Are you exhausted? That’s just the start of my day, and often it takes me some time to get to the actual business of the day. If I am on the record, I know I have to be in court at a certain time, so that guides my morning. Today, though, I am sitting in my home office working on transcripts (no, really, I am!) My time is my own. I both have a sense of urgency, and I don’t. For someone who works best with time boundaries, this kind of day can be a nightmare. I am choosing to simply enjoy it today. Yes, I will be working, but I have already accomplished all the things in the preceding paragraph as well as a few other things. Now that I have my own office at home, I am comfortable and feel pleased by the environment.

When I have had space like this that is only used by me, I have generally kept it in good order. I so miss having my own car that is usually driven (and occupied) by me. I like things to be a certain way. First, I like things to be clean. It pleases my eye to see them that way. No, I’m not a neat freak. I don’t scold my husband or kids for folding the towels “wrong,” as some of us are wont to do. What I do is ask a few times for things to be done….just done….that would aid me in cultivating an environment that makes me feel comfortable. Sometimes I stop asking and just sigh and try to ignore it. That is really hard for me. But therein lies the rub:  I am really not in control of my life. I try to anchor myself by accomplishing simple tasks that create a nice place to be; in return, it keeps my mind off all the troubling aspects of my life and how powerless I feel.

Our backyard is very big. We have a lot of flowers, a planter box with a garden inside, and raspberry bushes. It is both marvelous and horrifying. We also have hollyhocks everywhere! The weeds have overgrown our bedding areas, and the task to keep them in control is too overwhelming. I want window coverings so I don’t have to see that disarray and feel guilt and frustration. In the house we have two furry dogs and three equally furry kitties. And a dark hardwood floor. There is no day that we can really get by without sweeping/vacuuming/mopping. But it happens.

I suffer silently most of the time. My house is often untidy unless I keep up with it. It is hard to accomplish any work at home, even with an awesome office, unless the household is in order. After many busy days in a row where I just don’t have the energy to do the myriad tasks I have assigned myself, the weight of all that is out of place, dirty, or in disarray is almost too much for me to bear. Then I gather myself and resentfully pour myself into getting everything back the way it should be.

How I wish that the rest of life’s disarray was as easy to overcome. I have learned that when more than one person is involved, no one can completely control things. I am painfully aware that I must trigger similar issues for my sweetheart, who likes some things done certain ways that I am unaware. While I may have day dreamed as a child about my future spouse (and I adore my spouse, don’t get me wrong!) it is clear that I forgot the other part of the equation, which is another human with likes, dislikes, needs, wants, and things loved and loathed.

Last semester I re-studied the Five Love Languages, which taught me about myself. I realize that my love language of acts of service explains why I happily do all the laundry for my family as well as most of the other tasks I do for my sweetheart and our kids. The way to fill my bucket, though, is to understand why I feel loved when my loved ones “speak” my language and then share the burden to keep our home in order so that I don’t feel overwhelmed, underappreciated, and resentful. If I walk through our home and only see things in their places and no chores crying out to be done, I have a measure of peace that allows me to have the strength to face the issues that trouble me.