Square Pegs

“I am so tired of not being part of the club. I don’t really like all the people in the club, but I am so tired of not being included in the club.”

That sounds weird, I know, but those are the words I spoke to my husband this morning. I had had some emotions triggered last evening, and even though I was exhausted and had taken my customary Tylenol PM, I was suddenly wide awake, and the demons were nearly shouting in my mind. If you are an adult, you know the demons. You likely have yours as well.

After many years in my career, I am currently settled in a job that I truly love. I know that my co-workers appreciate me (I am not someone who talks badly about others, I try to always be positive, I am about the easiest person with whom to share an office or a job, and I try to go above and beyond what is expected of me). I get a lot of positive feedback, and I know I am liked. Because of the years in which I knew no such thing, this warms my heart. I wish that translated to having a lot of friends and an active social life, but I’m not sure I would even like that if it did. My idea of a rocking Friday night is to get in my jammies and watch TV (Netflix!) with my husband. I’d be happy if I never left my house again except for work.

My demons started in on their normal tirade:  I’m not good enough. Even from a very young age I was not good enough. There has always been something odd about me. If you look at the picture above, it tells you a lot about me. My little brother (who was probably five in this picture), my dad and mom, and my little sister (who was about two years old) are all looking at the camera. Even the two-year-old! Then there’s me. I was about eight, and I am looking at something in my hands, completely oblivious to what was going on.

I remember always being very much inside my own head. I still can’t truly explain some of the odd things I did during my childhood and teen years. I was desperate for acceptance, but I did all the wrong things to get it, earning me more shunning than accepting. Even my closest friend(s) pulled away from me when we were around others. It perplexed me then; now I understand why they would do so, but it hurts me now for the little girl I was.

When my ex-husband took his own life, I fixated on this thought:  He must have finally come to realize that a lot of the turmoil in his life as an adult was not necessarily his fault but directly related to who he was and how he behaved. I’m sure he didn’t act the way he did out of some mean-spirited desire but because he had never really learned how to behave any other way. His childhood was a horror story. But finally being faced with the “it’s all my own fault” must have been horrible for him. He always needed to blame others, but he finally realized he couldn’t do so anymore. And he couldn’t take it.

I’m not feeling suicidal, mind you. What I am feeling is exhaustion. My life has been one disappointment and emotionally draining experience after another. I now sit in a position where nearly half of the children to whom I have given birth have anything to do with me. Unfortunately, some of those children have my only grandchildren, some of whom I have never seen in person.

They’ll tell you it’s because of my husband. Much of what they will tell you to bolster that opinion is untrue. Some of the family has turned away because of what these “children” have said, despite the fact it is untrue. No, it’s not him. I could be married to the most awesome guy ever (in all their eyes – he IS the most awesome guy ever in MY eyes). He would then be tarnished by his association with me. So he thinks he ruined my life; the truth is I have caused far more harm to him. His family still loves him, and they are nice to me, but I can tell that even they don’t really get me. I spend so much time trying to protect my heart that I probably come off as cold. I hate that because it is the opposite of the truth.

I am conscientious and loving and kind and hardworking. I'm also clueless, just like the little girl in the picture. People joke about growing up and wondering when they would feel like adults. It’s no joke for me. I honestly wondered if becoming an adult meant I would suddenly be endowed with the power to truly see everything around me and know how to interact. Not so much. It’s like the fact I was still getting acne while in my 20s.

My intellect tells me that I need to stop suffering from the loss of club membership. My heart tells me otherwise. If it were any other club or group of members, I could do that. I’d probably build a hard shell around my heart, determining that these club members were just a bunch of jerks. But when it’s a club to which I have a lifetime membership, but now that has been taken away, it’s awfully hard to just.stop.caring.

I probably need to seek counseling. I need to speak to a professional who doesn’t have a faith-based or emotional reason to judge me for my thoughts, actions, and feelings. I don’t need to speak to those who would just tell me what I want to hear. Well, okay, I still need THAT, but I need to figure out how to just get out of the clubhouse altogether and be able to clearly see all the good I still have in my life.

I’m not sure what exactly this is. I don’t remember any particular trauma in my childhood. I just remember always feeling different. I’ve thought, could it be Asperger’s? Could it be ADHD? Is it must my anxiety and depression? Do I have bipolar disorder? I’m about 90 percent sure, though, that it is some form of mental illness. No one’s found a cure for that yet, I’m afraid.

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.