Shattered. Simply Shattered.

Shattered. That is my heart at the moment. That’s the best word I can come up with to describe myself. Simply shattered.

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Anyone who’s ever paid attention to my blogs knows that I’m not real private. I’ll tell pretty much anyone pretty much anything going on in my life. One thing I’m normally intensely private about though is breakups, if for no other reason, than just because I like having time to digest it all by myself without anyone getting in my business.

This time is a little different. I would really like to be private about everything, but y’all know me and I MUST write to process. So I might as well just lay it all out there. The love of my life told me he’s never been in love with me and left. Can you imagine the sting?

B isn’t a bad guy. If he was, I never would have been involved in the first place. The problem was largely timing. I knew better than to get involved with someone so fresh out of a bad marriage. Part of me even knew he wasn’t yet over his cheating wife when we began. What I did not know though was that I would still have all the faith in the world, and that it would break me.

This all started a week and a half ago. An argument no worse than any other (neither of us is much for fighting) on a Tuesday night would be the beginning of a very rough 2 weeks. It would be the beginning of the end. For the first time in our entire relationship, when he got up for work in the early morning that Wednesday, he left without kissing me goodbye. I somehow instinctively knew he wouldn’t too. While I normally sleep soundly while he gets ready until he comes to kiss me, I wasn’t sleeping that morning. I could just feel that something had changed. I had to pee but I didn’t want to move. I was trying to will him into coming in and kissing me. I laid in that bed and watched his shadow cross the wall from the outside and then listened to his truck back out of the driveway. I was crushed.

By the time I was pulling into work later that morning, he had told me he might be ending it. I was in shock and thought there was no way a little fight could mean that. I was panicked but trying so hard to hold myself together. I didn’t do well. I threw up uncontrollably. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t think. Two days later, he told me he was done, but that he still wanted his children to come for the weekend at my house because of family plans that had been in place for a while and then move out the following Monday. What the f***. . .?!

I couldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t believe it. I continued with my throwing up, constantly crying, no eating, sleeping horribly cycle. I started dropping weight immediately and drastically. I felt like my world was ending. I begged and pleaded for him to change his mind. I tried to remind him of everything great about us. I told him how I’d never loved anyone in my life like I love him, how I never had fully given myself to someone before him, how much I thought he was my “forever” in life—all truths. What I couldn’t yet swallow though was that it all didn’t matter. He couldn’t change the way he felt (or rather, didn’t feel).

The weekend was hard. I love his children. Every moment was difficult because I couldn’t stop wondering if it would be our last. Is this the last picture together, is this the last time I would cook for them, is this the last time I would get a “monkey hug” before strapping them into their car seats for their trip back to their mama’s house? It was hard to go to his dad and step mom’s house for a BBQ because I love them so much. On that afternoon, after much talking and crying, he said he changed his mind. I didn’t feel relieved though, I felt terrified. Why the sudden change? Would he change his mind right back?

On Sunday, we took pictures together and I wondered if I would ever see them. I was so scared but so filled with hope. We talked Sunday night about all of the issues and I finally felt so relieved. I thought it was going to work. Every fear he had or complaint about our relationship, I had a valid answer, response, and plan for. I went to bed on Sunday night feeling like it was all going to be okay, but once again, I woke up on Monday morning just instinctively knowing that something was wrong. I noticed every time he did something that wasn’t normal and was out of place. I noticed he still was not calling me “baby” and was largely avoiding me. I knew what was coming. Monday night, he told me he’d felt I’d manipulated him with everything I’d said, including that I had gone along with the weekend hoping that he would see me with his children and family and realize what he was doing. That night, I listened to him but I didn’t freak out. I didn’t cry. He had said that he’d previously said he’d stay “for a while” and work on it and that he was still going to do that. I knew what it meant though. It meant that he was just trying to relieve the guilt he felt for changing his mind once again. I woke up on Tuesday morning angry. I then felt like I was the one being manipulated. He wanted me to relieve him of his guilt and tell him to just go. I spent most of my day fairly calm though until it got to the afternoon. Then I was getting upset. Everything about his behavior said he was done. And finally, for me, I was done on the crazy intense roller coaster I’d been on too. If he wanted to leave, then so be it. I was tired of throwing up, being unable to eat, and sleeping so poorly. I was tired of crying and fearing. I was tired of pretending like things could get better. I was tired of walking on eggshells worrying that I would upset him.

The final end started in text message. That was when that tired cliché of “I love you but I’m not in love with you” started. This time, there was no talk of ending things. It was just known without being spoken. I told him he never should have gotten my hopes back up. I told him I was going to hurt like hell, but ultimately, I know that heartache won’t kill me and that’s a lesson I’d learned already in life when I had to lay my child to rest. Then I told him we’d discuss him moving out when we were both home from work.

Things fell apart from there though. I was angry and crushed. I chose to cope that first night by drinking. I got angry at everything and everyone. It became apparent that I should not be there while he moved his stuff out. I went home before he got there and cleared off all of my stuff from the top of his dresser. I dropped his picture frame and saw the glass crack. While it wasn’t intentional, the angry part of me felt satisfied. I was on the porch when he pulled up. He knew I would only be there for a moment to help him change his relationship status on Facebook and to hide it so that others wouldn’t see the change and comment on it. It took less than 2 minutes and I was back in my rig, bawling my eyes out. I left knowing that I would not want to return to see all the holes where his stuff used to be.

I was so angry at him and yet I couldn’t blame him either. If he couldn’t feel more for me, it’s not fair to him, me, my children, or his children to keep trying. I stayed away from home until almost midnight. I didn’t want to go back but I knew I still had to go to work the next day and I had to go to bed. I walked into the bedroom and dissolved into tears again. I was rapidly bouncing back and forth between intense anger and sorrow. I wrote him an angry message on Facebook and sent it, took my clothes off, and crawled into my bed to cry until sweet sleep brought relief.

Yesterday was a blur. There was no one to really be angry at. There is no cure for any of the pain except to keep feeling it until it lessens. I talked with my children in depth for the first time last night. I told them what I need and expect from them. I told them that at 13-16 years old, they are not little babies anymore and they’re old enough to understand. There were many tears from all of us, but I reassured them that we can make it just fine as a family of 4. We are partners. It was a hard conversation, but I think we all felt better.

I didn’t get drunk last night, nor will I cope with alcohol to get through the hurts right now. Nighttime is the worst because it’s idle brain time to just think and feel. I’m going to keep allowing myself to feel without numbing it. It’s hard, but I have to heal the way intended so that I don’t do more damage. I refuse to do anything to make it any harder on myself or my kids.

I woke up this morning feeling better. There was no moment of confusion and having to remember what’s going on as there has been every morning for a week and a half. I’m down 17 pounds in 9 days (unintentionally) but I am starting to be able to eat more. I am heartsick, but I won’t be forever. I know that I’m going to be okay. I know that I’m going to heal. I know that I will continue to persevere for myself and my kiddos. I know that eventually, I won’t feel so shattered.

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Rest Peacefully, My Child

I’ve heard before that grief is like a drunk family member leaving a get together. He’s announced he’s leaving and he’s got his hand on the door and all of his stuff in his hands, but then he steps back in and he just keeps talking. The process then repeats. That’s exactly what grief is like. Just when you think you can pull yourself together and it’s all going to be okay and that grief is going to leave, it steps right back into the living room and sets his stuff back down.  

It’s been almost 12 years since I held my baby, rocked her, and sang to her as she took her last breaths here on earth. That’s 11 birthdays, 11 Christmases, 11 Mother’s Days, and so much more missed. Countless kisses, learning to ride a bike, booboos I can soothe, “I love you, Mommy”, moments of watching her sleep peacefully, brushing her hair, late night snuggles and talks, school concerts, and dancing in the kitchen have all been taken from me.

When my sweet baby first passed, I thought I was going to die from heartache. I thought there would literally be a chance that I would close my eyes and drift off to sleep and my heart would just stop beating because it hurt so badly. I prayed every night that God would bring her to me in my dreams so that I could snuggle and nurse her and breathe in her sweet baby aroma even if only for a moment. He didn’t though and almost 12 years later, I still wish that He would.

I used to write her poems. I wrote them randomly at first and then I wrote them on her birthdays and the anniversaries of her entering Heaven. Writing has always been my coping mechanism to help the chaos in my soul and losing her has been no different.

I initially started out writing this post with an entirely different plan and story to tell, but I just can’t right now. Instead, I’m baring my already naked soul to you all in a different way. Some day I will tell that story, but for today, I’m just sharing some old posts and poems.

For her 9th birthday I wrote:

Another One
I have a heartache, for which there is no cure,
I know a pain that most never will.
It claws, and it burns, and it tears me apart,
Yet, for it’s hurt, there is no pill.

It doesn’t matter how many years pass,
This day always takes me right back.
Back to the day you came into this world,
Up until the day that you passed.

You should be turning 9 years,
But you never even made it to three months old.
I didn’t get enough time with your precious smile,
Didn’t get enough time with you to hold.

I ache every day for you,
But on this day the ache is a little more fierce.
I miss you, and I love you,
And forever my heart, with grief, is pierced.

Happy ninth birthday, Gracie,
This poem is all I get to do.
So until next year’s day,
Know that Mama truly loves and misses you.
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For the 10th anniversary of her passing, I wrote:

It’s been 3,652 days. 522 weeks. 10 years. 1 decade since I held you in my arms as you took your last breath. In some ways, it seemed to fly by. In other ways, the time crawled. Every moment of the last ten years my heart has ached with the loss of you. Here I am, all these years later, and I still feel like I have a gaping wound in my soul. It will never heal. That hole will never be closed. I love and miss you with all that I am, Gracie. I’m in no hurry to leave this earth, but I’m joyous knowing that when I do, we’ll be reunited and enjoy eternity together in His kingdom. ♡

For her 8th birthday, the day before it I wrote:

Tomorrow
I just cried so hard it felt like the world was gonna end.
Tomorrow, we were supposed to celebrate the day you turn eight,
But instead, I remember every moment of your two months that I can,
And even after all these years, I still can’t believe this was your fate.

Missing you, I think and wonder about you so much.
Would you prefer your hair short or long, worn up, down, in braids, or in curls?
Would you be the girl outside playing sports and getting dirty,
Or would you be the one trying on dress after pretty dress, turning in the mirror and watching as it twirls?

A million questions I will never have the answers to,
Yet they constantly plague my heart and mind anyway.
These are not the thoughts and pains I should be having to endure
As we celebrate what should be your happy birthday.

Gracie, I’ll miss you each day that I have breath in me.
Forever on this earth, I’ll have a gaping hole in my heart.
But, my sweet baby girl, don’t you worry,
I take comfort in the knowledge that there will come a day we will no longer be apart.

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In January of 2006, I wrote:

In Time

My life must continue now,
Even though grief tore it apart.
The pain was enough to kill me
I thought I’d die from a broken heart.
But my family needs me stable.
My kids need me to be strong.
I know I’ve gotten better
‘Cause in the beginning, I thought I couldn’t go on.
I thank the Lord for every day,
Each day is a gift from God above.
I’ve gotten where I am now
From his all-powerful, never ending love.
Someday, I will see her again,
And a joyful reunion it will be.
Because, in time, life will continue.
It will be my family, Gracie, and me.
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In 2013, I wrote:

Never should a mother out live her child,
Never should a mother have this ache in her soul.
Forever and always part of me will be broken,
Because without you I’m never quite whole.

My sweet, precious baby,
Without you, I should not be.
My whole heart aches for the loss of you,
This pain, I’ll never be free.

As your birthday nears once again,
The pain is once again brand new.
Because no matter what joy life brings me,
I’ll always be without you.

Gracie ****** *****, I love you with all that I am,
And I live a life with a wound in my chest,
Because no matter what comes my way,
I’ll always feel pain, knowing I laid my sweet baby to rest.10487201_1446806232264022_1392835415485502560_n

I’m never going to be the same. I’m never going to not hurt. I’m never going to get to a point where I’m suddenly all better. For the rest of my entire life, I will deeply miss her, I will ache intensely, and I will be incomplete.

Happy birthday once again, my sweet angel. There will never be enough words to tell you how much I truly love you and will forever. Rest peacefully with the angels until I see you again…PhotoGrid_1469225388613

Love,
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Her Rapist’s Eyes

***Trigger Warning, I’m going to discuss sensitive topics including rape in this post. If that makes you uncomfortable, please do not read further.****

I was conceived in a prison. That’s right, you read that correctly. My life came into existence because my mom was incarcerated (unjustly in my opinion, but that’s another story) and my biological father was a prison guard. In short, I was conceived in rape.

There was no clear, out of the blue moment I remember being told this, it’s just something I’ve known my entire life. In fact, I do remember a moment when I was 5 years old that I wanted my mother to clarify for me what the word “rape” meant. It was understandably a confusing concept to me as I barely understood where babies even came from—and the only reason I knew that was because I was a very bright child and demanded to know how my sister got into my mother’s belly when I was 4.

Rape. It’s an ugly word. It puts a bad taste in one’s mouth. If you’re like me and it’s something you’ve endured yourself, it might be a word that makes your breath quicken and your heart race. If you’re fortunate enough to never have been closely impacted by this act, even then, it’s likely a word that makes you squirm in your seat a little. It’s no easy topic, but it’s one I feel has to be talked about for many reasons. One big one is because people (yes, people, not just women, not just children, all people) that have been victimized deserve to know that it’s okay to talk about it. There is healing in talking and telling one’s story. If we as a society walk around whispering it like it’s a dirty word, it makes it that much harder for those that have suffered to find peace. It’s not the “f bomb,” it’s real life; it doesn’t need censored.

Now, my mother has never been fond of talking about that time in her life and I understand that, but there came a point for me where I really started to question what had gone on and I wanted answers. This became especially true when I got married and my mom gave me my birth certificate and for the first time, she explained to me that I could not lose it. She told me that when paternity was established in court, my birth certificate was revised to add “him” to the father line, but when that happened, they (whoever “they” are) also changed my last name on the birth certificate from the one I was born with to his last name. She told me that she never went through the court system to change it back; therefore, if I lost my original and had to purchase a new one, it would have his last name. This really sparked my curiosity.

After that point, I started really considering finding him, but I was afraid. What all did he know about me? Did he want to know me? Did he have other kids? Did they all hate me because of my existence disrupting their lives? Would I be shunned? Would he ever face me? What if………?

When I started wondering these things, it was before the Internet was as easy to use as it is now. I started actively looking and calling phone numbers in 2002. I knew only his first and last name and a couple of states that he’d lived in over the years. I had no success and so it was put on the back burner for a long time after that, and yet, it was always in my mind still. 13 years passed before I decided to try something to find him again. I paid a private investigation company to find him. I gave them the details I did have, gave my debit card info, and then waited. Within days I had an email. I was given what the company thought was his address, the names, addresses, and Facebook account links  of his 3 children, and the phone number for his youngest child.

I immediately checked out his kids’ Facebook profiles in search of at least a picture of him. I couldn’t see much info, and so I started thinking about how I should reach out. Should I Facebook message them? Should I send a letter? Should I call? What should I say? And it was in that panic of not being sure of what to do that I let that info just sit for almost a year. It was only just over a week ago that I finally decided to just send off a Facebook message and see what would happen. I said:

“Hello, XXXX,

I hope you see this message in your “other” box. I’ve had your Facebook contact info for almost a year but I’ve been afraid to reach out. I’m looking for information (especially medical history) and hopefully some pictures of XXXXXX. He is my biological father, making you my half sister. I’ve never had any real info and I’ve been nervous to ask. I don’t want you guys to shun me or shut me out. I’m extremely nervous sending this, but figure tomorrows are never promised and I might as well try. Please feel free to contact me here or email me at XXXXXXXXXXXXXX..

Thank you.”

I sent the message knowing it would be difficult for them to see it because of the settings with messages from strangers, so when I knew the messages hadn’t been read by the time I’d left work that day, I knew I was going to use the one phone number and just call. I stopped by the liquor store and decided it was totally appropriate to have a shot of whiskey before taking a deep breath and dialing.

Two rings, “Hello?” I felt sudden panic and was shocked at someone actually answering an unknown number (I didn’t even know other people still do that these days).

“Hi, um, I’m not sure how to really say this, I don’t know if you’re aware of me; I’m XXXXX’s daughter.”

There was some shock on the other line and lots of “Um’s” in the middle. His son explained to me that he was indeed in shock, but aware of me and asked to call me back. I totally understood his being blindsided by this and told him to go ahead and process and call me back later.

“But wait, can you tell me really quick, is he still alive?”

“No, I’m sorry, he passed away last year.”

I cried. I started crying before I even got off the phone. I hung up and cried hard. I cried body shaking sobs over this information. I felt instant grief. Not grief over my loss as one would feel over the death of a parent he or she knew, but grief over this missing piece of my personal puzzle. Grief over the fact I never got to face him. I never got to ask him any questions. I never got to hear his side of the story. I never got to know if he was sorry for what he put my mother through or the impact it had on me. I never got to know if he was sorry that he never reached out to me. I never got to look into his eyes and ask anything at all.

I walked back into my house after I hung up and poured another shot and then stood in the kitchen just holding it and bawling. My poor teenage boys had no real idea what was going on. My children, whom are extremely connected to me and my emotions, jumped into action and immediately came to me. My oldest hugged me tight for a few seconds while I proceeded to cry harder. When he let go and I was still standing there doing the ugly cry, my younger son then came and grabbed me with such intensity, I was surprised, He held on even tighter while whispering comfort in my ear.

I was shocked at my own reaction. I had no idea I’d feel so intensely. I had no idea it would hurt me to my very core. I had had a feeling when I was driving home from work that night that I was going to find out he had already passed away as I knew he was in his late 70’s, but I was unprepared to hear it for certain. I literally cried without stopping for more than an hour. Then, for the next several hours, I cried at the drop of a hat. And just when I thought I’d pulled myself together, my biological brother called me back.

We talked for 30 minutes and in that first phone call, I could tell that I liked him already. He was open, honest, and tender. He told me facts I’d been wanting to know my entire life. He told me that he thought that his (our) father had had an affair with my mother. We discussed how even if it was consensual (a claim my mother adamantly denies, and I believe her), the law is very black and white on this topic. When being employed as a prison guard, it is illegal to have a sexual relationship with an inmate. Much like a “willing” teenager with an adult, it is considered rape, and for good reason. It was then that he told me something that was incredibly dear to me; he told me that no matter what the circumstances were, he was embracing our newfound relationship and that he is there for me. I then cried some more.

That night on Facebook I wrote, “Those moments. . .those moments that knock the air from your lungs. . .the moments that punch your heart with the force of a Mack truck. . .the moments that hurt so intensely you don’t know when you’ll come up for a breath between sobs. . .I hate those life moments. I feel a MAJOR blog post coming on.” That blog post I spoke of is this here.

***

In the time that has passed since that first day, I’ve had so much on my mind. I can’t help but think about what my mother went through. My heart hurts for her. I can’t imagine it’s easy for her knowing that I’ve reached out to his family. I know that she just wants me to have peace. I can also imagine that me revealing what I’ve done to get in contact with them has probably also brought up old feelings for her. Unfortunately, I don’t really get to know what she is thinking and feeling because we’re not very close and we don’t talk much.

Because of the situation surrounding my conception, we never bonded like normal mother and child. She remained in prison after I was born and I went off to foster care. The first 2 years of my life are something I know almost nothing about. But even once my mother was “free,” she was never really free. She endured hell and then had a child to take care of in the center of that. I love my mom, but her entire situation was damaging and had an impact on everything about me. The foundation I had in life set me up for failure–and oh boy have I failed (there are plenty of old and future blog posts about that, so I’ll skip over that here). But I don’t blame my mom. She lived through a really shitty situation and she came out of it the only way she knew how to. She chose to give me life even when the prison tried heavily to convince her to have an abortion. She kept me and later told me that it didn’t have to matter that I was conceived in such a manner, I could be just hers. Sadly, it did matter, it still does, and it will matter the rest of my life.

Through all of this though, I have a newfound respect for my mom. One of my first requests of my brother was to see pictures of “him.” I was simply curious to know what he looked like. Because I look so much like my mother, I never thought there would be any physical resemblance. Within a couple days, my brother sent me some emails with several pictures. I was totally unprepared, and when I opened an obviously old photo of his wedding, I found myself staring at a male version of my own face. It took my breath away and tears again sprang to my eyes (for like the millionth time in the last couple weeks) because I was looking at my own eyes in this old photograph. Once I’d gotten over the initial shock, I again thought of my mother. This woman, this incredibly strong woman, raised me as best as she could, she loved me, and she disciplined me–all while looking at a child, her child, who has her rapist’s eyes.

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***

Side note: When I started writing this blog post two weeks ago, it was meant to be about “him” and I. It’s turned into a complicated post, but more about my mom than anyone else. My mom is exactly where I get my strength from. She is where I’ve gotten my independence, my strong will, and my courage. Ladies and gentlemen, my mother is a regular badass, and I’m proud to call her my mom.

My Child, I Would Die For You

There is nothing on this earth like a mother’s love. It is strong. It is fierce. It is unbreakable. A mother’s love can make a calm woman rage, a safe woman get into a dangerous situation, and a passive woman become aggressive. This is something I’ve known since the first moment I laid eyes on my precious firstborn and it was solidified when I noticed the hospital had somehow burned the back of his scalp. I’m a non-violent, loving, tender woman—until it comes to my children’s well-being being threatened.

I have a child that has been a handful for his entire life. As an infant, he cried constantly and no amount of rocking, shushing, feeding, burping, or changing could soothe him. By the time he was a toddler, he had meltdowns that could blow anyone away with his ferocity. By the time he was entering kindergarten, we knew that he was different and would likely always require tender care in parenting. We’ve had our ups and downs, but he has mellowed out a lot and is figuring out his way in this world as a teenager now. He is sensitive to many things though, such as how he perceives others to perceive him. He gets upset easily and has a hard time handling “big emotions.” This causes problems sometimes, but I never give up hope that he will figure out how to manage it by the time he’s entering adulthood. But the other day I had a moment that truly reminded me of how intense a mother’s love is.

As my son was upset about something small, he went out to the front of the house to cool off. He’s very good about removing himself from situations he knows will cause a blowup. I happened to be with a friend at a local thrift shop when it began, but when I arrived back home, he was sitting leaned up against one of my vehicles parked on the street. I was concerned, both for his safety sitting on the road and for his emotional well-being in general. Because of him sitting against the van, I stood near him on the street as I tried to coax out of him what he was feeling. Then what happened next seemed like slow motion.

I glanced up as a car passed us and I watched the driver turning to look at us over his left shoulder. This caused a chain reaction. It made him veer slightly to the left as an oncoming car came around the corner. The man veering made the oncoming car turn wide to the right as she was making a left turn onto my street. I immediately could see her laughing and looking at her passenger—and NOT seeing my baby sitting right in her path. Now mind you, I live in a small town in a residential neighborhood. I live in an area where you can’t speed and you have to pay close attention because on any given day at any time, someone’s small child could go running into the street after a ball or a pet could go darting out. This young woman though clearly was not paying attention. As my son sat oblivious on the asphalt, I saw her coming right for him. There was zero time to think logically and going off of instinct, I screamed out at the same time as I moved towards him with my arms outstretched. In my panic, I just wanted her to see me and so I was running forwards towards a car coming straight for us. I was standing over him and leaning my arms out as if I could protect him from her car by shielding him. She heard me and I made eye contact with her as she then swerved back to the left to miss us. I was so angry that she wasn’t paying attention and I was angry that my son didn’t realize he was putting his own safety at risk. It was several seconds later that I realized—I just stepped in front of a moving vehicle without thinking rationally to protect my child! I just risked my life to save his! In that scary moment though where I didn’t know if she was going to look up in time, there was no real thinking, I just was willing to do whatever it took to save my child.

At the end of the day, it’s not like she narrowly missed us by inches (she was several feet away still when she saw us) so it was nothing harrowing. But it was eye opening for me and for my son who also realized what I had risked to help him. The worst case scenario that we avoided was for her to hit us both. I didn’t think about that risk when I did it though.

Even the best behaved teenagers can be hard to raise and be a handful. But as moms, we keep up the good fight and continue to parent even through the ugly moments. There’s nothing in the world those teenagers can do that would make us go, “Nope, never mind, I don’t want to be a mom anymore; I don’t love that kid anymore.” And in the hard moments where we feel our child is in danger or he or she is being wronged, well…like a meme I just recently saw on Facebook said; I solemnly swear I’ll be a classy mommy…until you mess with my kids. Then I swear I’ll be the biggest, redneck, ass whoopin’ mama you’ll ever meet! And this is true. Believe it.

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Thrivin’ Survivor, That Is Me

*Repost from old blog site*

You’d think that knowing that I am strong, plus surviving some of the hardest things one could experience in life would automatically make me fearless, right? Wrong.

I’m facing a breakup. Lord knows that isn’t easy. After almost 3 years of dedication, 2 sets of children, and 1 combined household, I’m pretty much dreading “the talk” happening. How is that though? How is that so scary when I have been through so much—and survived?!

I’ve been sexually abused multiple times since I was a kid. I have had children as a teenager, gotten married a week after I turned 17 to a man that turned into a raging, abusive drug addict, and endured several years of mental, emotional, sexual, and physical abuse during that marriage. I have watched my then husband overdose, almost die, and recuperate—only to watch it happen all over again. I have battled chronic pain more than half my life that is at times crippling. I have held my infant daughter as her life support was turned off and she took her last breath, battled CPS, and pieced my life back together after meth. I have gotten through being homeless, jobless, and broke. I have battled court systems. I have battled people that wish me harm. And I have battled my own inner demons.

Nothing quite feels as terrifying as one’s husband hitting her in a rage, making her fear and know her life is in danger. Nothing feels as heartbreaking as laying one’s child on a hospital bed and turning away knowing one will never get to pick her baby up again and smell her scent, feel her warmth, nurture her at her breast, or hear her sweet cry again. Nothing is as hard as having to fight for one’s children against a government agency with a vendetta. And yet, I’ve been through all of that and survived and come out on top. I’ve not just survived, but I have thrived!

Even with that being the short list, I’m reading back over it and now sitting here wondering, how the hell am I afraid of a little breakup??? I need to just face it head on. Ready, set, go. 3, 2, 1, takeoff. Get it done, woman. There’s no way in hell that this is what suddenly breaks me! I am STRONG! I am powerful! I am woman—HEAR ME ROAR!!

The Richest Broke Chick You Could Ever Meet

I recently have allowed several things going on to stress me out and kind of takeover in my personal life. I’ve dealt with gossip, work changes, miscommunication with my lover, parenting issues, financial stress, and overall hurt feelings. I started to feel pretty chaotic inside. In this, I started writing and banging out blog posts like my life depended on it. And in that, I started to find some peace. I have been able to sort through the muddled chaos in my brain and start to make sense of it all. I have spent so much time in my head lately that’s it’s almost shocking I’ve been able to be productive with anything because thought are spinning ‘round and ‘round All. The. Time. BUT through all this thought, I’ve finally reached a good, calm place where I’ve had some realizations.

 

I’m so freaking blessed! I’m scared shitless financially because…well…money! I know, I know, money isn’t everything…blah, blah, blah. You’re right, it’s not. But money is how we survive. I need it to keep my house, maintain and run my vehicle so I can get to the place where I earn my money, feed my children, provide all the supplies for daily living my family needs like clothes, toiletries, and household products, and the list goes on. In these recent financial troubles, I’ve started to become overwhelmed with stress. It was all I could think about. I go to bed with it, I wake up with it, and I even sleep with it. Have you ever been so stressed that it follows you into your dreams and ruins any chance you have of getting quality sleep? I’m so familiar.

 

Then, please add in teenagers. ‘Nough said there.

 

Then also add in drama. I don’t even want to go there, but y’all can imagine that with everything else, this did NOT need to be added to my plate, especially to have an impact on my relationship or to hear negative things said about me when I’m trying so freaking hard in life.

 

Anyway, I’m straying from my point here, so please keep following along.

 

I’m blessed. While all of this garbage is going on, at the end of the day, I climb into my cozy bed next to the love of my life. When I found this man, let me tell ya, I knew pretty much from the get-go that there was no way in hell I was ever going to willingly let him go. He’s everything I could have ever hoped for and dreamed of. We are both extremely busy so often the only time we get together is when we are falling into bed exhausted, but those moments are the highlight of my days. Taking a few minutes to talk and laugh and just enjoy each other’s company is a priority. He shows me he loves me through his touch every single day. He gives me affection even when I’m feeling taken over with the crazy. He soothes the chaos in my heart and mind when he pulls me close, kisses me tenderly, and reassures me that he loves me. How many people go to bed lonely and without that? Too many. When I crawl into my bed at night, it’s with a roof over my head, it’s after having eaten dinner, and it’s with knowing my children are safe and sound in other rooms of the house. How many people are lacking those basic needs? How many people don’t even have a room or a bed to go to? Who am I to be stressed out and letting my worries rob me of my joy and blessings?! I may struggle, but I’m never losing this fight, so why do I let my worry take me to places I’d never really have to see?

 

I recently wrote a blog where I touched on one having the ability to control his or her emotions and feelings, and I’m touching on it again here because it’s SO important. Not only am I hurting myself when I let the stress take over, but I hurt those around me. My lover feels when I’m stressed and upset and naturally, it makes him stressed and upset. The same goes for my kids. We are in sync. They feel my intense emotions and it rubs off on them too.

 

It took me several days of feeling like a sourpuss and letting my brain constantly roam every nook and cranny of my stress and hurt to remember and truly realize what damage I’m doing here—and that I can control it! Of course part of me is embarrassed because I’ve had some outbursts and meltdowns and others have been able to witness this, but I’m just as human as anyone else. So, I’ve had an outburst or two, but that doesn’t define me. It’s never too late to decide to pull out of that poor me mindset and change up my thinking, and so that’s what I’m doing.

 

I have to count change for gas money to get to next payday. My daughter has to use an old blue backpack for school until I can replace her broken one next payday. We will have to make creative meals from what we have in the kitchen before I can grocery shop on next payday. I’m super broke and payday is still a week away. But you know what, friends? I’m the richest woman in the world.

“Man, I just love…”

I laid in bed at 11 o’clock last Saturday night and listened to the wind howl outside. I’ve always been soothed by storms and listening to it that night reminded me of an early memory from my childhood.

 

I must have been about 3 years old and I was awake in the early morning before my mom was. It was windy outside and as I sat on the couch with my face in the window, I was trying to figure out how it was that I could hear that wind howling through the house. I remember feeling a twinge of fear at how big the weather was and how small it made me seem. More than fear though, I felt comfort deep in my soul. That feeling has stayed with me even now in my 30’s. There’s something about the chaos of storms that soothes whatever chaos I have going on inside me. To me, storms are a reminder that I’m in control of so little in this world, I’m like a speck of sand in the desert, and that reminder calms me.

 

Lying in bed that night, with the wind in one ear and the soft snoring of my love in the other, I felt total peace in my heart. I felt an overwhelming calm, happiness, and contentedness. So much in my life right now is falling into place. Knowing all the children were cozy, sleeping in their beds, knowing I had no stress to worry about in that moment, being soothed by the wind storm outside, and enjoying that delicious feeling of comfort at the warmth of my sweetheart next to me, I knew I would later sit down to write a blog post about all the happy things going on right now.

 

*****

 

He finally said it. He said those 3 magic words I’ve been waiting almost 5 months to hear from him. As the days have turned into weeks and the weeks have turned into months, I’ve yearned for him to acknowledge love in his heart for me. I was totally head over heels, crazy in love by the time we were a few weeks in, but he was not. His pain was still fresh and his guard was high. This was something I totally understood, but it didn’t make me feel any less anxious for it. As time went on, I would have moments that would stop me in my tracks and I would be so filled with love and think to myself, “Man, I just love him so much.” This made me a little fearful that I was so completely in and yet I was unsure of what was going on in his head. I became fearful that I was going to get my heart broken.

 

You see, I’ve never in my entire life been in a relationship where it just felt so right. He made it so damn easy to fall for him and when I got scared, I started wondering if I was going to have to prepare for the heartache of a lifetime. I was so confused. He wasn’t telling me he loves me, but his actions definitely were. B is more sweet and tender with me than I’ve ever experienced in a romantic relationship in my entire life. The moments he would look lovingly tuck my hair behind my ear, or the way he would caress my skin without thinking while we were watching a movie, or even just the way I would look up and catch him looking at me–all of it screamed love. The only thing that didn’t was his own mouth. I allowed myself to become fearful despite that whole “actions speak louder than words” thing that should have given me reassurance. But let’s face it, anyone who knows me personally and anyone who reads these blogs knows that I am an animal driven by emotion and words. I can’t just feel things, I have to tell people what I feel. Constantly.

 

A couple weeks ago, B and I had a misunderstanding that hurt my feelings. Not because he was mean or intentionally hurtful, but once again, because of my own emotional intensity. I panicked and suddenly was thinking of all the worst case scenarios. I sat at work and wrote out an email to him that explained that I know I’m intense and I know that he cares and I will work on trying to relax a little. Instead of being annoyed with my sensitivity, he reminded me that he’s not going anywhere, that he likes me being me and doesn’t want me to try to change my need to talk about my feelings, and he gave me reassurance in general. He was kind and sweet and once again, made me sit back and think, “Man, I just love him so much.”

 

That conversation helped me to greatly relax. It was the reassurance that I needed to know he may not be proclaiming love to me, but he’s not going anywhere. We’ve had several tender moments since then, a fabulous date day, and two weekends in a row of amazing-ness. The most amazing part though, was waking up early on a Friday morning to get ready for work just like any other normal weekday. There was nothing special about this day, or at least there wasn’t until I got a text from him…

 

“Moonshine Niki…”

 

“Yes?” I asked, and then pretty much held my breath somehow knowing what was coming next.

 

“I love you, I really do.”

 

I sat there staring at my phone dumbfounded at the random revelation. I didn’t know what to say. We’ve had moments in the past where I’ve told him I don’t want him to feel pressured, but I can’t always hold it inside, and I confess my love for him. He always would smile sweetly and wrap me tightly in his arms and kiss me. But suddenly in that moment, I just couldn’t say I love you too. I was at a loss for words (something that is ~extremely~ rare for me) and I just smiled at my phone with what I’m sure was a ridiculous grin. I was filled with joy and happiness. We fell back into our regular texting after that, but I was on an intense high the entire day from it. I told him I’m anxious to be wrapped in his arms and have him look me in the eye and tell me in person. He promised it would happen soon.

 

*****

 

This last weekend was a “Littles Weekend” meaning that B had his children for the weekend. I call them the Littles because my children are teenagers and his are small. It’s a cute, affectionate name for them that distinguishes which kids I’m referring to without claiming “mine” or “yours”.

 

Anyone that has ever had (or even been around) a blended family knows that dating as single parents is not easy. There have been tough moments as far as all of the children go and we never really know what we’re going to get. But every Littles Weekend that happens, we bond more and more and we have fun. This last weekend was no different.

 

On Saturday morning, we did projects and then went to the grocery store to pick up some stuff for lunch. After loading the children and the groceries up to leave, it was in that parking lot as we were getting ready to leave that B randomly leaned in, hugged me, and said “I love you” out of the blue. Nothing else about that moment was romantic. It was just normal, everyday life stuff, and he suddenly made it magical. My heart soared.

 

I spent the weekend on Cloud 9 and was truly happy. There was lots of fun had and I enjoyed the little moments of silliness and laughter. Everything from painting projects, to snuggling a sleepy little one as he wakes up from nap, to just watching the Littles play, I felt full of bliss. I wanted the weekend to continue forever.

 

As we drove home from the kid swap on Sunday, I already was thinking of what we could do on the next Littles Weekend. I now find my heart missing them when they are with their mom. For the first time since B and I started dating, the Littles are on my mind all the time, every day.

 

I sat in my car on my lunch break yesterday and suddenly realized how much I have feelings growing in my heart for those babies. I’ve been guarded with my feelings for them because of the previous uncertainty with B. We’ve always had fun and done projects, they’ve always had stability and consistency with me, and I’ve always been interactive with them, but I’ve worked hard to keep my emotions in check with them. Watching the clouds cross the sky yesterday as I pondered all of the recent changes, I realized that B finally professing love for me subconsciously gave me permission to love his children.

 

In that moment, I thought to myself, “Man, I just love them so much…”