I have issues. If you have read this blog before, or know me in person, you already realize this. So let's move on to the issue of the day.
Melissa called this evening. Melissa is Dan's ex-wife and the mother of our daughter, Ash. I never got around to turning my ringer on today, I guess, because I didn't hear the call come in. She never calls. Like, once a year? Maybe? There are definitely issues in communication, among other things. Dan doesn't want to talk to her, so she and I usually do the talking and play nice for Ash's benefit.
Anyway, her message was the sixteenth message in my voice mail. Ugh! So, I deleted a handful of messages, hung up and called back. (This was so I could see how much progress I had made before I call back in to my voice mail. . . I know, issues.) Message sixteen was short and to the point. Melissa wants Dan to call her back so they can talk one on one.
What does this mean? What's going on? Did I do something to make her mad again? Is she upset because I asked Ash when she's going to come see us next? Is she going to try to keep Ash away from us MORE? Do we need to call a lawyer?
I am good at a few things and I am QUEEN of the worst case scenario game. I have no idea what's really going on, but I can't even think of a reason that might not be bad. I know I cannot be the only person who does this. It sucks. I've had a really good day with the kids, done some productive things, got a nap, scheduled some appointments, ate a yummy steak salad for supper, hung with the kids and Willie. Very good day.
My chest hurts now and I'm on the edge of tears. This is just dumb!
I'm on happy pills and have been working really hard to not get caught up in following any slightly negative path to it's worst imaginable outcome. I have made great strides is almost every area of my life. Why can't I deal with this any better? Even as I'm writing this, it is not helping me to cope like I thought it would. I'm trying not to slide down the slippery slope into a full blown panic/crying attack.
What I do know is that this relationship has never been easy and it probably never will be. I also know that our relationship with Ash has been suffering and I don't know what we can do. I know that we've seen her four times in the past year and this is the third summer she's not staying with us, as outlined in the parenting agreement. I'm not even sure what can make this situation worse and I keep reminding myself that I don't even KNOW that this is a bad thing. Melissa didn't sound mad when she called, but she NEVER calls to talk to Dan, specifically.
I have been praying about this situation for months. I have a great new friend who understands, offered to car pool to western Kansas if we can coordinate visits and gave me the info for a lawyer who I can talk to for cheap. These things should all make me feel more secure than I have in the past, but my neurosis is winning. . . .
I hoped to come to some calming, rational conclusion. Something that would logically show me that I can relax at least long enough to let Dan talk to Melissa before I worry. Something I could share to encourage other folks who know, all too well, exactly how this feels.
I will now begin with my distraction therapy (tv, games, cheesy romance novel) in order to avoid following this line of reasoning to the point that I convince myself that we'll never see Ash again.
I know the problem here is with me, not Melissa. I know that we'll find out whatever is going on and deal with it and get through it. I know that I love Ash to infinity and beyond.
My encouragement for the day--You are not alone. I'm here. I understand.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Sunday, April 28, 2013
That fine line. . .
It's almost eleven, I have to be up at five thirty but I'm just not able to sleep. I figured I better work some things out by writing or I'll never get to sleep.
The last time we saw Ash was in January, when we celebrated Christmas at Mom and Dad's house in Quinter. When I checked with her about coming for spring break, she said she didn't want to come because she was mad at Dan. She said she was upset that he never answers her facebook messages or texts and he doesn't call her. She was also upset that he has so many pictures of Livi on his facebook and almost none of her.
Part of the confusion comes from the android tablet Dan has that shows he's always logged into facebook if he has wifi even though he is rarely actually uses it. We let his phone shut down as we weren't really using it and it seemed like a waste of money, so texting is pretty much out. Anybody who hangs with Livi much takes her pic and tags us, so they show up on our page, but we don't have a working camera and we've only seen Ash twice in the past year, so it's hard to compete in that department either.
Basically, the way I see it, Dan and Ash just need to be together in one place so they can talk in person and work things out. I'm not sure how this will happen if she doesn't want to come her and they don't talk on the phone. When she wouldn't see us over spring break, she wouldn't message Payton or I either. Then about a month later, she texts to see if we are coming to her eighth grade graduation.
Dan and Payton neither really get the idea of a graduation for eighth grade, but I've tried to explain that it's a pretty big deal in some places.
Dan and I got the time off work and Payton will have to miss a band concert, but he's ok with that. Missing the band concert is actually the only reason Payton wants to go.
Payton is so hurt that Ash wouldn't see us or talk to us that he doesn't understand why we should go see her now. Why would she even invite us if she didn't want to see us? I tried to explain to him that if we don't take this chance to see her, we could lose her. For good. He tells me that we already have.
I pray that he's wrong. I see how hurt he is and I want to fix it but I can't. I don't know how Ash is feeling because I haven't really had a chance to talk to her, but I imagine she's feeling as hurt as Payton is. It seems like a whole lot of hurt has come from some kind of misunderstanding that we can't seem to get past.
We're going to Hill City for the graduation. We can't afford not to. I just hope we can all get past the hurts and celebrate Ashlynn's day. Then, I hope we can sit down and work some things out. I know how much we all love each other, but nobody seems to feel that right now.
Dear God,
Please help us all to let our defenses down enough to love each other. Let us look to help the person who we have hurt, rather than defend our shortcomings. Let that love that has always kept us tight bring us back together.
Love, Eeka
The last time we saw Ash was in January, when we celebrated Christmas at Mom and Dad's house in Quinter. When I checked with her about coming for spring break, she said she didn't want to come because she was mad at Dan. She said she was upset that he never answers her facebook messages or texts and he doesn't call her. She was also upset that he has so many pictures of Livi on his facebook and almost none of her.
Part of the confusion comes from the android tablet Dan has that shows he's always logged into facebook if he has wifi even though he is rarely actually uses it. We let his phone shut down as we weren't really using it and it seemed like a waste of money, so texting is pretty much out. Anybody who hangs with Livi much takes her pic and tags us, so they show up on our page, but we don't have a working camera and we've only seen Ash twice in the past year, so it's hard to compete in that department either.
Basically, the way I see it, Dan and Ash just need to be together in one place so they can talk in person and work things out. I'm not sure how this will happen if she doesn't want to come her and they don't talk on the phone. When she wouldn't see us over spring break, she wouldn't message Payton or I either. Then about a month later, she texts to see if we are coming to her eighth grade graduation.
Dan and Payton neither really get the idea of a graduation for eighth grade, but I've tried to explain that it's a pretty big deal in some places.
Dan and I got the time off work and Payton will have to miss a band concert, but he's ok with that. Missing the band concert is actually the only reason Payton wants to go.
Payton is so hurt that Ash wouldn't see us or talk to us that he doesn't understand why we should go see her now. Why would she even invite us if she didn't want to see us? I tried to explain to him that if we don't take this chance to see her, we could lose her. For good. He tells me that we already have.
I pray that he's wrong. I see how hurt he is and I want to fix it but I can't. I don't know how Ash is feeling because I haven't really had a chance to talk to her, but I imagine she's feeling as hurt as Payton is. It seems like a whole lot of hurt has come from some kind of misunderstanding that we can't seem to get past.
We're going to Hill City for the graduation. We can't afford not to. I just hope we can all get past the hurts and celebrate Ashlynn's day. Then, I hope we can sit down and work some things out. I know how much we all love each other, but nobody seems to feel that right now.
Dear God,
Please help us all to let our defenses down enough to love each other. Let us look to help the person who we have hurt, rather than defend our shortcomings. Let that love that has always kept us tight bring us back together.
Love, Eeka
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Through the eyes of a child. . .
Olivia and I have some interesting conversations, and yesterday was no exception. Sometimes her perspective is so clear and mature that I'm completely amazed. I shouldn't keep being surprised by this, yet somehow, I am.
Olivia wanted to know why girls don't have penises like boys. I told her that if we had penises we wouldn't be able to have babies, so she asked what we have that boys don't. I told her we have a vagina. I was beginning to get a little nervous about how far this conversation was going to go.
Then, thankfully, she started asking if the vagina was in her tummy. We talked about the uterus that holds the baby and the ovaries that hold the eggs that might get to be babies. She decided that babies don't get to be born until it's their birthday so that's why not all eggs are babies. I let her stick with that for now.
She was worried that if she has a baby, she might have twins who have their ears stuck together. I know that they talked about conjoined twins in school a while back, so I wasn't completely surprised at her train of thought. She wanted to know how twins were made. We were talking about when you have two or three eggs which makes two or three babies and they all are in their own water balloon. I explained that they can't get stuck together if they each have their own balloon. She wasn't sure if she should believe that you could really have three babies. I told her that I had three babies with three water balloons a long time ago.
Olivia wanted to know who they were. When I said that they died in my uterus and they didn't get a birthday, he asked if they were boys or girls. They were only 9 weeks, so we didn't even find that out.
"What are their names?"
We never named them. We never had a chance.
"Oh. Well, let's name them now. We'll call the boy Junior. The girls will be Buttercup and Kaylea."
I smiled at the this. I looked at her and saw how beautiful she is and felt how sweet it was of her to name kids she never knew.
She looked at me and gently took my hand in hers. She rubbed the back of my hand with her other hand and said, "I'm sorry your babies died, Mommy."
It took some extra blinking to keep the pipes from leaking. I gave her a big hug and asked if she wanted to know any more about twins and triplets.
She counted up and said that I would have had six kids: Junior, Buttercup, Kaylea, Ashlynn, Payton and Olivia. I reminded her that I didn't get to carry Ashlynn in my tummy, even though I love her bunches. I told her that I did have one other baby who didn't get a birthday so I could have had six kids, though.
"Well, since we already have more girls than boys," she mused, "We'll name this one Miles. Like Max and Miles at church. That's a good name."
We got sidetracked after that as Dan and Payton were ready for us to start our running around for the morning and I shrugged it aside. When my sister miscarried a couple years ago, I relived all of this and dealt with it. I was good.
We swung by McDonald's to get some breakfast for Payton before his choir rehearsal. We waited 20 minutes after paying and getting our drinks and never got our food. We had to get Payton to school or he would be late.
"I'm going to come back and yell at them later," I said as I drove away. Tears started coming. "Dan, I'm going to need your help with that."
"OK," he replied automatically. When he looked up and saw me crying, he was confused.
"I'm not crying about McDonald's."
"I know," he said, "You are feeling bad because Payton doesn't get any breakfast."
"No. Livi named my babies."
We dropped Payton off at school and Dan and I talked a lot. I couldn't understand why I was having such a hard time with this. Dan reminded me of the scene in the Disney "Tarzan" where they say you can't name the human or you'll get attached to it.
That didn't make any sense to me. I've already been through this. I've already dealt with this. I'm done with it. I have given birth to two beautiful kids and been blessed to help in raising three others. This seemed bizarre.
Dan looked at me, held my hand and said, "It is never going to go away."
For a guy who wasn't with me through either miscarriage, he sure seems to understand a lot about what I have been through and am continuing to go through. I don't know what I did to deserve the blessings of a husband who will support me through not only what we've been through together, but things he's never experienced. I never did anything to deserve a six year old who understands and comforts me more than so many adults know how to do.
I don't know if this will ever be easier when life brings these memories back to me, but I know I can get through them with astounding support.
I know that I will never forget Miles or Junior or Buttercup or Kaylea.
Olivia wanted to know why girls don't have penises like boys. I told her that if we had penises we wouldn't be able to have babies, so she asked what we have that boys don't. I told her we have a vagina. I was beginning to get a little nervous about how far this conversation was going to go.
Then, thankfully, she started asking if the vagina was in her tummy. We talked about the uterus that holds the baby and the ovaries that hold the eggs that might get to be babies. She decided that babies don't get to be born until it's their birthday so that's why not all eggs are babies. I let her stick with that for now.
She was worried that if she has a baby, she might have twins who have their ears stuck together. I know that they talked about conjoined twins in school a while back, so I wasn't completely surprised at her train of thought. She wanted to know how twins were made. We were talking about when you have two or three eggs which makes two or three babies and they all are in their own water balloon. I explained that they can't get stuck together if they each have their own balloon. She wasn't sure if she should believe that you could really have three babies. I told her that I had three babies with three water balloons a long time ago.
Olivia wanted to know who they were. When I said that they died in my uterus and they didn't get a birthday, he asked if they were boys or girls. They were only 9 weeks, so we didn't even find that out.
"What are their names?"
We never named them. We never had a chance.
"Oh. Well, let's name them now. We'll call the boy Junior. The girls will be Buttercup and Kaylea."
I smiled at the this. I looked at her and saw how beautiful she is and felt how sweet it was of her to name kids she never knew.
She looked at me and gently took my hand in hers. She rubbed the back of my hand with her other hand and said, "I'm sorry your babies died, Mommy."
It took some extra blinking to keep the pipes from leaking. I gave her a big hug and asked if she wanted to know any more about twins and triplets.
She counted up and said that I would have had six kids: Junior, Buttercup, Kaylea, Ashlynn, Payton and Olivia. I reminded her that I didn't get to carry Ashlynn in my tummy, even though I love her bunches. I told her that I did have one other baby who didn't get a birthday so I could have had six kids, though.
"Well, since we already have more girls than boys," she mused, "We'll name this one Miles. Like Max and Miles at church. That's a good name."
We got sidetracked after that as Dan and Payton were ready for us to start our running around for the morning and I shrugged it aside. When my sister miscarried a couple years ago, I relived all of this and dealt with it. I was good.
We swung by McDonald's to get some breakfast for Payton before his choir rehearsal. We waited 20 minutes after paying and getting our drinks and never got our food. We had to get Payton to school or he would be late.
"I'm going to come back and yell at them later," I said as I drove away. Tears started coming. "Dan, I'm going to need your help with that."
"OK," he replied automatically. When he looked up and saw me crying, he was confused.
"I'm not crying about McDonald's."
"I know," he said, "You are feeling bad because Payton doesn't get any breakfast."
"No. Livi named my babies."
We dropped Payton off at school and Dan and I talked a lot. I couldn't understand why I was having such a hard time with this. Dan reminded me of the scene in the Disney "Tarzan" where they say you can't name the human or you'll get attached to it.
That didn't make any sense to me. I've already been through this. I've already dealt with this. I'm done with it. I have given birth to two beautiful kids and been blessed to help in raising three others. This seemed bizarre.
Dan looked at me, held my hand and said, "It is never going to go away."
For a guy who wasn't with me through either miscarriage, he sure seems to understand a lot about what I have been through and am continuing to go through. I don't know what I did to deserve the blessings of a husband who will support me through not only what we've been through together, but things he's never experienced. I never did anything to deserve a six year old who understands and comforts me more than so many adults know how to do.
I don't know if this will ever be easier when life brings these memories back to me, but I know I can get through them with astounding support.
I know that I will never forget Miles or Junior or Buttercup or Kaylea.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Big Yellow Blankie
Anxiety sucks. It's frustrating and annoying and it doesn't make any sense. You know that, you understand that, but there it is.
This weekend, I drove a high school volleyball team to a tourney. I was at the bus lot 45 minutes before my pick up time to pre-trip the bus and headed out. Everyone was on the bus pretty quickly and we left the school right on time. In a car, the trip takes about three quarters of an hour, but on a school bus rocked out with a 58mph governor, we needed that extra quarter. After dropping the team off at the gym doors and giving the coach my cell number, I headed out to the edge of the parking lot.
Now, when I picked up my trip sheet from our trip coordinator the day before, I had asked if I was supposed to drop them off and then be back to pick them up. She said that I needed to stay for the day. I wanted to ask if it was ok to leave for a little bit to get something for lunch and then come back, but questions scare me. I could have called her and asked for clarification one I parked the bus. That would have made sense. I just can't seem to ask questions if there is any other option. I had already used up my stores of bravado by asking about leaving in the first place. Going for a follow up was just too much. I didn't want to look incompetent. I didn't want to seem like a bother. I didn't want to pester her. It was her day off. I could give you a dozen more reasons but the truth remains the same. I was scared.
There is no logical reason for this fear. I know that, but it's still there. Our trip coordinator is a super nice lady. I had to call her early in the morning on my last trip to ask a question and she was as cheerful as ever and even thanked me for checking in. There was absolutely no reason to be afraid.
Regardless, I sat on the bus all morning. I read most of the book I brought and I ate my snack. I wore a red shirt, to show support for the team I drove for, and I thought I might go in and watch some of the matches. I thought maybe I could grab lunch at the concession stand. I was hungry, bored and I really needed to pee, but I kept on reading just to stay on the bus. I had been sitting on the parked bus since eight. It was after one. I had quit drinking my water because I already had to pee and was hoping that the urge would pass. I thought maybe I'd wait until I got home, around five or six.
At this point, I was forced to admit to myself that I was afraid to get off the bus. I pride myself on being a good driver and I'm in charge on the bus. I know how things are supposed to work. I am in my comfort zone. I was hiding out in a gigantic, square, yellow, security blanket. Damn. :(
You would think that coming to this realization would have motivated me. Instead, it made me feel crappy and jump started the inertia. . . you know, an object on the bus tends to stay on the bus?
Thank God for my Dan. Dan was at McDonald's playplace with Livi. They were eating lunch and then he was going to read for an hour or so and give her a chance to play. He called to see how my trip was going and I shared with him my epiphany of cowardice. Dan reminded me of how Ash and Payton used to be afraid to talk to people. They would do anything together, but alone, neither of them would go up to the counter at McD's to order an ice cream or trade in their happy meal toy. We had to put them in situations where there was a greater incentive to talk to someone than to stay where they were. He told me that we, as a couple, are kind of out of the habit of talking to other people and we just have to learn again, like we taught the kids. I love how he joined me in my dysfunction so I didn't feel like such a weenie. My logical brain was convinced. I still wasn't sure it was enough to get me past my fear though, until Dan made me more uncomfortable staying on the bus than going inside.
He told me that if I didn't at least go in and use the restroom, I was going to be distracted while I was driving. He told me to go pee, grab some lunch and when I was back on the bus, I could call him if I wanted to. There are lots of reasons why I am blessed to have my Dan, and this was just one of those things . . . He understood me and my hangups well enough to help me in a practical way.
I got off the phone. I grabbed my cash, my phone and my bus key and headed inside. After I used the restroom and grabbed a couple hot dogs and a soda, I headed back out to the bus. I was halfway back, carrying my food, before I realized that I was half a step away from running and practically hyperventilating. I really needed to get back to my big, yellow blankie. I forced myself to slow down and breath a tad bit slower and deeper. I congratulated myself on facing my fears. I had talked to the folks at the concession stand and had a pleasant conversation about how the tourney was going. Next thing I knew, I was back on the bus, getting comfy so I could read some more and eat my lunch.
A big problem with anxiety is that it makes normal things seem way harder than normal. A really big problem with anxiety is that it's often best friends with depression. If you've ever had a chat with depression, you'll find that not only is he a bully, but he really enjoys a good game of King of the Hill. My teeny-weenie sense of accomplishment over going into a big, scary high school was just too much for him. There I was, standing on the molehill of pride when SLAM!! Depression knocked me right back down.
Seriously? Getting excited that you used the restroom and bought a hot dog? It's not like you overcame a REAL fear. What were you thinking? Loser! Get excited when you actually do something productive. Besides, if you weren't so screwed up, this would be a non-issue. You wouldn't even have gone if Dan hadn't held your mental little hand.
Not only did depression knock me back down my molehill to level ground, he also stomped me down in the mud on the other side so I was not even back to where I started when I was first stuck on the bus. It's so easy to look back at this and see how silly it was, but it is so scary and sad when you're stuck in the middle of it. My friend, Jenn, said to me, "Oh, no! You slimed yourself." I'd never thought of it that way, but it fits.
The fear of anxiety is a real fear. It may have started in your imagination or your chemical imbalance, but it doesn't matter how it got there once it crashed the party. Every little baby step to overcome that fear is a victory. It is worthy of your delight. It is one more reason for you to love yourself.
This weekend, I drove a high school volleyball team to a tourney. I was at the bus lot 45 minutes before my pick up time to pre-trip the bus and headed out. Everyone was on the bus pretty quickly and we left the school right on time. In a car, the trip takes about three quarters of an hour, but on a school bus rocked out with a 58mph governor, we needed that extra quarter. After dropping the team off at the gym doors and giving the coach my cell number, I headed out to the edge of the parking lot.
Now, when I picked up my trip sheet from our trip coordinator the day before, I had asked if I was supposed to drop them off and then be back to pick them up. She said that I needed to stay for the day. I wanted to ask if it was ok to leave for a little bit to get something for lunch and then come back, but questions scare me. I could have called her and asked for clarification one I parked the bus. That would have made sense. I just can't seem to ask questions if there is any other option. I had already used up my stores of bravado by asking about leaving in the first place. Going for a follow up was just too much. I didn't want to look incompetent. I didn't want to seem like a bother. I didn't want to pester her. It was her day off. I could give you a dozen more reasons but the truth remains the same. I was scared.
There is no logical reason for this fear. I know that, but it's still there. Our trip coordinator is a super nice lady. I had to call her early in the morning on my last trip to ask a question and she was as cheerful as ever and even thanked me for checking in. There was absolutely no reason to be afraid.
Regardless, I sat on the bus all morning. I read most of the book I brought and I ate my snack. I wore a red shirt, to show support for the team I drove for, and I thought I might go in and watch some of the matches. I thought maybe I could grab lunch at the concession stand. I was hungry, bored and I really needed to pee, but I kept on reading just to stay on the bus. I had been sitting on the parked bus since eight. It was after one. I had quit drinking my water because I already had to pee and was hoping that the urge would pass. I thought maybe I'd wait until I got home, around five or six.
At this point, I was forced to admit to myself that I was afraid to get off the bus. I pride myself on being a good driver and I'm in charge on the bus. I know how things are supposed to work. I am in my comfort zone. I was hiding out in a gigantic, square, yellow, security blanket. Damn. :(
You would think that coming to this realization would have motivated me. Instead, it made me feel crappy and jump started the inertia. . . you know, an object on the bus tends to stay on the bus?
Thank God for my Dan. Dan was at McDonald's playplace with Livi. They were eating lunch and then he was going to read for an hour or so and give her a chance to play. He called to see how my trip was going and I shared with him my epiphany of cowardice. Dan reminded me of how Ash and Payton used to be afraid to talk to people. They would do anything together, but alone, neither of them would go up to the counter at McD's to order an ice cream or trade in their happy meal toy. We had to put them in situations where there was a greater incentive to talk to someone than to stay where they were. He told me that we, as a couple, are kind of out of the habit of talking to other people and we just have to learn again, like we taught the kids. I love how he joined me in my dysfunction so I didn't feel like such a weenie. My logical brain was convinced. I still wasn't sure it was enough to get me past my fear though, until Dan made me more uncomfortable staying on the bus than going inside.
He told me that if I didn't at least go in and use the restroom, I was going to be distracted while I was driving. He told me to go pee, grab some lunch and when I was back on the bus, I could call him if I wanted to. There are lots of reasons why I am blessed to have my Dan, and this was just one of those things . . . He understood me and my hangups well enough to help me in a practical way.
I got off the phone. I grabbed my cash, my phone and my bus key and headed inside. After I used the restroom and grabbed a couple hot dogs and a soda, I headed back out to the bus. I was halfway back, carrying my food, before I realized that I was half a step away from running and practically hyperventilating. I really needed to get back to my big, yellow blankie. I forced myself to slow down and breath a tad bit slower and deeper. I congratulated myself on facing my fears. I had talked to the folks at the concession stand and had a pleasant conversation about how the tourney was going. Next thing I knew, I was back on the bus, getting comfy so I could read some more and eat my lunch.
A big problem with anxiety is that it makes normal things seem way harder than normal. A really big problem with anxiety is that it's often best friends with depression. If you've ever had a chat with depression, you'll find that not only is he a bully, but he really enjoys a good game of King of the Hill. My teeny-weenie sense of accomplishment over going into a big, scary high school was just too much for him. There I was, standing on the molehill of pride when SLAM!! Depression knocked me right back down.
Seriously? Getting excited that you used the restroom and bought a hot dog? It's not like you overcame a REAL fear. What were you thinking? Loser! Get excited when you actually do something productive. Besides, if you weren't so screwed up, this would be a non-issue. You wouldn't even have gone if Dan hadn't held your mental little hand.
Not only did depression knock me back down my molehill to level ground, he also stomped me down in the mud on the other side so I was not even back to where I started when I was first stuck on the bus. It's so easy to look back at this and see how silly it was, but it is so scary and sad when you're stuck in the middle of it. My friend, Jenn, said to me, "Oh, no! You slimed yourself." I'd never thought of it that way, but it fits.
The fear of anxiety is a real fear. It may have started in your imagination or your chemical imbalance, but it doesn't matter how it got there once it crashed the party. Every little baby step to overcome that fear is a victory. It is worthy of your delight. It is one more reason for you to love yourself.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Help?
I don't like to ask for help. I can't honestly think of anyone I know who does. And, I wonder, is this ingrained in us as the messed up humans that we are? Or do we teach it to our kids WAY too early?
Payton is thirteen. He will struggle and fuss with a problem until he's ready to scream and almost in tears. Then he'll slam things around and stomp and cuss until he gets into trouble for his behavior. This reaction to frustration may very well have been learned . . . but we'll blame his dads for that. ;) Now, when I tell him to chill out and ask for help if he needs it, he refuses every time. But, finally, either when his brain is about to go super-nova or he's ready to curl up into a little ball and cry, he'll accept the help I've been trying to give him all along.
I don't get it. It makes no sense to me at all. It is completely illogical to turn away from the help that you know you need until you have jacked up your project almost past the point of redemption. Then we have to backtrack to repair the damage done before we can even move forward and finish the work. It's a lot more frustrating, it's harder work and it takes a lot longer
Once we are done, I'll say something wise and mom-ish, like, "Wouldn't it have been easier to just ask for help in the first place?" Usually he'll give me a sheepish grin and admit that, of course, mom was right. Sometimes he'll give me that ornery grin and say, "Nope. That would never have worked."
We have this conversation, not to reveal the great wisdom that is Mom, but in the hopes of teaching him a lesson that could make so many things in life easier for him. I know this. I'm a pretty smart momma, most days. So, when will I learn what I am trying to teach my son?
It's easy to see that we don't know all there is to know We know an athlete needs a coach. We also know the rules of basketball are far less complicated to figure out than the rules of life. Doesn't it logically follow that we will need other coaches? Of course! We get a doctor to help us stay healthy and teachers to expand our minds. We find a mechanic to fix our car. So why are there so many other areas of our lives in which we refuse, not just to ask for help, but to accept help that is freely offered?
For me, at least, there seem to be three big deterrents to asking for or accepting help.
1. I am ashamed.
2. I am afraid.
Not only do I have high expectations for myself, which I continually fail to live up to, you have high expectations for me, too -- or at least I think you do.
Our apartment is a perfect example. We live in a small, two bedroom apartment. I always say we live in the ghetto, although Lawrence doesn't really have a ghetto. It's just a part of town with cheap rent and a high rate of domestic disturbance. When we first moved here, my therapist asked me if I felt safe living here. I HAD, right up until she asked me that question. Anyway, as we have both a boy and a couple of girls, Payton has one room and the girls have the other room. Dan and I have our bed in the living room. I am a little embarrassed about our living situation, but the real reason I am ashamed and afraid is because, as the Fly Lady says, we are living with CHAOS. Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome. Most of my friends have never been inside our apartment and the ones who have been were only there because I couldn't think of a polite way to keep them out.
Our place is a mess. It's an obstacle course to walk through and it is, most likely, a fire hazard. It is depressing in its disarray. We can't put everything in its place because there are just not enough places for all of the things. On a good day, I can do a sink or two of dishes and pick up some trash. On a bad day, it makes me cry and leaves me feeling so overwhelmed that I curl up in bed, read, play games or do anything else to avoid seeing the mess. I know that cleaning and organizing will make me feel better, but I just can't make myself face it. This makes me feel guilty for being such a failure to my family. My kids don't have a problem with this mess and that bothers me, too. These are all the things that I feel are written on the walls for you to read when you come visit, so I won't invite you over --EVER.
I will never invite you over because you will see what I see. You will know I am not living up to the standards that I should. You will know that I am fat and lazy and a terrible mother. I can barely stand to see that when I look at myself in the mirror. I could never cope with your judgement and condemnation on top of my own.
Now, I would like to remind you that I DO know this is my perception and not reality. So far, no one who has come to our place has rolled their eyes, run screaming or refused to speak to me again. Knowing that these fears are unrealistic does not lessen them.
3. The final reason that I do not ask for help is that I do not want to be a burden. Taking the apartment as our example again, it is not an easy fix. If I asked you to help me clean and organize today, it wouldn't be done and I would still need help tomorrow. And the next day. And the next . . . At what point do you turn to me and say, "Clean up your own damn mess!?" How do I know when I'm about to ask for too much BEFORE I have already asked too much.
Besides that, who doesn't already have their own messes and struggles to deal with? You work your butt off to keep your house neat and organized, why would you want to help me deal with mine?
If I have this much trouble sharing my messy apartment with friends who I trust, is it really any wonder I struggle on so many other fronts? But really, where is that balance? How can I ask for help on these messes of life without feeling like I'm trying to pass off my burdens onto others? I know there are people who want to help me, but I would never want to make them feel as if I am taking advantage of them. With this thought in mind, I tend to err on the side of caution and just not ask at all. Besides, what if I ask for help now, but tomorrow I need help even more? Then I don't want to ask for MORE help, so I save up my asking until there is no other option. Does this make any sense, probably not. Have I clarified anything for myself or anyone else, I doubt it. Do I feel better for having verbalized this, sorta? Yeah, I do. Good enough. :)
Payton is thirteen. He will struggle and fuss with a problem until he's ready to scream and almost in tears. Then he'll slam things around and stomp and cuss until he gets into trouble for his behavior. This reaction to frustration may very well have been learned . . . but we'll blame his dads for that. ;) Now, when I tell him to chill out and ask for help if he needs it, he refuses every time. But, finally, either when his brain is about to go super-nova or he's ready to curl up into a little ball and cry, he'll accept the help I've been trying to give him all along.
I don't get it. It makes no sense to me at all. It is completely illogical to turn away from the help that you know you need until you have jacked up your project almost past the point of redemption. Then we have to backtrack to repair the damage done before we can even move forward and finish the work. It's a lot more frustrating, it's harder work and it takes a lot longer
Once we are done, I'll say something wise and mom-ish, like, "Wouldn't it have been easier to just ask for help in the first place?" Usually he'll give me a sheepish grin and admit that, of course, mom was right. Sometimes he'll give me that ornery grin and say, "Nope. That would never have worked."
We have this conversation, not to reveal the great wisdom that is Mom, but in the hopes of teaching him a lesson that could make so many things in life easier for him. I know this. I'm a pretty smart momma, most days. So, when will I learn what I am trying to teach my son?
It's easy to see that we don't know all there is to know We know an athlete needs a coach. We also know the rules of basketball are far less complicated to figure out than the rules of life. Doesn't it logically follow that we will need other coaches? Of course! We get a doctor to help us stay healthy and teachers to expand our minds. We find a mechanic to fix our car. So why are there so many other areas of our lives in which we refuse, not just to ask for help, but to accept help that is freely offered?
For me, at least, there seem to be three big deterrents to asking for or accepting help.
1. I am ashamed.
2. I am afraid.
Not only do I have high expectations for myself, which I continually fail to live up to, you have high expectations for me, too -- or at least I think you do.
Our apartment is a perfect example. We live in a small, two bedroom apartment. I always say we live in the ghetto, although Lawrence doesn't really have a ghetto. It's just a part of town with cheap rent and a high rate of domestic disturbance. When we first moved here, my therapist asked me if I felt safe living here. I HAD, right up until she asked me that question. Anyway, as we have both a boy and a couple of girls, Payton has one room and the girls have the other room. Dan and I have our bed in the living room. I am a little embarrassed about our living situation, but the real reason I am ashamed and afraid is because, as the Fly Lady says, we are living with CHAOS. Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome. Most of my friends have never been inside our apartment and the ones who have been were only there because I couldn't think of a polite way to keep them out.
Our place is a mess. It's an obstacle course to walk through and it is, most likely, a fire hazard. It is depressing in its disarray. We can't put everything in its place because there are just not enough places for all of the things. On a good day, I can do a sink or two of dishes and pick up some trash. On a bad day, it makes me cry and leaves me feeling so overwhelmed that I curl up in bed, read, play games or do anything else to avoid seeing the mess. I know that cleaning and organizing will make me feel better, but I just can't make myself face it. This makes me feel guilty for being such a failure to my family. My kids don't have a problem with this mess and that bothers me, too. These are all the things that I feel are written on the walls for you to read when you come visit, so I won't invite you over --EVER.
I will never invite you over because you will see what I see. You will know I am not living up to the standards that I should. You will know that I am fat and lazy and a terrible mother. I can barely stand to see that when I look at myself in the mirror. I could never cope with your judgement and condemnation on top of my own.
Now, I would like to remind you that I DO know this is my perception and not reality. So far, no one who has come to our place has rolled their eyes, run screaming or refused to speak to me again. Knowing that these fears are unrealistic does not lessen them.
3. The final reason that I do not ask for help is that I do not want to be a burden. Taking the apartment as our example again, it is not an easy fix. If I asked you to help me clean and organize today, it wouldn't be done and I would still need help tomorrow. And the next day. And the next . . . At what point do you turn to me and say, "Clean up your own damn mess!?" How do I know when I'm about to ask for too much BEFORE I have already asked too much.
Besides that, who doesn't already have their own messes and struggles to deal with? You work your butt off to keep your house neat and organized, why would you want to help me deal with mine?
If I have this much trouble sharing my messy apartment with friends who I trust, is it really any wonder I struggle on so many other fronts? But really, where is that balance? How can I ask for help on these messes of life without feeling like I'm trying to pass off my burdens onto others? I know there are people who want to help me, but I would never want to make them feel as if I am taking advantage of them. With this thought in mind, I tend to err on the side of caution and just not ask at all. Besides, what if I ask for help now, but tomorrow I need help even more? Then I don't want to ask for MORE help, so I save up my asking until there is no other option. Does this make any sense, probably not. Have I clarified anything for myself or anyone else, I doubt it. Do I feel better for having verbalized this, sorta? Yeah, I do. Good enough. :)
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Open and Honest?
Be open, don't hide your mess.
Make sure that every interaction is a positive experience for others
If I share my hardships, do I sound like a whiner or a downer?
How can I share without dragging others into my sadness?
I've been struggling with a lot of junk lately. No more junk than anyone else, really. I think we all have our own load of junk. For me, it's major depression combined with a financial drought. Our rent is behind, our car barely has brakes, it's the monthly juggle to keep all the utilities and the phones from being disconnected. We get a little in food stamps, but I just got a job and it might be just enough that we won't be eligible for food stamps anymore. We can't afford to put gas in the car and buy bus passes, but the buses don't run late enough to cover all the running we need to do. It's just a cycle of craziness that's very tiring with no end in sight and homelessness is looming over our shoulders.
It also seems that no matter what we do to try to resolve things, it's not helping. We try to set up a budget, but we suck at it. Every month seems to bring up new surprises. Dan started school to try to help us in the long run and I got a job to help cover the extra cost of that. Now, if we lose our food stamps we'll be back where we were to start with, if not further behind. And somehow, we are not able to pay all of the bills and the rent anymore and everything we are paying towards rent is actually late fees now and an eviction notice can't be too much further down the line.
I"m working really hard to not get sucked down into my depression, which is harder when circumstances are scarier, but even so, some days I do all right. Other days, I just can't seem to do it. So when someone asks me, "how are you?" I am getting stuck on the answer.
Obviously, there are plenty of folks who ask me that question and are looking for the, "I'm fine. How are you?" response. I can do that. But what about those friends who are asking because they honestly want to know? How do I answer without being a weight that works to drag them down into the depression right along with me? How do you contribute to your friends lives in a positive way when you can't get past the fear that tomorrow you'll get that eviction notice? Or next month you won't be able to feed your kids? Or that the brakes won't hold and we'll get into an accident and someone will be hurt?
I've been running this argument round and round in my poor, tired brain for a few weeks now. I'd love to give it up, but it's just stuck there. So when I went to church this morning, I was still stuck. Sure, there are some of the "I'm fine," folks here, who don't know me well enough to want to know my gory details and I don't know them well enough to feel safe opening up like that. Then one of my friends asked how I was and I said I was doing ok. That didn't really feel right, because it was a lie. I wasn't even doing ok at that very moment in time because everything was still swirling around on the inside. Still not knowing what else to say, I let it stand. But the next time someone asked, I just rolled my eyes and said "eh." He knew exactly what I meant by that. His life has been a little "eh" lately, too. We didn't get too far into the details for practicality's sake, but it was better. By the time the third person looked at me and said, "How are you doing?" I looked at her and told her the truth. I said things were rough. Not necessarily rougher than for anyone else, but not exactly looking good either. We just talked about our frustrations with each other a bit. The first friend, who I ok'd, called me on my untrue statement from earlier. She pointed out that I hadn't shared that with her and that I should have called her when I was having a rough time. She didn't guilt me, just made sure I have her number so I can call her next time.
Well, I finally have my answer. It's not that all of my troubles go away when I shared them, and I didn't dump them on unsuspecting victims. It didn't drag any of my friends down that I shared with them, it bugged them more when I didn't share. I wasn't asking for pity and I didn't cry to make people feel sorry for me. I can't say there wasn't a tear or two, there's not much I can about that. But I feel a whole lot lighter this afternoon than I have felt in weeks.
I know that this is not a quick fix. When things are rough, I'm still going to want to hide. I don't want to be depressing to those I care about and if I feel like the story never changes, I worry that others will feel the same way. I don't know why I instinctively want to run from the very people I should be running to, but I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in that either. At least knowing that my friends want the honest truth, no matter how ugly it gets, makes it easier to deal with things and easier to share them. I wonder how long it will take for this kind of honesty to become a habit?
Make sure that every interaction is a positive experience for others
If I share my hardships, do I sound like a whiner or a downer?
How can I share without dragging others into my sadness?
I've been struggling with a lot of junk lately. No more junk than anyone else, really. I think we all have our own load of junk. For me, it's major depression combined with a financial drought. Our rent is behind, our car barely has brakes, it's the monthly juggle to keep all the utilities and the phones from being disconnected. We get a little in food stamps, but I just got a job and it might be just enough that we won't be eligible for food stamps anymore. We can't afford to put gas in the car and buy bus passes, but the buses don't run late enough to cover all the running we need to do. It's just a cycle of craziness that's very tiring with no end in sight and homelessness is looming over our shoulders.
It also seems that no matter what we do to try to resolve things, it's not helping. We try to set up a budget, but we suck at it. Every month seems to bring up new surprises. Dan started school to try to help us in the long run and I got a job to help cover the extra cost of that. Now, if we lose our food stamps we'll be back where we were to start with, if not further behind. And somehow, we are not able to pay all of the bills and the rent anymore and everything we are paying towards rent is actually late fees now and an eviction notice can't be too much further down the line.
I"m working really hard to not get sucked down into my depression, which is harder when circumstances are scarier, but even so, some days I do all right. Other days, I just can't seem to do it. So when someone asks me, "how are you?" I am getting stuck on the answer.
Obviously, there are plenty of folks who ask me that question and are looking for the, "I'm fine. How are you?" response. I can do that. But what about those friends who are asking because they honestly want to know? How do I answer without being a weight that works to drag them down into the depression right along with me? How do you contribute to your friends lives in a positive way when you can't get past the fear that tomorrow you'll get that eviction notice? Or next month you won't be able to feed your kids? Or that the brakes won't hold and we'll get into an accident and someone will be hurt?
I've been running this argument round and round in my poor, tired brain for a few weeks now. I'd love to give it up, but it's just stuck there. So when I went to church this morning, I was still stuck. Sure, there are some of the "I'm fine," folks here, who don't know me well enough to want to know my gory details and I don't know them well enough to feel safe opening up like that. Then one of my friends asked how I was and I said I was doing ok. That didn't really feel right, because it was a lie. I wasn't even doing ok at that very moment in time because everything was still swirling around on the inside. Still not knowing what else to say, I let it stand. But the next time someone asked, I just rolled my eyes and said "eh." He knew exactly what I meant by that. His life has been a little "eh" lately, too. We didn't get too far into the details for practicality's sake, but it was better. By the time the third person looked at me and said, "How are you doing?" I looked at her and told her the truth. I said things were rough. Not necessarily rougher than for anyone else, but not exactly looking good either. We just talked about our frustrations with each other a bit. The first friend, who I ok'd, called me on my untrue statement from earlier. She pointed out that I hadn't shared that with her and that I should have called her when I was having a rough time. She didn't guilt me, just made sure I have her number so I can call her next time.
Well, I finally have my answer. It's not that all of my troubles go away when I shared them, and I didn't dump them on unsuspecting victims. It didn't drag any of my friends down that I shared with them, it bugged them more when I didn't share. I wasn't asking for pity and I didn't cry to make people feel sorry for me. I can't say there wasn't a tear or two, there's not much I can about that. But I feel a whole lot lighter this afternoon than I have felt in weeks.
I know that this is not a quick fix. When things are rough, I'm still going to want to hide. I don't want to be depressing to those I care about and if I feel like the story never changes, I worry that others will feel the same way. I don't know why I instinctively want to run from the very people I should be running to, but I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in that either. At least knowing that my friends want the honest truth, no matter how ugly it gets, makes it easier to deal with things and easier to share them. I wonder how long it will take for this kind of honesty to become a habit?
Monday, December 19, 2011
Full Circle
Last December, we couldn't pay the rent. We tried to keep up with everything else, like utilities and the car payment. My depression was sucking me down into a hole and I went into denial. We still spent around twenty bucks to put some silly fun stuff in the kids stockings for Christmas and I tried to pretend that we weren't going to be homeless. We got an eviction notice in January and were living in a cheap hotel by February.
This year, we haven't paid the rent. We haven't spent a dime on Christmas for each other or the kids. There are a few gifts coming from other people, so there will be a little something under the tree, but we can't even do stocking stuffers. We don't have a car payment, but we can't afford gas. Dan was accepted into a culinary program, which has him SO excited that it's adorable, but we don't have the hundred bucks enrollment fee or the $170 payment that will be due on the first. Even if we don't pay the phone bill and lose our phones next week, we still can't pay rent and have the gas money to go get Ash for Christmas. We are waiting to see if we are eligible for food stamps again and I can't donate plasma again until January. Christmas in Quinter is January 12 and Dan has to be in court to find out how much child support they are going to garnish on the 20th. I'm trying not to get dragged down too far by this. We have been tithing and I am praying A LOT.
The only real difference between this year and last year is that I'm trying NOT to ignore this all and I'm hoping God is listening. Last year, I figured He didn't care. This year, I am hoping that He is going to fix something. I understand that He CAN fix this, I just also know that sometimes He doesn't. I know that God will give us what we need, however, I'm afraid of the difference of opinion between what I think I need and what He thinks we need.
I can't deal with the idea of having to tell Payton that we can't see Ash for Christmas. Or having to call Momma and Daddy and say we won't be seeing them in January. I can't stand the thought of seeing Dan crushed if we can't get him to school now that he's finally got hope again. I'm not getting excited about Christmas dinner, I'm just glad Dan will get to eat at work and I'm hoping Livi and I can scrounge something up. I don't know if I can make it through this again.
December is the most terrible, awful, no-good, very bad Monday ever, all stretched out to cover a whole month. Every year. Everyone says that what doesn't kill us makes us stronger. I don't feel any stronger. I feel like I'm going to shatter into a bazillion teeny-tiny little pieces. How can I tell my kids that God is going to take care of them when I can't even figure out how this faith thing works? I ask God to take care of our family, I give to my church, I tell God, "You have got to cover this, because I don't know how." I don't know how to trust Him to take care of it. I don't know how to not beat myself up for not having a job. We agreed I would stay home with Livi, but this is not working and I can't fix it. I can't even get a job because of my last two jobs ending in a questionable manner. I forgot our SRS appointment when the car broke down and we still don't have food stamps again.
In a way, it's way scarier to have hope than to give up. Last year, I knew we were gonna be homeless because I couldn't see any other scenario. This year, I hope that there is another plan that I just don't see. But what if there isn't? What if it's in God's plan for me to be just a little more humble? A lot of people say things about how much richer we are than other countries. I know that's supposed to make me feel more grateful for what I have. I am so glad I have Dan and Payton and Livi and that we are all healthy. I truly am. But hearing of how much better this is than in some other places doesn't make me feel guilty for living in the lap of luxury. It makes me feel guilty that I don't feel as bad as I think I should for those poor people living in other places. Sometimes, I am not as nice a person as I want to think that I am.
Somebody bought me a pair of boots last week. They were cute and warm and didn't fit so I had to trade them in for guy boots that will keep my toes warm. It's awesome to have warm shoes again and it touched my heart when a group of folks at my church donated warm socks to the homeless shelter this year. Today, a friend of mine gave the socks she was wearing to someone with cold, wet feet. I love being around people with such a love that strives to understands the needs of others at a real level. It helps me a little to know that there are loving people out there who are doing all they can for others. It's amazing to know them. I wish I could get my Christmas spirit revved up to do the same. It's hard to look to how you can help someone else when you can't even help your own kids.
Lord, help us. We need it. Please get this. Please fix this in such a way as to carry us into a better place. Please don't let us go through this again. I know Livi wants to live in a motel again, but I really really don't. I'm doing the best I can, but you know that's not very good. I'm not good at faith. I am trying. I've made it to hope. That's a big step for me. I'm sorry I don't trust you yet. Maybe next year? Amen.
This year, we haven't paid the rent. We haven't spent a dime on Christmas for each other or the kids. There are a few gifts coming from other people, so there will be a little something under the tree, but we can't even do stocking stuffers. We don't have a car payment, but we can't afford gas. Dan was accepted into a culinary program, which has him SO excited that it's adorable, but we don't have the hundred bucks enrollment fee or the $170 payment that will be due on the first. Even if we don't pay the phone bill and lose our phones next week, we still can't pay rent and have the gas money to go get Ash for Christmas. We are waiting to see if we are eligible for food stamps again and I can't donate plasma again until January. Christmas in Quinter is January 12 and Dan has to be in court to find out how much child support they are going to garnish on the 20th. I'm trying not to get dragged down too far by this. We have been tithing and I am praying A LOT.
The only real difference between this year and last year is that I'm trying NOT to ignore this all and I'm hoping God is listening. Last year, I figured He didn't care. This year, I am hoping that He is going to fix something. I understand that He CAN fix this, I just also know that sometimes He doesn't. I know that God will give us what we need, however, I'm afraid of the difference of opinion between what I think I need and what He thinks we need.
I can't deal with the idea of having to tell Payton that we can't see Ash for Christmas. Or having to call Momma and Daddy and say we won't be seeing them in January. I can't stand the thought of seeing Dan crushed if we can't get him to school now that he's finally got hope again. I'm not getting excited about Christmas dinner, I'm just glad Dan will get to eat at work and I'm hoping Livi and I can scrounge something up. I don't know if I can make it through this again.
December is the most terrible, awful, no-good, very bad Monday ever, all stretched out to cover a whole month. Every year. Everyone says that what doesn't kill us makes us stronger. I don't feel any stronger. I feel like I'm going to shatter into a bazillion teeny-tiny little pieces. How can I tell my kids that God is going to take care of them when I can't even figure out how this faith thing works? I ask God to take care of our family, I give to my church, I tell God, "You have got to cover this, because I don't know how." I don't know how to trust Him to take care of it. I don't know how to not beat myself up for not having a job. We agreed I would stay home with Livi, but this is not working and I can't fix it. I can't even get a job because of my last two jobs ending in a questionable manner. I forgot our SRS appointment when the car broke down and we still don't have food stamps again.
In a way, it's way scarier to have hope than to give up. Last year, I knew we were gonna be homeless because I couldn't see any other scenario. This year, I hope that there is another plan that I just don't see. But what if there isn't? What if it's in God's plan for me to be just a little more humble? A lot of people say things about how much richer we are than other countries. I know that's supposed to make me feel more grateful for what I have. I am so glad I have Dan and Payton and Livi and that we are all healthy. I truly am. But hearing of how much better this is than in some other places doesn't make me feel guilty for living in the lap of luxury. It makes me feel guilty that I don't feel as bad as I think I should for those poor people living in other places. Sometimes, I am not as nice a person as I want to think that I am.
Somebody bought me a pair of boots last week. They were cute and warm and didn't fit so I had to trade them in for guy boots that will keep my toes warm. It's awesome to have warm shoes again and it touched my heart when a group of folks at my church donated warm socks to the homeless shelter this year. Today, a friend of mine gave the socks she was wearing to someone with cold, wet feet. I love being around people with such a love that strives to understands the needs of others at a real level. It helps me a little to know that there are loving people out there who are doing all they can for others. It's amazing to know them. I wish I could get my Christmas spirit revved up to do the same. It's hard to look to how you can help someone else when you can't even help your own kids.
Lord, help us. We need it. Please get this. Please fix this in such a way as to carry us into a better place. Please don't let us go through this again. I know Livi wants to live in a motel again, but I really really don't. I'm doing the best I can, but you know that's not very good. I'm not good at faith. I am trying. I've made it to hope. That's a big step for me. I'm sorry I don't trust you yet. Maybe next year? Amen.
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