Tag Archives: Anger


I love my new therapist. For those of you who are in therapy, I highly suggest switching therapists at least every 3 years. A lot of growth and discovery can happen in three years when you’re committed but after that time, it is necessary to have someone else’s strategies, if for no other reason than to shake you out of your comfort zone. I have reluctantly changed therapists three times (and by therapists, I mean the 3 good ones I’ve had). This time, I took a year off and then finally realized that it was time to bite the bullet and “start over.” That is why it took me so long to see someone else – I just could not bear the thought of rehashing my entire life for someone new. I even thought it may be unhealthy for me to do so. Not so! She has an entirely new approach and expertise in areas I didn’t even realize would be relevant for me, such as post traumatic stress. I’ve learned extremely valuable lessons from each of my therapists – but there’s something different about the one I have now. She questions me, which means she’s really listening. She challenges my thinking, which means she’s not afraid to call me on my shit – who doesn’t need to be called on their shit!? NO ONE. The most important thing she has done so far, though, is to validate me in very specific and important ways.

I have come to a place where I tell “my story” as if I’m reading from a script to anyone who will listen. I almost don’t even thing about the events of my life, I just explain them and then ask, “Why am I not over it?” I didn’t have my records transferred to my new therapist because I wanted to start anew, and this was a wise choice. As I am explaining matter-of-factly the huge decision my parents made when I was 15 that I’ve always said forever changed my life, she stopped me and reminded me, “You realize that a decision means they had a choice, don’t you?” My immediate response was “Well, they didn’t really have a choice… my dad would have lost his job if…” She stopped me. “What may or may not have happened with your dad’s job is part of what they had to weigh when making the decision. But regardless of the factors that played into their decision, it was still a choice.” I was somewhat speechless and shocked that I’d never actually believed it was, which had allowed me to pity them and feel guilty for being angry at their decision for so many years. I had to think about it for a few weeks before I could make sense of it. And it seems so simple, doesn’t it?

I started to realize how often my parents, and my entire family for that matter, present scenarios to me as if another choice other than the one they are choosing is just not possible. In fact, every one of these circumstances absolutely do involve the option of a more respectful, less hurtful choice. So, I started to ponder the concept of choice in general. This realization has freed me in a way 200 more therapy sessions of hearing myself talk never ever could have. I’ve told that particular story my therapist heard at least 20 times to various people in my life, therapists and friends alike. Every time I have presented it as a tough situation for my parents in which they had no other choice. Just changing the beginning of the story will now change the way I tell the rest of it. This particular epiphany is quite monumental.

Since I have decided that this new therapy journey I’ve just embarked upon will be the one that heals me apart from my family as well, I have been pushing myself to challenge my self-talk. And, what do you know? I do it too. I make decisions and remain in circumstances as if another choice is simply not an option. “I hate my job but I can’t do anything about it because I have to stay here so my husband has the freedom to change jobs as he wishes because he’s hated his job longer than I have and our benefits are with my job.” Now, it may seem noble of me to make that decision. But I’ve been making that decision A LOT, practically for our entire marriage. I just figured out part of the reason I have such resentment for my husband – because of CHOICES that I have made. It is a choice for me to stay in my job. I have potential that far outreach my day-to-day “duties” and yet I accept that doing anything but collecting that paycheck and those benefits is “impossible.” It’s not impossible. The resentment plays in when I don’t see my husband actively applying himself to looking for a new job as I feel he should. So, he doesn’t spend every waking hour looking for a new job – the longer he spends procrastinating the longer I have to stay in my job, and you see how the tension in my house remains fairly high. What I really need to do is to make a different choice.

A wise friend once told me that taking care of yourself is the most important thing you can do, because if you don’t do that, you can’t take care of anyone else. I used to think that was selfish way of thinking – and the reason I felt that was a selfish way to think is in part because I have been surrounded by people who did not take care of themselves my entire life. I was also taught that any attempt to take care of self was, in fact, selfish. I am still being taught that looking out for myself is selfish.

And, here we arrive at the title of this post. This weekend, my parents were to come to town – for their usual 24 hour visit. The details of what occurred aren’t really relevant. My parents made another hurtful and extremely selfish decision. Considering many recent events in my and my sister’s lives, we were both extra bothered by this decision. My sister has always been the peace maker and regardless of how upset she is, she will never stand up and say why. I usually don’t either, but I’ve been closer and closer to the end of my rope in the last two years and I finally couldn’t take it any more. I refuse to enable their behavior, and that is a choice that I’ve been making for my entire life now – mostly subconsciously but now that I realize there are other choices, I’m going to start making them. I called my mother and explained to her that her decision had caused unnecessary confusion, energy, and hurt. I was respectful, calm, and very direct. I am not normally direct. 10 minutes after I got of the phone with my mom, my dad called. I let it go to voicemail because I knew exactly what had happened in the last 10 minutes. My mom called my dad and told him that I was mean. My dad called me to “punish” me. His voicemail essentially said that he didn’t like my “attitude” and that I could call him if I wanted to discuss the situation. Let’s be clear… by “discuss” he meant lecture. I was not interested in being lectured, so I made a choice to save myself the pain that would have come from taking his verbal abuse in that moment. The voicemail was enough.

So, blogger friends, this is a giant step in the right direction for me. I like this study on the power of choice. I like the perspective it’s given me. The realization that my parents have had a choice in how they treated me and still treat me gives me the freedom to take back the power of my own choices. And I choose not to sit by and let their choices affect my daily life any longer. It will be and has been a long journey, but I am getting there. The first step was today, when I made the choice to SPEAK. And I think I’ll be doing that much more often.


My brother: Chapter 3: ME.

That phone conversation sent me into the dark place… that place where I go when I feel emotionally trapped.  I’ve been to that place oh so many times over the years.  I’ve lived there for months at a time.  I don’t go there very often any more, but when I do, I go with a new awareness that makes the pain deeper, and therefore shorter lasting.  There was nothing I could say… nothing.  Anything I said would have made me look like the ass hole.  I couldn’t believe the tone in his voice, the matter-of-fact way with which he spoke… the absolute void-of-emotion conversation we were having.  He was leaving to go back across the ocean in less than 24 hours… no desire to see your sister who is one of the greatest people you’ve ever known???  No NEED to see her and hug her and say thank you, I love you, one more time?  No.  Nothing but a slight obligatory tone indicative of a family member who is obligated to appease another family member just by showing up when is expected.  And then my mind started spinning…

Of course he was acting distant to me now that he’d come home and my parents were completely and amazingly supportive of his situation.  He’d called them and told them and given them a few days to think it over before he called back to tell them he was coming home to marry Rachel.  I finally spoke to my mother about it and her word-for-word comments were these,”I mean, what are we supposed to do, but be supportive?  We can make a big deal about it and worry about what everyone will think, or we can just accept that this is what it is and love them and be the supportive parents that they need us to be right now.  It could be a lot worse.”

Pause still for shock and awe.

My jaw nearly fell off my face.  After a few seconds of speechlessness, I managed to tell her how proud I was for her and how right she was.  I told her I was proud of her three times.  She acted surprised… and finally said, “Well, ya know, we’ve been through a lot, Ellie, and we aren’t going to be the kind of parents that aren’t there for our children.  I can’t tell you what some of my cousins went through with their families and the lack of support they received.  We’re just not going to do that.”  She talked a little bit more but I tuned her out… I told her I was proud of her for the last time and we said goodbye.

I shared this apparent awakening with an old friend and was able to laugh about how I feel that I have a right to take credit for some of that obvious emotional growth and development that has occurred in my parents… I like to think I broke them in with my bi-racial marriage and all.  They ignored my husband’s existence for 2 years and lectured me about how they’d burn in hell before they had black grand-babies… they told me at the age of 25 that I had no “idea” what I was doing and that I “better stop it now” before it’s “too late.”  Doesn’t take a genius to figure out what they meant by “too late.”  They never reacted well to any situation I found myself in.  They were never supportive of me in my darkest hours when I needed them the most.  As proud as I was of them for the way they were handling this situation, their ease and acceptance just dug the knife they planted in my heart many years ago in just a little bit deeper.  That is a pain that is profound and very energy consuming to cover up when they are around.

So, here was my brother, home and spending time with my mom and dad who completely and almost immediately embraced him and the girl they once said they could not stand.  They surrounded him with the love and support he needed almost immediately, as he said they would.  He told me, “they don’t have a choice, they’ll love her and be supportive of her because our family is amazing and that’s what families do.”  It has taken me years of therapy to realize that they very much do have a choice when it comes to what kind of parents they choose to be.  I am finally beginning to understand this. Parents always have a choice as to how they will react to their children.  Herein lies the “ME” part of this chapter.

In my frustration, I tried calling my parents, no answer.  I tried calling my sister, no answer.  I just could not bring myself to seek comfort from my husband, who had the knowledge to offer the most compassion, but lacks a general ability to actually show compassion, which presents an obvious problem. But, I decided to tell him anyway because quite frankly, he was the only one who knew the history and sometimes I just can’t be bothered explaining it all, nor do I want everyone in my life to know the drama that is my family.  I explained to my husband that I was feeling hurt by the entire situation on multiple levels:  hurt that my brother was showing no interest or even care about whether or not he saw me before he left the country, hurt that my parents had shown him such support and love when I never have been able to receive that from them. I told him that if it were not for me and all of the things I “put them through,” this would never be.  His response did not shock me… he told me “Don’t even take it there, Ellie.  Don’t even take it there. This isn’t about you or your parents…”  I stopped him and calmly explained that the situation involves me because of the bond I have with my brother.  I explained that I am allowed and should be granted full permission in my own house to feel things as I need to feel them as I adjust to the situation.  I explained that he must understand my shock and awe at my parents behavior considering that I had received such opposite behavior from them on multiple occasions in my life.  Certainly, he could understand that?? Apparently not. So, I told the blog. ūüėČ

They finally came by; it was after their dinner reservations, around 9pm.  I’d just put my son to bed.  As soon as I saw him, all the anger and hurt I’d been feeling all day naturally disappeared.  I hugged him and told him to please keep in touch once he was back home.  I’m a bit of an over protective sister at this point and I do recognize that I have some adjusting to do, but who wouldn’t?  

My brother: Chapter 1: Shotgun

My brother just had a shotgun wedding.

1. shotgun wedding
where one or both parties are forced into marriage due to an unplanned pregnancy
– Urban Dictionary

Everyone must know what that is, but for some reason I felt the need to google it. ¬†Gotta love the Urban Dictionary. ¬†So, I have a new sister-in-law! ¬†That I barely know! ¬†This is all fine and well. ¬†My brother and I have always had a unique bond and I’ve always felt that he has some kind of 6th sense when it comes to me. ¬†Well, maybe not always. ¬†He came to live with my husband and I for a while after he almost drank himself to death and could not go home to live with my parents because after 3 times of this happening before, they finally shut their door to him. ¬†My husband and I were happy to welcome him into our home with just a few adult rules, including “no drinking” for the alcoholic who wouldn’t admit he was an alcoholic. ¬†My mother begged me not to let him live with me, swearing up and down that it would ruin our relationship. ¬†“That’s impossible,” I’d tell her, “Me and my brother have a bond that no one understands… it is impossible to ruin.” ¬†He lived with us for four months and witnessed a lot of the same problems between me and my husband that we still deal with. ¬†At one point, he made the gigantic mistake of inserting his 2 cents into the “problem” that he presumed he understood. ¬†He’s always really looked up to my husband for many reasons. ¬†He said to me, “Sometimes you just have to let things go. ¬†I hear you talking about the same one issue over and over and it’s exhausting. ¬†That’s one of my pet peeves! ¬†I hate it when people do that! ¬†Just let it go!”

Maybe that was the point things started to change… but over the course of the last month he lived with us as he completely ran out of money and as a result became very anxious and unappreciative, he finally told me to “Shut up” and that was it. ¬†I told him to get out. ¬†My brother and I hadn’t fought since we were kids. ¬†Adult fighting really is so much worse. ¬†I hated it. ¬†I had hated the last two months he was with us, because he had turned into someone I didn’t recognize again. ¬†You can never really know a person until they live with you, though. ¬†It’s the truth. ¬†Living together as children, again, is very different from living together as adults. ¬†He would sit on my couch and watch South Park and Reno 911 for hours. ¬†I would come home from work, at a job I could not stand, and he’d be on my couch, laughing as if he didn’t have a care in the world. ¬†I’d find myself asking his permission to change the channel on the TV that I paid for… the channels on the cable plan that I paid for. ¬†He had ultimately no respect for what we were doing for him towards the end of his stay. And, much to my mom’s heartbreak, it definitely did ruin our relationship for a couple of years. ¬†He never called me. ¬†I didn’t exactly seek him out either, it was pretty hard to swallow the disrespect in the end mostly because I had never experienced anything but the utmost respect and friendship from my brother. ¬†When he finally got himself back together and moved back in with my parents, he would always call my sister first if he needed to come to our town, which was quite often as he was prepping for the NAVY and had frequent check-ins. ¬†It was painful – I’ll never know if it was painful for him because he has re-entered a shell over the years. ¬†He pokes out now and then, usually when he’s drunk. ¬†I’ve gotten an email or a phone call about how wonderful I am and how much he loves me in the last two years since he’s been in the NAVY now.

The latest call that made me think he was truly “back” involved the latest news. ¬†He was drunk, and shaky and scared out of his mind. ¬†The details don’t matter – what happens next does. ¬†My brother and I have a wonderful talk and he admits for the first time that he knows he’s an alcoholic and that it is harder for him not to drink than it is for him to drink. ¬†He tells me he is afraid of failing and afraid of screwing everything up – afraid of not being man enough to raise a baby or be a good husband. ¬†He tells me all his fears and I pump him with the confidence I know he needs although inside I am crying in my fear. ¬†I was so honored that I received that call; that he had reached out to me first. ¬†He told me that he loved me and that he knew I would know just what to say to make him feel better about things. ¬†I told him that I would do anything to help him because he had always been there to help me in my darkest hours. ¬†I relied on him for my only support system many times. ¬†And, he’s my little brother. ¬†But numerous times when my mom and dad did not have the emotional capability to mother and father me the way they should have, my brother stepped up and did his part to be sure I knew I wasn’t alone. ¬†The fist time I ever experienced major depression and felt trapped (because I pretty much was) in my parents’ dysfunction emotionally and physically, my brother invited me to go on a date with him… out of the blue. ¬†He just asked me one day if I’d let him take me on a date. ¬†It was honestly the first genuinely no-strings-attached nice thing anyone in my house had asked of me for as long as I could remember. ¬†So, I said yes. ¬†We rode the bus to the movies downtown, he bought me a single red rose, and we even held hands. ¬†People probably thought we were actually on a date, it was so sweet. ¬†I’m sure my parents gave him money and admired his gesture… they had told me just weeks before that I should consider how my depression was affecting my “little brother.” ¬†It didn’t seem to be affecting him at all; he seemed to simply understand that I was very, very sad. ¬†Sad enough to want to end my life. ¬†He understood that I needed some positive human interaction. ¬†He probably saved my life that night. ¬†I’ll never forget it. ¬†I didn’t really understand why he was being so nice to me – he was only 14 years old and I didn’t comprehend how he could be so tuned into the situation. ¬†Especially, because my parents obviously had no regard for his emotional intelligence because they had no concept of “emotional intelligence” at all themselves, and certainly a 14-year-old child could not have the ability to think rationally for himself. ¬†We’ve surprised our parents, many times over the years.

About 3 years later, I had to be hospitalized because I calmly explained to my roommate that when she left to take her exams the next day, I was going to take my entire bottle of Ambien sleeping pills and call it quits. ¬†I was scared to call my dad to ask for the insurance information required for my stay, so my roommate did it for me. ¬†I am pretty sure I have an idea of what he said to her that day, but she never told me. ¬†She just told me “Your dad’s an ass hole, no wonder you’re here.” ¬†Somehow we managed to get the insurance information, which means someone was able to convince my dad that I actually was in need of some serious medical intervention… that depression is actually not something people just make up for fun or boredom. ¬†What I didn’t know at the time was that my brother was home the day my roommate called him and got to witness and hear out loud my father’s thoughts after learning that his daughter had been hospitalized for wanting to end her life. ¬†I would come to learn that the words he first uttered were “What are people going to think of our family?”

Eight days later, my family was required to come in for a family meeting so that the doctors could be sure that I was going home to a safe environment. ¬†Here’s out that played out: two therapists sat in the room with me as my family entered one by one, a small room full of chairs placed in a circle. ¬†I stood up to greet them but every single one of them walked past me without even acknowledging my existence, except for my brother. ¬†He was last to come in and he gave me the biggest hug you can imagine. ¬†Again, he’ll never know that hug saved me because there’s no way to verbalize that to someone. ¬†I’ve told him many times how much it meant to me… but there is no way that he could ever know how powerful it truly was. ¬†It will not surprise you that approximately 60 seconds later, the head social worker/counselor looked at me and asked me to come outside the room. ¬†“That was all I needed to see, honey. ¬†Your entire family needs to be committed, save your brother. ¬†You’re the sanest one among all of them. ¬†We’re not going to have that meeting because what I just witnessed was enough for me to know that it is not safe for you to go home with them. ¬†But you are ready to go home; do you have anyone else who you can stay with for now? ¬†Is there anyone that you can call?”

And there it was… maybe for the first time in my life… some solid validation that I needed in a major way. ¬†There were actual reasons for my depression, particularly this episode, that had nothing to do with my family. ¬†They just couldn’t separate themselves or their need to “keep up with the Joneses” long enough to comprehend what was actually happening and what horrific parents they were proving to be in this particular situation. ¬†But, my brother could and did.

Flowers and Jewelry (and a little hypocrisy)

Our latest argument was about money. ¬†We argue about money quite a bit. ¬†Mainly, this is due to the lack of money we generally have to do things that we have to do – such as grocery shop or pay for our newly established gym membership. ¬†Last week we were too tight to pay the gym membership so I told my husband we needed to put it on the credit card until payday, when we could pay it right back. ¬†His response? ¬†“That’s not our money. ¬†I don’t know what you’re going to do b/c we aren’t going to be able to pay it for another two weeks.” ¬†Obviously, this meant I couldn’t go to the gym for those two weeks and he knows I am currently trying to lose weight (and doing very well!) ¬†This absolutely infuriated me. ¬†In my mind, it is just another way for him to try and control me.

Fast forward to Valentine’s Day. ¬†He spent the day with a mutual friend of ours who I decided to clue into the recent (ha, recent) drama in our relationship. ¬†Essentially I chose to let him in on the fact that I really believe that my husband is clinically depressed and needs a mentor or at least a friend to force him out of the house. ¬†I knew this friend would be asking him what he was planning on doing for me for the big day in February that I’ve just grown to hate. ¬†Excuse me for not sounding like a very appreciative wife here in the next paragraph.

I got a phone call towards the end of my work day. ¬†He asked me to pick up the little guy even though he could’ve done so easily. ¬†I figured that he could probably use some more time alone and as usual, held out a bit of hope that what he really needed the time for was so he could go home and prepare a romantic candlelight dinner, ya know, as part of his “I’ll do anything” campaign tour. ¬†In my drive home, I tried to talk myself out of these expectations. ¬†After all, I’d gotten him a card (because that was seriously all I could afford) and figured he’d probably done the same for me and that would be that. ¬†I actually found a very appropriate card this year. ¬†It essentially gently reminded him that I do love him without indicating that he’s this gigantic support system for me/the perfect man/my soul mate like most of them do. ¬†I felt he needed that assurance because he seems to be convinced that I don’t want to be with him (although, I realize as well that this is a tactic part of his denial that our problems are real and therefore fixable if we just try to fix them). ¬†I’ve somewhat shifted from anger to compassion as I’ve realized that his depression is real and true. ¬†It’s the fact that he’s in denial and has always exhibited emotionally abusive behaviors that tips the scale to anger on some (okay most) days. ¬†I can’t exactly use his recent depression as an excuse for that behavior, can I? ¬†No, unfortunately. ¬†Because, that would probably be easier. ¬†Sigh. ¬†I feel like I will never get to the end of this paragraph. ¬†I think I have to start a new one now.

I got home. ¬†No candles were lit, but I’d convinced myself not to expect that, right? ¬†No, it couldn’t be that simple. ¬†The house wasn’t picked up, but there were a dozen roses, two cards, and gift box on the table. ¬†It was sweet, unexpected, but still fell short. ¬†He knew what time I got home – I walked in the door to a mess and he was sitting on the couch talking on the phone. ¬†It was almost like…. “See, I did it. ¬†Here’s your freakin’ Valentine.” ¬†See what I mean? ¬†I sound a bit like a spoiled brat. ¬†But that’s the thing – I’m NOT. ¬†So what if I expected that he’d maybe have dinner ready? ¬†The table set for us all to sit and eat together? ¬†Maybe a frickin’ candle? ¬†Instead, a box, that I knew would have jewelry in it, because he still thinks that I need things like this. ¬†He is so convinced that if he buys me expensive things like jewelry, I’d feel better. ¬†You can probably understand per the first paragraph why I felt like strangling him with whatever piece of jewelry was in that box before I’d ever seen it. ¬†Seriously? ¬†You got me JEWELRY? ¬†You can buy me jewelry, but you can’t borrow money from the credit card to pay the gym dues so I can keep working out? ¬†Oh, I see – what YOU think is important and not completely wasteful and unnecessary is acceptable, what I think is important is just little woman talk. ¬†So, we opened each others cards and decided to save the jewelry for later. ¬†When I opened it, I started crying. ¬†As is the story of my life – I wasn’t crying tears of frickin’ joy – I was crying because the man is just so utterly clueless it literally hurts me. ¬†It was a fancy, and beautiful choker (HA, the irony kills me). ¬†It was great! ¬†It will sit in the box it came in on top of my jewelry box and I’ll wear it maybe once a year; I don’t have clothes nice enough to match the damn thing for god’s sake! ¬†I don’t care about expensive jewelry!!

I just let it go, though. ¬†I said thank you, we watched a show, we went upstairs and finished every married couple’s Valentine’s Day ritual. ¬†It was the first time I’ve ever gotten through it with the constant thought… “Is it over yet?”

Is it?

The Sentimental Drunk

Every day, it gets easier for me to call things like they are. ¬†I really only see my mom these days when there’s a birthday or a holiday involved. ¬†Lots of people are around to keep things traditional and wonderful and we appear from the outside to be as close as ever. ¬†My family has always been all about appearances. ¬†It took me years of therapy to realize this and I’m still learning about the depth of denial and vanity that exists in our family. ¬†But, it is what it is. ¬†I have learned, for the most part, to love my parents for who they are and I choose regularly to remind myself of their good traits. ¬†I do the best I can to keep those forefront in my mind and to be thankful for ways in which they help when they are here. ¬†I know that no parent is a perfect parent.

With that said, let’s get to the truth of the here and now. ¬†I worked hard in therapy to forgive my parents for many things. ¬†At one point when I was exploring why they are still able to have such an impact on my emotions on a semi-regular basis, we discussed that this is not a situation in which I have to muster forgiveness for something that happened years ago and the effects fade (for lack of a better term) or at least improve over a period of time. ¬†It isn’t something I can exactly “put behind me” when “it” is a series of behaviors that still happen on a very regular basis. ¬†As in, every time I see them. ¬†On the rare occasion that my mother is able to visit on her own, it is maybe once a year that she stays for more than 24 hours; she cannot leave my dad for more than that. ¬†During those times, and on the¬†occasional¬†evening phone call when my dad is out of the country, I feel like I have a mom again. ¬†She listens, she responds, and that “mother” voice that offers unparalleled comfort, is alive and well. ¬†If my dad is in the house, even if in a different room, her voice is that of a distant and removed mother. ¬†She doesn’t listen, she hardly responds, and if it is, it is not a response that she would typically offer, but instead one that my dad would approve of overhearing. ¬†It truly is sickening. ¬†It’s heartbreaking for those who hear about this dynamic for the first time… everyone has sympathy and wants to talk about how “wrong” and “abnormal” this is, but then we always finalize the thought process with the age-old understanding that every family has its dysfunction. ¬†I realize this. ¬†And, this happens to be my family’s (ha! one of them!) and it so happens this is the one of them that is particularly affecting me lately.

I could really use a mother right now. ¬†This morning, my mom took care of my little one while my husband and I slept in. ¬†That was very kind! ¬†I got hope and went down to see what kind of schedule they were on in hopes that just maybe, they’d be willing to stay for a full 24 hours and let my husband and I have lunch together, outside of the house. ¬†I, for some reason, am still a little under the impression that if we had more alone time, things could be better – even now. ¬†I was about 90% sure that my dad would be ready to leave as soon as he could – but there’s always that psychotic hope in me that they’d be able to chill out for an hour or two more. ¬†I didn’t even have a chance to ask if they’d be okay with this because after about 3 minutes of sitting on the couch with my mom, my dad said, “So, are you ready to go, hon?” ¬†And, there it was. ¬†It didn’t surprise me at all, but it still stirred up some anger and disappointment. ¬†I didn’t bother asking anyway, because, I’ve done that before and it almost always makes it worse. ¬†My dad went to pack the car, and my mom and I had about 2 minutes of bonding time. ¬†Here’s how it went:

“Your eye looks swollen honey.”

“Well, I’m getting old (half joking)… it’s just bags.”

“No, they look bloodshot…” ¬†This was followed by a look of concern.

“Yeah, they always look like that in the mornings lately. ¬†I’m tired.”

Here, I got the mom stare… the inkling of engagement and concern. ¬†I’ve learned not to latch on to this, but my tears apparently haven’t learned that kind of self control yet. ¬†Because, as soon as she looked me in the eye and said, “Are you okay?” ¬†I couldn’t lie without them falling out!

“I’m okay.” ¬†Not sure why I can never leave it at that, tears or not. ¬†I tried to think of a way to sum up my life for her in the 45 seconds left of our bonding time. ¬†So, I just said, ¬†“I’m stuck; but I’m okay.”

And, my favorite part is next:

The concerned, sad look came over her and she said, “Oh, honey. ¬†We’ll have some alone time in a couple of weeks where no one can interrupt us.”

Now, let’s talk about how many times I’ve heard that promise. ¬†There was absolutely no reason we couldn’t have had some uninterrupted mother-daughter time right then. ¬†No logical reason, anyway. ¬†But, my dad was tired and ready to go and that’s all that ever matters. ¬† I may have already posted about this once, but about 10 years ago my mom wrote me and my siblings a letter that very clearly laid out the emotional map for our lives. ¬†She said a bunch of things about how wonderful and loving my dad is, about how much he had done for her, and then, proclaimed from the codependent hilltops (I am not¬†exaggerating here), “…so I hope that you can understand that if given a choice in life between you and your dad, I will always choose your dad.” ¬†This is not word for word because I don’t think it’s in my best interest to actually dig the letter out (I’m not sure why I haven’t burned it by now), but this is what it said. ¬†I didn’t believe it either at first. ¬†What mother would ever say that to their child, even if she had the thought? ¬†What mother would feel like she had to choose between her husband (the father her children) and her children? ¬†If a woman feels that that is a choices she has to make… something is VERY wrong. ¬†Tragically wrong. ¬†Well, welcome to my life. ¬†This is how my mother lives hers. ¬†It isn’t as if she had a moment of insanity and didn’t mean it how it came across. ¬†It was clearly well thought out, intentional, and prophetic. ¬†What is still amazing to me is that I’d pretty much been watching the transition from her “choosing” us and “choosing” him for years, I just didn’t think it could be a conscious one. ¬†Up until that point, I’d started to really see my mother submit to my dad in ways that went against her basic self-worth. ¬†My mother used to be a strong and independent person. ¬†She used to do what she had to do to make things happen for her children. ¬†I saw her stick up for us and for herself many times throughout my childhood. ¬†I watched her continue her education amidst teaching my dad that just because she was far surpassing his, this did not mean that she was going to leave him in the dust. ¬†The last true moment I can remember of my mom talking about her fight to stand up for what she believed with my dad was when she got her doctorate degree and he was having a moment where he felt the need to ask “Why is this so important to you?” ¬†My mom explained to me that my dad was insecure in this area of his life, but that she was not going to let that hold her back or stop her from pursuing her ultimate dream of obtaining that degree. ¬†I could not have been more proud of her. ¬†After a series of events, however, all of that changed. ¬†Every year, I see less and less of that strong woman my mother used to be. ¬†All my sister and I see now is someone who has almost no individuality and certainly no strength left to hold my dad accountable for his own issues. ¬†Instead, she takes his on. ¬†She chooses to sympathize and explain away his alcoholism, his selfishness, and his denial (which is the cause of it all). ¬†It truly does not matter how hurtful this behavior is, because in her mind, my dad is the most selfless, loving, sensitive man she’s ever known. ¬†So much of my anger is towards my dad, and I suppose at least 2/3 of it can be attributed to the resentment that has built up over time for the fact that he stole my mother from us.

Last night, I threw a party for my little guy’s birthday. ¬†After everyone left and we were cleaning up, my dad broke into his fairly regular routine of sitting back and reflecting on how proud he is of his children and how happy he is about, well, pretty much everything. ¬†But, it usually centers these days around how proud he is of his children. ¬†This is a very strange and confusing thing for me. ¬†Up until last night, I guess I’ve been thankful for these moments. ¬†Regardless of the fact that he’s drunk as hell every time he has them, I generally welcome the compliments that come my way. ¬†My dad and I are a lot alike and I like to think I got most of his good traits (sigh). ¬†He also has a strange distrust and underlying frustration and anger towards me because as far gone as he is in the denial department, I think he senses that I can see right through him and it makes him nervous. ¬†Perhaps that is why he can particularly never relax when I’m around. ¬†I can’t relax when he’s around either, so we’re even, I guess. ¬†Last night, he called me over to him for a tearful hug and it felt more like a routine than it has any other time. ¬†I went through the motions: hug him, let him hug me tighter, hug him tighter back, let him cry and tell me how wonderful I am. ¬†For some reason this time I asked him what was wrong (ha!) and he said, “I’m just happy! ¬†Nothing’s wrong, ¬†I’m crying because I’m just so happy. ¬†I love watching you and your brother and sister living your lives and being such wonderful, happy people. ¬†You know how wonderful you are, Karen? ¬†I’m so proud of you!” ¬†He tried to lock eyes with me this time and get me to enter this drunk, happy world with him, and instead, I just disengaged and told him, “Thank you, dad.” ¬†I continued cleaning, he didn’t miss a beat. ¬†In his mind, we’d just shared a father/daughter bonding moment. ¬†He felt even better and even more accomplished as a father. ¬†I’m not saying he never did anything for me – I know he worked his ass off so I could have anything I wanted as a kid… but those were just things. ¬†I’d much rather still have time with my mother today, perhaps some detox for him? ¬†Perhaps some compliments instead of insults when he isn’t drunk? ¬†Perhaps some anti-anxiety meds for him? ¬†Sigh.

I think this most recent visit from “The Sentimental Drunk” angered me because he felt so proud in that moment – through that lens of denial the alcohol gives him – that allows him to sit back and pat himself on the back and feel like he’s accomplished as a dad. ¬†Last night, I really felt like telling him that he could thank my therapists for my wonderfulness. ¬†I am finally realizing just how fabulous I am. ¬†So, when my dad asked me how I liked the flowers on my table and I replied, “They are very pretty, Dad…. kind of like me… ya know? ¬†I’m just sayin’…” ¬†He turned to my brother and said, “See what I mean? ¬†That kind of confidence you all have makes me so proud.” ¬†Ha! ¬†It actually made me laugh out loud that he thinks he can take credit for that. ¬†It actually makes me want to tell him that he’ll need to write me a check for about 10,000 dollars, which is probably low-balling it for how much all my therapy and trips to the hospital have costs before he can take even partial credit for it.

Confidence is something that I’ve only known in the last couple of years. ¬†I may not sound like it now, but I have more of it now than I ever have. ¬†That is why I am so lonely lately. ¬†I finally have boundaries and walls built around me that I never had before. ¬†I’m finally protecting myself. ¬†And, I know these are healthy and necessary walls. ¬†I have even returned to the gym and am getting physically stronger as well. ¬†Man, does it feel good to take a boxing or weight lifting class! ¬†I think it was the missing element for quite some time!! ¬†Also, I have this blog that allows me to lay it all out there and feel accepted and understood in a small way! ¬†I know I don’t have many followers, but every comment and every “read” validates and excites me! ¬†And, that is something! ¬†The point of this blog was to do just that! ¬†I’m currently not in therapy, so getting all of this out of me is important. ¬†I’m proud of myself for finding a way to do it. ¬†And, it is working. ¬†So, if you are reading I can’t thank you enough! ¬†Even if you don’t leave a comment, it really encourages me just to know that people are popping in and out from time to time.

Every one of these things gives me strength. ¬†Ya know, I am wonderful, Dad. ¬†I’ve worked my ass off to be this wonderful. ¬†ūüôā

“I’ll do anything.”

I’ve been waiting to hear these words for quite a long time. ¬†Writing my last post was pretty important for me. ¬†I needed to release all of that tension and call it like it is, if you will. ¬†Since then, things did get better for a few days and then, of course they went back to what has become our “normal.” ¬†I never remember what argument triggers it because it’s not the argument, it’s the communication pattern we’re stuck in. ¬†We ended up having another talk about the state of things, which started out cordial and ended in tears. ¬†I said the same things I’ve said a million times, again. ¬†I don’t know why I keep repeating myself. ¬†I think it is because I feel so stuck that it only makes sense to keep trying. ¬†Perhaps… perhaps I’m just a good example of insanity! ¬†I walked away from the conversation when he started to get extremely aggravated that I brought up counseling again. ¬†He is¬†adamant that he will not go and has been since I’ve known him. ¬†This has always been a problem of pride also tied in large part to his culture. ¬†Of course, I know that in general, men have a hard time with it. ¬†I finally told him that we should just call it like it is and accept that things can’t change because we both aren’t committed 100% to doing whatever it takes. ¬†I told him that I would clean out the guest room and move my things and we’d just be as friendly and accepting of each other as we could be until our financial situation changed enough for us to separate.

I went to the guest room and ripped it apart. ¬†I put my favorite pictures in it, I removed things that had been driving me crazy since we moved here; I bought myself a new comforter. ¬†I made it my haven. ¬†It is my haven… I walk into it and I feel relaxed and comforted by my artwork on the walls, my intention in the air. ¬†It’s my space and I have needed a space that is mine for quite some time. ¬†Of course, there is more I want to do and it’s depressing how much I’ve been sleeping here, but that was the plan. ¬†It’s depressing because that evening as I was preparing dinner, he approached me and finally said the words I’ve needed to hear for so long. ¬†He put his arm around me and said, “Honey, I don’t want you to leave, I don’t want us to separate. ¬†I want to be married to you for the rest of my life. ¬†I’ll do anything.” ¬†Again, tears. ¬†I really hate my tears these days. ¬†I told him, “Anything? ¬†I don’t think you mean that. ¬†What is ‘anything’ to you?” ¬†He¬†proceeded¬†to tell me he’d take me on dates and try and bring some romance back, pay closer attention to me, etc. ¬†I did tell him that was one thing I thought would help us earlier, but that isn’t all. ¬†Maybe I should’ve been happy with that. ¬†But my heart is so hard and I have so much anger built up in me, and resentment that I could not just fold and tell him, “Okay, I’ve waited so long to hear you say that…” ¬†It just isn’t that simple anymore. ¬†Nonetheless, we ended up having a good couple of days again, until the next argument when we started from zero again.

I guess I still have a bit of hope because he seems to respond and listen better since I made the solid decision to sleep in the guest room when I need to. ¬†He doesn’t understand and still repeats the same things, but not as often. ¬†He still says that I think counseling will fix everything, but it won’t because I’ve been wanting to leave him for years. ¬†I can’t really go into everything he told me because I am exhausted. ¬†I am sick of being so exhausted. ¬†I get up in the mornings and muster every bit of strength I can to let the sadness drip out of me so I can get through my work day productively. ¬†I am taking care of myself by exercising and keeping up with my doctors. ¬†I know how important this is and I take pride in doing it and knowing that.

Last night, my son was going to sleep and was particularly clingy. ¬†He did not want me to put him down and he clutched my neck and seemed to be somewhat scared and insecure. ¬†I was pretty sad last night and I think he could pick up on that. ¬†I’ve had enough training in child development to know that he is already affected by all of this. ¬†And it kills me. ¬†I promised myself I would never put him or keep him in this kind of tension. ¬†It is not fair to him. ¬†I pointed this out to my husband this morning – maybe he heard it, maybe not. ¬†But this is one of the reasons I have to do whatever I have to do to bring back peace in my heart. ¬†I owe that to my son. ¬†He does not deserve to already feel that he has to comfort me. ¬†I asked him, “Do you want mommy to rock you a little bit longer?” ¬†He has just started to appropriately answer, “Yes” like a big boy. ¬†“Yeah,” he said. ¬†It broke my heart and comforted me at the same time. ¬†We rocked for about 5 minutes and then he went right to sleep, secure again.

And, so did I. ¬†In my “new” bed, under my new comforter. ¬†Life is strange and hard, but I’ll make it through this. ¬†I know I will. ¬†Thanks for reading.