mother's day heartache

That ten-year-old girl I used to be, she breaks my heart. If I could meet that girl today, I would take her into my arms and give her all the mothering she never knew.

Now that I am a mother, I see clearly exactly how damaged my own childhood was. At 3 years old, my mother was torn away from me, or wandered away from me, or whatever it was that happened. For the next 4 years and on into the next decades there were bitter custody battles and financial battles and emotional battles... At 8 years old my one stable foundation was pulled out from under me and we moved from the home that stayed standing even while my family crumbled inside its walls. Uprooted and scared. Photographs of that girl show a thin, breakable child with dark half-moons under her eyes. A child who cried at home every night and who went to the nurse’s office at school every day with an anxious stomach ache.

Later that year my mom remarried and my dreams of my family rebuilding were shattered. And then the next year, a new woman entered my father’s life, and everything changed.

How fast I was forced to grow up as this woman pushed me away from my father. How young I was to be forced to have the maturity to put my feelings and needs behind hers. How unfair that was. Feeling nervous to be too close to my daddy in (very reasonable) fear that she would get jealous of his affection for me. Walking on eggshells for the next 8-20 years, wondering what I and my dad, the person who meant the most to me, had done to deserve the silent treatment, the stonewalling, the nasty remarks under her breath, the biting humor at our expense, the emotional manipulation and abuse.

And this 30-year-old woman is angry. I’m angry for the child who had to sacrifice everything for a grown woman who had no right to demand that. I’m angry at the selfish step-mom who needed a 10-year-old to exceed her in maturity. I’m angry at the selfish step-mom who tried to make me an outsider in my own home, with my own father. I’m angry at the selfish step-mom who resented that I existed. I am angry at the selfish step-mom who made sure we always knew we were second-string (or, fourth-string) and would never compare to her own children. I’m angry at the dad who allowed it to happen, and who still won’t stand up for himself or his daughters out of fear of being alone. I’m angry at the dad who allows his children to sacrifice everything to accommodate a woman who has no regard for them. I’m angry at the mother who wasn’t there. I'm angry on behalf of the older sisters who had to step into so many roles they shouldn't have had to. I’m angry.

It’s Mother’s Day and instead of feeling happy and thankful for the two mothers who had the chance to raise me, I am feeling angry and resentful at the rotten hand the child-me was dealt. I got two chances to have a mother love me, guide me, show me what it means to be a mother, and instead of getting to honor double the women each Mother’s Day, I got double the disappointment.

I am angry that I have two beautiful sweet souls who call me mother and I have no idea how to mother them, how to guide them with a firm and loving heart, how to balance their needs with my own, what to do so that these two children, in 20 years, will honor me and not resent me.

I am absolutely, passionately, so intensely angry.

(I started this blog to be an anonymous place to write the honest things of my heart. If you know me in real life, please be respectful of the private nature of my writings here and keep them in confidence. It probably doesn't need to be said, but there it is anyway. Thank you.)

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resolve.

Um. Hi. And whoops. Has it really been 5 months?

Life zips forward.

Instead of trying to play catch-up, let's just pretend I've been here all along. I'm currently having some sort of life crisis, mainly in that I feel like I am pretty much failing at just about everything.

I should be gentler on myself, I know that. After a few pretty spiritual experiences recently, I KNOW know that. But I'm pretty overwhelmed lately with my kids, and that makes me feel terribly guilty and inept at handling anything. It's not really a new thing, I guess. Basically, transitioning from one to two kids has been all but the death of me. I feel like Squeak's challenges, that started just before his third birthday (right around the time Pixie was born), have pulled me so far from where I was, and want to be, as a mother, and that makes me feel just terrible for both of my kids. For Squeak, because of how intensely he needs the mother I used to be, and for Pixie, because she never has really known her.

And so I am hoping that 2013 will be the year that she makes her return. I know I can be a great mother, and this year I am going to take care of *myself* so I have the energy to be that great mom. Because when I think about it, what it all comes down to is energy, and all the things that suck my energy, and how I need to change that.

So I'm going to take care of myself this year, mind, body, and soul. It will be a process.

I'm doing it for these little booty-shakers. Because they deserve the absolute best!

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In which I am deeply troubled

I've been thinking and thinking and thinking about how to write this post. I still feel pretty muddled about how to express myself, but I am just feeling so heated that I have to try.

I spent the weekend at Ward Youth Conference. Two days of sand and sun and giggling and dancing and oversharing. I have come to love my young women, each of them. It was a wonderful weekend. Save one thing.

Well, two things really, but they both tie together into one big thing that has me all hot and bothered, and not in a good way.

That thing is the way modesty is taught by many in my church, to both Young Women and Young Men. The message the Young Women are told is that they need to dress modestly to help men avoid impure thoughts. The message the Young Men hear is that they are not responsible for their thoughts or actions. The message the Young Women hear is that they are.


This is a heavy burden of responsibility to place anyone's shoulders, but especially on those of our already-fragile teenage girls. It's not enough that women have to be responsible for their own salvation, but apparently we are also responsible for securing the salvation of the men around us. We are taught that we dress our bodies merely for either the benefit or damnation of men. If we are revealing in dress, it is to arouse men. If we are modest in dress, it is to ensure proper thoughts in men. Must everything we do be because of what men expect or want us to do?

At it's best, this line of thinking completely neglects the teaching of the actual doctrine behind modesty and affirms the notion that women exist for and at the mercy of men. This angers me in so many ways, but what really terrifies me is what happens at the worst of this line of thinking. The worst is the fear I feel for the young woman (women, if we're being statistically accurate) who is sexually assaulted and is then made to feel that she "brought it on herself" by dressing "provocatively." It is the terror I feel that young men are hearing that they are weak and can't be expected to be held accountable when a woman, heaven forbid, shows her shoulders. It is the message that a man just can't help himself when a woman "teases" him, and that what happens as a result is what "she had coming."

And that is not okay.

What's bothering me even more than just that is that when these messages were preached (in a slightly different way but implied and inferred nonetheless), none of the youth hearing them seemed bothered. Which means they have heard it all before. It did not surprise me, as it is something that I remember being told from my days as a teenager in the church (and being angered by it even then), but it does anger me, and trouble me. How can we be doing all this damage? And what can I do to stop it?

I have some other specific issues that are still bothering me that relate to this, but this is the biggie, and it's what's been eating away at me for 2 days. Maybe someday I'll work through my other issues from this weekend, but for tonight I could really use some... something. Insight? Advice? Understanding? Prayers? Revolution? I don't know. Something. I'm feeling the heavy, heavy burden of loving these crazy teenagers and hurting for them and trying to figure out how to teach them and lead them to Christ and help them love themselves. And it's pressing down on me hard-core.

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heal

I've been seeing a naturopath to deal with some of my issues. I've been targeting my migraines and skin issues specifically, but in trying to heal those I've had to dig deeper. Healing my relationship with my son. Trying to learn how to manage my stress and emotions. Working through resentments and baggage from my childhood. It feels like therapy.

Which is weird because my naturopath is about 3 years older than me, and it feels uncomfortable to be so vulnerable with someone who doesn't seem old enough to be a professional. But then I realize I'm not as young I think I am. It's been a weird realization for me as I've been seeing new dentists, orthodontists, dermatologists, family doctors, and of course naturopathic doctors. And they have all seemed so very young to me, at most only several years older than myself. As the younger sister and younger wife I am used to being younger. I perpetually feel younger than everyone I associate with.

That was a tangent. The point is, I'm getting better. Or, maybe not yet, but I will.

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Honesty. Startling.

For as beautiful and sunny of a day as it is today, I am uncharacteristically sad. I know this blog seems depressing of late. Apparently that's what this blog has become; when I am happy with life and feeling joyful and grateful, I write in my family blog, for all to read (or, more realistically, I don't write at all. I just get up and enjoy my day!). When I feel down, or honest, I write here.

I feel like being totally honest today...

cinderella

I've decided my house is too big. I am getting really tired of (feeling guilty about not) cleaning it. 2000 square feet is a lot of house for four people. All those square feet add up to way too many baseboards, door frames, door paneling, outlet and light switch plates, walls, bath tubs, toilets, sinks, countertops, cupboards, floors, ceiling fan blades, and window tracks to scrub.

Anyone wanna trade houses? Specifically, anyone with a cozy farmhouse west of the Cascade Mountains wanna trade? Come on over to beautiful Utah and clean my three stories, four bedrooms, and four bathrooms! BONUS! You can keep my (smelly, hairy, wonderful) dog!

I'm sort of joking.

You can't have my dog.

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Just to bring you all down with me...

I've got a bad case of the nostalgias tonight. Just a warning. I'm in a downright whiny mood.

I miss my best friend. Not only does she live nearly 600 miles away, but we just aren't connected anymore. I mean how connected can you be when you don't share any daily comings and goings, really? Maybe some people can make it work. Just like some people can make long-distance relationships work. I never could. I've never been good at long-distance relationships of any kind. I find that without the memories that are made during daily interactions there is not much there on which to build a friendship, and without the knowledge of the daily occurrences of someone's life, there is just not much to talk about. In a life like my own, where the only things that ever change are the small day-to-day things, there is just nothing to say if you don't share in at least some of those day-to-day things. There's just nothing to talk about. So what's new? Nothing. Still just staying at home with my kids. Still married to my teacher-student hubby. Still living in the same place. Still doing the same things. Nothing new with my kids, nothing new with my family, nothing new with me. If you aren't around to know that I take Squeak to preschool on Tuesdays and go with him to a different preschool on Thursdays, how can you ask about how it's going? If you aren't around to know what book I just finished reading, how can you ask how I enjoyed it?

We used to be so close, she and I. Friends since 5th grade.

Writer's Block

I wish I could get out of this writing rut.

If I could, I would write about the following things:

*how my days alternate between two kinds of horrible: day one=Squeak pestering the baby nonstop and being mean and annoying and not listening and yelling and being too physical all day long. day two=Squeak whining and crying and having meltdowns and freak-outs over literally every minuscule thing. It is making me wonder if there is indeed something not-quite-right about him. Emotionally? Or behaviorally? Because surely this can't be normal.

*how my step-mother really and truly belongs in a Disney movie. Like of the "wicked step-mother" variety. She is emotionally about 13 years old. Maybe younger. Maybe she's more like 7. I can't quite decide.