Why did I not blog about it as it was happening? A combination of things, I'm sure. I just read through my last entry from August 2nd and whoa boy! That is like last year's Thanksgiving leftovers! Here's a brief list:
- The court date was just plain awful. I was made a fool in front of the judge by my ex and his lawyer with what I knew were lies. I just wanted to scream. It turned out well enough with Payton's schedule, but as of today, he is already deviating from what is written in the court order. Looks like we'll be going back to court soon enough.
- My "I told you so" moment came so much quicker than I ever imagined. I figured it would come after the ex and his fiancee were married and had added another child to the mix. Not so much. My moment came on September 18th in the form of an e-mail from Shay saying that she had moved out of his apartment after only three months of living there. She and I have been talking and e-mailing since. Oh my, there is so much I know now it makes my hair stand on end. I am infinitely glad that she was able to get out before she became permanently enmeshed with the ex by having another child. Getting married would have been a bad move as well.
- I have a new job at a high-end spa as a Massage Therapist. I love my job. I just wish I had more clients! The paychecks have been a little lean due to me being the low man on the totem pole. One of the more senior girls is thinking of moving on. I have to say that even though she is a great gal, I hope she finds greener pastures elsewhere. I need more bookings!
- With Shay and I speaking on a regular basis, it has dredged up the last of the crap from the bottom of the PTSD barrel. I have enlisted the help of a therapist who specializes in situations like mine. She has really helped me to let things go and to realize that even though he will never change, I can still function with the chaos going on on the other side of the wall without it affecting my life so dramatically. Anxiety has been my constant unwanted companion for the past few months (years) and I'm hoping to be able to cut it loose soon. Some days are better than others. I'm also working on my self-esteem and body image. That's a post in and of itself!
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There is so much more, but it's not relevant to the topic at hand. I'm sure I'll touch on some goodies here and there.
Showing posts with label Ghosts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ghosts. Show all posts
Monday, November 8, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
Items 1 and 2
I need to get this out of my head. My ex is being the classic crazy-maker and I need to see how completely ridiculous all of this is before I drive myself nuts.
Item 1:
Apparently, his fiancee's mother was a an early education teacher that has retired recently. She has seen Payton on several occasions now and has expressed to my ex that she is extremely worried about Payton being ready for kindergarten in the fall of 2011. She does not feel that in any way shape or form is a half day of preschool enough for him to be prepared to succeed in kindergarten. I have to say here that I don't completely disagree with her. I am worried myself. No doubt. However - I do feel that Payton is in the best possible environment at the current preschool he is going to. He attends the local public elementary school where all of the teachers are trained Special Education teacher and therapists. Payton receives Occupational Therapy, Speech Therapy and Adaptive P.E. right there in the school. It's all there. He will attend the afternoon kindergarten-prep class this coming school year.
His soon to be mother-in-law thinks that he needs to attend a full day of preschool to be completely prepared. Again - I do not completely disagree with this statement. However... full day preschools are crazy expensive and he will not be getting early intervention services like he does in the public schools. The smallest child to teacher ratio I found was about 12:1. Payton is currently getting attention at a ratio of 3:1. Preschools start at $600.00 a month on up to $1,200.00 a month plus a $450.00 supply fee, a $150.00 application fee and a down payment of two months of classes. There is no way I can swing that financially and if my ex is telling the truth, there is no way he can swing that, either.
Payton also attends a fully accredited and licensed mainstream preschool right now. I use it as a daycare for when I work. The learning environment is much more lax in the summer and they are gearing up for this next academic year. The kids who attend this preschool are amazing. They are way ahead of Payton though they are roughly the same age. Payton loves this place and is doing well there. My ex has flat-out refused to pay for half of it as I am using it on my parenting time, yet he wants to put him in a costly full-time program that rips him away from the services he's getting for free from the city and a preschool environment that he is already accustomed to.
All of this based on his future mother-in-law's recommendation and I have no idea what it is in detail.
Now keep in mind that I am forbidden to speak to his fiancee - or more like she was given strict orders never to converse with me ever again, so I am going to assume here that I will be forbidden to speak with her mother as well. So my ex wants me to pay out the nose for a preschool based on the recommendation by someone I have never met nor be allowed to converse with. Right. Gotcha, ex-hole.
The other kicker in this is that I have been doing research on local preschools including Montessori schools and sending the ex links and asking questions as to what this woman has said exactly and he has given me nothing in response. No return e-mails, no texts, no ideas, no thoughts, nothing except telling me that he wants him in a full day preschool. AND... if he follows his logic on refusing to pay for the preschool Payton is in now, he will refuse to pay for the uber-expensive one. Killer. Rock on. Good times.
All of this is not to say that I am completely opposed to the idea (save the monster tuition). I just need to be shown that it is all in Payton's best interest. So far I have zero input from the other camp and what I have found on my side is no better than the schooling setup Payton currently has at a fraction of the cost. I also want to hear what the teachers and therapists at his current Special Needs preschool have to say about the curriculum for the upcoming school year and what Payton's goals are to be. Beyond that, I want to know what the process is for kindergarten in 2011. We do not have all the information we can get from the sources in the know with our current situation. I think we need to give them a fair shake before we go changing everything and spending so much money on something that will get us to a similar or lesser result.
The ex had expressed that he did not want to "lawyer this out" and that we needed to deal with this on our own. Well guess what. Not happening. It may be a moot point once we hit our court date in a few weeks, but my lawyer has been kept informed of everything that has transpired.
Item 2:
The second item on the agenda is Payton's schedule. From the get-go Tony and I have been more than willing to sit down with my ex and come up with a schedule that works for all parties involved that transfers Payton around as few times as possible, that keeps the 60/40 timeshare agreement, that gives both households good quality time and that keeps Payton calm and well. Every time the topic of schedule comes up, the ex freaks out and shuts it down saying that I am not wanting to discuss it. It got thrown back at me so often that finally a judge had to decide. What the judge decided on sucks. I lost weekends with Payton and it's been a bear for during the week. There is a great solution and it just needs to be discussed. I have never ever refused to talk about it. It's all in e-mails. Every singe time the ex pulls the plug on negotiations and blames me. Every time.
So last night I got an e-mail asking for a small change. Sure. You know what? I really want to change this up without a judge involved and I would love my every other weekend back. I wrote up a plan and I think it is settling out at 60/40 (it's at 61/39 with our current schedule, so he would get a percentage back - generous, right??). I'm sending it to my lawyer to check if the percentages are correct as I am calculating blindly then I will show it to you and we can be flexible with it shifting it one way or the other.
The response? None. Today? Still none.
Ugh.
I have no idea what to think, other than to know deep down in my gut never to trust this man again. I have no idea what he is scheming if anything at all, but you can bet that my lawyer has everything and will deal with it. I have found in the past that if the ex asks that a lawyer not be involved, it means some sort of manipulation of me. It's just not going to happen again.
Item 1:
Apparently, his fiancee's mother was a an early education teacher that has retired recently. She has seen Payton on several occasions now and has expressed to my ex that she is extremely worried about Payton being ready for kindergarten in the fall of 2011. She does not feel that in any way shape or form is a half day of preschool enough for him to be prepared to succeed in kindergarten. I have to say here that I don't completely disagree with her. I am worried myself. No doubt. However - I do feel that Payton is in the best possible environment at the current preschool he is going to. He attends the local public elementary school where all of the teachers are trained Special Education teacher and therapists. Payton receives Occupational Therapy, Speech Therapy and Adaptive P.E. right there in the school. It's all there. He will attend the afternoon kindergarten-prep class this coming school year.
His soon to be mother-in-law thinks that he needs to attend a full day of preschool to be completely prepared. Again - I do not completely disagree with this statement. However... full day preschools are crazy expensive and he will not be getting early intervention services like he does in the public schools. The smallest child to teacher ratio I found was about 12:1. Payton is currently getting attention at a ratio of 3:1. Preschools start at $600.00 a month on up to $1,200.00 a month plus a $450.00 supply fee, a $150.00 application fee and a down payment of two months of classes. There is no way I can swing that financially and if my ex is telling the truth, there is no way he can swing that, either.
Payton also attends a fully accredited and licensed mainstream preschool right now. I use it as a daycare for when I work. The learning environment is much more lax in the summer and they are gearing up for this next academic year. The kids who attend this preschool are amazing. They are way ahead of Payton though they are roughly the same age. Payton loves this place and is doing well there. My ex has flat-out refused to pay for half of it as I am using it on my parenting time, yet he wants to put him in a costly full-time program that rips him away from the services he's getting for free from the city and a preschool environment that he is already accustomed to.
All of this based on his future mother-in-law's recommendation and I have no idea what it is in detail.
Now keep in mind that I am forbidden to speak to his fiancee - or more like she was given strict orders never to converse with me ever again, so I am going to assume here that I will be forbidden to speak with her mother as well. So my ex wants me to pay out the nose for a preschool based on the recommendation by someone I have never met nor be allowed to converse with. Right. Gotcha, ex-hole.
The other kicker in this is that I have been doing research on local preschools including Montessori schools and sending the ex links and asking questions as to what this woman has said exactly and he has given me nothing in response. No return e-mails, no texts, no ideas, no thoughts, nothing except telling me that he wants him in a full day preschool. AND... if he follows his logic on refusing to pay for the preschool Payton is in now, he will refuse to pay for the uber-expensive one. Killer. Rock on. Good times.
All of this is not to say that I am completely opposed to the idea (save the monster tuition). I just need to be shown that it is all in Payton's best interest. So far I have zero input from the other camp and what I have found on my side is no better than the schooling setup Payton currently has at a fraction of the cost. I also want to hear what the teachers and therapists at his current Special Needs preschool have to say about the curriculum for the upcoming school year and what Payton's goals are to be. Beyond that, I want to know what the process is for kindergarten in 2011. We do not have all the information we can get from the sources in the know with our current situation. I think we need to give them a fair shake before we go changing everything and spending so much money on something that will get us to a similar or lesser result.
The ex had expressed that he did not want to "lawyer this out" and that we needed to deal with this on our own. Well guess what. Not happening. It may be a moot point once we hit our court date in a few weeks, but my lawyer has been kept informed of everything that has transpired.
Item 2:
The second item on the agenda is Payton's schedule. From the get-go Tony and I have been more than willing to sit down with my ex and come up with a schedule that works for all parties involved that transfers Payton around as few times as possible, that keeps the 60/40 timeshare agreement, that gives both households good quality time and that keeps Payton calm and well. Every time the topic of schedule comes up, the ex freaks out and shuts it down saying that I am not wanting to discuss it. It got thrown back at me so often that finally a judge had to decide. What the judge decided on sucks. I lost weekends with Payton and it's been a bear for during the week. There is a great solution and it just needs to be discussed. I have never ever refused to talk about it. It's all in e-mails. Every singe time the ex pulls the plug on negotiations and blames me. Every time.
So last night I got an e-mail asking for a small change. Sure. You know what? I really want to change this up without a judge involved and I would love my every other weekend back. I wrote up a plan and I think it is settling out at 60/40 (it's at 61/39 with our current schedule, so he would get a percentage back - generous, right??). I'm sending it to my lawyer to check if the percentages are correct as I am calculating blindly then I will show it to you and we can be flexible with it shifting it one way or the other.
The response? None. Today? Still none.
Ugh.
I have no idea what to think, other than to know deep down in my gut never to trust this man again. I have no idea what he is scheming if anything at all, but you can bet that my lawyer has everything and will deal with it. I have found in the past that if the ex asks that a lawyer not be involved, it means some sort of manipulation of me. It's just not going to happen again.
Friday, July 30, 2010
The giant ring
Remember this girl? I can't remember if I blogged about it, but within about a month of this post she got back together with my ex.
When I had agreed to speak with her, I had told her that the only way I would do so, would be if she was done. Like done done. Stick a fork in it - done. Well... that wasn't the case. And then the lies that were told? Yikes. My ex told me a few of the things that she recounted to him from our conversation and they were way off. Grossly distorted and twisted about. I was made out to be a lying monster who was desperately trying to destroy my ex husband. Nothing could be farther from the truth.
Now I know EXACTLY the position she was in. She was trying to save her own skin because she got caught speaking to her abusive boyfriend's ex wife. I get it. She wanted so desperately to be in a relationship with him and she was clawing and scraping and had to toss someone to the wolves to save herself and thereby the relationship. She had been left by past fiances several times and very much wanted this relationship to work. She wanted to fix him. Was I angry? For a little bit. I think I felt more like I was betrayed. That unspoken girl rule was broken and left in the dust.
For some time, I carried around quite a bit of guilt about speaking with her. I wavered between feeling flat-out stupid about it and being glad I did it because I was asked for the advice. She wanted to know. She had specific questions. Not one word out of my mouth was a lie. The words were from my experiences. They were my accounts of events as they happened and she wanted to know. I did what I had to do to help keep another woman from going through the same exact things I did. It came from the purest of places.
Back in April, I had met with a court-ordered Vocational Evaluator. After we were done, the conversation was steered towards why I was sitting in her office and my conversation with my ex's girlfriend came up. Deirdre (the evaluator, who was also a family councilor in the past) said that I had nothing to feel guilty about. I was asked for advice and guidance based on my experiences and I should not feel apologetic, guilty or embarrassed about it in the least. I did what I had to do at the time.
I was very grateful to be validated by a professional and I have never apologized for it, nor will I ever apologize for it. The guilt is gone.
So now the other day, there it was. The Giant Ring. Blasting me in the face with the glare off of the at least 1.5 karat diamond resting in a platinum setting. It's huge. My ring was less than 1/3 of a karat on a simple yellow gold band. He was even pushed to purchase that. That's not what bothers me. What does bother me is that his relationship with this woman is so completely superficial and empty. I have a gut feeling that this ring is a recycle from one of her past engagements that was possibly reset and has nothing to do with what love really is and what an engagement ring and wedding band are supposed to stand for. It's all for show. That is all my ex was capable of. He was and still is willing to let everyone do all of the work so he looks like he is the super-fiance, the super-husband, the super-dad.
About 5 years into our marriage, I was so embarrassed by my ring that I purchased a fake one from QVC to make it look like he really cared about me. My ex told me repeatedly that he would never ever purchase a piece of jewelry for a woman and what little he did purchase for my wedding band set was more than enough. I know this man has not changed in the least bit given his current interactions with me and I don't for one second think that the ring on that woman's finger means anything that it is supposed to. The one on my finger sure didn't. What it represents is empty promises, lies, anger and a veneer so thin that everyone can see through it.
Why am I tweaked? Because this is spilling over into Payton's life. Payton has recently gotten into telling me that he wants to go to daddy's house because he can go to Gepetto's Toy Shop. That he wants to see daddy because he will get a present. Things are no substitute for love - but preschoolers do not see that. I am not able to buy $79.00 scooters and designer clothing and new bedroom sets and purchase $50.00 shoes for Payton. What Payton also tells me is that there is a lot of angry at his father's house. She yells at daddy at the car. She was angry and daddy was angry and they yelled. So much for a loving relationship. What I can give is time, patience, understanding and an endless supply of love. I can give a solid and soft place to land and a calm household. I can show him what real love looks like and how a man should treat a woman at all times. I can teach him respect, kindness and what family is truly supposed to be like.
I hope that in time that Payton will see who has his back no matter what.
When I had agreed to speak with her, I had told her that the only way I would do so, would be if she was done. Like done done. Stick a fork in it - done. Well... that wasn't the case. And then the lies that were told? Yikes. My ex told me a few of the things that she recounted to him from our conversation and they were way off. Grossly distorted and twisted about. I was made out to be a lying monster who was desperately trying to destroy my ex husband. Nothing could be farther from the truth.
Now I know EXACTLY the position she was in. She was trying to save her own skin because she got caught speaking to her abusive boyfriend's ex wife. I get it. She wanted so desperately to be in a relationship with him and she was clawing and scraping and had to toss someone to the wolves to save herself and thereby the relationship. She had been left by past fiances several times and very much wanted this relationship to work. She wanted to fix him. Was I angry? For a little bit. I think I felt more like I was betrayed. That unspoken girl rule was broken and left in the dust.
For some time, I carried around quite a bit of guilt about speaking with her. I wavered between feeling flat-out stupid about it and being glad I did it because I was asked for the advice. She wanted to know. She had specific questions. Not one word out of my mouth was a lie. The words were from my experiences. They were my accounts of events as they happened and she wanted to know. I did what I had to do to help keep another woman from going through the same exact things I did. It came from the purest of places.
Back in April, I had met with a court-ordered Vocational Evaluator. After we were done, the conversation was steered towards why I was sitting in her office and my conversation with my ex's girlfriend came up. Deirdre (the evaluator, who was also a family councilor in the past) said that I had nothing to feel guilty about. I was asked for advice and guidance based on my experiences and I should not feel apologetic, guilty or embarrassed about it in the least. I did what I had to do at the time.
I was very grateful to be validated by a professional and I have never apologized for it, nor will I ever apologize for it. The guilt is gone.
So now the other day, there it was. The Giant Ring. Blasting me in the face with the glare off of the at least 1.5 karat diamond resting in a platinum setting. It's huge. My ring was less than 1/3 of a karat on a simple yellow gold band. He was even pushed to purchase that. That's not what bothers me. What does bother me is that his relationship with this woman is so completely superficial and empty. I have a gut feeling that this ring is a recycle from one of her past engagements that was possibly reset and has nothing to do with what love really is and what an engagement ring and wedding band are supposed to stand for. It's all for show. That is all my ex was capable of. He was and still is willing to let everyone do all of the work so he looks like he is the super-fiance, the super-husband, the super-dad.
About 5 years into our marriage, I was so embarrassed by my ring that I purchased a fake one from QVC to make it look like he really cared about me. My ex told me repeatedly that he would never ever purchase a piece of jewelry for a woman and what little he did purchase for my wedding band set was more than enough. I know this man has not changed in the least bit given his current interactions with me and I don't for one second think that the ring on that woman's finger means anything that it is supposed to. The one on my finger sure didn't. What it represents is empty promises, lies, anger and a veneer so thin that everyone can see through it.
Why am I tweaked? Because this is spilling over into Payton's life. Payton has recently gotten into telling me that he wants to go to daddy's house because he can go to Gepetto's Toy Shop. That he wants to see daddy because he will get a present. Things are no substitute for love - but preschoolers do not see that. I am not able to buy $79.00 scooters and designer clothing and new bedroom sets and purchase $50.00 shoes for Payton. What Payton also tells me is that there is a lot of angry at his father's house. She yells at daddy at the car. She was angry and daddy was angry and they yelled. So much for a loving relationship. What I can give is time, patience, understanding and an endless supply of love. I can give a solid and soft place to land and a calm household. I can show him what real love looks like and how a man should treat a woman at all times. I can teach him respect, kindness and what family is truly supposed to be like.
I hope that in time that Payton will see who has his back no matter what.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
I have the right to choose
What a concept.
The ex has been trying to control, manipulate and belittle me. He has been condescending, rude, thoughtless and disgustingly unkind. He has now brought Tony into the mix by calling him names and questioning his manhood. Abuse at its finest. And guess what? It's now all in writing. He has flat-out refused to speak to me by phone and I get only short answers in person. He wants it all in writing. No problem. Now I have glaring proof of the nonsense that he would always keep behind closed doors for only his twisted mouth to utter and my tired ears to hear.
I know it's the PTSD rearing its ugly head when the adrenaline rushes through my veins when I see an e-mail from him in my in-box. It sits there like a growling, angry dog with sharp teeth. My initial reaction is fear. Straight up fight or flight fear. From an e-mail. Yep. Electronic words on my computer screen are enough to send me into a state of near panic. For nearly ten years, those words cut and slashed and hurt so badly and now they are infiltrating into my peaceful home to attempt to cause more chaos and that makes me angry.
There is a local radio show that I listen to in the morning. The main DJ has a saying that he uses to describe anger: The emotion of anger is a combination of hurt, sadness and fear. Yes. Yes it is. I feel hurt because he is continuing to be blind to the big picture of what is the best for our son: consistency and calmness. I also feel hurt because I had believed that he was so much more than the abusive man that he is. I feel sadness because my beautiful boy is in the middle of all of this and his father won't stop ripping the wounds open. I am continually left picking up the pieces and calming my baby down when he comes back to my home. I feel fear from the remnants of the past decade of abuse.
But here is the beauty of the situation.
I can choose. He is not in my face. He is not standing in front of me screaming obscenities in my ear. He does not control me anymore. He is not my problem anymore. I can choose to take his cutting words and threats to heart or not. I can choose to walk away from the barking, angry dog - he is chained and cannot get directly to me.
I can also choose to forward all of his horrible e-mails directly to my lawyer for his reading enjoyment.
And THAT is what keeps the anger at bay.
The ex has been trying to control, manipulate and belittle me. He has been condescending, rude, thoughtless and disgustingly unkind. He has now brought Tony into the mix by calling him names and questioning his manhood. Abuse at its finest. And guess what? It's now all in writing. He has flat-out refused to speak to me by phone and I get only short answers in person. He wants it all in writing. No problem. Now I have glaring proof of the nonsense that he would always keep behind closed doors for only his twisted mouth to utter and my tired ears to hear.
I know it's the PTSD rearing its ugly head when the adrenaline rushes through my veins when I see an e-mail from him in my in-box. It sits there like a growling, angry dog with sharp teeth. My initial reaction is fear. Straight up fight or flight fear. From an e-mail. Yep. Electronic words on my computer screen are enough to send me into a state of near panic. For nearly ten years, those words cut and slashed and hurt so badly and now they are infiltrating into my peaceful home to attempt to cause more chaos and that makes me angry.
There is a local radio show that I listen to in the morning. The main DJ has a saying that he uses to describe anger: The emotion of anger is a combination of hurt, sadness and fear. Yes. Yes it is. I feel hurt because he is continuing to be blind to the big picture of what is the best for our son: consistency and calmness. I also feel hurt because I had believed that he was so much more than the abusive man that he is. I feel sadness because my beautiful boy is in the middle of all of this and his father won't stop ripping the wounds open. I am continually left picking up the pieces and calming my baby down when he comes back to my home. I feel fear from the remnants of the past decade of abuse.
But here is the beauty of the situation.
I can choose. He is not in my face. He is not standing in front of me screaming obscenities in my ear. He does not control me anymore. He is not my problem anymore. I can choose to take his cutting words and threats to heart or not. I can choose to walk away from the barking, angry dog - he is chained and cannot get directly to me.
I can also choose to forward all of his horrible e-mails directly to my lawyer for his reading enjoyment.
And THAT is what keeps the anger at bay.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
How I was finally able to leave
My marriage lasted 8 years, 7 months and 11 days. He wanted a divorce after just 72 days. So for 8 years, 5 months and 1 day, I fought like hell for what I thought was going to be the perfect marriage. We said out vows, didn't we? I thought those words were supposed to mean something. Apparently, he didn't. In just under three months, he broke so many of those vows: love, honor, cherish, respect, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I would say that's pretty much all of them.
Looking back, there were red flags everywhere. The snide remark here, the callous dig there. Blaming me for his alcohol abuse, putting me dead last behind golf or being at the bar with the boys. It would all rise to a head, explode in an epic fight, the apology would happen - and when I say that, I mean me apologizing to him when I knew he was in the wrong - he would bring me flowers and promises to do better next time and then all would be well. The "honeymoon phase" would last up to about three months and then it would spiral downward again. I began to think I was the one who was nuts. Heck, I was told that so often. There were so many instances when I questioned my sanity and mental stability. I have written about it at length here.
For years I saw this pattern, but I couldn't get up enough confidence and courage to leave. I just didn't have the strength. When I would get up the guts to even attempt to try, he would sense that and be on his best behavior so I would stay. The real beginning of the end in my mind was after the birth of Payton. Our little man was born about a month early and he was sick right off the bat. He was diagnosed with severe Gastro-Esophageal Reflux Disease by the time he was three weeks old. He was labeled as Failure to Thrive and he was in and out of the hospital for nearly a year. When Payton was in the hospital, that meant I was in the hospital, too. There were days when Payton's father didn't even call or show up. I never felt more alone in a sea of people. Everyday. I was forced to be a single mother when I was married. I was told I was being selfish when I emphatically said I needed a break, I was told that I needed to go back to work, I was told that I wasn't doing my job as a mother because Payton wasn't gaining weight. Huh? What? That completely contradicts itself. Why yes it does. See what I mean? Add in post-pregnancy hormones and a screaming child and I'll show you one broken woman. Broken right down to the core.
After Payton was doing much better and he was growing with the aid of a major surgery and a G-Tube, I began to truly think about leaving. My husband had shown me his true colors time and time again. He was giving me no reason to doubt who he really was. Now, I truly believe in things happening for a reason and one day when I was driving, I heard the most amazing conversation on the radio:
There was a relationship councilor on this particular morning show. She was talking about divorced parents. She was giving a lecture to a room full of adults. She asked the question: "How many of you have divorced parents?" About 30% of the people raised their hands. She then asked the question: "How many of you wished that your parents had gotten a divorce?" Another 30% of the audience raised their hands. When she asked, "Why?" The answer given by one of the men was this: "I watched my mother give up who she was and suffer to stay together with my father for us. I felt like it was my fault that she stayed together with him for the kids." Holy crap. Here I was giving up who I KNEW I was at my center. I had pushed my true self down and away for 8 years. I didn't recognize who I was when I looked in the mirror anymore. I had no freedom, I was being treated like a dirty doormat, I had to compromise who I was just to avoid a fight that was going to happen anyway. There was no happiness in my home or marriage, there was no trust, no honor, no respect. How in the would would it be fair to let Payton see me like this as he grew up. I would be dammed if Payton was to EVER treat a woman like his father was treating me.
I knew at that moment that I had to leave. The plans went into motion. I called my mother and set a date to temporarily move to her home as the apartment I had found wouldn't be ready for a month or so. I did a mental inventory of what I would take, what I would leave and how I would go about doing this.
A few weeks after I started making the plans, I was still a bit wishy-washy. However, he managed to seal the deal by playing this card: he said that he didn't want me taking Payton around my parents because he didn't want his son to get to know "people like them". The "people like them" part is in reference to their being overweight. Really? Just because they were overweight made them bad people in his mind. These people have the biggest kindest hearts and they love children. Their lives focus on children in what they do for a job every day. And here was my soon-to-be ex husband attempting to isolate me from my family. He had already done this with my friends which in and of itself is awful, but this is my family. He even went on and said that he didn't want Payton around my brother and sister-in-law either. I remember sitting on the floor in the hallway with my chin in my lap unable to speak. I sat there for about 15 minutes with my mouth open in disbelief while he sat on the couch with a smug gloating look on his face going about his business and channel surfing like nothing was wrong. I simply got up, walked up the stairs and called my mother. I was definitely leaving and I needed some help.
About two weeks later, he left on a business trip and that weekend, I left. I packed up my things, Payton's things and moved into my mom's house. I lived out of boxes in the living room and it was beyond difficult, but I was happier than I had been in a long time. A new volume in my life had just begun and I was ready. It wasn't all smooth sailing - not by a long shot - but I was moving to my OWN music and the cage door had finally opened enough for me to see the light through it.
Looking back, there were red flags everywhere. The snide remark here, the callous dig there. Blaming me for his alcohol abuse, putting me dead last behind golf or being at the bar with the boys. It would all rise to a head, explode in an epic fight, the apology would happen - and when I say that, I mean me apologizing to him when I knew he was in the wrong - he would bring me flowers and promises to do better next time and then all would be well. The "honeymoon phase" would last up to about three months and then it would spiral downward again. I began to think I was the one who was nuts. Heck, I was told that so often. There were so many instances when I questioned my sanity and mental stability. I have written about it at length here.
For years I saw this pattern, but I couldn't get up enough confidence and courage to leave. I just didn't have the strength. When I would get up the guts to even attempt to try, he would sense that and be on his best behavior so I would stay. The real beginning of the end in my mind was after the birth of Payton. Our little man was born about a month early and he was sick right off the bat. He was diagnosed with severe Gastro-Esophageal Reflux Disease by the time he was three weeks old. He was labeled as Failure to Thrive and he was in and out of the hospital for nearly a year. When Payton was in the hospital, that meant I was in the hospital, too. There were days when Payton's father didn't even call or show up. I never felt more alone in a sea of people. Everyday. I was forced to be a single mother when I was married. I was told I was being selfish when I emphatically said I needed a break, I was told that I needed to go back to work, I was told that I wasn't doing my job as a mother because Payton wasn't gaining weight. Huh? What? That completely contradicts itself. Why yes it does. See what I mean? Add in post-pregnancy hormones and a screaming child and I'll show you one broken woman. Broken right down to the core.
After Payton was doing much better and he was growing with the aid of a major surgery and a G-Tube, I began to truly think about leaving. My husband had shown me his true colors time and time again. He was giving me no reason to doubt who he really was. Now, I truly believe in things happening for a reason and one day when I was driving, I heard the most amazing conversation on the radio:
There was a relationship councilor on this particular morning show. She was talking about divorced parents. She was giving a lecture to a room full of adults. She asked the question: "How many of you have divorced parents?" About 30% of the people raised their hands. She then asked the question: "How many of you wished that your parents had gotten a divorce?" Another 30% of the audience raised their hands. When she asked, "Why?" The answer given by one of the men was this: "I watched my mother give up who she was and suffer to stay together with my father for us. I felt like it was my fault that she stayed together with him for the kids." Holy crap. Here I was giving up who I KNEW I was at my center. I had pushed my true self down and away for 8 years. I didn't recognize who I was when I looked in the mirror anymore. I had no freedom, I was being treated like a dirty doormat, I had to compromise who I was just to avoid a fight that was going to happen anyway. There was no happiness in my home or marriage, there was no trust, no honor, no respect. How in the would would it be fair to let Payton see me like this as he grew up. I would be dammed if Payton was to EVER treat a woman like his father was treating me.
I knew at that moment that I had to leave. The plans went into motion. I called my mother and set a date to temporarily move to her home as the apartment I had found wouldn't be ready for a month or so. I did a mental inventory of what I would take, what I would leave and how I would go about doing this.
A few weeks after I started making the plans, I was still a bit wishy-washy. However, he managed to seal the deal by playing this card: he said that he didn't want me taking Payton around my parents because he didn't want his son to get to know "people like them". The "people like them" part is in reference to their being overweight. Really? Just because they were overweight made them bad people in his mind. These people have the biggest kindest hearts and they love children. Their lives focus on children in what they do for a job every day. And here was my soon-to-be ex husband attempting to isolate me from my family. He had already done this with my friends which in and of itself is awful, but this is my family. He even went on and said that he didn't want Payton around my brother and sister-in-law either. I remember sitting on the floor in the hallway with my chin in my lap unable to speak. I sat there for about 15 minutes with my mouth open in disbelief while he sat on the couch with a smug gloating look on his face going about his business and channel surfing like nothing was wrong. I simply got up, walked up the stairs and called my mother. I was definitely leaving and I needed some help.
About two weeks later, he left on a business trip and that weekend, I left. I packed up my things, Payton's things and moved into my mom's house. I lived out of boxes in the living room and it was beyond difficult, but I was happier than I had been in a long time. A new volume in my life had just begun and I was ready. It wasn't all smooth sailing - not by a long shot - but I was moving to my OWN music and the cage door had finally opened enough for me to see the light through it.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Little pinches
How does one co-parent with an ass?
This is a question that I'm working on answering, not that there is necessarily a good answer. The thing is that no matter what I do or say or how much I ignore him or attempt to be relatively kind to him, he will always find fault, he will never apologize, he will always be petty, he will constantly try to put me on the defense and try to make me miserable, he will pick and criticize and show his backside no matter what. This is what I know. If I give in to it, he is winning.
I guess the best way to describe it is to picture yourself sitting in a bright, sunny garden. You are happy, laughing, calm, peaceful. You can hear a gentle breeze and the birds twittering outside. A fountain bubbles. All is well with the world. And then you hear something. It starts as a nagging buzz from a distance. You know something is coming. You can't quite see it, but you know something is there on the other side of the wall. Muffled, subdued, but angry nonetheless. You try to ignore it and whatever it is senses that you are and it decides to get louder. Then the sound changes to a naggy, plucky gray twang. Your teeth start to vibrate. You move your chair to the other side of the garden, but it follows. It follows, wanting you to come seek it out, to pay attention to it. You know better than to do that, but it's very hard not to. Finally, you go and look over the wall and scan the ground. Nothing. But out of the corner of your eye, you see a flash of a leopard tail with those same damn spots that were there before. Or sometimes you see a clown. All dressed up with the red nose and the big floppy collar and shoes with the tiny car pulling up behind. Finger pointing, the sick grin on his face.
So the solution? Build a higher wall? I don't know if that's the best way to deal with the leopard and the three ring circus. It's not fair to Payton and all that achieves is blocking out my own light. I have to keep an open line of communication with his father. I can only imagine the future ramifications for our child if I do not. Build a cage? A jail cell? That won't work either. Then I'm the bad guy again. I could keep looking for a new garden, but that would mean that I need to uproot myself to accommodate him and that goes completely against what I am trying to achieve here. Armour would be hot and hard to move about in, a big hammer is out of the question. A fly swatter?
Maybe earmuffs. Selective earmuffs. Or turn myself into a duck in my mind on such occasions and let all of the BS just roll off.
Right now there is just not a good answer other than the knowledge that Payton loves me and now his schedule is more consistent and that he is happy. That is what matters.
In cases of abuse, it is so hard to maintain the level of vulnerability necessary to achieve successful co-parenting. It was that same vulnerability that opened the door to the nightmare in the past. I want to be able to communicate with him for Payton's sake, but I then risk having my good will twisted around my neck and becoming the noose that he tries to hang me with. It's already happened on several occasions. He picks and pinches and pokes. I try to step away and avoid it, and it still comes back to bite. Some days it hurts more than others. Sometimes I can laugh and shrug and let him be the leopard and the clown without it affecting me, but other days I can feel my skin boil.
Hopefully over time this will get easier. He will do what he does and I need to keep moving forward, kicking off the mud and picking up the pieces as I go.
This is a question that I'm working on answering, not that there is necessarily a good answer. The thing is that no matter what I do or say or how much I ignore him or attempt to be relatively kind to him, he will always find fault, he will never apologize, he will always be petty, he will constantly try to put me on the defense and try to make me miserable, he will pick and criticize and show his backside no matter what. This is what I know. If I give in to it, he is winning.
I guess the best way to describe it is to picture yourself sitting in a bright, sunny garden. You are happy, laughing, calm, peaceful. You can hear a gentle breeze and the birds twittering outside. A fountain bubbles. All is well with the world. And then you hear something. It starts as a nagging buzz from a distance. You know something is coming. You can't quite see it, but you know something is there on the other side of the wall. Muffled, subdued, but angry nonetheless. You try to ignore it and whatever it is senses that you are and it decides to get louder. Then the sound changes to a naggy, plucky gray twang. Your teeth start to vibrate. You move your chair to the other side of the garden, but it follows. It follows, wanting you to come seek it out, to pay attention to it. You know better than to do that, but it's very hard not to. Finally, you go and look over the wall and scan the ground. Nothing. But out of the corner of your eye, you see a flash of a leopard tail with those same damn spots that were there before. Or sometimes you see a clown. All dressed up with the red nose and the big floppy collar and shoes with the tiny car pulling up behind. Finger pointing, the sick grin on his face.
So the solution? Build a higher wall? I don't know if that's the best way to deal with the leopard and the three ring circus. It's not fair to Payton and all that achieves is blocking out my own light. I have to keep an open line of communication with his father. I can only imagine the future ramifications for our child if I do not. Build a cage? A jail cell? That won't work either. Then I'm the bad guy again. I could keep looking for a new garden, but that would mean that I need to uproot myself to accommodate him and that goes completely against what I am trying to achieve here. Armour would be hot and hard to move about in, a big hammer is out of the question. A fly swatter?
Maybe earmuffs. Selective earmuffs. Or turn myself into a duck in my mind on such occasions and let all of the BS just roll off.
Right now there is just not a good answer other than the knowledge that Payton loves me and now his schedule is more consistent and that he is happy. That is what matters.
In cases of abuse, it is so hard to maintain the level of vulnerability necessary to achieve successful co-parenting. It was that same vulnerability that opened the door to the nightmare in the past. I want to be able to communicate with him for Payton's sake, but I then risk having my good will twisted around my neck and becoming the noose that he tries to hang me with. It's already happened on several occasions. He picks and pinches and pokes. I try to step away and avoid it, and it still comes back to bite. Some days it hurts more than others. Sometimes I can laugh and shrug and let him be the leopard and the clown without it affecting me, but other days I can feel my skin boil.
Hopefully over time this will get easier. He will do what he does and I need to keep moving forward, kicking off the mud and picking up the pieces as I go.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
A little anxiety
In my ex's attempt to continue to control me, he requested that I undergo a Court Ordered Vocational Evaluation. (Insert eerie music here...)
February 29th, 2008 was the last day of my employment at the Interior Design firm that I had worked at for seven years. I was terminated because I was "circling the toilet" and that I would do better "working part-time at Ethan Allen". Nice. This, after busting my ass for this company for years. I was a single mom who had to drive an hour in rush hour traffic both ways to pick up and drop off at daycare and that was not acceptable even with working from home after hours. But OK. No problem. I had several interviews set up and I was in the process of trying to start my own interior design company. Unfortunately, this was the beginning of the recession and it turned out the the construction and interior design industries were really the sorry lumps circling the toilet. The jobs in interior design were few and far between and either I was over-qualified, the job was not in my area of expertise and every single one had a stack of 50 resumes in the file with more coming in every day. They were not interested in hiring a single mom of a special needs child who needed to come and go to drop off and pick up from preschool four days a week. They wanted fresh new meat that they could work until bleeding and would accept an annual salary of $27,000.00 with no over-time.
So. Time for PLAN B.
I have always wanted to be a nurse. I looked into nursing schools, but the time commitment and the tuition were just too great. I looked at getting my Master's Degree in Oriental Medicine & Acupuncture. Again - the costs were astronomical and it would be three years of my life that I really needed to dedicate to my then two year old, developmentally delayed little boy. Brainstorm. What could I do that would earn a respectable and responsible wage that I could schedule around Payton's preschool and his schedule? What could I do that would bring my insanely high stress level down so I could be a functional happy parent to my baby? I chose Massage Therapy. I could get my license and get to work making around $40.00 to $60.00 an hour plus tips and commission or I could work on my own for substantially more. I could bring home enough money to pay the bills, save up for a home and still have the freedom of scheduling to benefit Payton. Perfect.
Unfortunately, the ex does not think so. He feels that since I have a degree in Interior Design that that is the field that I need to be working in. I have a little bit of news for him. There are ZERO interior design jobs available in the San Diego area. Can I just say that again? Z. E. R. O. Big zilch. None. Nada. Nothing. Not on CalJOBS.com, not on Monster.com, not on InteriorDesignJobs.com, not on Craigslist.com. But guess what??? My last search for Massage Therapy positions revealed 140 of them. Let me spell that out. One hundred and forty Massage Therapy positions are available. I'm sorry. I made the right choice.
So back to this Court Ordered Vocational Evaluation...
It's scheduled for April 27th. I have to go meet with an evaluator who is supposedly this amazing guru of the job search. I have no doubt that is the case and I will walk in to that appointment with my head held high and an open mind. My lawyer is actually stoked for me to go. He said to be as honest as possible.
So what's the hang up here, you ask? What's the deal? Why the anxiety?
There are pages and pages of forms to fill out. I need to give her copies of my resumes and my tax returns. I need to turn in my job search records. I have to give her a picture? Huh? I have to list what my "standard of living" was when I was married and I have to say what I think I can do to make my standard of living the same now as it was then.
Fine. I have perfectly poised and professional resumes for both Interior Design and Massage Therapy and all of my completed marketing collateral and my Menu of Services. I have my job searches and contacts. I have a stellar photo of myself. I have my school transcripts and the contacts where I have been working on a shift basis in Massage Therapy. Tax returns? No problem. The sticking point comes with this "standard of living" thing. Really?
What defines a Standard of Living? I think it is a completely personal choice. For my ex, everything is about "looking good". The nice car with the GPS and leather interior, the $1,900.00 a month apartment, spending over $1000.00 a month on food, eating out and entertainment, the designer clothing, rounds of golf at the best courses, sending your child to full-time daycare and having a stranger raise him instead of his mother. It's all a veneer to cover up the mess behind it.
For me, not so much. I prefer a more simple approach. I am able to budget and live within my means. My wealth is not measured by dollars in the bank. It's measured in my ability to clip coupons, to feed a family of five for under $300.00 a month, to find the best deals and to live without the material excess. I drive a used Volvo. I have three payments left and I'm proud of that. I buy off the sale rack at Target and shop at the outlet malls for the kids. I love Costco. My wealth comes from seeing Payton blossom and thrive and grow within the circle of his FAMILY. To see his anxiety level drop by volumes over the past few weeks when he doesn't have to go to the sitter's house. To see him excited to spend time with mama and be happy to see daddy.
Do I want to work? The answer to that question is a resounding YES!!! I sure as hell do. I love having the feeling of happiness when I am able to coax the knots out of a first time mama's shoulders, to ease away the stiffness from a 80 year old great-grandmother's hands, to teach a wonderfully amazing handicapped woman some arm stretches so they don't hurt when she is helping her mother bake cookies, to work the legs of a dancer, to calm the addict, to ease the CEO. I love what I do!
But Payton will always come first. What in the world is wrong with that? He needs his mama. He's insanely sensitive and his biggest hangup and cause for his anxiety is being left behind. He obsesses about it. I can't even express how much it kills me to see him rage when I tell him he has to go to the baby sitter's house after a busy day at school.
My ex will never see it like that. He just sees that he has to pay me more Child Support. He intimidated and threatened me into accepting less than half of guideline support per month when I was making $64,000.00 a year. Now he's paying me more than before and he's Pissed. Oh... and that Pissed with a capital P. So this is why he wants me to do the Vocational Evaluation. His hope is that the evaluator will deem that I am able to earn $64,000.00 a year and that the child-support amount will be re-figured with me earning over $5000.00 a month rather than what I am currently earning on Unemployment. He even paid for the evaluation without and expectation of a reimbursement from me. He has gotten away with paying a laughable sum for over two years and it's time it stopped, but he's going to try one more time.
I just hate that I feel like I have to defend myself yet again. If the payment amount changes some, I'm OK with that, but he will pay guideline support. Even if it is re-figured with a higher potential salary for me, the Child Support payment will still more than double what it is now. Money was never my motivation, but I do feel that he needs to step up and do the right thing for Payton. My motivation has always been to provide a stable and consistent environment for Payton during the school week. No more ping-pong ball with up to four transfers a day. Our new Child Sharing percentage is 61/39 and it was 60/40 before. He's acting as if I'm "tearing his son away from him". Please.
February 29th, 2008 was the last day of my employment at the Interior Design firm that I had worked at for seven years. I was terminated because I was "circling the toilet" and that I would do better "working part-time at Ethan Allen". Nice. This, after busting my ass for this company for years. I was a single mom who had to drive an hour in rush hour traffic both ways to pick up and drop off at daycare and that was not acceptable even with working from home after hours. But OK. No problem. I had several interviews set up and I was in the process of trying to start my own interior design company. Unfortunately, this was the beginning of the recession and it turned out the the construction and interior design industries were really the sorry lumps circling the toilet. The jobs in interior design were few and far between and either I was over-qualified, the job was not in my area of expertise and every single one had a stack of 50 resumes in the file with more coming in every day. They were not interested in hiring a single mom of a special needs child who needed to come and go to drop off and pick up from preschool four days a week. They wanted fresh new meat that they could work until bleeding and would accept an annual salary of $27,000.00 with no over-time.
So. Time for PLAN B.
I have always wanted to be a nurse. I looked into nursing schools, but the time commitment and the tuition were just too great. I looked at getting my Master's Degree in Oriental Medicine & Acupuncture. Again - the costs were astronomical and it would be three years of my life that I really needed to dedicate to my then two year old, developmentally delayed little boy. Brainstorm. What could I do that would earn a respectable and responsible wage that I could schedule around Payton's preschool and his schedule? What could I do that would bring my insanely high stress level down so I could be a functional happy parent to my baby? I chose Massage Therapy. I could get my license and get to work making around $40.00 to $60.00 an hour plus tips and commission or I could work on my own for substantially more. I could bring home enough money to pay the bills, save up for a home and still have the freedom of scheduling to benefit Payton. Perfect.
Unfortunately, the ex does not think so. He feels that since I have a degree in Interior Design that that is the field that I need to be working in. I have a little bit of news for him. There are ZERO interior design jobs available in the San Diego area. Can I just say that again? Z. E. R. O. Big zilch. None. Nada. Nothing. Not on CalJOBS.com, not on Monster.com, not on InteriorDesignJobs.com, not on Craigslist.com. But guess what??? My last search for Massage Therapy positions revealed 140 of them. Let me spell that out. One hundred and forty Massage Therapy positions are available. I'm sorry. I made the right choice.
So back to this Court Ordered Vocational Evaluation...
It's scheduled for April 27th. I have to go meet with an evaluator who is supposedly this amazing guru of the job search. I have no doubt that is the case and I will walk in to that appointment with my head held high and an open mind. My lawyer is actually stoked for me to go. He said to be as honest as possible.
So what's the hang up here, you ask? What's the deal? Why the anxiety?
There are pages and pages of forms to fill out. I need to give her copies of my resumes and my tax returns. I need to turn in my job search records. I have to give her a picture? Huh? I have to list what my "standard of living" was when I was married and I have to say what I think I can do to make my standard of living the same now as it was then.
Fine. I have perfectly poised and professional resumes for both Interior Design and Massage Therapy and all of my completed marketing collateral and my Menu of Services. I have my job searches and contacts. I have a stellar photo of myself. I have my school transcripts and the contacts where I have been working on a shift basis in Massage Therapy. Tax returns? No problem. The sticking point comes with this "standard of living" thing. Really?
What defines a Standard of Living? I think it is a completely personal choice. For my ex, everything is about "looking good". The nice car with the GPS and leather interior, the $1,900.00 a month apartment, spending over $1000.00 a month on food, eating out and entertainment, the designer clothing, rounds of golf at the best courses, sending your child to full-time daycare and having a stranger raise him instead of his mother. It's all a veneer to cover up the mess behind it.
For me, not so much. I prefer a more simple approach. I am able to budget and live within my means. My wealth is not measured by dollars in the bank. It's measured in my ability to clip coupons, to feed a family of five for under $300.00 a month, to find the best deals and to live without the material excess. I drive a used Volvo. I have three payments left and I'm proud of that. I buy off the sale rack at Target and shop at the outlet malls for the kids. I love Costco. My wealth comes from seeing Payton blossom and thrive and grow within the circle of his FAMILY. To see his anxiety level drop by volumes over the past few weeks when he doesn't have to go to the sitter's house. To see him excited to spend time with mama and be happy to see daddy.
Do I want to work? The answer to that question is a resounding YES!!! I sure as hell do. I love having the feeling of happiness when I am able to coax the knots out of a first time mama's shoulders, to ease away the stiffness from a 80 year old great-grandmother's hands, to teach a wonderfully amazing handicapped woman some arm stretches so they don't hurt when she is helping her mother bake cookies, to work the legs of a dancer, to calm the addict, to ease the CEO. I love what I do!
But Payton will always come first. What in the world is wrong with that? He needs his mama. He's insanely sensitive and his biggest hangup and cause for his anxiety is being left behind. He obsesses about it. I can't even express how much it kills me to see him rage when I tell him he has to go to the baby sitter's house after a busy day at school.
My ex will never see it like that. He just sees that he has to pay me more Child Support. He intimidated and threatened me into accepting less than half of guideline support per month when I was making $64,000.00 a year. Now he's paying me more than before and he's Pissed. Oh... and that Pissed with a capital P. So this is why he wants me to do the Vocational Evaluation. His hope is that the evaluator will deem that I am able to earn $64,000.00 a year and that the child-support amount will be re-figured with me earning over $5000.00 a month rather than what I am currently earning on Unemployment. He even paid for the evaluation without and expectation of a reimbursement from me. He has gotten away with paying a laughable sum for over two years and it's time it stopped, but he's going to try one more time.
I just hate that I feel like I have to defend myself yet again. If the payment amount changes some, I'm OK with that, but he will pay guideline support. Even if it is re-figured with a higher potential salary for me, the Child Support payment will still more than double what it is now. Money was never my motivation, but I do feel that he needs to step up and do the right thing for Payton. My motivation has always been to provide a stable and consistent environment for Payton during the school week. No more ping-pong ball with up to four transfers a day. Our new Child Sharing percentage is 61/39 and it was 60/40 before. He's acting as if I'm "tearing his son away from him". Please.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Breaking the Silence
Monday after I wrote my post on abuse, I decided to Google "verbal abuse blogs". In the past ten years I had never done this - even if I had, I don't think I would have been ready to take in what the Internet had to offer up. What I found just about blew me out of my chair. Right there. On my screen. My words, but from another woman's mind. My eyes were opened wide and my mouth hung open. To say that I was dumbfounded is quite the understatement.
Blog entry after blog entry was filled with the conversations I had had with my abuser. Near verbatim. Every lie, every put-down, every back-handed slash to the spirit. Even down to the merry-go-round tactics of manipulation and twisting words into making their prey feel crazy and cornered. Everything.
The biggest thing that got me was this quote from You are Not Crazy, which is unfortunately not active anymore.
Blog entry after blog entry was filled with the conversations I had had with my abuser. Near verbatim. Every lie, every put-down, every back-handed slash to the spirit. Even down to the merry-go-round tactics of manipulation and twisting words into making their prey feel crazy and cornered. Everything.
The biggest thing that got me was this quote from You are Not Crazy, which is unfortunately not active anymore.
This website is wholly, compassionately dedicated to the women
who have fought to love and understand
in total solitude
the men that
rage at them, call them names, criticise their mistakes, joke about their insecurities, mock their interests, trivialize their pain, yell at them suddenly, threaten them with their deepest fears and tell them that they deserve it.
Then to top it all off,
he steadfastly denies it all,
as he masterfully charms everyone he meets,
just like he did to her when they first met.
just like he did to her when they first met.
Wow. Just wow.
In reading blog entries from other women over the past few days, I have found it was extremely liberating and calming to know that there are many more out there like me who have endured the cycle of abuse and have broken free. To read about their lives in such a raw fashion was definitely an eye-opening experience. So in the hopes that I will be able to help another woman find some peace - even if it is just one - I will reveal some of my experiences here on my own blog. I don't want this to be the focus of Building the Muse, but it will definitely be a significant part. All posts on abuse will be labeled with "Ghosts" for an easy search.
Again and again I read that silence is the best way to support an abuser. So gloves off. I will never name him for his own privacy, but many readers who know me will know.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Wherein I speak about abuse
Emotionally, mentally, verbally, physically, sexually.
For years I hid it. I know what happened to me was just a fraction of what other women suffer, but it was enough to turn me inside out, upside down and twist me all around to a point where I did not recognize myself anymore. Some days I wished he would just haul off and hit me. It would have been easier to leave.
Verbal abuse is an odd one. It can be covered up as a joke and it can be hidden from public view. It becomes his word against yours. It does not show itself in big ugly bruises on the skin and it cannot be treated in the Emergency Room. It is next to impossible to file for a restraining order because no one ever witnesses it. It's easy to cover up for a while. It can have you feeling like it is all your fault. You blame yourself. I sure did. If only I tried harder. If I only woke him up the right way. If I could do the dishes like he wants me to do or fold his laundry with the creases in the right place.
The first time it happened, I was completely shocked. It cut so deep and so quick that I didn't know how to react. After the initial shock wore off, I was able to question what happened, but that's when the game started. The reason for his outburst was caused by me. It was my fault. Now never having been spoken to that way in my LIFE, of course I questioned it. I didn't want to keep bringing it up with him because I was only perpetuating the problem... making it go around and around in circles. So I learned to keep my mouth shut and sweep it all under the rug. I then bent over backwards and walked on eggshells so that it wouldn't ever happen again.
The hook had been cast.
There would be about a three month honeymoon period and then it would happen again. This time worse. Again my fault. Again. And again. And again. After it happens enough, you start to believe it. You start to think that you are worthless, selfish, self-centered, smug, fat, a liar, rude, stupid, a cunt, a bitch, disgusting, a whore. And then I was chastised for not doing enough for him. Really? I didn't want to be anywhere near him. I learned to keep my distance to keep the abuse from happening. But it still did. And it was still my fault.
And then I was punished for it. He would go out and drink. He knew I hated it. He isolated me. He used his abusive nature to shove his own alcohol problem down my throat. My fault. What I did or didn't do made him go and drink. Nice. And what did I do? I covered for him. I would drive him places for him to drink. I would push my plans aside. I would pick him up from strip clubs and bars in the middle of the night. I even picked him from from a hotel when I was sick with pneumonia. I broke plans with my family because I was embarrassed to have him at family functions and holiday gatherings. I never brought him around my friends. I even lost friends because of him.
Verbal abuse then branches out. It takes a toll on you emotionally and physically. You begin to isolate yourself beyond what he is doing to you. You begin to get sick. The toll that it takes on your body is just unbearable. That is where the physical abuse and sexual abuse take a step into the picture. By this time you are so worn down to a pulp that you do not want to even bear the thought of getting into bed with your "husband". He gets angry. He blames his impotence on you when you know full well it's the alcohol and his own mental issues. He can jack off to porn on the computer, but when he tries to have sex with you, he can't get it up. He makes darn sure that you know that and leaves the lotion and the rag out for you to see. Again - your fault. You get pushed, shoved and forced. Of course it's never enough for you to go to the police over. Just below the threshold. He reminds you that he can pass a lie detector test if he has to take one. He reminds you that he is capable of killing you. He reminds you that he is a sniper and can shoot someone in the skull from over 500 yards away.
Afraid to go to the police? Yep. Absolutely. Afraid to tell anyone? Yeah.
For the better part of my marriage, nobody knew what was going on. My mother had an inkling and I spoke to my best friend about it. All I could do at that point was rationalize it and make excuses. I believed in my marriage vows. Never mind that he had broken them almost from the get-go, but I didn't see that until much later. I didn't want to check the "Divorced" box on applications. I didn't want to raise my son alone.
But I did get out.
It took a long time to be able to recognize the woman in the mirror again, but I can see myself again. And that is for another entry.
For years I hid it. I know what happened to me was just a fraction of what other women suffer, but it was enough to turn me inside out, upside down and twist me all around to a point where I did not recognize myself anymore. Some days I wished he would just haul off and hit me. It would have been easier to leave.
Verbal abuse is an odd one. It can be covered up as a joke and it can be hidden from public view. It becomes his word against yours. It does not show itself in big ugly bruises on the skin and it cannot be treated in the Emergency Room. It is next to impossible to file for a restraining order because no one ever witnesses it. It's easy to cover up for a while. It can have you feeling like it is all your fault. You blame yourself. I sure did. If only I tried harder. If I only woke him up the right way. If I could do the dishes like he wants me to do or fold his laundry with the creases in the right place.
The first time it happened, I was completely shocked. It cut so deep and so quick that I didn't know how to react. After the initial shock wore off, I was able to question what happened, but that's when the game started. The reason for his outburst was caused by me. It was my fault. Now never having been spoken to that way in my LIFE, of course I questioned it. I didn't want to keep bringing it up with him because I was only perpetuating the problem... making it go around and around in circles. So I learned to keep my mouth shut and sweep it all under the rug. I then bent over backwards and walked on eggshells so that it wouldn't ever happen again.
The hook had been cast.
There would be about a three month honeymoon period and then it would happen again. This time worse. Again my fault. Again. And again. And again. After it happens enough, you start to believe it. You start to think that you are worthless, selfish, self-centered, smug, fat, a liar, rude, stupid, a cunt, a bitch, disgusting, a whore. And then I was chastised for not doing enough for him. Really? I didn't want to be anywhere near him. I learned to keep my distance to keep the abuse from happening. But it still did. And it was still my fault.
And then I was punished for it. He would go out and drink. He knew I hated it. He isolated me. He used his abusive nature to shove his own alcohol problem down my throat. My fault. What I did or didn't do made him go and drink. Nice. And what did I do? I covered for him. I would drive him places for him to drink. I would push my plans aside. I would pick him up from strip clubs and bars in the middle of the night. I even picked him from from a hotel when I was sick with pneumonia. I broke plans with my family because I was embarrassed to have him at family functions and holiday gatherings. I never brought him around my friends. I even lost friends because of him.
Verbal abuse then branches out. It takes a toll on you emotionally and physically. You begin to isolate yourself beyond what he is doing to you. You begin to get sick. The toll that it takes on your body is just unbearable. That is where the physical abuse and sexual abuse take a step into the picture. By this time you are so worn down to a pulp that you do not want to even bear the thought of getting into bed with your "husband". He gets angry. He blames his impotence on you when you know full well it's the alcohol and his own mental issues. He can jack off to porn on the computer, but when he tries to have sex with you, he can't get it up. He makes darn sure that you know that and leaves the lotion and the rag out for you to see. Again - your fault. You get pushed, shoved and forced. Of course it's never enough for you to go to the police over. Just below the threshold. He reminds you that he can pass a lie detector test if he has to take one. He reminds you that he is capable of killing you. He reminds you that he is a sniper and can shoot someone in the skull from over 500 yards away.
Afraid to go to the police? Yep. Absolutely. Afraid to tell anyone? Yeah.
For the better part of my marriage, nobody knew what was going on. My mother had an inkling and I spoke to my best friend about it. All I could do at that point was rationalize it and make excuses. I believed in my marriage vows. Never mind that he had broken them almost from the get-go, but I didn't see that until much later. I didn't want to check the "Divorced" box on applications. I didn't want to raise my son alone.
But I did get out.
It took a long time to be able to recognize the woman in the mirror again, but I can see myself again. And that is for another entry.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Beginning the re-building
Today is a new day. I have been torn down from all directions.
I'm at rock bottom emotionally, physically and mentally. It's an effort to walk the dog. I'm winded climbing the stairs. My insides are curling up on themselves and I'm tired of it. I'm lethargic, sad, melancholy, listless, lifeless and puffy.
It would be so easy to stay like this and rot, but I can't. I would be destroying everything I have worked for up until this point in my life.
So tomorrow starts a new chapter.
I have to get out and do. Not just be. But I have to be comfortable with me and the direction I'm going, even though I feel like I'm blindfolded and hobbled. Maybe that's the best way considering I would be scared out of my gourd if I were to take a look at all of the details. I'm naturally a planner and I have to let that go. I need to see that which is in between the black and white.
I have to say that every once and a while, I see a glimmer of what I am to be. It feels like every time I reach for it my hand gets slapped. So I need to try another path of self-discovery and be willing to veer off the path of a bit. Maybe a better one will be there.
I'm at rock bottom emotionally, physically and mentally. It's an effort to walk the dog. I'm winded climbing the stairs. My insides are curling up on themselves and I'm tired of it. I'm lethargic, sad, melancholy, listless, lifeless and puffy.
It would be so easy to stay like this and rot, but I can't. I would be destroying everything I have worked for up until this point in my life.
So tomorrow starts a new chapter.
I have to get out and do. Not just be. But I have to be comfortable with me and the direction I'm going, even though I feel like I'm blindfolded and hobbled. Maybe that's the best way considering I would be scared out of my gourd if I were to take a look at all of the details. I'm naturally a planner and I have to let that go. I need to see that which is in between the black and white.
I have to say that every once and a while, I see a glimmer of what I am to be. It feels like every time I reach for it my hand gets slapped. So I need to try another path of self-discovery and be willing to veer off the path of a bit. Maybe a better one will be there.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
So much
There is so much going on I have no idea where to start. I've been keeping a list of blog topics in my iPhone for future use as they pop into my head.
These past few weeks have been very overwhelming - full of anxiety, triumphs, successes, a set-back or two, good news, bad news, much thought and planning. Thankfully, my head has been level and I'm moving forward.
My thoughts are getting in order and they will soon make their appearance here... promise.
These past few weeks have been very overwhelming - full of anxiety, triumphs, successes, a set-back or two, good news, bad news, much thought and planning. Thankfully, my head has been level and I'm moving forward.
My thoughts are getting in order and they will soon make their appearance here... promise.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Getting my brain in order
Holy moly, it's been in interesting few weeks. Just trying to wrap my brain around a sliver of it is too much to bear some days. In some ways, I see exactly how far I have come, but in others, I see exactly how far it is I have to go.
There are many difficult things that people have to do in their lives. There are many lessons to learn and changes to make. Some are considerably harder than others. Yesterday, I did the absolutely most difficult thing I have ever done in my life. Above and beyond getting out of an abusive relationship. Harder than having plans for a healthy child blow up in my face and dealing with the fallout. Harder than getting my center back. Harder than being confident in myself.
I took a stand against my abuser. I filed paperwork to change a wrong into a right. Nobody has ever told the truth to his face, including me. And there it is on paper for the world to see now. He will be served tomorrow.
I am terrified, but I am sick of being bullied and belittled. I am done walking on eggshells and keeping my mouth shut. I'm finished with letting him walk all over me. I will not let this person become the blueprint that my child will study as he becomes a man. No way.
There are so many reasons why.
There are many difficult things that people have to do in their lives. There are many lessons to learn and changes to make. Some are considerably harder than others. Yesterday, I did the absolutely most difficult thing I have ever done in my life. Above and beyond getting out of an abusive relationship. Harder than having plans for a healthy child blow up in my face and dealing with the fallout. Harder than getting my center back. Harder than being confident in myself.
I took a stand against my abuser. I filed paperwork to change a wrong into a right. Nobody has ever told the truth to his face, including me. And there it is on paper for the world to see now. He will be served tomorrow.
I am terrified, but I am sick of being bullied and belittled. I am done walking on eggshells and keeping my mouth shut. I'm finished with letting him walk all over me. I will not let this person become the blueprint that my child will study as he becomes a man. No way.
There are so many reasons why.
Friday, October 2, 2009
The nature of things
The last few days have been a cluster of great successes, feats of strength, hearing difficult truths and in-my-face tests of my year of PTSD counseling. I would have to say that my therapist would be so very proud of me. Maybe I should give her a call. I have to say that I am giving myself a whole-hearted pat on the back for not losing my resolve or falling back into that dark place that I was dragging about with me for the better part of a decade. I am stunned that I am able to look back to those days without emotion. If I feel anything, it is sorrow. Not for myself - I cannot change the past and only look upon it as a source of lessons in moral character - but for others who have yet to witness the full wrath of what I experienced. If anything, the past week has proven to me that I am strong enough to take a stand for what is right and that I will be OK. Maybe scratched up a little bit, but for the most part come out on the back end a better person for it and thereby stronger as a final result after the wounds heal.
Several nights ago, I met with someone who needed me to tell her the truth. She had a list of questions and wanted brutally honest answers. I gave them to her. Not to be malicious or hateful to the person we were speaking of - I really and truly have no energy for that anymore - but to paint a very vivid picture of what the sad reality of the situation is. We talked at length over Niçoise salads and Merlot about the fact that the question of "why" cannot be answered, that we can only move forward and make ourselves whole again. There was a great desire on both our parts for the person in question to get help and to get that help quickly. However, the issue remains that the pride and ego that is present will not allow him to do so. It was concluded that he is embarrassed and ashamed of who he is down somewhere deep in the recesses of what he experienced as a child and that he feels the need to paint some sort of surreal picture of who he thinks he should be. It makes us both so incredibly sad as we both see that the potential in this person is immeasurable. Truly it is. He just refuses to see it and actually live it. Over the years, it has gotten covered with a very thin facade that is now crumbling about his shoulders.
What I had to say was very hard for her to hear, but it confirmed her suspicions of what she had thought all along. The most difficult thing for me wasn't talking about the past, it was watching her experience the same things I had. I could read it all over her face. No words needed to be spoken.
She is such a beautiful woman. So opposite from me in the physical, yet I know that if the circumstances were different, we would have been great friends. She is a strong, opinionated, athletic, savvy, smart, sharp and witty woman. She is successful, financially responsible and can wield the iron fist if necessary. The thing I like best about her is that she is brutally honest and is not afraid to call a spade a spade. She has the desire to know the truth and heaven help you if she finds out you are lying.
It has taken me the better part of a week to pull this post together. Since I have started it, I have been through another cycle of my black cloud moods. I had some time alone and was able to process everything that has occurred and work myself into a lather over it all. Yesterday I had a much needed chat with my amazing husband and we worked through the knotted up emotions that were clogging up my brain. A few tears, a small pity-party, a plan for action on my part to help relieve some of my anxiety and three wonderful hours walking the seaside cured most of the crud. I feel pretty much back to normal today.
I am a strong believer that everything happens because we need it to and that there is a lesson to learn so that we might be able to grow and thrive in our lives. I am seeing very clearly that I have made the right choices and that in and of itself is amazingly comforting.
Several nights ago, I met with someone who needed me to tell her the truth. She had a list of questions and wanted brutally honest answers. I gave them to her. Not to be malicious or hateful to the person we were speaking of - I really and truly have no energy for that anymore - but to paint a very vivid picture of what the sad reality of the situation is. We talked at length over Niçoise salads and Merlot about the fact that the question of "why" cannot be answered, that we can only move forward and make ourselves whole again. There was a great desire on both our parts for the person in question to get help and to get that help quickly. However, the issue remains that the pride and ego that is present will not allow him to do so. It was concluded that he is embarrassed and ashamed of who he is down somewhere deep in the recesses of what he experienced as a child and that he feels the need to paint some sort of surreal picture of who he thinks he should be. It makes us both so incredibly sad as we both see that the potential in this person is immeasurable. Truly it is. He just refuses to see it and actually live it. Over the years, it has gotten covered with a very thin facade that is now crumbling about his shoulders.
What I had to say was very hard for her to hear, but it confirmed her suspicions of what she had thought all along. The most difficult thing for me wasn't talking about the past, it was watching her experience the same things I had. I could read it all over her face. No words needed to be spoken.
She is such a beautiful woman. So opposite from me in the physical, yet I know that if the circumstances were different, we would have been great friends. She is a strong, opinionated, athletic, savvy, smart, sharp and witty woman. She is successful, financially responsible and can wield the iron fist if necessary. The thing I like best about her is that she is brutally honest and is not afraid to call a spade a spade. She has the desire to know the truth and heaven help you if she finds out you are lying.
It has taken me the better part of a week to pull this post together. Since I have started it, I have been through another cycle of my black cloud moods. I had some time alone and was able to process everything that has occurred and work myself into a lather over it all. Yesterday I had a much needed chat with my amazing husband and we worked through the knotted up emotions that were clogging up my brain. A few tears, a small pity-party, a plan for action on my part to help relieve some of my anxiety and three wonderful hours walking the seaside cured most of the crud. I feel pretty much back to normal today.
I am a strong believer that everything happens because we need it to and that there is a lesson to learn so that we might be able to grow and thrive in our lives. I am seeing very clearly that I have made the right choices and that in and of itself is amazingly comforting.
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