Tag: divorce

Bringing it down to the Basics

It was 2011. I was newly divorced, in school full time, working as many hours as I could get, and raising 3 kids. Looking back, it’s almost comical that I thought I could have an organized house as well. 

“What do you need?” My friend Kris asked me. She had come over with the intention to clean/organize/help. I was drowning in my life and I desperately needed someone to throw me a lifesaver. 

“I don’t know. I mean. I guess the toys. I can’t think because there is so much everywhere. The toys go there. Top drawer is dolls. Second is dress up. Bottom draws is everything else. I don’t know. They’re all mixed up.” I told her showing her my organizer. “And art stuff goes here. Paper in this drawer, crayons and markers in this one, and the other stuff in that one.”

“No. That’s too much. You need to simplify it. How about toys here, and art stuff here.”

“But. Everything has a place. I just…”

“What a your goal? What do you want in here?”

“I want the toys off the floor. I want to walk through my house without stepping on stuff.”

“Beth. The girls can help. They need to. You can’t do it all, so we need to find a way that is simple. So the kids can do it.”

I had to let go of some control. Here’s the thing, (for those who don’t know how it is to function with ADHD) I have to be that uptight about things. Chaos around me gives anxiety. I forget things. I lose things. Everything has a place, because otherwise, nothing has a place. 

So I changed the rules. Instead if having such strong stipulations on where the kids put the toys, I just made sure they were put away. It worked. The kids didn’t feel overwhelmed with helping. So I started simplifying other aspects of my life. 

Sorting socks? Nope. I don’t have time. My goal is to have clean socks when we need them. Boom. New rule, sock basket. All the clean socks in the house are in there. Find your own. While thes things were not ideal for my house, I found the amount of stress that was lifted was definitely worth letting go. 

Sometimes, when I feel overwhelmed, I like to bring it down the the basics. Not forever, just for long enough to gain some perspective. Not just with household chores, but with friendships, parenting, work, and everything else. 

Parenting. What is the goal? I’m sure your response would be something about love, or God, or kindness, or being strong or something like that. No. Those are not the goals. Those are the personal details you have set for what are actually the goals. 

There are 2 things your kid needs from you. Two. Taking it to The basics. These 2 things are the backbone of why you make any and all decisions regarding your kids. And if they’re not, you need to reevaluate your motives in parenting.

The first, let them keep their innocence as long as possible. We protect them from the horrors of the world so that they can develop into who they are truly meant to be. Life has a way of hardening us. Our children need to keep the tenderness, and awe for life and the world as long as possible.

The second, produce functional adults. Our children need to be able live and function in society someday. We cannot shelter them forever. They need to be able to socialize. They need to be able to work a job. They need to be able to keep themselves safe when you’re not there. They need to be able to think and make choices. 
These goals sound contradictory. You can see why teenage years are so tough. Constantly trying to balance protecting our teen while at the same time knowing in a few short years they need to be able to function in the world. 

Now, what is your definition of innocence? What do you consider a functioning adult? This is where our parenting styles come into play. We make choices every day with these in mind. “No, sorry, Sally isn’t allowed to sleep over until she’s older.” Or “Rinse your bowl.” Or “Sure, Jimmy can definitely go out with his friends after the game.” Based on our childhoods, usually, we decide what we will or will not do with our kids. 

If you are an overwhelmed parent, bring it to the basics. Ask yourself, is this helping them keep their innocence or helping them develop into a functioning adult? If it doesn’t fit one of those 2 things, quit fretting about it. Quit being angry about it. Quit wearing yourself down over it. 

Someday I will sort socks again. And you know what? The toys in my house are now sorted. The art stuff all has a place. It took 7 years, but I got it back slowly. Just because it’s not ideal, doesn’t mean it’s bad. My house is a disaster. Why? Because I want the kids to help clean. And honestly, they don’t do a great job. My kids need a mom who helps show them. Not a mom who yells and shames them. 

You know what your kids need. You know what type of adult you hope they become (or possibly one you don’t want them to become). Have a little faith in yourself. Take a deep breathe, and let go. 

I Get it Now

My family is comically large. We have it all going on. Siblings, half siblings, adopted, step, etc. Growing up this way, none of the labels mattered. It was just “my brother” or “my sister”. Many would look at the complexity of our family and just be happy we didn’t try to complicate it more. I won’t bore you with a list, because today I’m just focusing on my little sister Kaylene.

Kaylene and I hated each other growing up. We also absolutely loved each other. I felt like she got away with everything, and I’m sure she felt like I was mean and picked on her. Just your basic love/hate sibling stuff. But there was one detail, that until recently, I didn’t realize played such a large roll in our relationship. I was from a broken home, she wasn’t.

I have 3 daughters close in age. It mimics my family dynamic growing up. My sister Lynda and I would go to our dads every other weekend. My sister Kaylene stayed home with my mom and step dad. With my girls, my eldest 2 only see their dad a couple times per year. My youngest daughter goes to her dad’s every other week.

See, I knew my pain. My older sister and I would feel torn and left out. We only saw our dad twice a month. I would get so mad at Kaylene. She has her mom and dad ALL THE TIME. What does she have to complain about? She should be happy! So ungrateful. She has no idea the emotional stress that would cause us! She would whine about how unfair it was that we got to go to Cedar Point with our dad. She would get jealous if our dad sent us a letter, and she didn’t get mail. She would pester to hear about all the fun stuff we built with legos or which video games we played. I would just tell her it was none of her business. I would get angry and purposely not tell her things so Lynda and I could have inside jokes and stories. She just didn’t get it. We would have given up every single toy, video game, vacation, and letter to have what she had. I loved my step dad. A ton. But only kids from broken homes can truly understand how torn you feel. How you can love both parents and feel happy at both houses and still feel like somehow you’re not whole.

“But Nadia! I never get to go to Las Vegas! Can’t I just go and see your dad’s house sometime? I want to see his dogs!”

“No Genevieve. It’s OUR dad. You get to see your dad all the time. Las Vegas is our special time with him! And Ziggy and Pepper probably wouldn’t like you because they only like certain people. ”

My heart broke. For both of them. Nadia is so mean to Genevieve. Not because Nadia is a mean kid, but because she is hurt. She is jealous. She is trying so hard to make herself feel like she has something special, when in fact, she is terribly jealous of her baby sister. She has anger that her dad has missed the majority of her childhood, while Genevieve has her dad and stepmom involved in almost every event. She is hurt, so she is choosing to take it out on Genevieve. And my poor little Genevieve doesn’t understand. She just feels left out. She feels alone. All her siblings (on both sides) have someone. She wants to feel connected and is purposely being excluded.

Genevieve came to me a couple weeks ago. She gave me a bracelet that was half a heart that said “Big Sis” on it. I asked her why she was giving it to me. She originally bought it for a one of her sisters at her dad’s house. She told me both her sisters told her to give it to someone else. So she tried to give it to her sisters here. Neither wanted it and told her to just wear it herself or put it on a stuffed animal. She then said to me, “When I’m a grown up, can you be my sister? Because then you can wear it.” I put it on, gave her a big hug and told her I loved it.

Then I cried. A lot. Siblings are mean to each other. That’s nothing new. They get sassy, bossy, and sometimes they’re just little assholes to each other. But this is more than that.

I talked to my older kids about it. I told them they need to be kind to her. That she’s only 6 and needs to feel love from her sister’s. To try to remember being that age. Try to remember how it felt to feel excluded by older kids. To try to remember how it felt to want them to think you were cool or funny. Just try to be compassionate.

I am so sorry Kaylene. I have always loved you, but I never realized the pain you went through because of us. I always felt that my home was broken, but yours was not. And I was jealous of that. So jealous. Jealous to the point of anger. I did not realize that we were your home. That every other weekend, your home was broke too. Because your sisters left and had a whole different life and home. I see now that mom and dad weren’t “favoring” you. They were protecting a little kid from a mean bully of a sister. They weren’t letting you get away with stuff, they just understood that you were acting out because, honestly, your sister Bethy was kind of an asshole who liked to push your buttons.

When I see Genevieve, with hurt and loneliness in her eyes, I can finally understand why you didn’t feel like the “lucky one” who had both her parents. You felt like the forgotten one who was pushed aside. And while my actions as a child are completely understandable and probably expected, it doesn’t take away from the fact that it hurt you. I’m sorry.

Love you baby sis.

Never Underestimate Loneliness

My Great Grandma Ward lived to be 100 years old. As a child I saw her as this young woman in an old body. I would watch her raking the leaves, cleaning the kitchen, knitting, etc, and be in awe of how much she could still do. As her and my mother spoke, I would stare at her. Her deep wrinkles, her goiter, her perfectly pressed clothes. She seemed unchanging from one visit to the next. The smell of her old country house, the cookie jar that was always full, the sound when I would pluck a key on the piano (which was in desperate need of tuning), all made her house feel as if it was froze in time since the last time I was there. Looking in her ice blue eyes, I would wonder if that’s what I was going to look like in 80 years. She looked tired. I would look and her hands, then my own, and wonder how hands could become so rough and wrinkled.

As an adult, I can now see this old woman as more than that simple old lady on a farm. I see her as a mother, a wife, a widow. With nothing but an 8th grade education, she married and bore 7 children. Then, my Great Grandpa passed away very early, middle aged, leaving her to raise the children on her own. She never remarried, which was very rare for a woman in that time. My mother told me as an adult, it was to protect her children. She did not want her sons to be used as farm hands, or her daughters to be abused or used. Her choice to raise her children alone, was one of the most selfless acts I can think of.

These facts about her have always been known, but never understood until the past few years of my life. Single motherhood has been the most challenging thing I’ve endured in my life. I feel that GG was with me through the last few years. Those days I would feel my body was going to quit, I imagined her up late sewing or mending. Those days I wanted to scream because I didn’t want to have grilled cheese for dinner again, I think about how she would buy 1 bunch of bananas a week as a treat. (And would hide a couple for herself so she could eat them ripe). On the days I would feel lonely and isolated from the world, I would imagine her living on the farm, with the love of her life gone, and nothing but children and chores to consume her days.

Now, because my brain thinks of 15 things at once, but I can only deliver one thought at a time, I want to address the loneliness aspect of single parenthood. I feel this topic is grossly under appreciated. I was ill prepared for how much this would influence my life, my motherhood, and my survival.

About a year after the separation, my ex husband and I were starting to talk on the phone regularly again. A few nights a week, we would stay up and tell eachother about our days. Who we saw, what we did, where we went, and any other bullshit we could think of. This was not the rekindling of our relationship. I hated him. He abandoned us. No matter the cause of the divorce, our children were lacking the necessities in life. Their mother was frazzled, exhausted, and broken to nothing. His feelings towards me, I’m sure, were equally non romantic. He had no problem telling me about his dates, and how much he was loving his single life in Vegas.

So, why the hell was I spending so much time on the phone with him? Why would I pretend we were old pals and shoot the breeze? Loneliness. I was alone and it was wearing on me. There was no one in my life to unwind to. No one that wanted to hear about dumping an entire bag of flour on the floor. Or tripping and hitting my knee. All of those nothings that happen during the day were just being flushed out of my brain every night. I never realized how much I would miss that. My days WERE boring and monotonous. Coming home and realizing there was no one who cared to hear about it, slowly made me feel my lack of worth. “I picked up all the toys and even vacuumed!” Oh wait…no one wants to hear about that. I feel accomplished….but I guess normal people get that stuff done every day. How sad is it that that is all I have for my day.

I ended it. I told him, it is unhealthy for us to use each other like that. He doesn’t get to be that for me anymore. And I can’t be that for him. I imagined my Grandmother, and how horribly alone and sad she must have felt. How strong she was, to make the choice to protect her children. That part of my Grandmother had been overlooked on my part. It was a detail in her story that lacked depth of understanding in it’s fullness.

While I know it’s tempting to find someone to help financially (it’s not shallow. Raising children on one minimum wage income is impossible), for physical interactions (yes I mean sex), or even out of sheer exhaustion (1 parent = no breaks), I believe the loneliness outweighs a lot of it. I have seen many people remarry very quickly after a divorce or death of a spouse. Never understood how they could “get over it” that quickly. Then I realized that they DIDN’T get over it. That was their problem. Coping in this new, tedious, lonely, life was too much. They needed (yes. Actually needed, not just wanted) companionship to survive.

This revelation stuck with me. Did I date? Absolutely. I knew I wanted to remarry eventually. I just knew I needed to be constantly aware of this vulnerability. I could not settle or talk myself into a relationship just so I didn’t feel alone. As a rash, impulsive person, I knew I needed to grieve the loss of my marriage in EVERY aspect before I would be able to find someone to spend my life with.

Thank you Grandma Ward. You saved me from starting a cycle of desperation and loneliness. You saved my children from becoming attached to men that would ultimately leave them. You saved my fiancé from being with a woman who was not whole as a person, and from children who would distrust him. We will not be able to ever fully grasp the strength you had, or be able to properly thank you for passing that on for generations. I love you, and aspire to obtain the wisdom your life brought you, through all my life challenges.

The Death of a Beth

I have spent the last few years doing a lot of “soul searching” and trying to figure out who Beth is. It’s exhausting. We all do it. Whenever there is any huge event or life change, our first instinct is to figure out how and why we got there. Are we being true to ourselves? When did we change? How would you define yourself simply? I believe this is how we accept the metamorphosis within during a life changing event. And of course, it’s usually a painful, hard process that sticks out in our mind for the rest of our lives.

We refer to occurrences in pre or post event form. As if to better explain what we’re talking about. My life trauma was my divorce. Not the actual divorce, but the result from it. I often say things like, “Well, before the divorce I liked to…” or “Before the divorce I would…” As if to say, “That unharmed, whole, unstoppable Beth would….” Giving the obvious implication while saying these things, that I have been changed by this to the core of who I am. That was a different person than the one you see today.

So why did this effect me so strongly that I became different person? You can ask anyone that knows me personally, I move on past hurt and struggle quickly and positively. I do not dwell or fret on much for long. I am a pretty resilient person. Car accident? Stressful, but it happens. Loss of job? Heartbreaking, but I’ll find another one. Death of a loved one? I’ll need some time for my grief, but I’ll get through. I just don’t let things bring me to devastation. Life goes on. There is always those who have less or who are going through more. Just little speed bumps I have to slow life down for. My journey hasn’t stopped.

Then, I became that fictitious person I would compare my struggles to. That woman that had it so much worse than me. That person that had more than they could handle. That mother who couldn’t give to her kids what they deserved. I became them. Someone I had spent years feeling pity for. Someone who I felt, I could use as a worst case scenario, as a reminder to myself how great I had it. I was slammed out of my world of joy and dreams, and slammed into survival, bitterness, resentment, loneliness, and despair.

My days were filled with panic and fear. I spent so much time feeling jealous of pre-divorce Beth. How spoiled she was. Not that everything was great, she just took so much for granted. I would see these pictures on facebook, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger!” “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle” “Every journey starts with a single step” and the list goes on and on. I would lie to myself. That these were true. That my struggle and pain was not in vain. But deep down, I knew they were bullshit. There was no hope to ever get that Beth back. She is dead. She was killed by the divorce. She would never be back, and this new Beth could not handle or cope with any of the things the old Beth could. So I had to start from scratch on who exactly I was/am. Throwing out any and all preconceived notions about myself. I had to quit expecting things from myself that weren’t within my capabilities. And at the same time, I had to learn what I was actually capable of.

I would say one of the biggest changes in myself would be caution. I now know I have limits. Everything I have could be taken from me in an instant. I have no attachment to material things. The choices I make in life are now followed with constant stomach pain and anxiety sitting on my chest like a weight. Now, I am not naive to how horrible things can get. My constant optimistic outlook has been replaced with a realist view, with a touch of pessimism to keep me prepared for the worst. In a perpetual state of alert, scared to let your guard down for a moment. Cautious to the extent of distrusting or fearful at times.

The other change I find quite predominant would be compassion. While I’ve always showed care and love to those who are hurting, my sympathy has turned to deep empathy that is almost painful. I have been brought to tears simply by seeing the despair in someone’s eyes. To know how lost and broken that person is, and to feel helplessness in releaving their misery.

I also have an anger towards those who are delusional about life. Those who live in the land of fairy tails and rainbows. You know, those who feel that their life is so great because they do it the right way, with no gratitude that they have not yet encountered a life changing…..no…..a self changing occurrence. Hearing condescending advice and their “simple” solutions makes my blood boil. They don’t want to listen to how you got to where you are, or try to understand your hardship or pain. They have all the answers, and honestly, must believe you are a idiot. Their insulting “Why don’t you just….” very rarely is a possible solution. But if you try to explain why it won’t work, the assumption is that you are not seeking a solution. Their audacity pushes you to the edge. You realize, their intent is to not help. Nor is it to understand. It’s purely self righteous, verbal masturbation. So you calmly agree, walk away, and let them finish. So they can pat themselves on the back, and congratulate themselves on not being such an ignorant, unwise person.

Life, a Wave Pool, and Finding a Calm

One time, in my early teenage years, I went to a water park with my Aunt and her family. We were having fun in the wave pool, until I found myself drifting to the deep end. My mediocre swimming abilities became quite apparent very quickly. I could no longer reach the bottom, and the waves were so large, I couldn’t seem to keep my head above long enough to swim to the edge.

I remember thinking, “I’m going to drown. No one is helping me. Please someone. Turn off the waves. Someone please grab me.” Wave after wave, I could feel my body exhausting, and the fear increasing. At this point I was trying to time it so I could try to get a breathe of air between waves.

I hear yelling and think someone is yelling to help me. Then I see glimpses of the life guards. They aren’t trying to get someone to help me, they are yelling at me. I was in the area that made the waves, and they were yelling at me that I needed to get out of this area. They thought it was on purpose, and obviously, did not realize I was in crisis.

The waves started to calm, and I quickly swam to the side. I looked around for some sort of comfort or concern, and no one seemed to even notice this occurrence happened. Laughter, joy, happiness, and enjoyment were all around me. This place or terror to me, was a relaxing, enjoyable place for everyone else.

It was probably 2-3 min total. A very small amount of time. Yet I can remember every moment. I felt upset, embarrassed, angry, and tired. How could no one have noticed me? What if they did? What idiot almost drowns in a wave pool? Should I tell anyone? Play this off? I need to lay down. And for goodness sake please don’t cry. Stop crying. You’re so ridiculous Beth.

This is how my life felt every day for 4 years. I was drowning. I was not able to keep my head above the harsh waves. What was just life, work, family, school, etc, was chaos for me. In a constant state of terror and exhaustion. While others were finding joy and excitement doing the same things as me, I was feeling as if I wouldn’t survive. There were many around, but I went unnoticed by most. My struggle was interpreted by others as intentional, or maybe even deserved. I was so weak. Panicking. Waiting for that brief break in chaos and hysteria for a breathe. Slowly realizing help was not coming and I just needed to survive long enough to get somewhere where I could hold on.

And then came the calm. With one last burst of energy, I found my way to safety. Not out of the water, but able to breathe. Looking around for some sort of acknowledgement of my struggle and pain. Feeling embarrassed I could let my life get so out of control. Feeling angry I was unnoticed by so many. Feeling jealous of those who were enjoying life. Feeling bitter toward those who added to my struggle, those who didn’t have the same struggle and I felt deserved it also. Feeling guilty for being so needy for help, like a burden. I was left with everything stripped from me. My confidence, pride, and joy were gone.

Now, I was not nearly as alone as I felt. I did have some very kind friends and family that showed me compassion and concern. But I could not expect others to put themselves in the “danger zone” with me, or they could drown too. They had to help the best they could from where they were at in life. I am thankful daily for this, but I still felt alone an fearful.

Yet, I did survive. Like the wave pool, I am very aware of every moment of this struggle. But what happened after the pool experience? Did I decide to never enjoy a pool or water again? Did I become fearful of any risk of losing control? Absolutely not. That’s not Beth. So I live life, with a deep respect for what can happen, but with complete, honest, love for where I am now. I will always know how helpless it can be, how broken down I can become. And I make a conscious effort to open my eyes for others that may be drowning in life, even if all I can offer is some care when they finally find their calm.