Sometimes I just get really, really mad

Another week down, another week of life lessons. Sometime those lessons make you learn something about yourself, but sometimes, they make you learn more about someone else.  

It’s a little funny to me when people say, I can’t imagine you ever getting mad—you seem so quiet.

And I am quiet a lot of the times. I don’t like to be that person at work who is always running their mouth about something or the person at a dinner party who is ruling the conversation. I like to sit back and listen and choose my words carefully. So, it takes a while for some people to get to know me.

But I can assure, I do get mad. Most everyone does at some point. Some are quick to anger—some people even find it acceptable to bang on their desks or hit the walls when they are angry. Some people let it simmer until it boils over. I’m more like the latter—the slow burn, the slow to react.

I try not to hold it all in, because when the anger boils over, it typically catches people off guard and then I get the whole—why didn’t you say something sooner? Or, “I had no idea you felt that way. You seemed fine when we talked.” 

Most the time, the my response is, I didn’t want to make a big deal about it or it just didn’t seem like the right time to bring it up. Or, I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings. And quite honestly, sometimes it’s just not worth it. I’ve done so much fighting for so long that I’m much slower to battle these days because I’d rather put my energy somewhere else—unless it’s worthy of a battle.

Like one of the things that happened this past week--Veronica falling at school and hurting herself. I do feel that it was the school’s fault on some level because I feel it’s their job to provide a safe environment for her. They are aware of her disability and the fact that when she falls, she can really hurt herself badly. So, if the floor in a certain area is super slippery and people are falling down, then you need to---as Negan would say—shut that shit down.

But they didn’t, and she fell. Several days after her fall, I decided I had enough time to think about what to say to them, so I requested a meeting with school officials. They explained they did everything they could and it was just an accident….but to me it wasn’t that simple. It was careless. You can’t tell me in one breath that the floor was so bad you had extra staff mopping all day and then say, it was just a random accident.

Also, I slipped on the floor when I showed up to get her—there was something wrong with the floor surface and it felt like butter. Which I pointed out after they said there was really nothing they could have done to make the floor safer for her. But, they spent most of the time showing ME what I could have done to prevent the accident like providing a wheelchair to prevent trips and falls and then the quick mention that they noticed in the video of her fall she looked at her cell phone screen—“she needs to pay attention when the floor is wet…” And so on.

I sat quietly, listening. Waiting. Nodding. But it never came. The words I wanted to hear—We’re sorry. What can we do to fix this? How can we make this right?

Right? Isn’t that what you say when you know you messed up. Isn’t that the human thing to say? To offer an apology and a way to make things better?

But so many people can’t say that. They spend so much time explaining why they did something or said something or acted a certain way. They defend themselves by pointing out what YOU should have done better or what YOU didn’t do even if it has nothing to do with the situation.

I get it. No one wants to be wrong. No one wants to admit they screwed up. Most people don’t like to say “I’m sorry.” And some people refuse to.

My ex used to say to me, “I didn’t hurt your feelings, you allowed your feelings to get hurt,” or my favorite—“I didn’t make you mad, you allowed yourself to get mad.” That’s worse than telling me to calm down.

But, I think on some level that is true. We can ignore people and not let our feelings get hurt--or not allow someone to make us mad.

But that’s not easy when it comes to someone you are supposed to trust, and it’s even harder when it someone who is supposed to love you back.

And what’s wrong with getting mad every once in a while? What’s wrong with blowing your top and saying, “I’ve had enough!” Especially if you know your feelings are true—because they are your feelings and your feelings are just as important as everyone else’s feelings. Right?

I don’t know if I’m mad at the school for not apologizing or I’m just mad at the entire situation. It’s hard to separate the two. I have a lot of anxiety about Veronica falling and hurting herself—I find myself laying in bed and thinking about her going off to college and falling in the showers at the dorm and I’m not there to make sure the floors are safe. I guess it’s silly in some ways to worry so much about something that might not even happen, but it is something that pops in my mind.

And, I can’t always turn that off. I can’t always turn off my worries. I can’t always turn off my thoughts. And I know, I can’t always turn off my feelings, especially when it comes to people I’m supposed to trust.  

Hurt people, hurt people

Ok, so the blog is back. What happened? Let me try to quickly catch you up on my life--and then we can get to business.

The last time I wrote, I had lost my job. I spent the next almost year and half working from home writing. I did everything from news writing, to business writing, script writing and book editing—and somehow I paid the bills and survived. I got a full-time job at a television station as a digital producer and I still carry a pretty heavy load of freelance work--so basically, I spend everyday writing and getting paid for it which is pretty incredible in my book—especially when I look at how many people I went to grad school with who also have an MFA in Writing and work other jobs.

During my unemployment, I was pretty depressed. I spent a lot of time alone. I wished I would have continued my blog, but it was just too much stress. My blog had been used against me in court and the it seemed when I stopped writing, things would remain quiet. So, I decided to just put it on the back burner for a while, work on other projects and live my life.

It’s funny now that I look back on it. I went through the blog and unpublished the posts that seemed to make someone so mad—the ones that he brought to court in a binder. I read through those posts and realized that weren’t really that explosive. The whole thing seems silly now.

When I started this blog several years ago, the point was to tell my story. It was never to embarrass anyone or get some sort of revenge. It was to try to heal my heart—to try to be at peace in my life. I didn’t use names, I didn’t post photos. I didn’t do screen shots or anything else. I just wrote from my heart.

And I wrote my story. The story that belongs to me. The story I get to tell because of the things that happened to me—whether it was during my childhood or my troubled marriage or being a single mom—it was my story to tell.

So, as I continue to try to heal and make my life better, I am going to continue my blog because it helped me and because I had so many people reach out to me and thank me for writing it—and thank me for being honest.

It’s weird now that we live in this world where if you don’t like what is being reported in the news, you can just say “fake news” --and some people will believe you. You don’t like what people write about? Just accuse them of trying to destroy you… Sound familiar?

It’s a tool that sociopaths use and for the most part, it usually gets them what they want. And in my experience, when you have to deal with sociopaths, it’s best to not engage at all.

I realized during my last go-around with the ex that what I was doing wasn’t working—because when you have to deal with people like that, nothing works. So, I stopped. I stopped everything. I stopped the blog, I stopped fighting, I stopped worrying. I stopped talking about it. I was done. I decided I wouldn’t spend another dime on fighting. I wouldn’t spend any more of my own energy on it. Someone else could figure it out because I was done trying to make things better and I couldn’t pretend I didn’t care. I focused on healing and living the next chapter of our lives.

My dad has a saying, “Hurt people, hurt people.”

It’s a simple phrase but very powerful. The pain the kids and I were being put through was being done by a very hurt person. And there was nothing I could say or do that would make that stop. Hurt people can’t help but to hurt others. All we can do is live our lives and hope that person finds a way to not be so hurt.

Sometimes you think you have learned a lesson or something about yourself--and then once you make that connection, you somehow won’t continue to make that same mistake again, right?   When I started healing myself years ago, I realized that I try to control everything in my life. It’s something that happens when you are wounded as a child—it makes you vulnerable to spend your life with addicts.

But I can’t control everything and I can’t “unhurt” people around me. I can’t make their pain better. They must do that themselves. All I can do, is protect myself, protect my children.

And I have to remember that if someone is hurting us, it’s because they are hurt and so long as they are hurt, they will never stop hurting us. And it’s best to just stop before you start hurting yourself.

I lost my job

Yes, it’s been a while since I blogged. I’ve had a few people ask me why I don’t do it anymore. My last blog that I wrote in April 2015 kind of covers that so I won’t recap. But life has continued to throw curveballs left and right since then and I’ve tried to find new ways to cope and carry on, but at the end of the day, I realize how much I miss writing the blog and sharing it, so here we go again.

Since I quit writing the blog, I left my job at the newspaper to make more money at a corporate gig. It was a weird transition because I really liked the work and the people I left behind. The corporate gig was great at first. I had my own office and all the perks that go with doing corporate PR. My hours couldn’t have been better and my benefits were amazing. Two weeks into the job, I found out the company was laying off 1,100 people. I knew I would most likely be one—last to hire, first to fire, right? For the next three weeks, I was a crazy mess of emotions, feeling like everything I did was being watched so they would have an excuse to let me go. In the end, it didn’t matter. They said goodbye any way.

I’ve never been fired from a job before. As a matter of fact, I can’t even recall a time when I was pulled into an office to have a talk about something I did wrong. Getting laid off was horrible, but the entire process that goes with it is what made it even worse.

I knew Dec. 16 would be the day they would start the layoffs. I missed work the day before because the stress had finally taken its toll on me and I felt terrible to the point of running a fever. I don’t believe I’ve called in sick to work in years and I don’t think I had been that stressed since I got divorced. That morning, I noticed my boss’s door was closed and morning meetings were canceled. My stomach sank. I sat at my desk trying to work and stay busy and then my boss came in and asked if I could follow her downstairs to the marketing office for a meeting.

This was it, I thought. This is how it ends. I had imagined over and over what I would say and what I would do when I was told I was getting the ax, and now I didn’t need to imagine anymore what will happen. I followed her down the hall and to the stairs. I’m worried I will fall down the stairs because I cannot feel my legs any more. My face is hot and my ears are ringing. We pass a group of women who are red-eyed and sobbing and now I know there is no doubt anymore on where I’m heading.

We get the office and have to sit in silence for what seems like five minutes while we wait for HR to arrive to deliver the “we are downsizing” speech. It’s just me, my two supervisors and an empty room normally used for their big, fancy marketing meetings. HR arrives and my supervisor begins the speech of how I’ve heard of the cutbacks and unfortunately I’m part of that process despite the fact I did nothing wrong and they are really sorry to see me go. Blah, blah, blah.

The ringing in my ears gets so loud I can’t hear anything else he says and I can feel myself starting to cry and now I’m mad at myself for crying. I just want to go home. I have to sit through the HR presentation of my severance package and what to expect and how I should have my attorney look everything over before I sign. I stop crying because I want to just laugh at this point. This entire ordeal is so foreign to me and I can’t figure out how I ended up here in the first place. How stupid to even suggest an attorney to look over my papers. I have no more income, my insurance is immediately canceled and I have two children now without insurance—one of which is disabled—and I drive an old van that is falling apart, and I’m supposed to have my attorney look over the papers to make sure I’m getting “a good deal.” Because if I don’t like the deal, I can reject it? Sure.

The HR man then explains I need to go to my office immediately, clear out my things and be escorted off the property immediately. He then hands me a large, white paper bag with handles and says I can use it for my things. I say, “I don’t want the bag.” He says I need to take it. I say, “No thank you.” He holds the bag out to me and I look at him and stand up and say, “Nope.”

My boss gets up and leads me out and back to the office. I’m not saying a word to anyone; I’m just going to get my things and go home. I just want to go home. I begin cramming everything into my purse that I can including the photo of my children that was on my desk. The photo that was there to remind me every day of why I was working so hard was now a memory of two little faces that would be so upset to know that my new job was gone. How would I tell them?

My boss keeps trying to give me the bag and I finally say what I have wanted to say—“I don’t want that bag and I’m not going to use it. I will not be that person who walks out today with the ‘I Just Got Fired’ bag. Please stop trying to give it to me.” Somehow everything that I want to take with me fits into my purse and in my hands and I’m escorted out. I can hear her heels clacking on the ground behind me, I don’t look back. I don’t say bye. I don’t say anything. I get in my van and start to drive out of the gates and toward home, unsure what I’m supposed to do.

I call Robby and tell him.  I text my former boss and let him know I need freelance work. I get another text from another editor letting me know she has work for me too, whenever I’m ready to start. I end up driving on home and my head is buzzing and I notice I’m about 10 miles past my exit and now it will take longer to get home. I stop at the liquor store and buy a bottle of bourbon and notice it’s only 10:30 a.m. I don’t even care at this point.

I finally make it home. Pour a drink and lay down on the couch trying to figure out what I will do.

That was a low point for sure. But I decided it would not define me. That day I spoke with one of my former editors and he said he was so sorry and asked what he could do to help. I told him, “I’ll be fine. I’ve been through a lot worse than losing my job.” He laughed and said, “Yes, you have.”

And I have, but what I kept telling myself was that there were other people having a lot worse day than mine. I would much rather have to come home and tell my kids I lost my job instead of having to tell them I had cancer or some over disease that was killing me—which is what one of my friends was in the middle of dealing with that very day.

But, I’m not going to gloss over what I went through because a lot of people have gone through what I went through. Losing your job is embarrassing—a lot like having to tell people you are getting divorced. I had nightmares for weeks that I was sitting at my desk working and then I realized I was fired and I tried  to find a way to get out of the building and avoid security before someone caught me.

You get the, “I’m sorry” look from everyone you see. And the “I heard about what happened. What are you going to do?” It’s fine—no one really knows what to say. I didn’t know what to say. But, just like everything else, I got through it. I owned it. I put it out there and I allowed myself to be really sad about it for a while before moving on and hitting the pavement looking for work.

Actually, I’m still going through it on some level. It’s August and I was laid off in December—right before Christmas. I still don’t have a full time job. I’m working here and there doing freelance work, but it’s not quite enough to pay the bills. My unemployment benefits have run out and I’m starting to really worry. I’ve applied to a ton of jobs. I’ve been through a lot of interviews. But still nothing. Not sure why. I could guess—maybe I’m too old, too experienced, not experienced enough, want too much money, don’t have the look? Who knows? I know everyone keeps telling me the right job will come along. I guess it will. And I’m trying not to panic but anyone else who has been through this knows, it’s tough not knowing what will happen from day to day.

Uncertainty can cause a lot of stress in your life. It has certainly taken a toll on me these past few years. At some point, you just get tired of doing the same things over and hoping for a different outcome, right? At some point, you have to just try something new and see what happens. The uncertainty of what tomorrow will bring is hard at times, and even harder at other times. I don’t have all the answers and sometimes I get tired of being that cheerleader who says it can always be worse and it can always get better.

But right now, what I’m really tired of is feeling like I don’t have a right to be mad or that it’s time to stop being angry. I’m not talking about that kind of anger that consumes you to the point that no one wants to be around you. I’m talking about the kind of anger when you just sit and cry and say, “I really need a break.”

But then I don’t know what I think I need a break from? I can’t answer that question. There was a time when I felt I needed a career break, and I got it. And guess what, it sucked. There was a time when I thought I needed a break from bad news and then I got worse news.

They say you should be careful what you wish for—sometimes that is true. And since I’ve realized that you can wish in one hand and crap in the other, perhaps it’s time to stop wishing and just start doing things differently because what I’m doing now is obviously not working.

So, step one, is to start blogging again. Step two, stop worrying about getting a break. Step three? Who knows? Keeping going, I guess. Because life is never going to stop throwing those curve balls so I gotta step up to the plate and stop hiding in the dugout.

Picking up the pieces

After what happened yesterday, I’m surprised to find myself sitting at my computer typing a blog entry.

My blog, yes my terrible blog. The one that is the center of attention for one lonely audience.

I don’t get it. I always believed that the truth will set you free and that if you do something for the right reason, only good will prevail.

I really don’t know what I believe anymore. I really don’t know what to think about this world and the people living in it.

I guess so many people have turned apathetic because of the bad apples. You know, the people who ruin it for the rest of us.

The people who really don’t care about anyone but themselves. The people who would rather get their way than listen to reason.

I keep trying to wrap my brain around why anyone would ignore the truth. 

Someone once told me, “You can’t hide from God.”

The statement resonates in my mind a lot these days. It doesn't matter what you say or how you try to take the spotlight off yourself by pointing fingers and putting the blame on everyone else, because in the end, you can’t hide from God.

I’m glad to know that no matter what happens or how twisted things get, in the end, I won’t have to hide from God or anyone else. I won’t have to explain why I made the choices I made, because I made them for the right reason and I made them in an attempt to protect the innocent people in my life who depend on me to protect them.

I do need someone out there to help and listen and hopefully that person will come into my life and help.  But at this point, I’m not going to hold my breath.

I guess in the end, I can just take comfort in the fact that when my time comes, I won’t want to hide. I can hold my head high knowing that I have done my best and made the best decisions based on trying to do what is right.

I still believe the truth will set you free even if lying gets people what they want. All I can do is be honest. I don’t know how not to be honest.

I’m hurt today and my heart is very heavy, but I have to believe that the truth will be seen and heard, and more importantly, the right person will step in and get us off the constant loop of ups and downs.

All I want is peace and peace for my family and the ability to protect them. 

Everyone else wants me to be happy

I really should be doing something else besides writing this morning. I have stacks of laundry to put away, I’m going out of town and need to pack, and my house is crazy.

But it’s been one of those weeks of so many ups and a few really low downs, that I know I need to sit and write out some of these feelings.

Highs: Luke made it to the top 12 of The Voice. It’s so surreal hearing his name on TV and seeing him perform.

But it’s also not that crazy either. People keep asking me, “What’s it like to see your brother all famous now?”

To be honest, it’s really not that different except that now I have this peace in my heart when I think about him. I don’t worry about him like I used to when I knew he was struggling to make his career work. He’s worked really hard to get to this spot, so it’s a peaceful joy, not a “how did this happen?”

And I guess celebrity doesn’t affect me like it does some other people—of course I have never met Dave Grohl so there is no definitive proof that I won’t go all fan girl on a celebrity.

I interviewed Luke yesterday for a story I’m doing for the newspaper and he said something that I think sums it all up—the most important thing in life is to be a good human.

That’s my parents’ phrase and it was drilled into us growing up. They would both say, “Nothing is more important than being a good human and raising good children.”

Sure they are proud of our accomplishments, but none of that would matter if we were jerks or miserable.

And I believe that. Just be a good human and if you have children, raise them to be good humans,  everything else is just cake.

Other highs: The job has been fun this week, hanging out with celebrity chefs in swanky hotels and cooking classes and I had some fun interviews about some of my favorite events going on in Savannah.

And Savannah is so beautiful this time of year—nothing beats walking around downtown in the middle of the day in the fall. It’s just so beautiful here.

Another high: Took my daughter to high school night at her school. Yes, my baby is going to high school

next year.

The way schools in Savannah work is so much different than what I grew up with. There are several good high schools in town and they all have different specialty programs like culinary arts, cosmetology, pre-med, engineering, advanced biology, marketing and business.

So the high schools set up shop in the school gym and we went to each booth to hear their pitch and figure out where she wants to apply.

My kids already go to the performing and visual arts school so we’re used to the audition process for school, but this opportunity gives Roni a chance to look at doing something different.

After three years of art, she’s ready to try something new and hopefully she go on to the performing and visual arts high school but she wants to do something different.

I was so proud of her, watching how grown up she has become—she was asking questions and really engaging the school rep. It was like watching a much younger version of me, except way better.

I don’t worry about her like I used to—she’s so much smarter and talented than I was at her age and she’s got stuff figured out. She already has her 10 year plan and it actually sounds like a good one.

Now on to the lows—Ugh! It seems like I just can’t win sometimes!

Things have been so peaceful at home lately that I forgot what it was like to have my cage rattled and so when it got rattled this week it hit me hard.

I guess it hit me harder than usual because I’m so freaking tired of this. I can’t even describe how tired I am. I’m exhausted physically and emotionally.

I’m so tired of dealing with someone else’s stupid mess. I’m so tired of it affecting my family and my life. I’m tired of shelling out so much money every time stupid pops its head up.

I still can’t go into detail about what’s going on with all this mess, but I hope it will end. But it’s not going to end any time soon, I know that.

So, after I got the news that we have to go back to court, I was wiped out and I had to leave the office for a bit to get some fresh air and to take care of some other business.

I sat down in a lady’s cubicle while she made copies for me. She had a cute work space with photos of her grandchildren and her awards and certificates.

Then I spotted a piece of paper hanging behind her computer screen—I assume it’s a mantra she reads during the day to keep her upbeat.

The words printed were a collection of simple phrases:

“There is a God.”

“He controls the world.”

“He created me.”

“He is a loving God.”

“He wants me to be happy.”

I read the mantra over and over until I had it memorized. Each time I repeated the phrase in my head, tears welled up.

Sometimes I forget, despite the actions of one person who was some control in my life, there are so many others out there who love me and want me to be happy.

And most importantly, I know God wants me to be happy. This crap I’ve had to deal with for the past 5 years isn’t a punishment to me, my kids and my family.

It’s some sort of crazy life lesson that is supposed to in some roundabout way lead me to happiness—real happiness.

That is the point of life, right? To find that peace, find that inner happiness, be a good human.

These things that rattle my cage may always be in my life. I have to accept that. Hoping that this whole thing will just go away may never happen. I have to accept that.

I have to remember that we all want to be happy, but even more important is the realization that our parents, our children, our spouses, our siblings, our friends and our creator want us to be happy.

That’s part of what is means to be a good human—you have to find that inner happiness in spite of the crap that is thrown at you. You have to be happy for yourself—it’s contagious. It trickles down to your children, your spouse, your friends and anyone else you come in contact with.

Walking out of that office I realized I owe it to the world to be happy. I owe it my children. I owe it to my husband. I owe to my parents and my siblings. I owe it to God. And most importantly, I owe it to myself. 

Just breathe

I’m so glad it’s Friday. Even better, it’s payday, and I get to just have a moment to sit and think in silence.

The mornings are crazy around here. Our schedules this year are different than in the past. The past two years, Robby left almost an hour before the kids had to go to school, so I would get up early with him and we’d have about 30 minutes of quiet time where we’d get to sit together at the dining room table and just drink coffee and talk.

It was a great time to talk about stuff and get perspective—and to reconnect.

We don’t have that anymore.

The kids have to leave at the same time as Robby so now it’s this crazy whirlwind of trying to get the kids fed and get their lunches packed.

If Robby is lucky, he can wedge his hand into a small space and grab a cup of coffee. I don’t even think he drinks coffee at home any more—I’m not even sure, I just know that I am left with almost a full pot of coffee after the whirlwind exits the house.

There really isn’t anything better than that moment when the bus pulls away and both kids are safely tucked inside with all their bags and clothes on and lunch boxes packed. It’s like I crossed the finish line of a marathon and everyone is happy and cheering.

I don’t think there is a more quiet moment than when the bus pulls away and I walk into the kitchen and pour myself a cup of coffee and sit at the computer to catch up on work emails and personal stuff.

It’s weird when I look back on all the years I spent at home with the kids—day in day out, rarely a break let alone quiet moments.

But I loved being at home with them. It was like I couldn’t get enough of it—well sometimes. I still feel the same way—on those lazy weekends when we get to be together, there is nothing better than just sitting on the couch, snuggled up in blankets and watching mindless movies.

It’s weird to be one of those working moms now. Even after several years, I still have a hard time adjusting to new schedules and routines and balancing work and finding time to make sure everyone has what they need.

I think the hardest part is making time for me. I’m not talking about spa days or trips out of town with girlfriends. I can’t afford that crap any way.

I’m talking about sitting down and forcing myself to process my feelings. Especially lately. So much has happened to us in such a short amount of time--but if I stop to reflect, I can see that things have been stressful for a long, long time.

I don’t know what it does to a body to constantly take on stress and not take the time to process it.

I know that before the kids got out for summer break last school year, I was under so much stress worrying about the kids that my neck locked up and I could barely move my head from side to side. I remember driving Jude to karate that day and tears coming down my face every time I had to look over my shoulder to see if oncoming traffic was coming. When Robby met me there he said I looked horrible—he almost didn’t recognize me.

I knew I didn’t feel well, but I hadn’t taken the time to really let it sink in that I was making myself sick with worry and stress.  I thought I had it all under control.

Something had to change. Something, but what?

What could I change? I had no control over so many things in my life.

I finally realized I had to do something that I rarely did. I decided to take care of myself the same way I take care of everyone else. I think as Moms (and Dads) we tend to not do that enough, or at all.

I went to the doctor and got a checkup.  To my surprise, I was completely healthy—blood work was perfect and on the outside I seemed better than most. I took a moment to thank God for my health—what would my kids do if I got really sick? What would Robby do?

The doctor tried to get me to take pain meds for my neck, but that’s a no go—I don’t like meds and I can’t afford to be comatose at night with two children and a husband on dialysis. Plus, pain meds don’t heal—they only mask what is really going on.

I started seeing a homeopathic chiropractor and his diagnosis was simple—“You are under so much constant stress and you are so tight and stiff, your neck has lost its natural curve.”

Despite being broke, I was able to push some money aside and my mom chipped in and I was able to start treatment with him and he fixed my neck.

But doing something for me was also healing in a way. 

But I also had to change what I was doing.

Unfortunately, I think most of us tend to not continue to take care of ourselves properly when we aren’t in pain.

My neck is hurting again. I can’t think of the last time I sat and tried to process everything that is going on with us right now. I can’t think of the last time I sat and had coffee with my husband and talked about our day.

I know we are no different than most busy families. Life has ups and downs and I’m hoping things will slow down eventually and we can all catch a breath.  

But ignoring your feelings and not taking time to process your feelings and reflect on your life and your health is just another way of masking your symptoms, not much different than taking those pain meds.

Sometimes we need the pain meds—sometimes we truly have heath issues or injuries and we need the meds so we can be and feel better. Sometimes we aren’t ready to face the pain.

But sometimes, those pain meds become a crutch. They become a way to cope.

I think I do the “not processing” thing or the “I’m not talking about my problems right now” thing because I’m not ready to feel the pain, the heartbreak. I’m not ready to cry because I worry I’ll never stop.

I’m so mad right now. I’m so sad right now. But I’m also so thankful for so many great things in my life.

I think at the end of the day, I’m just tired of having to adjust constantly and I’m tired of things being so far out of my control that I can’t even get a grasp on the stress sometimes.

But it makes me realize, I still have something to learn in this life or else the same thing wouldn’t keep happening—this person who causes so much pain and sadness would not still be in my life causing problems if God didn’t have more lessons for me to learn.

I know I have to get better at taking care of myself. I know I have to find a way to quit trying to make everything perfect. I know that raising good children is more important than trying to give them everything they want. I know that I have to stop and have coffee with my husband more. I know I have to finish what I have started and see where this next step takes our family.

And I also know that if things don’t work out the way I thought they would or the way they should, I have to accept that and move on. But most importantly, I have to stop and take time to process the disappointment and to reflect on the joys.

Or else, I’m going to make myself so sick I won’t get the chance to bounce back for whatever new obstacle pops into our lives.

So, this weekend, I’m going to ignore the typical house chores I run around trying to get done and decompress and reflect. I’m going to just let things go. I’m going find a way to find peace in my life despite the outside influences.

I guess that is what I have to learn—I have to find a way to feel at peace and maintain that peace in spite of life’s constant battles. That’s a tough order, but I know I can do this. Ignoring it is not working.

It really is that bad

I was listening to a program this week on the radio where they were discussing the Ray Rice incident—you know the one where he beat his fiancé/now wife. They had people call in and talk about being an in abusive relationship.

Now, I’ve never been in a physically abusive relationship and I would never tell a man or woman who was physically abused that I know how they feel, but I was definitely a victim of verbal and psychological abuse in my first marriage.

What do I mean by verbal and psychological abuse?

I feel that kind of abuse happens when a person yells at you and says things in a calculated manner for the sole purpose of making you his personal doormat. He also breaks things (always your things) and punches holes in walls. He may even hit the wall behind your head or something nearby you in order to scare you and intimidate you.

It changes the way you think about yourself, friends and family members. It turns you from a self-assured free spirit to a closed-off hermit who constantly has that voice whisper in your, “God, you’re so stupid! Why did you say that? Why did you think that? What is wrong with you?”

A counselor called in to the radio show and she talked about what goes on psychologically with abused people and why they have such a hard time walking away from such a toxic situation.

One thing she mentioned really hit a chord with me and has opened my eyes to something I never really understood—it’s a little embarrassing to admit that I didn’t see this as such a big deal before because it’s kind of a “duh” thing.

But to me, it’s been very eye-opening these past few days and has given me something else to heal inside myself.

The counselor said that the abuser will try to minimize everything to make you believe that you are exaggerating. For example, he will say it’s “not a big deal” or “you’re making a big deal out of nothing,” “ Is it really worth all the drama for this?” or my favorite, “Everyone is going to think you’re crazy if you make a big deal out of this.”

I’ve been faced with another hurdle this past week that is forcing me to look through old emails and old court reports, and I keep seeing the same word repeated over and over—exaggerated.

One report reads: “He says his ex-wife tends to exaggerate situations.”

Another: “He said her claims are exaggerated.”

Email after email reads, “This is just another one of your exaggerated claims.” And “As usual, Kim, you are exaggerating.”

There was a time when I believed I was exaggerating. And why not? He knew how to convince me I exaggerate. He’s calculating in his mind games.

My mom is the self-proclaimed exaggerating daughter of an Scotch-Irish man who was known for weaving the most incredibly exaggerated stories that would blow your mind.

“We’re Irish, that’s what we do,” mom would say when she would get caught in one of her wild tales.

So, I believed I was my mother’s daughter and I didn’t know how to not tell a story full of exaggerations.

Usually I would convince myself that whatever he had done wasn’t really that bad and I could just suck it up and keep it to myself—that was the beginning of closing myself off to people, to my family, to my friends.

That’s how it starts. That’s how you end up alone and staying with someone who is abusive while the rest of the world looks on and asks, “Why didn’t you just leave?”

What I didn’t realize was that there was a big difference between exaggerated storytelling and explaining why I'm upset about something.

And, there is a big difference between an innocent Irished-up story and wanting to be upset because someone smashed his beer stein through the glass top table I got from my dead grandmother. But he was able to fix that by telling me that if I would have just kept my fucking mouth shut, he wouldn’t have had to do that.

Ever hear the words, “You know I get mad when you question me, so why do you do it? It makes me break things and get really angry?”

If you hear it enough, you get to where you learn to keep your mouth shut. You learn to remember you are exaggerating and things really aren’t as bad as you think.

You learn not to talk to anyone because they just don’t understand. They will tell you to be mad, to pack your bags. In your mind, they just don’t get it.  

The funny thing is, I don’t exaggerate. In a lot of circumstances, I tend to underplay events because I’m used to being questioned about my facts—I’m used to the reply, “You’re exaggerating again.”

So what if you exaggerate when you say you’ve been to Walmart a million times this month? That is not the same as saying, “You shouldn’t have taken my new radio my parents gave me and threw it across the room when I got mad at you for spending money we didn’t have.”

So, if you are one of those people sitting around this past week wondering why in hell Ray Rice’s wife doesn’t leave, then realize this man has used his bag of tricks to make her think she caused his anger or that she deserved to be smacked around in an elevator.

He probably told her that it wasn’t that bad or “people love me and they will think you are crazy if you say bad things about me.” Who knows?

But if you are one of those people who has survived an abusive relationship or is in one now, remember  you’re not exaggerating—it really is that bad.

IT REALLY IS THAT BAD!!!

Once you accept that “it really is that bad,” you will be able to start seeing your abuser for who he is and for the first time in a long time you will be able to see yourself for who you really are, a victim.

And guess what else? You have every reason in the world to be mad as hell at that person.