Looking back it’s been about two months since I’ve last brain dumped. First before we jump straight into brain dumping, I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge two things. The grammar and spelling mistakes, and possibly lots of ADHD “squirrel” moments. One thing I can say about that, maybe explore that for another day but, anyone else realize as a Mom we find ourselves being ADHD? And then I immediately follow up the same question to myself, as in “but is it ADHD or overstimulated” and then next “or is it grief” and so on. And maybe that is the part of this true grief that I’m embracing about myself, asking myself these questions and looking inward to see, well what do you think Amanda? I’m not going to allow anyone else any longer label me as angry, emotional, too much (god that plays over and over daily… too much) because who’s right to see moments and say I’m all those or I’m ADHD or overstimulated. What if I’m just being… existing…I love that we can bring awareness to all of these “labels” which I’m assuming is society’s new way to give us grace. The ole hippy in me ponders these things though at times. Why do we now have to say I’m ADHD highly functioning adult or overstimulated. Why can’t we just say she’s just living within her emotional boundaries, capabilities and emotional intelligence. You decide. I’ve not decided how I view it but I’m on the pursuit of happiness, hey Kid Cudi! anyway, while I’m on the pursuit to happiness I’m hoping to find the purpose of living in a way that I no longer am waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Wow… that went down a hole in a way I wasn’t prepared for. I opened up my laptop to start differently but then somehow all these thoughts to brain dump came to the surface and I dumped. So that all came out because I was acknowledging that my grammar and spelling SUCK. So know this. I write and dump and don’t even barely re-read and to be honest never re-read. I don’t know why. I’m assuming that if I go back and alter it I might become fearful that I will take something out of fear of judgement and the whole point is to heal my mind, my heart, my soul. To live. So when I sit down to write anymore it’s not even planned. A couple months ago, I went back and read all my entries to my therapist to help give her direct insight into the my feelings. She thought it was a great way for me to share and I’m so glad that I suggested it. I could barely even make the words out to her as I read what I wrote. Embarrassed about how petty I might seem to others, fear that I should have been more prepared, fear of it making it’s way to people that I knew our family of five and didn’t know those things. Vulnerability.
My dearest friend, Sarah from high school and how I met “him” once told me that I my best quality was my vulnerability. Ever since she told me that, I’ve claimed it loud and proud. I’m vulnerable because I think it’s a beautiful to show others that you can empathize with them, you can be a safe space and you can provide love and security to those who just need to feel THAT. I can also admit that my vulnerability is my biggest curse. I can find myself extremely emotional or need to just word vomit out loud to someone an analyze emotions and then there are times where I’m completely shut down and retreat from the world And the older I get the worse it gets.
So that’s the common theme that has brought me to opening up my laptop tonight to write. I ACTUALLY just thought maybe two nights ago at most “haven’t blogged in awhile” called myself out on that shit. And then immediately instead of beating myself up and making it feel as if it HAD to be done, I gave myself grace (thank you 9 year of therapy) to say, and you are also doing all these really positive things and it’s ok to acknowledge that this blog was started as a way to release the immense suffocating dark days of this new road or possibly mountain, because that’s what it’s felt like. A god damn mountain of a beast and if you look down you’ll get so gutted to your core with fear that you have nowhere to go but up. Don’t look down, you might get scared, you might trip, or stumble, or not analyze the safety of the mountain. Stay focused and head down but instead of head down which I’ve been saying for months, it’s head forward. You look at that mountain and you say I will fuck get to the top if it and I will fucking show up for myself and I will stay committed to everything I told myself. I will not waiver off course. I will not look for open trails to make the mountain easier or less strenuous. Booze, casual hookups, distractions. All those will only suck the energy out of you to get up the mountain. I will go directly to the top and put myself at the highest elevation possible.
I told my therapist,, myself and others that all the good things are right there. The winery opening and our family finding groove. An employer where I’m finding my groove. The bridge opened, yay, don’t have to drive past “his work” EVERY SINGLE GOD DAMN FUCKING DAY traveling from OH back to KY. And this bad ass bitch doesn’t even look over at the building where his truck would be parked. Not one time have I looked. I lock eyes on the license plate and forward we go. I’ve felt G’s eyes burning on me many times. I could feel her looking at me, like will today my mom look. Recently I’ve noticed she’s not looking as much and I’m less locked on the various combinations of letters and numbers in front of me. Both the girls are exceling in school, extracurricular, athletic club/teams, choir, etc. and in consistent therapy. They hate it but they are doing it. And there’s obviously more going on with both but the one that outwardly has struggled is G. And there is a lot there that I’m going to keep private for now because that’s not what tonight is about. But I will say this, the anger of the trauma that my children experienced has forever changed me. I have forever changed the outlook on who I will allow my children to view as bonus people in their lives and then fuck dispose of them like little dolls who will just be “better off” and get over it. And if I think about the beautiful young lady who experience her own trauma this bonus almost step mom will break.
So that’s what a lot of this is about.
I’ve been in hole this week. I didn’t really leave my bedroom for at least 48 hours except to meet with my loan officer Monday night. On the ride over I got a call from my relator that the sellers agreed to all my asks except two things that were not going to make the deal fall apart. I was under contract and had an awful inspection and ultimately walked on that in mid December, bidding war the middle of January and lost out because the other offer also going full price waived the inspection. So there have been some hurdles. It’s felt frustrating, lots of questioning myself and the fact that I HAD ZERO desire to come back to KY. For awhile and still occasionally my heart will pound out of my chest to be in area that resembles any part of my past life. I feel pathetic saying that. This is where I was not an emotional person but it’s my gift and curse and I chose to look at it as a gift.
So now on the way to meet Tom, I had a couple thoughts and one was the “do you sell your ring?”
Loaded question to myself. I have no idea how much it’s worth. I do know this though. He purchased it from the family jeweler where my Dad and grandparents went too and my parents still use. The thought he put into that. My heart aches thinking it and tears are welling now. Damn it. He had that ring for 9 months before he proposed. He decided in half the time, 5 months, that he wanted to renig on that question. I think he was the one already emotionally trying his ring on for size… If I go to that store and see the value what will that do. Will that make me feel good and strong, vindictive, satisfied? Remember he also offered me $2600 (umm joke after all those years) to leave and get my feet underneath me in 30 days. That’s like tipping me a penny in my awful waffle days.
So I contemplated on selling it. And here’s what I’ve decided. The emotional aspect of that I’m not ready for. Why… I know why
So then leave the meeting and great. I’ve finally got it all lined up in front of me and the deal will work financially at the top end of my budget because I’m going to liquify one of my last few nest eggs and push us to the top of that mountain. So there’s that. You’ve been taking care of yourself, and lets be real men, not him but other men, but took care of his child and raised her through some very hard years. So here I am again at the age of almost 43 rebuilding again since being out on my own at 18. I can rebuild. I truly thought I was done with that but here I am again doing it for the second time again with two children. Second time of single Mama life but this time it seems scarier. I asked myself that question and have been pondering on it. My conclusion is that my children are very aware of what is happening now. They are older. They can hear there Mom crying. They can recognize her emotions now. They can see everything on my face. I swear sometimes G knows me better than I know myself. She is a little me in so many ways. I would have never given another “divorce” ever. I remember us vowing. I can still picture the conversation now that we would try harder in this dynamic than in our marriages because these kids aren’t asking for another failed relationship. And he renigged on that. Trying isn’t lasting one damn therapy apt, mocking the term “trigger” , buying a second motorcycle, joining an all men’s bowling league, going out every Friday with the guys and then taking up smoking. That is avoidance. Man, how did I get here talking about that.
So I left Monday driving home knowing that I need a shit ton of money for closing which I’ll make happen and that the closing is coming quick.
I’ve been able to recognize and love that I’ve been able to allow my confidants to say things and I find the ability to take it in, question it and not find offense it.
And here’s what a few picked up on. I’m not quite excited as they thought. And I feel it myself. I’ve asked myself am I regretting the house? No. Am I scared? Fuck yes. Is it a big house for just us and 100 years old build in 1925. Yes, Is she charming and perfect and in the perfect location and screams me with all her beautiful vintage charm? Fuck yes she is.
So this is what I admitted to myself and my closet peeps the last 24 hours.
I’m excited but when is the other shoe going to drop? When will the next bad thing happen?
Bottom line though that I said verbally to my dear friend, Amanda today with tears rolling down my cheeks (elegantly I hope because I felt strong and was not ugly crying, it was just the first time uttering the words that my heart has been speaking.
The PEAK is in the horizon. Destination in progress. Arrival impending.
On the other side of that mountain is our life. Our lives as a trio of three. And as individuals. I keep saying that she’s a charmer and I can’t wait to pour our grief into her and bring her back to life. I want to name her. She’s of course a her. I want to talk to her softly. Have you read up on talking to your house. You should? Kind of like how Fiona and I planted our Mother’s day plants that we left behind and talked nice to one and not to the other and see which one flourishes. I wonder if they are still alive? Squirrel. Here’s the big piece to that I know. That I will have to finally grieve the part of my heart that is locked away in a small beautiful delicate trinket box with a padlock on it. She has a beautiful “K” embossed in gold of course. And I’m not ready to pry the padlock off to try her on and admire the love I felt and still feel deep down inside. I’ve taken that from my children too. We don’t talk about her. I know she’s a huge hole in our lives. And maybe I’m wrong by locking her away but I can’t even begin to think about that grief and process it. But here’s one thing I know. The time to grieve and really open that box and admire it is going to be in the process of bringing our lives back together. And the space to grieve her is about to be created and I’m not ready to face it. And that is why it’s tucked away. But now, will I be face to face with it more. I do my best thinking, analyzing and creativity by tending to a house, a home. Pouring feelings into something special for my loved ones. I’ve not been able to do that and I’ve been eternally grateful to not have to have the pressure of tending to a home while loved ones have nursed us back to life but it is something that I know will come again and then the feelings will all pour out in those movements and unpacking all our belongings. We’ve literally lived in the most minimum of ways still with our belongings and favorite items safely tucked away in boxes. What memories and feelings will pour out unpacking. I did pack us in four days. It was survival in the purest form. We were told to leave and WE NEED to get out safe and close the door to the life in one fail swoop. Now the unpacking will lead to the emotional unpacking. I’m not ready. It’s here. My timeline is even working out perfectly. Right on time for my own personal expectations of myself. But it came fast. I’m not ready emotionally. I’m fearful. I’m scared.
I have to accept one thing no matter how hard to process.
I have to live a life completely different of the one I planned.
That simple.
Our lives will forge ahead.
I forget how to live….
A
