Monthly Archives: April 2015

More fingerprints


I sat in a cold, vinyl squishy chair today in ICU, watching my niece ink and fingerprint her dad’s fingers to preserve his prints. My beautiful, oldest, bigger-than-life brother, my over 8,000 miles a year on his bike brother, my brother who quietly struggled and adored nature, got up before the sun on Monday to ride his bike. He never made it home. He got hit by a young lady driving a pick-up truck, broadsided seemingly. And tonight, for the second night, he lay in the hospital, hovering over his body I’m sure, hating that we are all making a fuss of him. My heart aches for his children.

Hold him close, God.



I ran a 5K Saturday morning.  It was great.  I was under 27 minutes and with the soupy humidity and warm temps, I was happy with that.

I called 911 on Sunday afternoon.  I was beyond feeling safe here and just wanted to get the hell out WITH my daughters.  They are pawns to him when things go to crap.  Sunday was no different.  I calmly decided to remove myself from the escalating situation and my daughter told me she wanted to come with me.  On a thumbnail, he played the “crazy” card and placed himself between me and them.  Rather than add to an already lengthy list of future issues, I walked away and called 911.  Cops came; needed my ID, etc.  This blew my mind.  They would not stand by so that I could leave safely with my daughters.  “Ma’am, it’s a civil matter.”  I asked them if they left and I still tried to leave with my daughters and things escalated and my husband hit me, would it be a civil matter then?  No, it wouldn’t.  They would come back and it would be a criminal matter.  Hm.  Go figure.  “That sucks,”  I told the cop.  I stayed.  They stay, I stay.  I am not leaving them again the way my mom used to leave me.  So now, 2 days later, everything is still a mess – it’s funny how emotional abuse just zaps the ever-loving life out of everything in it’s wake.  My heart hurts.  I went to the bank and put $7,500 aside for “when I need it,” which will likely be sooner than later.  I was embarrassed to report to my BeachBody coach that I just wouldn’t be able to participate in the team call that evening because I was reeling from that day.

Today, I had to take my ID out again.  Today was better – I was at the Diocese for our parish and I was getting finger-printed for my Fall part-time job at church.  It felt nice being there.  I just feel the energy in places, you know?  That place has very good energy.

When I got back to the car, my phone, which I left on purpose (wow, that’s progress), had a message on it – something to the effect about his heart hurt for me and if there was anything he could do, followed by the praying hands emoticon.  That was a moment in my day when I stopped and thought, “Am I fricking crazy?”  Like, seriously?  You scream at me on Saturday night until you are hoarse, wake up and put flowers in vases all over the kitchen, cook for a daughter, cause more destruction on Sunday, and you really want to know if there is anything you can do?  Thank God for words and writing because I can safely say that talking to my therapist yesterday & today, writing the letters he asked me to write, plus writing this blog, shows me that I am not crazy.  Well, relatively speaking – I know remaining in this sufferfest must make people wonder about my sanity.  It makes me wonder at times.

I fully believe that constant contact with my Heavenly Father is key.  I am trying to figure it all out.  Without a blueprint.  My examples growing up didn’t prepare me for a normal life.  So, here I am trying to figure out what a normal life is.  So far, I know what it isn’t.  It isn’t screaming at people; it isn’t many of the things that have happened in our home.

I believe that as long as I stay here, in this false poser of a relationship, I am giving credibility to us being a couple.  That bothers me.  I am getting there, slowly but surely.

Mental energy


When I read Don Miguel Ruiz’s book, the Four Agreements, it was like he was writing it for me!!!  Well, he was; he just didn’t realize it 🙂  There is a part that talks about the fact that each day we have a finite amount of mental energy to expend.  I always wondered why trying emotional times left me zapped.  I know now and I love continuing to learn why people act they way they act, especially me.

Here is what my codependently (ma word yo) rehearsed conversation sounded like in MY HEAD:

Me:  I want to discuss something with you.

Him:  Okay, what is it?

Me: I have been looking for a very-part time job that wouldn’t interfere with the girls’ schedule and I actually have an interview set up.  There is a spot available two mornings a week at blah-blah church taking care of babies.  I’m really excited about it.

Him:  Oh, that’s great!  You LOVE babies!  You are GREAT with babies!  They will be lucky to have you!

Me:  Thanks!

How it really happened:

Me: I want to discuss something with you.

Him: Okay, what is it?

Me:  I have been looking for a very-part time job that wouldn’t interfere with the girls’ schedule and I actually have an interview set up.  There is a spot available two mornings a week at blah-blah church taking care of babies.  I’m really excited about it.

Him: Why?  You mean…a job?  Why would you do that? (looks at me like I have two alien heads)

Me:  (eye roll)  Are you serious?  That’s how you respond to me?  Ohmagod.  I don’t trust us.  I’m going to do something that makes me happy.

Then, after a match of hurling words, many ugly, from both sides, he crossed a boundary of saying something off-limits about one of my children.  I calmly stood up, picked up my keys & sunglasses & left.  Just to remove myself from the situation.  I had worked out earlier today.  A hard workout.  I was tired.  I had caked on sweat.  My hair looked like my mother’s.  I had to pee.  I just wanted to park in the WalMart parking lot and sleep.  But I couldn’t.  I had to pee.  Other than that, I would have.  Then I assessed my situation and saw it for the pitiful piece of crap that it was.  I went home.  He had gone into his office.  I ate stir-fried veggies with a healthy dose of Bragg’s Amino acids and a leftover crabcake.  I took a shower, got ready for the rest of the day & took a long, drool-filled nap.

At one point in our argument, which, in my opinion, never should have evolved to an argument, I shouted, “I will try to be the person I used to be!  She drank & was miserable!  Is that what you want???”

BUT THAT’S NOT WHAT I WANT.  AND THAT SHOULD BE ENOUGH!!!!!!  Where, for fuck’s sake is the value of my OWN HAPPINESS??????  Even recounting this makes my eyes fill with tears, anxiety ramp up, and me just want to go find him and kick him in the nuts.  I’m tired of feeling like THE PROBLEM every time I risk stating out loud my needs, wants and desires.

I hate the way I feel.

My latest hope is that if I stay real with healing and recovery from codependence, I will gain strength by keeping my life open to change.  I know the only person I can change is myself.  I get that.  And thank God for that.  I don’t think I have the mental strength to even think I could change another person.

In the last year, I have gotten sober and attacked my codependency issues HEAD-ON.  That is an amazing feat.  I am proud of myself and the work I have done on myself.  It ain’t over.  And I won’t be that person again.  Hell no.  Oh, and I also enrolled in the Institute for Integrative Nutrition to become a certified Health Coach, which I am now.  I graduate at the end of June.  I have paid my tuition myself, out of the money I am allotted to run our house.  There was no congratulations there either, after I announced I was going to do something outside of my comfort zone, and enroll in school.  I don’t know why I think this would be any different.

My old therapist used to say, “Nothing changes if nothing changes.”  Well, I’m changing.  And I’m going to stop anytime soon.  🙂

Slips and realization


Today is Divine Mercy Sunday.  I surely need His Mercy today.  And every day.

This week.  O>M>G> – so crazy it deserves arrows, not periods.  I read the most profound thing on FB. “What we allow is what will continue.”  OUCH, baby, very ouch.

So, I can’t say I don’t know why I allow it to continue.  I know that I struggle with strength to divide our family and insert sure heartache into our lives.  But our lives are already pretty divided and offer heartache daily.  I don’t get it, but I know I’m getting better.  I think recognizing the shift is a good thing.

I.AM.SOBER.  I relish in that.  Gotta say, this past week had me worried.  And pissed off.  I actually questioned my sobriety.  On the stairway, looking at my husband, telling him if this continued, I wondered if I could stay sober.  Those words just hurt my heart.  My journey is hard.  It is MY journey.  Since January, I have worked with an amazing psychologist, Dominic Herbst, one-on-one, every Tuesday morning, via telephone.  He is amazing.  He is expensive.  He has workshops around the country.  I decided to start seeing him out of desperation.  All Hell broke loose in my house in April 2014, and I did not bury my head in the sand.  I grabbed God, begged Him to NOT LEAVE ME and to SHOW ME where HE WANTED ME TO GO.  He did.  He always does.  He just wants to be invited.  God, He loves me so much.  He is with me always, holding the pieces of my heart together and showing me that my heart is whole, not broken and that I am worth dying for.  Anywho.  This journey has been the undoing of horrible neglect and unwantedness since I was in utero.  Yes.  My mom didn’t want me.  I wasn’t planned.  Many unplanned humans are still wanted.  I wasn’t.  That’s okay.  My dad loved me enough for the both of them.  But then he died.  I was 8.  You can fill in the blanks.  Factor in a mother who wasn’t onboard anyway and suffered her own undealt with losses and there you go – a very misguided, easy to take advantage of kiddo with no one to imprint upon.  No one to love her and show her the way to be a lady.  My mother likely could have said the same thing.

So, I chose sobriety.  First, I chose Alanon.  Then I realized AA was where I needed to be.  I am so grateful for that choice.  11 months and counting.  It is difficult to have alcohol removed as the solution when the problems are all the same. My husband has not changed.  He has managed to squelch a lot of his anger, but it squirts out at odd times in odd ways.  I won’t be quiet about it anymore.  I simply won’t.  I realize that I am only as sick as the secrets I keep.  Those days are over.  It’s liberating.  And possibly helpful for someone else.

The problem of the day – why do I feel compelled to keep those old agreements I made with myself?  For instance, I have spent YEARS putting everyone else’s needs ahead of my own.  So much so that I am now discovering myself in a whole new way and I have to say, I like myself.  A lot 🙂  I am strong.  Physically and emotionally.  I realize I stay to try to absorb the suffering of my children.  That’s wrong.  I can’t buffer them from life.  I am hurting them by doing so.  We have to face life on life’s terms.  And guess what?  Life’s terms often suck.  Big time.  Before I came up into my oasis of classroom/workout room/happy energy space, I was sucking down a smoothie in the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast bar, feeling like I needed to be “on call” for my husband.  Internally, I was thinking, “I need to stay close; he may need something or call for me.”  Yuck.  Double-fricking-yuck.  Go yuck yourself.  No one considers me that way.  So, then, truth from a healing-yet-raging-codependent, I have to step myself through the crap – ‘what would i do if i didn’t think that way?’ I realized I really wanted to write (here) at that moment.  So, I began the walk to the stairway.  “Where are you going?”  “I have some writing to do.” And that was that.

My 12-steps really keep me plugged in and focused on what is right for me.  I try to have balance in my day; I try to be of service; I try to see people in a loving light; I try not to be selfish; I try to make amends right away if I do something or say something dumb.

There, I feel better.  Writing is such a therapeutic exercise for me.