Out of the Storm

I think I'm going to use this journal space to start understanding how I might also be C-PTSD. One half of a messed-up marriage with a C-PTSD man.

Here's the thing. I came to this site because my H is almost assuredly C-PTSD. We both recognize that. But, as I began researching to understand him and his issues and his coping style, I learned and I remembered. I remembered a lot. And that, my friends, is a BIG deal. I don't remember much about my childhood. I used to laugh and say that it was so uneventful as to be not worth the brain space. But, the more memories I DO have, the more it feels like it was blocking that was really going on.

And, since mine seems to be mostly neglect and abandonment, whereas H's is more direct abusive violence, I felt that maybe I'm just mirroring him because I am ?jealous? of his potential for diagnosis. But, at this site, everyone who suffered in childhood is welcomed and respected. The degree isn't the big deal. Heck, I was even welcomed as 'just the wife' of a C-PTSD survivor.

So, no, I don't think it's mirroring at all. I was the forgotten child. The one not worth noticing until I made a stink. Then, it was roll the eyes, Wife2 is being obnoxious again! But, the things that went on under the parental radar are what shaped me. Very little physical abuse. Mostly just wanting to fit in, to belong, to be worthy of attention, to matter!

Since I started exploring more, I'm remembering more of my childhood. Some memories are good, and I'll share them, too. But, more than I anticipated are pretty sad, pitiful and lonely.

In the way of a famous book whose name escapes me right now..... I am born. I am the seventh child of a couple who probably should never have been married in the first place (their story, though). During the pregnancy, Mom developed Preeclampsia. It was bad enough that, by the time I was born, she had to be hospitalized. After three days, I was released from the hospital, she had to remain for two or three more weeks. Dad was too busy with the other children and his job to take care of me. My first 'home' was with my godparents.

My godparents are good people who just wanted what was best for everyone. I do still care about these two, especially my godmother. She was happy to tell me about this time in my life, how she loved taking me home, how I slept through the night my first night home, and kept doing so - to her amazement. How I ate like a champ and thrived while under her care. But, she wasn't Mom. And I had to go home eventually.

Now, the dynamics of the pecking order do play a major part in my story. The oldest sister was 11 years older. Next sister was 9 years older. Next brother was 8 years older. Next sister was 5 years older. Next brother was 2 years older. Next sister was just 9 days shy of her first birthday when I was born. My parents were just shy of 30 when I was born. They were old before their time with all these children. Mom's body was about to give out. But the thing that impacted me most was the last sister.

Sally (made up name) was severely Autistic. She had no speech, though the 'parts' worked fine. She could barely see, though never got glasses. She wasn't hearing impaired until later in life - and that because of her love of very loud music. Our parents were told she'd probably be at the mental development of a 2-year-old at best (she did outshine those predictions). Sally did NOT like having a younger sister. She didn't like sharing Mom.

Now, let's understand one more thing. Back then, Autism was BLAMED on mothers, because the genes typically were in the eggs. So, my mother got a huge dose of BLAME and GUILT because of Sally. Dad added to it. So, while my oldest sister can be attributed to passion and several others attributed to a desire to have another child, I was the product of a failure of birth control. They never said it like that, but Mom did tell me that, while pregnant with me, her OBGYN and Dad had talked to her about aborting me. Auspicious start, wouldn't you say?

So, Mom is home, it's time for my godparents to return me to her. Except I don't KNOW her! And, my sister doesn't want to share her. Now, lets think. How does a one-year-old who doesn't speak show dissatisfaction with a situation? I'm being a little sarcastic because this part hurts a LOT. I don't want to remember it. But, if I'm going to heal, I think I need to address both the reason I hated Sally growing up and the reason my parents eventually HAD to put her into an institution. Sally hit me. She bit me. She pushed me. And there was little my parents could do except keep us apart.

So, we have a high-needs one-year-old and an essentially 'normal' newborn. Mom is still weak from her medical troubles. Dad is still overwhelmed with preteen daughters and various assorted other children. He does NOT want to send Sally away. He thinks we should stay together as a family, regardless. Let's not forget, he's the 'injured' parent as Sally's condition is all Mom's fault. How did I fall through the cracks again?

So, for a year, we're together. Of course, I don't remember this period, but there are a few pictures. They're of us on the front lawn. Sally is LAUGHING, I am crying. Or vice versa. There are a few pictures of the whole pack of kids - Sally and I kept widely apart in all.

My heart goes out to my Mom during all this. Her mother was a drunk, her father too enmeshed to stand up to the woman, her little sister and brother expecting HER to fill the Mom-void for them. She escapes into marriage with my father. The kids start coming fast and plentiful. Before she knows it, she's expected to be the perfect Mom to a lot of very different children, and few good experiences with HER mother to work from. Asking her mother for help was like inviting the bull into the china shop. With a red napkin. So, with no skills, few instincts, a husband who wanted out of the marriage, a mother and husband who blamed her for the challenged child and a body that was just about to give out, no wonder she got completely overwhelmed not long after I was born.

But the fact remains that the net effect on me was repeated neglect and abandonment. I was abandoned to my godparents upon birth. I was abandoned to the care of siblings when she went AWOL, all four times before my 9th birthday. I was abandoned off and on as her nerves dictated throughout the rest of my life. The neglect was just the way things were. How could I be so selfish to want it otherwise?

Where was Dad? Hiding at work. He hated his marriage, so he worked and he worked and he worked. He got to positions that 'made' him travel up to a week at a time. When he was home, he was tired. Or reading magazines or books to further his career. Or dealing with the big-kid issues of my older siblings. Or maybe, just maybe, allowing me to crawl into his lap and curl up (not possible until he did agree to institutionalize Sally).

My main impressions of my parents when I was little? Mom was depressed, angry, tired. Dad was depressed, angry, tired and too busy. My best bet was to steer clear of them most of the time. But, I did love them as well as a child knows how to love! I wanted their time so bad, I'd take yelling and even spanking if it gave me one-on-one time with either of them.

Then, there's that day that I was so sick I couldn't go to school. I was throwing up everything. Mom asked Missy (middle sister) to stay with me so Mom could go to work. Missy was so kind to me. We tried everything her 10-year-old mind could think of. We tried Pepto, nope, threw it up. We tried baby asprin - up it came. We tried chicken soup - uh uh. We tried plain water - nope. Missy became more and more concerned because NOTHING was working. She called Mom. Mom never left work. She never took me to the doctor (What for, it's just a stomach bug). She left tucking me into bed to my sister, too. After the day SHE had at work, she was too tired.

That one night, around the same time, I saw lights going around my room. But it wasn't like the night Missy explained about the cars going down the road. These stayed and they were red! I was so scared! Missy finally came upstairs to check on me. She held me and calmed me and told me everything would be alright - yeah, her tone said she was as scared as I was. She only told me that Dad needed a rest away from home for a few days. I didn't find out until decades later that he'd tried suicide.

Then, there was the summer of the Spanish boys. Oh, how Mom loved those Spanish boys! They were foreign exchange students from Madrid, Spain. She showed them off to anyone who didn't walk away from her. She talked about them to everyone. She smiled a lot that summer! I didn't like them. They weren't very nice to me and they smelled funny. Their room smelled funny. I hated being on the same floor with them and kept trying to sneak down to Missy's room to be with her.

*** NOTE: I barely remember the Spanish boys, though they stayed a whole summer with our family when I was 5 or 6. I wouldn't even know their names if Mom hadn't repeated them so often - Miguel and Pieter. I couldn't tell you what they looked like, how tall they were (and I remember my oldest sisters during that time, so I know I have memories). I remember not liking them, not wanting to be anywhere near them - and I was the love everyone, nobody is a stranger child! I remember Mom being so excited and Dad travelling again. Apparently, they came two summers. All I can say for a fact is that this was some time between when I was 3 and 9 - because of where we lived at the time.

I do know that it was about this time that I started becoming sullen. That's what my parents call it - sulking and being sullen.

I remember one day during one of these summers when the oldest four kids and the Spanish boys wanted to go to the park for a festival. They were told to bring me along. I remember their cigarettes looked funny and smelled funny, not like Mom's cigarettes at all. Later, they confessed to 'shot-gunning' me and thinking it was sooooo funny.

I remember lots of days playing with my friends in the neighborhood. It was a big neighborhood with lots of kids of all ages. There was a playground across the street - to my young eyes it was HUGE. ALL life's adventures were to be found in that playground. I remember climbing the trees in the front yard, that were barely bigger than me! I remember splitting the seed end of a maple seedling and putting it on my nose! It would stick if the seedling was fresh.

I also remember when Sally came home again. Then, I began hiding in those trees, and in my toy box. I was glad to have my bedroom moved from the third floor down to the parent floor, until she got the room next to them. I remember trying to get past her so I could walk to school while she waited for her school bus. I remember hating to see her laugh, because it usually wasn't anything good for me. I remember her sitting by the television set, turning the volume up full blast and setting her head against the speaker. It was so loud it would make me nauseous. But, I dared not touch that TV. I remember one time when Dad did finally have enough and pull her away from the TV. She screamed and kicked and it took Mom, Dad and all the older siblings to hold her down.

I remember going to visit Sally in her new institution and feeling so guilty that it was all my fault. The place stank and was scary and dark. A few of the older people there had on diapers. Sally had on diapers, though I know she was using the toilet at home. She was drooling and looked vacant and slack-faced. She was drugged up! Dad was furious. Mom was heartbroken. I was guilty. She wouldn't have to be here if I'd never been born.

This is all I can handle remembering right now. I'm heartsick, for my parents, my siblings and for me. Mostly for Sally, who couldn't be blamed and who never knew me any  better than I ever knew her.

I've just had a terrible thought. What if, because of my being the youngest and having Sally right before me, what if... Ok, Wife2, type it.... Dad just ran out of energy and love before he got to me. He tried. He does show genuine love and concern sometimes. But, until Sally died, he always seemed distracted, like maybe I was an afterthought. Before the divorce, he had all those kids and a wife to consider - I was just one of many. After the divorce, yes, he did work hard to maintain his visitation - until he got remarried. After he got remarried, he had a step-son and step-daughter to consider. They were younger than me and didn't look like my mother so much.

What if, God how I hate having this thought. I've always defended my father, always made him the innocent party, always said Mom was at fault for my feeling so neglected and 'messed up'.

Even after he refused to let me move with him, his wife and two step kids, since the state they were moving to had such a better school system. Because it would be too confusing with kids from both marriages under one roof.

Even after he continually would show no faith in my abilities - I kept overhearing him talking to others about me and it was usually with concern if THEY showed faith in me.

Even when he refused my staying with him temporarily after I flunked out of college (not really - but he stopped paying so the result was the same - and that legend has become the truth in this family), until I could get on my feet - because my step-brother had just been kicked out of their home for smoking pot.

Even after he accused me of being anorexic when, because he was so disconnected with my life, he refused to see that I was just plain poor and malnourished. And still wouldn't let me stay with him to get back on my feet. This time, because he and his wife were at last getting to enjoy life with just each other in the house.

Even after my sister died and his eulogy made me sad for his loss, but terribly hurt and angry because he'd not shown me the depth of love he poured out over her at the funeral.

Even after I eloped, hoping to spare my parents given that I was already in my 30's and it wouldn't be 'in the church' anyway. The hurt and anger he and his wife showed me because 'he' was denied walking me down the isle (Now, let's be real, all my sisters had unconventional weddings). The disdain they showed my new husband because he wasn't what they expected or wanted for me - and they didn't think I was going to be a capable stepmother.

Even after my most recent visit to their house with my son - and they explained how the largest section of their yard was called the 'Wife2' section, because stepmom named each section after the child that caused the stress she relieved there. Nice. Real nice.

Every time I've REALLY needed my DADDY, he's been unavailable, usually because another child needed him, or another adult child had already 'done Dad wrong' and I was to pay right along with that sibling/step-sibling.

And yet, at nearly 50, I feel ungrateful and unworthy for even thinking these things about my father or his wife. What. Is. Up. With. That?

So much to explore.

I was just reading some of the links put elsewhere on this site by Dutch Uncle. Thank you so much for continuing to post and to include links that are so helpful.

I've had a real hard time recently trying to process these things on my own. I have almost no privacy at home, limited privacy at work and no time or funds to see a therapist. H is honestly part of the problem right now, so talking to him is futile. So, I come here, post and work on it when I have a minute here, a few minutes there.

I really don't have a minute right now, but I need to sort this out. My head is feeling like it'll explode.

My father, who I sainted as a child, though he was absent through most of my childhood (workaholic, avoiding home because my mother was there, then gone through divorce), was not as good a father as I've mad myself give credit to him.

My mother, while no saint, didn't deserve the bashing she took in my heart ('dry drunk' as her response to her own mother's alcoholism).

I can accept their humanity, their frailties and their foibles. But, accepting that they were less than perfect doesn't change how they chose to treat me as their child. It doesn't let them off the hook. And  I still need to process all this. Because memories are beginning to flood me and I MUST process this. I'm not ready to forgive and move forward just yet. This many memories, and most coming at me with the emotions intact, is incredibly overwhelming.

I'm trying not to run away, emotionally. I'm trying to stay present, because my son is as innocent as I was in my FOO. He deserves two present, caring, nurturing parents just like I did. I can't do anything about H, but I can do about myself and all the ways I've let my son down. It's hard to face these memories, these emotions, let them hit me, and try to learn something from them. How it impacted me? Why it hurt so? How can I use this pain to understand myself, change myself so I don't repeat?

So, the one that won't back down right now didn't even involve my parents, not directly anyway. As a pre-teen I had a friend. She was a good girl. She was nice to me. Her father was my mother's boss, so there's that. Anyway, ** I don't want to type this... it may be come too real and I've NEVER, NEVER, NEVER told anyone about this, I even buried it so I COULDN'T tell what I don't remember *** so, our parents were glad that we got along. She was the black sheep in her family, being the only of three children who was adopted. She didn't look like her siblings, she looked like her adoptive parents (yes, she looked more like theirs than their blood children). TYPE it, WIfe2. It won't hurt you or make you a lesser person because it happened.....

So, I was spending the night at their house. This was not uncommon and I usually enjoyed being at their house. I didn't particularly like either of her parents, she was cold and he was domineering. But, they didn't give me any 'watch-out' vibe. I was completely unprepared for what happened. My friend had bunk beds in her room. When I slept over, she would usually give me the bottom bunk and she took the top bunk. No problem. But that one night, she wanted to share the twin bed on bottom. Ok... strange, because even though I was from a big family, we didn't share rooms or beds. Even from babyhood, I had my OWN space, always. She was my friend. I could trust her. And, it might even be fun.

Well, her idea of fun was to experiment in touching. We were only 11 and I was NOT ready for that kind of thing. But, I was a guest for overnight. I didn't know what else to do. So, I let her touch me and I complied when she asked me to touch her. I had no idea why she wanted this. I believed that kind of thing was for when we were older, and with boys! She seemed to enjoy it. I pretended I did, mostly because I was then afraid to upset her. If she got mad at me, she might say something mean about me to her Dad, and that could cause problems for my Mom. My Mom needed that job!

After that night, I found lots of excuses to not be around that friend ever again. The following summer, my Mom and I were in a local theater production, and that girl's mother was the choreographer. I was glad when, being a child, I didn't have to be part of the dance scenes. Until the director decided I was big enough to be an understudy. Then, I had to be taught all the moves by that Mom. I was so self-conscious because some of the moves involved lifts, where she had to put her hands on me to lift me. I didn't want to do that. It was too creepy! I kept trying to act like it was no big deal, blaming my blunders on being clumsy - maybe too clumsy to be the understudy? Nope. She taught, I learned. I did end up having to understudy in the dances a couple of times.

I haven't thought about that event or the following summer in years. I blocked it, I'm sure.

It was so hard for me during that time anyway. Mom and Dad had separated and were getting a divorce. I looked a lot more mature than my age. My brother (the GC) had started treating me differently once I bloomed, like he was nervous to be in the same room with me. He wouldn't let me be around any of his friends anymore. Since we were so close in age, his friends thought that was strange. I found out later that he had told them I was gross and he was embarrassed to have them find out. My sister, Missy, wasn't around to talk to anymore and I felt like maybe what that friend had done showed and maybe I WAS gross for not saying NO.

Much later, I asked my brother why he did that to me. His answer was that he couldn't stand the thought of his friends doing to me what he wanted to do with his girlfriends, so he had to convince them to stay away. The fact that he was older, better known and respected didn't occur to him. The impact that would have on my social life was devastating. His word was good enough. And, I was awkward anyway, making it easier to believe. In his desire to be happy and comfortable, he turned me into a pariah.

The biggest break I got from all that was when Mom moved to another city. She had to get away from all the talk about her and Dad's divorce and Dad's new girlfriend (eventual wife).  I had to get away from a reputation I didn't deserve, begun by my own brother. I was so relieved when GCbro stayed to live with Dad. He couldn't ruin THIS town for me. The fresh start did help.

That first year, Mom may have neglected me and may have dedicated herself to having a great social life, but she hadn't exactly been there for me before. And, I got to meet some of her friends - who were really great people, it turns out! One or two of Mom's lady friends taught me how to conduct myself at the parties Mom would throw - age appropriately. They taught me that I didn't have to impress anyone, that I was OK just as I was. They did this, not Mom.

I applied those lessons to the people I was meeting at school. And, guess what? I was a hot mess, but I could make and keep friends! They liked me for who I was, not what I pretended to be. But, I didn't believe in sleep-overs anymore. I laughed and said that if I was old enough to babysit, I was too old for sleepovers. I didn't want to get into situations I couldn't handle. And I still had difficulty with disappointing friends by saying no.

That's all for today. My head is reeling from the realization that this DID happen, the way I remember it happening and that I've actually *talked* about it. That was over 30 years ago, and it's still driving some things in my head and in my marriage. I want to lance this wound so it can finally heal.

It wasn't my fault. I didn't cause it. I didn't deserve it.

It wasn't Mom's fault. She thought she was helping me find friends. She couldn't know that her being employed by the girl's Dad was a part of this - she's not psychic. I never told her this happened, so I never gave her the chance to defend me or to comfort me. I have got to let go of the bitterness I stored for her - she was innocent in this matter.

I'll write more when I have calmed down and internalized what this all means and what I can do about it now, to move forward in my healing. I do feel better now that I've said it. Feeling those feelings again is hard. Seeing those faces in my memory again is hard. Not being able to break down in tears because I'm at work is hard. But, I'll survive. Just like I survived that night. Just like I survived all the other days and nights since then.

Congrats on having started your journal here.  :thumbup:
You're a good writer. And thus you tell your story well and clear.
I hope, wish and trust it'll be a helpful tool in your process.


On a side note, thank you for this:

Quote from: Wife#2 on May 19, 2016, 05:31:31 PM
I was just reading some of the links put elsewhere on this site by Dutch Uncle. Thank you so much for continuing to post and to include links that are so helpful.

Dutch, thank you for the kind words. I'm trying this rather than a traditional therapist because, I can tell my stories without becoming self-conscious. I've had more than one therapist become enamored of my speaking/writing style, forgetting that the thing is the thing, not the story about the thing.

Also, I had to thank you ~ I've gone to many of the links you've provided and gained just a little more insight at each destination. Whether for me or for my husband's C-PTSD doesn't really matter. It's all helping my household become a better place for all of us living there.

And now, back to my irregularly scheduled mind-clearance-sale.....

I've thought of little else since I told that story yesterday. I've thought about what 11YO Wife2 thought and felt. I've seen that girl's room. Her hallway, the other kids, the parents. I've seen my Mom as she looked then. I feel sadness about what little Wife2 went through. I feel relieved that I didn't add to my mother's burden at that time. I could have tried later, but what would have been the point, if not to make her feel bad? So, maybe it's better that I haven't ever told her about that.

But, there is good news, too! Last night, I took a little time while nobody was noticing, and I comforted little Wife2. I repeated to her that it wasn't her fault, that it is OK to remember, because even if it feels like it's happening all over again - it isn't. I can still see the real house around me now - the one with loved family members in it. AND I can remember. AND I can continue to survive. AND I can tell Wife2 that she has nothing to be ashamed of. And you know what? I believe me! Little Wife2 relaxed a little last night. It made for a much more pleasant time with my son and my husband. I felt a peace today that I don't remember feeling in a long time.

It may only be a few ounces less toxic self-imposed shame, but its gone. I can't say if it's gone for good, because I can still feel the panic, the shame, the humiliation and the anger I felt that night. I don't know if that's normal or not. But, I do know that I felt just a little more comfortable inside my own skin for a while last night. It was a nice feeling. My husband liked the result of it, too!

Ok, back to work for me. I mean the job I do for pay! Have a great evening, everyone ~ including you Little Wife2. Including you!

Why did this get to me, it was just a simple little statement. My husband didn't mean anything really mean by it. But, I found myself chomping down on a response that would have been VERY ugly.

I have a thyroid condition. I've had it longer than I've been married. I used to take antidepressants. I let my husband talk me into stopping those. He's a believer in 'pushing through' and not being dependent on medications. He quit his antidepressants cold turkey and wanted me to do the same.

However, when it comes to my thyroid medication, he is all for me taking those faithfully every day. To the point he'll pay for my prescription if I'm short on money that month. He even insists that I stay with the brand name instead of the generic, saying he doesn't think the generic works so well.

So, the thing that really bothered me is this: He was telling a friend who's wife was just diagnosed with a thyroid condition about his beliefs on the medication prescribed. He told that friend to insist on the brand name, 'because I can tell right away if my wife is on the generic and she gets all loopy and forgetful! It takes her like a month or two to get back to normal. She's cranky and hard to get along with, too. So, don't bend on this, get the brand name.'

No, maybe I was cranky because he was being irritating! I even told him that. I wanted to shout at him that I've been taking the generic for months now because I found it ridiculous to spend an extra $40 a month if I didn't have to. But, I was actually not willing to say that because I knew he'd say - 'Oh, so that's why you've been so cranky lately!' No, I've been cranky lately because I've been cranky! People are allowed to be cranky sometimes - maybe I didn't get enough sleep, maybe I just had a bad day. It isn't ALWAYS because of the medicine. Maybe I'm depressed and need antidepressants, but won't get them because my husband is so non-supportive of that idea. Maybe I need therapy to cope with my CPTSD and he needs therapy to cope with HIS CPTSD and he needs to leave me alone if I'm being cranky!!

I'm glad I kept my mouth shut, because his spouting off about how he knows my body better than I do and he knows what's best for me because he's so much more.... experienced, no. educated, no. aware, no. BPD, probably. I was in a cranky mood, and hearing that made it worse. Saying anything would have led to a fight because I was not in a mood to hear him expound or put every unpleasant mood I have onto my medication!

I just get so irritated when he gets like this. He thinks he knows me and my body so well. I tell him so little because he jumped into the expert role so quickly and pushed me so hard to 'get off the meds' like I was some kind of addict. He's only three years older than me. He's been to far fewer therapists (make that only two compared to my seven), didn't stay with any, doesn't think depression is a real diagnosis - to him it's a cop-out.

My own parents didn't try to have this much control over my body. Ok, they were barely there to begin with - their game was benign neglect. But, still, they didn't try to tell me what to do with MY body as long as I was trying my best to get and be well.

Now that I'm starting to put things together, get a time-line on the memories and delve into why I react the way I do, I'm not always liking the picture I see.

So, when H and I got married, I had demanded that he get therapy for his anger issues. He now laughs about having anger issues, because he doesn't rage as often, he thinks they're all under control - without therapy. He asked that I get off the antidepressants. I did. I got my doctor on board and weaned off them, the healthy way. Doc was concerned, thinking (rightly so) that my depression wasn't under control, just being masked by my determination to not let my husband down.

Within months of getting off the meds (except the thyroid one - that was never questioned by H), I got pregnant. Within days of discovering this pregnancy, I miscarried. I was already 38 years old and this was my first pregnancy. I became convinced that my body was messed up and that I'd never have a child by my body (It took two more years to be proven wrong). I sank into a very deep depression. It affected the whole family. I wanted to get back into therapy and back on antidepressants. H decided he could get me through it all without any of that (expense - the word he kept leaving off during those conversations).

As soon as I returned to work after the miscarriage, I was let go from my job. We had stress at home because we both still had our pre-marital houses and we were trying to rent mine out. I kept letting H choose the tenants, and their quality went down drastically. Just a few months after the miscarriage and job loss (I found another job within weeks - another post of no support from husband), Husband decided suddenly that we should move to my house, he'd let his house return to the owner (it was rent-to-own and a bad deal, and owner wouldn't let my name onto the paperwork, didn't like that I could read AND understand the fine print). It was this or we stay where we were and I default on my mortgage, wrecking my credit when he was in a very bad place on his credit.

But, I didn't need therapy or antidepressants! And I'd better stay on the brand name drugs! Oh, and just in case I forgot how important those brand name meds were, he'd remind me of all the times He'd paid to get my prescription, just so I wouldn't run out! All four times. In 12 years.

I'm pissed right now. That's what I am! I'm not depressed (ok, maybe I am a little, but hey, who wouldn't be?). I'm not sad. I'm not lazy. I'm P. I. S. S. E. D. How dare he think that because he put a ring on my finger he automatically knows what's best for me or my body? I didn't assume that! I saw him yelling at his son and knew that was absolutely WRONG and that he, as the adult, was the one who needed to change that. I knew by the expression on his son's face that the yelling had to stop. I still haven't got it to stop completely, but it is less often and less loud and lasts for less time each time.

Why can't he see that I might just know my body and my mind better than him? What part of his personality thinks it's ok to tell me what I can and can't do (ie take antidepressants)? Where is HIS medical degree? Even if he had one, living with me is not an examination! I didn't tell H to stop being angry, I told him to get into therapy and work on that anger issue he had. I told him to see a professional! And because I have to go pretty frequently to doctors for my IBS, Thyroid, OBGYN needs, etc, I'm accused of going to the doctor every time I fart funny. REALLY???!!!???? At least I don't self-diagnose and assume I know better than those with college degrees! I'm not saying they're all good - there are a lot of quacks and pill-pushers out there. Give me some credit in having learned something in my 30 years as an adult. I can tell a quack from a good doctor. I can tell a quack therapist from one who is good. I do not need saving from myself! I need my husband to have a little faith in someone other than himself. I need him to have faith in ME!

But, if I say anything at home, I'm attacking him, picking a fight to get out of sex and/or proving his point that I should be on the brand name pills because if I had been this wouldn't have happened. TALK ABOUT A NO-WIN SITUATION!

Great. Now I'm just tired and depressed. I hate being in this situation. He thinks he's right because I didn't say anything the other day when that conversation happened. He thinks everything is all right because I haven't been 'too cranky' lately. As long as he gets sex tonight, he won't scratch any deeper into what's going on with me. He'll convince himself that all is well in the marriage. Unless I don't give him sex, then he'll ask. He won't do a single thing to encourage sex with me, he won't be tender or kind or gentle. He's buying dinner. It's been more than one night. Sex and we're ok. No sex and we're up all night until I give him an answer he'll accept of why he didn't get sex tonight. And he wonders why I dread sex with him sometimes. We're not alright, but I'm too tired for the fight. Am I wrong to give him sex just to get sleep? When we've already had this fight so many, many, many times before and it got us nowhere.

Later, journal. I know you can't answer my questions, but at least you were here to hear them and not judge my feelings as wrong, one by one.

Reading someone else's post reminded me of a very sad day. I'm warning you right now, this is a VERY TMI, personal story. If you don't want to know about feminine body functions, stop now and click away.

I was developing very young, compared to the average. By 11, I was in need of bras. My sister brought this to the attention of our mother. Who, begrudgingly, bought me two bras. That would have to last me. The summer before I turned 12, I was already a 'B' cup and getting negative attention from boys at school. I began hunching my shoulders and wearing baggy clothes. I stopped wearing shorts or skirts because my leg hair was so dark that everyone could see it. And, it was really thick over my entire legs. Even my arm hair was long, dark and noticeable. And our ancestry is Irish, English and German - most of my siblings were blonde haired and blue eyed!

So, I was a freak. I had too many freckles, dark hair EVERYWHERE and boobs within months. As if that was not enough, Mom basically went into hiding from me. I know, she had her own stuff going on - she and Dad were in the throws of a very ugly, contentious divorce. BUT, I was entering womanhood and the primary woman of my life (supposed to be) had no time for me. And Dad only noticed that I was hunching - kept asking me to stand up straight, care about my posture!

Then it happened. Quietly, sitting with my sister one morning, she noticed a stain on my pants when I stood up. That's right! My passage into womanhood was in the biggest phase.

My sister, God love and protect her up there in Heaven, was DELIGHTED! She wanted to celebrate her baby sister's first steps into adulthood! I wasn't even 12, so she was only 16 herself, but she had the forethought to take me into the bathroom and gently show me what I could do (pon or pad option - I was 11, I chose pads of course!). She helped me clean my stained undies and taught me how to install said pad (this was the really old days when they had straps and stuff!) for maximum comfort and coverage. Then, still smiling and excited for me, she brought me to the phone. She called our mother, who was at work. She told Mom the GREAT news. Mom at first didn't know why sis sounded excited. Then, sis suggested a 'FOO ladies party'. Mom blew that idea into the trash. Sis handed me the phone.

Here's what I got from my mother, who carried me in her womb for 9 months:

Mom (sounding like she was reading a script written by a two-year-old and pissed about it): Congratulations, Spin. Welcome to womanhood. I don't have time or money for a cake. Or supplies. You'll have to share with your sister. Put your sister back on the phone.

I began babysitting that summer. To my knowledge, my mother only had to buy supplies a dozen times during the rest of my adolescence in her home. I either babysat or bummed from sisters to get my 'lady supplies'.

I was told to wrap them up with toilet paper before disposing (not informed, told because I was WRONG) in the trash can. THEN, I was fussed at for using so much toilet paper. THEN, she complained about the odor, asking that, if I must do that, would I PLEASE take the trash can out to the (Apartment complex) dumpster?

She never did help with how to reduce the odor, what eating/drinking habits could make it better or worse, no help at all - just, 'You smell bad. Go take a shower.' Since she never taught me a routine for personal maintenance, I had to work one out for myself. Since she really stopped bothering much with me once I did hit puberty (except to parentify me or for me to serve her by rubbing her feet, etc), I had to figure my way to womanhood on my own.

My helpful, loving, supportive (heart-mother) sister moved away the following summer, never to return full time to either parent's home. I would only spend a week with her here or there, when she would pack as much love, fun, happiness, teaching as she could into those short 7 days. Eventually, when I was 16, sis would tell me some of the secrets to reducing odor, eating well, exercising, etc that helped me out a lot. She was flabbergasted that our mother never bothered. She had no idea that Mom had stopped being a Mom pretty much as soon as Dad left the marriage. Not that she was great before then, but at least she made more visible efforts before.

Anyway, the lack of knowledge I had about how to be a woman kept me mortified throughout my teen years. I was too embarrassed to ask my female friends - this is stuff I figured they'd already been told. AND, I was afraid that if I shared THAT personal of information deficit that they'd either take advantage of me like my other friend had done or blab to everyone what a stupid nincompoop I was for not even knowing about ....

Seeing the movie Carrie terrified me and exhilarated me at the same time - I knew exactly how Carrie felt. It wasn't fair that any girl should reach puberty with no female guidance or support. I cheered when Carrie got her revenge - having been on the receiving end of mean girl behavior my whole school career.

Anyway, it feels a little better to purge this particular memory. It hurts, but it's a good hurt, like taking a Band-Aid off a healed scab.

You know, sometimes I wonder if my C-PTSD isn't getting worse because of my marriage.

I know it doesn't help that I may be fawn/freeze variety and he sounds more like a fight/freeze (if that's a possibility).

My tendency is to prevent the ugly feelings in the first place - make everyone else happy and then they can't be mad at me. Do everything everyone else expects - sometimes anticipating before it's even expressed - as soon as it's expressed and plant a smile on my face if I have to. It doesn't even come into play about what I want until later, when I'm angry because nobody watches out for me or knows me so well that they do the same for me. Then, I feel like a skunk for caring about MY wants or needs and I 'run away and go hide' in plain sight. TV and computer games are my favorite hiding places.

The reason I think I may have some 'freeze' motivations on this is that I always make sure that I am 'interruptible', but if I get interrupted more than 2-3 times in an hour, I can feel the anger rising up. Can't they SEE that I'm DOING SOMETHING? I try to calm myself down with the reminder to myself that no, most people do not view watching TV or playing a computer game as actively 'doing something'. They don't understand that I'm really doing things while staring at these distractions. I'm zoning out and zooming into my own head.

And one reason I don't feel like I can talk about this except here is that many people looking in from the outside (especially my husband) would think I had a charmed childhood and a wonderful life - so what's to gripe about? The few I know who have sexual, physical or both abuse happening to them often don't realize that we who were just ignored (Just because it left no visible bruises) were injured also.

And, because 'Sally' couldn't help her condition or how she acted out, she was the only one in our family allowed to be genuine. She didn't have to shut up if she felt like being loud (not talking, just moaning and 'singing'). She didn't have to go to her room because the parents were tired of dealing with her. She didn't have to be punished if she hit me or bit me. In THOSE cases, *I* was punished because I MUST have done SOMETHING to upset HER!

I didn't get through childhood unscathed. But, it was minor compared to what my husband survived. Or my dear friend survived.

Into adulthood, I kept finding my way into situations where I ended up victimized. I never made that connection, really, until just now.

As a young adult, I fell in love for the first time. That man ended up telling me AFTER I was vested with him that he'd got another girl pregnant before we met and she'd decided NOT to put the child up for adoption - they were getting back together. I was heartbroken, but found myself trying to comfort HIM because his ex changed HER mind about adoption!  I was being dumped, under crappy circumstances and I couldn't even make it about myself!

Next wasn't even a romance, because I told a female friend of my crush on a fellow student (college). I hadn't acted on it, so she jumped in and 'hooked' him. He didn't know that I had wanted to date him. I watched their relationship through dating, engagement, living together, miscarriage (though honestly, I do still doubt if she was pregnant - she was the type to 'play that card' rather than lose the boy and he was on the verge of breaking off with her at that point), marriage, birth of a daughter and I lost touch with them shortly before the divorce. The last time I talked to him was to let him know I was so sorry that the marriage had failed. He sounded so bitter, and flat out told me that I need not bother calling again - it hurt too much to talk to me since I had been her friend.  Even the man's parents had pulled me to the side, questioned me about my feelings for their son and asked me to PLEASE stop that marriage as it was such a bad match. I had no voice with their son, so kept silent. When I was finally ready to talk, he couldn't hear me.

Shortly after that time, I found myself thinking a coworker was handsome. We were all young and sometimes would go to the club together after work. I would flirt with him and with some of the other young men, not wanting to give my crush away. One night, I finally worked up the courage to ask him to dance. We danced a little. All his friends and my friends were smiling, so I thought maybe this could be a good matchup. I asked him to drive me home (I had no car). Long story short, I was date-raped by a coworker. I had to go back to work after that. I could somewhat hide, but the fact that I became a total B**ch, completely unlike my usually sunny attitude, got my manager asking questions. When I told her what happened, she denied it, then tried to defend it (he'd been given an STD, then dumped by the giver) because my boss and he were friends. She didn't want me filing charges or a law suit against him. I knew about the STD, as soon as he was done he smiled and said, Oh, I just gave ****** to you, you're welcome.  I never did file charges, afraid that I'd lose my job if I did.

There were others who pushed past my 'no'. I never prosecuted them, thinking that maybe I was lying even to myself when I said no. Thinking that I was already damaged property and I should be glad ANY guy wanted to be with me. It got so bad that when a boss started to sexually harass me, I actually tried to convince myself that I loved him and wanted to be the 'other woman'. Until I couldn't even keep that lie going in my head. It wasn't true, and I finally stood up for myself. His answer, 'I hate it when things end. I would hate for this to end'. Finally, I realized that he was using me and would go on using me if I allowed it. I tried to think of a way out of all this, but by this time, my heart-Mom sister and heart-Dad brother had both died. I was an orphan with NO skill in handling this situation! My own mother wouldn't get past hearing adultery enough to hear that I was being forced in this situation, with the threat of job termination.

I became suicidal for the first real time in my life. At last I was willing to stand up for myself (the counseling I'd had did help me enough to grow some backbone, just not enough, soon enough). But, when I did, I was hit with this! After taking my state-required 3-day-vacation, and coming clean with my boss's boss (who sided with the man because they were best friends), I re-entered therapy. I wanted to shout from the rooftops 'THIS MAN IS AN A**! HIS WIFE KNOWS HE'S A CHEATER, SHE DOESN'T KNOW HE'S A RAPIST AND A BAST**D' But I couldn't.

So, I was primed and proven as one who takes crap and keeps coming back for more. Enter the husband.   

That'll have to be a post on another day.

I thought I was strong, strong enough to love this man and his family enough to look past the obvious rough edges. I figured, I'm a pretty damaged creature myself, who am I to judge?

My parents, my therapist, my friends were all worried about this relationship. He convinced me that if we were an item, we should be exclusive, after one date. I had no problem with that. Then, because we were exclusive, we should spend ALL our time together. Well, I wasn't exactly a party animal by this time, so sure. I didn't realize he really meant ALL our time until he would get angry about times I went to spend with my mother or my best friend instead of him. I was confused by that anger. I told him based on other things and this anger towards me that he needed help.

But, no matter HOW much I appeared to have things together, I had been trained to follow others' lead, to obey, to submit. I would give others the right to lecture me on their opinion and, unless it sounded like TOTAL BS, I'd go along. How I felt about it really wasn't the issue here.

************** The following is TMI, triggering and unless you really want to know, it's time to click away.  *************

The topic of anal sex came up. He was pro, I was con. He'd had it before, I never had. The few times I'd been asked, I said that since I was no virgin, I was saving that for my husband. It was an easy out as I knew those other men weren't interested in marrying me. Not so much with this man. He took my words literally, even after I explained that I had no interest and did not want to experiment. Even my gay brother didn't like it, so I didn't even feel bad about that one subject and being prudish!

We became sexually active together. He gave me a ring (discussed elsewhere - he called engagement, I said he was crazy, no way was I agreeing to marry him so quickly). I spent the night at his place. After a week of this, I started relaxing and we were doing well together. Until the night I woke up and he had violated me anally as I slept. To this day, I do NOT know how he did that, but he was happily banging away and had completed before I really comprehended what was happening. I jumped out of the bed, called my friend and asked if I could go to her place. My house had no water or I would have gone home.

He begged me not to leave. I calm down some and agree to stay the rest of the night. I go to my friend's house the next day. He calls and calls and I won't talk to him. I don't tell my friend what he'd done, I don't file charges. Two days later, I get the water fixed and move back to my house. When I & my best friend go to his house to gather my few belongings there, he gets me in the bedroom where he begins telling me all about the abuse he suffered as a child. He's weeping, telling me he's broken and he's sorry and it'll never happen again. I can't even listen because I'm getting ready to give in. His daughter stops me, crying for all she's worth, begging me not to leave her Daddy or her. I almost cave, but am glad I had my friend with me, so I'd have the strength to walk out.

When he began love-bombing me at my house, I was distraught. I'd already been in my home, alone, sad and depressed over a messed-up relationship. I wasn't suicidal this time, just really, really sad. And a little bit angry. How dare he? I kept telling him there is NO way I am getting back with him. Ever! How could he think what he did was ok? Because he put a ring on my finger? *, no.

Then, I read the letter his daughter had written. She was taking blame on herself for not being kind enough to me, thinking she or her brother had ANYTHING to do with this. He couldn't exactly tell his daughter he anally raped his fiancé in their home. The sad part was, neither could I. I knew if I filed charges, he'd go to jail and lose custody of his children and possibly lose his disability. As upset as I was, I wasn't sure I had it in me to destroy this family even if it was my right. And the tears of his daughter, so undeserved, broke my heart. I went back into that relationship because of the children. It wasn't their fault that their father was a rapist and a pig. But, I was the one choosing to marry him! I DID have to live with that, knowing what he did.

Over the years, I've run the gamut on this one issue. It has been the defining issue to me. He, in contrast to his promises, brings it up every so often, going into a long phase of wanting, asking, begging, demanding and sometimes taking anal sex from me. I gave in a few times. Before childbirth, it was uncomfortable and he was too rough with me, so I still didn't want it. After childbirth it plain hurt. He doesn't believe me when I tell him this.

This is the issue that got me to a lawyer's office. He has pushed past my no more than once since we got married. I told him over a year ago that I've had enough. There will be no more or I will leave him. It is that simple. He behaved for a while, understanding that I will NOT kid, I would rather be a single mother than be raped again. By my husband.

But, it's been a few months since the last lawyer visit, so now he thinks he's safe again. And he's trying again. And he thinks I'm too stupid to realize what he's doing. And I'm ready to leave again. Only, this time, I have all the information I need and he will be homeless and broke if he's not careful.

His first wife was brutal emotionally to him when she was ready to leave. I've tried not to be, but he's really driving me to the point where he refuses to get it unless you shove it in his face and peel his eyes open so he MUST see it. This is not my nature! I hate this situation. Why can't he understand that if he can't leave my * alone that he better leave me or I'll leave him. My * does NOT belong to him. He does NOT have a right to 'tap that' because he gets it in his mind that he wants to. There is NO love in a heart that would force or coerce a spouse into doing something that has already traumatized her enough to leave you before AND has told you that it hurts and please stop and I'm going to file for divorce if you don't quit!

He wants what he wants when he wants it and I'm done! I'm done! I tell you I am absolutely done with this man.

I'm tired of always considering the consequences to him and to his/our children and to everyone else but ME! DAMN. I am, too, allowed to count. My feelings DO TOO matter. I do not have to remain married to a rapist because he doesn't like the term! And I don't have to wait until he actually rapes me again to get out!

HOW did I let this get this bad? Why couldn't I listen to myself, my family, my friends? Why did I have to let the tears of one child trump everything I knew and send me into a marriage that at best was only ok. I've not been shown love. I have a hard time showing my husband love. I know why, but how do you explain that to his family, your family? I married him after he raped me. I stayed after he raped me again. He is a rapist and he's willing to try again to get what he wants.

QuoteHOW did I let this get this bad? Why couldn't I listen to myself, my family, my friends? Why did I have to let the tears of one child trump everything I knew and send me into a marriage that at best was only ok. I've not been shown love. I have a hard time showing my husband love. I know why, but how do you explain that to his family, your family? I married him after he raped me. I stayed after he raped me again. He is a rapist and he's willing to try again to get what he wants.

:hug: You couldn't listen to yourself because you'd been conditioned not to listen to yourself, all throughout your childhood.  Being raised in an abusive environment (and neglect IS abuse) makes you vulnerable to other abusers.  I know, because I've fallen into a similar trap (only this was an abusive friend, so easier to break it off with legally speaking).  The cycle of abuse is primed to hoover you back in, show you love and kindness just when you're starting to think "no, this really isn't right," and cut you off from any other support.  From everything in this post, it sounds like a fairly textbook abusive relationship.  Which is to say - you're not at fault.  This happens to a lot of people (unfortunately) and people to whom it hasn't happened can't really understand, and a lot of them seem to lack the empathy to try.  Good for you in seeing the signs and being strong and finding the will to get out.  You can do this!  :cheer:

Thank you, Feather! I'm so sorry you know from first-hand experience. Nobody should have to know these things.

But, I'm going to choose to be a survivor.

I can't talk about these things with my friends or family. I've come too close to leaving before, and stayed. They will support me, but they will not put up with the push/pull in/out anymore. Once I'm out, they'll have my back. They've already told me that.

I can't talk about these things around work because I've already had several meltdowns and only gone into therapy once (three visits with husband, where I didn't feel safe bringing up this issue, so I let husband control the convo - around my supposed selfishness financially). Work wants me happy, but THEY can't deal with the highs & lows of this rocky marriage and how it affects me anymore. They have already worked with me and promised they would work with me more in the future if I needed it. But, like my family and friends - it's time to pee or get off the pot.

So, I'm so grateful to have this website and this journal. I can tell it and all of you EVERYTHING. Even the parts I won't tell others. Even the parts I hesitate to tell therapists. I'd rather be seen as the 'bad guy' then to admit just how bad it's been. I did tell husband when I saw the lawyers, but he's pretty sure he's got me locked down and broke and under his thumb again. I've let him believe that - it's the only reason I get any peace at all at home.

What's so sad is just how much happier, even if more stressed, I envision my life without the husband in it. I'm going to go broke. I'm going to likely end up in bankruptcy. That's still preferable than remaining married to this man. Type the words, Wife2. Read them, Wife2. Believe them and then ACT ON THEM, Wife2.

Thanks, again, Featherfalling!

 :hug: to you, wife#2. Big hugs.

I think over at OOTF there are quite a few people who have also gone through divorce-proceedings in similar situations like you. But I trust you already know this.
And I'm happy to read that your friends and family will in the end back you up. You probably have to forget his family, they will not accept he is a rapist. And he will deny that, as he shows by his actions. So unfortunately they will probably back him up.
But you know the truth of the matter. And so do I.

Best wishes,
Dutch

Dutch,

His children, my stepchildren, are the only ones I care about. I understand that they will be torn by his enforcement of loyalty, and that they love both of us. They know their father is no saint. He's made it pretty clear that he had a horrible childhood and that they have it so much better than he did. They've seen what I've put up with just on the day-in-day-out relationship. They will not be shocked and I will not tell them the real reason I'm leaving.

His siblings (both parents died before I met him) want communication with him, but that is toxic and he has rejected that. I don't know them, nor do I care about anything they've got going on, including their opinion of me or of their brother.

I am blessed to have family that will back me. I will have consequences and a lot of getting used to the new situation and the fact that he will do all he can to get me back into the relationship. The declarations of love I fell for before, but no longer believe. But, I will know that my family will have my back.

Ironically, my parents will be there for me, also. Not financially, that boat sailed many decades ago, but they will (finally?) be emotionally supportive of my decisions. I may even begin existing in their worlds again. I won't hold my breath. My brother (the one who was a total jerk to me in childhood) and his wife will be there, likely trying to get ahold of my son, but being uplifting and supportive the whole way.

And, yes, I'm a regular at OOTF under a different name. Done because I was afraid I'd waiver and give H this website to help him. Or that he'd find it on his own - not likely but possible.

Thank you for the support and the hug! It meant a lot, really!

You have survived so much. Somehow you managed to be self-sufficient, maintain gainful employment and even buy a house. You can correct me if I'm wrong, but from what you said I gather your financial difficulties are a result of this marriage. Regarding Wife#1, there are two sides to every story. You have already caught your husband slandering you and lying to your face. Everything he told you about Wife#1 could be a lie. Is Wife#1 still alive? How did he get the children? Not his "story" the truth and why was his daughter so distraught at the prospect of your leaving? Now think of your child. Is your child safe? Really? Does your doctor know H is responsible for your IBS? Will your doctor testify in a court of law on your behalf? Rapists don't stop just because you want them to. If you don't prosecute him for your own sake, think of what he may have already done to his own daughter and the danger your child is currently in. This man is a predator and I'm sorry it's up to you to take a stand against such a monster. If you really can't find it in yourself to do what's best for you, think of a ferocious mother bear protecting the life of her cubs and do the right thing for your child. I'm so sorry all this has happened to you and I pray you find the strength to get yourself and your child out of this *. You are a human being you have the right to be safe and respected. Rape Abuse & Incest National Network https://rainn.org/  or 800-656-HOPE   https://youtu.be/fv3LoU5ovbI

Danaus,

Thank you so much for making me face the reality of my words. No, I am certain that he has not touched his daughter improperly - though there was a time I wondered. I've had enough frank talks with her since then (she was engaged and we discussed emotional/sexual relationships in THAT context). I do feel certain that my child and his previous marriage children are/were/will be safe in THAT regard. Emotionally, not so much.

As to why first wife left, I've eventually got what I believe to be the truth. She is/was addicted to alcohol and drugs. He was addicted to them, but quit only when employment would be impossible. She stayed at home with the kids, he was a control freak, she got fed up and left him. The kids went to be with their dad mostly because the man wife1 left with was worse than either parent, so they bailed on Mom to get away from him. She is still alive. We can talk and be friendly, especially with regard to her kids - she knows I'd do just about anything to keep her children safe and well. We're good with each other, but we'll never be friends. It's easier now that both kids are adults.

The fiancé between wife1 and me is a mystery. She died before H and I were married a year. I have only H and the kids' stories about her. The kids LOVED her, supposedly so did H. But, she wouldn't divorce her husband due to her cancer diagnosis, custody of their daughter and other financial reasons. I have my theory about what happened, why she went from loving fiancé to no contact. I believe, after putting the stories from H and the kids together in my head, that he pressured her for sex - regular and anal, even when she was taking chemotherapy. I believe he really tried to make her feel bad if she wouldn't give in. I believe she caved too many times and began to resent him. The day she ended it, he had visited her in the hospital. I believe he tried to 'get romantic' there in the hospital and she had enough. She waited until her mother was in the room, had her mother call security to remove him and never spoke to him again. It's the only thing that makes sense.

Also, spousal rape is very difficult to prove. The local statute of limitations is expired on the pre-marital event. There were some times before DS8 was born that I did agree to it (or was seriously pressured into agreeing to it). Since DS8's birth, I have not agreed to it.  My OBGYN is very aware of my distaste for anal as I have repeatedly asked him for some 'medical' excuse to give my husband - believing that husband would honor that. My OBGYN was honest that there is no real medical reason to give, but that H and I should talk if this is an ongoing issue (he's met my husband, but still said that to me).

The IBS is not attributable to H. I had that diagnosis in my 20's. I've tried to explain to H that the IBS with diarrhea means that I am not a good candidate for anal anyway. He placates me until I start acting like I'm staying, then he starts again with his 'needs'. I get close to filing for a divorce, and he's back to being the thoughtful husband.

He knows he's the one who suffers if I divorce him. I will be OK. Between family and friends, co-workers and church folks, I'll make it. My DS8 will make it. We'll be all right. Even if I have to see him every other weekend for DS8's visitation. We'll be all right. I may be broke, but I'll be all right. I've been broke before. I survived then. I can make DS8's life as good as possible and we'll be fine. I'm going to keep typing that and re-read that until I believe it in my deepest heart reaches.

Got a few minutes - posting a quick memory.  The last time I saw Sally alive (emotional flashbacks with triggers for me):

Time before last:

Dad was still living in the small town where the divorce took place. He hadn't yet remarried, which puts me around 12-13. So, Sally was about 13-14. Once before this, Dad and Stepmom and I drove to the institution where Sally lived. It was a great place, one of the best in the whole country. Dad was able to be relaxed about this place, because of the quality of care he knew Sally was getting.

So, the three of us drive the hour to the center, then wait about half an hour before they bring us in to her room. It's a nice room, it looks a lot like my sister's dormitory at college. Sally is there. She knows Dad and has apparently taken well to Stepmom, but she doesn't know me. I had only been there twice in 5 years, once with Mom and once with Dad. Anyway, the visit goes well. Sally isn't sure she likes me, but as long as Pepsi is part of the deal, she's fine with me around. She does her best to remain the center of attention, as if that was going to be an issue. The trip WAS all about her. Dad was just trying to see that his two youngest daughters got along.

Since that trip went well, Dad tried again a few months later. It's near both of our birthday (same month, less than a year apart), so Dad figures we could do a small party at his apartment. Since that earlier trip, he's been bringing her to his apartment for day-trip visits. Dad gets me from my mother's house. Then, drives all the way (three hours) to get Sally. Then, the hour back to his apartment. Again, as long as Pepsi is involved and Dad and Stepmom are there, Sally is ok with all this.

But, when we get to his apartment and I stay with everyone else, things are now not according to the pattern. I am a problem to her. She begins grunting and biting herself (she'd done this as a kid a lot, I'd seen her hand and it was nearly healed) and rocking. These are all Sally's high-stress signals. Not seeing them was more rare than seeing them in my experience. And, sure enough, here we were again.

I start to cry. My sister hates me. Dad is torn, his two babies can't even be in the same room together. It's time to drive Sally back home. She never even took her jacket off. I stay at Dad's apartment, I have nowhere else to go anyway and she will NOT tolerate me in the car anymore. After they leave, I cry to my stepmother about how Sally has always hated me. She tries to calm me, but she has no idea what it's like for me. I'm maybe 13 and my own flesh & blood sister hates me. As much as she loves our Dad, she won't stay with HIM because of ME.

After that, I decide as such a mature person (NOT), that I will love her, but that I don't want to put myself OR her through that again. She's told me as plainly as if she had words how she felt about me. The scariest part to me was that Dad's words later that weekend SOUNDED like he was consoling me, but it still came across as MY FAULT things went so disastrously.

Fast forward to her funeral.

Sally passed away in her sleep early one evening, not long after my brother died. Sally was the third of my siblings to die. I was 34, she was 35. I knew I would be driving Mom to the town. I hadn't been back, didn't even know that Sally had been in a half-way house, let alone where it was. I made good on never visiting her again. Dad and Stepmom had been in control of everything, even already having a burial plot for her in case they died before she did - she'd be taken care of. Mom and I drove up - six hours from where we now live.

I am eat up with guilt and doing my best to be by my Mom's side since we are literally in Stepmother's family territory. Mom is so deeply on the defensive and I can't blame her a bit. She was not included in any of the decisions related to Sally, not one. She was told about a few, but not included. So, she's been made to feel useless and interfering, enough to trigger any woman who's just lost her third child, let alone a uBPD mother! Mom may have her own issues going on, but I'm deeply sympathetic to her situation. My sympathy actually costs me in the eyes of my siblings, which is a dynamic I never do sort out.

At the funeral, Mom and I feel so DISincluded that we sit at the back of the church. THIS IS MY MOTHER'S CHILD! The one for whom she'd done 35 years of penance in her heart! And SHE was made to feel like an interloper on the family pew?! So, my chips are on my shoulder as it is. Then, Dad gives his eulogy. It's beautiful. He starts crying, which of course gets all of us children crying. But, something starts pricking at me. And it hurts! Wait, this man is speaking as if this girl NEVER hurt A FLY.... So, what am I? I mean really? She kicked, bit, punched me to get me away from her. All of my memories of her are of an angry face. I didn't even know she COULD smile until I saw pictures later. I didn't know she could be warm and welcoming - I'd never experienced that with her. He says she loved everyone (not me) and was a spiritually pure person (really? maybe to you!).

He spoke as if she'd never had a cross thought or action towards anyone her whole life. I had enough. I was hurt. He was lying, but he believed his lies! To him, that IS who she was. All those years when, for MY SAFETY, they had to institutionalize her weren't her fault, so whose fault were they? MINE? REALLY? Blame the victim?

For once in my life, I was angry enough to confront my father. Not at the funeral. I was already decidedly in Camp Mom, therefore ostracized enough. I waited until I got home, and like a chicken, wrote a scathing letter to him. I poured my heart out, all the hurt, guilt for not living up to the standards of Sally, guilt for being the cause of Sally NOT being in the family home all those years, anger at him making me feel that guilt, anger at the lies as if what I remember didn't even happen. That was the beginning of the end of the close relationship (as if we'd already had one) between me and Dad. He called when he got the letter, full of tears, tears that he hurt me so badly, but also tears of frustration - I WAS just like my mother, it seems.

The terms he used, I've found out were pretty passive-aggressive non-apologies. 'I'm sorry you feel that I hurt you so badly by being honest at the funeral'. I'm sorry you think we weren't there for you (In my head screaming - then DO something about it!). I'm sorry you think I was a lousy Dad - that one really got to me. I loved my Dad so much and wanted his acknowledgment that I mattered so badly, that I tried to take back every harsh thing I'd written. Honestly, he wasn't so much a lousy dad as an absent dad - to me at least. He did the right things and said the right things when he was there, he just wasn't there much.

Anyway, since then, I've been an outsider in the family. I guess we're not supposed to express our negative emotions. Dad and I still talk. I still love him and his wife. I've since come to understand more about my mother's uBPD, though I knew a lot about that anyway (I'd already been in therapy several times). I knew that Mom was an issue, but she didn't deserve the treatment she got from my STEPMOTHER's family at that funeral. THEY hadn't had to deal with what Mom dealt (or failed, but that's not THEIR business) with. THEY hadn't had to feel the blame wash off Dad all over Mom. I could feel it, some was directed at me for not visiting my sister (??!!??).

The event of my sister's death and my reaction against my Dad about the eulogy have driven a wedge between me and the rest of my family. I am on the outside, desperately confused about why, because it had already been there for years, deeply sad and lonely because of the rift.

I had thought that maybe, just maybe, I would be redeemed when I had my son. Maybe, they would deem HIM worthy of family-hood with them. Nope, because he's my son, he's not worth the time, money or effort to drive to see, though my niece, who lives farther away than I do, IS worth the drive.

I am not a member of my family of origin, but nobody had the BALLS to say it to my face. They just disappear until their guilt gets too strong and they feel they HAVE to invite me (like Mother's Day). Outside of those few times, they act as if the biggest favor I could do them all is to die - and take my H with me, so they could get their hands on my son and raise him 'the right way'.

All this went on before I met my husband, before I was sexually harassed by a boss, before I was suicidal and depressed (that was a long time ago, I'm not that depressed now). I've felt like an outcast, like I didn't fit, like my brother (the golden child to both parents) was right when he said - of course you're adopted, you sure don't belong HERE with US!

I'm not so sure why this is playing on my heart so strongly. It's mostly that I can't get that image of Sally biting her hand, jacket still on, rocking like she'd done as a kid and feeling like I'd never be good enough to my Dad or my sister, or anybody. All I can think right now is how that was a seminal moment in my life - pointing out to me how family would always side against me. Even Mom unless I was defending her. But, her I can blame the uBPD for her stuff. What was it that convinced the siblings who remain that I am too damaged and too whatever to be worth relationship with? I keep coming back to that. What did I do wrong and how can I fix it so that I can have a family other than my husband?

My brother once verbally attacked my husband because my sister didn't like how he answered her question (long story). Point is, he didn't know what was going on, only that my sister and my husband were having words - in MY hotel room! GC brother charges in there, blasting my husband verbally, not even stopping to ask what was going on. He was justified in his mind because 'We defend our own in THIS family, buster'. Oh, really? Is that a fact? Just more proof that I was NOT a member of THIS family - my feelings have been trampled so many times, I just put a carpet over them. The last time I was at GC's house, he and his wife ganged up on me because I'm not 'of the family faith'. So, my inability to declare Mary a perpetual virgin and sinless (supposedly only Jesus managed that) and also ascended into Heaven means I don't deserve to be in the family? I didn't become an atheist, just a regular Christian (Sorry to those Roman Catholics out there - great religion, glad I had it growing up, but just couldn't take a vow that my faith included every piece of RC dogma).

But, I still want in the family! I still so desperately WANT them to love me, to count ME worthy. Knowing I'll never get it, I still weep with the wanting of a family I knew had my back (I say they do, they say they do, it hasn't been proven yet, I'm nearly 50). I STILL want my Dad to acknowledge that he was absent during my childhood and chose to be absent during my young adult years. I want to hear him say that he was wrong to put so much emotional and geographical distance between us and that he's sorry. BUT HE'S NOT, so that would be a lie.

Ok, I'm done with my rant. And my tears (for a while).

Ok, starting to get a time-line to help me understand...
* At birth, given to Godparents for three weeks, until Mom can be released from hospital.
* At three weeks, brought into the home. Immediately apparent to adults that sibling (Sally) does not want this baby in the house. She's just over a year old herself.
* Dad and Mom have no idea how to cope with Sally, let alone a baby YOUNGER than Sally, along with all the other children.
* Parents realize that institutionalization may be the only answer for Sally, to help me (I'm not thriving). Possible source of walls between Dad and me? Blaming me since the family worked until I was there?
* The year of the accidents, I'm one of the first to injure myself that year (fell, stitches to chin). The medical bills convince depressed Dad to attempt suicide. Now, he's even more depressed, having added to his expenses.
* Teasing by brother - mean in tone and constant and nobody tells him to stop, so I believe what he tells me. I'm stupid, don't belong in this family, was found and adopted. He is the second sibling to get away with hitting me. I fight back with him, though - often landing us both in trouble.
* Not sure about details, but was VERY skinny growing up. Dad recently commented that he wondered what was wrong, but nobody took me to a doctor. I've seen pictures, I was VERY skinny. Perhaps believing brother, chose not to waste family resources by eating very much? Certainly still failure to thrive at 7 years old. But, I'm smart so the parents figure it's all ok. I do remember clearly that it was a fend-for-yourself dinner table in our house. We often had company. I was the youngest and smallest. Mom was too busy helping Sally (back in the home) to notice if I didn't get enough to eat. Dad, when he was there, was usually talking with the older kids at the other side of the table and didn't notice.
* Oldest two sisters left to care for us youngers while Mom and Dad go out. Oldest fixes pot pies in the oven. They give me mine first and I take it to the living room instead of the kitchen or dining room. It flips into my lap as I sit, giving me 3rd degree burns on the inside of both thighs. The sisters do all they can think of to help me, but no doctor is called. The parents return home. There is nothing to be done at this point, the blisters are already over 2" high on each leg. They do take me to a doctor the next day. As Mom said, nothing to be done except keep the legs clean and dry until the blisters drain on their own. Mean brother finds this absolutely hysterical and wastes no time teasing me about my 'leaky' legs and walking funny. At 7, I'm asked to sit on a training potty instead of the sofa in case my blisters leak.
* Summers of the Spanish boys - no memories while earlier years are clear.
* Summer Mom runs away from all of us, to cousins in another state.
* Summer Mom brings all us kids to same cousins, we kids are left to make friends with these cousins and entertain ourselves - Mom is NOT here for family building with us.
* Moved from a big city to a very, very, very small township (One blinking light on the highway only). Now, I feel like a foreigner in my family and I am a foreigner in school. Heart-parents are with me on that move. They have their own troubles and start spending less time with me. Mean-teasing brother now too occupied with his friends to pay any attention to me, mean or not.
* Mom and Dad divorce. We lose the house we're living in (big whup - didn't care about the house, but will miss the woods). The new house Mom moves to is quiet, nice and dark. Then, the fleas take over. Within a year, Mom and I move to another city, smaller than the earlier one - she can't sell the house because of the fleas, they're that bad. She blames Dad because he divorced her.
* Mom's boss's daughter molests me during a sleep-over.
* Mom and I are in an outdoor drama production. One of the men in the cast tries to molest me. Though I'm only 12, Mom allows me and a boy in the cast to 'date' as her way of keeping me safe. Because we're 'dating', he believes it's ok to feel me up and kiss me. Eventually, he tries to coerce me into sex. That doesn't work, but I still feel used by him. It's a small town and he's happy to tell all the boys how far he got with me - and that my Mom KNEW! I was actually thankful when Mom moved. And that mean bro stayed with our Dad.
* It's just Mom and me in this city. We have no extended family or support. I get into fights at school, and it's because I don't fit in well - the other kids pick them and I just don't back down.
* I'm convinced the house Mom chose is haunted. I think it's a girl living in the attic - but strangely feel comforted when I sit in the attic. That is the summer of the peeping tom, the break-ins and the peeping tom who breaks in. Mom doesn't believe until she has no choice. My word alone is not enough. She only believes when SHE is face-to-face with one of them.
* We move again. Same city, but puts me in a different school district. I'm starting all over again. She now has support network of friends.  I like her friends, so this is ok.
* Mom begins to travel for work. I'm 15 (my 15th birthday) and being left home alone. She's told my siblings, who call, send cards (one sent a balloon bouquet). Mean brother drives from military base nearby, arrives drunk, orders me around (my best friend was staying with me), treats my friend like a problem - even though he didn't tell Mom he was coming and certainly didn't tell her he'd be drunk.
* I have to walk to work, school, home wherever, unless Mom feels like helping. I sometimes respect that as teaching me that my choices have consequences (OK, I oversleep, I walk to school). Other times, I can't believe that she'd rather some person she's never met drive me home late at night after work than for her to get off the sofa and get me.
* At college, I finally start having boyfriends. I wouldn't know a healthy relationship if it was right in front of me. First boyfriend from another country (NOT Spain). We visit Mom, she lands in hospital because of ?heart attack? No, acid reflux. When we get back to school, boyfriend dumps me. Begins seeing a friend of mine - they're engaged within weeks.
* First therapist. One visit. Wants to put me on an antidepressant, no follow-up appointment. I don't fill the prescription.
* First love, very intense, before the end of my freshman year, he dumps me for his ex-girlfriend, mother of his baby which is due in weeks. I cry for him and the baby, not for myself being dumped. I begin journaling for the first time in years, at the suggestion of my sister/Heart-Mom.
* Mom moves to a different state. My sister helps her. My stuff is thrown into trash bags for the move. Over summer break, I go to the new place and try to sort out my stuff. I get a job. Again, I have to walk or ride a bus or catch a ride. I managed.
* Brother that I consider heart-Dad writes family, coming out of the closet. This surprises nobody, but still causes LOTS of drama in the family. Dad rejects him, GC military bro follows suit, begins telling people he has 6 sisters. Tension is high between those who support Gay Bro and those who reject him. I'm in the support team.
* Heart bro defaults on loan from Dad. Dad uses this as excuse to stop paying for my college. I am homeless. I ask Dad to live with him - NO. I ask Mom to live with her - NO. Heart bro? Sorry, would if I could. Heart sis - OK, but only for a few months. I'm not homeless. (Best 6 months of my young adult life there - sis had her own issues and demons, but is wonderfully helpful and supportive to me - teaching me lots about being an adult woman.
* I move with college friend, fellow drop-out, to a new city where I know nobody. Situation is toxic and gets worse. I end up homeless and scrambling 5 times in 3 years there. Keeping a job is hard when I have no transportation.
* One of my coworkers date-rapes me and laughs that he's just given me AIDS. (Fortunately not true). I decide not to prosecute as I did let him in my apartment - too hard to prove and this was before date-rape was known to happen so much.
*After three years of struggles, Mom lets me move to her town and split bills. There are rules, I agree to her terms. Anything to get away from that city and that co-worker!
* New friend leads me down dangerous path, keeping up with her frantic lifestyle. I end up pressured into sex with boys I hardly know. One rapes me, but I'm afraid to do anything about it. His Dad is powerful preacher in town and I'm a newbie. I'm convinced by this friend to stay quiet.
* Heart sister and Heart brother both diagnosed with AIDS.
* Heart sister dies. So much to that simple sentence, but that is the basic fact.
* Begin toxic relationship that leaves me reeling and ready to be single for the rest of my life before I go through THAT again. Suffer his paranoia, inappropriate suggestions, push-pull, lies designed to 'test' me, finally have enough and end it.
* Enter therapy for real - got to get a grip!
* Work in toxic environment - boss is raging racist and bigot of many flavors - I have trouble keeping my mouth shut. End up being fired. Don't pursue wrongful termination suit as I don't have the money for a lawyer.
* Find out that boss was well connected - have trouble getting a full-time job. End up evicted several times.
* FINALLY land a full-time job. After a few years there, feel safe enough and built up credit enough to buy my house. Boss begins sexually harassing me. I succumb, even trying to convince myself I WANT the relationship. That fails. The harassment goes on for years. I finally break it off. He makes it clear my job is on the line. I don't blink. I instead check myself into a mental health facility with his abuses as my reason for feeling suicidal. It's now in the open. He and the business owner give lip service to being concerned, but when I'm released, do nothing.
* During this time, my heart-brother and Sally both die. Like Heart-sister, I will have to handle heart-brother's death in another post.
* Start dating now H. He anally rapes me. I leave. He convinces me to go back to him.
* I marry my husband within 4 months of first date. Shortly before our first wedding anniversary, I lose a baby to miscarriage. As soon as I return to work afterward, I'm put on notice and then 'laid off' (to prevent a wrongful termination suit).
* Find another job (still there!) within weeks. H and I struggle with family dynamics and our relationship. I struggle with stepson because of his foul, rude mouth.
* We decide we should sell one house and only keep the other. His is a mobile home and under a rent-to-own with his (I'm serious) ex-wife's step-mother. She won't let me be on the lease. My home is a brick ranch with a 30 year mortgage. He's already under bankruptcy, I'm not. I want us to take our time and think about the best move for everyone. He decides on a Wednesday that we're moving to my house that Saturday. This so stuns me, I tell him I'd rather divorce him than ruin his life and his future plans like this (as I had been assured such a move would do). Instead of waiting until that Saturday, he has his kids and a friend move us while I'm at work the next day.
* For the next three years, everything that goes wrong or is frustrating at all is blamed on MY house and therefore is MY fault. I'm so beat down that at one point, I search the records to find out if we can buy *HIS* house back. I look for properties that can be *ours*. He won't move but he wont' stop complaining, either. I'm so beat down that I'm willing to do anything to have peace again. HE takes advantage and insists that it is his right to have anal again.
* Until our son is born, he enforces this right from time to time. After our son is born, I finally put a stop to it. He threatens to get it elsewhere if I won't. I tell him that's fine as long as he doesn't mind that being brought up as the cause for our divorce.
* H will only back down from anal sex if I threaten divorce. It's only been since Christmas that he tried again and I saw a lawyer again. He's bringing it up and he's going to wonder WHY I'm ready to see a lawyer again.

After really looking at the big picture of my life, no wonder I feel like a used-up, dirty and unwanted string mop-head. Used, but not even respected for what I can do, just railed against for what I can't, then left sitting in dirty water to figure my own way out.

Oh, yippie - Dad forwarding some prayer email to me at work.

Your title, "that's not so bad, right?" says to me that mixed in with all that - as if THAT weren't enough - you've had your feelings invalidated. To invalidate a child is to keep her from learning to know how she feels, and to trust her own feelings. Or express them in a loving, supportive relationship. Or have them met.

Big hugs to you, should you want them. I'm sorry the child that grew up feeling unloved had so few people she could turn to.

Thank you so much, Three Roses. I'm a big-time hugger! So, thank you for those cyber-hugs, thank you very much.

It took me several tries over three hours to post that post. I've just read over it. You know, you hear those statistics on molestation and rape. For someone who grew up thinking I'd beat the odds, I really didn't, did I? Of course, I was in total denial about (I'll call her Bev, Mom's boss' daughter) what happened with Bev, and even though I was only 12, I considered the cast-member boy a boyfriend. He was just getting what he could and compliant little me went along for the molestation! I guess I was considering that I wasn't stranger-raped before I turned 18 to think I was so lucky.

But, I have been raped twice as an adult, and coerced into agreeing countless times. I think I owe my inner child a whole lot more love and a voice that can be heard!

I'm going to ask this somewhere else also, since this is my personal journal, but - Could part of the reason I struggle with honoring other people's boundaries stem from the fact that I was not allowed boundaries as a child? This is something that can be learned, right? Please say right!

Quote from: Wife#2 on June 23, 2016, 02:21:17 PM
I'm going to ask this somewhere else also, since this is my personal journal, but - Could part of the reason I struggle with honoring other people's boundaries stem from the fact that I was not allowed boundaries as a child? This is something that can be learned, right? Please say right!

I'll answer it here: Right!  :thumbup:

I'm impressed by your journal. May it be of aid in your recovery/healing journey. I'm pretty sure it will.

:hug: from me to you too.

Thank you, Dutch!  :hug: Right back at you!

I was re-reading some of the posts I've written. I'm still not ready to post about the death of my heart-mom sister or my heart-dad brother. I really don't have the words just yet. I'm also trying to get what really happened straight, given that both times were full of conflicting information in my memory.

One part I can talk about, the part that has impacted me the hardest and has landed me in counseling twice (once with the fool who just like to read my writings), is the situation between me and Mom after the death of heart-Mom sis. I don't remember what name I gave her elsewhere, I think it was Missy. Anyway, I'm going to call her Missy and my brother, the kind one, I'll call Jack.

So, Jack had moved to the same town as me and Mom shortly before Missy died. Jack and Missy were best friends as well as siblings. He would have moved nearer to her, but she was married, and already obviously dying and Jack knew he'd eventually need our support, so he moved here.

When Missy did die, Jack and I were devastated. I don't care if you know something is coming, it's still horrible. Heart wrenching! I'd lost grandparents, but we hadn't been close. This was the first close death I'd suffered through. Jack was absolutely beside himself. Knowing that he had the same disease that killed her, it was just beyond words. He suffered so deeply. All I could do was let him know I was there if he wanted me, I'd console him as best as I could. He ran away, physically, to be near friends. He landed in the hospital - I think ready to die himself. But, he didn't. He did choose life, which lasted 9 more years, for which I'm grateful.

Anyway, Mom and me. Oh, how horrible. I was compassionate. She had just lost a daughter. No parent should have to bury a child. That's just wrong! Even with all the compassion I could muster, I could not help her through it, though. And, showing her compassion seemed to negate any need that I may have had for comforting. It was a pretty bad one-way street emotionally.

Jack was also hurting very badly. I tried my best to comfort him, but I was just not Missy. He and I did become closer, but it was never as close as the two of them had been. He and I did help each other tremendously through that time and I'm grateful for the sibling camaraderie we shared.

I got into therapy, realizing that I had to have someone *I* could talk to. That helped. Jack got himself into therapy. That helped him. Mom, she went to a therapist, who decided a month into her treatment plan to only handle children. So, instead of finding another therapist, she just let him monitor her Prozac prescription and went on. Seriously. She went once a month for her meds. When he stopped carrying Prozac at his practice and had to write her a prescription, instead of giving her samples each month, he reduced the 'visits' to once every six months. Then, once a year and only to write the prescription for her.

Her depression was palpable. I understood that. I tried to help, but I couldn't be daughter AND therapist. Jack couldn't be son AND therapist. So, both of us took care of our mother the best we could, the best we knew how. The strain was tough of both of us. Jack even commented that it was rougher on me, he could tell, because she and I lived together. I had to move out to save myself. So, I did. Under pretty bad circumstances, because I wasn't ready yet. But, I spent lots of time back at Mom's place, being there for her.

It was not long after this that my niece came for her first ever visit with her grandmother. Well, that was a disaster. Mom wasn't healthy enough for herself, she sure couldn't be there for her granddaughter. I ended up having her (let's call her Alice) stay the rest of the trip with me. My sister, her mother, was disgusted. Alice was disgusted. I was pretty disgusted myself. The event that caused Alice to call me and prefer to stay in my apartment by herself while I worked rather than with my Mom came when Alice asked Mom to go for a walk. Mom said she didn't have time. Alice understood. After about 10 minutes, Alice, being 12 and curious about her grandmother's home-based business, peeked over Mom's shoulder at what was so difficult. Mom was playing computer solitaire. THAT was what was so important that Mom couldn't spend 10 minutes with Alice.

The point at which I realized that I couldn't keep trying to 'help' Mom through this came about a year after Missy died. I was visiting during the day, on a day of vacation. The phone rang. It was a bill collector. Mom broke down crying, telling the caller that her daughter had just died and she was struggling to pay for the funeral (Missy was cremated and the church let us use the chapel for her memorial for a small fee of like $100, Missy's husband absorbed the debt for the cremation). I heard this and became disgusted for the first time in my life with my mother. She was lying AND she was USING the death of her daughter to dodge a debt. A year later. As if it had just happened. I was dumbfounded at first. But, when she got off the phone, she was still crying, so I tried to be patient. When she had stopped crying, I asked her who that had been. It was a debt for her business, that if not paid they would come and repossess her computer, essentially putting her out of work. I asked if work was that slow, she said that it wasn't but that she had a hard time sending out bills to her customers. I found some excuse to go back to my place.

I called Jack and asked him what he knew about all this. He laughed and said, Oh, yeah, Mom's been dodging all kinds of bills with that line of bull for months. I told him what she'd said about not mailing out invoices. He said he'd check into that and get them in the mail if that would make up some of the money for her. Which he did the next day. He called me later and told me that the total NOT invoiced was pretty big, but not THAT big and only went back about a week. We then realized she was manipulating all of us to get us to leave her alone about money. She didn't want to think about her debts and she would use whatever she had to in her efforts to ignore them.

Jack and I decided that we were going to distance ourselves from Mom's financial life, including what debts she had. Each of us had found ourselves in the position of helping her out financially at one point or another. It was time to stop being enablers.

This was not an easy decision! Our mother, we knew, had ALWAYS been bailed out by someone. Our Dad during their marriage, friends in the years after. Her children off and on over the years. Some, who hadn't lived in town with her, continue to bail her out sometimes and don't understand why Jack and I decided what we did. It's just that we realized that if we continued bailing her out, she'd never have to figure it out on her own and she'd never have to be responsible with her spending. Instead, she could poor-mouth one of us or one of her wealthy friends and here would come her rescue! No change in her habits required.

I think what pissed me off the most about this time, besides knowing that I was expected to be there for her and get my support elsewhere, was that I was helping her out financially, as much as I could, but when I needed help in my early 20's, she couldn't do it. Dad wouldn't do it. And I had to figure it out alone. I did figure it out alone. I figured out that if I was only bringing in X dollars, I only had X dollars to spend. If living expenses were almost X, that left me with little food money and no fun money. Period. I couldn't expect anyone else to 'spot' me or 'cover' me or pay my way, that just isn't the way of the world! Mom was blowing money on fun stuff and trips and lunch or dinner out with friends this whole time. But, not paying her bills!

A few years later, shortly before Jack died, she just decided to quit paying her taxes, because she couldn't afford her CPA. She went on retreats, beach trips, out to the movies and still ate out, but she couldn't afford to pay her CPA - who I knew and who would work with her on payments - to get her taxes done! For 7 years! Only when she got threatening letters from the IRS did she even call me to tell me, and ask me to fix it for her. So, I read the documents, helped her know who to call and what to say, I did the taxes for all those years and got her set up to do her own taxes THAT year.  She refused to move in with me and save money, but she didn't slow down her spending! I started inviting her to MY house for dinner, knowing I could afford the groceries better. She didn't like having to drive *all the way* 7 miles from her place to mine for dinner. But she could drive over 50 miles to the beach with friends for a weekend.

I refused to spend much time at her place after Jack died. It would have broken my heart and pissed me off no end if I heard her using JACK's death to avoid bills, just like she'd done with Missy. It was better that I NOT know about that.

Sally died less than a year after Jack. That stung. I've written about that and how I stayed by Mom's side, defending her against the remaining siblings. This was her THIRD CHILD to die, this one suddenly. I couldn't leave her out of my heart. That was just too much pain for any mother to bear. So, I was there for her. I held her hand and held her head as she cried. I drove her into 'enemy territory' for the funeral. I chatted with her to take her mind off things for moments at least. I let her tell whatever stories she wanted to tell, in her own way. I didn't correct what I knew to be factually wrong - that was my kindness to her.

When we got back to town, it was hard on both of us. I had my own place, all alone. I tried AGAIN to get her to move in with me to save money. I tried asking as her daughter, as a friend, as a potential companion, with offers of paying HER if she would help keep the place clean. I had the spare room, she knew that. I even had a spare bedroom that could serve as her office! I was willing to do just about anything to get her under my roof to help her out - knowing that I'd probably need therapy the whole time. I deemed it worth that at the time, but she refused. I wouldn't force her, that was where I drew the line.

Since then, I'm sure she cried poor to my siblings. Sometimes they help her, and sometimes they try to make me feel guilty for NOT helping her. I've told them about the times I've got myself into a financial pickle because of helping her, but they say that I should just forgive that and keep doing it. Because I live here in town with her. And I'm her daughter. And that's what you do. Now, my husband gave me permission to tell them that HE said to stop because of the problems we've had. Now, they resent HIM because they see HIM as the reason I don't just keep bailing Mom out.

The thing is, they gave up expecting her to be self-reliant. They are permanent enablers, and they know it, and they're ok with it. But, they ALSO expect me to knowingly be her enabler and be ok with it. I don't see it as elder abuse to stop enabling her. They do.

I think this is part of why I've more or less been written out of the family. They haven't deleted me as a friend on Facebook, but that's the only way I find out anything that's going on in the family. There is no mail. There are no phone calls. If I don't get into Facebook for a few days, I might just miss out on an invitation - like the one to my great-nephew's upcoming birthday. Invite by Facebook Events only. Seriously! And if I accept, I'll be expected to transport Mom. Which means my husband won't go. Which means I will feel responsible to feed Mom and my DS8 on the trip, paying for the gas by myself. Which makes me not want to go at all. I know this, because it was this way when going to my niece's graduation. Because, while I may get some thanks, it will come from my brother and sister-in-law, not Mom. She'll be too irritated that I won't let her (speed demon) drive my vehicle. And I won't ride with her in her car because her driving scares me.

I think the reason for this post is that, while I was/am disgusted at Mom for using tears as manipulation, I needed to work this out in my mind. I was there for her in a very real way, financially and emotionally. She used me and others and kept living as she always had, even though her financial situation was bad and getting worse. I have been made to feel like the bad daughter for ending the financial manipulations. And regarding tears, I kept mine to a minimum through Missy's death, Jack's death and even Sally's death, to make it easier for Mom to bear her pain. To make it easier for her to even look at me - if I was crying, it made her cry even harder. I got good enough at it that the first time my husband complained that I was using my tears to manipulate him, I stopped crying almost altogether.

I can count on one hand the number of times I've actually really cried in the past 8 years. I've shed tears, slowly, privately. But, because of watching my mother USE her tears on creditors and to hear my husband tell me that tears are to manipulate others - I have a hard time just feeling the sadness or gladness that can bring tears. I get choked up, then I have to stop because I feel sick to my stomach that maybe my tears aren't appropriate.

I've got jealous of my stepdaughter, who can still cry at her daughter's laughter and at the ASPCA commercials. She can cry just because she wants to have a good cry. I'm glad for her, and have tried to tell her not to let ANYONE take her tears away. I want mine back. I miss them and wish I hadn't let circumstances and people convince me to give them up. It is surprising how hard it is to get that 'manipulation' voice out of my head, or that 'Mom-clone' voice out of my head long enough that I can just cry.

I don't know what to say and I don't know if this will be at all helpful, but what the *, I doubt it will make things worse. https://youtu.be/HbnEBfW0UDs   

Thx, Danaus. The video did help. I did want to ask one thing, though - do you see me as depressed when you read my posts?

Because, self-awareness is one of my big blind spots. I can tell other people how they're feeling with pretty good accuracy. But, defining how I feel? That's trickier sometimes.

My H has been telling me that I'm 'snappy' towards him a lot lately - but that may be HIS c-PTSD and the fact that he doesn't always hear me and I get tired of repeating myself most of the time! Or, it may be that he pushed my 'self-protection' buttons recently and I haven't been able to 'reset' them yet.

For now, in the journal, I've been working on authentic memories of childhood and pre-marriage years. I'm trying to rediscover who this woman is that my husband married. Since we're both 'damaged goods', it's good if at least one of us does the work of healing and moving forward, at least for the sake of our son.

And, in a therapy session with Mom and sis invited, Sis confessed that she thought I was one angry child growing up. Well, yes, if I was ignored and neglected by parents and cruelly teased by a brother (the Golden Child) and hit by an autistic sister (she was the older Irish Twin sister) I couldn't hit back, well, I could see some reasons for anger.

So, I go between angry, sad, melancholy and probably some depression. But, I have no illusions about my worth to my current family. I know I am loved. Suicide is so not an option!

I did want to say again that it's sweet that you took the time to find that video and share it with me. Sincerely - thank you!

I'm not a T. All I can say is real things have happened to you that would knock anyone's trolley off it's tracks. I'm subscribed to that lady's videos. I think she's amazing. If you have time, give her other videos a look.

I may do, thanks for the link to get started with!

Sitting outside at lunch today, I let a really good memory wash over me. It's helping my mood.

I'm about 11-12 years old. This is pre-divorce, but probably during the big fighting. Mom and Dad would send me out of the house so I wouldn't hear them fight. Like the very act of sending me out of the house didn't announce clear enough that they were about to fight.

Anyway, I drift down the hill that is our back yard. Through the little thickets of woods to the creek. I sit down on a flat rock and take off my shoes. It's a pretty day. I'm in shorts and a halter top - hey, it's the early 80's! The creek water isn't cold, but it does feel nice washing over my feet. I just sit there, sun on my face, creek water flowing downstream. I am absolutely by myself. It's so peaceful and quiet. I can hear bugs buzzing and the breeze in the trees.

I open my eyes and look out over the small field left of the zig-zagging creek. It's overgrown with dandelions and Queen Anne's Lace. There are some other colors out there, but I'm too content to stand up and go explore just now.

I have no idea how much time passes, but the sun is below the tree line.  I figure it's getting late enough I should head home.

This memory is one I cling to over the years. The first apartment complex in the city of my high school years has a creek near our building. I visit it, but it's visible, crowded, noisy. I get no peace by that creek. The next time I really get to sit and enjoy a creek is in college. Then, I must wait until I buy my house. But the creek near my current home is not easily accessible to those of us who don't live directly on the shore.

Regardless - I have my memories. I can almost feel that peace, that connection with the bigness of nature. I can see the water of that creek, clear as glass, and my feet - toes swirling in the sand at the bottom. 

I'm sure I've written about that visit to that creek several times elsewhere. That is my happy place. That is my happy time. I am all alone, but I am at peace, for a while at least.

I'll write about the months watching the writing spider work it's magic on the front stoop another time.

OH - another wonderfully happy memory has just snuck into my brain!

The day I graduated Middle School (aka Junior High School). I had only been with those students for that school year, but I already had a pretty good number of friends. We were all so excited! All of us girls were in our white dresses (required) and the boys in their white shirts and blue ties (also required). We looked so handsome and so almost-grown-up! We felt almost grown up that day.

So, Mom has to work, but my Heart-Sister, Missy, is there. She drove up from her city just for me! She was at college and I was so impressed with everything about her. But, she was making today about me. She drove me to the school. I'm so excited to show her off and to show my friends off to her! The graduation ceremony is actually kind of boring. I'm no star student, so I get one or two awards, but cheer loudly for my friends who were star students. My sister watches and cheers for them along with me.

Afterward, Missy drives me back home. There had been a bad storm not long before and a tree was partially down in the back yard. But, it was still alive and green. So, Missy takes LOTS of pictures to give to Mom and Dad (both not there - just Missy) and our siblings. The 'baby' is now a rising High School Sophomore! Since I'm getting so grown, my sister decides to take some pictures with my hair down and flowing. These are some of the best pictures ever taken of me! You can see, even through my glasses, that I'm smiling in my eyes, my face AND my whole demeanor!  I get the camera from her and get some pictures of HER in front of that fallen-but-not-dead tree - it's such a perfect backdrop! So, it's just the two of us for a few hours until Mom gets home from work. Dad calls and congratulates me - he sent a gift in the mail. The other siblings have sent cards, one or two call after Mom gets home. Mom - realizing that this IS a big deal, makes a very nice dinner and we three 'ladies' sit around the table talking for hours after dinner. Missy spends the night and heads back to her college town the next morning. It had been a perfect day from beginning to end.

I like recapturing these great memories! It's worth the others when I can get these back, too!

This weekend was a strange one. Not bad, just strange.

One good part was putting into practice what I learned last week I was not doing as well as I could for my DS8. How insidious is the habit of invalidating another person? How easy to fall into the trap!

So, I spent some time each day making sure that he knew that his opinion mattered. Not that I would always agree with him, but that was beside the point, the point being he had a right to his opinions and feelings and wants and desires. I'm learning how to validate him as a person and yet say no. By the smile on DS8's face both nights as he went to bed, I think I'm doing ok. Now, to me, the real work begins - making this the norm instead of a good weekend. Making validation a part of the family dynamic. Hubby liked that I was validating HIM as well. DS23 got a kick out of being included - even if he chose to go with friends instead of be with us.

The sad part of this is that it was a shock. The good part of this is that being validated is real easy to get used to, so I'm hoping to teach the young men that they DESERVE this, not just once in a while, but as a part of any healthy relationship. My learning curve will be to show them respect as individuals while still maintaining the parental role (not slipping into friend role). Also, to show DH respect and validation without letting that be turned into me becoming a floor-mat again.

Having a spine and showing validation and respect don't seem to co-exist in my experience. This is a learning experience, for sure.

I just had a small 'flash-back' of a sort. Just a brief one. It's an emotion more than a full memory. The best way I can describe it is a feeling that someone needs to help me understand because I don't. I'm not sure WHAT I don't understand. I just know that I don't understand something and I'm scared. And I'm a little bit mad, because they're not helping me!

As soon as I tried to figure that one out, other little ones kept hitting me. Various ages, various locations, various siblings in the room. This may sound stupid, but it's like a montage. Different siblings walking away, GC Bro slapping me away (my hand because I was reaching for what he was looking at), telling me to shut up, other siblings telling me to shut up, go to bed, Mom giving me THAT look. I know I was a complete pest as a child. I've been told often enough by ALL the older siblings and my parents. But, here's the thing... how can a child who feels loved and validated be a pest? How can a child who knows his or her place in the world want to bug others about? Would it even occur to a child who feels valued?

I'm getting angry because I'm comparing in my head how my siblings who married and had children turned out and how I turned out. How our children are so different than each others' children. How our grandchildren are so different.

I feel like I took a very bad left turn when everyone else saw the road-sign and turned right.

Dang, I was in an ok place, but now I'm spiraling. Time for me to quit typing for now.

You are applying yourself to getting your family on the right path. Have I ever mentioned life is not fair? You will always find someone worse off than you and someone better off than you. Comparing ourselves among ourselves is not a healthy thing to ruminate on.

It's all in how you were seen. Children are children; they make messes, ask interminable questions, follow you everywhere. It's in the job description. It's the adults' job to be patient, to give love and proper direction, to not label but let the child discover who she is and what she likes, naturally.

You were not a pest; you were a normal, natural, curious child who was not allowed to be herself.

Thanks, both of you.

I think the reason for the EF was part of that dialog in my head about me being a pest, strange, not quite right. I wasn't very good at following the same drummer as everyone else in my family of origin.

I see it as a little similar to a comparison my Dad once did between me and my step-sister. I was a natural good student. I got things quickly and retained them well. I could pass tests easily. My step-sister had to work for everything much harder than I did. She struggled with tests, even when she knew the material. He asked me to not brag about my SAT scores because he was afraid that it would set up my step-sister for a self-esteem blow if she didn't do that well. And chances were, I did do better. So, even though I did do quite well, I kept it to myself around her and her brother. I understood, because as well as I did on the SAT, there was one in the family who did even better - the whole family heard the story from our mother of how well that sister did. It was an ego blow, as good as I did, that I wasn't even close to HER score.

It's hard to stop the comparison in my head, though. I know it's not a good thing to do. Especially since I KNOW all MY flaws, but not anyone else's. So, what I see as a perfect little marriage producing perfect little children (I will say, my nieces and nephews ARE pretty cool people) may be just the 'face' I'm allowed to see. So, comparing is useless. But, that doesn't stop me from sometimes doing it anyway. Oh, and if I'm honest, I have a great young boy with a big heart and a generous nature. I'm working to be a better parent to him, so maybe I am doing all right after all.

Memory - triggered by having to get DS8 his newest pair of glasses, and finding out just how bad his eyes are. Just like me. Sorry, kiddo, I wish for you that it wasn't so.

I'm in 3rd grade. It's a private school, so we're all in uniforms. The wealthier kids have uniforms that fit nicely. The rest of us have hand-me-downs or used uniforms from the annual trade-off. I'm often teased for smelling bad and having oily hair. It's the years of the fuel embargo and I am teased that the oil in my hair would solve the crisis! My sister doesn't hear these comments, but my GC brother does - and chants along with the mean kids. I'm also stuck wearing glasses, the only kid in our family who has to wear them. I don't even respond to the four-eyes taunts, but I sure do hear them.

I think the thing that pisses me off today about this memory is that this is the same brother who confronted my husband in our hotel room because he heard raised voices (knew nothing of what started it) and went in blasting my husband saying 'We're family and we stick together and defend each other'. Funny, that was his BROTHER IN LAW he was yelling at. I have never confronted GC brother about this part, because I'm afraid to know the answer. But, if that's true, where was he in my childhood? All my memories of him are NOT of him defending me but of him leading the teasing, or at least letting it happen and trying to hide that we are brother and sister from everyone. If he could have got away with it, I got the distinct feeling that he would have disowned me at my age 9, or younger, and been much happier in his life.

My one constant in my childhood was me chasing after my GC brother and him running even faster away from me. I wanted his approval so bad, but he was determined to NOT give it to me. He was embarrassed of me or something. I still don't know what was so wrong with me that he had to reject me over and over and over again. And because he and I were pretty much below the parental radar (older sibs being teenagers and all that drama), they didn't even know this was going on.

I think one reason it hurt so badly was that it was so obvious that he was the chosen child. Second son, but the masculine one (later found out older brother was gay), the athletic one, everything both parents wanted in a son. I was fifth daughter, last child, almost killed Mom by her being pregnant with me, cause of Autistic sister being sent away. Not a great resume when trying to convince parents you were worth their time, love, energy.

Even into adulthood, my GC brother has always managed to act embarrassed of me or by me. It actually looks as if he's in physical pain to share a room with me, even with the rest of our family of origin and his entire family of choice surrounding him. THIS is why I keep my distance from him. I do not want to chase him for his approval anymore. I do not want to cause him stress or dismay. I do not want to hurt my own feelings trying to twist myself into some acceptable form for him or anyone else anymore.

The last time I was at his house (husband, son and me visiting him, SIL and two of their children), all was amicable until SIL decided it was time to confront me about my rejecting Catholicism. I haven't rejected God or Jesus or the meaning of the Cross, just the specific faith of Catholicism. But, it was obvious this had been a topic of discussion behind my back and SIL was the only one brave enough to bring it up. When I told her that I was glad for her and GC Bro and Dad and Stepmom and even Mom that all of them can embrace the religion. That was wonderful, but it doesn't make me less of a person because I remain a Christian, just not under the Catholic banner anymore. They acted like I'd just committed heresy. GC bro left the room. SIL actually looked wounded. I took that as my warning that it was time to leave. And that was the closest to an actual conversation I'd had with either my brother or SIL in over a decade. That happened almost 6 years ago.

Ok, this started out being about DS8 getting glasses and me remembering being teased at his age for glasses and for oily hair. I don't really know why I had to express this part about my brother. I've been in his shadow most of my life. I've wanted his approval or at least NOT his DISapproval most of my life. I've torn myself apart trying to figure out why I can't seem to fix whatever it is about me that makes me such an outsider.

One of the saddest things, is the same look of disgust GC bro tries to hide when I'm around, it's shared by my stepbrother. The family screw-up and he looks down his nose at me. I'm the problem, even though he doesn't even try to reach out to me. Never even tried, though I did try with him. I'm still not even sure why stepbrother accepted my friend request on FB, manners doesn't seem to be it. I get it if he want's to be NC with me, but be consistent, reject the FB request, too, you know? Since he always remains away when I'm in town, even if it means missing Christmas with his Mom.

I just don't know what I've done to offend these people so much. Because I called Dad on his favoritism? Because I refused to be Mom's step-and-fetch-it, counselor, best friend, confidante, companion after I got married? Because I'm not Catholic? (Why would stepbro care, he isn't either!) It goes back before I got married. It goes back before I walked away from Catholicism. It goes back before I even dropped out of college. It goes back before Mom and Dad divorced. It goes back before we left the big city for the small town. It goes back before I started elementary school. If it goes back further than that, I'm really not sure how far back or why or what started it.

It's as if I was caught trying to kill my sister, but she's the one who got sent away. As if that offended my brother's sense of justice and he was not going to lose any opportunities to let me know it. As if having me in the family has hurt the family and that is why they do their best, but can't lose the sight of whatever my toddlerhood crime was.

Or, as if my sister tried to kill me and their shame was that I lived. Not knowing how to deal with the guilt, they avoided/avoid me. GC bro was too close in age to avoid me, but he could tease me into avoiding him - except all I wanted was his acknowledgment and acceptance of me as a person. So, that didn't work. My kindhearted sister and brother each had compassion for me, so that I wasn't completely thrown to the wolves while still living at home. 

The more I think about it, the more this actually makes some sense. Maybe that's why I have so many more issues than my siblings. I figured it was a pecking order thing, but maybe it was that, when provoked, my sister would hurt me. She was bigger than me and could hurt me. I could understand if my parents, who were already trying to save their marriage, would have felt extreme guilt if their decision to keep Autistic sister in the home resulted in me being hurt badly at her hands. And, of GC bro - who is only 1 year older than Autistic sis - not understanding and blaming me when he heard my name mentioned, setting into action a string of events that led to the dynamics we have now.

I'm rambling and speculating. I almost hope that last part is true, because THAT would make sense and it would be forgivable. I may still have to stay away from them, because the result has been toxic treatment of me and my family and a large helping of blame the victim.

I can't ask either parent, though. Any time I bring up that sister, there is pain and a change of subject. I'm not allowed to ask about her or have memories of her because it's too painful for them (Mom, Dad, stepmom, GC bro and SIL). I have no right because I didn't go visit her. I didn't go visit her because she'd made it clear she didn't like me, why put either of us through that? Regardless, that means I have no right to even discuss her life. So I can't even find out if my theory is BS or has basis in fact.

Now, I'm full out rambling. Time to quit for tonight.

I'm beginning to get a better picture of my childhood. I don't think the emotional neglect would have been as bad if I hadn't had GC brother making me feel even worse about myself as a person.

I've been mulling over my last entry, really looking at what was important enough for me to write. What comes across is a little girl who just wanted to be loved. A social girl who didn't know HOW to be social. A sweet-hearted girl who wanted to be a good friend and a good sister and a good daughter, not necessarily in that order.

Heart-Mom sister and Heart-Dad brother had real compassion for their little sister. They loved and tried, but had to take care of themselves as well. They were also just kids.

The parents of my friends took pity on me. They didn't understand why, they just knew I was the awkward one in my family. They didn't send me home as early as they might have another child. They let me stay and play with their children. I remember their faces, especially the Mom of my best friend. She had a bunch of children, also. She knew not all siblings get along and not all families were as happy as they pretended to be. She was the nicest to me, which is probably a big reason I considered her daughter my best friend. That feeling was not mutual. That friend had others with whom she was closer, but we were neighbors, so we played together a lot.

Our neighborhood was full of large families. But there was one unwritten rule. I could not befriend anyone in a family that was already 'claimed' by an older sibling, especially GC brother. That reduced my options a lot. Few had kids as young as me, fewer didn't have an older sibling that GC bro didn't consider a friend.

The harder Mom tried to make GC bro and me play together, the harder he fought against it. If he had been made responsible for me so we could both go to the playground, he'd ditch me as soon as we got there and disappear with his buddies. He was two blocks away from the playground when he got hit in the eye with a rock. Part of why he didn't want to go home is he'd have to explain why he'd been off playing rock wars (his and his buddies war games) instead of keeping an eye on me. Fortunately for him, seeing his bleeding eye took the focus off WHERE he was and put it into getting him medical help.

Later, the truth did come out, but by then, Mom and Dad were just so relieved that he hadn't blinded himself that they let that part go.

I just think that the combination of neglectful parents, a brother who wanted NOTHING to do with me and a social tendency in my personality all came together to form this hurt.

From my brother's perspective, I get the feeling that he looked at our relationships like the old cartoon that had the bulldog as the hero (him) and the annoying, bouncy dog that wanted to be his friend (me). Then, because I was a blabbermouth (called so often), he'd get in trouble for hitting me away from him like the dog in the cartoon. If I heard it once, I heard it at least dozens of times, 'Go away, kid, you bother me!'

I even got to a place where I could laugh at myself over that. But, looking back on it, what a horrible thing to say! Not you're behavior bothers me, YOU bother me.

Now, I'm certain that I'm not remembering all the times I pinched, pushed or otherwise hurt my brother. I'm sure there were times, there is no halo over my head and surely no wings on my back. If I'm completely honest, there must have been times when I was the instigator and got HIM in trouble just because he was older than me.

But, now, when I see siblings who REALLY get along (I'm thinking of GC bro's four children), I'm triggered into feeling unworthy. Unworthy to even know them, let alone be related to them. I'm impressed, watching them defend each other against ALL comers. They stand four united. They will even take on the parents to defend each other. They can tease, but it does stop before hurting, before becoming a personal insult. AND the underlying love is understood between all of them. The relationship is there. I'm jealous sometimes, a white-hot ugly thing. Other times, just so sure this is the proof of WHY my brother didn't love me. I'm unlovable. It's the only explanation of why we could be two years apart and he gave every appearance of hating me. And not all appearances are deceiving.

And it keeps showing up in our adult lives, too. I've tried being a good friend to his wife (she's a neat person, pushy for my taste, but I didn't marry her). I've tried being a good aunt to his children. They have no respect for me. They treat me like an interloper at family events, at least the boys do.

The only time I can remember that family treating me well was when I agreed to join GC Bro's multilevel business. Then, when I decided it wasn't for me and quit, they began a campaign that their kids took to heart more than GC Bro realized. At the time, it was the practice of those who remained after someone quit to call that person a loser, a failure, for giving up on the dream. Even though I grew his business for him, with almost NO support from him or his wife, they did this to me. They called me a failure and a loser, around their children. On one of the last times I tried to be around them for a holiday, their oldest daughter did the 'L' on her forehead at me. She laughed and ran away when I was trying to get her to the dinner table.

You can't tell me that those times didn't have an impact on the view of those children towards me. I was the only one in the family willing to help, and that is what happened when I stopped helping. And those children may not even remember WHY they think I'm such a loser, but the fact that they do is evident. They don't put 'L's on their foreheads anymore, their Dad and Mom put a stop to that whey THEY wanted out of the business. But, the lesson behind that hand gesture stayed. And, I felt the same pressure on me to re-earn my brother's love all over again. Just like when we were kids.

Since then, I've been the uncomfortable one. I'm the one finding excuses to NOT attend family gatherings if he or his wife or any of their kids will be there. And that means missing out on an awful lot of family events. And my absence is brought up as more evidence that I'm not committed to my family of origin like everyone else. So, I'm the outcast even more. Lately, they don't even bother to invite me, not really. And the inner critic says, 'Yup, unworthy as a kid, unworthy as an adult. The more things change, the more they stay the same.'

This is hitting me hard right now because GC bro is a grandfather. I was invited (by facebook general announcement only, not sent specifically to me) to the little one's birthday party. I was really thinking of going! But, then, little man's mother (my niece) just announced her engagement. The whole family was involved. The 25+ pictures show happy siblings, happy fiancés, happy aunts & uncles in attendance (my & bro's sisters). Everyone in on the question-pop and everyone happy for these two. I'm happy for them, but if past predicts future, if I go to this birthday party, I'll only take me and DS8. The absence if my H will be noted. The sense of being an outcast will be heightened. And at home, H will just complain about the wasted money on a trip when I come home feeling so bad about myself. And he's right.

So, I'm going to miss another major family event. Because attending hurts worse than the trash-talk when I don't go. Which will just prove to the whole family again that I'm an outcast, they were right, let's just keep on keeping on without her.

And the saddest thing to me is that this opinion of me is now so firmly planted into the next generation. I'll send a gift, and be thanked for it. I'll send a sweet card for the little man. I'll be thanked for it. But, if they're honest with themselves and with me, they'll be relieved that I chose not to attend in person.

This breaks my heart for you. I can't express how deeply I connect with this! Sooooo many things about this portion of your life are so similar to mine.

:hug:

Three Roses, we are heart-sisters. For the companionship and support, I am grateful. For the suffering we survived to earn this camaraderie, I am sorry.

It would help if DH didn't also have c-PTSD, and his is for a much more violent sibling situation. It's like blue on black talking to him about my situation. My brother was just mean and invalidating. His was brutal and bloodthirsty. So, in my H's eyes, my life was golden, what am I complaining about!??! And, knowing his story, it's easy to write mine off as whining too much (thus the title of this journal). That makes real progress difficult.

So, I am eternally grateful for this website and for new friends like you. You help me to believe that I'm not crazy, that I DID go through unreasonable stuff and that it's not surprising, considering how little I've dealt with it, how much more growth there is ahead of me. Your online friendship does mean a lot to me.

I've decided to not attend the birthday party. I will send a nice gift with a card. I will send a separate card congratulating birthday boy's mother for her engagement.

I think I will even send GC bro and his wife a photo album for all the pics they are taking and will take of the birthday boy. I don't know if they bother printing anymore, but sometimes sitting down with a  photo album in one's lap is just better than swiping right on a phone.  I hope they feel the same.

i believe now that if it feels/felt real, it is real.  what you've gone through is heartbreaking, and comparisons don't make it any less so.  what your h has gone through is his trauma, not yours, and vice versa.  your experience is valid, your beliefs are valid, and your feelings are valid.  that whole family thing sucks.  (just my opinion) i can relate, and it's not a good feeling at all.  these traumas that we've experienced hit everyone differently, so i don't see any better or worse scenario for them.  i'm glad you're keeping yourself as safe as possible, making decisions that are the lesser of two evils.  sometimes, that's all we can do.

Thank you for your reply, Sanmagic. Sometimes, it does help just to be validated.

I'm trying to remember to put things in perspective. One thing that does occur to me is that my mother used to laugh and say, you aren't just a little pregnant, either you are or you aren't. I think abuse or neglect, and the way the victim internalizes those experiences is like that. Either you were abused or you weren't. And, just because I, you, he, she - wasn't abused every day of our life, and we have the small bank of good memories, does NOT mean that the abuse didn't happen.

Got a phone call from 2nd oldest sis, the one who's trying to keep everyone in touch and let all of us know how much we're loved by her. Even she had fallen out of the habit of calling. But, I think she also got her fill of always being the one to reach out to our mother, so she's also in town less often.

The call was really good. We talked about all manner of things. Little things like what DS8's favorite books are and big things that I wasn't ready to discuss with sis yet. But, she brought up as semi-matter-of-fact topics that Mom and Dad both found their ways to be unavailable to us kids and that it was easy to slip into the cracks with those two.

I wasn't ready to talk to her about it for several reasons. 1) I'm really just beginning to deal with the fact that Dad wasn't the superhero I remembered until recently. 2) I'm not into bashing people anymore. She was saying unkind things, though true, about our parents, I agreed with some and just remained silent on others. 3) I'm not sure if she's being genuine or acting as a flying monkey for Dad and Stepmom. 4) She's 9 years older, now not so much, but as children it's a generation apart. Her experiences of Mom and Dad are completely different than mine.

DS8 was beside himself that I would spend over an hour talking to someone and NOT paying attention to him. He was almost angry by the time I handed HIM the phone to talk to his aunt. Even after that, he kept bringing up (and exaggerating) how much time I spent on the phone. Then, I reminded him how much time I'd spent with JUST HIM yesterday and Saturday. In two days, he'd got greedy for my time and there was no way for it to be enough. I had to explain to him (and this was triggering and broke my heart) that, while I love spending time with him, I have to have some time to myself and some time with my husband also. I felt like I was abandoning him - though I'd already spent 4 hours doing as he wished and another hour with him at the grocery store. I still ended up spending another hour with him (paying with a hurting back, I don't do sitting on the floor for hours so good anymore), and even THAT wasn't enough.

H finally got angry with him the third time the boy came into our room AFTER we went to bed. I couldn't much blame him. It was time for the child to be asleep and, frankly, for me to be asleep. Not a good way to end what had been a wonderful day.

So, today, I'm glad I got to talk to my sister, though I hate the feeling of suspicion that she's hunting for reasons I'm not all 'desperately seeking acceptance' with Dad right now. I'm glad DS8 and I had fun together, but I'm upset that he wouldn't let the day go to the point of making his father upset with him. This turmoil has my IBS in an uproar, making me slightly nauseous. And, it's one of the toughest days of the month at work today. And my boss won't be in. And my best-at-work-friend is off today. AND, I'm still stressed about the hours cut. And, I'm stressed that the application I put in on Saturday will be reviewed and they'll call my current employer and then my current employer will know I'm looking elsewhere.

DANG. The weekend started out with so much promise! The phone call started out with such promise. I feel good about them and bad about them and don't know what to do with all that ambivalence!

"I feel good about them and bad about them and don't know what to do with all that ambivalence!"

Maybe nothing at all. Living in a cptsd-inducing system, we were encouraged to take responsibility for others' feelings, so we automatically equate "feel" with "do". (Or maybe that's just me....) Part of recovery, I think, is allowing ourselves to feel what we feel, and to learn that we can just feel it without catastrophe lurking in the horizon.

Your son is learning to let go. He won't be great at it from the start. Your loving, healthy examples of self-care will sink in tho, in the long run.

So take pride in what you accomplished! It sounds like a great weekend to me ;)

Thank you, ThreeRoses. Sometimes, it's best to just sit and BREATHE. I have difficulty remembering that. Just like I have difficulty remembering that my parents and siblings have their own relationships. They don't (or at least I hope they don't) waste their time together discussing what's wrong with Wife2. I just get a little paranoid sometimes that what I'm discussing with one family member is later shared with the rest, with the 1st listener's spin on things. :: Shaking head:::   miles to go....

Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't out to get you....

So, got a text from Dad. Decided to call him later that evening. Talked with stepmom for a while, then DS8 (who absolutely LOVES his Grandpa and Granny) pestered to get the phone. They chatted for a while, nice stuff to listen to as DS8's Mom. Good relationship-building stuff. DS8 using his good manners, earning praise from his Grandpa when I finally got the phone back.

Ok, I know my Dad and Stepmom aren't 'out to get me', but they worry about me and tell me that they are worried. My sister, the one who called, had been to their house the Monday before she and I spoke. Dad keeps telling me he's worried about me and that he and Sis had been talking about it, and that he and Stepmom had made me and their worry a major topic in their house.

On the one hand, I guess I'm supposed to feel loved because they're thinking of me. On the other, worry - his word - bothers me. It feels in my ear like lack of confidence or belief that I can handle my own life. And, even though I was reassuring him that things may be stress, but they're under control, he kept mentioning how worried about me they are.

I felt bad by the end of the call. THIS, I think, this lack of faith in my abilities to handle my own life, seems to be at the base of many of the problems with me and Dad. He hasn't been around enough to know how much I really have handled all by myself. Not since I was 12. After that, he's known about the big things like High School graduation, getting accepted into college, attending college. But, it seems that his view of me was arrested at age 19. Dropping out of college (he ran out of money, my grades weren't great) became the seminal event in his mind.

I was angry because only a month before I dropped, he'd cried poor, blaming my oldest brother (Heart-brother) for not paying a loan back to Dad as his reason for discontinuing my college. Then, when the grades came in - he had his justification. I had flunked history. The rest of my grades were passing, though not strong. But that one F, that became the legend of Wife2 flunked out of college. NO I DIDN'T! Granted, I wasn't acing it either, but I didn't flunk out. Ask any member of my family, though, and they'll tell you that I did. Because that's what Dad told them. That 'F' was also his reason for denying me access to his home to 'get back on my feet'.

But, he's worried about me.

I found a place to live, got a job, struggled. I already talked about the real poverty days and how, though I was thin, I was NOT anorexic or bulimic, but he told the family I was because of how thin I was. As soon as I had a reliable job and started eating, the weight came back. I was active, so I never did get big, just not scrawny anymore. He still thought I was anorexic.

So, he worried about me.

I moved to my current state. I got a job - a series of jobs. I found a place to live (first with Mom, then bounced around a lot) - I found a LOT of places to live. All were safe, jobs were decent. I rarely went more than a week without a job and I was not homeless anymore.

Yet, he worried about me.

I found a stable job. I bought a home BY MYSELF. I financed it, I saved, I cleaned up credit. I did that. On my own. It took years to get everything lined up. But, I did it. Mom didn't help (other than giving me a place to live while I saved). Dad didn't help. The siblings didn't help, other than to answer some questions about the process when I called. Everything else I did, down to the frustration of getting the insurance company to sign on so we could close, I did alone.

Still he worried about me.

I survived the death of two sisters and one brother over a 9-year span. I survived things he never knew about (relationship stuff and the rape and other things). HE still doesn't know everything I have survived.

Though he worries about me.

I found a man. Maybe not the best but certainly NOT the worst man. I married this man. I'm still with him. We have a son together. Of course, I worry if I'm a good-enough Mom. I think I am. I pray I am. But, I'm not worried if my son is capable of managing his own 8-year-old life. I know I'm there if he needs me. I know I've taught him pretty well. I know he's smart and quick and will find his way, even if he stubs a toe or bangs a knee or breaks his own heart along the way. He'll make it. It won't always be easy, but I don't worry that he'll fail! And my DS8 KNOWS I have faith in him.

Now, Dad worries about me.

It's about four decades too late, Dad! Maybe if you'd been there more for me when I did NEED you as a kid, you wouldn't have to worry so much in your old age.

It just feels slimy to me when he tells me that. He's a great Dad in many respects. He genuinely loves his kids. He and I do have a challenging relationship, but I think it's all those years of worrying about me instead of helping me. All those years of worrying about me instead of building up my self-confidence. All those years of worrying about me instead of being there for me. All those years of lectures without context because they were on his mind. I remember the lessons. I apply them as much as I can, they were great advice! But, they were lectures and not life-lessons from a Dad. Does that even make sense? I hope so, because that really is how I feel.  So, all that worry is wasted. I can't claim it. I can't let HIS worrying about ME make me change anything in my life. Not just the fact that he's worried.

And the fact that my sister would be in on the conversations and be willing to call me to try to guess the reason why I'm not communicating so much right now bothers me, too. It feels a lot like betrayal. Like my conversation with her wasn't private. Like it wasn't JUST between us. I guessed at that during our conversation, but after talking with Dad, that cemented my fears. My sister was playing flying monkey for my Dad rather than Dad being straight-forward enough to call me himself.

I feel like I just touched something slimy and can't find any soap to wash it off. YUCK!!

When I hear people talking about their FOO's, and how family is everything, blood is thicker blah blah, I think, "Wouldn't it be nice if that were true for me too?"

Families, we're told, stick together, help each other, support, etc. But that is not our experience. Our experience is that families are the source of pain, not the relief from it; we move on, trying to care for our children (if we have them) better than we ourselves were cared for, but still remaining the hurting children we were, always looking over our shoulders.

I'm sorry your dad and siblings hurt and betrayed you, growing up. It is a sad and lonely feeling. But who you are now is both a product of that pain and your desire to rise above it, to be a better person than you experienced in your childhood. You probably have a wealth of compassion for people who are hurting, and tons of insight too.

You can feel confident in your achievements. Your life may not be perfect but no one's is! Your dad's worry may be an attempt for him to soothe his own feelings of inadequacy and failure, but don't let his feelings affect you. You don't have to accept their definition of you. :hug:

Thank you, Three Roses. And you are so right in everything you said.

My family, many of the members, ARE close and supportive and 'have each other's backs', I'm just not in that number. Being related to them isn't enough. That is what it is. No sense feeling bad about it anymore. That just drags me down. They are who they are. I am who I am. We're related by blood. We care. But, it's a card-on-birthdays kind of thing and that's ok now. It hurts to see that I'm odd-woman-out, but I'll deal with my pain my own way.

I've come to realize that Dad's worrying about me is HIS issue, not mine. But, it does kind of piss me off. If he knew me better, he'd realize that I'm strong as * and capable in ways even I haven't fully been aware of until lately. How he or my mother or any of my siblings define me is based only on their limited relationships with me. The better anyone knows me, the stronger they know me to be.

It just really felt ugly talking to him on the phone, hearing him repeat over and over that he and his wife worry about me. It felt ugly because worry is the lazy mans' cop-out. If you are so concerned about me, talk with me, help me, DO something. But, sitting back and worrying about me without any of that? Well, so flipping what?!

I worry about my son, then I look at what has me worried and I address it. Do I think he'll struggle making friends? I get him out where he has to meet new people. I see how he does. He's GREAT at making new acquaintances. NOT a problem for him. His ability to turn those into friends, that's a process that I can help, but must stand back from interfering. But, I don't just sit back and worry that he won't have an active social life. I DO things. I talk with him about how HE feels on the subject.

Worry is wasted energy when there are so many healthier ways to deal with things and people. My mother once told me that worry won't pay a single bill - only hard work and funds will do that. If she lived by those words, she'd be in a better situation than she is now, but that's her problem, those are HER consequences.

Am I concerned that I may lose my job? Yes. I don't worry about it, but I do think about what I can do to prevent that, or to find another job, or just deal with it should it happen. Then, I can relax. I have a plan. I am doing something proactive about it. I'm not just going home worrying about it.

My husband is a worrier also. And, now that I put all the cards on the table at the same time, I understand why his worry has always got under my skin.

Worry is the thought that someone can't handle it themselves and that YOU may have to step in and help out. Worry is being pretty sure they are failing or getting ready to fail and that you see it better than they do. Worry is assuming they can't cope.

I remember that, when I'd lost my previous job to layoff, my husband worried himself sick that I wouldn't find a new job and that we'd be faced with financial strains. I kind of laughed, because of COURSE we'd have some financial strains, but what were we going to do, how were we going to prioritize things? Let's get answers, then we won't have to worry! He didn't like how I went about finding a new job. He worried. I was re-employed within three weeks. I've been with this employer ever since. Even if I DO lose this job, I have faith in myself to find suitable work within a month. We've already decided that we can survive any situation for two months. So, what's the worry?

I reject the worry. And I really appreciate your vote of confidence, Three Roses. Thank you.

Ha! You think worry is slimy? My bat $hit crazy mother-in-law pulled me aside one day and said "We all feel so sorry for you." Like you "sorry" did not come with any actual help. To say her words felt like slim would be an insult to slime.

Danaus, oh, how horrible! Yes, I agree, slime has more comfort than empty pity.

I rather like those stupid commercials for some credit card, I think. The ,' What if everyone said what they really meant' commercials. I think the genius behind that ad campaign MUST have some PD in their lives, and the pretending for the sake of manners and appearances lives under that person's skin. I almost wish life were like that more often - where we could say what we really mean, while keeping it as kind as possible (treat others and all that..) and just go on with our lives.

Very interesting -

Things have been tense at work. And at home (yippee for my IBS, which is stress triggered). Anyway, something very interesting just happened that I'd like to explore a bit.

I used to be the kind who would jump on bandwagons. I mean not just jump on, but pick up a pitch-fork and a torch and begin chanting with the driver of said bandwagon - ready to enter battle for my friends. Especially if they felt they'd been wronged. I didn't even have to hear the pitch, I was sold. MY FRIEND couldn't be wrong, so the other person MUST be.

I learned later not to be so quick to jump on the bandwagon, but, I still empathized strongly and validated my friends' feelings when they felt wronged. Now, with nearly 50 years of life at my disposal, I can temper my emotions separately from my friends' emotions, while still validating and agreeing that the situation stinks. I'm just not willing to do battle for anyone else anymore.

Then, a co-worker who I know to be a hard-working, dedicated and extremely capable worker, valued and true friend and general very good person, was wronged at work yesterday. And, it's not the kind of thing that I can drag out my old pitchfork for, but I sure could let her know that I supported her regardless of her decision - though I'd miss her if she quit. She's not quite ready to quit, but the thought certainly came up. She needed to vent in the worst way possible. I gave her that opportunity, while validating ALL her pent-up frustrations.

It felt good to get angry on behalf of another. It felt like reconnecting with the real me who's been in hiding for a long time. So many people have told me to stop jumping on bandwagons, and I see the value in that advice, I really do. That's why I stopped. But, the total emotional support of another while they struggle is such a relief to my soul! Giving advice is nice and dandy. I'm glad in some ways that I've lived enough to have decent advice to offer. That just isn't the same as saying to my friend, 'No! That was wrong. You deserve better. I see what you give this company and it's just short of blood! What more does your boss want? I mean, really?! You are completely justified in what you feel and how you responded!'

I had to shut my door, because my reputation is to have a good attitude - it's what's kept me employed. But, after that door shut, boy did it feel good to rant on behalf of my friend, just for a minute, just long enough that SHE knew she had someone in HER corner.

I just find it strange how GOOD and RELEASING and more myself that rant made me feel. Granted - my IBS is flaring and I feel like I've spiked my blood pressure. But, my soul is happier since that rant. I think my inner child LIKES to see me defend and validate. LOUDLY. I think she hopes she's my next 'cause' over which I'll get riled up.

QuoteI think my inner child LIKES to see me defend and validate. LOUDLY. I think she hopes she's my next 'cause' over which I'll get riled up.

:yeahthat:   :thumbup:   :applause:  Go for it !  I don't know if you have his book CPTSD: From Surviving the Thriving, but Pete Walker talks a lot about reawakening our natural self-protective instincts and healthy angering. Here's one of his articles in which he talks about this - http://pete-walker.com/pdf/GrievingAndComplexPTSD.pdf.

Am I being too judgmental, or is this the type of behavior I need to be ready to leave my husband over? I really don't know anymore. I wonder if I'm just looking for reasons to divorce, or if what is being done is too much.

So, this is going to be a telling of all that is going on in my house lately. It's a lot, and there are probably some triggers involved.

I don't know because I don't know how much is based on DH's uC-PTSD that I should be understanding about and how much is possible uBPD that won't be changed unless he wants to. It's hard for me to determine this stuff. I also have uc-PTSD, and there is a possibility I also have uBPD. What a pair, huh? Maybe we shouldn't have bred, but we did. And I am so concerned about what our issues are doing to our son!

This goes back to an incident last week. While I was at work, H and DSS23 had a discussion that almost turned into a verbal fight. DSS has a full-time job and still lives with us. He stays away as much as he can, basically only using our house as a bed and storage for his stuff. There is almost no interaction with me or H, but some limited interaction with DS8 - the boys love each other a lot.

With school beginning, I have to get up earlier and get DS8 up. That puts me taking a shower about the time DSS has been all summer - without interference. There is only one full bath in the house. When H and DSS were discussing it, DSS suggested that, to accommodate him, I take my showers the night before.

** Note, he is a single man living in the home H and I provide for him, paying a token rent only. H and I are married. We own the home.

When H and I discussed that conversation, H made it clear that he'd put the man-child straight about me not having to accommodate him, that he should adjust HIS schedule to work around me. While we discussed this, I made a comment that this is MY house and I will take a shower when I want to, HE (my DSS) can work around MY schedule. I was frustrated. I had and have already made a habit of trying to determine WHEN DSS might need the bathroom so I can be out of it in time for his needs. For DSS to talk like that made me pissed. It was as if he hadn't bothered to notice those years when I've worked with his schedule for everyone's comfort.

What my husband heard: This is MY house (not our house - it's true, his name is not on the deed) and YOUR son better not forget that he's here by MY good graces and he'd better back off because I and MY SON (DS8) are the priority around here!

What I actually said: When it comes to bathroom time, he needs to recognize this is my house and I shouldn't be told to be second to anyone else. And DS8 is still a minor, so, yes, his needs come before DSS's also.

Ever since this conversation, where I was also repeating things DH had said more than once in the recent past, H has acted as if I'm ready to divorce him and kick him and DSS out the door for displeasing me. Even after I apologized for how my comments may have sounded, he's been on me about how I supposedly 'LORD' it over him that his name isn't on *my* house and that I can kick him out at any time.

Well, I happened to have had Monday and Wednesday off for vacation. It was scheduled so I could get used to the new morning routine without risking being late for work. So, I told H that, after I had dropped DS8 off at school, we could see about getting his name added to the deed. I had thought it was going to be easier than it turned out to be. In fact, we'd have to hire a lawyer and that would cost $200 - I checked with the lawyer we used for all our other civil important papers.

Once I found that out, H comes at me with the idea that I never wanted him on my house - a lie. The last five times I offered, he refused with the comment that he didn't want *my family* thinking he was trying to steal my house from me. My family have NEVER given him that impression. So, I stopped offering. Then, we went through a very bad patch when I was so close to a divorce, I braced my family for it, hoping to get their emotional help. I also called the lawyer. When I told H about this, he had a melt-down, promising me the moon if only I wouldn't leave him.

Since that time, we've had a couple more rough patches. Bad rough patches. Bad enough, I called a lawyer again - but this time keeping it to myself, so he couldn't accuse me of turning my family against him again. AND because I wasn't sure I'd follow through, so I didn't want to involve my family again. During the conversations with both lawyers, the fact that the house is in my name only, was paid for by my inheritance from an aunt, and that I would need it to provide a home to our DS, a minor child, meant I would be keeping my home.

I've accepted the fact that I would still probably have to sell the home to pay H his equitable share, because I wouldn't be able to 'buy him out' and his being there for 12 years would count towards SOMETHING I'd have to pay him. I might be legally able to leave him with nothing, but I'm not morally capable. H E double-hockey sticks, that's a big part of why I haven't filed for divorce yet!

Anyway, it just really stung that he'd accuse me of having it in for him, wanting to see him devastated financially (again, his first wife REALLY put it to him) and with nothing.

As if that didn't sting enough, he told me that his kids both have talked with him and they think I'm wrong to even consider divorcing him (not what they told me when they asked if things were OK and I said no). He says they told him that they would think I was the biggest bi**h on the planet if I could do that to their dad, leave him alone with nothing and nowhere to go. Basically saying that if I divorced him, I'd lose all contact with the kids because they'd hate me with everything they have for being so cruel to their dad.

This all after I told him that we still had time to get everything together with the lawyer to do the paperwork to get his name on the deed, if it was that important to him. This after he'd said it wasn't that important to him.

He went on to say that, because he's a man and I'm a woman, even if his name was on the house, he'd be screwed and the courts would give me everything, so what did it matter anyway. I think he was fishing for me to assure him that I would NEVER, EVER seek a divorce from him, something I can't honestly promise. Last time I tried to promise like that, it was used against me as being a liar when I could no longer tolerate his violating a particular boundary with me.

I guess because I couldn't promise him then and there, on the spot, never to ever, ever consider divorcing him ever because it wasn't worth being so mean to him and losing the respect of his children (his exact words) and forever afterward being considered an evil person, he's been treating me like a second-class citizen ever since that conversation Monday.

And, if that wasn't bad enough, he's begun being cruel to our DS8. Oh, and everything that the DS8 does wrong is because of MY horrible parenting and if I'd just let him be in charge (I do, he just doesn't see it that way) then DS8 would finally be the perfect little boy with no problems in the world. Since, DS8 is NOT perfect, H found it acceptable to yell at the boy saying that when DS8 uses a (very annoying, I agree with H that far) screetchy voice because he was mad, H could just squeeze his head like a pimple until it popped. This is what he told our DS8 for using a screetchy voice.

It took over an hour of talking with DS8 later to validate the boy's feelings and reassure him that his father would never do any such thing.

But, how could I answer the boy about his father when the very next day, H tells DS8 that he's sick and tired of DS8 asking when he can get back on the computer (we had an outage, it was frustrating for all, but DS8 and I had filled most of the time together) and that he could just slap the boy's face clear off. Because the boy had asked if his dad knew when the storm would be over. And, because the child finished up his father's lecture with, 'I was just saying...'. I wonder where DS8 learned THAT little gem? I don't say it. H and DSS23 both do, though. And H was right when he was yelling at DS8 only in that a person who says, 'I was just saying...' is trying to get the last word.

So, when I went to talk with DS8 in his room later, he was so angry he was seething, saying through clenched teeth that he hates his father. He always will hate his father for talking to him like that.

How in the world do I show a unified front to the child when I agree that his father's behavior is completely unacceptable? How do I soothe my boy while he's clenching his teeth he's so angry?

When I really mess up, and I have, recently, I apologize to our DS8. I sit and talk it through with him. I let him know that what I did or what I said was very wrong and that he has a right to be angry about it. I let him know my love for him is big enough to survive his anger. We talk about how I could have handled the situation better, and still got the results I required. We then talk about whatever is on his mind - he's the wronged party and he gets to drive the conversation from then out. I try to not walk away until we both are able to genuinely hug each other and be kind with each other again. It has been known to take a couple hours.

Knowing all this, when my husband made a little comment in fun, it struck me so many kinds of wrong I had to leave the room without answering. Last night, after all the drama between father and son and all the peacemaking efforts, DS8 came into the living room and 'caught' my hand. Gently, he tugged and asked so sweetly if I'd go play with him in his room that I couldn't resist! As I was about to leave the room, when DS8 was beyond earshot, H says, 'So, when do *I* get playtime with Mommy?'

It struck me wrong because this was all the romance, kindness, tenderness and/or loving I would get. It was his announcement that he expected sex that night and see what a GREAT guy he was being? All funny and sweet? He DESERVED sex after being such a stand-up guy! And I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to kick him out of the house right then and there.

After all the jibes, all the times he'd shut me down in conversation, all the times MY subject was a bore and not worth talking about, but his hobby was worth non-stop conversation, noisy equipment in the living room so he doesn't have to be 'isolated' in the room next to the living room, constant research on HIS - emphasis HIS, nobody better touch HIS computer in the living room because it's HIS and we screw it up and he looses his place on his research for his hobby!!!!!!! All the insults to our son. All the small insults to me about MY hobby - which is silent and interruptible because that is just the way it has to be - all the 'jokes' about his strong libido and aren't I a lucky woman because most men HIS age (he's only 3 years older than me) can't perform like HE does and what's wrong with me because most women over 40 are DYING to have sex ALL THE TIME and I'm even already post-menopausal so I should be just dying to have sex ALL THE TIME, with HIM because he's SO READY all the time and, and, and.....

So, he can treat me like furniture, compliant furniture, until he wants (forgive me, I want to get crude and nasty and rude ---- I'm trying to resist) sex. Then, that one little statement is supposed to make up for all that and I'm supposed to be thankful he wants me and delighted to do all the work in bed so he can get his rocks off and let me go to sleep. All the while, I have to be vigilant because he wants to violate my boundary about back-door again, and he's pushing it, hoping I won't say anything, then he can say that I didn't say no so it must have been alright when he *accidentally* takes what I have not offered.

I've been down this road before. I've forgiven the transgressions and even the absolute lack of caring. I'm ready to scream at him and tell him to go stuff himself in impossible positions. I'm ready to tell him and his rude, self-centered, lazy DS23 with him - they can be roommates if DSS really gives that much of a S**T about his father, which I doubt.

Then, h can get the nympho he really wants and they can bang until they're raw.

Then, I breathe. Then, I catch myself saying all these angry things and wanting to hurt H emotionally and I know that is not right. Then, I wonder if I am the one with uBPD. Knowing we both have uC-PTSD does not help the situation.

H would agree that HE has uC-PTSD, but not that I could, just from being neglected. Only someone who had it as bad as he did should be able to claim uC-PTSD. Those of us with charmed lives who had both parents in the home and siblings who didn't beat us up or rob us or molest us should just shut up. We don't know how good we had it and we are just big whining babies for complaining about our perfect little lives not being perfect enough.

So, I feel invalidated again. I feel like I have to stuff all my real feelings down again, just to get through another day married to this man. I feel hate growing because he thinks that we are fine as long as he's getting regular sex. It's not making love. It never was making love. It's sex to get his orgasm and then we're done. If I'm lucky, after he's 'got his', he might be feeling generous enough to actually touch me in kind ways. But, I don't even trust that, because when he's feeling generous, he thinks I ought to be generous and give him my boundary again. So, I don't trust the tenderness- it has an agenda. And, it's the only tenderness I get anymore!

And when he is cruel to our son, I really struggle with reasons to stay married to him. There is NEVER an appropriate time to tell a child that you could pop his head like a pimple. Or slap his face off. I don't care WHAT the provocation a CHILD could give a parent, it's just not acceptable.

So, am I being too easy on H, or too hard? Am I an unforgiving person, or finally learning to stand up for myself but afraid to because of the consequences?

This sounds so stupid and pathetic, but am I a bad person for feeling like I do about all this? Or am I a bad parent for allowing this to happen to my DS8?

I feel like I have to choose between staying married and being a good parent. The thought terrifies me. I am going to have to accept that there will be pain, all of us will have pain if I divorce H. All of us may have pain even if I don't! Which pain is more damaging?

20 steps backward again.

You're not imagining things, it sounds bad there. Your H needs to not be abusive to your son, and if he won't stop on his own, imo you need to take matters in hand. Otherwise, how are you not complicit in what H does and says?

Whether those steps are counseling individually, or as a family, it seems as tho you'll be the one to have to instigate it. Also, imo, unless you at least try to work this all out in a mutually agreeable way, you'll regret it later and most likely repeat the pattern in your next relationship, if there is one.

And please do not put his name on the deed. In my state, inheritances are not community property. The house is yours and you should do everything you can to keep it that way. If it were his, I'd tell him the same thing. But, unless he gets help I'd rather be rid of him anyway I could, and if that meant selling the house, so be it. 

My marriage was much this same way for 27 years. To my everlasting regret I - we - raised our sons in a toxic environment. I will never, never advise anyone else to do the same. I see the problems our kids have now as adults and I know I'm partially responsible, and that hurts like *. Please don't do that to yourself.

Three Roses - thank you for putting it out there as it really is. I am complicit in the toxicity if I don't leave - or kick H out - to protect our son.

It really is that simple. All the talking to DS8 and validating his feelings when he's angry with his Dad - or me! All the hugs and conversations and time spent together, just DS8 and me. All the plans we make together. None of it means c**p if I let the child remain in such a toxic environment.

I don't even know what keeps me there anymore. It isn't for DS8's sake - though I won't let him say it to me, I think he's ready to not have Dad there full time. It isn't for DS23's sake - though I did tell myself that for a while. Seriously, DS23 can move out any time he wants, he has the resources. It isn't for my sake - allowing this marriage to continue is only making me more miserable, too. I keep conceding things I don't want to concede, thinking that's what a good wife does, then resenting him for putting me in the position to have to concede those things.

I already know I can afford it - though I'll be pretty broke. I already know the courts will be in my favor, just about down the line. I already know that, though things will be different, DS8 will be able to adjust quickly.

So, what holds me there? Fear of the unknown (better the devil you know than one you don't)? Fear of genuinely hurting H? Fear of the drama of the divorce process? The folks at OOTF can help there, many have been through divorce with an undiagnosed PD person. In some respects, what they've gone through DOES scare me! Trying to co-parent with a man who will use every opportunity to vilify me and cut me down in front of our son DOES scare me (I know this to be true, he did it with first wife, as soon as he got custody of the kids). But, is that good enough reason to keep on keeping on in all this toxicity?

How can I ever heal when neglect was my * and my H continues to ignore my wants, needs, contribution? How can I be a better parent to DS8 if I don't try to heal?

 :hug:

Not easy, either way!

Sometimes I look at posts I've made and think, "what the heck was wrong with me!", sometimes I sound so blunt and not at all gentle, like I mean to.

Hindsight is so clear, tho - and I'd feel like a heel if I didn't at least try to save you some of the pain of what I know I went thru.

My thoughts and best wishes are with you, Wife2. <3

Three Roses -no apologies needed! Sometimes, especially if I'm trying to sink into a good old pity party, I need a swift verbal kick in the brains to dislodge me and get me seeing things. You were NOT too rough, honestly!

Plain is good, you didn't cross the line to cruel. And I thank you again for putting it in language I couldn't dance around, not even in my own head. THANK YOU!!!!!  If after all this time I haven't seen that you are one of the most gentle with other's hearts, I am more blind than my husband. And I'm not, thankfully. Blind that is.  :bighug:   :yourock:

Thanks!  :yahoo:

Well, I'm still there. Funny, but H accused me of talking in my sleep recently and I'm beginning to believe him. Since all this went down, H has been on his best, kindest behavior. He's still found ways to let his displeased opinion be known, but that's to be expected, it's his home, too! At least he's been far more polite about it.

NOW, it IS hard to kick him out. I lost the momentum of my anger on that post. It really was like someone flipped a switch and H began to understand that I might not leave him over MY issues, but I'll sure as h*ll leave him over what he does to DS8. And nobody will stop me next time.

Maybe I *did* talk in my sleep. I can only guess what I've been saying. But if it's working, well, that could be good. I don't know. I really do hate being so wishy-washy. It would be so much easier if H would just be a great guy all the time or a jerk all the time - pick one and stick with it! Ugh.

That's not how his game works. Flipping from love bombing you to eviscerating you is how he keeps you off balance, confused, STUCK! I used to talk in my sleep too. In affect I had no secrets from my husband. He's dead now and has taken all my secrets to his grave. When I consider hooking up again, one of the top ten questions I have to ask myself is "Am I ok with this new person hearing what I say in my sleep?"

Danaus, that's a very good point. If I ever (let me try, when I finally) leave this man, I doubt very strongly that I'll remarry. I may date, but I don't see myself having the energy to court or be courted again.

Right now, I have too much work to do on me to think about bringing someone else into a relationship.

However, I won't keep my heart closed to the idea - should a healthy potential partner show interest.

OK, something is on my mind, won't leave it. I keep flashing back to something that happened when I was a small child, about 8 years old. I know what triggered it - a commercial on television. But, the memory and the emotions keep coming back hard.

Ok, so the incident is not as bad as one might think. It didn't even happen to me. But. Ok. No more stalling.

As a kid, I hung out with a friend, who was allowed to roam her neighborhood unattended, just like I could. We were in her neighborhood. A friend of her grandmother saw us and over time befriended both of us children. She was a very kind, nice woman.

One of the days I was over with my friend, we happened across Ms. Gem (not her real name). She was walking her small dog on a leash. It was a chilly day. I wanted to be helpful and she looked so cold. She, Ms. Gem, must have been in her late 60's or older.

Anyway, I offered to take her dog's leash for her, so she could warm her hands in her coat pockets. I remember as we walked along that I looked up at Ms. Gem and couldn't help but love the woman. Then, her dog took off, having seen another dog. I lost control, but not the leash. The dog was around Ms. Gem's feet before I knew it. Then, down went Ms. Gem, directly onto her face - her hands were still in her pockets.

I still can hear the sound, hear the dog yelping, hear myself screaming for help. I was afraid to touch Ms. Gem. She wasn't moving. I was sure she was dead. My friend ran to get her grandmother. I can feel the cold wind, see the blood coming from where her face still lay on the pavement. All I think during the flashback is MY FAULT, MY FAULT.

Ms. Gem did survive that fall. She died in her sleep about two weeks later. But, nobody could console me or convince me that Ms. Gem's eventual death hadn't been caused by that fall that I caused by holding Ms. Gem's dog and encouraging her to put her hands in her pockets.

I was afraid to visit Ms. Gem at her home. I didn't want to make it worse by crying in my guilt to the one I'd hurt. Eventually, I couldn't even go visit my friend, because I had to cross the street near where the blood could still be seen. Then, I didn't even need the blood to accuse me. I couldn't visit because it was too close to where I'd killed Ms. Gem. My friend's grandmother tried to talk to me to ease my guilt, but I just nodded and politely said, 'Yes, Ma'am, I know.' never really believing that I hadn't caused her death.

When we moved to another state the following year, I couldn't have been happier. I'd lost my friend over the change in my attitude. In fact, I'd lost most of my friends by then.

I don't think I've talked about that, or the guilt I carried because of it. I'm living proof that you can tell a kid they didn't cause it, but you can't convince a kid they didn't cause it. Especially if the 'it' is something bad.

I'm going to have to work through this one. Maybe it's time for a funeral for guilt over Ms. Gem's death. And a funeral for missing out on the grieving I didn't do then. Thank you, Sans, for the idea of the desk-top funeral / memorial service.

*** Mild triggers - language and strong emotions *** REALLY long post - good, but long.

Ok, so I was in the tools and reading some of the excerpts from the Pete Weller book. It was the affirmations for dealing with dis-regulating. As I was reading them, I realized that I have a hard time internalizing any of those thoughts. It was frustrating just to read them, because it was hurting my own feelings. I know they should be true. I know they can be true. I have a hard time finishing either of those sentences with 'of me'.

I have an amazing strength, I know this about myself. I realize that others might have given up in the face of what I've been through. Yet, that's not how I feel most of the time.

My inner critic had something negative to say about all the affirmations. Typically, something along the lines of - yeah, except you WON'T! or 'You're too lazy to do that'.

Just reading them, I found myself wringing my hands. That's a habit I started I childhood when dealing with things that felt too big for me. Looking at myself wringing my hands, I EF'd back to 6th grade. The year my parents split up.

I had been placed in the gifted & talented English class. That was no surprise in my family, we are all smart and if we tried at all, we'd excel. Even me. For my little ignored heart, that still felt like I had NOTHING that was about ME. Nothing that was special, worthy of my parent's attention. Until I started acting out in that class. Only that class. My grades plummeted and a parent/teacher conference was ordered. That conference was ALL about me. It was bad attention, but it was attention. I hated it because I couldn't defend the bad attitude towards the teacher or the lack of effort in the classwork. I hated it because my parents expressed only disappointment in me.

The teacher did, but not my parents! So, while she sat there, sincerely hurt about my acting like I hated her, sincerely upset that it was in HER class that I chose to fail, sincerely trying to explain to my parents that she KNEW I could do better, I sat there wringing my hands, shoving my fingernail into a ring that was just big enough to resist the fingernail a little, into the little pattern, over and over and over again. Because no amount of her explaining could get through to my parents that their behavior was in part responsible. THEY were failing me as parents. I was BEGGING for attention the only way I knew. But, they were both so preoccupied with their own issues and emotions that the couldn't see my pain. They were only honest enough with the teacher to tell her that there was trouble at home. But, at 12 years old, I should be old enough to understand and handle it better than THIS.

The whole time I spent wringing my hands, sticking that fingernail into the design on my ring, I kept thinking to myself, F*** them, they don't get it. They don't love me. F*** them. I clamped my teeth together. I looked down at my ring. I heard everything they said. I think I flinched a time or two, when the teacher asked why I hated her (I didn't, she was nice, I just literally did choose her class for all this) and when my parents spewed their disappointment.

This was the only way I knew of coping with the hurt, sadness, anger and loneliness of the year of their fighting and eventual split. My heart-mother sister was out of the house by this point and my brothers were dealing with things the best way THEY knew how. One got high, the other got drunk (at 14, yes). I wringed my hands and poked my fingernails in the spaces of my ring.

To this day, if anyone who really knows me, like my husband, catches me wringing my hands, they know it's a bad sign. What he hasn't learned yet is that I will NOT be forthcoming if I've already reached the place of wringing my hands. I have already shut down because, in my experience, nothing fruitful will come of my stating my opinion or telling my feelings. I have closed into my mental castle and pulled up the drawbridge.

I've just had a thought that is very sad. I have just realized that it was around this time, when I flunked out of G/T English in 6th grade to get their attention, that my father began to doubt anything I strove for. This is when he started acting like I was a failure and would keep being a failure. When I succeeded, he was and to this day IS genuinely surprised. When I failed, that was the status quo for me.

Looking back over the relationship I've had with my father since 6th grade, every decision he made, every lecture he gave me, every disappointed glance makes sense. He would tell you that he's proud of me. He would tell you that he's always been worried about me more than the other kids (he's told ME both things). He would deny believing that I am nothing but a big failure, but his treatment of me proves that to be a lie.

7th grade - I'm the only child still in elementary school. My parents are separated and divorcing. We've been moved out of the family home because Dad is gone and Mom can't afford it alone. Dad is already dating a woman who would become my step-mother. The kids are only one and two years younger than me, but while the parents go out (on my visitation weekend - he goes on dates), I'm left in charge. One afternoon, Future-Step-Bro is in the front yard, I'm in the living room, Future-Step-Sis is in her room, reading. We are at Future-Step-Mom's house. FSB has been playing on his bike, doing something stupid that I'm sure will get him hurt. He ignores me (I'm nobody to him) and eventually DOES get hurt. When the parents return, it's my fault that this kid I barely know broke his arm playing a stupid, dangerous game. I'm in trouble because I didn't stop him. I'm a failure at keeping FSB & FSS safe. I'm never left 'in charge' again.

8th grade - I'm in middle school. The band director remembers my talented bro and hopes the same of me. Even though I'm only in 8th grade, he brings me and 7 other students to the high school to march in the Sr. High School band. I know I'm only an adequate player of my instrument, but I'm honored by his faith in me. My Dad comes to get me at the high school after practice one of the few times he actually remembers I'm there. He sees that the director has placed me in the front of a large line of marchers during a complicated maneuver. Practice ends and as I run to my Dad, excited that he's there, I overhear him ask the director what he was thinking putting me in that position! I was crushed. After that, I didn't mind so much that he rarely came to see me march - I would have been so nervous I probably would mess up, confirming his theory that I was the family f***-up.

In 8th grade, I got into my first fight with another student. My parents found out immediately because the teacher who broke it up went to our church. Rather than talk to me about controlling my temper or learning how to defend myself, the only thing I remember my father saying about the whole incident was that he was embarrassed that I would do that at school. No discussion about why I felt like I had to be in a fight (the girl had written b***h on my shirt because I had said I hated smokers - thinking of my mother, not my fellow 8th grader who smoked).

Summer between 8th & 9th grade was when I was nominated for the state school of Math & Science. I've spoken about that elsewhere in this journal. Mom didn't really believe that I'd make it, but she encouraged me anyway. Dad didn't want to waste his time (or mine, so thoughtful) even trying, he believed so little in my ability.

Also, summer between 8th & 9th, I was also nominated, by that same science teacher, for a 2-week summer camp. I was even granted a scholarship to attend. Honestly, when the teacher told me he'd nominated me, I told him there was NO way my parents would pay for that. So, he made it happen. That teacher had a faith in me that to this day I don't understand. I certainly wasn't a star student in his class. But, he tried to make a lot of good things happen for me.

Anyway, Dad was busy getting engaged. He couldn't be bothered to take me to the camp or bring me home. Mom couldn't help that she got a job in another town and moved while I was at camp to take the job. The only reason I didn't have to leave camp early was that Dad would have to bring me back to HIS apartment until Mom finished the move, then I would go home. I was allowed to stay at camp the whole two weeks. And Dad had just decided to allow GC-Bro to move in with him, so he didn't have the room.

From then on, Dad knew less and less about the actual goings-on in my life. He was busy with his new fiancé then wife and her two kids. And GC-bro. And planning his wedding. And planning a move two states away for a great job. He still had his visitations, every other weekend. But, the distance was forming. He was pulling even further away. He had too much going on to even really listen to his teenage daughter.

One thing I have learned is that people tend to freeze in your memory the way you remember them before a separation takes place. My oldest sisters still saw me as 9 years old, because that's when they saw me last on a regular basis. For heart-dad Bro, it was 13 years old. For GC-bro, it was 15 years old. For heart-mom Sis, I was my age until she died. She was the only one who made efforts to see me regularly after the parents divorced. For Dad, I was still 12 years old, failing out of G/T English, the role being set for me as the family F-up.

I'm still fighting the evidence of that. My head hurts. This was a huge, HUGE insight for me. I've been inching towards it for a while now. To stare it in the face and not flinch away, wringing my hands, is very hard.

Time to sit with this for a while. Time to make peace with it. Time to realize that THIS is the reason I don't really like talking with him on the phone, why I feel like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs when I visit his house. I do feel like he's just waiting for me to give him MORE evidence of what a failure I am, so he and his wife can nod and say to each other, 'Yes. It's true. Wife#2 is a failure, just like we've been saying for years. So sad, so much wasted potential with her.'

Well, at least I've stopped wringing my hands for the moment. There is that.

Dumb side note - last night I was at home. It was a stressful evening - as usual. uBPD h & DS can't be in the same room together for 10 minutes before someone is not nice to the other. So, I asked DS to head off to his room, I'd be in there in a few minutes and we'd play cards or read together. DS leaves the room. I can feel my face pinch and I look down to realize that I'm wringing my hands. Again.

H follows my eyes and realizes that I'm wringing my hands. He forgets that at that point, I'm going to 'Everything's fine' him to death before I answer what's really bothering me. Because I don't want to have THAT fight again. THAT fight changes nothing, no matter HOW many times we have it. And DS had a bad day at school. The last thing the little fellow needs is his Mom and Dad fighting again.

So, I was grinding my teeth and probably talking in my sleep last night. It was a bad night. DS had a bad night. We were both too grumpy this morning and we clashed. I tried to sooth things back to normal, but I won't know until tonight if I succeeded in getting DS's day back on track. Mine is certainly NOT back on track.

 :hug:

 :hug: I'm sorry you feel like your day was derailed. Hugs to you!

Thank you both, Dutch Uncle & Three Roses! Those hugs did help make my day better.

I'm guessing DS didn't have that great a day either. He got home and told his Dad that I'd said no computer time after his sassy mouth this morning. I forgot to tell my H this. I got a call from H, verifying and asking why I didn't call with this important tidbit BEFORE DS got home.

No answer except I really didn't want to talk about it. It was a busy day all day at work, I've been feeling overwhelmed often during the day. I should have called, but I didn't. At least DS didn't want more trouble with me, so he was honest.

I wonder if H will do anything WITH DS, or just send him to his room so HE won't have to deal with DS?

I'll be headed home soon, so shall find out before long.

Thank you again for those hugs. I think I'm going to need the friendship of them to envelope me tonight!

hey,

sorry i didn't get here sooner.  somehow i missed this.  but, i'm glad i found my way here.  just want to add my support, plus a few thoughts.

i hope that when you did the funeral for mrs. gem, that you were able to include the guilt.  it deserves to be laid to rest as well.

all those questions about your worth as a mom, a person, a wife - i find nothing in you and what you're reporting to be ashamed of.  i believe you're doing the best you can. 

having said that, and meaning it, your decision to stay or leave has got to be with you.  i am also concerned about the effect of your husband's treatment on your young son.  mental/emotional health issues is no excuse for abuse.   you can't fix it for your son, can't make right the wrong your hub is doing.   abuse is abuse, and as long as your hub is not doing what he needs to do to change his attitudes and behaviors, the abuse will simply continue to pile up on itself, crushing whoever is beneath it.

you know this from your own experience.  your dad continued with his abuse, and it crushed you.  you are beginning to clear the rubble and put yourself back together.  your husband continues abusing you, and it makes it that much more difficult for you to find your way to a safe, sane path, for both you and your son.

i've read here that both you and your hub suffer from c-ptsd.  that's heartbreaking in itself.  i've also read about how you talk to your son, spend time with him, are gentle and caring with him.  in effect, you're breaking the cycle of how you were treated as a child.  kudos to you - that's not an easy thing to do.  i know that from experience.

if a parent's job is to protect his/her child, what is your hub doing to actively put that protection into play?  if he has bpd, is he on meds for stabilization?  is he in therapy?  is he trying to work on this situation with you?  is he attempting to make things right with your son after threatening him with bodily harm?   i'm just not seeing too much positive effort on his part.  on the other hand, you are doing a lot to protect your son at the same time you are making excuses for his dad not to do the same.   is that fair to anyone?

i was an excuse-maker, so i know how this works.  now i know that anyone i'm in a relationship with deserves the right to experience the work it takes to make things different.  i didn't allow others that opportunity and experience.  i shortchanged them by taking care of everything myself. 

perhaps it's scary for you to break this relationship off with him because it's still scarier for you to be without him and his abuse than it is to be in a calm, caring, loving environment.  what would that seem like to you?  is it something you're striving for?  or is the abuse, the chaos, the confusion, the frustration, the anger, all the negativity in your household still something you want to hang onto, want to keep in your life and in the life of your son.  you have your reasons.  no judgments here.  when you're ready.

i'm not looking for answers to these questions, but am only posting them as points to ponder.  his back and forth actions, being nice one minute, a jerk the next, is a manipulation, like someone else said.  it's a very real part of the cycle of abuse - the abuse happens, threats and apologies, there's a honeymoon period, the tension begins building, and eventually the abuse happens again. the cycle has come full circle.

it sounds like you are wringing your hands more often lately, getting overwhelmed.  you know what that means.  when you take the step and send him and the whiner out the door (yes, anyone living in someone else's house does not complain, but works their schedule around the owner's  - you're dead on with that one.  and, i'll add my vote to not putting your hub's name on the deed.), we'll be here for you.  trust your gut - you already know the answers.

San,

Yes, I was hiding. You know I usually answer quicker during the work mornings. I read your post, was glad to read your post, but still crawled back into my head and slammed the drawbridge shut for a while. The more right someone outside myself is, the more likely this is to happen. And you were dead-on with everything you said.

I feel frozen in self-doubt, fear of the unknown, a willingness to tolerate what I can understand rather than do the right thing - because I don't know what will happen. I know control is an illusion, but in the home with H, I feel somewhat in control. If/when I leave him, I won't know what to expect or how to handle it when it does happen.

I rely currently on H to be a warm body adult to watch DS after school, or days when school is out, or when DS is sick and couldn't go to day-care anyway. I rely on him to cook dinner on my work days. I rely on his help keeping the house up (little that he does do is a help to a degree). I rely on him to arrange repair men, meet with them, make sure the work gets done. Often, I rely on his help to pay for these things. So, for as much as I know that I should leave and that DS and I would be better without H around daily, I worry and imagine all the worst things happening with no help to deal with it. I worry that I won't make good decisions and that DS will pay even more for my bad choices than he's already paying. I cop-out and choose the devil I know than the life I don't.

hey, wife2,

you can take it easy on yourself, you know.  you are struggling with one of the most difficult decisions i know of, and one of the saddest.  i don't doubt that when you and your hub got married, everything was sunshine and lollipops.

the changes come over time, slowly, sometimes without us even realizing it.  we become comfortable in what is, often denying the reality because, too often, we don't want to admit we were wrong or that we ignored the signs.  so, we scamper around to make do, trying to make the insane seem sane.  been there, done that with 2 hubs.  i can totally relate.

i didn't leave either marriage until i was, for all practical purposes, pushed out.  the behaviors had gotten to be so consistently neg. that i couldn't deny what was happening anymore, couldn't stand to stay with him, and became more miserable at the thought of staying than of the thought of taking that giant leap of faith into the frightening unknown.

i have no doubt that you'll get to that point sooner or later.  it may be messy until you find your sea legs, but it will eventually smooth out.  in the meantime, please be gentle with yourself.  you're working so hard to make sense out of the senseless, to keep your recovery moving forward, and to provide the best home possible for your son.  i understand your hesitation.  i really do. 

from what i've gotten to know about you, you are a strong (see above), determined (ditto), resourceful, and courageous woman.  you may not see it, but you've recognized these qualities in me.  it's said that others are mirrors for what is truly within ourselves - that's why we can see these qualities in others, because we have them already.

i have faith in you.  you'll find your way in your own time.  whether it be to stay in or leave the relationship, you have my support.  i don't live your life, and won't try to.  it's yours to do with as you see best.  standing right beside you.

Thank you so much, San! I do consider you a friend and value what you say. The kind words nearly brought me to happy, grateful tears.

you deserve them - both the kind words and happy grateful tears. 

Inching closer.

It was a small thing. Really, stupidly small. But, it stung and it P***ED me off. We've gone through some struggles with the house and the plumbing lately. H is full of blaming, but also helping to get it fixed. I could care less that the accidental action of our DS8 CAUSED the clog. What I cared about was the words H chose as this process went on and on and on.... nightmare.

First, there was the cussing of MY house - hadn't faced that one in at least a month! Only cussing MY house when something goes wrong. Like the mobile home he had would NEVER have problems if we'd have stayed there.

Next was acting like a big martyr about being the one to call the plumber and set up the appointment. Which *I* would pay for, but through the joint account so he could access the funds. After I left home to the Mega box store at 11:30 at night to get supplies he requested, which did no good we found out later. $50 I could have used to pay for the plumber.

Next, acting like he was the only one stressed out over the whole event. Blaming DS for causing the whole string of mishaps that followed the call to the plumber (tech # 1 broke toilet and left, tech # 2 admitted tech 1 was a problem, but still had to put down new toilet - forgot to tighten one nut, tech 3 first visit, fixed that no problem, tech 3 next visit had to replace aged valve in bathroom - it had seen more action in three days than in three years prior). But, when I mention that *I* was pretty stressed out as it was MY house, I was at work as these people came over, H obviously couldn't see the problems and they kept mounting up, along with the bill from the plumbing company, H acted like I was trying to HOG his need for attention.

I let him know I'm stressed out. I still massage HIS feet last night (they were burning and aching). Afterwards, he lets me know he expects sex with these two questions asked at different times. 'Are we ok?' and 'I'm going to bed, you staying up?'

That's it. That is all the love, consideration, tenderness, support, romance and kindness I got. 'Thanks for rubbing my feet. Are you coming to bed or staying up?'

In front of him, after I rubbed his feet, I began rubbing my own. He was content with that. He didn't even offer to help, get me a towel, nothing. Even after I dropped the HUGE hint of 'I know, it does feel great when someone else rubs your feet for you'

I'm in a pi**y mood, I know. But it was just too much again last night. Do for me, it's all about me, MY pain, My angst is what matters. whatever you're suffering, it's less than me because I'm the man and men have to handle stuff so take a goody powder for your pain, rub your own stinking feet, take a shower and get to bed before too late because it's my night and I say I deserve sex.

It was hard to not spit at him when he said he loved me AFTER his pleasures in bed. He might not have liked the answer if he'd chosen THEN to ask if we were ok. Instead, he asked BEFORE getting all my attentions and love and kindness.

No, he doesn't owe it to me to do things for me in return for the nice things I do for him. I understand that. But, D***. He could have at least offered SOMETHING to let me know *I* matter, too! Even just saying, yeah, I know, honey, this has been a stressful week for both of us, hasn't it? Nope - all about HIS stress and HIS nerves and HIS pain and HIS money (not all his, but when he's like this, I have to pick my battles) and HIS frustration with MY son and MY house and MY old pipes.

I'm not liking the division here.

I'm going through something that I don't know how it's going to turn out. I don't even know if anything will come of it. But, I need to expel this thought and see what happens.

****** HERE THERE BE TRIGGERS AND TMI  (RAPE, LADY BIOLOGY) ******

GOD, I hate even typing that word. To know that it happened to me, more than once, just crushes my spirit in some ways. I've already talked about one of the incidents - when my husband anally raped me before we were even married.

I had been raped once before. I may have written about that, I don't remember right now. Short story is: I had a crush on a co-worker. We went out as part of a larger group of coworkers. He drove me home. When I walked him to the door instead of giving in to his advances (I was on my period), he refused to leave, walking me back to my room. After he raped me, he laughed at me and told me that he'd just given me AIDS. Fortunately, he was wrong on that score.

I didn't prosecute that man, though I should have. We continued working at the same place until I could escape about 4 months later. He was my primary reason for fleeing - the job, the city, the state even.

When my husband and I were dating, I told him this story, including the part where I didn't seek prosecution. I wonder, and I don't even want to type this, if that isn't why he felt he COULD rape me? And think he'd get away with it. I'd allowed another man to rape me (allowed because I didn't prosecute) and that man didn't even want a relationship with me. But, H wanted to marry me! And wouldn't everything be ok within marriage? With him so willing to marry me (I'd already refused his proposals as too quick) surely I would understand that it was just his passion that got the best of him!

And I did let him get away with it. Because I didn't prosecute. I didn't even stay away from him. He raped me and I married him two months later. And all the promises he'd made before marriage were broken afterward because his 'needs' were so strong. And, nearly 12 years later we're still married.

How could I not see this before? I had my own place to go- I was there when we met and I was there when I ran after the rape. Yes, it was lonely, but it was mine and NOT his.

Here is the thing - I was too embarrassed FOR him to tell his children WHY I left. To this day, they don't know what he did to me. They only know that DSD wrote a letter to me, H delivered it with his own tears and promises and I came back. And I've been finding excuses ever since to stay with him.

It just makes me shudder that he could use the knowledge of my prior rape and failure to report against me so cold-heartedly. I can't believe anybody would do that and decry their love for the victim. What kind of a monster did I marry? Am I still married to?

o my dear friend,

i wish there were more i could do for you to ease this pain. there aren't enough words.   your strength and courage are admirable and inspiring.

we do make choices, don't we, not all of them in our own best interest.  as you said in the post before, you are inching forward.  and inches count.  keep going, keep writing, and you will keep sorting it out.  it will happen.  it's already begun.  big hug to you, and know that i'm hangin' right beside you.

I'm so sorry.  I wish I had better words to express it.

Quote from: radical on September 23, 2016, 03:34:27 AM
I'm so sorry.  I wish I had better words to express it.

This. :(

It's a truly frightening experience to start fully understandung the complexities of rape, especially when the perpatrator is your intimate partner. I don't know if it's a conscious thought process that leads men to sexual violence or not. But certainly in my own hindsight there were signals I gave out and I was groomed to "accept" it based on my FOO's influence on my confidence and ability to express myself. Then later grooming from partners so that for years I didn't even understand I was raped.

You are fully aware what happened was rape, and I cannot imagine how hard it is to do the work you are doing within your relationship and still caring for your children. My admiration of your strength is huge, and I hope you can get a feeling of how courageous you are for facing your truths. You are reclaiming your power in doing so. Big hugs.  :hug:

Don't be too proud of me, gang. I also did what I usually do when given a chance to be honest and open and straightforward or go along to get along. This weekend, I completely chickened out and defaulted into pleasant, accommodating Wife#2.

*** Trigger alert - sexual relations and emotional neglect ***

And he even asked the direct question - have I been considering getting a divorce again. I lied and said no.

The thing is.... NO! Let me stop right there before I go making more excuses as to why I won't tell him the truth and finally, finally end this thing.

I did answer his direct question that he gets sex so rarely because it's just sex. There is no love, no romance, no affection and no intimacy. And I don't care to just screw a man, even if he is my husband. He nodded, acted as if he was absorbing this for the first time, though I've explained this at least a dozen times in a dozen years.

Then, later, as usual, he asked bluntly, 'Are we going to do anything tonight?' When I hesitated, because I'm so sick of this emotionless sex request, and because I genuinely don't feel very good, he says, 'Well, a blow job or something. Anything.' I remind him that I'm still sick and that the medicine doesn't 'fix' everything overnight.

My problem - I won't be genuine.

Thought - 'Screw you, you **! If THAT is YOUR idea of romance, intimacy and/or showing ME love to get ME into the mood, you failed miserably. After a dozen years of this **, I think I have a RIGHT to be considering divorcing your lazy **! And NO, there will be NO sex tonight or any other night because you STILL don't know how to treat me right!'

Said - 'I'm still hurting in my lower back and down there. Not as bad as before, but I do still hurt.'
H reply: 'Have you taken anything for it?'
Me: Somewhat sputtering, because this is so opposite of sympathy or empathy, 'I've taken the prescription, but nothing else'
H: 'Well, if you haven't taken anything for it, that's YOUR fault (he's not kidding or teasing at all).' Tosses box of aspirin powders at me. 'Here you go, or would you rather have an ibuprofen?'
Me: Taking a powder out, not ready to take it that instant, 'This will do. Geesh.'
H: 'Don't complain if you're not going to do something about it.'

AND I CAVED. AS I ALWAYS DO. I actually felt ASHAMED that I was still hurting! I felt ASHAMED that, later on, when he got his, he REALIZED that I was hurting and asked if I was hurting, I answered, 'Yes, but it'll be ok.' AND HE KEPT GOING. AND I LET HIM. And now I really AM hurting, because I wasn't healed and he's stressing me out and he has no idea because whenever he asks directly, I choke and don't tell the whole truth. I won't bother to write a letter, he won't read it. I won't bother to send an email, he deletes anything he wasn't told was coming. And he won't read letters from ME.

I could hit things I'm so angry, but as much at myself for NOT defending my boundaries as at him for being the <expletive> who puts me into these positions!

Why couldn't I send DS8 out with DSS24 (or at least tried) and finally told H the truth. I have no passion left for him. I love him, but it's become that kind of love where you care as a human being what happens and is NOTHING like the EROS  love two spouses should feel for each other.

I think I just had a revelation. I fell for his passion. I thought it was a passion for life. It was really just anger. Lots and lots of anger. I also saw the anger and was scared of that, but I thought that was different than the passion. I was wrong.

He has no passion for people. I do believe he loves, and loves deeply. But, he can't work up passion for anyone. He shuts down if it feels too intimate. Until he has already got what he was after, then he is VERY loving, VERY gentle. But, not until he's sure he's going to get or has already got his reward.

That theory proved true yet again last night. And I was too chicken mess to do anything, say anything about it. I just lay there and pretended to go to sleep. And felt angry at myself and angry at him. And wished that the situation would fix itself so I wouldn't have to do the work. But, I need to do the work.

So, not so brave, not so strong, not so smart after all, huh?

Miles to go and less time today than yesterday.....

I'm so sorry for the predicament you are in. It is heartbreaking. :( You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Your husband, on the other hand, really really does.

I think it takes bravery, strength, and intelligence to sort all this out, and you are doing that. You are on the right track.

i agree with mourningdove, wife#2.  you are figuring it out, and that's a biggie, even if it doesn't feel like it.  please, have patience with yourself, as well as kindness and gentleness.  we don't all come to the same place at the same time or in the same way.  hills and valleys - it's all part of the process.

you are already working hard at this, even when you want to quit, you don't.  you've got a spirit that i admire.  when i finally left my hub, i told him that if we'd been totally honest in our relationship, the marriage wouldn't have lasted 5 yrs.  it lasted 20.

so, i've been there, done that.  it's not pretty, it feels messy, it's like slogging through the muck, but you'll get there.  hang tough - i'm hangin' right beside you.  you're not alone on this journey.

 :hug:

You are going through some monumental realizations that will shape your future. Until you've worked up the strength you need for the next step, I think a certain amount of "peacekeeping", if I may use such an unpleasant euphamism, is to be expected. Internally you're breaking things down to be able to build something new. Stay gentle with yourself and when the time is right you'll know.

In my case, it wasn't so much that the time was "right" like I thought it should be, but just that I reached a point where I couldn't stay silent any longer (and my hand was forced). But that was right in its own way, too. I wasn't strong enough to speak up and stand by it before that point. I'm not sure I could have done differently even though I would have liked to.

The blame is not yours. The selfishness is not yours. But the power and freedom will be yours if you keep working at it the way you are. We're here for you.

I just had to pop in real quick to write so my brain can see it ..... This is all work related:

INNER CRITIC, SHUT UP! I am not a total ** up. I am capable in my job. I've been with this company for over 10 years, if I was a ** up, I think they'd have caught on by now and fired me.

So, I have to write this a few more times, because ICr is being particularly noisy this morning.

SHUT UP INNER CRITIC! YOU DO NOT KNOW ME, YOU ARE THE VOICE OF MY FATHER AND I REJECT YOU THIS MORNING!

I do NOT think more highly of myself than I ought. I have value. I have intelligence. My opinions may be right or wrong, but I have the right to HAVE opinions! So, ICr voiced by my husband, can SHUT UP, too!

This work is not too much for me to handle. I do it every day. Maybe not perfectly, but well enough.

Yes, it's true, I used to be the young, brilliant shining star. But, like a firework, shining that brightly burned me out too quickly. Now, with maturity, I've learned to shine, to be an encouragement to others, to do my best as long as that doesn't require me to wear myself to a nub in the process. It's ok that there are younger, brighter people out there. I no longer need to be the youngest, fastest, best.

And inner critic can go to ** before I'll give that maturity up because it says I'm failing, falling behind, getting worse.

I may have to come back. ICr has been particularly active and I have enough stress right now. I don't need those ICr voices in my head making concentration even harder, increasing the likelihood that I will mess something up.

**** INNER CRITIC, SHUT UP! I AM NOT A FAILURE JUST BECAUSE I CAN'T DO IT ALL PERFECTLY, YESTERDAY!!!  *****

Edited because I do cuss and I do use methods to bypass the language filter and that type of behavior has caused some problems lately.

As a result of the other incident, a friend of mine here feels attacked. In such a site as this, the feeling of being attacked can be as bad or worse than the momentary EF of seeing a curse word modified JUST enough to clear the filters or the momentary irritation of finding your post moderated for such things.

Please, everyone, lets remember that we come together here for SUPPORT!

o, my dear wife#2, i surely do hope you can yell louder and swear more crassly than any inner critic, no matter who it comes from.  your value, your worth does not, in my estimation, depend on being the fastest, youngest, all-the-time best, put-in-the-most hours employee that others may want you to believe.  shining stars are beautiful, light up the sky, and are looked up to.  but, as you wisely mentioned, other shining stars will appear and there is no failure in stepping aside.

and, i say stepping aside rather than stepping down.  there are more options than top and bottom, best and worst,  all and nothing.  life happens in shades of gray.  because we may lose a step or two doesn't mean we're still not great at what we do.  we may not be at what was once our personal best, but that's subjective at the least.

if i may, i'll lend a voice to yours  --  INNER CRITIC, SHUT UP!!!  YOU DON'T BELONG IN THIS CONVERSATION!!!  IT'S NOT YOUR LIFE!!!  WIFE#2 KNOWS FULL WELL WHAT SHE'S DOING!!!  AND SHE'S GREAT AT IT!!!

there.  that felt good.  a veritable choir of angels !!!  O:-)  O:-) 

 :hug: Thank you, friend!

My best friend and I work together. I may not be HER best friend, but she is mine. Anyway, we've known each other a LONG time and we enjoy sharing our lunch hour each work day.

This week, I've seriously come to the decision that I must end my marriage. It is not a healthy marriage for either me or my husband and it's time to stop it. I'm not perfect, he's not perfect. Together we're a train-wreck.

At lunch, I was recounting again to her about my phone call to a lawyer last December. I was telling her how getting the validation that I am a survivor of emotional abuse brought me to tears. My friend, patient as ever, burst forth with, 'YES, and I've not known how to get you to see it!'

Her validation all over again brought me to tears yet again! She's heard my stories these many long years. She relates, though her ancient situation was far more violent and scary than mine - she recognized the common thread. We had a laugh together about me finally growing a backbone. She's so excited for me that I may finally be free of the pain I've been in for so long. But, having been my friend these long years, was honest enough to tell me that she's concerned I'll give in, cave again.

It made me sad that this is likely the view of all those around me who love me. They want for me to be happy, but have concerns that this will be like last time, and the time before that. I can understand. Until I show them that this time is different, they will take a wait-and-see approach.

So, it is with the silent but palpable support of my friends and family that I approach my husband this weekend. I will do all I can to remain calm - as I have the previous two times. I will listen to his arguments, pleadings and promises. I will say, as I did the first time, that I can't trust him, that I know his promises will all be broken and that, despite his best efforts and my best efforts, the marriage is over. It's been over a long time. It's time to stop trying to ride this dead donkey.

Stay safe, great big mind-boggling hugs to you! !

 :yeahthat:

Keep us posted but look after you first.

I just figured out, after 20+ years in accounting related jobs, that 2 + 2 DOES = 4!

:doh:     Ok, here's what led to my miraculous discovery....

Yesterday, several folks were discussing alexithymia. I was curious, so I researched a little, then a lot. It explains so much about what I've been dealing with in my marriage. I feel like I just struck gold after years at the creek!

**** TRIGGER ALERT, SERIOUSLY PERSONAL TMI, DISCUSSION OF SEX, RAPE, MARRIAGE RELATIONS ****

If you don't mind the triggers, scroll - wanted to give people the opportunity to click away for real.




It explains why my then boyfriend felt it was not wrong to seek the anal sex I had told him was 'reserved for a husband only'. He didn't consider that the fact I was asleep meant I hadn't given consent. He wanted to marry me, he wanted anal sex, I was there, why not? He was genuinely surprised when I told him that was rape and left him.

Shortly after getting me back into the relationship, we had a discussion about the difference between lust and love. He really, really didn't get that there was such an extreme disconnect between the two. He thought he could love AND lust me. He didn't hear me when I explained that lust just wants pleasure and the object of the lust looks like a good source of pleasure for self. Love comes together with gentleness and tenderness and caring from each partner towards each partner.

The catalyst for this conversation was my asking why he wanted to marry me in the first place. His answer was that he 'leaked a little' when we hugged the first time. THAT was his basis for wanting to make a life-long commitment involving his children and both of our lives. Lust from the get-go.

After reading about alexithymia, I now see that he can't sort his emotions the way I would, so that 'leak' told him he 'loved' me. THAT is why he wanted to marry me. There wasn't a lot of emotion there, so he used what he did understand to define what he didn't.

And, because he honestly doesn't differentiate between love and lust - to him they are basically the same thing, he thought it was fine to tell me that he lusts me. 

This is at the foundation of our relationship. This is why it was off the rails before it even began. I've spent 12 years trying to understand, trying to coax out the good man I saw at the center of his own storm. I tried everything, to the point of burying my own emotions so they wouldn't upset him too much. I started to die emotionally. I tried being biblical and following my husband's lead. I suffered emotional abuse and neglect and I hurt. I tried being strong and independent. That triggered his fears of being abandoned and he felt he had to get better control over me. I tried being indifferent - that's honestly where I am lately more and more. That is not a marriage and I'm still suffering from emotional neglect.

The emotional neglect is triggering to me. I honestly don't think he can be any other way unless he gets professional help. We can't go on like this. One of us has to stop. It has to be me, he will not.

Only my DS saved me from complete emotional implosion. For him, I couldn't bury my whole heart. This decision will devastate DS8. I know that. I will pay a consequence for this decision. I'd rather take the hit as it were and have his blame for a while than let him be damaged further by an emotionally absent father. I know that pain - as San pointed out. I've done all I can do from within this marriage to spare my son the same pain I had in childhood. It won't stop until our home is a safe place for him to know he is loved and appreciated as his own person and that won't happen with my husband in the picture full-time.

I understand better now than I ever have before. My husband is not a bad man, he's actually quite good. He doesn't intend to hurt others, but has no awareness until he's already done the damage. The reactions confuse and upset him, putting him on the defensive, making everything worse.

I didn't cause it, I can't help it, I can't fix it.

I can only do what I can do to protect myself and my son from further damage.

 :thumbup:

you go, girl.  big hug!

Can someone tell me why, with all that I know, with all that I've uncovered, come out of the fog about, come to understand, learned about myself and my husband, WHY CAN'T I TELL HIM IT'S OVER??!!!

This is ridiculous. All weekend, he's making plans for our anniversary (two weeks away), Christmas, the holidays. I'm stuck screaming in my own head that I want out of the marriage, but I won't say it out loud. Every time I went to approach the subject, I backed off, feeling like I was being horrible for even thinking of leaving him. For causing that much pain for everyone. How selfish I must be to want my own happiness at the expense of everyone else in my family. And my lips slammed shut.

I had at least three opportunities to bring it up calmly, the way I should. I blew each one. I knew it in the moment - he'd even given me the perfect set up - What do I want for my anniversary? A separation. What do I want for my birthday? A divorce. What do I want to do about Christmas? Whatever I want, with you moved out and not bringing us down - again.

I even had opportunities to bring it up as a fussing point. When he griped because, after I had done three loads of laundry and was on my way out to the grocery store, I asked him to make a pitcher of tea and he didn't want to. When he was discussing his options with the cable/internet company and was asking how long the new plan might last.

But, each time I opened my lips to speak, SELFISH screamed into my ears and I closed my lips. 'He's doing all the right things right now, why hurt him?' says my conscience.

All the negative speech in my head went like this *** TRIGGER ALERT, NEGATIVE SELF-VIEW ****

1) What are you complaining about? He's paying all the utilities! You'll never be able to afford that on your own.
2) He's not THAT bad! My God, the way you describe him, it's like he's a monster and he's not! Get over yourself.
3) Yeah, I know he just yelled at DS again for being 'too loud' and was a hypocrite. So what? You're a hypocrite yourself sometimes.
4) Listen to that, Wife#2, he's making long-term plans. And you're not shutting him down. Why? Because you're a chicken and you know everything would be horrible without him in your life. You got your friends' hopes up again for NOTHING! You're not leaving him, ever. You'll die miserably married to this man and you and I both know it.

I heard these over and over and over all weekend. And I feel like I'm wearing the family failure sign again. I can't even do the RIGHT thing for me and my son because it's going to hurt. For a while. And I'm a chicken. And as much as I'd rather be a failure at marriage, I'm going to end up a failure as a person and as a mother.

I emotionally hid in plain sight all weekend. It was disgusting for me to watch myself. I would think of something fun or at least useful that would involve me and DS. The only one I carried through with was having him help me make my famous chili. Once H realized I was having DS help me, he was in the kitchen, offering suggestions and trying to be part of it. I couldn't get upset during that because at least he wasn't taking over and making me feel incompetent as usually happens when H 'helps'.

The rest of the time, when I wasn't doing chores or sleeping, I was on the sofa, playing computer games and binging on TV. I didn't even have the energy to get mad at H when he made fun of me about it. In part because he only made one unkind comment then dropped it. I didn't even get mad when he micromanaged my time when I was trying to get the laundry done - directing me WHEN I should check the machines.

Before my decision I would have counted this as a good weekend. Now, it feels like a disaster of missed opportunities. Unspoken words. Words that needed to be spoken. And I get to add ashamed of myself for not being stronger for my DS to my list of failures as a human. Where's my sign?

Ok. I read and re-read and re-read that last post. Here is my response to myself.  *** WARNING, EMOTIONAL NEGLECT TRIGGERS - hopefully mild ***

Baby girl, understand something. You have been in therapy off and on for half your life. These issues are real and they are not going to go away just because they hurt and you want them to.

Why did you fold instead of play your cards? Because you have been so conditioned. Your voice matters less than the consensus of the whole. If doing right by you were a priority, you wouldn't have HAD these problems. It's called neglect, baby. So, when faced with the reality that this decision will bring pain to ALL the members of your family, including you, in the short term, you were silenced. Who are YOU to put your needs first, Wife#2? You aren't special.

You know what, though - that voice, the one telling you that you aren't special or worthy or deserving of happiness - that is NOT your voice! You may not be able to exactly place it's owner, but it is NOT you.

No, you may not be some exceptionally special person destined for fame or fortune. You accepted that reality a long time ago. However, getting the love, emotional support and kindness you deserve just as a human being is not conditioned upon you being special! Those are basic human rights. Further, they're basic human needs!

Why do you think your husband chose you in the first place? Because he saw your warmth, love and openheartedness. He needed those, he was self-aware enough to recognize that. He failed to understand that you GOT that way with lots of therapy, some outstanding friends and a lot of internal work. He failed to understand that you could only remain so open, warm and loving if you were being granted the same things. He drained your accounts and wants the 'old Wife#2' back, complaining that you've changed, not for the better.

Let's re-record that inner voice that's been so tough on you this weekend.

1) You am worthy of being loved the way that YOU need to be loved. Your husband, no matter HOW willing, is not capable at this time.
2) Causing others pain is anathema to you. This is natural, as you have a good heart. Of COURSE you hesitated to speak pain into their lives! Your husband more or less made you responsible for his health and very life if you ever decided to leave him. He shouldn't, and you shouldn't have believed that you OWN that responsibility. You don't.
3) You are NOT a failure as a person. In fact, while work may remain to be done, you are a pretty nice person, most who know you would agree. Confusing, but very nice.
4) You are NOT a failure as a mother. Your son would second that. Your step-children would third & fourth that. You have shown great deals of patience, concern, love and time to all three children. You're not perfect, but that's not the same as a failure.
5) Any voice which does not build you up as a person, including inner or outer critics, is wrong. Especially inner or outer critics! YOUR voice is one of love and encouragement. YOUR voice is one of patience, acceptance and kindness. THIS is your natural voice.

Since speaking about something which would naturally bring pain to people you care about is so against your nature, you found ways to put it off. Maybe not the best technique, but understandable at least. How many times do you grab the end of the Band-Aid before tearing it off? At least three, right? Well, you tried once two years ago - it resulted in empty promises and tears to hold you. You tried again a year ago - not so many tears, but certainly repeats of the same tired, empty promises. You're trying to work up the courage to actually take the Band-Aid off this time. Knowing how it went before, it makes sense that you would hesitate. This time, there WILL be pain, but it will be short-lived.

YOU are NOT a failure, Wife#2. You are a human being, with flaws and weaknesses.

Of course, you'll never ask him, but don't you wonder how many times your father WANTED to leave your Mom? How many times he drank instead of facing the problem? How many nights he berated himself for not getting it done? The pain lingers for your mother because she's disordered and allows herself to wallow in 30 year old pain. Your siblings eventually got over the shock and the pain. They moved on with their lives, having a good relationship with your Dad. Nobody 'blames' him for ruining their lives except the disordered one - his ex-wife.

Your husband is, if not disordered, certainly NOT dealing with his mental and emotional issues. If he chooses to cause himself pain by not letting you go, that's his decision.

 :applause: :applause: :applause: :applause: :applause: :applause: :applause: :applause: :applause: :applause: :applause: :applause:


You are a beautifil person. You will get there, and you know it. Much love and strength to you.

i'm applauding right along with mftb.  you are so wonderful, wife2, and getting so close.  when you're ready, you'll do what's best for you, because that's, ultimately, what's best for everyone around you.  in your corner, on your side, hangin' right next to you.  your true voice is wonderful to behold.

I'm in such a quandary. My H has realized that things are not right between us. His take on it is that I am the miserable one and that I want him out of the house. He's right, but it hurt to hear it put so bluntly. He always has been blunt. Well, when he said those actual words, I backed off instead of agreeing with him. I don't want to be married, but I am not attempting to 'kick him out of my house'.

Isn't that the most lame cop-out you've ever heard? I lied because I didn't like his wording. I said, 'That's not it at all.'

What is wrong with me? He was calm, it would have been a perfect time for the discussion. He was feeling sick, but that is because of all the stress of knowing something is wrong. DS and I are feeling it and feeling sick as well.

Why did I have to lie!? Why couldn't I sit down like a grown-up and talk about this rationally and calmly? Something childish in my mind hollered out - not on HIS timing! Wait, lie and we'll do this on YOUR timing. But, that feels like a cop-out, too!

I've been beating myself up since this happened. And that was Monday night. Everything I've done since then has been the wrong thing (mostly in my mind, but he's saying it, too). We've been in the same house, but not together. I spend most of my time with DS or tuned out on my tablet. We keep snapping at each other over stupid stuff.

It just seems that I see it coming, he sees it coming, he tried to bring up the subject and I, the one who's supposedly getting it together, am the one who lied and placated and pretended all was fine.

I'm so disappointed in myself. WHY? That's the question I keep coming back to. WHY? I couldn't have asked for better conditions to have the talk. So, because HE brought it up, I won't have it? WHAT?

There IS something wrong with me. Putting off and pretending it doesn't exist - that's my mother's coping mechanism, not mine. WHY did I default regarding one of the most important conversations that will probably happen in my life? WHY?!?

Perhaps you simply weren't quite ready in that moment (i.e., so the conditions were actually not right)?  It is as you say one of the most important conversations you will have in your life and that takes some gearing up for and dare I say some control over the moment the conversation begins.  Would it help (and give you both a measure of control) if together you chose a time to talk? 

why do any of us default on anything like this?  it's so scary, and it's going to be final once those words come out of your mouth.  every minute you're getting closer, wife#2, you're getting ready, you're preparing for a finality.  that's one of the most difficult things we ever have to do, i think. 

it will happen in its own time, in your time, in god's time, in the universe's time.  whichever.  in the meantime, i hope you can be patient with yourself.  you don't deserve to be beaten up.  if this were your best friend, would you be verbally beating on her?  my guess is that you would be giving her loving support, encouragement, caring, and kindness.  those are all the things you deserve as well.  my heart is with you. 

 :yeahthat:

Wife#2 I may not be as experienced, but in my heart I truly believe in you! honestly, I agree with Kizzie and sanmagic7, it'll happen on its own time :) you've been giving me a lot of encouraging words and I hope deep in your heart you know and feel that those words are true for yourself as well :hug: I'm rooting for you! :cheer:

Thank you, everyone! I've needed every one of those encouraging words.

And, Tea, I understand those overwhelmed by kindness tears you spoke of. I'm crying them right now. Thank goodness I have a tissue box handy!

Also, I've noticed that as I've moved closer to this end, I've begun being able to cry again. Not as much as before, I still choke back tears way too often. It's just such a relief to my soul to be able to cry empathy, joy and love tears again.

Again, thank you all! I would not be where I am without each of you and your input and encouragement.  :hug:  :hug: to you all!!

and  :hug:  :hug: right back atcha!!!

you didn't specify, but mentioned that your birthday is around here this month, so happy birthday, whenever it is.  i hope you have a special day.  big hug.

Well, that was interesting!

It is now Wednesday. I have to keep reminding myself of that fact. We are now day 5 after Hurricane Matthew. Everyone in this region was affected. I've had highs and lows and throughout I've tried to keep my sense of humor (often failed), appreciation for what DIDN'T happen (successful) and tried my best to step back and allow DS8 to feel what he's feeling and express those feelings as HE was ready.

H is an adult. He is responsible for his own feelings. I am an adult. I am responsible for my own feelings. DS8 is still a child and needs validation often, proving to himself that it's OK to feel a complicated mix of emotions.

This storm was a BIG deal. H has been super and horrible during this. I have been helpful and a pain in H's behind. We have cuddled for comfort (shocked me, almost felt like intimacy). We have bickered until DS8 had to ask us to calm down - we were stressing him out. But, generally, we have worked ok together to get through the aftermath.

I just returned to work today. DS is still home from school. Power is still off in many places, including my home - and neighborhood. We try to remain patient as we throw out more food that didn't make it. My office smells funky and I can't tell if it's always smelled like this or is a result of the storm, or is me because I have to go to DSD's house to shower in the evenings and haven't had a shower today.

My feelings about leaving H are all complicated and confused now. He's been great and horrible. But, generally great. And, I've tried to remember when he's been horrible it could be related to HIS cPTSD. He was living in this town and had a VERY tough time during the last major storm in this area years ago. I think he sometimes doesn't see me, but his first wife, when he's getting very testy with me. Or, he may be getting ticked with me - I haven't been an angel to be around.

It's hard to get too mad at him when he's trying his level best - even if that means he's under my skin somewhat. It's hard to stay mad at him, even when I DO get mad at him because he'll also be so sweet and kind and thoughtful, it melts my heart!

So, on top of being somewhat traumatized by this storm, I'm confused about what all this means for my marriage. Is there hope? I so want to believe there is. Which of the two 'husband's that showed up since the storm is the real him? Grumpy, griping and startling husband or thoughtful, hardworking and open husband? Depending on how his first hour went that day seemed to determine which husband I'd have all day. Yesterday was NOT the kind one. But, the day before was - mostly.

I see the fear in his eyes. I feel the anxiety wash off of him. I want to make it better - realizing that I can and as his helpmate, should. I know I'm not getting that back as much as I'm giving, but I am getting little bits back. Is it enough? Only I can answer that.

We did share one sardonic laugh. Our anniversary is Friday. My birthday is Saturday. We're likely to have electricity again by Sunday. Who cares about gifts? I have all my relatives - most of whom were in the path - alive and well. That's enough!

Although if I could get someone to help peel my shoulders out of my ears, unclench my teeth and RELAX for a few minutes, I think it'd do my attitude wonders!

dang, wife#2, so sorry you've gone thru that storm!  o, my heart is with you.  how horrible, but so glad you and yours are all right.

yes, we tend to want to remember the good things, don't we?  it's easier that way, i think, to stay in denial about how truly awful the bad times are/were.  is couples counseling off the table?  i think the yea or nay of that is a good indication as to whether things will get better or not.   it takes two, after all, to want to fight for the relationship, whether in spite of or because of the diagnoses involved. 

i remember being grateful for crumbs in previous relationships.  they seemed like stars of hope.   i know now that i deserve the whole loaf, and won't settle for less.  but, that's just me.  we all do the best we can.   and that's exactly what you're doing.  you've just gone thru an extreme trauma - again!  now may not be the best time to make any decisions re: your relationship.  at least wait till you get your power back, and your feet under you again.  one trauma at a time, please, if at all possible!  (i'm talking to the universe here)

San, after seeing how this storm affected DS8, I really, really want to wait until things are settled. DS8 is really shaken by the whole thing. He was so sad to see me leave for work, it broke my heart. I will definitely not try more 'uprooting' at this time. I don't even want to bring up counseling with hubby right now. He's VERY raw and it would be a cruel thing to do.

The 'uprooting' is in quotation marks because most of the trees that did fall around us were uprooted. I now hate the sound of cracking trees and limbs.

Back to counting blessings:

1) Everyone in my family is alive and unhurt.
2) Extended family included.
3) No trees from our yard fell.
4) No trees fell into our yard.
5) We have running water, and have had throughout.
6) We have a way to cook food and heat water. It's slow and annoying, but we had hot coffee within a day of power outage.
7) We can get to stores for more things as needed.
8) I'm back at work.
9) Bosses approved 2 days vacation (if we had it to spare) so our paychecks wouldn't be devastated as well.
10) All of my friends and co-workers are alive and ok - traumatized, but ok.

And, thank you for those wishes into the universe! Please - let us catch our breath before any more rounds of challenges!

Wow, I'm so glad to hear you're all okay!

I agree with sanmagic - when or if the time is right, you'll know it.

3 roses - nice pumpkin!

wife#2 - yes, i'm so very glad for all your blessings in the midst of this awfulness.  take a breath, take your time, take care of your son, take care of you.  this storm may have sideswiped you for the nonce (love that word!) but you and your spirit are so very strong.  keep doing what you need to do to get your world rightside up again.  it was dealt a severe blow.  big hug, my dear.

(Thanks, sanmagic, I carved that one a few years ago.)

*** Trigger warning - marital relations and arguing, childhood invalidation ***

During a discussion - ok it was a fight - last night, my husband asked me something that has had me thinking ever since. I was explaining how his derogatory comments towards women in general (talking about less-than-bright females on TV) hurt me and convince me that he must not love me. After the third time I explained this principle, because it was getting brushed aside and downplayed (invalidated), he asked me, 'Are you seriously THAT insecure about being a female that you would think what I say about THEM applies to YOU? My WIFE?'

I really had to think about that one. It stung. My first instinct was to hurt him back, which I'd started this mess, so that was foolishness. But, instead, I found myself near tears, nodding. I *DO* doubt my femaleness, femininity, value as a woman.

Although my father would be shocked to hear me say this, I was discarded as too complicated and too much like my mother and left with my mother after he got married again. Just as I needed my father the most, he was gone. And when I begged to go with him, he refused citing mixed family and complications. She has two children, a son and a daughter. To this day, he doesn't remember that conversation or that I ever asked to be in his custody. Or that he refused.

My big brother, the GC, had frequently picked on me about being flat chested and hairy. Until I wasn't anymore. Then, he went silent - I've posted elsewhere how he handled my 'blossoming'. It was not kind. At home, he went from pestering me and allowing me to pester him (typical kid bickering - I wanna watch MY show kind of stuff most of the time) to pushing me away and scowling whenever I tried to interact with him. Gone were the days of trying to show me how to play basketball or pitch a baseball the 'right' way.

My mother simply ignored the situation, except to say something if I was doing something wrong. I couldn't talk to her about that kind of thing anyway, she'd already made it clear that since her hysterectomy those issues weren't important to her anymore. I was a naturally preppy girly-girl. About this time, I started wearing too-big clothes, slouching and hunching over.

I had no skill at what it meant / means to be a woman. Everyone was walking away from me, even favorite heart-sister who was gone to college. The brief time I spent with her after college, she tried to teach me some things, but I'd already been hurt by boys who used me and threw me away.

I still have no skill at what it means to be a woman. I sometimes wonder if some people think my blood child is really my child because they doubt if I was really born a woman. Yes, I know that's putting thoughts into other people's heads. But, inner critic is having a field day right now telling me all the reasons I stink as a person and woman and why I should be grateful for my husband and cling to him and do whatever he wants because he took pity on me and married me.

** I know the facts are different. So does inner critic, but like any good liar, he'll pretend to have got the facts wrong, just to criticize me on everything from frequency of shaving my legs to housekeeping lack of skill to couldn't even have a baby right - had to have a C-section **

I'm a little all over the place today. Hubby and I were up past 2AM with all this and his solution was to call me today and apologize for the discussion and tell me he was thinking of me. Now, it honestly has me wondering if he's going to be just nice enough to get me back into sex with him or if he really means it. Because, as I told him last night, I see no evidence that he loves me. So, when he asks for sex, it's that clinical and there is NO emotion invested and I just want to scream at him that I am NOT a blow-up doll there for his convenience.

And I don't know how to explain to him that he's broken me emotionally already. When I do try to tell him that, in those words, he gets off on the tangent that 'everything is my fault and I'm the bad guy and blame it all on ME'. And if I try to explain that if I can't tell him how *I* feel and he can tell me how *he* feels, then really we don't have a relationship. We may as well be cousins - who love each other, but ewww not THAT mushy way - until we lay down in bed when he expects a fun-loving, free-spirited, uninhibited sex partner to show up. I never was her. I don't know HOW he expects me to turn INTO her.

Ugh. I'm too busy at work for all this. I have to go pretend I want my job and I can barely hold a thought in my head anyway except 'YOU FAILED, YOU FAILED, stupid girl. Now, he's on to you and will string you along just good enough that you'll eat up the emotional crumbs he throws down for you and beg for more instead of stand up as a WOMAN and TELL him he's full of * and walk away from him.'

Oh, w2, how this makes me hurt for you.

You are not a stupid girl. You are a capable, vibrant, warm woman who is able to define her own idea of femininity and womanhood. You have carved out a niche for yourself, created a family, are working on yourself at the same time as trying to nurture and raise your son. You are trying your best in a relationship, trying to make it work when it seems that he is *-bent on destroying it.

You don't have to explain or justify your needs. Not to him, not to anyone. A relationship can only work long-term if it includes mutual respect and a willingness to at least try & do for your partner what they ask. Time for him to get on board.

Yes, he also may have cptsd just like you, but the difference between the two of you is that you are working on your stuff and trying to heal yourself. It would be nice if he'd get on that page.

i agree with everything 3 roses said.  you are certainly not a stupid girl, but a warrior woman!  to do everything you are doing, including working on making sense of yourself and your world takes so much strength and energy and courage and determination - everything that goes into being a warrior.

i can relate to a lot of what you said about not having guidelines for being feminine, being a girl, being me.  i even went to a couple of retreats for women on finding their womanliness!  when i told that to a girlfriend, she scoffed and said, 'well, you wear nail polish' as if that's all i had to know.  but being proud of being female was not part of me.

i've also worn the baggy clothes, had the hunched over posture so as not to make my chest very prominent (my dad used to call me 'hunchy' and threaten to put a stick up my back to stand up straight.  this was by the time i was 10 or so  i was carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders by then).   my aunt introduced me to bras, rather than my mother, and, after being called 'gorilla legs' by a boy at jr. high school, i began wearing knee socks all the time.  no make-up till i was a senior.  since my mom didn't do any of those girly things, except wear blotted red lipstick, i was discouraged from all of it as well.

it's hard to feel like a woman when there's no attention given to it, or it is discouraged.  but, a woman you are, wife#2, in all her blazing glory.  i found it a big relief when the first time we found a mouse in our basement, i told my ex-husband to take care of it - all i could do was go 'ewwww'.  but it took many more years before i could actually say, 'i'm being a girl about this, you be the man' and feel comfortable about it. (not that i'm in any way diminishing my feminist side, but i needed to shore up my feminine side).

besides, my dear, you've just been through a hurricane!  you can't fail at this, you just got through (and maybe are still going through) another trauma.  that takes so much out of us.  you're merely doing what you can to get through with your sanity intact, and i think you're doing it well and bravely.  hang tough, i'm hangin' right beside you!

Thank you, ladies, for the encouragement. I'm in grateful tears, it means that much!

**** TRIGGERS, NEGLECT, NEGATIVE BODY IMAGE ****

San, I had to do a little laugh about your mouse story. That's even part of the problem at our house.

H stays home, I go to work.
H got to be home and raise our son up through preschool. I was at work.
H cooks, cleans and does the yard work. I work, clean around the house, help with homework and give face time to our son.
H squeals if a bug, spider, rodent or snake arrive. I am to handle them, he cannot.
H handles his money, I handle mine.
H can't drive (vision - why he's disabled). I drive everyone everywhere.

We've laughed in the past about the role reversals. It grinds my goat sometimes, but the facts remain. Then, there's the fact that we do both approach life with our basic gender wiring. He's a fixer who compartmentalizes things very efficiently. I'm an emotional being who has to consider the big and small picture at the same time.

And, in case it's slipped your notice, I'm a talker. I LOVE to talk. I LOVE to tell stories. The fact alone is so boring and cold, I have to tell the story AROUND the fact. My husband considers this beating around the bush and can, at best, tolerate it for my sake. But, it takes his energy away from actually listening when he's trying to NOT interrupt and 'fix' the situation or beg me to get to the point. I repeated AGAIN during our late-night discussion that, for me, the story *IS* the point. I and many women call this communication.

He wants a news report: Did you get ice? 'Yes, two bags.' Good. DONE.

I want events: Did you get ice? 'Yes. When I saw the bin was full over the clerk's counter, I was sooo excited! I snatched up TWO bags! See?' Was all that necessary? I just wanted to know if you got ice.

And he wonders why my self-image as a woman is even shakier than when I was a girl.

Oh, San, my Dad wouldn't call me names like hunchy (I'm grateful and giving your inner tween/teen a BIG HUG telling her that she is beautiful as she is and deserves to stand straight and face the world - because she is worthy!), but he WOULD step behind me, grab my shoulders and gently (he wasn't being mean) roll them until my back was straight. Then, say, 'Better. Wife2, will you please stand up straight?'

I'm realizing something as I typed that. Those of us who had neglectful parents suffered something so slight, it was hard to notice. They weren't hurting us, at least not on purpose, but they were missing the point. My father noticed that I was hunching over and wearing baggy clothing. He saw the symptoms but never asked why. He just wanted me to 'fix' it by dressing better and walking tall. My mother, if she even noticed, probably was the same way herself at my age, thus saw nothing wrong with it. It didn't even occur to her that I may have gone through similar things as she went through leading to the same result. She never asked. She just hoped I didn't want to talk to her about it.

And so I turned into a woman thinking the cruelties I'd already suffered must just be normal since my parents took no real note of them. I was sent into the world with no idea HOW to address things from body odors to dating boundaries. I became so grateful that a boy would even take an interest in me that I accepted what they told me about myself. It defined me as a woman and shaped my sense of self. With those little corrections but no instruction, I developed a sense of being flawed or a freak.

There was no loving grandmother to help me, my oldest living grandmother passed when I was only 12.

There was no loving aunt to guide me. My father's sister didn't like me and barely tolerated me the two summers I was shipped to her house. I was a good girl by many parents' standards and made HER daughter look wild in comparison. My cousin and I didn't manage to overcome all that and be friends until adulthood.

My other blood aunt had no children of her own and had already bonded deeply with my older sister. I barely saw her until the last 5 years of her life. She was a nice woman and I think would have been a God-send if she'd been around sooner.

There was only one other aunt, married to my youngest uncle. She was busy with her own two children. Once they moved to a distant part of the country, I never saw her again. I still don't see her except via Facebook. We are not close.

So, with no blood relative who felt confident of their femininity close by or willing to participate in my life, I was left to stew in my ugly, freakishly under-informed body image and sense of self. I watched my female cousins blossom, grow and become successful women. I watched my step-sister do the same (Dad was a good Dad to her). All that just cemented that it must just be me.

So, right now, I'm going to hug my inner little girl. My tween/teen gets a BIG hug, too. I'm going to sit down with my inner tween/teen later this weekend and see what SHE has to say. Find out HER story. Finally give her the voice she's never been given. I'm going to find out what was at the base of those hunched shoulders - who made me feel shame about my growing body? I'm going to find out why I felt I had to hide in baggy clothing. It's something about me, that's true, but inner critic got it wrong when saying it's because I'm a freak. Something more was going on. It's time to find out and begin letting it go. It's time to gently lift inner teen's chin and help her know that she was/is beautiful just the way she is and doesn't need to change a thing to be a successful woman.

I do wish I could afford therapy right now. But, I can't. So, this journal gets to be my therapist.

One thing I have noticed is that many of the women around me seem to be having the same silent struggle. So many of us had mothers who got too involved in themselves to show us what it means to BE a woman. We talk about men dropping the ball on teaching boys, but women are just as at fault!

My own daughter was struggling when I met her. She was already 17, engaged to be married and a mess of insecurities and issues. THAT was why she wanted me to read her young-heart journals. She didn't want to have to catch me up on the back-story, but she was asking for help. I told her I couldn't know her heart THAT well and stay a mom-figure, I'd be a friend only. But, I did try my best to help alleviate some of her self-doubt. She still struggles. It does help her to see me be strong, clean, put-together and admit to her that it's tape and staples and a pair of crossed fingers holding it all together. That way, she doesn't feel like a failure if she can't achieve the same herself.

omg, my life is one story after another, intertwining and somehow leading to the next.  i started laughing out loud with my hands on either side of my face, shaking it back and forth when i read that about you.  i would've said exactly the same thing about the ice!  and, how many words did this take to say 'i can relate - i do that, too.'  hahaha!  and my hub tolerates my talking until he just falls asleep, and then i let it be.  it's like my voice is a sedative to him (he works 12 hr. days every day, so i don't blame him.  it's mexico, after all). 

i have a friend who used to take granddaughters and nieces for a long weekend every summer, do the mani-pedi thing, hairdos, all the girly stuff.  you're so right about women letting their daughters down in this area.

will write more tomorrow.  just wanted you to know, you've got a story-sister under the skin here.  too funny!  i love it!

happy, happy birthday, wife#2!!!  i do so hope you enjoy your day, all your power is back on, and you're beginning to get your feet back under you.  i proclain it 'WIFE#2'S DAY' on account of you're wondeful.

:cake: :phoot:   :band:

that last is a mexican mariachi band (in my head, at least.  they always sound like they're celebrating!!!)l.  enjoy!!!   

love and a big hug to you!

Happy birthday!  :phoot:

Thank you, ladies! I had a wonderful day, all told. And, yes, the POWER restored was the BEST gift of the day!

:yahoo: :excited:

When I have more than a small minute here at work, I'll tell the story - it's a good one!

For now, I just wanted to acknowledge both of you and give you both a big, friendly  :hug: :hug: :hug:

Ohh, I read it just now, happy belated birthday!!

Wanted to let you know I really appreciate you reaching out to me in my corner of the recovery journals. Also wanted to reply: My dad used to yell at me "stick out your boobs!", in response to my hunching over. Didn't help, of course... but he never realized that he was only making me feel worse. Thanks for sharing, it helped me understand too :)

 :hug: And to know you were NOT alone!

Sometimes, how some people choose to 'fix' us ~ I try to give the benefit of the doubt. Then... anyway.

Anna, It's sad how many of us can relate to this, but at least we do discover, through this website, that we are not alone. We are NOT freaks! We are women. Beautiful, hurting and healing, strong and powerful. Together, we create a village - distant though our homes may be. Within this village, we bond over our stories, gaining strength from each other, sharing it back again.

Funny (but not ha-ha), I'd rather have the boys at school snap my bra-strap than have my father notice I was developing! And the whole stand-up-straight-Wife2 thing wasn't even about that, it was just that he HATED to see poor posture!

*** Trigger alert, negative self-talk ***

Today. Just an average day. But, I've been reading others' posts and thinking and thinking and thinking. I haven't done a lot of responding today because I haven't felt like I could contribute positively. Why? I'm feeling a little selfish today. And THAT is not the spirit I need to be in when replying.

I have lots of memory snippets swirling around my head today.

Little flashes like my GC brother, 'God, Wife2, you're so frustrating! You SEE what needs to be changed, discuss what needs to be changed, understand how to change it - and do NOTHING'. He isn't wrong.

Happy little flashes like the faces of childhood friends all smiling at me.

Sad, quick EF of standing in church, singing badly (cause I can't carry a tune in an 18-wheeler) at the top of my voice, crying for all I'm worth. Heart hurting, wishing I could believe the words about being saved and forgiven. Wishing I could cry anyplace else, but only able on Sundays in church. Feeling self-conscious and NOT singing, or crying, when husband came with me a few Sundays. Sad because I gave up church instead of telling hubby his hobby had to come second to God.

Feeling self-conscious about hugging people, though I'm starved for physical attention that my husband will not provide. Feeling like I've crossed boundaries even with close friends, if I place my hand on their shoulder or elbow - even after being told this is fine by each person.

Believing there is something strange about me because I'm usually warm even when most of the women around here are cold. Hearing IC mutter, 'Cold hands, warm heart - what does that make you and your very warm hands?' Hearing on the heals of that from husband, 'Mutual friend Male told me to be careful and not marry you. He said he could see that you had a cold heart.' Wondering if Mutual friend Male is right and I should be lucky husband is still with me.

Trying not to show my emotions because it will bring questions I don't want to answer at work.

Feeling detached from everyone. Hurting emotionally and physically. Wondering how long husband will put up with the fact that I'm in physical pain before getting frustrated and insisting that he's waited long enough for sex. Wondering how I'll respond - so close to angry all the time lately.

Just when I decided to enjoy this day at work, co-worker reminded me of third-co-worker still suffering BADLY after the hurricane and how we SHOULD be doing for him and HIS family, since the rest of us are basically back to before-storm conditions. Feeling guilty for enjoying the day knowing that he's suffering still. Feeling overwhelmed by his need - he lost EVERYTHING.

More random thoughts popping in and out of my head today. Feel like crying, but holding back so I don't draw attention from coworkers. Time to get some work done....

I'd let you hug me and I'd hug you back! :) :hug:

Thank you, Three Roses   :hug:

I was avoiding talking about what's really bothering me. That's foolish. Especially since this is MY journal and I can put what I want in here! Geesh - I'm pre-judging myself so hard I won't even use this to it's fullest potential!

The situation. Husband remarks that DS8 needs a haircut. He does, so I and DS8 AND DSS24 all agree. Before I can finish with my dinner, H is pulling out the shears and putting on a short guard - it won't scalp DS8, but it won't leave much hair there, either. I finish my meal, DS8 is told to sit at the table. Knowing he needs a haircut, DS8 obeys.

DSS24, who remembers the LAST time H cut DS8's hair, tries to intervene, saying we really should just take the child to a barber. I agree, but I've fought this battle and lost many times. I remember that horrible haircut, too. Because it was summer, none of us told H the truth about what a horrible haircut it really was.

But, this was a school night and the poor kid would have to go to school with a butchered haircut. Still, I remained silent. DSS24 could stand it no more. He knew what DS8 would face at school if he went there looking stupid. The kid gets bullied as it is. So, after looking at me like I must be some heartless * and repeatedly begging his father to stop, DSS24 intervenes, has me call his sister, who actually can do hair quite well, and tell her he's bringing little bro to her house.

They come home hours later, DS8 looking quite spiffy with his properly done haircut. DSS24 is thoroughly disgusted with me and his father. His father for being so cheap that bringing DS8 to a barber is out of the question when he has a cheap set of shears at the house. Me for not standing up to H over the whole haircut issue.

I completely understand. But, these type of issues continue to happen. I know what the right way to handle it ought to be. I've tried it in the past. H will not acknowledge that DSS and I may have a point. Once he's made up his mind the best way to handle a situation, he is very difficult to dissuade. H refuses to understand the difference between the fact that HE shaves his head bald, which is fine as a grown man, but, an eight year old white child does not need to attend a majority-black school with a shaved head. It's just not a good idea. Especially given racial tensions in the country lately. It could be seen as provoking.

These are the situations when DSS looks to me to be the reason in the family. To defend DS8. To stand up to my husband. When I fail to do the right thing, he is understandably disgusted with me. I get very upset with myself when I fail to do the right thing by any of the three children, but especially the youngest. I am his only protection as he is the only one under 18.

So, I've been whipping myself for failing to act and relying on DSS24 to 'be the bad guy' in order to save his little brother. Yes, it was just a haircut. But, when the poor kid is already bullied and already in the minority in his school and already handicapped by incredibly uncool older parents, just a haircut can turn into a huge deal.

I am so thankful to DSS for doing what he did, and for DSD for doing the haircut! But, I am deeply embarrassed for being willing to let H do a horrible haircut and send my DS to school with it rather than confront H about his lack of ability. When will I finally grow a spine and stand up for what I know to be right!?! WHEN? 

Triggers - bathroom humor?

So, I finally remembered a part of a dream today. I'm sitting on a toilet at home. It begins to overflow (we've had lots of plumbing issues costing much $$ lately). I'm aggravated and get up to get to another toilet to finish my business. Suddenly, I'm in the multi-stall bathroom at work. All the walls between toilets are gone. I'm there alone, but feel like others will be coming in any second. I can't see the door for some reason. I'm now panicking. Every toilet I sit on begins to overflow. Some immediately, some after I've 'done some business' there first.

I just know I'm going to be judged for the condition of the bathroom and for the mess I am now.

Then, I woke up, having to pee. I took care of business and got back to bed, where, thankfully, that dream did not resurface.

Any dream translations on this one?

Books on dream interpretation bug me. Not every person will attach the same meanings to a particular component of their dreams. For instance, if you are afraid of dogs and dream of one, your symbolism regarding dogs will be different than mine, being that I love dogs and am comforted by their presence.

Take the major element of the dream and start there. Is it important that you were at work? What does a toilet overflowing mean to you?

Just off the top of my head, i would say your dream has something to do with personal issues at home (or similar issues) also becoming issues at work, and you're afraid of being overwhelmed and you can't see the way out (can't see the door). Close? :)

Pretty close in my opinion. Thank you! 

The website dream translators said bathrooms represent expressing emotions and getting clean. Whatever. I read a lot of them and this, along with what I know I'm dealing with lately, is my translation now:

At home, I can't express my opinion without it turning into a huge mess / ordeal. So, rather than deal with it, I take my emotional 'garbage' to work and try to deal with it there (using this website and others). Except, I'm easily humiliated by being emotional at work, too. I know it's considered inappropriate, but I have to deal with it somewhere. So, I bring it to work, hoping I'll have the privacy to cope here, embarrassed that sometimes the evidence of my being emotional still shows and sure that any minute, I'll be discovered for the huge emotional mess I really am. Not that anything negative will really happen, just that one of my ICr's favorite chants is that I'm overly-emotional.

Hmmm..... looking at that ICr's comment makes me think. Where did I hear that one enough to get inner-critic ranking? Not from Mom, she's a pretty emotional creature herself. Not from my sisters, ditto on the emotional. I doubt I heard it from Dad, or heard it much from him. He, having a wife and five daughters, came to accept that females are more emotional than he's comfortable with - not wrong, just different. My friends and their parents didn't consider me an overly-emotional child. That leaves the only one whose respect I wanted and who withheld that respect - my GC brother.

When I dig a little deeper, it's as if my brother did not like that I was a sister, so tried everything he could to minimize that 'fault' and try to make me more like him. This explains several facts that have carried through our adult years.

He seems still to have difficulty accepting that I grew up, married and had a child. He loves my son, but still acts towards me like I am incompetent as a female. He AND his wife make comments that they would LOVE to keep my son - and I think they mean it, and mean it permanently. How else am I supposed to take that except as an insult to my parenting ability? I know they mean it regarding their grandson. They would get custody of him so quick if their daughter would let them.

From the year that I blossomed to this day, he acts as if the proof that I'm a female is disgusting to him. I don't know any other way to describe it. Every picture where we're in the same shot, he's leaning back, turning his head away, standing leaning away as if ready to run, even if other family members are present. Wherever I am, he's pulling away from me.

This is at the root of my self-doubt about being a female, a woman. My father was awkward around me, but tried to bluster through and talked to me about having more self-esteem (not often and not in depth, but he tried). My brother only relaxed and acted natural if I was being particularly boyish - baggy sweats playing basketball, that kind of thing. Otherwise, it was as if I was kryptonite to his superman. He had to break free, get away.

As a kid, he was mean about cutting me down verbally. He thought it was HIS job to toughen me up. As we got older, either one of the parents talked to him about how he talked to me or one of the heart-siblings did. Anyway, instead of trying to form a relationship with me, he began his never-ending legacy of avoiding me at what seems all costs - while giving lip-service to closeness as a family.

As long as my heart-parent siblings were alive, I could counter his bull with their loving words. Sis has been dead 24 years. Bro has been gone 15 years. With them gone so long and GC bro keeping up his treatment of me like I'm defective, the ICr voice he birthed in my head is very hard to hush. And to have married a man who is perhaps too much like GC bro doesn't help the situation. Then, husband has the nerve to ask why I'm so touchy about these subjects (my feminity, my value as a person and as a parent).

So, now I have to work by myself to silence the voice of my brother disguising itself as my ICr. I can do it, but it will not be easy.

Not every day is horrible. Really. Some days are so nice.....

Last night, H, DS and I shared a very nice meal H had cooked.

Afterward, H got started deciding how to proceed on DS's first shoe-box diorama project for school. It involves making little trees. H happened to have supplies from his model train days. So, we looked up pictures of the landscape DS was to do. H got started making one of the trees. He knew it looked horrible, but I hated to be so harsh. I simply grabbed up one of the other trees and the supplies and 'gave it a try' myself. H recognized that mine looked a lot better. Then, we called DS in to let him look at what we had done and try for himself.

DS did the best of anybody. He looked at the pictures, got the supplies and quietly, methodically, made two near-perfect looking trees! Needless to say, if we only need two, DS's will be the ones picked! If we need more, H and my trees will be discretely added in the far background! Or, DS can make more with his slow, careful, awesome way.

I was so impressed watching DS work. I was also so happy to hear H brag about what a great job DS had done! DS nearly glowed under the praise. All three of us laughing and being kind to each other.

THIS is the family life I hoped for. All three of us doing something together. Making a mess (my fingers still have spray-glue on them), encouraging each other, having fun! It was a glimpse into what so many families take for granted ~ this time spent together.

Anyway, I wanted to share this beautiful moment from my family last night. I'm hoping we can build a few more beautiful moments as we work together to help DS complete his project.  :yes:  :yes:  :thumbup:

Lovely of you to share this with us Wife#2, thank you  :hug:

That's beautiful, Wife! Thanks for allowing us a glimpse into your happy evening :hug:

:hug:
I don't know if it helps you, but I came here to say I have had various anxieties, fears, worries and inner critic voices that, once I got to the point of finally being able to identify them, I realized they were not mine. The ghost in my car when I was 18, was my dead uncle, whom I'd never known (I am not a spiritual person, I think ghosts are *, but my brain made it up and it was real to me back then). I remember, at age 20, realizing that he represented my mother's pain. Not mine. I literally got into my car one day and said "You are not my pain. You are my mother's pain. Go away." And it stopped.

I have tried to do the same with other things. My father's inability to grieve for his mother (never knew her), his father (took me 5 years to grieve because my parents didn't help us grieve), his brother, his failed marriage. Last week, I was on my bike and envisioned this huge ball of pain, blazing white hot. And I said "This is not my pain. I cannot take this. I cannot carry this. Please take it." And I envisioned giving it to my deceased grandmother, grandfather and uncle. I envisioned pushing it through the clouds upward until the heavens opened and closed around it. Again, not spiritual, agnostic actually, but it helped me, so what.

If you, at some point, discover that this discomfort about femininity was not yours, but your brother's discomfort, please try to set it down. Stop carrying that. It's not yours. Yes, you were sensitive to the rejection and it did affect you. But it's his discomfort to begin with. Not yours. Take it out of your backpack, leave it on the road somewhere.

:hug: :hug: :hug:

Anna - thank you for sharing your story and for the reminder. I do want to put that discomfort back down (I had it off me at some point, not really sure how it snuck back into my life).

I'm turning your phrase for me to understand it better, to internalize it better. My brother's discomfort with my femininity is NOT my problem to fix or even bother with. If he's uncomfortable, to * bad. HE can grow up. He's raised two daughters to adulthood. One was a stunningly gorgeous tom-boy, the other a head-turning girly-girl. I figured their beauty was just deserts for his being a total dog to girls in high school - now he would be the father of girls like those he hurt.

I never even considered that this was ALSO his payback - to be the FATHER of such beauties. To be responsible for their view of men and of their own sense of self as women. His wife did her part as a good an loving mother. Considering some of the issues I see in his daughters, I do think part of his discomfort around me specifically is guilt. NOT MY PROBLEM. I couldn't change the way he treated me back then and I can't change the guilt he may feel now about those years. It's not my job, even if I could change it.

What I can change is to no longer feel responsible for his discomfort. I can go anyway. If I want to see our family, his wife or his children, I can go anyway. If I'm invited (though from his family invitations are rare and 'oh, I almost forgot Wife2' in tone), I can go. If he's uncomfortable, that's HIS cross to bear.

Sadly, I don't think I'll be able to tolerate it for long. His discomfort is so visible, so palpable, it's hard for me to enjoy ANYTHING with him around. That's MY cross to bear.

Another good day Saturday. DS8 and I worked on his project. We got it looking quite spiffy before H even woke up. When H did wake up, he was complimentary about what DS8 and I had done. He did have some ideas, but rather than just do them, he made a point of including DS8 in the process. He started to do it himself until I gently reminded him that the teacher had made the point that parents should make kids do most of the work. DS8 soaked in the attention and the thoughts - H's ideas really were spectacular. So, the project went from pretty darn good to fantastic. And, DS8 felt fantastic about it!

H was surprised that the whole thing was finished before lunchtime Saturday, thinking he'd have to give up his whole weekend to the thing. I asked what he wanted to do with that 'extra' time. After being crude and my face telling him that WASN'T as funny as it sounded in his head, he opted to just relax and enjoy the time with me and DS8.

I reminded myself several times that H can't read my mind and that DS shouldn't have to. I also stopped myself and enforced what I know: that it's better for DS if I don't jump and run and cater to him so much anymore. Children do NOT develop well if they never get to / have to do for themselves. DS resisted, but was generally good natured about it. H realized what I was doing and was completely supportive, teasing DS and me that it's a HUSBAND who gets to have someone cater to them (laughing, a total joke, I had to remind myself he wasn't serious or being mean).

All and all, a good day. One thing I did notice is that H will try to be light and funny. It's just that I, in my own dialogue inside my own head, sometimes lose sight that it was a joke and no ill was intended. I have been working on not being so sensitive that even jokes are seen as harsh. If I stop and really listen to what H is saying, his tone and body language, I see that he's just being silly! Something I thought he had lost ~ that ability. The truth, instead, was that I was so upset with him and with myself that I couldn't see ANY humor in ANYTHING the poor man said. We're getting better with each other, so this is improving as well.

That is fantastic to hear!  :cheer:

There are good days and then there is today.  ** Possible triggers, don't really know yet **

I'm working hard to not catastropize the whole day. I messed up. Big. Hurt my son's feelings. Big. But, that does not make me a bad person. Just clumsy.

Taking his project into school this morning, I managed to drop it. Spectacularly, all over the school hallway floor.

Because, I'm a klutz. Because I didn't think to put the project into a bag to carry it - knowing I'm a klutz. Because I carried it with only one had - yes, the klutz. I'm not beating myself up over this by calling myself a klutz - that is just a fact of my reality. I've only had only brief moments of gracefulness. I loved them, but the were rare. Klutziness is my natural state. It's ok, some people are talented singers, some are talented actors, I am a skilled fall-recovery-klutz. I've received ovations at my ability to catch myself just before the face-plant or the flat-on-back fallback. Not every time, I had some amazing falls while learning.

Anyway, the point is, I know I'm a klutz and seem to have passed this - shall we call it an affliction? - on to my son. So, figuring the adult was more capable than the boy, I carried it. I thought of putting it into a bag for safekeeping during transport - AFTER the disaster.

So, now I'm going to have to battle my husband a bit. He's going to want to be the man and fix it. That's understandable. But, I caused the mess, I promised son I'd make it right. I need to do the work.

This is NOT a catastrophe. It IS disappointing and frustrating, but NOT a catastrophe. Yet, I've been MAKING it a catastrophe in my head all morning. ICr has been LOVING it, calling me stupid for not bagging the project, for carrying it with only one hand, for chatting with son instead of paying attention, saying how this is SO TYPICAL of Wife2... Oh, ICr is having a blast. 

So, time to calm down. Focus. Breathe. Reprogram.

I am not stupid.
I made a mistake. Those happen.
I can fix this mistake, and will.
The project is not lost. It is damaged. It can be repaired.
It wasn't even due today, so there is time to make it right.
Nope, still not stupid. Careless is the strongest ICr gets to say.
I may be a klutz, but I usually know how to overcome that tendency. One error in judgment does not make me a failure. or stupid.

I may have to repeat some of these a few times until I believe them. Hubby was trying to be understanding. But, I am afraid he will try to FIX MY mistake - and that it will resurface in the future as one of the many times he 'bailed me out' when I am completely capable of fixing my own mistake. How's THAT for a run-on sentence (my 10th grade English teacher just rolled over in her grave)?

I'm having one of those days where everything I say is the wrong thing. Not really everything, but a lot of what I have in my head is not the most helpful or kind or even coherent thing I could say.

This morning, I had to explain myself at least twice to my DS8. He was trying to be cooperative, but couldn't figure out, from what I was saying, what being cooperative would mean! That's when I realized this was a non-communication day. If it's short and not too complicated, I'm fine. Once the idea gets complex or detailed - I better watch out! My foot is likely headed for my mouth.

It's so frustrating! The words aren't wrong or offensive or anything like that. Just not what I meant to say.

I'm going to keep this post short. I may not be responding to folks today, but please know it's because I have lost my craft with words today. I am reading, I do care, I just don't want to upset folks with careless word choices. Here's to a hopefully better tomorrow!

This happens to me all the time! I hope your day goes well anyway.

i've done that so many times with people i'm close to.  it's like we're just on different planes that day and the communication wires aren't connecting.    we've begun to recognize it for what it is, just call it by its name, and agree to let that conversation lie for another time.  and, the next time we approach it, it works out fine.

may i just say something about the 'klutz' thing?  it may just be my thing, but i don't like seeing people label themselves.  it's like they put themselves inside a box and seal it, which doesn't allow them to recognize that they're really not that label all the time at all.  maybe you're klutzy at times, but i bet there are also plenty of times when you're not klutzy at all, when you can balance things wonderfully, place them where they belong without dropping them or spilling or breaking something or tripping or anything.  those labels just don't give us any leeway to be anything else, and may even become self-fulfilling prophecies, if you believe in that. 

i know i'm klutzy at times, i do stupid things, i can't think of the right thing to say, etc.  none of those makes me a klutz, stupid, or slow.  they're just hiccups, speed bumps, temporary abnormalities.  i do believe we're so much more than a label, and that it's dangerous to constrict ourselves within one.  just my two cents' worth.

most of the time you have warm, understanding, generous words, especially with your son.  don't ever forget that part of you.

San  :hug: Of course you may say. It's good for me to be reminded that I am judging myself, and probably too harshly, when I slap a label on myself. Klutz is one I've allowed myself, though I typically resist labels also.

It's unfair of me, also, to tell my son that we are a family of klutzes. What if he, being his own wonderful self, should have a natural ability to play football (just like Grandpa) but never explored it because Mom always told him we were the klutzy part of the family?

There's more to discuss, but it's going-home time and I need to leave on time today.   :hug: Again!! You are a treasure to me, San, and I always look forward to your input!

as i look forward to yours.  we are in this together, we're fighting it together, and we'll break it together.  keep taking care of you as best you can.  i'm doing the same.  it's not always very good, but it's the best i can at the moment.   i think some of the best gifts we can give ourselves are patience, kindness, and our very own truth.    powerful weapons in this battle for our mental and physical lives.  ironically, my narc ex used to sign off his emails with the words 'stay sane'.  he was part of the reason my sanity was in jeopardy in the first place!  so, big hug to you, dear wife2.  one foot in front of the other.

Happy Day After Halloween. Ugh. Just Ugh. *** Trigger warnings: bugs, rude mothers, whining (mine) ***

Seriously, this is going to be a gross, self-indulgent whine-festival with yucky critters that WEREN'T part of Halloween!

So, it wasn't enough that I had to work late and miss my DS8's Halloween trick-or-treating. No, that would be too simple. Shortly after most co-workers were released from their duties, I (and a few others) stayed to get the job done. The phone rings. It's my husband - I'm annoyed before I pick up the phone, we've already talked twice and I know what to do about dinner! The more talky-talky the less worky-worky and the longer this will take.

Me: Hello?
H: Wife, I think you need to call your mother. (He sounds concerned, not sarcastic like usual re: my Mom).
Me: What's wrong?
H: She called here sounding all crazy, crying and talking about needing to see you right away.
Me: I can't leave work!
H: I know. I told her. She wants you to call her. It does sound important.
Me: Ok. Let me do that now. (I'm really concerned. H doesn't like Mom much and he sounded sympathetically concerned for her - this sounded serious).

Mom: Hello?
Me: Mom, what's wrong?
Mom: Can you come over, please (crying) I really need to see you right now.
Me: Mom, I can't leave work right now. I just can't. What's going on? (I'm now near tears hearing Mom crying).
Mom: I just really need a hug right now. My chest hurts and I can't stop crying.
Me: (fearing her 3rd heart attack): Can you take a deep breath?
Mom: (Slowly - takes a deep breath. She's breathing. She takes an aspirin for the chest pain. She's talking about taking a tranquilizer!!)
Me: I will come to your house tonight, but I have to stay and finish my work. Will you be ok until then?
Mom: (Now breathing regularly) Yes, honey. Thank you. I just really need to see you tonight.

*** All thoughts of this being Halloween have jumped my brain temporarily - this is my MOTHER, she's survived 2 heart attacks but isn't that young anymore. And she's talking about chest pain! I do not see the manipulation. I do not see the expectation for me to drop EVERYTHING, including my job, to come running. This will matter when you read why ***

I call hubby back and tell him what's going on, that I can determine. I tell him I'm stopping by her place and bringing a sandwich to her as soon as I bring H HIS food. He reminds me that it's Halloween. I tell him it's unavoidable. She's been in full panic attack and my promise to come by seems to have calmed her down.

I push through all my work at a furious pace. I'd already had rib pain from sleeping wrong the night before. This stress makes that act up even worse. Finally, the work is done. I zip to the store, get sandwiches for everyone, zip to the house, drop off H's sandwiches and bring the others with me as I head to Mom's. I'm so single-minded, I don't even see my daughter, son and granddaughter drive right past me as I zoom to Mom's apartment. They see me, which I don't find out until much later.

I get to Mom's apartment. The problem that had her call me hoping I'd leave work, family everything and run to her side?


*** LAST TRIGGER WARNING IF YOU HATE BUGS ***

Her apartment has become so overrun with an infestation of roaches, she couldn't even hand out candy to trick-or-treaters. She can't sleep - they're in her bedroom. She can't bathe, they've taken over the tub. They're in every room on every surface. And the bug man sprayed yesterday morning. I can't do this. I am EF'ing like crazy back to childhood.

This is not the first time Mom has suffered a massive infestation. One of my earliest memories of being horrified was ** HERE IS A BAD TRIGGER - LOOK AWAY IF EASILY GROSSED BY BUGS ** at 6 years old. I walked into the kitchen wearing my pajamas. Typical of the 70's, they were atrociously busy and colorful. Still, my brother and sister looked at me and went silent. When I followed their eyes and looked down, there were roaches on my pajama legs. I screamed and ran, swatting at my legs. I can't even remember what happened later that day, just the look of horror and seeing why.

Then, there was the time we had a major infestation when it was just me and Mom after the divorce. We'd had ongoing bug problems always, but usually it was a small problem. So, I could convince myself that Mom had licked the problem. I did my part, washing dishes instead of leaving them in the sink, wrapping bread and other foods well before putting them back. This was just what we did. Yet, at least every two-three years, the bugs would get bad. Because, she wouldn't get rid of some of their favorite hiding places.

I don't know how to explain to her that she must throw away cook books from the 1950s if she wants to end this issue. Half the recipes are illegible anyway, thanks to bug remains (nicest word I can use here). There is much she will have to toss, but that is her issue. My solution is that I am not going back inside that apartment. Period. Ugh. ::: shudder :::

I am revolted to my core. When I moved out, I had a minor bug problem. I handled it. When H and I moved into the house we're in, there was a small bug problem. We handled it. We have had problems ending the sugar ants, but we have no roaches and we want to keep it that way. She is a grown woman. If she can't get a handle on this problem it will be HER fault. IT already IS her fault.

My sister has been trying to make excuses for her, taking Mom's word and blaming a neighbor who moved out 5 years ago. But, the reality is, if Mom had listened to the apartment management 5 years ago, she wouldn't have this problem now! But she won't! She's going to keep doing things HER way and expecting the results to be good this time. With nasty cookbooks, bugs living in every major appliance, under the carpet, behind photographs, everywhere.

So, I called that sister last night and told her that Mom was hysterical and that she needed to call Mom to calm her down before I could get away from work.

They cook up this idea to hire my daughter to clean Mom's place. OK, in their defense, they hired her to clean it before and she did a super-terrific job. But, this time it's worse and last time she didn't charge enough for the )(*^&^*&^ they put her through, especially Mom. So, I had to warn my daughter that they would be calling and to charge as much as she could. This job was no 'Mom/Nana discount' job. She understands.

So, in the end, my day was crazy busy until my husband called with news of Mom's melt-down. And my day slipped off the scale after that. And I missed seeing my DS and my DGD in their costumes. I missed seeing my DGD and DD completely - they'd already gone home before I got back home from Mom's.

So, thank you, Mom. You couldn't melt down over the weekend? You couldn't wait until the first of the month to melt-down? It HAD to be Halloween. Thanks.

I so wish sister had allowed Mom to move in with HER in THAT state for a while. Maybe then, she'd see the crazy I deal with all the time. Mom can hide it from many, but I'm her baby so I get to see it all. Lucky me. ::: big last shudder :::

living in mexico, i've seen my share of roaches, but we do take precautions to keep them at bay.  i'm so sorry you got roped into that whole charade, wife#2.  how awful!  and, i know that it's not that difficult to keep a handle on the situation, but it does take persistence, which it sounds like your mom is lacking. 

but what was the deal with the chest pains?  was that just to get you over there, give her some attention, get you to take care of the problem?   quite a nifty manipulation.  dang!  and that's something that is so difficult to ignore cuz what if . . .

how horrible to have a perfectly wonderful holiday ruined like that.  i hate it.

I had to go NC with my mother for a couple of years, her behavior towards me and my family got that bad. We'd let her get in the habit of using us for everything from paying bills to emptying kitty litter (long, long story). We bent over backwards helping her after her heart attack. I was shaken almost as bad as her, realizing she was just a few years older than my grandmother when SHE died of a massive heart attack. So, heart pain I take seriously. It was the sure-fire way to get me there. Telling me she was frustrated over her inability to handle the infestation would have got sympathy but no visit.

All of Mom's children are tenderhearted. We want to make things better whenever we can. We hate seeing anyone in pain, especially a relative, absolutely our mother! And I'm the only one living in town with her. So, the others look to me to be there for her. Since they haven't lived with her after reaching adulthood and haven't even been in the same state, they don't know what they're asking.

Mom is uBPD and I was beginning to doubt that after the great behavior lately. But, Monday proved it all over again. She wanted a hug and sympathy and she had to have it on HER terms. When I didn't bend and leave work (THAT's why the chest pains), I had to promise to come over immediately after. OK, I didn't have to - that was a choice. And my consequences stank. Which is why I will be setting a NEW boundary with her. If she's seeing her doctor the next day, she needs to discuss the panic attack with him and see what HE can do to help her. I am no doctor. I will NOT be going to her apartment again. If she wants to meet, it will be in a neutral place like the park. NO OPTIONS.

If she calls me thinking she's having a heart attack, I will hang up on her and call an ambulance for her. If she's sad or stressed, I'll talk on the phone. The other siblings don't deal with this stuff like I have to. They have no right to expect more of me than they are doing.

warrior woman spirit is flowing right off the page!  go for it!!!

 :yeahthat: I always feel strongest when I see truth for truth. I'm best with defending my boundaries with Mom. I'm also pretty skilled at refusing to accept the guilt attempts by my siblings.

The worst I feel about this whole thing is disappointment at missing the children in their costumes. My daughter realized I would and took good pictures, so that's not as bad as it could have been.

Next is the feeling of being manipulated and allowing it to happen. H has helped, especially after I explained that it was HIS caring tone that worried me enough about her to walk into that trap. I wasn't laying it at his feet, just explaining that I believed it to be a REAL emergency because of his tone. He gave me the sympathy I needed after that. We both recognized that she should be told to call for emergency services if she calls like that again. At most, we can offer to call them for her, but it would be best, since she's proven she can dial by calling us, for her to make that call.

I'm going to end this post, but there will be another post about another subject. TOO MUCH STRESS LATELY!

So, the other subject: Our oldest dog & my husband.  *** TRIGGER ALERTS, DEATH , MOURNING AND BLAME ***

H has been trying very hard lately to be kinder, more considerate and less volatile. It's been working. I've been ready to celebrate. What happened last night had nothing to do with anger, unless you count the simmering anger I feel right now.

Two years ago yesterday, H & I took his faithful, loyal dog to the vet. While there, she had a heart attack and died. H hasn't been fully over it yet. To each their own and I've given him room to mourn. She was a wonderful dog. I miss her, still, as well.

Last year, our handicapped dog had to be put down. Her organs were beginning to shut down. It was the only merciful thing to do. H opted out, declaring himself unable to deal with it. The decision, the timing, the bringing of the dog to the shelter (only place that didn't charge $200+ for the service). That fell to me and DD. It was put on DD because H wouldn't deal and wouldn't help me. The dog had belonged to DD, but she'd been away from home for years and it had become OUR dog. DD and I spent over an hour at the shelter, filing out paperwork, saying our goodbyes to this wonderful dog.

When I got home, I was expected to comfort H, DD and DS. I was a wreck personally because that brought back memories of having to have my poor little dog put down about 6 years earlier. That didn't seem to matter. H had 'checked out' emotionally, only HIS pain and HIS sad memories and HIS hurting heart seemed to matter. If I brought up how I was feeling, it sounded as if I was trying to compete for sympathy.

At least DD & DS hugged me. DS and I dried each others' tears. We shared a tender moment talking about that dog and how she was in heaven now. If H even heard us, he got agitated, telling us to stop. So, we shared our mourning with each other, out of hearing of H.

With all the improvements H has made over the past year, last night nearly undid all of it. I was left being the one to handle it. Again. And, for the sake of the family and the dog, I will. I HATE this! When will I ever be allowed to MOURN normally?

The EF goes like this:

Heart-Mom sister dies, I'm left taking care of real Mom as she disintegrates. Finally, with counseling, break free of that, mourn at last (over a year later).

Then, years later Heart-Dad brother dies. Again, because he'd moved to her apartment in his last two months, all grieving and mourning and recognized pain is hers. I'm expected to stiff-upper-lip the whole thing. Back to counseling went I.

THEN, challenged sister dies. This time, I recognize that I wasn't as close to her, so my mourning is different than everyone elses. OK. That's fine, but I do at least GET to mourn, right? Nope, back to taking care of Mom and her pain.

My little dog is carried to the pound and euthanized. I'm totally brokenhearted. DD is with me, has to drive me home. We get back and H acts like it's nothing, it's just a dog, I shouldn't be carrying on so. NO mourning allowed.

H's dog dies at the vet. The vet is blamed. Somehow, I think I also get blamed for telling H to TAKE the dog to the vet. I try to talk H out of seeing his dog dead on the gurney, he wants to. He and I are both stuck with that image forever. She was HIS dog, though, so my mourning doesn't matter.

DD's dog is carried to the pound and euthanized. Again, it's DD and me. H opts out. He can't cope. DD is a wreck because it was her dog. I'm a wreck because I loved this dog even after DD moved out. She was my buddy after my dog died. I did everything I could to help her have as long a life as possible. But, H's pain is worse than anyones because its the same month as his dog died the year before.

Now, here we are. Litter mate to DD's dog, it's DS24's dog. He doesn't act like it, does nothing for the dog, won't even feed her - we do all that. She needs special attention for her eyes and her skin. I do that frequently, H does it sometimes, DS24 does it once or twice. H does take good care of the dog, and seems close to her at times, but others acts like she's just a pain in his rump. Last night - 2nd anniversary of HIS dog's death, this one has a seizure. It's a bad one. She's had a few before, but the vet couldn't give us any insight, just that more are likely. Last night, the seizure was bad enough to scare us and the dog. She lost control of bowels and stomach for hours. She had after-seizures that knocked her off her feet twice. We thought we were going to lose her. We call DS24 back from his evening out.

H is crying, saying he can't handle it. DS24 is saying things like, 'Why are you trying to put this on me? I can't do ANYTHING.' When, clearly he can, he just doesn't want to. Both men play a hot-potato game of I'm not going to do this and you can't make me. Meanwhile, the dog is shaking and having mini-seizures and I'm tending to her, petting her and trying to comfort her.

And at last I get it. I am the one who is going to have to stiff-upper-lip this and get it done for the sake of the dog. If she gets better, hurray - she's done this before. If she doesn't, I'm going to have to be the one to take her to the pound or vet, sign her over (funny, my name keeps being put on these forms - wonder what these folks think of me, since only DD is seen with me but I'm always on the forms) and drive myself home crying. Again.

And we have two more dogs! If this one makes it, three dogs. Either way, I'm going to be the one to handle it always. The men in my family cannot or will not. It doesn't even matter, the result is the same. And I'm not going to let a dog suffer unreasonably because these men want to point fingers at each other saying - YOUR JOB.

So, once again, my mourning, my sadness, my heart-pain at having to go through this again is just too much. But, that isn't allowed to matter. Again.

The whole situation stinks. I'm not THAT strong! But, that won't get the hard thing done, so I'll just have to be that strong at least until after it's done. Then, I can collapse. Then, maybe I can get a little mourning in - where the men won't notice. I'm going to miss this dog. She's been in my heart 12 years. She was my high-strung companion. Thank God that my DS8 will allow me to feel my pain and to comfort him in HIS pain. With both of us, we can get through this. Again.

dear wife2, my heart is with you.  hand on your arm, and then a big hug.  there are no words.  i've lost too many animals, and it's heartbreaking every single time.  i've been lucky to have support and the means to grieve, and i can't tell you how bad i feel for you that you don't.  i wish i could do more.

This job has also fallen on me, in our family in the past. You should be able to have the support YOU need, too!  It is difficult to care for the animal and then have to take care of everyone else's feelings on top of that. If your family isn't able to support you the way you need, I hope you can turn to a friend or someone at the vet's for emotional support.  :hug:

Thank you, ladies!

The best news is that our old girl is feeling better. She's up, moving, eating, drinking and no more tremors or seizures. I can't tell you all how relieved I am. Yes, that just means that, at 12, she's going to be with us a while longer. But, now I know and can prepare for the fact that the grown men in the family will not participate when the hard time does come.

For now, I'm thanking God that He spared her for now. Maybe I can calm down and begin to do a little preparatory self-care.

:hug:   :hug:   :hug:   :hug:  Hugs to both of you for the support you offer. It matters a lot. It helps a lot. I can bear so much more knowing some folks out there DO care. Thank you both!!!

YAY!!!  glad she's feeling better.

and as for the rest, right back atcha!

One funny side note: Our 12yo dog is much, much better. Almost back to her old self again. Next oldest, though, has become hysterical to watch. She's a beagle and very protective of her pack. Since the night of the seizures, younger one has been at the side of older one - grooming her, protecting her, grooming her, did I mention grooming her?

Every time older one gets up to get water, food, a breathing space (you can tell in her eyes that she's trying to be patient, but that's getting thin), here comes younger one. Younger one has even taken to herding older one, trying to stay in control of where older one goes! She stands between older one and ANYBODY and has to be called down away from older one when she's practically smothering older one.

We're being very patient with younger one. This is the only way she knows to show how much she loves her pack-mate. For her sake as much as for all the humans, I'm extremely glad older one is better now. We're just trying to figure out how long younger one is going to keep this up! It's a really sweet thing, but we have to laugh sometimes (putting younger one outside so older one can eat in peace!) because we can see the exasperation in the eyes of older one - as if to say, 'Thanks, friend, but may I BREATHE now? I'm fine! Back off, please!'

Youngest dog doesn't know what to make of all this. So, she just hangs with the humans and gets lots of petting attention. She's happy as a lark, albeit confused by the other dog's behavior.

gotta love them animals!

I need to get this out before I try to go home and be a good wife and mother. *** Triggers, sexual relationship, subtle emotional abuse ***

To help a friend on another board, I relived the story of an ex uNPD boyfriend. I hate going back there. I hope it helped my friend to see that you can survive, but I'm stuck in a lot of the bad feelings from that time in my life. And it was NOT a good time in my life.

I don't know that I'll get anything done. I really don't. And there is so much work I need to get done! But, I'm back to 20 years ago, having already low self-esteem and getting mixed up with that boyfriend. I'll call him Norm for this post. Anyway, I need to excise all these emotions and process or I'll never be present with the family tonight. I owe them this effort.

So, Norm came into my life when I was excruciatingly vulnerable. He was in a position of some power, requiring international travel in his job. I was hired as a temp receptionist in a different division of the same company. Because of the reputation of that office's ladies seeking future husbands among the executives, a new strict rule of no dating co-workers had finally been installed and was being enforced. Norm and I, having liked the looks of each other, decided that I wasn't an 'actual' employee, so we began dating.

*** Flag # 1 - Rules don't apply to him!

Because I'm not good and hiding, lying or keeping my mouth shut (even worse back then), we were discovered pretty quickly. Most of the ladies thought it was adorable and kept quiet. A few warned me that Norm had a picture of a fiancé in his office. When I asked him about that, before our first date, he said he had been engaged, but she'd broken it off when he moved for work. He kept the picture around to keep people from getting too intrusive into his personal life.

*** Flag # 2 - Past sketchy, stories not adding to what I'm hearing elsewhere (they said she'd come to visit, still wearing his ring).

First date was WONDERFUL. Only strange part was that he was teasing, nicely, about how I'd got to nearly 25 and never married. My answer? Nobody'd ever asked! So, he asked. It sounded like a joke, so I played it as a joke. He looked hurt, but played it as a joke also.

*** Flag # 3 - Moving fast.

First few months were whirlwind (love-bombing?). We didn't really have much in common, but what we did have in common seemed to matter. And bedroom time was fantastic! I hadn't known sex could be that great! We really seemed to connect. We were having fun. Even when he had to travel for business, we'd talk by phone, tease each other, explore and have fun together. That lasted for about 6 months.

*** Flag # 4 - If it seems too good to be true, it probably is - goes for relationships, too!

I'm let go from the company that employed us both. I'm ticked off, call him from home, to warn him I won't be at my desk anymore. He's ticked off. I found out later from mutual friends that he goes on the warpath to find out why. I'm touched that he cared that much. I ask him to calm it down - remind him of the policy and how we skirted it. I have a new job within days.

Next time I call him, he doesn't answer. A week goes by, then two. Finally, I get a  hold of him. He'd been out of town. I shrug it off. He does travel for work and for family. He does sound different. I tell him all about my new job. I like it. He acts distracted, but asks me out to dinner anyway. I agree. That weekend, he's back, we see each other but I can't put my finger on what seems different. I figure he's an executive, he's got big things on his mind, or his 'baby-mama' is calling and hassling him again about child support. I shrug it off. Maybe I'm just being paranoid.

*** Flag #5 Executive not paying child support on time? 
*** Flag #6 Two weeks and no contact?

By this time, I know things are not normal, but I'm still giving benefits of the doubt and rolling with this 'style' of dating. That doesn't last long. I've seen good relationships and this is shaping into one that isn't good. One holiday weekend, when he doesn't tell me he's going out of town and he doesn't answer my calls to his house, I freak out. I leave 25 voice messages on his phone BEGGING him to call me. I have now convinced myself that he's cheating or has dumped me without saying so. In the past, he'd got the first message and called me back within a day. So, I waited a day and a half for an answer - when I got nothing is when I freaked out.

When he gets back, he's understandably furious with me. He breaks it off. I understand, I know I went too far. He calls after four months, talking about how much he missed me. I love the sound of his voice, so I'm back at his place way too fast. I still feel like I have to show him I'm a 'big girl' and can take 'grown-folks' dating rules.

Flag # 7 - He's starting to treat me condescendingly. Suddenly, the age difference that hadn't meant much is being discussed.

He starts acting more distant. I start feeling like nothing but a booty call. But, I keep going over there every time he calls. Even if two to three months have gone by. Whenever I call him, he's unavailable. The calls, when he answers, are short and ended abruptly. I will not leave more than one message at a time, as proof of my repentance for the 25+ calls that one time. Even so, I jump whenever he calls. I start telling myself that I'm being used and to STOP and END THIS. But, I don't. I go see him instead. I don't even LOOK at other men. I find wine glasses with lipstick on his bedside table. He tells me that's from a visit from his mother.

Flag # 8, leaving obvious signs of other women in the house for me to find. He's a neat freak, so this is out of character - it feels intentional.
Flag # 9 - suddenly unavailable. Even if I called work, which I almost never did, he'd let his secretary answer, even with him in the office.

We date for four years, I never meet his mother, his sister or any other relative. He meets my mother, my sister, my brother and my niece. He's charming to all. My niece sees through him on their meeting. I only see one picture of his daughter. It's obviously old as she looks about 8 and he did finally tell me the girl was 13 when I found out about her.

Flag # 10, no meeting family or friends. All dates are JUST me and him and always involve dinner and/or a movie, then straight back to his place. I get plenty of social time while he's NC with me, but still.

Flag # 11, we're supposed to be exclusive, but between the stuff I'm finding around his house and the fact that he's begun wearing protection again tells me things are not as I'm led to believe.

We have our big blowout. I tell him I'm done being treated like the other woman. Either we are dating or we're not. No more of this months between calls. He tells me he's been seeing other women for a while. I tell him he can KEEP seeing them, but not me also. I'm done.

He tries me, calling every week for two months. I hold firm. I don't know about blocking calls or changing my number. I WANT to hear his voice, but have to keep saying no. I give in one last time. Afterward, he tells me he'll call me that weekend. I smile, kiss him, get dressed and leave. I know when I crank my car that I'll not see him ever again, no matter how hard he is to resist.

Flag # 12: It's not over till HE says it's over.  If I'd had my say, it'd been over after the blowup.

After that breakup, I wanted answers. I wanted to know how much was true and how much was just to get sex. I wanted to know if he ever really cared about me. But, I also sensed that I'd never get those answers. And, even if I could get him to talk to me and to answer the questions, he'd lie if it was convenient. Throughout the relationship, especially after that 6-month mark, with all the messages, he started being secretive, cagey and it seemed to me that he was playing serious head games. He was so much older than me that I was just sure that it was my naiveté that left me so confused. Gone were the compliments. Gone were the long looks into each others eyes. I didn't know the price for those calls would be so high. But it seems it was.

A year passes and he calls me again. I'm already in another mess I'll talk about later. I melt hearing his voice. I flash to all the great sex and his crooked adorable smile and his smell. I let him know I'm in a serious relationship. He tells me he's engaged again. I congratulate him. That's the last phone call.

Later I don't remember if he told me he was engaged before or after I said I was dating again. I don't tell him about the therapy I'd been in. I don't tell him the new <ahem> relationship isn't a relationship at all, but my boss sexually harassing me. I don't tell my friends that he called - after all the pain of that breakup, they would have been scared that I'd go back with him anyway. It would have been tough to stay away, even after all that.

Even when I end up in therapy after the harassment, I don't talk much about  - what did I call him - Norm. Maybe I should have. As I tell my now husband, THAT mess was the closest to a long-term relationship I'd ever been in. How messed up was THAT!?!

just so glad you could get it out.  mess is right.  i've had a few of those myself.  different ways about them, but messes nonetheless.  so weird how much we didn't know, didn't realize at the time.  so much social interaction education has been missing from our lives.  like moms failing their daughters at how to be girls/women.  lack of healthy parameters for adult relationships - what they're supposed to look like, how the dynamics work, communication, expectations, and, maybe most of all, how important communication is, and what healthy communication sounds like. 

so much we've missed, so much we've learned that ended up causing us pain, and so much we were ignorant about.  here's to learning what we need to know in time to enjoy ourselves.  cheers!

Yes, there is the fact that I did finally get and stay out.

I was fortunate to have older sisters. One especially filled that gap left by Mom. But, she was the blind leading the blind! Part of why she died can be tied to her lack of boundaries, knowledge of what dating is supposed to look like and how to determine if he's a FUN boyfriend or a GOOD FOR YOU boyfriend. She contracted AIDS from a boyfriend while in college. Before anyone knew what AIDS was. When I look back over HER relationships, they were pretty big messes also. Even the husband who stuck with her to the end.

We're just past her birthday, so she's been on my mind a lot. No more right now. I MUST get my job done.

i WAS the older sister, and my dad laid the responsibility of being a role model.  i was 5 or 6 at the time.  talk about the blind leading the blind.

heartfelt condolences for your sister, another victim of not knowing what we're supposed to know.  i completely believe that we all knew as babies exactly what was good for us, but those other voices were louder and drowned our own selves out.  we didn't have a choice, we didn't have a chance.

so, here we are, muddling through as best we can.  and we are doing our best to make sense of the senseless, logic out of the illogical, and sanity out of the insane madness we find ourselves in the middle of.   but, we persevere, don't we!  dang, we're good!!!

hope you enjoy your day. 

I've had something on my mind and I need to excise it and give some forgiveness over it.  **** TRIGGERS: Miscarriage, PD parent ***

I've discussed elsewhere that I had a miscarriage. It was awful and I do still have some unresolved issues related to that. One that I'd like to work through and lay to rest is how I responded to my mother that day.

I'm a follower. It's not a bad thing, it's just true. I can be a leader sometimes, but it exhausts me. So, in my marriage, I've often followed my husband's lead. Early in the marriage, I didn't see the harm (different issue). By the time of my miscarriage, my husband was already suspicious of my mother. He still did stuff for her and more was coming, but he'd finally seen what I see - that something is OFF with his MIL.

The day I had the miscarriage was only four days after confirming that I was pregnant. I was 37 years old and VERY aware that this was likely my last chance at having a baby of my own. I did/do love my stepchildren, but I really, selfishly, wanted to have that experience of being a parent through pregnancy and childbirth to raising that child. H and I had already told my parents and his kids. Everyone was excited for me. Then, I felt some pain. Something was wrong. Really wrong. And, because I was only 11-12 weeks pregnant, in just a few moments the pregnancy was over.

I was distraught. H was devastated. I felt so many emotions, but mostly that I had failed. As a wife, as a woman, as a mother. We called my OBGYN. He was out, but his partner said to go to the hospital. So, we did. Because the miscarriage had already happened, there was nothing the doctors could really do. I waited for a very long time. I cried, my stepdaughter cried. My mother arrived. I know she hurt, seeing her daughter on a gurney, crying. She cried with me, holding my hand.

The part I've been too harsh about, the part my husband will still bring up if I try to discuss my feelings around all this, is that my mother, in an effort to communicate her understanding, told me about her three miscarriages. The woman survived three miscarriages! And, at the time this happened, she'd also survived the loss of three adult children. She knew loss in a way I'll never comprehend. But, as she sat there, holding my hand, crying with me, telling me how deeply she sorrowed for me and sympathized with me, all I could think of was: 'You stupid old woman! Can't you see that you DID have children, STILL have children? This was my ONE chance and God said no. SHUT UP about YOUR pain and YOUR experience! I don't want to HEAR THAT CRAP right now!'

Fortunately, I was no more capable of saying that out loud than I was of standing up in that moment. I was still unkind and distant from her. I accused her in my heart of making it all about her. THAT WASN'T THE CASE! She was just trying to explain WHY she really, really understood my pain - as she wept with me. What she did that day, dropping everything she had planned that day (it was to be a busy day until I called) to rush to the hospital and be by my side, that was a very loving thing to do. But I didn't receive it that way.

I'm taking this time right now to bless her for her loving response. I'm taking this time right now to forgive what I thought was trying to be center stage and to 'one-up' me by making it clear she'd had THREE to my paltry ONE miscarriage. THAT was NOT what she was doing!  Even if it was, in this moment, I forgive her. AND, I forgive myself for my angry, hurt and hurtful thoughts.

God bless you, Mom. You may have done a mountain of harm to me over the years, but you didn't do any of it out of meanness. At least not to me. I forgive you the moment you seemed to take center stage. I forgive you the moment you (accidentally?) made me feel useless ~ because I already felt that, it wasn't just your words that brought that up in me.

I forgive myself for thinking the worst of Mom. I forgive myself for being selfish and not caring what anyone else thought or felt that day. I forgive myself for asking my husband to be strong and deal with everything for me.

I love you, Mom. Flaws and all. I hope you genuinely love me too, flaws and all. Please forgive me my harshness about that day. Please forgive me for thinking the worst of you.

and, bless you too, wife2, for all that you are.  i'm so glad you can forgive yourself for this.  you are truly a warrior woman, even if you have battered armor.  it's only a mark of the battles you've been through.

Thank you, Sanmagic7. Sincerely. Thank you!  :hug:

*** Possibly triggering, it would be if I were reading it: infestations, negligence ***

So, if you have been reading my posts lately, you'd know that my mother has been having a major infestation of roaches. My sister and I have been in communication about this. It was an ongoing problem for over a year now. Last night, my sister and I talked realistically for the first time in a while.

Sis is nearly a decade older than me. She knows a lot of what Mom and Dad were like before they were old, tired and overwhelmed. She also remembers WHY her relationship with Mom is so complicated. Though, after last night's conversation, it's clear that she had forgotten quite a bit in her effort to be loving and kind to Mom.

I found out that part of why she was coming to our town at least once a month was to clean Mom's apartment for her. To keep the roaches from winning the turf war. Well, the past couple of months, sis hasn't been able to travel like that and that's why I ended up getting a call on Halloween. Because Mom won't do the work, but want's the results. I won't enable her by cleaning HER apartment for HER. She's still capable. Sis WAS enabling her.

See, the thing is, like I said in my earlier post, Mom has ALWAYS had this problem. ALWAYS. And she always will, because one-by-one, each of us has made the decision to stop visiting and cleaning FOR her. My sis talked of moving Mom to Her town, thinking that would give Mom a fresh start. In a way, it would. The move would shock a lot of the little critters and she might even throw some roach-infested stuff away. Not all, but some. So, it would take a while for the infestation to get overwhelmingly large again. Just a while.

Sis didn't want to accept this reality. Then, I reminded her of our childhoods, chronically embarrassed by the mess of our home and unskilled at keeping it clean ourselves. We started putting the threads of Mom's life together and wove something pretty close to the truth. Sis remembers the early years, when Mom still tried, but basically made the two oldest girls responsible for maintaining the house. I remember the later years when the battle was permanently lost, but Mom wouldn't admit there even WAS a battle.

We, both of us daughters, have fleas from all this. Mine seem to be worse, though, at least in my opinion. Because, as I talked about my mother and her hoarding and her unwillingness to let go of things (roach encrusted) because of sentimental value, I was looking around my bedroom at the piles of crap I don't need and won't use. It may not be roach encrusted, but do I want to wait until it is, or it's mouse infested? NO. So, as I talked to her, I made the decision to shed myself of the packrat flea. I haven't said anything about this to my H, because he's heard it all before. No, there will be no talk, I will simply get it done. And then, maintain once it is done.

I will teach my son that living in clutter is not healthy. I will teach him that one person, motivated, can change the mess. I will teach him that starting the project, even when feeling overwhelmed, is better than not starting. This weekend will be a long one. I will not enjoy big chunks of it. But, if my tackling MY mess will help my son see that he CAN tackle HIS mess, then it's all worth it. If I show him that I can throw away the stuff that's hard to throw away, the lesson will be a good one for the rest of his life.

When I'm able to clear out MY mess and make my bedroom a safe, comforting place to retreat, I will help my son turn HIS room into a safe, comforting place to retreat. I will not make it anyone else's responsibility. I will not blame anyone else - this is MY mess, my son learned from ME.

It may hurt some feelings (especially my own, I really am my mother's daughter in this regard), but it is necessary to cause this pain to grow. I refuse to be 78 years old and miserable in an unsafe apartment because I will not do what I know needs to be done. I refuse to turn to my children to save me from myself. I refuse to allow my life to be overcome by vermin, roaches or other infestation creatures. I refuse to let my house become unlivable because I won't do my share. I refuse to continue to embarrass my children or my husband by my refusal to clean and maintain my home. If my husband refuses to help, given that he's home so much more than me, then he refuses. If he helps, then he helps. I would prefer the second, but the first is a valid response. He didn't cause this mess and he's tried to help me keep it at a low roar - though he lost that battle about two years ago.

I am ready to toss things that I previously wouldn't. If husband wants to keep it for HIS sentimental reasons, he must find an out-of-the-way place to put it. If I can see it after I've 'tossed' it, I know myself well enough that I will use THAT as an excuse to begin hoarding again.

It's time. I'm ready. Seeing what my mother has allowed to become her life and the sacrifices (of time with family who won't go to her place it's so nasty, including me) she's chosen over cleaning has woken me up to what I'm doing in my own life.

All in my family will benefit from this. I may still have some nasty habits (smoking, not ready yet - lazy, but willing to do something about that). I will not be perfect. I will gripe and I will be petty sometimes. But, I will still not go down with the filth ship.

I may not be able to summon vanity as a reason to fight this battle (my aunt, Mom's sister once told me vanity is what kept her on task). But, I can use the fear of turning into Mini-Mom to motivate me. I can look at what her life is now and reject that as a vision of my future. I will. Yes. I am worth that.

Thank you, ghost of Christmas Future. You visited me during that phone call and opened my eyes. I thought I was talking to ghost of Christmas Past - and in a way, I was. I had to see the whole tapestry before I could realize where I came from, where I am and where I'm headed. And that I CAN change the present to forever change the future.

breaking the cycle.  a difficult yet courageous thing to do.  congrats, wife2.  you're doing it not only for yourself, but then for your son.  well done!!!

Thank you, Sanmagic, thank you.

I'm remembering advice I gave others - I may be a victim, and in some instances I AM a victim, but I don't have to remain a victim. As a youth, I had no choice. As an adult, I always have a choice. My son is a youth - he has no choice yet.

Yes, I am breaking the cycle. It's daunting, and I'll probably backslide more than once. But, better to try and backslide than to sit helpless having never tried.

Courage is being afraid and doing it anyway. So, yes, self, I AM courageous. I'm very afraid. But, I will do it anyway.

Courage is defined by feeling afraid but acting anyway.  :)

you go, warrior woman!!!  this is big!

Color me yellow and call me Bantam (chicken that is). I completely failed. I didn't even get motivated enough to put away the laundry that's been sitting, clean, in a basket since last weekend. Total fail. But, I'm not beating myself up too much about it. If I do, I'll use THAT as an excuse to put this off.

I allowed myself to be so overwhelmed, I couldn't even start. That's at the root of most of my procrastination. I will see the whole job and not start any of it because I know I won't be able to finish in the time I've given myself.

But, at least I did get the bathroom cleaned up. For me, that was a big one. It sparkled and smelled of bleach. I was not ashamed to put my DS8 into the tub for his bath. I was not ashamed to step into it for my shower. I didn't even fuss about the horrible mess H had left in there, which prompted my required action. I just did it and just felt good about myself doing it. That took some of the sting out of my ICr for sitting on my rump so much this weekend.

Oh, I also made a fantastic meal last night and cleaned the kitchen (not going to allow bugs in MY house) before settling in for the evening.

Small steps. Small steps are just fine some days. At least, they were in the right direction!

small steps can be monumental at times!  sorry, but i disagree with your assessment of 'complete fail'.  it sounds like you accomplished plenty, and can be proud of yourself for doing so.  small steps, indeed!!!  they all count!  good for you, wife2.  i'm rooting for you - we'll keep moving forward together. 

i love the smell of bleach - it just smells so clean, and my nose sends that message to my brain, which starts smiling.

Oh, to me, one of the best smells is the not-too-strong scent of bleach with the house clean and all the windows open and even catching the smell of the dryer sheets on the breeze once in a while. To look around and see that everything is as it should be, even if still a little cluttery in some rooms.

Because I am in so little control of the whole house, I tend to not bother even in my own space- my bedroom. I hoard and deal with it later - except later never comes. I hoard it because my husband's answer to everything is throw it out. As long as HE sees no value in it. For himself. So, to protect myself against his bad eyes and desire to toss, I hide things in our room. OK, hiding could be used a few years ago. Now, there is so much, it's not hiding. But, at least he's learned that if I put it in the bedroom, he'd BETTER leave it alone. Of course, now my wall in the bedroom is slowly creeping towards the ceiling of things I wouldn't let him toss. Promising I'd deal with it. Later. He's still waiting. More patiently now than he used to. For that, I love him more than I used to.

My son can not understanding anything beyond Dad collects stuff and it goes in his spare room. Mom gathers stuff and keeps it in her room. He's taken after me - hoarding EVERYTHING he's ever been given. We go through it and I make him decide what is really trash at this point (a wrapper from gum a friend gave him three years ago) and we toss it together. I don't do this with him often, though because... see about MY hoard. I hate hypocrisy. I only do this with him after I've braved up and got rid of some of MY hoard. He sees, he helps, he knows what's coming. (smile - he's a trooper about it).

It's overwhelming, looking at all the piles and piles of laundry, dishes, etc! When I get overwhelmed I imagine it's just what the groundhog feels when he sees his shadow - it sends him scurrying for shelter, and me too!

So, I have learned to trick myself. I suspend time limits. I only look at one small area at a time - a table top, this room to vacuum, etc. One thing at a time gets done, and then I decide if I feel like the next one. What gets done, gets done; what remains, I can leave for another day, if I want. And if I only look at what I got accomplished, I feel a sense of satisfaction. It's the only way I can get stuff done without exhausting myself. :)

hub #2 used to do that to me as well!  how disrespectful!

it still sounds like you make some progress at times, motivated by helping your son.  i think that counts, doesn't it?  would it count in your mind if i'd written that about myself?  if it counts for one of us, it counts for all of us. 

that's something i've learned along the way that's helped me a lot with giving myself some slack on this stuff.  if it happened to someone else, how would i judge that?  or them?  it hurts to hear you be so hard on yourself.  you are so generous and accepting with others, i wish you could see yourself as one of us others and be the same way with yourself.  you deserve it as much as any of us. 

we all have our own ways of coping.  none of them make any of us better or worse as a person, just shows our individuality.  whether you can see it or not, you are taking steps, wife2.  you are moving forward, even if there are some lateral moves at times.  you're still moving, and i think it all counts.  because we and our ways all count.  hangin' right beside you!

Thank you both, Three Roses & SanMagic!  :bighug:

I do have to count cleaning the bathroom as a major victory. It was so nice to bathe DS8 last night and take a shower this morning and realize that the bathroom still looked great! And smelled really good. And, yes, that does matter.

I'll count the little victories in my favor, to encourage me to move on to the next victory.

I spoke with my sister again last night. She was being very encouraging. We both decided, after our last phone call was about home truths and hard realities regarding our mother, this call was about us and sharing and loving each other. That kind of call is what I miss the most about our sister who died so young. That is the kind of relationship I had with her. To build this same kind of relationship with this sister means the world to me.

Yes, San, you're very right. I would try to help anyone, posting as I have, that they DID do something, something positive and good for themselves as well as others. I would remind anyone else that even if you backslide, a step in the right direction is still forward movement overall. Thank you for the reminder. ::: Wife2 gets out mirror, says the encouraging things I would say to ANYONE else ::: Ok, that was a little intense. I'll have to practice on that one. And I have to admit that I did crack a grin thinking of the silly Saturday Night Live skit. Yet, that could be a good thing for all of us - to remember to treat ourselves as kindly as we treat each other here.

big YAY! for you, wife2.  and, i'm so happy about the talks you're having with your sister, the relationship you're building.  that sounds absolutely wonderful!  such a great source of support when you need it.  i've just been having that happen with my brother, and it feels so good, so i can relate.  another YAY!

hey, take that positive self-mirror-talk slowly, my dear!  don't want to overwhelm yourself with goodness, now, do you!  (bit of joking around here).  but, i think you made a really good start.  you deserve it o so much.  i hope you keep it up, a little at a time.  just like with your cleaning victories.  your pace, your time, your energy.  it's all yours.  and, it's all good.

San - thanks for the laugh!

And yes pacing is a big part of what we're all doing. I can't do it all, but that's no reason to fail to start at all. Even on the topic of being kind to myself! I'm much nicer to those around me when I've had that chance even just a little bit.

Wow, the excuse-not-to-start wagon fell behind me and the sudden loss of all that weight made my back cramp! For real! THAT was strange. Good, but strange.

Getting up and stretching in my office for a few minutes. Then, off to lunch.

i love letting go of those wagons.  i was once told that i was a pony who should have been pulling a cart but had been pulling the wagon of a workhorse, instead, which had made me ill.  well, no duh!  so, little by little i've been replacing that wagon with my own little flower cart.  very cute and just my size.  maybe that's part of the reason my back hurts most of the time!  good one!

Yesterday was a blur of dis-regulation brought on by a wonderful phone call from Sis. It was worth it. By the time I got home from work - working disregulated is a <ahem> fun thing - I was more settled into myself. I was able to be present for my family. Mostly.

Below there be triggers - neglect, abandonment by caregiver, etc.

I can't tell my sister's story. She's substantially older than me, so has a complete different set of memories and perspectives regarding our parents.

However, if we were in THAT city when this happened, then I was alive. That means, the next story impacted me as well. And it does! I spoke briefly earlier about the summer Mom ran away. Sis remembers that well. She told me that Mom left a note. And it was in the context of us being concerned about Mom's life. No, I don't know what was in that letter. I just know that she left it for Dad. He found it. He read it to us kids.

Now, the problems I have with this are: This predates my memory, so it's likely before I was 6 years old. Supporting that idea is the fact that Oldest and Sis were still living at home. And Dad read a run-away/possibly suicide note from our mother to HIM - and read it to their children. If the oldest is a teenager and the youngest is pre-school to primary grades, you DON'T read that kind of stuff to your children! Even if you ARE mad at their mother! Even if you secretly wish it was true! You just DON'T!

Gee, kids, I know your Mom and I have been fighting a lot lately, but I had no idea she'd do THIS to you all! She's abandoned you, possibly for a short while, possibly forever. Here's what SHE had to say on the subject.  **** NO, NO, NO AGAIN, NO ****

And, Dad doesn't even see the irony that he may have kept his address with us, but he ran away JUST as effectively and for a longer time (Mom stayed away that summer is all I've been told). Yet, because of that stunt, SHE became labeled the crazy one, the abandoner, the unreliable. While all that may have been true, Dad really wasn't much better in MY experience. Now, the older kids may have a different experience and that's fine. But, this is MY journal and here I get to express MY issues, MY memories and MY growth.

While talking to my sister, and hearing the sadness in her voice as she talked about this incident, I didn't want to push further. I know talking about that was not easy for her. She'd rather try to forget all those tragic things that happened in our youth. Though I'm a lot younger than her, I've faced these realities a lot more than she has, I think. That's why I get frustrated with Sis for not seeing that Mom is currently using her! I've spent a lot more time in therapy, I think. Sis is still one of the healthiest people I know emotionally - especially for being from the same family! That credit I do owe her.

But, that conversation did send me into a floating disregulation. I just kept sliding back to childhood and all the times that I needed a Mom or a Dad, but neither parent was available. There was lots of - you kids watch out for each other. Now, don't get me wrong, I did have great older siblings for the most part. But, they were just kids themselves! I was a needy child, because of the failures to attach between Mom and me.

I don't think she'd admit it right now, but I really do believe that she CHOSE to not attach with me because of my autistic sister. I think she attached to that daughter, then detached. That process was too difficult and I came so close to when that happened, I believe, that she just chose the less painful route - don't attach!

*** TMI, childbearing, nursing ***

It's a little thing, but maybe not. Mom says she breastfed me. She says she breastfed all her children. Well, except for a couple of details, I might believe her.

Wait a minute, thought - logic creeping in and it's bringing up a situation I hadn't even considered before. Mom WAS breastfeeding autistic sis when she became pregnant with me. She even laughed about it at one point, making it clear that the old wives' tale that you can't get pregnant while nursing is a LIE - all caps. So, who was getting the nutrition? Me while gestating or sis while nursing? No WONDER Mom suffered after I was born. Her body was being depleted from inside and out - literally. Still not my fault, I didn't choose to be born, let alone into this family.

Mom was kept in the hospital longer than me. I was at my godparent's home. They wouldn't have had the time to carry me up to the hospital every two hours for breast-feedings. AND, given her condition, they wouldn't have wanted her interrupted so regularly, anyway.

Though I may have got breast milk, I don't see breast-feeding happening.

Once I was home, autistic sis was still just past infancy herself. I don't see Mom having the time or energy to nurse me the way she did all her other children. Maybe give me a bottle, but not breastfeed. Then, there's this little factoid I remember from having a child myself. When it was time to decide, the nurses were very clear that nursing was best and that it's easier to give up nursing and give a bottle than the other way around. They told me that babies who start on a bottle always want a bottle because it's easier to get milk out than from a nipple. I tried, it hurt, we went with bottles.

Looking back on that time that I did ask her, and the aghast (love that word) look she gave me as if I'd just called her an ugly name all make sense. Of COURSE she wouldn't want to be revealed having dropped the ball as a mother to a small infant! What could be more horrible! After all, she'd not long before told the that the reason they had so many kids was that Dad was a good Catholic and she liked being pregnant.

Oh, the therapy that could come out of that one sentence. She didn't like motherhood, she didn't like having babies, she didn't like RAISING kids, she liked being pregnant. I've never really heard that phrase for what it is! I've heard it bunches.

I'm going to quit writing for a bit. I keep getting distracted by the things I know are real - and how I've been lied to my whole life to make Mom look better to herself, to me and to the world. Yes. It's getting easier to say uBPD/Narc than it used to be.

*** Trigger, mistreatment of an animal through neglect ***

This journal was started so that I could tease out memories of my childhood and put them together to see the mosaic that is me. In regard to recovering memories, it has been a HUGE success. What is surprising me is that my perspective is changing. Even times that should have been GOOD memories are tainted. There are still good memories, but the more I talk to my sister and refresh myself on how day-to-day life really was, I become more and more sad.

There is a picture that my mother has treasured for many years. It was in THAT city and I was a child. The home had a fancy formal living room. That room had a fireplace. One year, when the mantle was all decorated for Christmas, Mom and me and GC Bro pose for this photo. We are each lying on the floor on our bellies before the fire in the fireplace. We are smiling, looking (per direction) expectantly at the chimney opening in the fireplace. It's a very Norman Rockwell style photo. Now that I look back on that photo in my mind, it no longer brings back the smile it used to. See, as a child, I was so grateful for the photographic evidence that I was part of the family that I LOVED that photo. Years ago, she used to bring it out and put it on the mantle (when she still had one) each Christmas season.

My perspective changed. She was proud of that photo. Not because it was a good picture of two of her children. Not because we were in it. She loved it BECAUSE it looked very Norman Rockwell. As long as that was true, she could interpret her life as being beautiful. Oh, and her photographic talent as being excellent as well! Forget that it was heavily posed. Forget that it's probably good that you can't see our eyes in it. The things you can't really tell about that picture (and that I was reminded while talking to Sis the other night) was that the living room stank. The rug we were laying on was covered in dog piss stains. The sofa behind us (not in the photo) had been an antique from Dad's mother and was ruined by the same little dog. Mom's poodle.

See, I'd almost forgot about that poor dog. I don't know what inspired her to want a poodle, but she HAD to have it. We kids, being kids, thought that was GREAT. Except, we didn't know or understand that Mom is uBPD and uNarc. She wasn't actually going to take care of the dog, walk it, house train it, no none of that. IT was just supposed to magically happen! And, since magic isn't real, the dog never was house trained. She wasn't walked often enough. Desperate to be a good dog, she found the one room almost nobody used - the formal living room. With the oriental rug and the antique sofa and the hardwood floors. The dog was 'spanked'. No follow through and certainly nobody with a regular schedule to actually tend to the poor thing.

It was because of this dog that I decided that I hated all toy poodles. I would actually cringe if I saw one. Not in fear, but in dread. PLEASE don't make me responsible for THAT dog!!!! When we moved from THAT city, Mom had to give up her dog. God love the maid (yes, Mom had convinced Dad she'd be better if she had a maid to help around the house) for taking that dog. From then on, Mom didn't have dogs. She could have a cat, no more than one and that under protest of very allergic Dad.

Fast forward 25 years. Mom has a boarder. The boarder is a nice enough man. Ok, he was crazy and cranky and belligerent, but he helped Mom pay the bills, so there was that. Anyway, he had a dog. A toy poodle to be precise. That dog was his, make no mistake. She was devoted to her owner. Now, this toy poodle was a joy to be around. She hardly ever barked, was perfectly house trained and loved to cuddle in the evenings. Mom also had two cats at this time. The dog was well behaved around Mom's cats. There was really nothing to dislike about this poodle. Still, I didn't like it at first (can anyone say triggered?). Well, over the year that this fellow boarded (sub-let, whatever) with Mom, I grew attached to the dog. And the fellow was losing his battle with cancer. He knew it. One day, he asked me to please take his dog when the time came. I promised I would.

The day came when this fellow died. Mom, I and a few others went to clean out his assisted living apartment. The dog, who had got to know me, ran to me. I knew I had to honor this man's wishes. I brought the dog home.

She was a great dog. I loved her, though she did frustrate me a great deal sometimes. See, she'd always had retired owners (I was her fourth owner). That I left every day to go to work was too much for her! Separation anxiety led to destroyed curtains, sofa cushion, blinds and a couple of shoes. Not wanting to crate her while I was gone, I confined her to the bathroom - figuring it was at least more space than a crate. Well, she hated that, even with her favorite blanket laid down. She could only hear outside things and it was making her crazy. So, I got the crate. I set it up in the living room facing the front door. I put her in on my way to work. I went home at lunch and let her out. Then, back in until work was over. This was a routine she and I could live with. My house wasn't destroyed and she learned to count on the routine. She LOVED weekends when I didn't go away.

I still had this sweet dog when I met my now husband. He WAS retired and home all day. We hatched a plan where I'd bring her to his house before work. He'd 'dog-sit' for me all day. I'd go to his house for dinner and time with him and the family. Then, I'd bring my dog home with me each evening. My dog loved my boyfriend. My boyfriend loved my dog! She had a paw in moving our relationship further and faster. It's all good in retrospect.

When, after having her as part of my family for 4 years, she had to be put down, it was one of the saddest days of my life. The breed had been redeemed in my heart by this little pet. She was as unlike Mom's poodle as it was possible to be. And all the dogs we've had since have been house trained. For THEIR happiness as well as our own.

Having had my poodle as a part of my life had allowed me to forget all the bad memories of Mom's poodle. And how the living room stank. And how Dad was so disgusted by the stains and smell and damage to that room created by Mom's dog. And how that photo, the one Mom treasured, was as fake as most everything else I saw as good in my childhood.

I wonder if that meant that I'd moved on and healed from that? Maybe so. I do know it's probably a good thing that my oldest brother had already passed when all this went on. He had NOT forgot a THING about Mom's poodle and would likely have harped on it in the face of my dog. But, I think she would have won him over as well.

I don't miss THAT house anymore. I don't miss that dog. I don't miss a lot of things about my childhood. But, I do miss my poodle today. And that's ok.

i can totally relate about memories that i once thought were ok coming to light as tainted.  and eventually as even traumatic.  things i used to shrug off now have a whole new meaning in light of what i'm now experiencing.   and i don't like it one bit.  funny how that can happen, just switch like that.  sucks.  altho i'd rather be hurt by the truth than a lie, i never realized the truth could hurt this much.  sucks even more.

i'm sorry/glad about your realizations.  i believe that we can only clear up and clean out all our gunk by seeing and knowing the truth.  it's just so much dang work!!!  but, you keep chipping away at it, wife2, and for that i give you a lot of credit.  women warriors all!

*** Triggers ***


Ok, I ran across an article yesterday. I've been pondering it all night. I printed it out to read it at home. I've read it here at work online. I want to read it a few more times before I consider it in my head.

I tried to do the link thing, but failed. Anyway, it's at a website called Harpyschild. It's an article on 25 ways a Narcissistic mother damages her child(ren), called Characteristics of a Narcissistic Mother. If you have one, or suspect you have one (Narc Mom that is), read this article.

I felt so validated, over and over and over again. I had memories, flashbacks, dissociation. I'm currently in total overload, but in a great way.

I have really hesitated calling my mother a narc. It seemed so harsh. BPD seemed so much kinder, so I went with that. But, being kind instead of being real is what has my head so messed up right now, anyway. I think she's a covert narc with less than the usual amount of malice - it's there and it's awful, but some of the traits were more than I remember her doing. At least to me.

I already recognized that I may have fleas from Mom. Dear God in Heaven, please let it be your will for me to find and weed out any Narc traits I may have picked up! And please let me find the way to make it up to my husband for how I've treated him during this marriage. He's paid debts he didn't owe because of my parents. And he stuck by me. Even after I hurt him again and again. He was just confused. When he confronted me, he said my treatment was because of a * boss who sexually harassed me for years. Nope, though that * didn't help things any, hubby was paying because of my parents! Especially Narc Mom!  And, if I'm really, really honest.... I don't like thinking this, but refusal to acknowledge truth makes it no less true .... Dad may be a Narc as well.

Breathing, because I know I must. Over and over. Calm down. It isn't happening right this minute. I can feel my blood pressure shooting up. I can feel that my skin is red from that. I can feel my ears burning. I have to calm down before I can think straight. Breathe. Slowly, in and out. Breathe.

And this is from an article I read yesterday! Ok, I only could handle a few of the traits at a time. I couldn't read the whole thing through in one go. I still can't just yet. Wow. I haven't been this triggered in a long time.

So much of my childhood makes better sense now. So much of my adult life also makes better sense. Some of the bad decisions. Some of the ways I allowed bad things that left me victimized. How I got in over my head so many times and why I thought I deserved the bad stuff.

:: Bows head::: I'm overwhelmed right now. I'll come back and talk more when I feel stronger.  Dang it's hard to hold down a job AND do the work of healing! Clearing head. Forcing myself into the present and the reality of the job I have to do. Breathing again.

Breathing with you :hug:

ditto what 3 roses said.  warrior woman spirit, wife2, is right with you, helping you, holding onto you.  what a courageous thing you've done, looking the truth squarely in the face even tho it wasn't very pleasant.  like you said, tho, the truth allowed you to see things more clearly, and that is a huge step forward.

and, please don't beat yourself up over past mistakes, errors, etc.  remember, always, you did what you did because it's all you knew to do.  that isn't your fault.  yeah, those things happened, and maybe they weren't very pretty, but, to me, the best way to make up for them is to begin doing things differently with the different knowledge you now possess.  your hub still loves you, he's still with you, and you can begin differently from now on.  that's the gift you've been given by being brave enough to look at, acknowledge, and accept the truth. 

kind and real aren't necessarily opposites, either.  we can always be kind and real at the same time.  honesty doesn't have to be brutal or  harsh, but it does have to be in order that we can make the changes necessary for our growth, health, and well-being.  kudos to you, wife2.  yah!!!

Thank you, ladies!

I'm honestly not beating myself up, I'm trying to make sure I've got the honesty mirror up in front of me. The mistakes I've made, I've made. I apologized to those effected. I've made things right when I was able.

I just want to get any narc tendencies OUT OF ME! Hubby has called me on some entitlement behavior I have. Oh, how I burned when he said that! But, it's true. If I look at it for what it is, I do. I was ugly in my denial to him. I did apologize for my ugly words. And, quietly, I've begun working on those behaviors. I have more to overcome than I realized when I started. My current challenge is not allowing myself to wallow in being overwhelmed and thus stop doing ANY good new work.

DS8 is watching, too. I owed him an apology this weekend. He got it. He thanked me for apologizing. I got busy showing with actions that I meant it. He told me later that THAT meant a lot to him. He surprised me, I forget that at 8 years old he's already mature enough to see the disconnect between words and actions when they don't line up. I'm going to encourage that awareness, and to validate him if he calls me out when he finds one in me.

I know nobody is perfect and that my surviving an undiagnosed covert narcissistic mother is nothing special, really. There are too many of us out there, it sadly seems.

I do still have compassion for my mother. Her mother seems to have been an overt narc and an alcoholic. It is understandable HOW my mother turned out as she did. But, to me, the biggest difference is that I chose to get help and to keep getting help until I was in a better place. She chose a different path. For that reason, I will continue my very limited contact with her.

Because sis has chosen to become an enabling flying monkey, I will limit my contact with her as well.

I will, only if asked, make the point that my husband hasn't tied up their hands, they could call me as easily as I could call them. He's not tying my hands up, I just have nothing to discuss with them, so I don't call. Don't blame my lack of contact on him.

I think I will mourn the relationship that could have been, one more time. I can't hold Mom accountable for who she can not be. I don't have to condone it, but I don't have the right to expect it. She is who she is. Dealing in reality is so much better than deluding myself with wishful thinking.

number one, i applaud you, wife2.  wow!  what a leap forward from where you were just a couple of months ago.  fabulous!

number two, may i respectfully disagree with you on surviving any of this.  while it's true that there are quite a few survivors, there are so many who literally haven't survived it.  i believe surviving this crapola is something very special and deserves to be celebrated.  even as i write this, i've realized that i haven't celebrated myself enough.  we've been through * and have made it out.  they may have brought us to our knees, but they didn't kill us.  and not everyone can lay claim to that.  that is, indeed, something special.

so, here's to surviving moms, dads, sisters, brothers, families, ex's, children, friends and whoever else has traumatized us along the way.  while i don't wish them harm, per se, if they're not happy in their lives, i'm not sad about that.  as you pointed out, everyone has the option to change.  whoever doesn't want to, well, that's on them.  i don't have time or energy anymore to think too much on them.   that may be my own bitterness about all this leaking out, angry that i've had to continue to go through this pain and suffering because of what i was taught and what i believed was ok to allow others to do to me, but so be it.  it's where i am right now, imperfect as all get out!  maybe someday i'll feel different.

in the meantime, we here are choosing to move forward with honesty and truth, as painful as that may be at times.  but, it's also freeing, no?  applause applause, wife2.  you deserve it.  big hug!

Big hug back at you, San! You only have to go to last week's posts to see my bitterness isn't very long relaxed. I've begun to notice it comes and goes in waves. Those waves are timed to intentional or unintentional contact with the Narcs, PD's, Flying monkeys from whom I am currently not hiding. I know, when I mix with the PD and enabling crowd, I'll get drawn back in and back down. I'm NOW trying to learn to heal myself after each occasion and to preemptively strengthen myself when the contact is allowed or initiated by me.

I'm also beginning to recognize that my anger, bitterness and hurt all have never had any helpful effect on those who incited those emotions in me.

I am learning to claim my responsibility on things that I now know I can refuse, deny, correct and or avoid. Like Thanksgiving dinner. 10 years ago, I'd have caved and told my family they were going to Mom's house and they'd better NOT make a scene if they saw bugs. Now, I can refuse to go, love my family enough to not put them in that position and reject the guilt Mom tried to dole out. That last was the hardest, but I did it.

To be truthful, I believe we MUST go through the negative emotions before we heal. THAT is what was usually denied us as children. Our own emotions, authentic and immediate. Yes, if we're angry, we should be allowed to say, 'I'm angry. I'll talk calmly later. If you don't like that I'm angry, that's YOUR right, but don't tell me how to feel or when to feel it!' This is what we owe ourselves as grownups. Not in a self-indulgent, destructive way, though. I believe that is why so many of us need therapists, counselors, psychologists. Because we don't even know HOW to express positive or negative emotions in a healthy way.

So, long paragraphs to say, show me your bitterness, if that is what you are feeling right now. It's healthy and logical. And, I'm strong enough to withstand your expression of your bitterness. So, let it out! It doesn't offend me, it's not directed AT me. If it does scare me a little (because bitterness was reserved for the uNPD mother), I'm sure enough to stay standing, arms around you, letting you know YOUR opinion matters and YOUR emotions ARE valid. Right now. As you're feeling them. No apology needed among friends, though it is appreciated!

You've done that for me so many times in the past, and it's been a Godsend every time. Sincerely. I know we don't even know the faces of our friends on here, and that's as it should be. Still, I feel so connected and so like a sister/friend to you and others on this website. Thank you so much for being here for me. I'll keep being here for you, too. 

BIG, SINCERE, FRIENDSHIP LOVING HUG to you!!!!

right back atcha.  lots of stuff going on today.  will explain later.  in the meantime, keep being the amazing you that's continuing to shine out of your darkness.  you're beautiful!

*** TRIGGERS - MEMORIES OF A BELOVED RELATIVE WHO HAS DIED ***

Today would have been my brother's 57th birthday. I still miss him so much! He was the one who probably suffered the most as a result of the FOO dysfunction, but through his adult years learned to call everyone out on our stuff. He could take what he dished, too. It was so refreshing!

I cherish the years we shared a house. I cherish the years he gave me someone to talk to besides Mom, someone who would tell me the truth. I cherish the laughter, the tears, the silences that were keeping secrets out of kindness. I even cherish the memories of his cat.

He's been gone 15 years. It still hurts, not to have him to bounce ideas off of, to laugh with, to cook, eat and clean with, to listen to, to know he's not in the world anymore.

As close as my sister and I were, I think I miss my brother even more. He was there when I began therapy after our sister died. He was there, calling me on my junk and laughing if I got irked. He showed me how adults are supposed to live (clutter free and honest with each other). He showed me ways of coping with our mother - they worked for him, some worked for me but not as well without him.

I remember him irritating the neighbor across the street because that guy loved country and bro was tired of listening to it INSIDE our house. So, he set up his club-quality sound system and in true fashion (making the point that he was gay - he thought it was funnier that way) played Barbara Streisand at top volume. Neighbors three blocks away could understand the lyrics! It was over a year after bro died that the neighbor parked in the front yard with his truck stereo blaring again.  :righton: We laughed so hard about that!

I remember the look of 'Oh, *, did Mom really just do that' and barely holding the belly-busting laughter in when Mom snorted right in the middle of our sister's wedding vows. The look of almost pain from trying to not laugh when she did it again. The running out of the room so we could all explode in laughter, then checking with Sis that she wasn't too ticked. She said she was more like tickled - it helped her relieve the strain and say her vows easily.

I remember the silly face he would give me when Mom would say something outrageous. It was half-way between a smirk and a sly grin. We could often communicate like that. No words, just expressions. Later, when Mom wasn't around, we'd roll with laughter and talk about what had been said.

He would tease me about how much I'd let Mom get away with towards me. That helped me know that I was allowing too much and that I needed to stop it. He strengthened me.

Our friendship was a major reason I was able to keep things together after our sister died. I helped him find the humor, he helped me see that the humor had been there all along. We encouraged each other in whatever the other was attempting.

I consider the two years my big brother shared my house the best years of my life in many respects. There were things going on that he knew little of, or didn't know at all, because I wanted it that way. He had his things going on about which I knew little or nothing. That was us respecting each others' boundaries. Still, we were there for each other as I'd never had anyone there for me in my life. I like to think I helped him as well.

So, on this day, to celebrate his birth, I will remember my brother. I loved him. I still love him. I miss him.

But, to be able to reminisce and keep my memories happy, I must avoid calling my mother or father. Mom will make it about her and Dad won't want to remember at all. So, I will write here about my brother. My friend. And smile as I remember him.

i'm smiling with you.  he sounds like a wonderful brother, friend, and support person.  how refreshing.  i'm glad you had him in your life.  barbra streisand!  love it!!!

I've been in an interesting place lately. I've been focusing a little less on me and trying to reach out and help others. It saddens me that there are so many hurting people in this big old world. I keep hearing of more people from friends, coworkers, family members (when I do talk with them) and it makes me want to weep. Even more than the sad ASPCA commercials.

During this holiday season, I've had very little 'Christmas' spirit, but I've nurtured what was there and it's growing into a love of humanity as a whole. THIS is the person I was mean to be. Looking outward, wanting to help, console or encourage others. That is who I am. Yes, I will be hurt in this process. Even when it's not on purpose or directed at me, opening up my heart to others will leave me open to hurt for or with others. That is, to me, a deeper part of what it means to be human.

Anyone who reads this journal, or sees my posts for others, may have already picked up on the fact that I believe strongly in authentic appreciation of others' feelings. And encouraging those brave enough to face whatever challenges have landed in front of (or on top of) them.

My home life is getting better for the most part. Though my husband does almost assuredly have unDX CPTSD as well, he is currently pushing through and trying to push through to open up to me. That's not easy. He never was as open a person as I used to be and am becoming again. This is hard work for him. The risk is tremendous. I am learning to honor that risk and to make sure he knows that I respect him for who he is right now. I am learning to honor him for his desire to be a good man. He sees that and is learning to show me respect as a person, as his wife, as mother to his youngest child (he would say a better mother to all three).

He is taking his queues from me about how to talk to our son. Their relationship is getting better. I am taking my queues from him about how to stay firm and be the parent. My relationship with our son is getting better.

Last night was a very good night in my home. Even when DSS24 got mouthy with me. I had barely got into the house when it happened. I didn't know he'd come in with a chip on his shoulder about something outside the home and mouthed off with his father already. My husband took over the situation when I called DSS24 on his attitude. H almost made it about months of frustration with the young man. DSS called him on it and H checked himself and kept the discussion ABOUT THE attitude only. DSS apologized to me and to his father.

After that, we were able to all sit down and have a good meal together. That 20 minutes at the table were the best of the whole day for me. I didn't act all meek and ticked off. H didn't re-hash the attitude, the conversation or any old, resolved stuff. DSS and DS teased each other a little, but it was in fun and not mean-spirited as has happened in the past.

I feel like a superhero - not because I did anything in particular to make that evening go well. I just feel like a superhero because I was allowed to be a part of a good, normal time with my family.

Tonight may not be so nice. That's ok. I still have yesterday to remember. I can't expect perfection, that's not fair. I'll take a good evening, even if it's the last one until Christmas. It happened. I will rejoice.

My gift to myself was realizing that I did have a part in this going well. My other gift to myself was being OK with not being in control of anyone outside myself. My gift to my husband was showing him the respect to be head of our household. My gift to my sons was, without a word needed, showing my husband that keeping the thing about the thing makes the thing easier to resolve.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

**Triggers - bullies and their bat** bulling ways.

Ok, so I was/am triggered by another journal. That's fine! I'm not upset about being triggered. I'm looking at it as a chance to examine the trigger and what I'm feeling about it all.

I'm typing fast to get this on 'paper' so-to-speak. So, please forgive grammar errors (Sorry 10th Grade English teacher!).

So, bullies. I didn't experience the standard bullies. That would have been too obvious and thus too easily stopped. No. Mine were far more subtle and sophisticated. I was also an easy target.

I was a girl. I looked goofy, not bad, just goofy. My vision wasn't good. By 2nd grade, I was wearing glasses. I was smart, not average at all - except I was too dumb to know I should cover that fact up. I was soooo, veeeery thin -scrawny in fact. I had greasy, long hair that was un-brushed more often then it was brushed. I didn't brush my teeth regularly (Mom bailed on all the personal hygiene lessons). My clothes didn't fit right as I was last in line for the hand-me-downs. Despite being from a large family, in a neighborhood of large families, I had little to no social skills. I was awkward and revealed WAY too much (TMI was a lifestyle) at all the wrong times.

Oh, and the GC of my family - my brother only 2 years older than me, he was the biggest bully I faced. He wasn't teasing. He genuinely didn't like me. The parents thought he was teasing and let him - thinking they were making me tougher. Nope, they were allowing the verbal abuse to continue and convincing me that I deserved every last word of it. They only stepped in if we started hitting each other.

Flashback (this stinks, I'm at work and really need to do my job). I'm kindergarten age. I'm walking to school with both brothers and heart sister. She wasn't always close to me, though she tried harder than any of the rest. She and oldest bro are talking and walking ahead. GC bro is walking beside me, pretending to be talking like the older sibs ahead of us. What he's really doing is telling me how bad I smell and how he can't stand to walk near me anymore. He breaks off and runs up to the other siblings. It's about to the cut-off where I cross the street (usually with an older sib) to my kindergarten school. They'll keep on to the elementary just up the street. I'm not even crying. That was normal - he always did stuff like that. I ask oldest bro - who is my crossing-guard that day - if I smell bad. Who knows if I do or not, bro loves me and doesn't want me upset THAT close to school, so he says I'm fine.  I go into kindergarten class, but I hide on my mat. I check myself to see if I stink. I'm only 5, so I have no idea that you can't really smell yourself. All day, I am afraid that nobody will be my friend because I smell bad. I'm afraid to ask anybody. I stay by myself and feel shame washing over me. It's a hot shame, I can feel the sweat. Still, no tears.

Up a few years. I'm in 3rd grade, GC bro is in 5th grade. Sis and older bro are now in high school and don't walk with us anymore. GC bro HATES walking to school with his sister. We're going to the same place, but he's too good for that. He has convinced one of his friend's mother to drive him also. The only rule, he has to be there before she leaves. One day, I decide to follow him, that seems way more fun than walking. He gets there early and sits on the porch. I know if he sees me, he'll tell me to go away, these are HIS friends. The friend and his Mom come outside. SHE spots me and says to bro - so, is this your little sister? Would you like us to give her a ride, too? I'm out of hiding and nodding and thanking her. He's looking at me like he could kill me. His friend is laughing. I see the shame, angry look pass over my brother's face.

When we get home later that day is when GC bro explains the rule that HIS friends are HIS friends and I better NEVER follow him or embarrass him like that again. I can walk to school or find my OWN friends if I want a ride. What HE does is NONE OF MY BUSINESS and I'd better stay out of it and away from him.

Note, we're walking over 10 city blocks in a very large city. We're in private school, so I'm in a uniform that the pattern identifies the school. I am maybe 40 pounds of 3rd grader, female and walking a city street to school by myself because my big brother, the GC, can't stand to be seen with me. He doesn't see that this is a problem. But, on those few days when he can't find a ride, he mocks me because I've begun saying hello to regulars along the way. The newspaper guy, the guy who hangs out in front of the movie theater, the ladies who are usually crossing the same street as me and are always so nice. He tells me to stop talking to strangers, am I stupid or what? Again with attitude letting me know I'm not worth hanging around. He walks ahead. If I try to catch up, he walks faster. I stop before he ends up running. I can take a hint.

I gave it a few weeks, but one day when it was raining, I followed him again. A ride sure sounded better than walking. I couldn't hide from him so well this time, though. He saw me a turned around and pushed me away, telling me to go walk or get my own ride. I couldn't come with him and his friend. I turned around. I walked slowly, though, hoping the Mom would see me and take pity on me. She did, but bro told her that I had changed my mind and didn't want a ride that day. That afternoon, bro was really ticked with me. When he got home, he shoved me again, telling me to stop following him in the mornings or else.

In school things weren't much better.

1st grade, the teacher had humiliated me already, so the students thought it was fine to pick on me. I've told this story before, but I'm back there in a way, so let me tell it again.

Break time came. I didn't have to pee, so I stayed in my seat. These were those BIG clunkers with the space for books metal encased under the wood seat, metal arm holding up a wood desk surface. Time passes, maybe 10 minutes. I raise my hand. Nun acknowledges me. I ask politely, 'Sister, may I please go to the lavatory?', just as I'd been taught. She frowns and snorts and refuses. 'Break time was 10 minutes ago. No you may not.'

I'm only 5 years old (will turn six later that semester)! I sit miserably. Finally, I can hold it no more. Once again, I raise my hand. By the look of desperation on my face, the Nun can see that I'm serious, I have to go pee! But, she'd taken her stand and would not budge. She doesn't acknowledge me. Hand still raised, I feel the nightmare begin. I lower my hand, then lower my head. The evidence is now all over the seat and noisily forming a puddle below my desk. The other students begin to laugh at me. Nun, being the sort who should have retired decades before, is NOT amused at my disruption. Her course of action is to drag me to the front of the room, verbally punish me for disrupting her class and having so little control over my 5-year-old bladder. Then, she decides that a spanking is in order. Wet skirt lifted, she inflicts 5 licks on my wet bottom. She did not go gentle. Having decided I needed this correction, she gives her full strength.

Now, the other students aren't laughing out loud anymore. I am mortified, crying and hurting. She calls the janitor to bring cleaning supplies. I am told to clean my mess, with the class, Nun and the janitor watching. I clean my mess. I'm 5, though, and I do a 5-year-old's 'good job'. The janitor kindly mops up the small area under the desk that I missed and leaves before Nun can say anything to him about helping. She then sends me to the principal's office.

When I get to the principal's office (alone, walk of shame), I'm afraid to step inside. The secretary sees me outside and gently guides me into the office. The why is fragrantly obvious. I've begun crying, the secretary's kindness has overwhelmed me. She gets in touch with my sister (a 6th grader) and has her come to comfort me. She calls my mother (at work, Mom is irritated by the interruption). Mom leaves work, goes home, gets me clean underwear and a clean-ish uniform, brings them to the school and raises a big fuss. The Nun is called to the office. Mom blesses her out. At the time, I think it's because I've been so deeply wronged. I am so thankful for my mother for standing up for me like that!

The whole time, sis is soothing me, taking me to the bathroom to clean up and change, telling me I'm ok and that everything will be ok. Because it's her, I believe her.

Only recently have I realized that Mom wasn't so angry because her young daughter had been so wronged. She was angry because she had been embarrassed, having to tell her boss WHY she had to leave work, and having to leave work, and appearing to not have done her mothering job correctly by teaching me better control over my bladder. SHE was mortified, so she was angry and took it out on that Nun. The Nun was scared of Mom after that, and treated me better for the rest of the year.

But, the damage had already been done. I was pissy-pants on top of already being nerd, greasy-hair-girl, twiggy, geek, stink-mouth and klutz. Children have long memories when they get a reason to tease another child. This gave my brother, the GC, even more reason to want to disown relationship with me.

While my sister still attended the same school, she did what she could to help me. But, being 5 years older and getting ready to skip a grade due to her own great intelligence, she didn't have much opportunity. Her classes were on another floor and she couldn't be in the lunch room or the playground at the same time as me.

The whole school heard about the incident. It was a smallish elementary school anyway. No matter how hard the staff tried to make my time easier, and many did after that, I hated school. Those who tried to be my friends were made fun of for their association with me. The reputation was so stuck on me that two years later, sitting in class, the girl behind me, who hadn't even attended when it happened, leaned forward in her desk to whisper in my hair, 'You better not pee near me, pissy-pants, that's just gross.' What I wanted to do was turn around and tell her she was one to talk, her body odor was awful! But, I just sat there and took it. Because I'd already learned the futility of fighting back.

That was my first experience with mean girls. I found out girls rarely physically fight. What they do is form cliques or clubs and make it plain to the unqualified or uninvited JUST what their status is. Or, rarely, they'll do the most cruel thing. They'll pretend to befriend you, only to gain your confidence, then learn things about you that you'd only entrust to a friend. When they have enough ammunition, they dump you and then spill your beans to everyone who'll listen. At six years old, these girls already knew how to really hurt another girl. After that, I only had one female friend at that school, the rest of my friends were my fellow 'geeks', two really smart boys.

This was what elementary school was like for me. Home was GC brother treating me badly and the parents only noting, 'Would you two stop bickering?!' School was no better with the taunts that didn't stop, sometimes fed by GC bro so he could prove his distance from me socially.

When we left private school and began public school, things seemed to improve a bit. First of all, I was older and more capable of being on my own. I'd grown accustomed to not even acknowledging that I was related to GC brother. It just made life easier. Of course, the shared uncommon last name WAS a give-away, but he could tell his buddies whatever he wanted. I'd learned my lesson to keep my distance.

We moved a couple of times and I found that I could reinvent myself somewhat. Also, I learned that if I poked fun at myself FIRST, it took their desire to sting me with insults away, or at least lessened it. I became a bit of a class clown. That helped for a while. I was still socially awkward, with very few friends and fewer that lasted a long time. I just didn't know how to relate to other kids very well.

There is more, but this is already a manifesto it's so long. It's all spilling around my mind, standing in that elementary school yard, having my own brother throw a rock at me, standing in line to go inside and having kids push me to the back of the line so they wouldn't have to stand behind pissy-pants. Mean girls smiling at me, then sticking out their tongues at me. When a friend did hug me, hearing someone yell, 'Don't squeeze her too hard, she might pee on you!' So many more memories. They hurt and I'm tired and I want to close my eyes and forget for a while.

I'm trying to do my job. I'm trying to smile and be my usual upbeat self, but it just isn't there today. Hubby called, he's having a bad day for his own reasons, then apologized for dumping about his lousy day. So, I brightened my voice and pretended all is well to let him know I wasn't taking it personally. This isn't about him. He's actually been trying to be great lately.

Let me get off here before I just keep going too long. I've got to dig out of this long enough to do my job. I'll worry about home when it's closer to time to get there.

Still deeply triggered. Still flashing back. Still angry and ready to cry. Still want to lash out at those kids who were mean to me. Still want to cuss my brother for being so faithless a big brother - putting his own popularity ahead of his sister's heart.

To his credit, he spent about 3 months trying to be a good big brother. But, then, life was calling and he had more important things to do. Besides, I didn't learn basketball easily and thus wasn't very fun to play with, so -whatever. Later, sis. There are times I HATE him. Really HATE him. But, when I try to explain it to anyone, which hasn't been often, they think I'm exaggerating.

I can't talk to my husband about this because he's met my brother and thinks him a fine man. That day in New York? That day he blessed you out because our sister raised her voice to you in our hotel room - 'defending' his <gonna say this at last> REAL sister as family - forgetting that he's still as much MY brother as HER brother and it was MY husband he was yelling at - THAT is the real brother. THAT is the real state of things.

My shame regarding that New York trip is this: My family came to spend time in our hotel room. They doted on our son. They talked nice to me and husband. But, the elephant in the room was that I am not their family like everyone else. I am the outsider. So, later, when I was at the elevator with all but sis, I didn't hear what happened. I could hear her shouting. Brother bolted into the room and began shouting at you. I was in the hallway, completely conflicted about what to do next. I was angry at husband for starting something. I knew then and know now that you didn't really MEAN to start something, but I told you that our family is totally stupid about manners, even in the face of ridiculousness. Then, there's the complex situation with my brother. I can't fight him. I can't. I feel that I'm already so close to being exiled from the family forever that any misstep against the golden child will render me banished forever. So, once he enters the room, I cannot. I know I will defend my husband against my family. Bro is already there defending 'family' against my husband. Cussing my husband. And he didn't even know what had started it. I didn't either, which is why I stayed out. I had to choose between my husband and my birth family and I froze. Not really wanting to support my birth family, but having had enough trouble with husband to fear I may need them in the future. So, I froze.

Later, there was no apology deep enough to make that right. I didn't have my husband's back when it mattered most. The battle lasted nearly 20 minutes. When bro and sis stormed out of the hotel room, they all left the hotel. The air was thick with my family's hatred of my husband. When I went in, I half expected him to have sprouted horns and a forked tongue, knowing that was silly. Still, he had remained calm throughout it all. He was deeply disappointed in me for bailing on him. I couldn't explain it. I couldn't explain how a lifetime of cowering in the face of any sibling anger equipped me to bail on him. How our marriage challenges made me fear their displeasure more than his.

And all he had said was that sis had been a poor planner and that he would have planned things better. And he was right. And, before giving his opinion, he asked her TWICE if she was sure she wanted his opinion that she might not like it. She shouted and cussed. Bro shouted and cussed. Hubby sat there, took it and waited for them to get it out of their systems and leave.

I'm sitting here, re-feeling all that shame in abandoning my husband when my family attacked him. Shame in the why. Shame in the fact that my mother, the narc who emotionally crippled me this way, witnessed it all, including my inability to rise up against my birth family even when they were WRONG. I wasn't good enough. I dare not. In no situation could I foresee myself being right and any, let alone two, siblings agreeing that they were wrong.

It took almost a year for my brother to apologize to my husband. He never did apologize to me, he couldn't see how he wronged me (we always stick up for each other in THIS family - oh, do we?). My sister has not and will not apologize to my husband. She's had a couple of conversations where she at least admitted that she contributed to the badness of the situation, but no apology to husband or me. The closest she's come to an apology was to make a joke about not asking for my husband's opinion unless you really, really want it.

Even my husband doesn't understand why I was paralyzed in that situation. I can't explain it without painting myself a victim and my family as horrible people. But, sometimes, especially to me, they ARE horrible people! For some reason I have never understood, it seems to be acceptable to many in my family to be horrible towards me and mine. But, they do it with such good manners that it's even harder to call them on it. They have plausible deniability - I was just too sensitive and read too much into it. Bull *, I did not. You (Mom, brother, sister) DID say that and you DID mean that and no amount of 'you took it wrong' will change it! Almost 50 years in this family and I'm not so easy to trick with word games anymore.

Wow, another rant. Unprocessed emotions will spout like a pressured volcano, won't they? Breathing. Remembering I'm not still in New York. I don't have to hear bro or sis and their uppity, superior ways. I don't have to watch Dad glow with pride at GC bro's children and look with confused delight and concern at mine. We seem to be entertaining, not pride-inspiring. Whatever. I'm going to quit while I'm breathing, or I'll get going again. Good night, all.

Still triggered. Got through last night by keeping to myself mostly. That's not easy. Hubby is trying to show more affection because today is his birthday, he wants certain things and they are only available when he's been 'filling the account' with affection and attention towards me. So, he's trying, I'm pulling back and it's not for the reasons he thinks. I hate leaving him so confused. I also don't want to ruin his birthday.

But, the holidays have me triggered badly this year, worse than ever before. And that's saying something.

Considering the bullying thing, I have a story that doesn't directly relate to me, but still underscores the family dynamic.

When DS was only 4, the year after the New York incident, we decided to spend Christmas with Dad, Stepmom and whatever other siblings were going to be there. So as to NOT be an imposition on Dad's already crowded house, we got a hotel room. OK, it's also because hubby and I are the only smokers in our generation - to be polite and to have privacy, we made that choice. Anyway, we got up early, went to Dad's, stayed long hours and left in time to get little one to bed most of the four days we were there. Hubby ended up getting very sick on that trip. He also has cPTSD and family Christmas is foreign to him. We almost left before the day, it got that bad for him. But, we stuck it out.

Stepbrother refused to come over, even for birthday dinner for Dad. Say what they want, my presence was the reason. Oldest sister didn't come either. She always stops by for at least a few hours, but not that year. Flying monkey sister came for one day. GC brother came, with his sons. I've seen the boys so rarely, despite living in the same town as their Nana. The last time I spoke to them on the phone was when they still lived only one state away. I used to drive up to visit the family often - when I was welcome (read - an 'employee' of my brother's AMWAY business). They were babies when that dried up.

Anyway, my son was completely enamored of his cousins. He followed them around, wanting to be a part of whatever they were doing. Because he didn't know them, and they do look very similar being brothers, he tried to remember their names and got them confused a few times. He had just met them for the first time. Well, the older son was pretty decent about it. He'd smile at my DS and say, 'Close enough, cuz.' The other, though, would taunt my son. He would intentionally deny his own name and send my son on a hunt for his brother with the misinformation about names. My son fell for it twice that I saw it. The second time, everyone but my older nephew was in the living room. Finally, I had the nerve to say something. 'Nephew, that was really cruel. He loves you already and trusts you. Don't you think that's a punky thing to do to him?'

He was shocked, his mother looked like I'd just slapped her (prissy, self-righteous 'perfect mother'), my brother looked ashamed because he'd been smiling at his son's antics. The boy had the decency to look ashamed of himself and did apologize to my son for playing tricks on him. I spent the rest of the day explaining to my son that his cousin had been lying to him as a trick. To this day, because he sees them so rarely, he gets confused about which is which.

I was slightly grateful that hubby was in the hotel room and hadn't seen that, only because his being unwell gave me an excuse to get out of there. Before I could return for dinner, brother and his family had left.

Because my brother requested it, we stopped by his house on the way home from Dad's. When we got there, the nephews were much nicer to my son, but it was still hard for me to let him go hang out with them. The age difference wasn't a big deal to my son - his brother is 15 years older. It was a big deal to my nephews who figured out that I will call them on it if they were unkind again.

Bro had already apologized at Dad's house - to my husband. So, we were glad to visit and try to ease the tension between me and bro. Well, then self-righteous had to start up again - questioning me on why I don't follow the family faith anymore.  I had to explain, again, that I still believe in God, just not the flavor they subscribed to. They acted like I was spouting heresy. They bragged how their (my adjectives pushy, stubborn) daughter had (bullied?) convinced HER fiancé (father of the baby on the way) to convert. I had to laugh. They'd already told me how they thought that young man was a dunce and easily swayed by their daughter. *** Shock from the future - he divorced their daughter because it never was a marriage in the first place ***

So, hubby and I made our excuses about the long trip home, gathered up our son and left. On the way home, hubby talked about being respectful of my bro because he did man up and apologize for his behavior in New York. But, even he realized that they were being VERY judgmental of me and my life because it didn't follow the path THEY had chosen for THEMSELVES.

The bitterness in me wants to shout here what I've never been able to say out loud.

Brother, I don't have to follow the family faith to still believe in the same God and Savior. I am not going to * because I refuse to subscribe to such non-Biblical beliefs as Mary being the product of a virgin birth herself, or of her ascending into Heaven, or of Jesus having no brothers and sisters while she was sinless (um, didn't she marry Joseph, wouldn't a good wife provide children for her husband?). And, no, I can't pretend I don't know that's part of the package and just say the vows. That's akin to taking vows of marriage but never intending to remain faithful to the spouse. Don't say it if you can't mean it, especially with a VOW before GOD, right? So, I never said it, doesn't mean I don't believe what I read for myself in the Bible. And, it certainly doesn't give you or your wife a right to stand on some pedestal and preach down to me. Who are you to sit in judgment on me anyway? We both had daughters get pregnant out of wedlock. We supported our daughter, loved her, told her she didn't have to make any rash choices, think it through. When they decided to get married anyway, we supported the idea and the new little family. You, on the other hand, told her to NOT marry the boy, then that he HAD to be Catholic (yeah, that didn't work so well, did it?), then undermined the young family every chance you got by interfering and trying to get their son away from them and raise him yourself. I guess because you'd done such a great job with your own children?

You and your wife used me during your AMWAY days, belittled me when I didn't 'grow' at the rate you wanted and then called me loser when I'd had enough and quit. You taught your children to call me loser. You never apologized for that. You never corrected your children by admitting that calling me a loser was wrong and that you were wrong to teach them to think of me like that. And you wonder why I don't want to call or visit? YOU made a conscious decision to take the improper teachings of a rogue group of AMWAY distributors who were later prosecuted for their methods and make their words more important than your relationship with your sister. Really? Really? There aren't enough REALLY?'s in the world for how very wrong that is. And you've never apologized for any of it. Because you don't see that you owe me an apology!

You act so superior to me. You do. Stop trying to deny it. You don't understand how I could 'settle' for a little brick ranch in the burbs. You had to have your country club house with the mayor across the street. When it flooded, your wife was so angry. When I stated that I was thankful for the prayers, because they sustained me through the hurricane and I had no damage, she was spitting verbal rocks at me she was so pissed. When I stated that a week without electricity had been hard, but had it's good points, too - she nearly called me a * because she was so angry that I wasn't - I don't even know - even more sympathetic about her losses to the flood? Y'all knew that back yard flooded. Y'all didn't get the extra insurance. Y'all suffered flood losses. Yes, I'm sorry that it happened to you. Yes, I'm sorry your insurance company let you down. Yes, it stinks! And YOU seemed to keep a good sense of humor about the whole thing. But, you were not the only ones affected and just because you lost more value on your country club floodwater estate than my home is worth is no reason for your wife to treat me like I should just shut up because y'all had it worse. She needs to check herself, bro. Nobody MADE you buy that expensive home in the fancy backfill neighborhood.

More later, got to do my job for a while. Not easy when triggered like this.

 :cheer:

Here with you.  :hug:

Oh, yeah. There was that time ....

I actually won something at a fair! I was so excited, I was 11 years old and I had never won anything before. It was a life-sized 'rag' doll. I had barely had time to bring it back to the table when my father leaned over and said, "I think your sister would love that. Why don't you let her have it?"

Of course, I wasn't going to tell my father no. Of course, I wasn't going to insist that it was the first thing I'd EVER won and I like it and I want to keep it for myself! No, that doll stayed in my possession no more than 2 hours. As soon as we got home, Dad put it up and, I assume, brought it to my Autistic sister on his next visit. I didn't even get to actually GIVE it to her. It came from Dad as far as she knew. I never saw it again. I don't even know if she did like it or kept it or the facility took it from her.

All I know is that my father didn't seem excited for me, seeing me win something. He was excited that I was willing to give it up for my sister.

And he wonders why I believe that he loved her more than he ever loved me. Because this is just one of a thousand little ways he showed me that he did.

Called Dad to wish him Happy Birthday. He tried to actually listen, but there was so much noise of the party for him in the background (I hadn't known they were doing a party for him, not invited or informed, or I would have called at a different time) he could barely hear me. Both oldest sisters were there as was GC brother and most of his kids. Stepbrother was there.

Like I said, Dad did seem to try. But, I stayed on a very short time, allowing my son to talk to his beloved Grandpa. When they were done, Dad realized he hadn't called my husband on HIS birthday, so they spoke. By the time the phone got back to me, I could tell that Dad was being called back into the party being held on his behalf.

After I hung up, I felt like crying. THAT is the family. Mom was cast out in the divorce. We kids keep trying to help her (I'm out of THAT business, though) out of pity more than anything. There is love, but we know it's pretty one-sided. I was cast to the side when I was not yet out of high school - that's what happens when you're left with the cast-away ex-wife. Once I was an adult, I made efforts. Unless I was useful (GC Bro's Amway partner) or doing most-to-all the work (Oldest sis who couldn't leave her state for visits, Dad & stepmom who often travelled, but usually I had to travel and meet them half-way or some such), I was simply not good enough to include.

I knew nothing of the party. I would have changed my plans, heck, I might have renewed my Skype account so we could all see each other. They haven't seen my son in a long time. I might have even called when DSS could also talk to Dad. But, as usual, year after year, I'm not told of the plans. Year after year, I stumble into things and feel stupid for not knowing. And angry that nobody felt I was worth telling. Forget inviting, that doesn't happen anymore. My last invite was a Facebook invite to Thanksgiving dinner at my GC brother's house. Every family member in that area would attend, so I knew right then and there that I would be made to feel like even more of an outsider if I went. And that I would likely be tasked with making sure our mother got there. Oh wait, no, they'd have made me feel guilty for leaving Mom in this town alone because they really wanted Dad there, not Mom.

The consequences of being left with Mom just keep piling up. I'm too much like her after YEARS of it being just me and her in one apartment. They don't like the parts (fleas) that are similar, so it's so much easier to just lump me in with Mom and avoid me. I'm easier to avoid, too. There is a 'That's just Mom' mentality, but no similar, 'That's just sister' for them to feel guilty ignoring me. I don't want them to feel guilty, though. That's not it. But, * I really wish I mattered just a little more once in a while. And they don't get that I BEGGED Dad to let me move with him. I ALREADY KNEW, at age 12, that Mom wasn't as good a parent as she claimed. I BEGGED Dad again, after he moved away and Mom moved and her true colors started showing.

I was sad that he could throw me under the 'don't hurt the ex-wife' bus so easily. And he wonders why I'm angry! Because he did that during the only teen years I'd get! He did that just as I needed a Dad around. MY Dad was busy being there for my step-siblings. I had no Dad to be there for me.

Maybe it was from Dad that my GC brother learned to throw me under the bus in elementary school. The split happened before I could even join him in high school. HE got to stay with Dad. I got shipped off with Mom. The few times we did even see each other (GC bro made sure he wasn't home on my weekend visits with Dad, except maybe twice in two years), bro acted like I was some stinkbug to be avoided.

I'm going to use caps and this will be a little bit TMI, but I need to shout this as loud as I can:

I CAN'T HELP THAT I DIDN'T LEARN BETTER HYGIENE FROM A MOTHER WHO DIDN'T HAVE MUCH HERSELF AND COULDN'T BE BOTHERED TO TEND TO ME WHEN SHE WAS TOO BUSY BEING BITTER ABOUT THE DIVORCE AND JEALOUS OF ME HAVING A UTERUS. THESE WERE NOT MY FAULT. I DID THE BEST I COULD READING MAGAZINES AND WATCHING TEENY-BOPPER SHOWS FOR HINTS! If I smelled bad, if I had bad habits, if I embarrassed you, how about be a sibling or DAD and talk to me about it! Instead of just distancing yourselves and wondering what was wrong with me!?!?

_(*&)*(^&_&*_ It just isn't fair that I've spent a lifetime paying for something I didn't even do wrong. I'm still being judged and thrown under the bus and left in the road after I was run over. Then, they have the gall to ask me things like - Why don't I call them? or Why do I seem to have a chip on my shoulder? _(&*^*&^(%^*^_(

:hug: :hug: :hug:  :hug: :hug: :hug: :hug: :hug: :hug: :hug:

...and one more :hug:

and another    :hug:

and here's some )&%*((&^$#))&(&$  that i'd like to share with you as well.  there's all kinds of stink - some of the 'cleanest' people i know stink so bad i can't stand to be around them anymore.

sending you a bouquet of narcissus to help brighten your day.  flowers may not be able to fix anything, but i think that sometimes they're nice band-aids. 

San,

Thank you for the flowers! They are beautiful. And only the second bunch of flowers that weren't bought by myself for myself. So, even more, thank you!

The new year rang in rather quietly. I haven't spoken to anyone in the family yet. None have bothered. If they're waiting for me to make the next call, well, who knows how long they'll have to wait.

I am getting DS to do his thank you cards to those who sent gifts (Dad sent a little something for everyone and flying monkey sis sent for DS and my darling SGD). He wants me to write them for him - not happening. He's 8, he can speak and write for himself now.

My GC brother is one of those that you'd probably love to be around. See, he and his wife are only like that when they're around ME. It's specific to me. They have quite a few really close friends, even more 'outer circle' friends and have become acquainted with nearly everyone in town (doesn't hurt to live across the street from said town's mayor). To anyone who wasn't his littlest sister, he's a wonderful, thoughtful, caring man, loving husband and father, active in his community, well respected by all who know him.

**** I'm going into something that occurred to me as I re-read some earlier posts. Actually, it occurred to me in the shower this morning. Anyway... I'm beginning to think that both of my parents chose to NOT bond deeply with me because I was the only child younger than my Autistic sister. The pain of trying to bond with her - and have 5 other children in the home - was too great. With me, they protected their hearts from the potential pain. That's why it was ok with Mom to send me to my Godparent's house when she had to stay in the hospital. That's why it was easy for my father to let ME go to them.

I'm going to type this once. Then, I'm going to try to let it go. Try. ** Trigger warnings, I'm sure **

Maybe, they thought that by rejecting me early, one of two things would happen. 1) They wouldn't open their hearts to loving me and thus the pain if I was also Autistic. 2) Maybe the lack of attachment would cause me to die, solving their problems.

I know they would never have been actively thinking either of these things. They're not cruel people. But, my position in the family plays such an important part in my experience of my FOO, that I can't help but think it or believe that they had some unnamed hope or wish regarding me. Then, I didn't die. I thrived. They brought me back home. I still thrived, though not as well, I believe. Though I didn't belong to my Godparents, they opened their hearts to me right away. My Godmother still shows me affection and love, even from four states away. This is what my infant self needed, and what I got. I can only wonder at the shock to me it must have been after weeks with them to be torn away and brought home to a family where Mom was distant, Dad was distant and too busy, GC bro didn't want me around and Autistic sis didn't like the competition for parental attention.

When you look at the base roots of all these things, it's easy to believe that, in their hearts, they'd have rather my Godparents decided to keep me (Godmother joked that she did want to keep me because I was that rare baby who slept through the night straight home from the hospital). I learned that about my Godmother from my own mother. I guess she told me to prove to me that she did love me - enough to tell my Godmother no. Maybe.

I do think my parents love me. I just think they held me back a little, fearing that I, too, would be damaged or defective (they would never use those words about me or Autistic sis now). I think they WERE tired, overwhelmed and confused. I don't think any of it was intentional, but I do believe that both parents secretly felt that their lives would have been less challenging had I never been born. Or, had I died in the hospital. Or, had I died at my Godparent's house. But, I didn't. So, they coped the best they could. Never aware that their failure to really attach with me would cost me so much later in life.

That's why it's all so confused. They do love me. They'll never admit it's not the same as their love for their other children. That there has always been a grain of 'protect-my-heart' to their love. But, it's there. It's shown up my whole life. But, it's also why it's been so hard to explain to anyone. ESPECIALLY if they knew anyone in my family.

I think Mom's issues began with the miscarriage between the oldest and second child. Mom was already damaged emotionally by HER parents. Then, she failed by getting pregnant before graduating high school and while unwed. THEN, she failed even at making babies! Her downward spiral began then, I think. Dad's was more gradual. He did become proficient at blaming Mom instead of working with her and trying to be a husband to her. He was man of the house far more than husband. His expectations may have been too high and Mom too depressed over not being perfect (thinking her little sister WAS - and hating her for it) to bother trying to reach that high any more.

But, the other children had better times with Mom and Dad. Especially Dad. It's why they're all close to him now. I tried to be and got rejected so many times, I stopped trying. So, how do you explain that the hero of the story, the long-suffering Dad wasn't perfect and wasn't there for me and wasn't a good guy in my life? How do you convince anyone anywhere that not everything was Mom's fault? That Dad has some ownership in HIS choices towards me that were hurtful and damaging? Here is the only place I feel safe! Because anyone, including my husband, who has met the man likes him! He really is that great of a guy to anyone / everyone else.

Oh, to give you an idea of the relationship dynamics - We got Dad's gift to the 'family' and put it under the tree. There was also an envelope which Dad had written to DS stating, 'Don't open until Christmas'. Then, there is the calendar - that I always say is for my husband, because he asks every year for it AND because he keeps it by his desk, though it was supposed to be for both of us. So, we let DS open his - a card with a gift card for B&N in it. Ok, that's nice. The box to all of us is a wheel of black-wax cheddar cheese. Sure, that's good, but I'm not that into cheese. Not in block form. Hubby loved it, so that's his. The calendar (we can tell by the wrapping what it is) is hubby's so, he's even happier! How do I explain to my husband that Dad was imposing HIS wants/wishes because he has no freaking idea WHO I am, nor has he ever made real efforts to GET to know me (though he'd tell you otherwise)? My hubby was too busy being thrilled at the gifts my creative, kind Dad sent to us.

So, I'll write the thank you card. I'll mean it when I tell him his gifts were appreciated. And I'll look forward to more similar gifts in the future since he now believes these to be just what we want. Because he is happy with surface responses as long as they look deeper than, 'I'm fine, Dad' to him.

I think I need to have a funeral for parents who couldn't fully love me for THEIR reasons, not for my failings. I need to have a funeral because they are still living and I want to find a way to relate to them, for my reasons. I do want my son to know his grandparents. I'll deal with others later. But, for now, I'm going to borrow those beautiful flowers San cyber-gave me and I'll use them as my focus for this funeral. I'll have to finish at home when I can allow my emotions their full reign.

I'm glad you're back, San. I want to hear about your trip. Thank you for the flowers, friend!

I'm so sorry you felt so alone in your childhood. You deserved to be treated better, to be wholeheartedly accepted and loved without reservation. You're an amazing woman, and I'm glad to know you.

Saw this in another post, so I went and took the online test (at the CDC website) to discover my 'ACE' or Adverse Childhood Experiences score. I'm sad, but not surprised.  *** TRIGGERS for abuse/neglect/violence ***

One thing that did make me laugh a little was that they combined really traumatic issues into a single question. One that I could answer yes to each part separately, but it was only one question, so....

When I look at what I know now that I've recovered some of my childhood memories and the health concerns I have now, it all does make perfect sense. Of COURSE, I would have health issues after surviving so many 'adverse events'.

OK, I'm not going to get the wording right, so please know these contain my own wording.

One question asked if there was any mental illness and/or had anyone attempted suicide. So, yes (Mom) and yes (Dad). Maybe Mom on the second half, too. I don't really know.

One question asked if a parent had been incarcerated. That one stumped me a bit. Nobody went to jail, but Mom was voluntarily admitted to a mental health facility at least once when I was a child. AND, she ran away at least one summer - from her husband and all us children. So, I was abandoned as IF she had been in jail for short stints, but she was never actually incarcerated. So, I said no to that question.

Another thing that the questionnaire didn't address, but which I know played a BIG part in my childhood and the feeling of being neglected was: repeated and prolonged absences for parental employment - leaving a child home alone (ok, I was 15 - 17, but still a child) during the work travel. On one of her trips, Mom talks about her travails being stuck in Chicago for a week during a major blizzard. Yeah, Mom, while you were there, with work friends and in a nice comfy hotel, I was home alone. Scared. Not sure when you'd be able to come home. Not sure what to do if I ran out of groceries. At that point, GC bro was in the Army and no other relatives even lived in the same state!

Another question alluded to living in poverty or a crime-ridden area. Ok, this one is a little complicated. Because in that one city, right after the divorce, Mom and I were renting a house. I believe to this day that it was haunted. There wasn't much crime on our block, it really was a safe place for most residents. But, in the one year we lived there:
1) The drunk tried to come in the screen door thinking he was at his home.
2) I came home to a broken door window and obvious signs of theft. Neighbor let me use her phone, police didn't believe me - I was obviously a child and they considered it a crank call. Only THEN did Mom come home and place the call herself. Her good silver was stolen.
3) I came home to a broken back storm door and jimmied back door. Mom came home right away this time, now knowing police won't believe me.
4) I came home to nothing obvious, but a sense that the house had been occupied while I was at school. Later found out Mom's cheap jewelry (all she had left after other thefts) had been taken.
5) Peeping tom started about a month after we moved in, always about 15 minutes after we turned out lights to go to bed. I could hear him. Mom wanted me to ignore it so she wouldn't have to deal with it. After two months of this, he tried to break in, disabling the front porch light and cutting the screen of the window on the room next to mine. I confronted him and he ran away. Required Mom to call police. She only apologized for not previously believing me when the police were there and had to calm me down to take my statement.
6) Things went missing from garage at times OTHER than the break-in's reported above.
7) I am certain the house is haunted, but that the spirit is a young girl like myself and that she is friendly.
8) After experiencing what I believe to be a ghost, become TERRIFIED of the basement. I will not go down there no matter the consequences. I will hang out in the attic, however.
9) Mom had at least two separate confrontations with someone trying to break in - and stopping when they discovered she was home. One ran away on sight. The other asked her to not call the police and ran away when she picked up the phone.

It wasn't a neighborhood of poverty or violence, so I said, no! But, that was a whole lot of traumatic experience going on in that house. I was never as thankful to her as the day she told me we were leaving - and that the new apartment had the bedrooms UPSTAIRS. That I took as her greatest kindness to me. But, I have to consider, she didn't make that decision until SHE experienced a stranger at her window. Regardless, I was happy to not feel panicked 15 minutes after turning out my light each night.

That was also the year I found out that my Dad was accepting a job in a state two states North of where we then lived (Mom had moved to the city mentioned above, Dad was still in the town where the divorce took place). So, I'd been abandoned by separation. I'd been further abandoned when my mother dragged me to said city (first time I begged Dad to take custody of me). Then, the abandonment was complete, Dad was moving so far away, my alternate weekend visitations would stop. AND, he was marrying his girlfriend. AND, they were moving to the new state with her two children and becoming one new happy family (second time I begged Dad to take custody of me).

So, had my parents been in jail? Never. Was I abandoned as if they'd been in prison, Mom - kind of, more like weekend jail, Dad - yes. Still, it wasn't actual prison, so I answered no to that question.

Also, relevant to the study that was conducted, I have had three close calls with pre-cancer, thyroid disease diagnosed at age 32, obesity, depression.

If I answered for my mother, she would have just about the same score. And she's survived much longer than she expected. Especially having had a heart attack and throat cancer and depression and (I say undiagnosed BPD/Narc) at least two complete emotional breakdowns. 

So, yes, I do believe there is a link between childhood traumas and adult health. To me, that really is a 'duh' statement. How can one be physically healthy in the face of such dysfunction. Why do overweight parents typically have overweight children? The parents aren't equipped to teach the children about healthy exercise or eating habits. So, they teach what they know. And, surprise, surprise, surprise - the children tend to be overweight as children and as adults. Why do children of smokers or drinkers tend to follow suit? It's all they learned to cope, so they go to what they know - what their parents did!

Wow, this turned into a mammoth post. It seems I had a lot to say on this subject!

Final analysis, this is like doing a study to discover how a woman gets that baby inside her. I guess, in the name of science, they have to do studies to prove what is common sense and proven all around the world. But, if it hasn't published in the JAMA or other scientifically approved journal, it doesn't exist. So, they do the study. Then, they don't even have the logic to ask people who have BEEN THROUH this stuff to help them identify the best format of questions. To me, the set of questions they're using is no more powerful than going around asking all the sick people if they had traumatic stuff happen in their childhood - on a scale of 1 to 10, how bad, then making that a data pool. I'd have scored lower on that, though - undervaluing the impact of neglect and devaluation.



Another that I answered yes to, well, I was on the fence about yes or no. See, Mom is an adult child of an alcoholic. Her coping style has been to be a dry-drunk. She may not have consumed much alcohol, but she acts similar to how a drunk acts in many situations. Dad did drink. Towards the end of the marriage, he drank a LOT. Besides that time in his life, he had a beer or two here or there, not much. A 6-pack could last him a week no challenge most of the time, up to the present day. But, during those two-three years leading up to the divorce and the first year after the divorce, he drank heavily.

Another question that I didn't like the phrasing was the physical abuse and bullying question only addressed these activities by adults 'or someone more than 5 years older than the answerer'. Well, my brother was only two years older than me, but he made up for that. Also, with his status as GC, I was as helpless defending myself against him as I would have been a sibling 5 or more years older. But, because of the wording of the question, I had to answer no to remain truthful.

One point that they do make is that it is helpful to have SOMEONE in your life to counteract this abuse and neglect. I did have one as a small child, two as an older child. Heart-Mom sister was there for me as much as she could be. She was also there for others, so it wasn't like we were the only two and she always had my back. She also had to look out for herself! Ditto Heart-Dad brother. At 8 years older, he had different issues going on (BTW, HE was bullied by the two sisters older than him - to the point of forcing him to take punishments for things THEY had done - and they weren't 5 or more years older). But, he was there for me when he could be, and that did help make my childhood better.

I do think that the test has value, but it really is unfair to lump so much into each question. I think the parameters are created by people who haven't lived in messed up homes like we have. I could be wrong, but it does seem to me that They're putting mountain apples and tropical bananas in the same basket and implying that both would have the same impact so yes to either is the same as yes to both. I say that they are different and valuable on their own and twice as impactful if BOTH are going on. To me, it's like saying 'Did you have knives thrown at you and/or did you get thrown down the stairs?' Well, ok, if someone had knives thrown at them, they'll answer yes. If someone got thrown down stairs, they'll answer yes. But, how much more violent was the life of the child who had both knives thrown at them AND were thrown down stairs? Not being able to say yes to each part limits the emphasis of the situation!

I know, I know, this is an overall view test, not a specific situations test. But, it's that kind of thinking - the we can lump this together, right? thinking - that glosses over so much of what we experienced as children. No, I didn't have someone calling me names, slapping me, punching me, yelling at me or telling me I was worthless. (That is all in one question). But, I did have parents who neglected me badly enough to ensure that I told MYSELF that I was worthless. They didn't have to! Their neglect said it for them!

I never really spent time looking into several aspects of the therapy I've done over my life. In my mid-twenties I was seeing a particularly good psychiatrist. That was the one who brought my mother in for a session. He also suggested group therapy. The idea scared me. Because, I now think, that I was afraid of being minimalized, silenced.

I've never really considered what I went through to be abuse, so I didn't see myself as an abused person. I was just forgotten, overlooked. I fell through the cracks because others' issues in our family were so much more pressing. It wasn't that bad. Right? I was just a very lonely child in a very crowded house. I should just stop my whining.

In a group setting, I was just sure that I would have nothing to contribute. Certainly not in the face of people who had suffered REAL abuse. I couldn't add anything, so what would be the point? I refused. I'd rather keep paying for my one-on-one sessions.

Fast-forward to my mid-thirties. This time, I've checked myself into a facility - with the aid of the hospital. There, group session isn't an option - you will go once a day. Period. That was probably a good thing. But, I did fulfill my own theory. My situation wasn't all that bad. Really, not worth all this effort. But, it's mandatory. So, I wept with the stories of those going through WAY worse stuff. I nodded in understanding while they told their stories (not even self-reflecting enough to wonder why I nodded or understood). I hugged those who wanted/needed friendly hugs. I affirmed each person for being brave enough to finally tell his/her story. But, I remained silent about MY reason for being there.

When I finally told my story to that group, I still stared at the floor, glossing over as many details as I could while still being truthful. By the end of my very short story, I was crying. And feeling stupid for crying because - it wasn't really that bad, yet it landed me in there! Until the lady next to me put her hand on my back and handed me a tissue. She didn't think it was nothing! She didn't think I was just whining. None of them thought I was just whining. Even the lady who's husband cheated with his secretary was sympathetic of me and my story. She was the one I was sure was going to hate me when I finally spoke.

It was the first time in my entire life (and I was mid-thirties by then) that anyone, and I mean ANYONE had listened to something I'd had to say and hadn't blown me off by minimizing what I was feeling and telling me to quit my whining and get over it. Even my sister would sometimes roll her eyes and sigh or tell me that she didn't remember it that way and maybe I was exaggerating a bit.

I'm just realizing that, as good and close as my sister and I were - and we were close - she still didn't understand the impact on me of being the only child younger than Autistic Sis. I was the only one who didn't have time with the parents as a baby without one having a greater need of the parents vying for their attention. Even she felt that I was being a drama queen or exaggerating or whining over nothing with a lot of what I was feeling. She didn't mean to minimize my experience. She did it less than the others so I didn't notice as much. I had to have SOMEONE who was 'on my side'.

Heart-mom sis did look out for me as best as she could. But, there was still something fundamental missing. She was damaged in her own ways by our family of origin. Heart-dad bro was, too. They had their own things going on. All of us did. But, nobody could see that the pecking order did have an unusual impact on me. None could see that the critical 'bonding' time I deserved as an infant was available to me. I was brought home to a chaotic situation and expected to be just fine is a situation where many critical needs weren't getting met.

Dissociating now, if this gets choppy, sorry, I'm kind of free-style typing now.

I remember the look on my Dad's face when I asked what prompted them to finally go against every fiber of his being and put Autistic Sis into a facility. That was the first time he told me about her being sent 'away' when I was only 1 year old. I thought her first center was when I was 5. They put her in a facility because I was completely failing to thrive. I wasn't hitting any of my growth markers. The look on his face as he told me this was pain/storm/anger/frustration. That told me he was reliving the emotions as he talked to me about it. I didn't press, but I still had a ton of questions!

When I look back on that, it would explain one part of why he may have resented me. She wouldn't have had to go if I hadn't been born. She was only put there because it was the only way they COULD give me the attention I needed and deserved. If I hadn't failed to thrive so much that my pediatrician noticed, Dad would never have allowed her to be sent away. He felt like he had failed my sister. Not that he had failed me - he had failed HER. His family was split apart, not by her, they had managed well enough until I came along. It was MY fault. I couldn't pick up the skills I needed to crawl or walk or babble from the older siblings. I instead mimicked the sister closest to me in age. And THAT was a problem. So, he had to go against his word to never split up his family or send his 'disabled' daughter away.

He got her back in the home as quickly as he could. We moved from that city to the other city. There were support facilities there, so he could keep her in the home with us. But, she either resented me on her own or sensed that Mom and Dad resented me, so she treated me like someone worthy of resentment. She hit me - I couldn't hit back because she 'didn't understand'. Yeah, right. She understood. Developmentally, she got stuck at about age 3. Thing about 3-year-olds you know. They know when they're doing something 'wrong'. She would scratch me and when the parents were watching, she'd reach over and pretend to hug me. What she'd be doing is squeezing me really hard. It hurt. But, if I tried to get away, I was told my sister was just trying to love me and I should love her back. Then, if I squeezed her back, they'd pull me away and correct me - don't hurt your sister!

That would have been hard enough, but GC bro was getting in on the teasing and bullying - and Mom and Dad were oblivious. He was only two years older, but when I was only 4 that means he was already 6. And, yes a 6-year-old boy can be pretty creative on how to hurt his sister while supposedly just playing. There were plenty of sucker slaps (not punches), tripping, shoving while supposedly playing tag. Everything in his behavior towards me indicated that he didn't want anything to do with me. The harder he pushed me away, the more I chased him, not understanding why?

I'm getting a lot of really early childhood memories back. I can see the den in that city. It was always a mess, but 9 people in a home will do that. It was our normal anyway. So, GC bro and I are sitting on the sofa. We're sitting with our backs against opposite arms and kicking each other for the most room at the center. The poodle dog is running around (probably needs to go outside, but we don't know or care). Autistic sis comes in, sits in front of the tv, changes the channel and turns the sound up really loud - on a static channel. She's smiling and rocking back and forth tapping her head on the tv. GC bro and I know there's nothing to be done about this. He kicks me hard one last time, gets up and goes outside. I sit next to Autistic sis. I try to rock with her, wanting to understand. She scowls at me, elbows me away and turns back to the too-loud tv, smiling again.

Even I get that hint. GO AWAY! NOT WANTED!

Sitting at the dinner table, she is in a high chair. I am in a regular seat. I do know she's older than me, but it doesn't often feel that way. She's next to Mom, I'm on sis's other side. She is big enough that she can lean over the high chair tray and reach my plate. She open-hand grabs some of my food (I don't remember right now what it was, but it was something I wanted to eat myself. The open hand assures that my food scatters and what she doesn't grab isn't really edible, so I think it's mashed potatoes or macaroni & cheese. She's smiling. I turn to her angry and say, Hey, STOP! Mom scowls at me - apologize, she didn't know that's wrong. This happens at several meals, but they still don't separate me and sis for months. Finally, I'm allowed to sit on the other side of the dinner table. Sis does the same thing to GC. Mom pops her hand and says, 'NO!'  I'm left to feel that Sis is being told she can be mean to me, but not to bro. His GC status is increased. My 'problem child' status is also increased in my head.

I resent my sister more and more. Instead of loving her like the rest of the family, I want her to go away. I want her to not be in our family anymore. Then, I feel guilty because I know that's a wrong way to feel. I hate going to church because I want to yell at God and that's just not done. I want parents who don't look worn down and depressed. I want siblings who don't hurt me. My sister scares me more than anyone else in the world. My GC brother is a close second. If I tell my parents what GC bro does, I'm either a tattle-tale or a brat who is whining. WHAT I'm telling doesn't matter as much as that. I'm told very often, go work it out with him. Yeah, well, you see, that's not going to happen because the same look I have in my eye around sister, well, he has the same look when looking at me.

GC bro has figured out how to play the game with our parents. I haven't. I feel stupid, like everyone got the 'how to be children in our home' manual except me.

I still have a huge black hole in my memory surrounding the Spanish boys. I don't think I want to peer into that hole without a therapist. though, so I'll leave that alone.

Well, I think I've dissociated enough. It's time to get to work. Bringing myself back to now. Mostly :-) Enough anyway.

Just in case you were wondering, I'm likely to loose my job soon. The dissociation won't quit! I'm feeling 5 years old, then 14, then I'm in the present thinking, 'good, I need to be here' only to slip back to 8 years old. I'm all over the place and trying to finish sentences, do my job, keep from bursting out crying. I may just have to close the doors to my office and have a good cry. Maybe after that, I can focus on the job.

Clenching my teeth so hard I can't believe how bad my jaw hurts, but it's the only way I can hold myself present long enough to get this typed and think about getting back to work. Those numbers seem so unimportant right now.

Triggered by a stupid little thing that happened last night. It was a small thing, but I think all this EF and dissociation is because of that small thing. Then, there's the thing happening here at work. I'm being excluded because it's just easier that way - less complicated. Real feelings coming out - only included me because they had to. Boss isn't here today to include me, so I'm ignored. Typical. My life. Triggered, ready to cry. They seem to forget that I have feelings, too. * them. * them all to *. (asterisks mine, figured better than actually writing what I WANT to write and having it edited). They don't understand at all how bad that really hurts. Because I'm back to being the FREAK that nobody wants to be around.

And al my husband did was tell me he hadn't talked to his daughter since Christmas, then during a call last night prove that he HAD and that I didn't know what was going on at all - I was not included - not worthy of telling about it even. It was a small thing, unimportant really - but one more case of - she doesn't matter, why bother keeping her in the loop, including her in anything.

And I'm clenching my jaws hard to keep from crying. And I'm listening to my ears ring as always, only louder right now, thumping with my heart beat. Louder, quieter, louder, quieter - but ALWAYS there

 :hug: :hug: :hug:

What you describe happening would have triggered me, too. I don't think it's that small.

hugs for now, and a rosebud to set on your desk for today.   more later.  you sweet dear lovely woman.  prayers flying.

wife2, once more i have to disagree with you.  i just don't believe there are any small abuses, small traumas.  in my emdr training, (a long time ago.  i think things have changed by now.  at least i hope so) we were taught to distinguish between small t and large T traumas, and that never set right with me.  what may be a small t trauma to one person can certainly be a large T trauma to someone else.  it depends on the person, the personality, the sensitivity, the number of times it's happened, and on and on.   again, not taking the individual into consideration.  black swans.

like i've said, i didn't have all those horrible things happen to me with language, physical/sexual abuse, abductions and so on.  does that make what traumatized me any less of a trauma?  we can't compare.  we just can't.  that's like comparing my body to that of a supermodel.  what good does that do me?  what benefit is that to my life?  she's a mutant with that so-called 'perfect' face and figure.  i'm just me.  but does that make my existence any less important than hers?  geez, i don't think so.

and so it is with this trauma stuff.  if it traumatized you, it's real, it's genuine, it counts.  you are suffering from it just like any one of us suffering from our own forms of trauma.  who can put a qualitative derivative on one form of trauma as compared to another form.  i don't think that's fair, i don't think it's right, and i don't think it's a truth.  like that diagnostic tool you looked at - there are so many variables to trauma that aren't captured there, it seems kind of useless as a measurement of anything except maybe the very obvious that is recognized as being within the bell curve. 

you didn't deserve to be treated any less than any other of your siblings.  what happened to you is on them, not you.  and, i don't think anyone needs to be excused for abusing someone else because they were abused in some way.  even tho retaliation is often a symptom of traumatization (van der kolk's book), my acts of meanness and abuse toward others still aren't acceptable.  i can forgive myself for them, but i'm still accountable.  i can't get away with saying 'it's not my fault - i was traumatized'.  it's not an excuse.  but, i can understand it in myself, apologize if/when possible, and move on from it.  like  when i'm cranky w/ my hub.  i've already apologized to everyone else i know when it was appropriate. 

my elder daughter has had mental health issues from the get-go.  does that excuse her abuse of me?  not by a long shot.  she has been able to pick and choose with whom she is kind and generous, so she knows the difference between right and wrong.  so did your family members.  i'm just sorry you had to go through any of it.  this stuff is so unfair!   i can see tho, that you are making your way through the minefield, looking at every blade of grass for cues and clues.  warrior woman strength and determination at the fore.  you're doing great.

Thank you again, ladies!

San, you are able to say just the right thing as I need, and am ready, to hear it. Your validation of my opinion on the ACE test also helped me more than I can say. Exactly - the size of the 't' should be explained by the survivor, not the therapist! That's too much like telling a patient, 'You will feel this about this, not that.' Because that's what the books say? No, I don't think so.

One of the GREAT lessons my heart-sister gave me was to pay attention to my body. The body doesn't lie, she told me, and it will tell you a lot if you just pay attention! If only both she and I had been able to extrapolate that into the heart will tell you the truth. Because both of us recognized that the relationships we were in were not healthy for us, and our hearts knew it and told us, but we persisted. Sometimes out of a desire to be seen as loyal, sometimes because staying in was easier than getting out (it seemed at the time). Rarely because we really loved the man, felt valued by the man and wanted to make a life with that man. Sis didn't find that until just a couple of years before she died. But, she did find it. I haven't found it yet, but what I have found is a man who does love me, does value me and who I value. I'm working on not being so broken that I forget to show HIM the love and compassion I feel for him.

Yes, part of breaking the cycle is owning up to our own faults and making it right to the best of our ability. That was the whole point of my therapist having my mother in my session that one time. Yes, it was to 'blame the mother' a little bit, but to also invite her to make it right with me for all the years of hurt she'd inflicted on me. She declined to see that part of it, not seeing past the fact she was being blamed (It's always the mother's fault, huh?).

Also, part of my therapy was to make it clear that, as an adult, I was responsible for my own actions. Yes, the WHY I acted how I acted may be traced back to parentage, but I was still an individual and still responsible for getting myself as well as possible and learning from what hurt as a child - so as to NOT repeat it. Some days, I remember those lessons, others not so much. So, I find myself apologizing to my son - owning up to my part in why he hurts. I try to make it right. And, though it isn't my 'job' to do it, I help express what I know from my husband to our son - because sometimes hubby just isn't able to say it to anyone but me and sometimes son won't hear it from his Dad but will from me. Hubby is liking the changes in our home since I've really got back into doing this. Speaking 'for' those who find it awkward, but only in an encouraging way, to build the relationships stronger.

I also give voice to my son. If he's felt wronged, I allow him to say his piece without interruption (unless at 8 he tries to cuss - there are limits!). I repeat back so he knows I heard what HE said. THEN, we can discuss if I think he's got his facts right or if I need to apologize or if valid but time to let it go anyway. Whether I'm handling that right or not I sincerely don't know. What I do know is that my son does feel that he has a voice in our family and that he is heard. He may still feel misunderstood. I will validate that if he is. I'm already a little shaky as I'm already out of my depth with this and doing my best with skills I'm learning on the fly.

wife2, i give you so much credit for what you're doing to break the cycle in which you were raised, both with your husband and with your son.  kudos, dearheart. 

it's too bad your mom didn't take that opportunity to see her part, acknowledge it, and apologize for it.  i know it can seem like blaming the mom, but, truly, the mom wields a lot of power over the life of a child, and it's only natural that she's gonna screw up every so often.   moms who have a sense of their own imperfection as a parent are more than willing to see that.

i don't mean to let the dads off the hook here, either.  after all, they are 50% responsible for the life of that child.  you all showed me that full responsibility for my daughter didn't lay with me, and i thank all of you for that.  i hope that your husband can soon begin to say to your son what your son needs to hear from him as well.    those words from him are important for your son to hear from him.  it makes a difference.  but, as always, everything in its time.

you're doing such a good job with all this.  how different you've been sounding about your relationships in your household, your own presence there.  yay for you!  i'm really very happy for all that.  i don't doubt it feels good, too.  ever forward!

I know I'm probably repeating myself from earlier posts. I only sometimes go back and read what I've written before. I want to state what I'm going through, feeling in this moment. I'm angry.

I was doing the math recently and came across something else that reflects on my father regarding me. When my brother didn't want to move across the state with me and Mom, GC bro was allowed to live with Dad. That was for 10th Grade. By his 12th grade year, Dad had married and moved to another state and GC bro still didn't want to move. Mom and Dad agreed that, with the permission of the parents, bro could live with his best friend. 

That was the same year I was entering 10th grade. I had no friends - Mom had moved to a different district in that same city. That was the year I BEGGED Dad to let me move in with him and my stepmother and step-siblings. That was the most crushing denial he threw at me. I was to be thrown under the bus (left in the care of a bitter, BPD mother) so that he and his new wife and two children near my age could bond. Because he didn't want to hurt his ex-wife's feelings. WHAT? REALLY? Screw whatever agreements made in the divorce proceedings - HOW DARE HE choose to bond with his new family and leave me alone with Mom?

This is why I feel that my father has (secretly even to himself) resented my existence. I messed up his plans for Autistic sis. I caused him to wait even longer before divorcing Mom. If I hadn't come along, he wouldn't have had to institutionalize Autistic sis and Mom would never have had the opportunity to work (yes, he's that old-school - the husband works and provides, the wife tends house & children). Also, while Mom was pregnant with me, she nearly died, then she nearly died in the hospital, then she required extra care. After me, she was told to not have any more children. That gave her MEDICAL permission to begin using birth control - something he religiously opposed. He could have chosen another path, but since he wanted his marital rights, she had to do SOMETHING. That SOMETHING ended up forcing her back into the hospital, requiring surgery and the complete removal of her uterus and ovaries. This plunged the young 30-something mother of 7 into early menopause. And the chain of events could be traced back to ME.

I sincerely don't believe my father understands that he resents me, he just does. He's never been comfortable around me as a person. I put it to how much I look and sound like my mother. WELL, what the * did you expect, Dad? You left me alone with her for YEARS. LOTS OF YEARS! And genetics, I mean, my God! So, that is a reason to reject your child? Because she looks and sounds like your ex-wife? To * with you, Dad. Really. Sanctimonious Jerk. Yeah, you worry about me. Because you wont' have a relationship with me. I have to do all the reaching out. If I fail, or get caught up in life or God-forbid, forget, then I'm thrown into Silent Treatment. Now that I've discovered the flying monkey (enmeshed sis), she doesn't even call anymore for you.

I want to rage to all of their faces. I want them to see the pain they put there. I want them to understand that it was not right to put all that on me - it was not my fault. **** I didn't make Autistic sis Autistic, did I - She was older than me! *** I'm sorry your plan to never send her away was ruined. Again, NOT MY FAULT! Where were you, Dad? Mom was there - as much as she can be. Surely by then you understood Mom had limits. Surely, by then, you realized she couldn't do it on her own while you traveled making a name for yourself in your industry. Surely, you could see that I wasn't thriving or hitting my growth expectations. *** AND IT WASN'T MY FAULT *** NO, not even having to send AS away. That was NOT MY FAULT. I was ONE YEAR OLD - HOW IN THE * COULD THAT BE MY FAULT???? Yet, you worry about me, you are concerned about me, you struggle to understand me - because you blew my childhood resenting me.

I had to take a break from that post. During the break, I emailed Dad asking how he and his wife are. I gave him a brief update of life in my house.

His response floored me even more. I don't know if I should be hurt or if I *am* being too sensitive, but *. He drops a bomb on me with no further information - like I should know?!? He's having his heart checked out next week. WHAT? What's going on with his heart? He sounded fine on Christmas. Nobody has told me anything. Just 'I am having my heart checked on ** date.' WHAT? *? And he blasted me for years when I told him everything was fine - even if it was - because he hated that I didn't tell him more.

Now, I'm angry and hurt. And confused. If he wants me to be a part of his life, he has to do some of the work, too. If he doesn't, why bother telling me about that? Am I supposed to feel guilty because I didn't know all about it? I don't, I'm angry. My stepmother should have let me know if there was a problem like that. My husband would talk to her and Dad if I had something major going on like that. OMG. I just don't understand! I know my first instinct to call him and get more details comes from my life-long desire to be close to my Dad. But, then, I hesitate because I am sick of chasing him looking for some love from him. Does he really think that, angry or not, I don't care? I wouldn't be angry if I didn't care. I wouldn't be hurt!

I spent all lunch hour listening to radio preachers - nothing spoke to me. Nothing about reaching out through the pain, forgiveness, none of the things that could have helped me reset my attitude and see things from his eyes. Believe it or not, that does often happen - the message will be exactly what I need to hear. Not so much today. So, I stewed. I festered. I'm still near tears. Because dropping a bomb on me like that, without more information about it (he did talk about needing two shots in his eyes for his glaucoma) is a BIG DEAL. It hurts that he didn't see that I would be confused. He knows how little we've talked because it takes TWO to talk!

I guess, since he uses my sister to find out about me, he must have thought I would also use her to find out about him. Well, I don't use my siblings like that. The conversations I've had with my sister regarding Mom were because she's trying to gently force me into financial action with Mom and I've had to state my case of why I will not. SHE started the conversations. SHE pumped me for information. SHE tried to use the 'Mom will be Mom' argument to guilt me.

I am so angry right now. I'm having to pause a bunch to let my arms shake before tying between words. I guess I was expecting a simple little blurb from Dad, a response in kind to what I had sent him. I was NOT expecting a bomb.

I have to settle down and get my job done. At this rate, I'm going to lose this job. I can't afford that. So.... deep breathing. Closing my eyes for a moment. Counting to 10. Rubbing my arms a bit. More deep breathing and rolling the shoulders. There, I think I can concentrate again. Off to keep my job....

wow!  bomb, indeed, wife2.  how horrible for you to be going through all this.  i don't think you're being too sensitive and i do believe all your feelings are valid.  l also agree with your assessment about always being the one who is doing the reaching out, wanting the relationship, feeling the resentment.  you're absolutely correct - none of it was your fault.

isn't it amazing that even as adults we long for approval and connection from and with our parents.  my folks have been dead for many years, yet i've still looked for ways to make them proud of me, get what i didn't get from them in other relationships, etc. etc.  even after they weren't around.  how much logical sense does that make?  still, i've done it over and over, never feeling fulfilled because it wasn't from them specifically.  a lot of work has gone into trying to make that not be an issue, but i still struggle with it at times.  dang!

i'm glad you had a place to put some of that anger and frustration, wife2.   i'm also glad you were able to stop in time to save your job.  i hope you can work yourself through this.  you have all my support.  difficult road, for sure.  big hug, my dear friend.

Big hug back to you, San - I can see that you got triggered and for that I am sorry. I had to blast here in my journal to keep it from going home.

I didn't even have the heart to tell my husband. Because, respecting my Dad as he does, he'd want me to call Dad immediately and not understand why I wouldn't want to.

All the memories of how I've been shown that I don't matter - at least not as much as the rest of everyone (Dad's extended family, Stepmom's extended family). The only one they see less often is my stepsister, and only because she lives across the country. She can't afford to visit them much either. I guess it's about having the money to visit the parents. If we don't, we don't see them. Unless we're very lucky. If my stepsister feels abandoned by them, I understand. She and I never really did get close - I was too busy being jealous of her to reach out much. Now, too much time has gone by, it would be too awkward and probably feel to her as if I had bad motives.

awww, wife2, you didn't really trigger me.  it was just some old memories, but no problem.  i was just relating.  i'm glad you're able to put that crapola here instead of taking it home.   it's so good we have this place. 

i totally understand about not wanting to explain to your hub given his feelings toward your dad.  we gotta do what we gotta do.   i have no advice for you as to what you might want to do moving forward.  i do have faith that you'll figure it out and do what's best for you.  would getting in touch with your step-sister be something you'd want to do?  i can't even imagine how difficult all this must be for you.  like a balancing act of some kind, how much to move toward, how much to stay back.  i feel for you.

keep taking care of you - i'm doing the same.  big hug to a wonderful woman. 

I'm still angry and hurt. But, I have to say that my husband also being uCPTSD helped a lot last night. He got it. I told him what had happened and he understood why I was hurt. And angry. He validated me. 100%.

A whole flood of memories are coming back now. Some are good and some hurtful.

Yes, he did take me on those business trips - 'Take a daughter to work day' - kind of things. We didn't talk much because you were working. Yes, you did explain some things to me that I retained and was able to apply later in my life. Thanks. That was good. I did feel loved then. Hmmm, but the woman you fell in love with, left Mom for, married was the travel agent for your company. How much I loved and trusted you then. I felt special. Could it be that you had not-so-pure motives? Take the kid with me - requires more time and planning with the travel lady, she gets to see what a GREAT Dad I am and I do get to spend some time with the forgotten one, er my youngest child.

As a child, I ate those times up! I was so glad to be included in those trips. There were, what, 5 over the years? Then, there were the times you took me to the dentist, to the optometrist. I considered them special times, even if GC bro was with us. But those business trips felt so special to me. I felt like I mattered.

I guess that's the saddest part to me. He really was doing his best, he just didn't have quite enough love for me. He was too burnt out. He was too angry with Mom. He was too wrapped up in himself. So, in my childhood, it appeared that he was a loving, doting, devoted father and I darn near worshipped him. If I felt hurt, that was my fault. I must have done something wrong, because HE was the best parent on Earth.

Granted, compared to my Mom, he really was. But that bar is pretty low.

I really think the landslide shift came with Dad marrying my stepmother. She's no monster, really she's not. BUT - yes, there's a but - she had to get Dad vested into HER children. SHE demanded commitments to them because she'd moved to another state to marry my Dad. I get that. I'd do the same in her situation as well. She had a lot of extended family where they met. However, she shouldn't have asked, and he shouldn't have agreed, that HIS children wouldn't live with them.

The state where Mom and I lived has a bottom 10 educational system. The state where Dad and stepmom moved has a top 10 education system. Mom was obviously deeply bitter and angry over the divorce. I was a teenager. I was BEGGING, willing to promise ANYTHING to live with him and stepmother.

Here's the biggest reason I get angry when I think of these things. HE BOUGHT A HOUSE WITH FOUR BEDROOMS - One for him & wife, one for stepbro, one for stepsis and .... a den. Not a spare room for when I come to visit. Not a bedroom for me. Not a space where I would feel welcome when I DID come for summer visitation - a den. Not even a folding-out sofa in it. There was another space downstairs that could have been a den. Nope - formal living room. The other space off that? Nope, Dad's office away from work. No space for me. I was not welcome. I could never feel like family. I was always a guest. In my father's house. As a TEENAGER. When I was a grownup, I didn't mind this. The kids had moved out and Dad and stepmom had finally made guest rooms. As an adult, it's expected I feel like a guest in my father's house.

It may be more my stepmother since they got married. I've been considering this. When they married, my oldest sib was already married, the other established in her field and travelling the world, the next was just launching post college, next was in college still, next was getting ready to graduate high school and had plans to join the army. Next was my autistic sis - she was already safe and happy in her institution. So, I was the only possible one who might want to live with them. Easy enough to convince Dad all the reasons that was a bad idea. And, no, I wasn't a perfect kid. I probably gave her ammunition by having some teen attitude here and there.

Still, Dad was convinced that it was a bad idea to let his youngest child live with him, even when she's begging, even when he knows her mother is damaged and angry, even when every bit of evidence screams that she would be better off with him, he holds his hand out and shakes his head no.

My husband and I were talking about this last night. He said, near tears himself for what I was feeling, that he would NEVER turn his back on his children. Even if they'd done him wrong, especially when they were still children. Still now, he wouldn't turn his back on them. If they said they needed him, he would be there. I've seen this proven in his life. He said, 'Even if I'm a lousy father, and maybe I have been if you ask them, I'd still never give up on them or turn my back on them.'

Even though he respects my Dad a lot, that really put into perspective what I've been trying to tell him. He finally got why I feel like an outsider in my own birth family. Why, even when everyone says all the right stuff, I don't always feel the love being offered. Why it overwhelms me when I do. Because all the love offered to me as a child felt false, like I had to earn it and hadn't done well enough. My husband offered advice and hugs - just what I needed because he also realized I don't have to take his advice. And, his advice was to NOT call while I'm still angry, but to call my father and ask what was up with that - truth only, please. How could they assume that I would catch THAT tidbit on Facebook, when I've already admitted I use it less & less. How could they assume that someone had called me - it's their news, not by siblings, not my aunt (who he DID call and who has never liked me), not my uncle (doesn't know me at all). My husband believes, when I'm strong enough to deal with it even if it's not what I want to hear, that I am owed an explanation. I'm not sure I'll ever be strong enough to hear that I didn't matter enough to remember. I'll never be strong enough to hear that they assumed I'd be full of drama and thus not worth the effort (assuming I really am my mother's clone).

So, I sit here, trying to figure out how to get past this anger, this hurt, this feeling of having been betrayed - either by their lack of love or by their emotional laziness.

Not a good day.

I have one of the most excellent IRL friends. She's been through so much herself, she gets it. She let me vent, validated my feelings, then gently moved the conversation to other things until we were both laughing. It was a really good lunch hour.

I'm still pretty messed up. I've got random pains all over my body. I'm trying to get back to that lunch-hour calm. Instead, I keep going to the break room and buying and inhaling junk food. It's my choice to react badly, it'll be my choice when I change that.

I just had a crazy insight. Why am I bashing my body with junk food as some kind of self-abuse when I didn't do anything wrong to begin with? This is a bizarre comparison, but it's like saying - THIEF - and cutting off my own hand. I've identified that my father was absent and unavailable. I've identified that he did it again as recently as this month - disallowing me inclusion in his life. He is screaming who he is and where I rate. Why am I trying to claim ANY responsibility in this? Because he's old? Because I'm getting old myself? Habit? So, what good does hurting myself (with junk food) do me? None.

Now, what am I going to do about any of this?

I'm going to keep my distance from my father and step-mother. I won't avoid my siblings, but I also won't make any effort to reconnect. I will love my husband and my kids (step & bio). I will reconnect with friends who drifted out of my life, mostly due to my behavior. I will begin the steps of living healthier, including not mindlessly shoving junk food in my face because I'm upset.

I will search myself and try to find all my hurts. I will try to mourn them and the people who caused them. I will mourn that they couldn't be who I needed them to be. I will mourn that all my efforts to chase my FOO seeking their loving approval are failed.

I will mourn my inability to change anyone but myself. I will accept that others will judge me based on these choices and changes (FOO members). I will accept that the will continue to withhold their approval. I will learn to hear their disapproval without making it about me.

Though every one of them have known me since the day I was born, they don't know me. I don't know them, either. It's painful, but still it's ok to know that is true.

I will celebrate my children and grandchild. I will tell AND show them that they are valued, loved, worthy people. I will celebrate my husband, who - though he is flawed - is a tremendous survivor also.

wife2, you dear sweet thing.  i'm so glad you were able to talk to your hub and that he came through for you.  a big hooray for both of you!  i know you were reticent about it, but you pulled up your big girl pants and did it and it worked out so well.  yay!

and, with all that mourning going on, i can relate to eating what's not good for me.  i've also learned that when we grieve, it is one of the messiest parts of recovery, and we're going to be messy while doing it.  that includes reverting to unhealthy practices for comfort.  it's such a difficult process to get through, but get through it we shall.  any way we have to, whatever gets us through it.  the main thing, to my mind, is that you are looking the beast in the eye and recognizing it for what it is.  that takes so much strength and courage!  you warrior woman you!  kudos! 

so, i've been eating what's not that good for me right now, but dammit, it is what it is, i'll get through it, and that will fall by the wayside again.  for now, it feels like what i need, and screw the rest of it.  chemistry is also my friend right now, and i'm using that to get some rest and let go of some of the tension that's built up.  at this stage of my life, i'm gonna use what's available, knowing that it's not forever, but just to get me over this hump.  may i kindly suggest you know the same?

you're doing such productive and difficult work right now, wife2.  i honor your effort, your determination, your courage, and your strength.   you're beautiful.  big hug!