Breaking Through Some of the Pain
Sunday, December 20, 2009 Edit This 29 Comments »
You're such and inspiration
for the ways that I would
never ever choose to be.
~ A Perfect Circle
When we don't share the secret ache in our hearts--the normal bewilderment of being human--it turns into something else. Our pain and fear and longing in the absence of company, become alienation and envy and competition.
If you're interested in opening the door to the heavens, start with the door to your own secret self. See what happens when you offer to another a glimpse of who you really are.
~Elizabeth Lesser, Broken Open
Sometimes I flash on the past. Images of a life I've tried to leave behind.
My mother, drunk again, and bleeding on in the bathroom. People sleeping on the sofas, dusty afternoon sun streaming in the trailer windows. Me home from school again. My mother in bed with her boyfriend.
Flash forward: another boyfriend, drunk, passed out on the toilet again.
Flash back: the suspicious school nurse pays a visit to our trailer to see why I 'm home from school again. My mother still in bed, doesn't get up for her. People still asleep on the sofas, mess. She wants to take my temperature, my mother calls me to her room where she's lying with a man. I tell her and she puts her cigarette up to the tip of the thermometer. Go back now she tells me. The nurse reads the temperature and eyeballs me, asks point-blank, Did you do something to this? No, I say, terrified. I just talked to my mom I tell her. She scowls and says she must not have shaken it well enough. We'll try again, she tells me, you stay here this time. No temperature and she leaves. Just like that, as if her only purpose was to confirm her own suspicions.
I didn't know about CPS then. I wonder now though, why... Why she didn't call them... What she could have thought, as my mind grabs a survey of the scene again...
My children giggle at a game they're playing, pull me from my thoughts, and I momentarily picture them in that scene.
I shudder, an involuntary physical reaction to the thoughts of my children experiencing any of my childhood.
I shake my head, but the feeling is in my throat. I look around consciously taking note that I am not there. They are not there. I smile at them; they think I'm sharing in their game. They don't know it's a forced wall between my pain and their world.
Miso soup with broccoli on the stove, a scattering of fruit on a plate, leftover from their snack, abandoned for their play - they know there is always more food. They know apples keep and the thick, rich soup smell has filled the house.
Flash again, 10 years old, I'm grounded for calling my grandparents to tell them we're hungry. There's no food, Mom's in bed again. Lying, I'm told, is why I'm grounded. I'm 10. I'm hungry. I don't understand, but I'm angry. A new feeling. Angry. Too young to analyze, to understand anything, but angry. I know in the pit of me that something is not right - wrong.
I check myself, the life I live, the life I give to my kids. Everything is good. Picturesque even. They know no real pain, have no real fears. So happy, I can see it. But I feel too. My memories feel black and alive - threatening- as if they could jump out and grab my family. I harden, feeling like the wall between my family and such pain. I swallow it deeper and it rests again, like a rock in the pit of my stomach, and I smile at the sun on the blue glass jars, throwing patterns of light on the bright clean house.
I see my family, I smile more broadly. They have no idea of where I've been. If they caught the tip they would never guess at the glacier that lies beneath my smile - no means to conceive of the ugly scarring and twisted mess inside of a woman who creates love and beauty in their lives... seemingly with her whole being. Never imagining what I could create for them if I had use of my whole being rather than the bits that I have protected... reserved for them... my whole life. The parts of me that are pure and unmolested - only because of the fight I put up for them. The moments of my life where I fought for them as if they were life itself, and I know now that they were.
I love those parts and I know that I see the black scarred parts only because my light is growing, searching outside it's protection, and reflecting back to me from what I create in the world. And I know that I am nothing like her and that I survived. I know that even as a lone child warrior, in a world where even family turns a blind eye, I am stronger.
Someday the protection that I provide will come with a sense of peace and rest rather than this exhausted, lone vigilance.
Someday I will truly believe that the beauty that surrounds me was brought forth from the beauty in me, and that it is safe. Someday I will no longer be afraid to create more beauty. I will no longer live in fear of drawing her attention to me... of this beauty being taken away by her ugly anger and jealousy. Someday I will see my monster for the sad, lonely old woman that she actually is.
for the ways that I would
never ever choose to be.
~ A Perfect Circle
When we don't share the secret ache in our hearts--the normal bewilderment of being human--it turns into something else. Our pain and fear and longing in the absence of company, become alienation and envy and competition.
If you're interested in opening the door to the heavens, start with the door to your own secret self. See what happens when you offer to another a glimpse of who you really are.
~Elizabeth Lesser, Broken Open
Sometimes I flash on the past. Images of a life I've tried to leave behind.
My mother, drunk again, and bleeding on in the bathroom. People sleeping on the sofas, dusty afternoon sun streaming in the trailer windows. Me home from school again. My mother in bed with her boyfriend.
Flash forward: another boyfriend, drunk, passed out on the toilet again.
Flash back: the suspicious school nurse pays a visit to our trailer to see why I 'm home from school again. My mother still in bed, doesn't get up for her. People still asleep on the sofas, mess. She wants to take my temperature, my mother calls me to her room where she's lying with a man. I tell her and she puts her cigarette up to the tip of the thermometer. Go back now she tells me. The nurse reads the temperature and eyeballs me, asks point-blank, Did you do something to this? No, I say, terrified. I just talked to my mom I tell her. She scowls and says she must not have shaken it well enough. We'll try again, she tells me, you stay here this time. No temperature and she leaves. Just like that, as if her only purpose was to confirm her own suspicions.
I didn't know about CPS then. I wonder now though, why... Why she didn't call them... What she could have thought, as my mind grabs a survey of the scene again...
My children giggle at a game they're playing, pull me from my thoughts, and I momentarily picture them in that scene.
I shudder, an involuntary physical reaction to the thoughts of my children experiencing any of my childhood.
I shake my head, but the feeling is in my throat. I look around consciously taking note that I am not there. They are not there. I smile at them; they think I'm sharing in their game. They don't know it's a forced wall between my pain and their world.
Miso soup with broccoli on the stove, a scattering of fruit on a plate, leftover from their snack, abandoned for their play - they know there is always more food. They know apples keep and the thick, rich soup smell has filled the house.
Flash again, 10 years old, I'm grounded for calling my grandparents to tell them we're hungry. There's no food, Mom's in bed again. Lying, I'm told, is why I'm grounded. I'm 10. I'm hungry. I don't understand, but I'm angry. A new feeling. Angry. Too young to analyze, to understand anything, but angry. I know in the pit of me that something is not right - wrong.
I check myself, the life I live, the life I give to my kids. Everything is good. Picturesque even. They know no real pain, have no real fears. So happy, I can see it. But I feel too. My memories feel black and alive - threatening- as if they could jump out and grab my family. I harden, feeling like the wall between my family and such pain. I swallow it deeper and it rests again, like a rock in the pit of my stomach, and I smile at the sun on the blue glass jars, throwing patterns of light on the bright clean house.
I see my family, I smile more broadly. They have no idea of where I've been. If they caught the tip they would never guess at the glacier that lies beneath my smile - no means to conceive of the ugly scarring and twisted mess inside of a woman who creates love and beauty in their lives... seemingly with her whole being. Never imagining what I could create for them if I had use of my whole being rather than the bits that I have protected... reserved for them... my whole life. The parts of me that are pure and unmolested - only because of the fight I put up for them. The moments of my life where I fought for them as if they were life itself, and I know now that they were.
I love those parts and I know that I see the black scarred parts only because my light is growing, searching outside it's protection, and reflecting back to me from what I create in the world. And I know that I am nothing like her and that I survived. I know that even as a lone child warrior, in a world where even family turns a blind eye, I am stronger.
Someday the protection that I provide will come with a sense of peace and rest rather than this exhausted, lone vigilance.
Someday I will truly believe that the beauty that surrounds me was brought forth from the beauty in me, and that it is safe. Someday I will no longer be afraid to create more beauty. I will no longer live in fear of drawing her attention to me... of this beauty being taken away by her ugly anger and jealousy. Someday I will see my monster for the sad, lonely old woman that she actually is.
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29 comments:
You are a blessing to others. Thank you so much for sharing your life with us.
Yes.
The Elizabeth Lesser quote is so true. The only way away from the pain is through it, and by bringing it out into the light it becomes light.
I will say an extra prayer for you today ... and for your sad, lonely, sick old mother.
Keep going hon
Breaking through is the only way to the other side...I'm on this journey myself. Only just beginning to realize my "mother" is a figment of my imagination and oh my poor mom...she suffered the ostracism I have put her through
But my daily breakthroughs (http://livedcomposedandillustratedbyme.blogspot.com/) are getting me closer to me
and when I am me...my family is better :) I think YOU told me that...one of our wonderful porch chats!
Keep breaking through...the pain dissipates and the love that flows is beautiful!
Love you!
Yes, you really have made all that beauty. Are all that beauty. It's powerful, isn't it :)
My best friend worried her whole life about turning in to her mom. But no, she won't. Because she has chosen another path. The ability to choose is powerful. She has the past that she had, that won't change. But the future is all hers to make what she wants out of it. Yours is all yours, and no one can take the beauty away.
Thank you for the strength to post that here and let us see where you are coming from.
What you have, what you have made, and what you give your kids is part of you, and no one can take that away from you.
Even though my father grew up in a very abusive household (physical and mental abuse), he was able to decide the way HE wanted to live his life and how HE wanted to raise his family. I am so proud and grateful for his choices - his love, his patience and the fact that he shared his truth with us. I know it was never easy for him, but over the years I know those voices from his childhood were softly muted by our own Christmases and family memories. I have no doubt that your family is and will always be grateful for the conscientious choices you are making in your life to bring them love, hope, and joy. Maybe over time, those images and voices will be nothing more than 'wallpaper'.
You are so brave, so courageous. You have broken the chain...releasing the poison...refusing to let the pain swallow you...melting away the layers of anger, hurt, neglect, abuse. I worked for CPS for almost 20 years and have witnessed your story many times...so many do not escape even with intervention...and the system is so imperfect, unable to change generations of despair. I also escaped the pain of neglect, poverty, an alcohol-fueled parent, raising myself and my siblings...you are not alone and I commend your courage to revisit the pain; I am right there with you. Your experience will benefit all around you...you are the parent your mother could not even dream of...you are rich indeed. Lean on us, we are here to listen, to support, to cry with...you have created a lovely world...beautiful!
they do say, that by saying it, it becomes less. I am amazed that you had such an upbringing and it just goes to show that patterns need not repeat themselves. that shows massive strength of character on your part.
Aimee, I had no idea... The question is: how in the world did you turn up so normal? So beautiful? So in tune with yourself and your beautiful children?
She can't take your beauty and love, because you are the one who created them and not thanks to her and her example, but in spite of. She has no part in it.
I loved this line: "Someday I will truly believe that the beauty that surrounds me was brought forth from the beauty in me, and that it is safe."
You undoubtedly will. We all will.
It amazes me sometimes that the most beautiful people have gone through so much pain. I wish it were not true that so often to gain clarity one must see the dark side, and go inside to find the light. I guess it is purification by fire. The light that flows from such darkness is always so pure and illuminates so many. My belief is that our souls choose our circumstances, and your choice was to see the contrast and to overcome it. You did well. You have such a beautiful heart and you are such a loving mother and your sharing is inspirational. Blessings to you.
As adults, we can let life happen to us, or we can create the best life possible by how we choose to to act. You, dear one, have chosen the path of Action.
I firmly believe that how we survive our childhood determines how we see the beauty in the every day, whether we reach out to embrace life or let it happen to us. And how we survive our childhood determines how the next generation survives their childhood.
My daughter was half grown before I understood I didn't have to just let life happen to me. Now an adult, she struggles at times, but she sees the beauty and fun in daily life. She also looks for the lessons when things are difficult.
I can only imagine the adventures your children will tell of their childhood years!! Their survival of childhood is going to be an amazing and wonderful story because of the aware Mother (and Father) they had to guide them.
Blessings to you and yours!
I keep coming back to write a comment. It seems like so long ago we had that talk in your backyard and I came away knowing we were ALL going to be alright. <3 Miss you guys, please tell the kids we say hello and send our love!
I just want to leave you some encouragement. Congratulations on making it this far. May you always continue to move forward.
Michael Beckwith's Life Vision Process has really changed my perspectives on my past traumas & helped give me peace that I've never know before. :)
I grew up with an alcoholic father, practically raised my 3 younger sisters. One thing I've learned, and will pass on to you -- someday you must share the tragedy of your past with your children. When they are older, when they are capable of understanding, it is important not be the "keeper of secrets" into another generation.
I read this post thinking, "I never knew you and I were sisters!" It mirrors my own experience so closely, it's eerie. It made me a bit sick to my stomach and made me realize that perhaps I hadn't done all the work I need to do to move past/through it. The kicker is that my mother is pretty much fine now...not the monster she was as a single parent to 6kids. The defining image of my childhood is my hand on our doorknob on the afternoons when I was returning from school. I never knew what I would find...her drunk on the floor, her in bed with someone I'd never seen before, a scrawled note that she was at the hospital and blood everywhere or her in an apron baking cookies. I HATED opening that door.
I have always told my now grown children that I made a great evolutionary leap as a parent and they were the beneficiaries. It's the most and the least we can do as parents.
Bless you Aimee.
http://a-half-fast-life.blogspot.com/
Being a single mother is difficult and lonely, more so than most are willing to admit. Lots of women respond to the pressure by turning to alcohol or serial "relationships" in the hopes of finding that rare man willing to help raise another man's children. They may be weak, and their weakness and fears may impact their children very negatively - but are they 'monsters'?
I raised my 3 sons by myself from my teenaged years - and no, I didn't drink or bring men home. But working 2 jobs at a time, often while going to school and being the sole provider physically and emotionally for 3 young people was the hardest and most draining work I will ever do, as well as the most rewarding.I feel lucky that my sons and I came through it well - I won't demonize those who fail at such a demanding and thankless task.
Where was your father in all of this? Why didn't HE come for you?
This post was a rememberence and a working through of some of my memories, not a discussion of single mothers in general. As for the monster reference this comes from the severe emotional abuse and truly sick behavior that was left out of this post and continues to this day.
Many of my friends are single mothers. They are beautiful and attentive parents with deeply loving and successful relationships with their children. This is not a discussion of what it is like to be a single mother, but of my own pathologically narcissistic, alcoholic, drug abusing mother.
Each mother makes her own choices and her children sleep in the bed that she makes. My mother is mentally disturbed and has traded her vodka for prescriptions; buying them off the neighbor when her doctor "won't giver [her} enough."
This is the challenge for children of abuse who become mothers themselves: learning how to believe the protective, loving home you've created is not constantly on the verge of attack. I've felt this way often and struggle with melancholy and painful memories of childhood abuse even during some of the sweetest moments with my kids. It takes a lot of love from your husband and kids, it takes a lot of love for yourself, plenty of yoga, tea, gardening, laughter, self help books and good food and most of all, time.
I'm just saying - you can also make a choice between blaming your mom and priding yourself on the distance between your parenting, or you can try to understand her. I personally find the second choice more freeing.
Ask yourself - what if, last year, when you had a family crisis, you had not had your husband to go through it with you? To be strong when you felt weak and afraid (and vice versa?). Would you really be the same parent you are without him? I'm not saying you would turn to alcohol and drugs - though I do believe those things are in the nature of a disease more than a moral failing. I am saying that the mental space you have for your kids would most likely be less. I think it is most probable that you alone simply could not provide your kids with all you provide for them if you had to do it truly alone - no husband or parents or anyone else to lend a hand, give you a break, provide some income, etc.
You also seemed quite angry at the school nurse who came, saw, and turned away. You asked why she didn't do anything to take you out of the situation. And I asked - what about your dad? Why didn't he take you with him?
Michele,
I don't want to get into a debate with you about whether or not single parenting is hard. It is hard.
Each person's situation is different. There are some women for whom parenting singly is *easier* than it was with their partner.
I also know what it is like to parent alone. I know what it is like to separate from your husband. I know about infidelity and emotional abuse in marriages. I know about deep disagreement between partners on the right course of action. I know that sometimes being in broken marriage is *more difficult than being out of one.
I know that in my very darkest marital years, yes years, I became that much closer to my children. That much more attentive. I took the moment and realized that however I felt about what was happening was less important than the lifelong impact that my partner and I had on our children.
You speak of forgiveness. Yes. This is very important. Like millions of others, by no longer ignoring my past I am working toward a place of forgiveness. This takes time. As for anger with the school nurse, I have none. Never have. I simply wonder at why she took off in the middle of the day to come out to our house. What her purpose was. I find it peculiar.
I seem to have struck a cord with you, leaving you feeling as though I neither understand single mothers, nor want to.
Again, this is not about judgment of single mothers or school nurses. It is a stream of consciousness writing of my working through my painful childhood memories and acknowledging my present.
There is a difference between momentary failure to meet one's own parenting goals and ideals, being unable to provide what you deem the best for your children because of circumstance, and being a drug addicted, emotionally abusive and profoundly neglectful parent.
I assure you, that for my own freedom and happiness, I work every single day at trying to understand my mother outside of the pain that I endured at her hands.
I most definitely understand that my present pain is a result of retaining past pain.
I would ask you to understand that this isn't about your choices and efforts as a single mother, but about my attempts at healing and moving beyond a painful past of which you know nothing at all about. People make bad choices, selfish choices, for all manner of reasons. My mother began making them long before she was a single parent.
Mothers do not injure their children simply because they cannot provide exactly what their married peers can. They are not lesser mothers in the absence of a partner. Take care with generalizations. My judgment falls solely upon my own experience. Yours has wandered into the hypothetical.
It's unfortunate that you are receiving a lot of "forgive you mom" type of comments here, especially when her dysfunctional behavior is ongoing. My mother never really changed at all; but I learned how to set myself free of her guilt trips and manipulation. BTW, my mother stayed with our abusive father until he died; it's just a miracle we all weren't killed by him. Please try to get a copy of this book: "Toxic Parents" by Dr. Susan Forward. It will help you cope.
Link: http://www.amazon.com/Toxic-Parents-Overcoming-Hurtful-Reclaiming/dp/0553284347
I cannot imagine being forced to live a childhood like that. Good for you for breaking the cycle and starting the evolution of a better family tree.
Aimee, I hope you don't take some of the negative comments here to heart. I understand that we're hearing part of the story, and that with stories like this there are many layers of feelings. And I thank you deeply for sharing your story as I found it very uplifting for me personally. I haven't been through the same struggle exactly, but I recognise the healing that you're doing. I applaud you for writing about it. And I echo some of the other voices here saying that you're a true inspiration.
This is a beautiful post, and amidst the pain and darkness of part of each of ourselves, you are a beautiful woman created to be loved and to love. Thank you for being a blessing in sharing your truth!
I might be able to shed some light on the teacher's visit. I used to work in child welfare. The state has to prove that you have actually been physically abused (abuse requires marks left or broken bones) or neglected to the point where your life was threatened. The teacher may have either called CPS and they did nothing because she couldn't say you fell into either of those categories, OR she already knew they wouldn't do anything. Another point - the sad reality is that many foster homes are not the healing, safe, and loving place that abused kids need. Sometimes kids go from the proverbial frying pan into the fryer. Unfortunately, many children are left in the same kind of toxic home that you were raised in. And I do understand you from a personal point of view - I knew that fear at the front door. And I admire you for being the loving parent that you are - I think you are healing yourself every time you show your kids the love you were denied. And, while most of us learn parenting from our parent, somehow you HAVE managed to find something other than what you learned, something healthy and loving inside of you, not from the outside. You are the hero of the day!
Aimee, I loved your post. It was real, it was about your experience with your own mother (and has nothing to do with the commenter below). Your writing is really in a groove right now, and you are consciously creating the life you want.
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