Hot and cold. That's how I would describe him these days.
A few days ago I caught him driving through the parking lot of a church where we were meeting with friends. It wasn't planned, one of those moments where I was exactly where I needed to be. I walked out of the building to go to the car, and locked eyes with him as he was driving right by the door. He panicked and tore out of the parking lot.
I confronted him via email. He responded with phrases like "I'm sorry that you caught me" and "I didn't know you would be watching the parking lot for my car".
It's exhausting, the toll it takes on me when I see him unexpectedly like that. The hypervigilance is back, and it means business. It's so difficult to maintain focus on work when I spend so much time thinking about whether or not my kids are safe when I'm there.
I wish he would just divert his attention somewhere else. I wish he would find someone or something to obsess over and leave us alone.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Not Creepy At All
Yesterday evening, I took my son to the library to drop off and pick up some books. Mike was waiting there for me. Not just waiting. He'd been waiting in the parking lot for an hour in case we showed up, because I'd told him earlier in the day that we weren't going to the library at all that day.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Going Up
The kids have had some good visits with their father, but it couldn't last forever.
It started last Thursday. We were at the park, and he tried to take the kids out of the park, out of my line of sight. I went over and asked him to stay in the park, and he started yelling at me and threatening me again. "These are my kids. I could take them anywhere, away from you, and there is nothing you can do about it." It was time to leave anyway, so we left.
Over the weekend, he tried to hold the batterer's intervention classes he's supposed to be taking over my head. I asked him if I was getting proof that he was attending. He replied with "I'll get you proof when you give me the kids' therapists phone number." I replied by telling him that going to the class was his choice. Go or don't. Give me proof or don't. But I am not interested in reconciling unless he successfully completes the class. Then he told me he didn't need the class, but would go if I would pay for half of it. I replied with the criteria for domestic violence from The Hotline. I asked him if he could honestly look at that list and still say he didn't need the class.
That didn't go over well.
He exploded and sent me a very long and very angry email. He told me that none of it happened, but if it did it would have been my fault and I was just as responsible as him. Then, about eight hours later, came the guilt. He emailed me and told me that he was sorry, he didn't mean to hurt me, and I must know that he would never hurt me again. Then he sent me another email telling me how much he loved me and the kids, and that is why he is the way he is. It was the cycle of violence exactly, but I had the benefit of distance.
Cut to today at the park. He tried to come over and talk to me, but I told him that he needed to visit with the kids. It's my canned response to him trying to talk to me. He walked away.
Then came the set-up.
Son (4 years old) wanted to take pictures with Mike's camera. Mike told him he had to ask nicely and say please. This exchange between them went back and forth for about 20 minutes. Then Mike asked, "Are you not saying please because your mother told you that you didn't have to listen to me?" Son nodded his head because he is 4 and doesn't want to get in trouble. So Mike stalked over to me.
"You are poisoning my children's minds against me! You have to stop telling them they don't have to listen to me! I have a right to discipline them, too! You want them to hate me! You fill their heads with lies!"
I told him that we could talk about it over email, but he needed to go spend time with his kids now.
He went back to Son and set him up again. "Who told you that you don't have to listen to me? Mommy?" Son nodded. Mike screamed, "See? Did you hear that? Did you hear what you've done?"
Son ran over to me and sat on the bench. He told me the situation, that he wanted to play with Daddy's camera but Daddy wouldn't give it to him unless he said please, and he didn't want to. I reminded him that it was polite to say please, and that the camera belonged to Daddy. So if he wanted it, he needed to follow Daddy's rules. If he didn't, then Daddy probably wouldn't give him the camera.
Mike came over again and started berating me. Then he tried to grab Son, who had curled up in a ball by this point, off the bench. Son squealed. I told him that the visit was over.
"You don't get to decide that!" he yelled.
I told him he wasn't being appropriate so the visit was over. And we left.
On the way home, Son asked me if I was mad at him. Daughter chimed in, "Mommy isn't mad at you. She's mad at Daddy because he was yelling and that was a bad choice!" I'm so glad that her therapy is working so well.
I assured both kids that just because they misbehaved, it didn't mean that they made Daddy act the way he did. Daddy has a choice about how he responds to them. I told Son that a better choice would have been for Daddy to tell him that he couldn't have the camera instead of yelling at Mommy. Then I reminded both kids that they are good people and I would always love them, but sometimes they make choices that I don't like.
I just finished reading Daring Greatly by Brene Brown. Being forever tied to Mike, I know that the kids and I are in for a lifetime of stress and shame from him. I am making building shame resilience a priority for us. It seems that Daughter at least is on her way.
It started last Thursday. We were at the park, and he tried to take the kids out of the park, out of my line of sight. I went over and asked him to stay in the park, and he started yelling at me and threatening me again. "These are my kids. I could take them anywhere, away from you, and there is nothing you can do about it." It was time to leave anyway, so we left.
Over the weekend, he tried to hold the batterer's intervention classes he's supposed to be taking over my head. I asked him if I was getting proof that he was attending. He replied with "I'll get you proof when you give me the kids' therapists phone number." I replied by telling him that going to the class was his choice. Go or don't. Give me proof or don't. But I am not interested in reconciling unless he successfully completes the class. Then he told me he didn't need the class, but would go if I would pay for half of it. I replied with the criteria for domestic violence from The Hotline. I asked him if he could honestly look at that list and still say he didn't need the class.
That didn't go over well.
He exploded and sent me a very long and very angry email. He told me that none of it happened, but if it did it would have been my fault and I was just as responsible as him. Then, about eight hours later, came the guilt. He emailed me and told me that he was sorry, he didn't mean to hurt me, and I must know that he would never hurt me again. Then he sent me another email telling me how much he loved me and the kids, and that is why he is the way he is. It was the cycle of violence exactly, but I had the benefit of distance.
Cut to today at the park. He tried to come over and talk to me, but I told him that he needed to visit with the kids. It's my canned response to him trying to talk to me. He walked away.
Then came the set-up.
Son (4 years old) wanted to take pictures with Mike's camera. Mike told him he had to ask nicely and say please. This exchange between them went back and forth for about 20 minutes. Then Mike asked, "Are you not saying please because your mother told you that you didn't have to listen to me?" Son nodded his head because he is 4 and doesn't want to get in trouble. So Mike stalked over to me.
"You are poisoning my children's minds against me! You have to stop telling them they don't have to listen to me! I have a right to discipline them, too! You want them to hate me! You fill their heads with lies!"
I told him that we could talk about it over email, but he needed to go spend time with his kids now.
He went back to Son and set him up again. "Who told you that you don't have to listen to me? Mommy?" Son nodded. Mike screamed, "See? Did you hear that? Did you hear what you've done?"
Son ran over to me and sat on the bench. He told me the situation, that he wanted to play with Daddy's camera but Daddy wouldn't give it to him unless he said please, and he didn't want to. I reminded him that it was polite to say please, and that the camera belonged to Daddy. So if he wanted it, he needed to follow Daddy's rules. If he didn't, then Daddy probably wouldn't give him the camera.
Mike came over again and started berating me. Then he tried to grab Son, who had curled up in a ball by this point, off the bench. Son squealed. I told him that the visit was over.
"You don't get to decide that!" he yelled.
I told him he wasn't being appropriate so the visit was over. And we left.
On the way home, Son asked me if I was mad at him. Daughter chimed in, "Mommy isn't mad at you. She's mad at Daddy because he was yelling and that was a bad choice!" I'm so glad that her therapy is working so well.
I assured both kids that just because they misbehaved, it didn't mean that they made Daddy act the way he did. Daddy has a choice about how he responds to them. I told Son that a better choice would have been for Daddy to tell him that he couldn't have the camera instead of yelling at Mommy. Then I reminded both kids that they are good people and I would always love them, but sometimes they make choices that I don't like.
I just finished reading Daring Greatly by Brene Brown. Being forever tied to Mike, I know that the kids and I are in for a lifetime of stress and shame from him. I am making building shame resilience a priority for us. It seems that Daughter at least is on her way.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
A bump
Mike was involved in a car accident a couple weeks ago with our shared vehicle. Yesterday, our insurance company called me to tell me that they have totaled it. They attempted to repair it, but once it was taken apart the structural damage became apparent. It is not possible to safely fix it.
It is such a kick in the gut. I was hoping to get the car. I am the one with the kids, after all. And he lives on a bus route that will take him one block from his house to the doorstep of his job. Failing that, he is within biking distance. I, on the other hand, have to worry about transporting not only myself but the kids to therapy appointments and (hopefully soon) work, not to mention the grocery store.
Most likely, the insurance company will cut him a check. Part of that may be garnished because we are within six months of filing for bankruptcy. The rest will, if I am lucky, be split in half immediately if he is reasonable. If not, maybe I can expect a payment in six months after I pay an amount probably equal to it in lawyer fees. There will probably not be enough for me to even get a clunker.
He isn't speaking to me at the moment. I don't know what he is thinking. I imagine he is planning on keeping all the money and buying himself a car.
Honestly, I don't have it in me to fight over things. I took half the savings. I have the things that I really want from the house. Aside from my hope chest, my rocking chair, and my bookcase, there is nothing else in that house I would want. (OK, the washer and dryer. But they are brand flipping new and he isn't even using them!) But even that stuff, if it came down to it I could live without them. I just want the kids. I want them safe and healthy and to be the actual generation that breaks the cycle of abuse.
With all that in my mind, my anxiety was very bad last night. Instead of staying up all night trying to read or watch a movie, I went for a jog. I haven't jogged for recreation in about 8 years. Since I started dating Mike seriously. But I've felt the desire. The adrenaline rushing through my veins, begging me to run it out. I won't lie, I am pretty out of shape. But I felt so much better. I actually felt tired, and slept through the night.
My therapist told me to make a list of my accomplishments since leaving Mike. So I took one of my journals and I've turned it into my recovery journal. I'm filling it with inspirational quotes and such. And leaving the first few pages open to make my "Have Done" list. No to-do lists in here. No doubts or anxiety allowed. Just inspiration.
The kids did much better with their therapist yesterday. I had a talk with DD about how talking about hard things can help. We picked a scary memory (Mike kicking the bedroom door down when I'd locked the kids and myself inside.) and promised to each tell our therapist. My natural inclination is to not talk about what happened, so I can understand it being hers as well. I'm going to lead her by example. I have to show her how to heal. I'll heal by talking to my therapist, talking to my friends, writing in my journal, making my recovery journal, and taking midnight jogs. On the other side of all this, we will be a healed family.
It is such a kick in the gut. I was hoping to get the car. I am the one with the kids, after all. And he lives on a bus route that will take him one block from his house to the doorstep of his job. Failing that, he is within biking distance. I, on the other hand, have to worry about transporting not only myself but the kids to therapy appointments and (hopefully soon) work, not to mention the grocery store.
Most likely, the insurance company will cut him a check. Part of that may be garnished because we are within six months of filing for bankruptcy. The rest will, if I am lucky, be split in half immediately if he is reasonable. If not, maybe I can expect a payment in six months after I pay an amount probably equal to it in lawyer fees. There will probably not be enough for me to even get a clunker.
He isn't speaking to me at the moment. I don't know what he is thinking. I imagine he is planning on keeping all the money and buying himself a car.
Honestly, I don't have it in me to fight over things. I took half the savings. I have the things that I really want from the house. Aside from my hope chest, my rocking chair, and my bookcase, there is nothing else in that house I would want. (OK, the washer and dryer. But they are brand flipping new and he isn't even using them!) But even that stuff, if it came down to it I could live without them. I just want the kids. I want them safe and healthy and to be the actual generation that breaks the cycle of abuse.
With all that in my mind, my anxiety was very bad last night. Instead of staying up all night trying to read or watch a movie, I went for a jog. I haven't jogged for recreation in about 8 years. Since I started dating Mike seriously. But I've felt the desire. The adrenaline rushing through my veins, begging me to run it out. I won't lie, I am pretty out of shape. But I felt so much better. I actually felt tired, and slept through the night.
My therapist told me to make a list of my accomplishments since leaving Mike. So I took one of my journals and I've turned it into my recovery journal. I'm filling it with inspirational quotes and such. And leaving the first few pages open to make my "Have Done" list. No to-do lists in here. No doubts or anxiety allowed. Just inspiration.
The kids did much better with their therapist yesterday. I had a talk with DD about how talking about hard things can help. We picked a scary memory (Mike kicking the bedroom door down when I'd locked the kids and myself inside.) and promised to each tell our therapist. My natural inclination is to not talk about what happened, so I can understand it being hers as well. I'm going to lead her by example. I have to show her how to heal. I'll heal by talking to my therapist, talking to my friends, writing in my journal, making my recovery journal, and taking midnight jogs. On the other side of all this, we will be a healed family.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Before & After
I've told countless people that the turning point, the breaking point, for me was a camping trip. I took the kids, and Mike's niece, camping for two nights with a friend. The months leading up to this trip were terrible. I hated every morning before I even left the bed, because I was constantly kept on edge. But this trip, I'd been looking forward to it for months. And it was exactly what I needed.
I didn't get used to the abuse. It didn't stop hurting. I just forgot what it was like to live in absence of it. I'd grown accustomed to it. It was my reality, and I was in survival mode.
So, here are two excerpts from my journal. One was written the second day of our camping trip. The next was written the morning after I left.
~~~~
August 9, 2012
I've taken the kids plus M camping. She's never been before. Of course, it's raining. A lot. It was hot yesterday, sticky and sweaty. The evening shade was a relief. I saw the flashes of lightening at dark. At first, they were so subtle I thought I was hallucinating. As the flashes drew closer, I recognized them.
I sat out at the picnic table and watched the storm roll in over 2 ½ hours. It was a lovely time. Most of the time, I am either on facebook or watching TV shows during my alone time at night. It was a nice change to be left totally alone with my thoughts.
When the storm finally arrived, the wind tossed the trees around and the lightening filled the whole sky. The rain came just minutes after I finally retired to the tent. It was so soothing, the dripping rain and rolling thunder. Camping has become old hat for me. I can remember sleeping in almost the same space last fall and being too scared to sleep. Last night, the rain and nocturnal critters sang me a lullaby.
This morning, the rain is holding on. I let the kids have breakfast in the tent. We were supposed to have bagels, but Friend tried to sleep through the morning, so I had boiled eggs instead. With string cheese, chips, and carrots. Ha! Breakfast of champions! In related news: burrito night is a hit. I will definitely make that a new camping tradition.
~~~~
August 12, 2012
I'm writing from A&J's house. I have, at least temporarily, left Mike. I don't know what this means. I don't know what the future holds. I thought I would be with him, and miserable, at least until the kids are adults. I thought I could muddle through. But I can't. I cannot do it anymore. I am so exhausted. I'm tired of the emotional abuse. I'm tired of tiptoeing. I cannot do it anymore.
A asked me to make a choice today, about whether or not I'm leaving him for good. Whether I'll go back. Whether I'll stay here.
Part of me wants to walk away. I want to be rid of him forever. I want to never go back.
But the kids. The kids. I don't want them to have to endure him alone. I don't want them to be turned into his pawns.
I think I owe it to them to give him a chance. Not a chance to say he's changed and tell me the pretty things he thinks I want to hear.
I spoke to the NDVH last night. She said there is a 12 step program for abusers. I'll give him a chance to complete that program. To go to actual therapy. But if he fucks up, I'm done.
~~~
Two years before:
August 5, 2010
Mike is such an asshole. As I sit here now, I can hear him bitching about how the kids eat their breakfast. Everything is a fight with him. I'm getting far past the point of OK with him. If I had means and full custody, I would leave him. I hated living in a house with knock-down-drag-out fights. Hated it. I promised myself that my kids wouldn't have that life, yet here we are. I hate that they're so used to it.
They rarely cry when we fight. It happens so often that it's become part of us. I would give anything to change that. To change his anger. Writing it out makes me feel helpless. This isn't the life I wanted. I feel like I sometimes mourn the loss of the happy family of my dreams. Then I am paralyzingly sad. And then he yells at me.
I didn't get used to the abuse. It didn't stop hurting. I just forgot what it was like to live in absence of it. I'd grown accustomed to it. It was my reality, and I was in survival mode.
So, here are two excerpts from my journal. One was written the second day of our camping trip. The next was written the morning after I left.
~~~~
August 9, 2012
I've taken the kids plus M camping. She's never been before. Of course, it's raining. A lot. It was hot yesterday, sticky and sweaty. The evening shade was a relief. I saw the flashes of lightening at dark. At first, they were so subtle I thought I was hallucinating. As the flashes drew closer, I recognized them.
I sat out at the picnic table and watched the storm roll in over 2 ½ hours. It was a lovely time. Most of the time, I am either on facebook or watching TV shows during my alone time at night. It was a nice change to be left totally alone with my thoughts.
When the storm finally arrived, the wind tossed the trees around and the lightening filled the whole sky. The rain came just minutes after I finally retired to the tent. It was so soothing, the dripping rain and rolling thunder. Camping has become old hat for me. I can remember sleeping in almost the same space last fall and being too scared to sleep. Last night, the rain and nocturnal critters sang me a lullaby.
This morning, the rain is holding on. I let the kids have breakfast in the tent. We were supposed to have bagels, but Friend tried to sleep through the morning, so I had boiled eggs instead. With string cheese, chips, and carrots. Ha! Breakfast of champions! In related news: burrito night is a hit. I will definitely make that a new camping tradition.
~~~~
August 12, 2012
I'm writing from A&J's house. I have, at least temporarily, left Mike. I don't know what this means. I don't know what the future holds. I thought I would be with him, and miserable, at least until the kids are adults. I thought I could muddle through. But I can't. I cannot do it anymore. I am so exhausted. I'm tired of the emotional abuse. I'm tired of tiptoeing. I cannot do it anymore.
A asked me to make a choice today, about whether or not I'm leaving him for good. Whether I'll go back. Whether I'll stay here.
Part of me wants to walk away. I want to be rid of him forever. I want to never go back.
But the kids. The kids. I don't want them to have to endure him alone. I don't want them to be turned into his pawns.
I think I owe it to them to give him a chance. Not a chance to say he's changed and tell me the pretty things he thinks I want to hear.
I spoke to the NDVH last night. She said there is a 12 step program for abusers. I'll give him a chance to complete that program. To go to actual therapy. But if he fucks up, I'm done.
~~~
Two years before:
August 5, 2010
Mike is such an asshole. As I sit here now, I can hear him bitching about how the kids eat their breakfast. Everything is a fight with him. I'm getting far past the point of OK with him. If I had means and full custody, I would leave him. I hated living in a house with knock-down-drag-out fights. Hated it. I promised myself that my kids wouldn't have that life, yet here we are. I hate that they're so used to it.
They rarely cry when we fight. It happens so often that it's become part of us. I would give anything to change that. To change his anger. Writing it out makes me feel helpless. This isn't the life I wanted. I feel like I sometimes mourn the loss of the happy family of my dreams. Then I am paralyzingly sad. And then he yells at me.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
That was awkward...
I should first say that church has been, and continues to be, especially challenging for me, for several reasons. The most applicable reason is that Mike has been having meetings with one of the pastors, so he has shown up at the end of the service. The first time he did this, I had a panic attack and locked myself with the kids in the ladies restroom. It is a place with no locks, open and welcome to all. He knows when I'm there. It is the antithesis to every domestic violence survival plan created. But, the kids enjoy their Sunday School class, and honestly don't get as many chances to hang out with their peers as I would like now that I'm without transportation.
The bible passages and sermon at church today focused on divorce. It was awkward. Really awkward. The pastor that gave the sermon today is currently going through his second divorce, so (as awful as it sounds) it made me feel a little better.
Even so, I still felt like everyone had their eyes on me.
He went on to talk about the history of women as chattel (a form of slavery in which people are considered personal property) and likened it to how powerless women without options are outside of a marriage. He went on to talk about the power struggle that takes place in many marriages.
Power. Control. Yes, those are words I've heard over and over again since I left.
Domestic Violence is not about violence. It is about one person taking power from another person.
In light of that, he went on to joke that marriage statistics show that by the third marriage the success rate is somewhere around 80% (Whereas the first marriage has a 50% chance of success and the second marriage only has a 30% success rate.) because most people have ran out of power by then.
It was one of the times that I was silently thankful that I usually sit in front. So I couldn't see people looking at me.
They probably weren't. As I said, the pastor is ending his second marriage. As far as most churches go, ours is pretty open-minded and accepting. But a couple people have approached me about "working it out" with Mike. My Grandpa included.
I sat in the pew, listening to the pastor asking us to give up some of our power and let go of the struggle for dominance, and thought about how very much I don't ever want to go back. Even if Mike changes. Even if he completes his batterer's intervention classes. Even if he fixes the house and offers me an equal say and promises me the world. I don't want to go back. Ignoring the fact that I don't believe he will ever change, I don't want to go back. I'm so achingly lonely, but I'd rather be lonely than with him again.
I don't know what that makes me in God's eyes.
The bible passages and sermon at church today focused on divorce. It was awkward. Really awkward. The pastor that gave the sermon today is currently going through his second divorce, so (as awful as it sounds) it made me feel a little better.
Even so, I still felt like everyone had their eyes on me.
He went on to talk about the history of women as chattel (a form of slavery in which people are considered personal property) and likened it to how powerless women without options are outside of a marriage. He went on to talk about the power struggle that takes place in many marriages.
Power. Control. Yes, those are words I've heard over and over again since I left.
Domestic Violence is not about violence. It is about one person taking power from another person.
In light of that, he went on to joke that marriage statistics show that by the third marriage the success rate is somewhere around 80% (Whereas the first marriage has a 50% chance of success and the second marriage only has a 30% success rate.) because most people have ran out of power by then.
It was one of the times that I was silently thankful that I usually sit in front. So I couldn't see people looking at me.
They probably weren't. As I said, the pastor is ending his second marriage. As far as most churches go, ours is pretty open-minded and accepting. But a couple people have approached me about "working it out" with Mike. My Grandpa included.
I sat in the pew, listening to the pastor asking us to give up some of our power and let go of the struggle for dominance, and thought about how very much I don't ever want to go back. Even if Mike changes. Even if he completes his batterer's intervention classes. Even if he fixes the house and offers me an equal say and promises me the world. I don't want to go back. Ignoring the fact that I don't believe he will ever change, I don't want to go back. I'm so achingly lonely, but I'd rather be lonely than with him again.
I don't know what that makes me in God's eyes.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
She's me
My daughter is seven, and possibly my clone. Not really. At least, not completely. But sometimes, I'm struck with how similar we are.
Her therapist brought it up yesterday. She's been resisting therapy the last couple weeks because talking about the things she's seen makes her sad. It worried me a bit, since she initially was very open with her therapist. Miss Elle assured me that it was normal, and commented, "She's a very shy and introverted child, so talking about difficult things with people she doesn't implicitly trust is difficult for her." Those words could easily apply to me, both now and when I was her age.
The kids visited with Mike yesterday and today. Both times he was mostly respectful. (At the park. He has been calling me to harass me about the portion of the savings I took with me. He is also still determined to get the kids to admit that I have a boyfriend, because why else would I leave him if not for another man. Can you hear my eyes rolling?) But it still bothers the kids, seeing him.
She had a fit tonight at bedtime. Over 45 minutes of wailing about one thing or another. Inconsolable. Her brain just locking into this pattern of malcontent and wouldn't let her go. And it was so frustrating for me. It reminded me of taking care of her as a toddler who would fight sleep tooth and nail, when I knew if she would stop fighting for just a minute she would fall immediately asleep. Except she isn't a two year old that I can strap into a carseat for a drive or wrap up in a blanket and walk around the house. She's almost the size of a small adult.
The thing I must remember on nights like this is how difficult all this is for the kids. Especially her. My son is four, and although he remembers upsetting things he is also able to live more in the present. She gets lost in her mind quite often. She is so very much me. And I have to remember what I needed when I was her age. I have to remember the patience and compassion I so desperately craved, and I have to give it to her. She has healed me so much already, maybe this is one more thing I can do to heal that part of me that is broken.
I'm not where I want to be now. I'm not going to be there next week or even next month. But wherever we are, I have to make the kids understand that we are a family. And wherever we are, that's home.
Her therapist brought it up yesterday. She's been resisting therapy the last couple weeks because talking about the things she's seen makes her sad. It worried me a bit, since she initially was very open with her therapist. Miss Elle assured me that it was normal, and commented, "She's a very shy and introverted child, so talking about difficult things with people she doesn't implicitly trust is difficult for her." Those words could easily apply to me, both now and when I was her age.
The kids visited with Mike yesterday and today. Both times he was mostly respectful. (At the park. He has been calling me to harass me about the portion of the savings I took with me. He is also still determined to get the kids to admit that I have a boyfriend, because why else would I leave him if not for another man. Can you hear my eyes rolling?) But it still bothers the kids, seeing him.
She had a fit tonight at bedtime. Over 45 minutes of wailing about one thing or another. Inconsolable. Her brain just locking into this pattern of malcontent and wouldn't let her go. And it was so frustrating for me. It reminded me of taking care of her as a toddler who would fight sleep tooth and nail, when I knew if she would stop fighting for just a minute she would fall immediately asleep. Except she isn't a two year old that I can strap into a carseat for a drive or wrap up in a blanket and walk around the house. She's almost the size of a small adult.
The thing I must remember on nights like this is how difficult all this is for the kids. Especially her. My son is four, and although he remembers upsetting things he is also able to live more in the present. She gets lost in her mind quite often. She is so very much me. And I have to remember what I needed when I was her age. I have to remember the patience and compassion I so desperately craved, and I have to give it to her. She has healed me so much already, maybe this is one more thing I can do to heal that part of me that is broken.
I'm not where I want to be now. I'm not going to be there next week or even next month. But wherever we are, I have to make the kids understand that we are a family. And wherever we are, that's home.