Ashamed

There is a post that I have been working on for about a week. I cannot seem to finish it...actually, I cannot seem to start it. I desperately want to write about this topic, but I don't want to write the words. I don't want to see them. I don't want to admit any of it. I am ashamed. As far as I have come, I am ashamed to be hung up on this.

This is What Happened Next Door

My neighbor's yard is beautiful. There are no weeds in the lush green grass, and in the back, where the abundant sun begs for a swimming pool or an orchard of trees, they have created a kind of oasis garden - an island of soft leaves of various colors that surrounds a single inviting lounge chair reclined to the perfect degree. For her or for him? I've often wondered.

The front has fastidiously kept borders of blooms, greens and purples that delineate an adorable sitting area for two and the path to the entrance of what could be a magical and mysterious cottage in a garden.

From the outside, it seems the picture of perfection...the incarnation of Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young's "Our House". She cares for the flowers, while he cares for the lawn.

She died on Monday night. I had only met her once...on the day she had been jumping through her sprinkler with the seven-year-old from across the street. I thought she was a teenager. My daughters insisted that she looked terribly familiar and that we should find out who she is.

If I had not approached her that day, I would not have known that she taught  at the beloved Montessori school where my youngest still attends. I would not have known that last year she taught one of my older daughter's closest friends. She was my next-door neighbor.

On Monday night, my street was filled with emergency vehicles, including a trail of police cars that reached the intersection to the main road. This was not an ordinary call...something had gone wrong.

Suicide, says her partner, but the police suspect him and take him into custody. They questioned all the neighbors, trying to gather information for how to inform her family before Facebook beats them to it. Their red and blue lights danced through my windows and tightly closed blinds until well past 1:00 am.

"Are the disco lights gone?", asked my youngest as she opened her eyes the next morning. I was left with the burden of easing this news into my children's lives.

There are things that must be done after a tragedy like this happens in a home. After two days, a van with the word "Aftermath" on the side appeared. I wondered if they had cleaned up my grandmother's apartment after my stepfather shot her and my mother.

The family has been in and out all week...removing all kinds of belongings from the house. Someone mowed the lawn, and there is a solar light that illuminates the yard at night. From the outside, the house looks pristine and serene. No one would suspect the nightmare inside.

...there are so many houses like that.

I'll light the fire, you place the flowers
In the vase that you bought today
Staring at the fire for hours and hours
While I listen to you play your love songs
All night long for me, only for me

(from Our House, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young)
 

In High Heels and Makeup and Mint Green

It was time for high heels and makeup again tonight. It is the kids' weekend with daddy, and he has taken them to the beach. I came home from work exhausted after a long week and a long drive during which I tried desperately not to nod off. When I was finally at home, I locked my door, closed the blinds, and took the nap that I had been needing since I left the OB/GYN on Wednesday. I iced my wrists and then slept with abandon.

Getting out of bed was a struggle when I woke, and I knew that the night had the potential to turn dark. I could not let that happen after everything I have been through, after all the progress that I've made, after having come so far. I willed myself out of bed, demanding that anything I do be done downstairs and out of the bed.

Getting out of the house was a must, so I found a theater to watch a movie...not just any theater, but one of those fancy ones where you can dine and drink while you watch the movie - the kind that I had always been curious about but an expense that my husband and I never seemed to be able to justify.

I wanted to feel good...and beautiful...and graceful...and elegant...and serene. I slipped on my favorite summer maxi dress, the one so long that even with my three and a half inch wedges, it drags just so. The one in the lovely mint color, reminiscent of the '70s, that drapes so perfectly over my body I can't help but feel like a beautiful siren as I feel the movement of the fabric over my skin.

I pulled my hair back into a slick and youthful pony tail and adorned it with a pretty silver butterfly barrette. I slid on a huge white ring, which I had picked up at the costume jewelry counter in one of those quaint antique shops my husband and I used to drop into during our good days. Lastly, I put on the whimsical elephant bracelet, in the same mint as the dress, that my youngest had picked out for me for my last birthday.

I put on my lipstick, turned my chin up and my shoulders back and stepped outside. I felt fabulous, radiant, happy! I floated through the theater lobby, as an attendant showed me to my seat.

I ordered the duck and the Riesling and settled back to enjoy the new experience. I was having such a great time that I cried (good tears). It had been so long since I have felt like I have been allowed to enjoy life so purely and so freely. I loved myself.

I know that I could have called some friends or my cousin to share this evening...but I was trying out the night. I had to do this by myself. I was trying out my new life, and I wanted to feel the pleasure of my own company even in places where others are usually accompanied.

Tonight, I felt like a star in my own movie, and it had nothing to do with the words or actions of others. It came from within me.

Sexual Abuse and the OB/GYN

I don't know how to begin this post, except by warning you (especially male readers) that it will probably contain way too much information. If you would prefer to never know what goes on during a pelvic exam, please stop reading now. I will write prettier things another day...but today I have to write this. It has really been troubling me.

Tomorrow I have an appointment with my OB/GYN. I have not seen him in approximately six years. There always seemed to be a reason - the kids had too many doctor visits, so I had no time to schedule my own, I was no longer taking oral contraceptives, I was not pregnant or giving birth to a baby. Scheduling this appointment was very low on the totem pole.

Years passed, and my youngest outgrew her chronic ear infections, both kids started school, and their well visits decreased from every few months to once a year. Still, I would not schedule the OB/GYN appointment. At this point I understood that I was avoiding this physician, but I did not understand why.

I had been seeing this same gynecologist since I moved to this town about thirteen years ago. I had never had any issues to speak of during my visits (barring the time when I adamantly refused to allow the nurse to take my blood pressure because I had fresh cuts on my wrists). The exam itself was uncomfortable for about five minutes, and then I was OK. I never thought about it before or after.

So why now? Why do I suddenly have an aversion to the pelvic exam? I scheduled tomorrow's appointment as part of an effort to take care of myself. It was on the same mental checklist as calling the hairdresser and the eye doctor - just another thing that I deserve to do for myself.

It wasn't until a few days ago that I realized how afraid I am of going through with this exam. In talking with my therapist about it today, I realized that I don't want to be touched in my pelvic, vaginal or breast areas...by anyone. If I were touched in these areas, I would feel violated.

I shudder when I visualize the way an exam with the OB/GYN normally proceeds. First, I would have to remove my own clothing and dress in a scant little robe that would allow the doctor easy access to my body - how vulnerable. Next, he would feel my breasts for lumps and whatnots, while I fervently remind myself that this is not my soon-to-be-ex reaching for my breasts against my will and desire.

Lastly, he would have me lie on my back with my feet up on stirrups and he would insert his hand inside of me. How utterly humiliating. It always hurts, I always gasp and hold my breath. I often feel like the little girl being held down by her stepfather. How am I supposed to walk into that office tomorrow and allow him to do these things to me?

Courage?

Be honest with him about the way I feel, suggested my therapist.

I am afraid that I will "freak out" in his examining room and not allow him to proceed with the exam. The day I refused to have my blood pressure taken, three different nurses came into the room to find out why I was having such a problem with it and to try to convince me otherwise. My doctor would not write me a prescription for my contraceptive without knowing my blood pressure. The more they asked and pressed, the more upset and withdrawn I became. I don't want to go through anything like that again.

So could I talk to him before the exam and apprise him of my fears? Probably not, but perhaps I could speak with the nurse and let her tell him. It may sound a bit childish, like asking mom to talk to dad about something you want, but it's where I am now. My voice is so much bigger than it used to be. Two years ago, I could not have imagined talking to anyone other than my therapist about this topic. Today, I am strong enough to discuss my trauma with another professional in order to alleviate some of my fears that may interfere with my receiving proper medical care.

I've come a long way...I'm going to be OK.

Mother's Love

Last week, I went to see my mother. I drove for two days with my daughters behind me...another girls' adventure...until I finally rested in her presence. This homecoming was not to the house where I grew up, but to the place where she lives...truly home.

The plan had been to stay with her, dine with her, retire with her, wake with her. I wanted to repose in her comfort. I had been so tired. My older brother, however, unknowingly stole that from me. He had married and moved back to our native country some years ago and had returned a month prior to my arrival to visit with and take care of my mother and our suddenly stranded young sister-in-law. My girls and I stayed in a hotel just a few minutes away.

Still, I enjoyed her. After breakfast at the hotel restaurant overlooking American Airline's landing runway, we went to her and I took my place in her small kitchen while my daughters entertained themselves with books, movies, Wii games, or making fun of their uncle. Our talks started small, as I helped myself to the plate of freshly cut mangos picked a few days ago from a friend's backyard or a ridiculously sweet orange purchased from the fruit cart that comes around the neighborhood about once a week.

Gradually, our conversation would move amoeba-like into larger topics...my new peace and freedom, my husband's reluctance to let go, my children's adjustment, her writing, my little brother's unspeakable pain. Afterwards, my girls and I would head out for our daily outing, sometimes with my older brother and his wife (who arrived a couple of days after we did) and sometimes just the three of us. In the evening we would return to find the apartment smelling of my childhood...every night a traditionally home-cooked dish from the cuisine of our country. I wanted to melt into her warmth...the aroma of her care, for this is how she loves. This is how she tends to those in need...she cooks.

I cleaned up after dinner, as I had done as a child, and our night turned into more conversation and board games with the children. Late into the night, I would reluctantly gather up the girls and make the eight minute drive to the hotel, all of us finally sinking into beds overstuffed with fluffy pillows hours past our bedtime.

...but it was vacation, and I drank my fill of mother's love.

Defying Gravity

Something has changed within me
Something is not the same
I'm through with playing by the rules
Of someone else's game
Too late for second-guessing
Too late to go back to sleep
It's time to trust my instincts
Close my eyes... and leap!

It's time to try
Defying gravity
I think I'll try
Defying gravity
Kiss me goodbye
I am defying gravity
And you won't bring me down!

I'm through accepting limits
'cause someone says they're so
Some things I cannot change
But till I try, I'll never know!
Too long I've been afraid of
Losing love, I guess I've lost
Well, if that's love
It comes at much too high a cost!

I'd sooner buy
Defying gravity
Kiss me goodbye
I'm defying gravity
I think I'll try
Defying gravity
And you won't bring me down!

 

(Defying Gravity, as performed by Lea Michele and Chris Colfer, Glee)

Last Sunday, June 29th, I left my husband. I packed up what was mine and my children's, and we moved to our own home.

It is true what I have heard other women say about the day they finally take that step. Nothing compares to the pride and sense of accomplishment that you feel when you turn that key and open that door for the first time or the sense of peace and safety that you feel when you close and lock that door for your first night of undisturbed deep sleep...it is, indeed, all true.

Those of you who have been reading and accompanying me while I stumble through this rocky, dusty journey know how much courage it took for me to come to this decision last October and how much more courage it has taken for me to stand my ground and follow through with my resolve. I can hardly believe that I am standing here!

I can never go back...this peace feels too good! I have defied gravity, and I feel like there is nothing that can bring me down. I am flying free, and I feel beautiful. If it is his love that I am losing, then it truly came at much to high a cost. Living in a constant state of hurt, pain and uncertainty is just not acceptable. Kiss me goodbye.

Thank you to all who have read and commented, as well to those who have just read. Your companionship and support through so many dark days and moments of doubt has carried me through. My writing and your response to it has been an integral part of my survival through this process. I hope you will continue to read...I am anticipating some brighter posts in the future :)

Shouting My Truth

Don't tell me you're sorry 'cause you're not
Baby when I know you're only sorry you got caught
But you put on quite a show
Really had me going
But now it's time to go
Curtain's finally closing
That was quite a show
Very entertaining
But it's over now
Go on and take a bow

Grab your clothes and get gone
You better hurry up
Before the sprinklers come on
Talking' bout'
Girl, I love you, you're the one
This just looks like a re-run
Please, what else is on?

 

(from Take a Bow, Rihanna)

This was today...calling me at work...repeating how much he loves me...letting me know that he is going to see an attorney, not because he wants to but because he has no choice. Talking about how he wants our marriage to work in a way that makes me happy. REALLY???

 

Normally, I would remain silent upon hearing these words...in order to not summon painful emotions...in order to not make a scene at work.

 

...but I didn't care today. I wanted to shout out my truth. I spoke to him in the back aisle of the pharmacy. When he called again, I spoke to him at my station...in the open...with the new technician standing beside me waiting her turn to ask me a question. I didn't care who knew, I was tired of holding it in. I told him I could not believe that he loved me based on the way he had been treating me, and I was no longer interested in being treated that way. Everything that he told me, I had heard so many times before. It all truly sounded like a re-run. I cannot live like that anymore.

 

All this, however, took an emotional toll on me. I am drained. I called my therapist, and he helped me finish my work day. I had been shaking and on the verge of tears after each exchange my husband. Tonight, the ice on my wrists brought me so much relief. I physically relaxed, and I could feel the tension in my head ease...my headache nearly disappear.

 

It wasn't cutting...just a really good substitute.



Served

Today I handed my husband our separation papers. I did not have the sheriff serve him, nor did I allow my attorney's office to mail them to him. I laid them on his desk myself and let him know that they were there. I wanted him to know that I am not afraid.

Today is a day of tremendous accomplishment for me...a dream day. I dare to feel proud of myself.

Vacation Bible School

Jesus loves me!
This I know,
For the Bible tells me so.
Little ones to Him belong;
They are weak but He is strong.

 

(from Jesus Loves me, Anna B. Warner)

 



Day 1 Lesson: Jesus loves me even if I am weird.

Day 2 Lesson: Jesus loves me even if I am frustrated.

Day 3 Lesson: Jesus loves me even if I do wrong.

Day 4 Lesson: Jesus loves me even if I am scared.

 

Vacation Bible School. Does that exist anywhere else but in the South? Until I moved here thirteen years ago, I had never heard of such a beast! Because I am Catholic and I had never such much as heard the phrase uttered, I assumed it must be a Protestant thing.

 

...It isn't. Vacation Bible School (or VBS, as the locals call it) is the biggest God party...EVER...just for kids. And the Catholics down here have it too! For one week, the kids show up in their shorts and flip flops, hair still stringy wet from having spent the afternoon swimming, ready to sing, dance and rejoice. There are crafts, there are games, and there are skits that help illustrate the take home lesson of the day. The list above is what my children learned this week.

 

They started participating last summer, when my little one was finally old enough to attend with her sister. Every night when I picked them up, they were elated, rejuvenated, ecstatic!

 

That was last year...this year something was missing. When I took them on the first day, they seemed subdued, somewhat heavy. My kids looked sad.

 

I felt guilty...responsible for casting a cloud upon them. I wondered if they felt like I felt - undeserving of all the joy around them. Different from all the apparently happy families...who stay together. Unsure if we even belong in this celebration.

 

I don't know exactly what brought them down on that first day, but they must have learned their lessons well. They learned that Jesus loves them even if they are weird...different from everyone else. Jesus loves them even if they are frustrated by their helplessness in their parents' relationship. Jesus loves them even if they feel like they are wrong for feeling the way they feel. Jesus loves them even if they are scared of what their lives will be like when their parents are no longer together.

 

By the time I picked them up on the last day, they were singing enthusiastically and dancing on the stage. They looked radiant and filled with peace and love. I watched them dance and sway as they sang "Jesus Loves Me", and I tried not to cry...because I knew that the lessons were for me also.

They Never Saw It

Already I am beginning to feel different...different than the other mothers who are married. I have begun to tell the mothers of some of my children's friends...because they have heard it from their children, who heard it from my children and their mothers did not believe them.

"I'm so sorry", the tell me quietly and painfully, "I never would have imagined".

They could not see it. They could not see my pain and my sadness. They could not see the years of hurt. I played my part so well. I hosted the playdates, I attended the dinner parties, I carpooled, I went to the meetings, I volunteered and I chaperoned field trips...and I did it all with a smile. Of course I did; I was always happy when I was with the other mothers.

Now I am opening a window and allowing them to look inside. I am no longer pretending. "Yes, it is true", I told one mother today. "What my daughter said to your daughter is right. We are moving to your neighborhood...just the girls and me. Come, follow me, and I will show you the house where we will live."

The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside
Couldn't keep it in, heaven knows I tried!

Don't let them in, don't let them see
Be the good girl you always have to be
Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know
Well, now they know!

Let it go, let it go
Can't hold it back anymore
Let it go, let it go
Turn away and slam the door!

I don't care
What they're going to say
Let the storm rage on,
The cold never bothered me anyway!

 

(from Let It Go, Idina Menzel)