There I was, in the farthest corner of a sizzling hot room, my quick exit thwarted by the throngs of misty eyed parents. I made my way through the sweaty humanity and out toward the hall.
Whomp. There they were.
I've known of this relationship and felt like I had dealt with all the feelings and anger and memories and sadness and still, I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach. And I don't know why.
I mean, I would never in a million years want to be back with him. I don't think he should live out his days bemoaning the fact I left him. I have moved on, made a new home and am well into the process of building a new family.
I am an articulate and passionate woman. I have achieved some great things professionally and personally. I have an incredible man who not only loves me but is complementary in so many ways. My kids are happy and healthy and I am finding my place with my stepkids who are also happy and healthy. I am happy.
Then why did this bother me?
I could sit here and ponder all of the moments and replay all of the tapes over and over and get myself worked into a froth. I just don't want to. I want to be done examining that for a bit. Deal with the heavy work later and just spit shine it. Move the hell on.
In the moment, looking like a dear in headlights, I latched onto a woman I have known for eight years. We had worked together at a restaurant in town and although we were never close, we knew each other well enough for me to implore her to save me from myself which she did. (thanks, KR!) We made chitchat about our kids and our work for a bit. We talked about this amazing cake she makes that I now need a piece of, badly. She made the appropriate face when she saw the object of my upset. She was a damned good buddy and I am grateful.
I made it out alive.
I can't believe I went in there alone. That's like jousting without armour or a stick. I felt so silly.
Now I know how to survive the next however many years until this either doesn't bother me or he drops dead.
Always bring a friend.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Monday, May 7, 2012
Refresh
Mr. T and I spent a lovely weekend alone. Yes, ALONE.
It was amazing to breathe. To sleep. To remember that we enjoy being together when we aren't constantly smacked in the face with the heavy things of life.
It was amazing to breathe. To sleep. To remember that we enjoy being together when we aren't constantly smacked in the face with the heavy things of life.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Shutting out the noise
I've heard it said that going through adversity magnifies people. Sometimes it will magnify positive traits like caregiving and advocacy. At other times it will magnify less desirable traits like meanness and insanity.
That has happened here.
Today, I choose to shut off the noise, to not listen to the rants, the criticism, the hyperbolic reaction to everything.
Like a little kid, eyes screwed up tiny, hands to his ears, "I can't hear you!"
That has happened here.
Today, I choose to shut off the noise, to not listen to the rants, the criticism, the hyperbolic reaction to everything.
Like a little kid, eyes screwed up tiny, hands to his ears, "I can't hear you!"
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Scared and sad and angry
Mrs. Ex's diagnosis and impending treatment have really thrown me for a loop.
First and foremost, I am terrified for her. I imagine she is scared and sad and angry as would anyone who was facing losing her breasts, hair, dignity and possibly the chance to see her children grow up. I am scared and sad and angry for her.
I am also scared and sad and angry for the kids. Their parent's divorce was enough of a blow. Thir recent loss of their dear Papu (grandpa in Greek, I'm told) was enough of a blow. Watching their paternal grandma fight cancer for the past several years was enough of a blow. This just seems like twist of fate of the cruelest kind.
First and foremost, I am terrified for her. I imagine she is scared and sad and angry as would anyone who was facing losing her breasts, hair, dignity and possibly the chance to see her children grow up. I am scared and sad and angry for her.
I am also scared and sad and angry for the kids. Their parent's divorce was enough of a blow. Thir recent loss of their dear Papu (grandpa in Greek, I'm told) was enough of a blow. Watching their paternal grandma fight cancer for the past several years was enough of a blow. This just seems like twist of fate of the cruelest kind.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
A double dose of bad news
Today was the most recent in a string of emotionally draining days. We have dealt with my pressure at work. Stress from ex's. Anxiety over planning a family trip. We even had a shouting match over whether or not a friend should come over the other night. All thoroughly exhausting.
And then...
Mr. T's mom has been fighting cancer for several years. It had seemed fairly optimistic for the majority of the past two. And then a few months ago it was not so much. And a new scan has revealed that it's even more not so much.
And then...
My stepkids' mom, Mrs. Ex, was diagnosed with Stage 2 breast cancer.
Really.
To say that I'm heartbroken and sad would be an understatement. I'm devastated, on all fronts. I'm terrified.
I am totally powerless.
And then...
Mr. T's mom has been fighting cancer for several years. It had seemed fairly optimistic for the majority of the past two. And then a few months ago it was not so much. And a new scan has revealed that it's even more not so much.
And then...
My stepkids' mom, Mrs. Ex, was diagnosed with Stage 2 breast cancer.
Really.
To say that I'm heartbroken and sad would be an understatement. I'm devastated, on all fronts. I'm terrified.
I am totally powerless.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Love Hurts
Love hurts, love scars
Love wounds, and marks
Any heart, not tough
Or strong enough
As a step-mom, I feel called to a number of challenging tasks. The increased workload, the additional schedules, the fine line of discipline. For me, the most difficult of all is to love them, fully and passionately.
It's not that I don't feel that way naturally, because I do. I remember the very first time I saw each of them and I distinctly remember falling in love with them that day and many other days since.
What's hard about loving them as though they were my own is simple. They're not. Although I gladly share a portion of the responsibilities for them, I am not a voting member of this congress.
This has recently come into play with Mr. T's youngest. We call him The Rockstar. The Rockstar is 8, going on 9, and is in need of some pretty heavy duty dental work. The dentist wants to put him under general anesthesia to perform this work. I feel strongly that a second opinion should be had. It doesn't seem like that will be happening, though. Bleh.
Mr. T actively seeks my ideas and feelings on kids matters and this was no different. Except this time it was different for me because I realized I was extremely anxious for this little man and I had to remind myself that he isn't mine and I don't get a say.
He's not mine.
No say.
I was called to love these kids. Somehow I loved them instantly and felt like they were home. These kids have become my kids' siblings and I feel most whole when they are with us. It hurts to be so invested and yet not really be a stakeholder.
Even though hitting this wall hurts, I believe that knowing it's there will help keep me from meddling where I don't belong. I'm strong enough to do that for them. Because I love them.
Love wounds, and marks
Any heart, not tough
Or strong enough
As a step-mom, I feel called to a number of challenging tasks. The increased workload, the additional schedules, the fine line of discipline. For me, the most difficult of all is to love them, fully and passionately.
It's not that I don't feel that way naturally, because I do. I remember the very first time I saw each of them and I distinctly remember falling in love with them that day and many other days since.
What's hard about loving them as though they were my own is simple. They're not. Although I gladly share a portion of the responsibilities for them, I am not a voting member of this congress.
This has recently come into play with Mr. T's youngest. We call him The Rockstar. The Rockstar is 8, going on 9, and is in need of some pretty heavy duty dental work. The dentist wants to put him under general anesthesia to perform this work. I feel strongly that a second opinion should be had. It doesn't seem like that will be happening, though. Bleh.
Mr. T actively seeks my ideas and feelings on kids matters and this was no different. Except this time it was different for me because I realized I was extremely anxious for this little man and I had to remind myself that he isn't mine and I don't get a say.
He's not mine.
No say.
I was called to love these kids. Somehow I loved them instantly and felt like they were home. These kids have become my kids' siblings and I feel most whole when they are with us. It hurts to be so invested and yet not really be a stakeholder.
Even though hitting this wall hurts, I believe that knowing it's there will help keep me from meddling where I don't belong. I'm strong enough to do that for them. Because I love them.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Alice, Where are you?
A few years ago, things were really different. There's plenty of time to dig into how we got here but for now, it's best if I just explain where we are.
I'm Raiye. I'm 36 and I work in IT sales.
He's Mr. T. He's also 36 and works for the developer of an open government software platform.
We first met in high school. We re-met many years later. Fell in love. Made a home together. Made a family.
Between us, we have five kids. Five kids, two exes, four families and one amazing story.
When we tell people our tale, they often laugh and call us the modern day Brady Bunch. They aren't too far off except that we don't have Alice.
I'm Raiye. I'm 36 and I work in IT sales.
He's Mr. T. He's also 36 and works for the developer of an open government software platform.
We first met in high school. We re-met many years later. Fell in love. Made a home together. Made a family.
Between us, we have five kids. Five kids, two exes, four families and one amazing story.
When we tell people our tale, they often laugh and call us the modern day Brady Bunch. They aren't too far off except that we don't have Alice.
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