hope

Hope is the one thing that has driven me since I was small.  I remember hoping my dad would stop at the ice cream shop on the way home, hoping for my cabbage patch kid, hoping my mom would say yes to having my best friend spend the night.

After I was married and had children and became settled into everyday life, hope wasn't such a big part of things anymore.  I knew that this was it, I was a teacher, married, two children.  Normal.  The beginning of my life as mom and wife were very happy and fullfilling.  All I had ever wanted was a normal family, nice home, and happiness for my children.  I guess as a child of a difficult divorce, it's  common hope... normalcy.  When life started falling apart 3 years into my marriage and serene life, hope entered the picture again.  I hoped that my husband would somehow change, that he would reform himself from a life of sociopathic behavior. That lying to me would change, that he would become a person who could follow the conduct of morality everyone else around me did.  I wasn't asking for huge things.  Just a person that didn't steal the 20000 we saved for a house, a person that didn't tell me he was going to work everyday when he really didn't have a job, just a person that didn't intercept the mail everyday so I wouldn't find out he was opening and running up debt in my name, a person that didn't make fake bank statements so I wouldn't figure things out, a person that didn't hide my bank cards or my cell phone so it was hard for me to figure it out.  Even after all this, when things were discovered, I had hope that he could change, that after therapy and some explanation we could get back to normal.  Reading this, if i were on the outside of this situation I wold have told me to RUN!! RUN as fast as you can.  But, hope for my family, for my children drove me to stay.  I convinced myself his actions were because he was depressed and ashamed about losing his job, that I put too much pressure on him to move forward with out lives. His parents agreed, they said I needed to back off, that he was depressed and didn't want to dissapoint me.  So, the hope drove me to go forward in a trustless marriage.  For a while it worked, he got a job, he told the truth, and I was very good at rationalizing anything odd that came my way.  Then it started again.  I won't go into the details, it hurts too much.  Let's just say, there was no turning back.  We left, I packed up my babies and left.  At this point, crying on the bathroom floor so the kids couldn't hear, hope was so distant.  The darkest time of my life were the first few months after our family destructed.  The worst part was it wasn't just a family affair, it was in the media, on the news, in the newspapers, talk at all the local shops and cafe's.  I developed two personas. The one that put on the strong face, that forced myself to walk into the coffee shop as the stares and whispers followed me.  The one that would go to the playground with the other mom's despite everything.  It was the "fake me", the one that smiled and played with my children.  The one that silently cried as I held my sobbing four year old to comfort him.  THe one that went on with life working, teaching, being a mom.  But, in the moments alone I would fall apart.  It would usually be in the shower, because that was the only time I was truly alone.  I would sit there, letting the water almost burn me and cry.  I would wonder how I was going to get through this, more importantly how I was going to get my two children through this.  It's weird because I was surrounded by family but completely isolated and alone. I couldn't talk about it with them because they were too emotionally connected to the circumstances.  So, I would cry in the shower.  At that point I was hopeless.

Now, coming out on the other side, the sun is shining again.  A small seed of hope has been planted in my soul again.  Most days I am happy, not faking it anymore.  In my heart I know that my kids are going to be okay, I'm not just saying it anymore because I know that's what people want to hear.  There's hope about me moving on, finding a home, being an excellent mom.  Trauma and destruction changed me for the better,  I'm healing, I'm stronger, I'm on my way, being hopeful.  A co-worker said to me last week that looking at me he would have never guessed the living nightmare I was going through was happening. He said it doesn't show in my passion for work, my dedication, my good mood.  I smiled and said thank you.  What he doesn't know is that I save my tears for those times alone.  But now, I'm happy again.  I can' only describe it like you are in a dark room and someone cracks the door with just a little light shining through.  That's where I am, opening the door and letting the light in again.  I'm excited for our future, of where we'll end up.  Hope can be allusive, but it can give you the power to come through even the toughest things.