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.
Do you have that one person in your life that makes you feel, well, small? I do, and for me it's my mother. I know that's very psychoanalytical or whatever, but it truly is. Growing up I can remember always being at odds with her. I was the one that was in trouble, the one that was in time out, the emotional one. As I grew up, especially my teenage years, whenever she was around me I felt tense, like I had to walk on eggshells. No matter what I did, how I acted, I couldn't make her happy. I remember this feeling so well as a teenager. I was always worried that I was going to be in trouble. I didn't drink, went to school, got good grades and took care of myself. Yet, despite this she always thought the worst in me. I remember one time I came home from a friend's house after watching movies and she started yelling at me telling me I was high. I was grounded for that. No matter what I said or did, she didn't believe me. Despite this, all i wanted was for her to respect me, to realize that I was a smart person capable of making normal decisions. Our relationship was beyond strained in my high school years. Finally,. my senior year I couldn't take it anymore and I moved out with a friend until high school was over. When I left, she told me I was not welcome in her house. It wasn't a huge fight or anything, I just knew that no matter what I was a disappointment to her. When I graduated high school, she refused to come because she was mad at me. When I applied for colleges, she did not help at all because she was mad at me. Finally, when I decided to go to Florida for college and live with my dad, she didn't say goodbye because she was mad at me. I went to college for four years and she never called, never visited, never had any interest. I remember one time she came to Florida to visit my grandfather and didn't even call to see if we could meet up for lunch. Finally, college graduation came, and you guessed it ... she was mad at me. Who knows why, she ended up leaving early. At least she saw me graduate but didn't stay for the big celebration dinner.
So, why am I venting about this 10 years later? Because, she still has the ability to make me feel totally disrespected, guilty, and doubtful of myself. Sometimes I want to just scream at her and tell her to shut up, of course I won't. I don't know why, as a 32 year old that I worry if she's mad at me. It's ridiculous. She does not respect me as a woman or more importantly as a mother.
After I got divorced ( a year ago), my ex totally ruined me financially, including putting me in 20,000 of debt. I was a stay at home mom at the time and had to wait until I could start up a teaching job again... long story short, I was broke and homeless with 2 kids. So, I had to move it with my mother. From the moment I stepped in the doors it's been tense. SHe is constantly critiziing my parenting, making small sidehanded remarks, stepping over me to disipline my kids, and overall. She can still make me feel horrible at the age of 32, and I have to keep my mouth shut because I'm in her house. It kills me emotionally.
It's taken me a year to pay off the 20,000 my ex put in my name without me knowing and to get back on my feet. Being a teacher I only bring home 600 a week, which isn't a lot when you have to pay for a car, daycare, etc... Finally, I am able to think about getting out on my own again and i can't wait. I just wish she would stop judging and be respectful.
So, there's my vent. Tonight's a night when I want to just tell her to stop, but once again I can't. I just hope I don't make my own kids feel this way too. I'm so worried about that "cycle" you always hear about. It will be broken this time.
