Praise Report

So, as some of you know, I went a little homicidal momma last week and threw my hands up to the Lord in supplication and prayer. And Jesus heard my prayers. The next day, I got a phone call from my best friend, Carrie's, brother's girlfriend who said she wanted to fly me out to Virginia as a birthday gift to Carrie. SO, I'm getting a free, all expense paid, seven day vacation!

WITHOUT JACK!!!

Jesus, I love you.

Dear Jesus...

Dear Jesus,

Today has been a hard day. I know that you know this because you saw me kick my TV and throw my sunglasses. I know you saw me crying in my kitchen because Jack wouldn't leave me alone. He just won't leave me alone.

I hate that I want him to leave me alone.

Does this make me a bad mommy, Jesus? Does sometimes regretting having a child make me bad? Because sometimes, when I think about never being able to feel carefree again, never being able to sleep in again, never being able to spontaneously decide to go somewhere without the hassle and cost of finding a babysitter I feel very, very sad. I feel trapped by my own motherhood.

He follows me around the house, whining, saying "Up up up." When I hold him he kicks and squirms to get down. When I put him back down he says, "Up up up." Sometimes I get very angry at this and yell, "What the fuck do you WANT?" I'm sure you wouldn't ever say fuck to your kids, let alone yell at them.

I am convinced that I am permanently damaging him.

Why did I do this? I can barely take care of myself, let along another human being. I feel exhausted and overwhelmed and so, so tired. And I don't see any reprieve in sight. It's not like it's Wednesday at work and Friday's a comin. There are no weekends in parenthood. I could use a weekend, Jesus.

I don't want to be a bad parent. I don't want to not enjoy him. I don't want to feel trapped here inside my apartment, inside this small space of life where I am alone with a very needy child. I don't want to be angry at him for needing me but you saw me today, Jesus, pacing in circles in my kitchen, doing anything I could to keep from screaming at him.

Jesus, I could use a little attention. I could use a little being taken care of, a little nurturing, a little support. Please send me some. Thanks.

Yours truly,

Amber.

You must immediately go and view this.

My blog best friend's (BBF's) best friend's blog is giggle-during-church funny. This is his most recent addition. Click and laugh!

Why did I EAT that?

Alright. I just ate an entire bag of Cheetos. Followed by (oh god, this is embarrassing) frozen Cool Whip with chocolate flavored Magic Shell. And I wasn't even hungry. WHY?!

I'm on the verge of something new, but altogether familiar. I'm calling it conscious consumption. Of food, of things, of information, of environment... I'm beginning to notice that I consume stuff entirely too unconsciously, barely awake, reacting to a mood or a fly-by thought. I eat because I'm anxious, waiting for a boy to call. I go shopping because I want to avoid being at home. I buy stuff to feel important, lovable, okay. I know that we all do; I know I'm not hitting on some new concept here. However, I do believe that I'm seeing a way out of it that I have never seen before: through consciousness.

Conscious consuming, to me, looks like asking the question, "Do I really need this right now?" If I had asked myself that question prior to eating the Cool Whip, the answer would have definitely been no. So then I can ask myself, "What is the Cool Whip doing for you?" To which I could answer, "It's providing a distraction." "From what?" I would ask myself. From what?

From feelings of aimlessness, dread, unworthiness. From a sense of isolation. From the incredibly overwhelming feeling of responsibility in taking care of myself and of Jack. From despair. From the nagging voice of my mother who is always telling me that I'm not doing enough.

There are a lot of things that we all do to avoid feeling this stuff and letting it wash over us. We watch TV, smoke cigarettes, drink a few beers, call a friend, shop, eat, check up on the latest Britney news, check our friend's blogs... I know I'm afraid of stillness. I think I'm afraid that all of those feelings are real and that they will overwhelm me. and that I might not ever recover from it. So I eat Cheetos.

At least, this is what I have done up until now. I'm setting an intention to be still. I'm setting the intention to ask myself the questions: Do I need it, What is it doing for me... Most importantly, I intend to ask myself, "What do I really need right now?" Most likely it's not Cheetos or something from the dollar spot at Target or another VH1 countdown. What I could use is my own company, my own presence with myself as I feel whatever sadness or depression or anxiety that I may be feeling at the moment. What I need is to be able to listen to myself fully, completely, as my best friend would, and then say with the utmost confidence, "You know what? This will pass. It always does." I need to give myself permission to fall apart, to throw a tantrum, to be in a bad mood. I need to trust that I won't get stuck in it as I go through it.

I have been exceedingly lucky to have people in my life who, through their loving friendship with me, have shown me what it looks like to treat me with compassion, grace, and unconditional love and support. It's as if Carrie and Billy and Melissa and Donovan and Lynette and Craig and Mirna and Lisa have been my guides and teachers, demonstrating to me how to be more loving with myself. I am truly grateful for having been shown the way.

And now I want to share with you what spurred on this whole shift. My friend, Kate, sent this to me a few weeks ago and I avoided it for a while because I knew it shake the ignorance out of me. Given my penchant for extremes and black and white thinking, I kept all of my radical reactions in check and have not, so far, decided to sell all of my belongings and live with Jack on a commune raising Alpaca. I did, however, rent some of the suggested books listed on the website from the library. This is just an excerpt from the actual, 20 minute video that you can see in it's entirety here.*** I highly recommend it.

The Story of Stuff


***update: The story of stuff website (http://www.storyofstuff.com/) appears to be out of commission, which sucks because there are great links to resources and easy ideas on how to get out of this cycle. I think Big Buisness had something to do with offing the website, if you know what I mean. You can see all seven chapters here. Mahalo!

Have you guys seen this?

I always hesitate before sending videos I found on youtube to my friends because inevitably they've seen it twenty times already and then I'm that friend who sends outdated, overplayed video links to their inbox. So, with that risk fully understood, I am posting Drunk History.

I cannot wait for their album.

The Clark Brothers.

What to do, what to do?

It is so hard to admit that I am not strong enough to hang out with my ex and his girlfriend and my ex's ex and her boyfriend and their kids. I just don't want to be there. I don't really like any of them and I know that they don't like me. I wish that I was able to rise above it all, like some sort of Mother Teresa who hovers above all of the awkwardness and ugliness and remains rooted in her worthiness.

But this is not me. When I am around them I look more like Britney Spears, tweeked out and angry. Being in the home of my ex and his girlfriend is like hanging out in a torturous dream where I am sitting on my old couch, looking at photos that I took and framed, playing board games with the girls that I used to tuck into bed at night. My old bed, at that. With the comforter cover that I sewed. That matches the lamp I bought. And so on.

I am not good at this. I would like to be. I would like all of this to not bother me, to be able to participate in this very non-traditional family system where half of us slept with the other half and we're all okay with this, where there are multiple stepmothers and half siblings and grandparents. I would like to be like Bruce and Demi and Ashton, but I'm just not. And I don't think I ever will be.

I've been judging myself as weak for being unable to rise above it all for the sake of the kids. I've believed that it means that I have some big character flaw, or that I'm too traditional, or that I don't love my stepdaughters or that I never did. I've bought into this belief that I shouldn't still be affected by my ex and that I should be able to be around him without walking away totally wrecked. But oh well. So I'm weak. So I'm traditional. So I'm not done being hurt. Okay.

And so I am faced with asking myself, "Is it serving me to stay involved?" The answer to this is not as simple as it may seem. First of all, it is not in my programming to serve myself or to take care of myself very well. I have been programmed to believe that to serve oneself is selfish and quite un-Christlike. I was taught to put others before myself, to place my needs to the side and ensure that everyone else around my is served first. In the past, I have done this to such an extreme that I have almost died from my own lack of self-nurturing. To give myself permission to help myself first feels nearly impossible, but I am gaining in my experience of doing so the few times I have had the courage.

One of these times was when I left my ex. Getting out of that mess of a relationship was one of the most self-serving, courageous things I have ever done. Being around him was like being around a toxic poison that I had somehow devloped an addiction to. He was no good for me. Yet, I feel a deep obligation to stay connected with his children. I truly believe that to fully remove myself from the situation would be traumatic for them. And so the dilemma emerges: take care of myself or take care of them.

I would give anything to just walk away from him completely. I would love to just have the leisure of deleting his number from my phone and never, ever having to be around his toxic energy ever again. But there are other people involved with whom I feel a duty to remain connected to. It's just not as simple as I would like it to be.

Finally, grace.

Just a moment ago, I sent off an apology email to a couple of people that I have been avoiding for over six months. I've been avoiding them because I said hurtful and ugly things about them which they overheard. I've been avoiding them because I have been too ashamed to say, "I was hurt. I was angry. I was bitter. I acted this pain out on you because I wanted you to hurt, too. And I am sorry." And by avoiding them, I hurt their kids who now believe that I don't care about them and have abandoned them.

I feel lighter, now. Sending that email was really a big gift to myself. I forgave myself and Compassion came in, soothing me with understanding and grace. I had been punishing myself ever since the mean words came out of my mouth in July and it's nice to hear myself say, "Okay, you've done your time. You can come out of that rotten prison cell of self loathing and shame now."

I understand that those I hurt may not be able to forgive me as I have and I am okay with that. I get that they may choose to protect themselves and their kids from me and this is okay. It really is. I realize that it really is my own forgiveness that I require. I need to tell myself, often, that I will make mistakes and I will hurt people and I won't be perfect in relationships or in life but that this is all okay. I am still okay. I am still worthy of my own compassion and grace, even when and if others decide to deny me theirs.

It's as if I have finally given myself permission to be imperfect. I have held myself to a standard that is quite impossible for anybody to reach. It requires that I not be human, that I never act of out fear or insecurity or anger or hurt. But I am all of these things sometimes. I am scared and I am insecure and I am angry and I am hurt. To deny these feelings is to live a smaller life, a locked up life, a constricted and stinted life. I am not interested.

As of today, I am embracing my humanity in all of its fumblings. I am human. I am silly and serious and scared and stained. I am hairy and bumpy and I don't look like the girls on MTV or in fashion magazines. NOT EVEN CLOSE. I have rolls that hang over the sides of my pants and I hate them. I am often jealous of others, especially people who seem content with their lives. I am convinced that sex with me is extremely disappointing. I am messy and inspiring and disappointing and likeable. I truly believe that if I were skinny I would be happy. I hate that I believe that. I will probably say or do something someday that will offend or hurt you and this is okay. I get it now. It really is okay.

And when and if I do, I will send you a letter asking for you to show me the same grace that I have shown myself. We're all just trying to figure out this life thing and we will bump into one another along the way. I think you're doing the best you can given what you know right now, and if I were there I would give you a high five.