Imagine with me for a minute that a person exists with a tremendous natural gift for music which has been honed through years of practice, education, and experience. This person has a fair amount of talent, and her friends often comment that she is able to find the most unusual, but beautiful, harmonies for even unexpected melodies. Over the years, she has educated herself in all things musical, both with self-education found in her hours of practice and listening to the beautiful music of others, as well as a smattering of formal lessons and education along the way. She finds the beauty in almost every song she hears, no matter how unusual it may be, and her mind is constantly filled with some song or another-- replaying something beautiful or haunting that she's recently heard, or imagining up some melody of her own to keep her company.
She loves to have time to play or sing, but is still enough of a technician to easily read almost all of the sheets of music placed before her. In a symphony setting, playing off the same sheet of music with a group of friends equally committed to technical integrity, and with similar appreciation for musical beauty, she shines as a musician, combining both skill and artistry, enjoying the experience, leaving the concert full of energy, awe, and joy. Playing on her own, she is even more able to be lost in the experience, transformed by it, grown through it. With a small group of close friends, she's even able to improvise, lose sight of the technical details and just make music, play, share in the common experience of joy through music, no sheet music required.
But taken out of her comfort zone, placed into a group of people she is only now getting to know, things are more difficult. Attempting to get lost in the free-flow of playing together, she's never quite sure what she's supposed to be doing, not having the benefit of a few years of jamming with each other to draw upon. She knows she can fall back on using the sheet music and technical know-how as her cheat sheet, but then she's so busy following along that she misses out on much of the passion and beauty of the music, and leaves more mentally exhausted than emotionally refreshed. And it sucks, because she knows she's really damn good at music-- technically and casually-- and should be better than this.
And she knows that she can read people like a sheet of music, and craves social outlets, and loves experiencing that connection, no matter how momentary, or realizing that someone else is playing along with you, joining you in the joy of it all, and that the few of you are lost together, for the moment, in each others' company, and it is wonderful. It's wonderful, that is, when you know who you're playing with, and there's a comfort level there that precludes any need to censor or fear, and you can just put away the technical notes penciled into the margins of the sheet music, and Play. Be. Live. Love.
But for whatever reason, playing with the new crowd, she can't seem to get her footing to feel safe enough to put that stupid sheet music away, quit trying to figure out where things are going, and stop herself from over-analyzing every comment, every glance, every omission, for clues as to where things really stand (since most people, if we'll admit it, aren't often very transparent or straightforward about our intentions or opinions). It's exhausting.
Maybe I will become a hermit. Maybe I'll allow myself to slowly start turning into one of those crazy old cat ladies who lives in the house with the darkened windows, about whom all the neighbor kids tell ghost stories, and whose friendly "hello" to the kids as they pass by is enough to send them scattering in fear because she's just so damned WEIRD. Maybe I'll wear the same creepy gold lamé sweatsuit every day, with matching sequined slippers, and sip appletinis on my front porch all day long, every day, stopping only occasionally to cat-call the lawn guys. Maybe I'll just hang out with my husband, and do the best I can with my kids, and accept that in spite of my intense craving for friendship, that I am just destined to be a recluse.
Or maybe, if I'm lucky, things will get better. I just want some normal damn friends. Friends who are in similar places in their lives. Friends I don't have to keep secret. Friends who tell me what's going on so I don't have to intuit. Friends who treat each other with integrity and kindness.
Showing posts with label self pity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label self pity. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
Thursday, December 01, 2005
wrestling with shadows
"For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places" (Ephesians 6:12, KJV).
I've been thinking a lot about betrayal the past couple of weeks. One day, you're plugging along at your life and everything feels fine. It might not be fabulous, and you might kind of sense that something is not right. The occasional thing might seem just a wee bit out of place, and you might start to suspect that some rough waters might lie ahead. Then it hits you... hard. And you realize how completely unprepared you really were for what actually happened. The rough waters you had anticipated might come years down the road rush in over your head, and you're not sure if you have the energy or drive to keep your head up. Currents of anger, hopelessness, and heartache pull at the stability you've come to cling to, and the very people you've always turned to to sustain you through rough times are either shut down, shut out, or clueless. You feel isolated, resentful, and lost, at the same time knowing that somehow you have to find it in you to use what you know to be true, to call upon the God who will never fail you, and to pull yourself out of your river of self-pity.
It sucks.
In my 12 years as an "adult," I've experienced 3 major betrayals. Three times, someone who has had my heart and my trust has completely torn me to shreds. The first time was the discovery that someone I loved romantically had been living a double life for over a year, all the time without my knowledge. The second was when someone who had been a mentor, employer, mother-figure, and friend was revealed to sometimes be a liar, an addict, and a fraud. The third... well, two weeks is not very long. There will come a time when the shock has settled a bit and life has reestablished itself (albeit a completely different life, with family relationships that are forever altered)... that time may open a door that makes it less painful to talk details. But for now, the wounds are fresh enough to hurt like hell, but beginning to heal enough that I can reflect a bit more clearly.
And truthfully, after a bit of reflection, I don't want to wrestle against principalities and powers. I want flesh and blood-- a real, live person to blame, to hate, to label my enemy and seethe over forever. From the weakness of my anger, I want to know that there is someone to punish-- someone who can be made to hurt as badly as I do, to cry as much as I have. This is what makes a complete and total betrayal so frustrating: you have all these hateful and confused feelings targeted at someone you've loved, trusted, and protected. You have a mind full of loving memories that you now want to erase-- that you feel like an idiot for ever taking as reality in the first place. You think of how many times you've put your ass on the line, sacrificed your own goals, and given nothing but support and encouragement to the one who betrayed you, and the more you think about it, the more you want SOMEONE-- flesh and blood-- against whom to channel all this anger.
And it starts to hurt so badly that you lose sight of who you are, what you're really capable of accomplishing, and what you believe. It hurts so badly that you almost wish you could go back to blissful unawareness of everything that was going on all along, right underneath your nose, even though you KNOW deep inside that ignorance is never a solution. The place of ignorance is a place where things seem to be okay, but the longer you go without knowing or understanding what truth is, the harder it will be when the blinders are finally removed from your eyes. Truth sometimes hurts. Truth sometimes reveals betrayals. But truth, however painful, is the only foundation upon which we can build lives that are well-rounded, centered, and healthy. Truth is the only space in which integrity can exist, and is the only option for true seeker. Lies, manipulations, excuses-- they only deceive us into believing in our safety and security, particularly the lies we tell ourselves.
I want flesh and blood. I want my anger. I want to gather up everything I know could spiritually bolster me or lift me up and lay it aside. I want to rage against everything and everyone who has ever kicked me down, to throw them up against the wall and show them that I am bigger than their stupid and selfish betrayals.
But I won't. Because as much as my heart may stray, out of the sheer shock and confusion of the situation, toward malice and revenge, it also belongs to a Power that is greater than me. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me, even if it means reigning in the emotions of my human nature, validating and blessing them, and then letting them go-- offering them on the altar of my being as a sacrifice to a God whose compassion is sufficient even for me and my heartache. I have allowed these human thoughts to bounce around in my mind and heart for a few weeks, and they have brought me no solace. I have prayed, every morning, every day, and every night (and many times in between), for God to take this burden from my heart and replace it with a peace so profound that rushing waters only pour through, without disrupting, without displacing, without disturbing. I offer it all up to You, my God, so that perhaps, through whatever my family and I are experiencing, Your power to overcome will be revealed to someone whose faith is faltering... someone like me.
It also occurs to me that if we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, then we cannot win with flesh and blood as our weapons. Whatever it is we are battling, it will not be overcome through violence, stubbornness, vengeance, anger, human will, force, or reason. It can only be overcome by the principalities and powers opposed to those of the rulers of darkness. It can only be overcome by truth, honesty, integrity, love, prayer, faith, and justice-- all poured into a situation by the One who is their source. Acknowledging God as the source of all that can bring me to victory in this, and any other situation, a great weight is lifted and the need to exact a justice of my own diminishes. I realize that even on my best day, I am thoroughly unequipped for dealing with those things that hurt me, and must rely, for my very existence, on the One whose power is infinitely greater than my own. What I am going through now-- what we all go through when we question ourselves, feel like life as we know it is falling apart, or are utterly betrayed by someone we loved-- cannot be fixed or battled with flesh, blood, tears, anger, legal systems, or earthly justice. These things may all be part of the process we go through as people, but they are not part of the ultimate solution. It is so much bigger than we can fathom from the closed-in confines of our simple minds-- so much more awesome and ineffable. And whoever betrays you-- they aren't your real enemy anyway. Throwing darts at shadows is a silly pastime.
I think that I'm starting to crawl out of whatever hole I had allowed myself to be thrown into these past few weeks. I didn't cry today, and didn't cry yesterday. Two days-- small victories. But it means so much more. Because inside, I'm starting to feel stronger... like someone who is going to emerge from a hole as more than just a survivor. I feel strengthened, empowered, and confident, because I know my heart, however human, is blessed by a faith that can overcome anything. The process isn't finished-- Jesus overturned the tables of the money collectors in the temple; he didn't just sit silently praying until they overturned themselves. I know what I'm up against, and I am ready. Not because of me, but because of the principalities and powers to whom I've devoted my life. If I must wrestle, God, please let it be using the blessings and weapons You've placed into my hands, and with a courage, strength, and grace that would reflect Your love and mercy.
I've been thinking a lot about betrayal the past couple of weeks. One day, you're plugging along at your life and everything feels fine. It might not be fabulous, and you might kind of sense that something is not right. The occasional thing might seem just a wee bit out of place, and you might start to suspect that some rough waters might lie ahead. Then it hits you... hard. And you realize how completely unprepared you really were for what actually happened. The rough waters you had anticipated might come years down the road rush in over your head, and you're not sure if you have the energy or drive to keep your head up. Currents of anger, hopelessness, and heartache pull at the stability you've come to cling to, and the very people you've always turned to to sustain you through rough times are either shut down, shut out, or clueless. You feel isolated, resentful, and lost, at the same time knowing that somehow you have to find it in you to use what you know to be true, to call upon the God who will never fail you, and to pull yourself out of your river of self-pity.
It sucks.
In my 12 years as an "adult," I've experienced 3 major betrayals. Three times, someone who has had my heart and my trust has completely torn me to shreds. The first time was the discovery that someone I loved romantically had been living a double life for over a year, all the time without my knowledge. The second was when someone who had been a mentor, employer, mother-figure, and friend was revealed to sometimes be a liar, an addict, and a fraud. The third... well, two weeks is not very long. There will come a time when the shock has settled a bit and life has reestablished itself (albeit a completely different life, with family relationships that are forever altered)... that time may open a door that makes it less painful to talk details. But for now, the wounds are fresh enough to hurt like hell, but beginning to heal enough that I can reflect a bit more clearly.
And truthfully, after a bit of reflection, I don't want to wrestle against principalities and powers. I want flesh and blood-- a real, live person to blame, to hate, to label my enemy and seethe over forever. From the weakness of my anger, I want to know that there is someone to punish-- someone who can be made to hurt as badly as I do, to cry as much as I have. This is what makes a complete and total betrayal so frustrating: you have all these hateful and confused feelings targeted at someone you've loved, trusted, and protected. You have a mind full of loving memories that you now want to erase-- that you feel like an idiot for ever taking as reality in the first place. You think of how many times you've put your ass on the line, sacrificed your own goals, and given nothing but support and encouragement to the one who betrayed you, and the more you think about it, the more you want SOMEONE-- flesh and blood-- against whom to channel all this anger.
And it starts to hurt so badly that you lose sight of who you are, what you're really capable of accomplishing, and what you believe. It hurts so badly that you almost wish you could go back to blissful unawareness of everything that was going on all along, right underneath your nose, even though you KNOW deep inside that ignorance is never a solution. The place of ignorance is a place where things seem to be okay, but the longer you go without knowing or understanding what truth is, the harder it will be when the blinders are finally removed from your eyes. Truth sometimes hurts. Truth sometimes reveals betrayals. But truth, however painful, is the only foundation upon which we can build lives that are well-rounded, centered, and healthy. Truth is the only space in which integrity can exist, and is the only option for true seeker. Lies, manipulations, excuses-- they only deceive us into believing in our safety and security, particularly the lies we tell ourselves.
I want flesh and blood. I want my anger. I want to gather up everything I know could spiritually bolster me or lift me up and lay it aside. I want to rage against everything and everyone who has ever kicked me down, to throw them up against the wall and show them that I am bigger than their stupid and selfish betrayals.
But I won't. Because as much as my heart may stray, out of the sheer shock and confusion of the situation, toward malice and revenge, it also belongs to a Power that is greater than me. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me, even if it means reigning in the emotions of my human nature, validating and blessing them, and then letting them go-- offering them on the altar of my being as a sacrifice to a God whose compassion is sufficient even for me and my heartache. I have allowed these human thoughts to bounce around in my mind and heart for a few weeks, and they have brought me no solace. I have prayed, every morning, every day, and every night (and many times in between), for God to take this burden from my heart and replace it with a peace so profound that rushing waters only pour through, without disrupting, without displacing, without disturbing. I offer it all up to You, my God, so that perhaps, through whatever my family and I are experiencing, Your power to overcome will be revealed to someone whose faith is faltering... someone like me.
It also occurs to me that if we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, then we cannot win with flesh and blood as our weapons. Whatever it is we are battling, it will not be overcome through violence, stubbornness, vengeance, anger, human will, force, or reason. It can only be overcome by the principalities and powers opposed to those of the rulers of darkness. It can only be overcome by truth, honesty, integrity, love, prayer, faith, and justice-- all poured into a situation by the One who is their source. Acknowledging God as the source of all that can bring me to victory in this, and any other situation, a great weight is lifted and the need to exact a justice of my own diminishes. I realize that even on my best day, I am thoroughly unequipped for dealing with those things that hurt me, and must rely, for my very existence, on the One whose power is infinitely greater than my own. What I am going through now-- what we all go through when we question ourselves, feel like life as we know it is falling apart, or are utterly betrayed by someone we loved-- cannot be fixed or battled with flesh, blood, tears, anger, legal systems, or earthly justice. These things may all be part of the process we go through as people, but they are not part of the ultimate solution. It is so much bigger than we can fathom from the closed-in confines of our simple minds-- so much more awesome and ineffable. And whoever betrays you-- they aren't your real enemy anyway. Throwing darts at shadows is a silly pastime.
I think that I'm starting to crawl out of whatever hole I had allowed myself to be thrown into these past few weeks. I didn't cry today, and didn't cry yesterday. Two days-- small victories. But it means so much more. Because inside, I'm starting to feel stronger... like someone who is going to emerge from a hole as more than just a survivor. I feel strengthened, empowered, and confident, because I know my heart, however human, is blessed by a faith that can overcome anything. The process isn't finished-- Jesus overturned the tables of the money collectors in the temple; he didn't just sit silently praying until they overturned themselves. I know what I'm up against, and I am ready. Not because of me, but because of the principalities and powers to whom I've devoted my life. If I must wrestle, God, please let it be using the blessings and weapons You've placed into my hands, and with a courage, strength, and grace that would reflect Your love and mercy.
Saturday, November 19, 2005
...
There are some things you share in an unprotected public forum. And then there are things you work through privately, within the safety of your own family. Grief so profound and rage so intense-- there is no appropriate public forum. Only a parent could understand.... It's been a rough 34 hours.
Friday, October 07, 2005
Just a little self pity and anger...
For those of you who would prefer to see me as happy, well-adjusted, and living the good life, close your browser and go home. Now.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
I’m on the outside looking in at someone else’s happy life.
Ever feel that way ?
I don’t even know what the divorce numbers are now-- what is it-- half of all marriage end in divorce, huge numbers of kids living away from at least one biological parent? Pretty sad. Most of them living with moms, only seeing their dads as custodial agreements agree. There are so many kids who see their biological dads either as absentee jerks who can’t seem to get it together, or get to watch from the outside as dads move on to find their own happiness.
I’ve never been divorced. But my oldest child is from previous relationship. He’s the joy of my heart and the delight of my life. He is so completely precious, brilliant, compassionate, pensive, and special that I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to be deeply a part of his beautiful life. His father, when he was conceived, was going through a divorce that existed only in his heart and mind and lies. He was stupid, and a liar, and manipulative. After his real divorce, he went through a few years of just plain being stupid. He would come to visit our son only when he knew I wasn’t seeing anyone. He was regular as ex-lax when it came to paying child support-- anything to keep me away, and keep me from pursuing a deeper relationship between him and our son. And he saw his child once every 12-24 months, when I made it convenient.
The standard script goes a little something like this:
Me: Hey, we’re going to be coming through Atlanta next weekend on our way to Birmingham. Would you like to get together and see ____?
Dad: Oh, let me check... Yep, I have a 9:30 business meeting, but I bet I could work you in for an 8:15 breakfast at Shoney's. I just won’t be able to stay long.
I’m really not making that up. That is how the past 5 visits have been arranged (the only 5 visits that have happened in the past 6 years, just as a note). There have been promises of visits, last minute cancellations, and other lies and let-downs.
6 years ago, I married an amazing man with awesome integrity and a gentle spirit. I never told my son to call him “Daddy;” it just happened over the first year we were together. He is (like me) a child of divorce, and is the father of all three of my children, nevermind the biology. He’s incredible, and I could never express how thankful I am to have him in my life, and our sons' lives. Whenever my oldest’s biodad would cancel another visit, tell another lie, or make another excuse, I had two comforts. First, my son has a dad, even if the biodad is a sorry excuse for a human. Second, I comforted myself in the knowledge that biodad has made life choices and career decisions that have simply created in him someone who is not capable of being a dad. He wasn’t able to be a dad to his first 5 children or to our son; he’s just not dad material, which is a sad and sorry state for him to be in, given that he has fathered so many children. So many precious moments he’s missing-- so many sweet kisses and bedtime giggles and dinner table stories. I’ve tried to mitigate my anger all these years by telling myself that he is just not dad material. He’s a rotten dad, he’s finally realized it, and he is cutting loose and moving on.
Sometime early in 2005, we had scheduled another extremely convenient lunch date for our son to see his biodad. It was cancelled 3 hours before the start time because (surprise surprise) “non-dad material” biodad and his “career-minded, doesn’t want children” third wife were in the hospital, welcoming a new baby. I thought he was insane, having another kid to neglect, and we didn’t hear from him again for months. When he did eventually call, he told me about the web site where our son could see pictures of his new baby half-brother (the half-brother he will probably never see, if the current pattern keeps up).
When I went to the site, expecting a few portraits, instead I found tens upon tens of pictures of a beautiful, happy, loving, joyful family. All these years of his misery, I’ve been praying for him to be happy, thinking that a more emotionally healthy and happy biodad would be in the best interest of our son. And now I was sitting at the computer looking at biodad’s happy, healthy family, and had never felt more pain. If he had it in him to be a dad, even a sort-of bad one, but an involved dad nonetheless, then WHY HASN’T HE BEEN DOING IT ALL THESE YEARS? WHY ISN’T HE DOING IT NOW, FOR HIS LOST SON????
..........
Today, my dad hurt my feelings. A little hurt-- tiny like the point of a needle-- touching the balloon of pent-up heartache and anger that’s been building for a while. I don’t remember my parents ever living together. My only childhood memories of his involvement in my life (up until I could drive and go to visit him myself) were that he sent a little over $200 a month for child support, even when his income increased far beyond what it was in 1980, when that amount was determined; that I saw him 2-3 times a year, most years, and that we did lots of fun stuff when I’d go to be with him; that he didn’t protect me from the step-brother who was thankfully only in my life for a short time; that he could play songs on the guitar that made me laugh; and that I always liked his third (and current, and last) wife a lot, even though they didn’t invite me to their wedding. I still idealized him in the way that daughters do when they don’t live with their fathers, and thought he hung the moon because he never hit me and his house was big and old. I had a step-father, too, but we never got along [{---understatement], and it wasn’t until I was an adult that I fully came to appreciate that he did love me, but in his own way.
At 18, when I went through a particularly angry phase, I couldn’t stand either of them, to be honest-- my step-father for being who he was, and my father for coming in after 18 years of being (in my eyes) a non-parent, suddenly ready to be the dad that he never had been. By 21, I loved them both very much, although there will always still be moments of hurt and confusion, and many tears cried (some of the inherent risks of being part of a family). I’m 30 now, and I understand that everyone is human; everyone is going to have times when they inadvertently hurt someone else. But it still hurts, even after quite a few years.
And when my dad hurts me, like he did today (certainly without meaning to, and probably without even realizing he had), it reminds me what it feels like to be on the outside looking in at someone else’s father-of-the-year. I’ve never lived in the same town as him until the past year, and I’ve never been around his family quite as much to see what they’re like. We’re learning how to live near each other again, how to work together, and how each other operates. And maybe the hurts are happening now that I managed to escape with 25 years of scheduled visitation and weekend get-togethers. And when it happens, it makes me do a little mental housecleaning and sorting out of old memories.
For example, here’s a few things my stepfather has never done:
Told me it would cramp his lifestyle to have me living with him.
Told me I couldn’t come to something he was doing because it was family only.
Made me feel like I was in any way not a part of his family.
He’s done things that made me hate him when I was younger, so much so that I sometimes (in the angst of my teenage frustrations) envied kids who had the guts to kill their parents. But he has always been unhestitatingly, unreservedly, and unapologetically my dad. There has never once been a single thing he has offered my brother and sister that he didn’t offer me, never a thing they were invited to that I wasn’t, and never once a time that he withheld something from me that he had to give. I don’t think I ever told him enough how much I love him; I was too busy expecting him to be something he wasn’t. Expecting him to somehow be something for me that even my own biological dad wasn’t.
...............
Every parent has flaws. There isn’t a single one of us who doesn’t at some point say or do something to or about our children that hurts them deeply. There isn’t a single one of us who has found the book or video that explains how to raise a child. None of us has cornered the market on being a perfect parent, and none of us, no matter how idealized or hated we may be by our children at times, has cornered the market on being a bad parent, either. We’re all a little bit of both, depending on the time of day and the mood of the moment, and we’re all living this same human experience in the best way we think we can.
I love both of my dads, neither more than the other. The older I get and the more I live as a mother, the more I realize how important they both are to me, and how much power they still wield to comfort or break my heart. I’m a grown woman, a wife, and a mother to my own children, and yet somehow, in spite of my best efforts and against my better judgment, I’m still in love with my dads. I wish they could see that.
.............
I’m on the outside looking in at someone else’s happy life
watching the parents I never had raise the child I’ll never be...
Feeling lost, trying hard,
still trying to do enough be enough love enough
(like a stupid little girl that thinks she can fix her parents by just being good)
yet knowing all along that it’s all just a ruse
and I’ll always be looking in from the outside.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
I’m on the outside looking in at someone else’s happy life.
Ever feel that way ?
I don’t even know what the divorce numbers are now-- what is it-- half of all marriage end in divorce, huge numbers of kids living away from at least one biological parent? Pretty sad. Most of them living with moms, only seeing their dads as custodial agreements agree. There are so many kids who see their biological dads either as absentee jerks who can’t seem to get it together, or get to watch from the outside as dads move on to find their own happiness.
I’ve never been divorced. But my oldest child is from previous relationship. He’s the joy of my heart and the delight of my life. He is so completely precious, brilliant, compassionate, pensive, and special that I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to be deeply a part of his beautiful life. His father, when he was conceived, was going through a divorce that existed only in his heart and mind and lies. He was stupid, and a liar, and manipulative. After his real divorce, he went through a few years of just plain being stupid. He would come to visit our son only when he knew I wasn’t seeing anyone. He was regular as ex-lax when it came to paying child support-- anything to keep me away, and keep me from pursuing a deeper relationship between him and our son. And he saw his child once every 12-24 months, when I made it convenient.
The standard script goes a little something like this:
Me: Hey, we’re going to be coming through Atlanta next weekend on our way to Birmingham. Would you like to get together and see ____?
Dad: Oh, let me check... Yep, I have a 9:30 business meeting, but I bet I could work you in for an 8:15 breakfast at Shoney's. I just won’t be able to stay long.
I’m really not making that up. That is how the past 5 visits have been arranged (the only 5 visits that have happened in the past 6 years, just as a note). There have been promises of visits, last minute cancellations, and other lies and let-downs.
6 years ago, I married an amazing man with awesome integrity and a gentle spirit. I never told my son to call him “Daddy;” it just happened over the first year we were together. He is (like me) a child of divorce, and is the father of all three of my children, nevermind the biology. He’s incredible, and I could never express how thankful I am to have him in my life, and our sons' lives. Whenever my oldest’s biodad would cancel another visit, tell another lie, or make another excuse, I had two comforts. First, my son has a dad, even if the biodad is a sorry excuse for a human. Second, I comforted myself in the knowledge that biodad has made life choices and career decisions that have simply created in him someone who is not capable of being a dad. He wasn’t able to be a dad to his first 5 children or to our son; he’s just not dad material, which is a sad and sorry state for him to be in, given that he has fathered so many children. So many precious moments he’s missing-- so many sweet kisses and bedtime giggles and dinner table stories. I’ve tried to mitigate my anger all these years by telling myself that he is just not dad material. He’s a rotten dad, he’s finally realized it, and he is cutting loose and moving on.
Sometime early in 2005, we had scheduled another extremely convenient lunch date for our son to see his biodad. It was cancelled 3 hours before the start time because (surprise surprise) “non-dad material” biodad and his “career-minded, doesn’t want children” third wife were in the hospital, welcoming a new baby. I thought he was insane, having another kid to neglect, and we didn’t hear from him again for months. When he did eventually call, he told me about the web site where our son could see pictures of his new baby half-brother (the half-brother he will probably never see, if the current pattern keeps up).
When I went to the site, expecting a few portraits, instead I found tens upon tens of pictures of a beautiful, happy, loving, joyful family. All these years of his misery, I’ve been praying for him to be happy, thinking that a more emotionally healthy and happy biodad would be in the best interest of our son. And now I was sitting at the computer looking at biodad’s happy, healthy family, and had never felt more pain. If he had it in him to be a dad, even a sort-of bad one, but an involved dad nonetheless, then WHY HASN’T HE BEEN DOING IT ALL THESE YEARS? WHY ISN’T HE DOING IT NOW, FOR HIS LOST SON????
..........
Today, my dad hurt my feelings. A little hurt-- tiny like the point of a needle-- touching the balloon of pent-up heartache and anger that’s been building for a while. I don’t remember my parents ever living together. My only childhood memories of his involvement in my life (up until I could drive and go to visit him myself) were that he sent a little over $200 a month for child support, even when his income increased far beyond what it was in 1980, when that amount was determined; that I saw him 2-3 times a year, most years, and that we did lots of fun stuff when I’d go to be with him; that he didn’t protect me from the step-brother who was thankfully only in my life for a short time; that he could play songs on the guitar that made me laugh; and that I always liked his third (and current, and last) wife a lot, even though they didn’t invite me to their wedding. I still idealized him in the way that daughters do when they don’t live with their fathers, and thought he hung the moon because he never hit me and his house was big and old. I had a step-father, too, but we never got along [{---understatement], and it wasn’t until I was an adult that I fully came to appreciate that he did love me, but in his own way.
At 18, when I went through a particularly angry phase, I couldn’t stand either of them, to be honest-- my step-father for being who he was, and my father for coming in after 18 years of being (in my eyes) a non-parent, suddenly ready to be the dad that he never had been. By 21, I loved them both very much, although there will always still be moments of hurt and confusion, and many tears cried (some of the inherent risks of being part of a family). I’m 30 now, and I understand that everyone is human; everyone is going to have times when they inadvertently hurt someone else. But it still hurts, even after quite a few years.
And when my dad hurts me, like he did today (certainly without meaning to, and probably without even realizing he had), it reminds me what it feels like to be on the outside looking in at someone else’s father-of-the-year. I’ve never lived in the same town as him until the past year, and I’ve never been around his family quite as much to see what they’re like. We’re learning how to live near each other again, how to work together, and how each other operates. And maybe the hurts are happening now that I managed to escape with 25 years of scheduled visitation and weekend get-togethers. And when it happens, it makes me do a little mental housecleaning and sorting out of old memories.
For example, here’s a few things my stepfather has never done:
Told me it would cramp his lifestyle to have me living with him.
Told me I couldn’t come to something he was doing because it was family only.
Made me feel like I was in any way not a part of his family.
He’s done things that made me hate him when I was younger, so much so that I sometimes (in the angst of my teenage frustrations) envied kids who had the guts to kill their parents. But he has always been unhestitatingly, unreservedly, and unapologetically my dad. There has never once been a single thing he has offered my brother and sister that he didn’t offer me, never a thing they were invited to that I wasn’t, and never once a time that he withheld something from me that he had to give. I don’t think I ever told him enough how much I love him; I was too busy expecting him to be something he wasn’t. Expecting him to somehow be something for me that even my own biological dad wasn’t.
...............
Every parent has flaws. There isn’t a single one of us who doesn’t at some point say or do something to or about our children that hurts them deeply. There isn’t a single one of us who has found the book or video that explains how to raise a child. None of us has cornered the market on being a perfect parent, and none of us, no matter how idealized or hated we may be by our children at times, has cornered the market on being a bad parent, either. We’re all a little bit of both, depending on the time of day and the mood of the moment, and we’re all living this same human experience in the best way we think we can.
I love both of my dads, neither more than the other. The older I get and the more I live as a mother, the more I realize how important they both are to me, and how much power they still wield to comfort or break my heart. I’m a grown woman, a wife, and a mother to my own children, and yet somehow, in spite of my best efforts and against my better judgment, I’m still in love with my dads. I wish they could see that.
.............
I’m on the outside looking in at someone else’s happy life
watching the parents I never had raise the child I’ll never be...
Feeling lost, trying hard,
still trying to do enough be enough love enough
(like a stupid little girl that thinks she can fix her parents by just being good)
yet knowing all along that it’s all just a ruse
and I’ll always be looking in from the outside.
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