Divine secrets of the single-motherhood

Every marriage is different.  What makes it work, what makes it fail; each marriage has it's own triggers for failure and catalysts for succes.  The thought that I could get into a healthy marriage and destroy it is laughable.  The supposition that I WOULD get into any marriage with the intent to destroy it is ludicrous.

I'm a divorced woman that lived in an unhappy, unhealthy marriage for five long years.  I struggled to discover the paths available to me and clawed my way onto my current path constantly second-guessing myself and wondering if I was doing the right thing.  Every decision I've made has been for the betterment of my son.  Every.  Single.  One.  It was, and still is, incredibly hard because there is no manual.

This is not a life that I would wish on anyone.  Single motherhood is no joke.  It isn't easy.  It isn't for the weak of heart, and it isn't for everyone.

I've been accused many times of wanting my friends to be divorced, too.  Of actively trying to destroy a marriage in the hopes of having a single playmate.  You know, the whole misery loves company theory.  I typically don't give the accusation much thought or care because they're coming from power-hungry husbands that have lost control of their wives.  Although it won't be the last, this last accusation hurt because it meant the possible loss of a friendship that would feel an awful lot like losing family.

Quite possibly, I need to repeat myself.  This is not a life I would wish on anyone.  This is not a singles playground where we run around having boat loads of fun like we're starring in some sort of tampon commercial.  There is no divine secrets of the single-motherhood club where we have time for our misery to commiserate.  This is constant work and worry from the minute you wake up to long after you go to sleep.  More often than not, sleep is fleeting when you factor in a growing business, exercise, sickness, nightmares, leg cramps, allergies, and a geriatric dog.  There is no passing off any chore, at all, when you have too much on your plate or are exhausted or have hit your limit.  You hit your limit often.  You don't believe when people tell you you're doing a good job, and everyone feels they have the right to tell you when you mess up.  And you mess up a lot.

My struggles over the past several years have taught me many things.  I've learned that I'm stronger than I ever considered possible.  I've learned that life rarely turns out the way you expect.  I've learned that I have it way better than most single moms out there.  I've also learned that every person has to find their own way to discovering their perfect path.  There is only one person on earth whom I have the right and the obligation to correct or direct.  That is my son.  The rest of you have the absolute right to screw up, and I have the right to support you and care for you with no judgements, reprimands, or corrections.  It is not my job to tell you you're wrong, and it is not your job to expect me to.

To all of the husbands that think I'm trying to sink their marriage: bite me.  There are only two people that can sink your marriage.  You and your spouse.  If you've built a foundation of love based on mutual trust, respect, consideration, and partnership, then there's nothing or no one that can break your house.  You wanna blame someone?  Look in the mirror.  Leave me out of it.

Tomorrow is yours to change, not yesterday!

I'm mopping my floors with a gangload of Eminem, Akon, Pitbull and... Sting (I gotta keep it real, folks) on my iPod, dance mopping with a vengeance, and counseling a cousin that is going through the same things I've experienced, both recently and in the past.

She and I are more similar than I've ever known, and I'm enjoying the similarities immensely.  Until it comes to the negative parts of our personalities.  You have to understand, we were brought up in a fiercely loyal and loving family that also took passive aggressive behavior to Olympic levels, thinks failing is worse than death, and cultures setting ourselves up for failure by expecting more from ourselves (and others) than can ever be delivered.  We come by it honestly.  It isn't our fault that we are this way, but it is our fault that we stay this way.

Me?  I graduated college and had no idea what to do with my life, so I went to graduate school.  I had already "failed" because I chose a major that my dad thought was weak and "a cop-out", so maybe graduate school would give me direction.  Don't get me wrong, I worked HARD and maintained a B+ average in a difficult, accelerated business management masters program, but I was no closer to a life direction than at my first graduation.  I shunned the college's career placement program convinced that I could do it all on my own.  The economy (and job market) were on a decline... then 9-11 happened.

Flash forward 10 years (I know I'm old, OK?) and I've worked retail and several dead-end, white collar jobs for majorly insane a-holes (I mean Kevin Spacey in Horrible Bosses a-holes) with skills out the yin yang but a horrible resume and a career-killing toddler.  I tried a business and I failed miserably.  I tried marriage and failed miserably.  I live off my parents for rent and have been accused of being no better than a welfare mother (by a therapist that falls in that majorly insane a-hole category).  I have failed at every single thing in my life - hopefully other than motherhood; I can't fail at that.

It's when I realized that failure isn't the end of the world that I turned myself around.  FAILURE HAS NO BEARING ON WHO I AM OR IF I AM A GOOD PERSON.  Period.  I have nowhere to go but up, and that's why I will be a success this time because I have already failed miserably and didn't die.  A friend recently told me that you can't see God's hands reaching out toward us with the offer of help until we are flat on our backs and looking up.  However you look at it, failure is just another way to grow.

I changed to always trying to find the positive in everything.  I look back at how much time I wasted waiting for someone else to ensure my happiness and smack my forehead because happiness is a state of mind, not something another person can give you.  It isn't easy, but I choose to be happy.  Don't get me wrong, I have my moments and even my days when I trip.  I have a pity party of one (sometimes more if I can convince anyone else to join me) then I pick myself up by the scruff of my neck and force myself back on path.  I'm truly happier than I have ever been, and this is the hardest my life has ever been.

I have way more than people in my position could ever hope to have.  Instead of looking at the fact that I don't have a job or a chance at a job or a home or a husband or many friends (depressing, isn't it?), I choose to look at the fact that I have the most amazing son in the world.  I have a large family that loves me, no matter what, failure and all.  I have a roof over my head that - for now - I don't have to share with anyone but my son.  I have talent, a lot of it, and I have the smarts - and now the drive - to turn that talent into a way to stand on my own two feet financially.

Happiness is a state of mind.  Rather than looking back and lamenting over things that can't be changed, remember that tomorrow is never guaranteed.  You can never get this moment back, so make it one that you will never regret.  Tomorrow is yours to change, not yesterday!

Seeing Past the Scars on Our Soul

I was recently reading a novel about breakups whose story was a bit on the stupid side but whose message was pretty profound.  It made me think.  Hard.  About why we do what we do during the relationship then feel the way we feel after the breakup.

Now, I will say that I have had a complete thought-process overhaul since my husband and I decided to divorce, but the epiphany I had at one point in this book is worth sharing.

Too often us women feel that we have to change certain behaviors inherent to our personalities in order to please the man that we are dating (or married).  It seems so silly when you see it written in black and white on this screen, but it is something hard programmed into our psyches and something we rarely actually think through.  We just do.

For example, I have a cousin going through a tough breakup that takes me back my own days of heartache.  The "why wasn't I enough?"s and the "what can I change about me to make him love me again?"s and the constant state of denial that the relationship has long-since been over.  I've been there.  Many times.  But here's (finally) what I realized:

Let's say that I was covered from head to toe with scars.  Big ones, little ones, disfiguring ones.  They are scars, so I can't do anything about them.  They are a part of me, but they don't define me.  And... I would never date a man who could only see those scars when he looks at me.  He wouldn't be good enough for me.  Period.

Every bad thing that happened to me has cut my soul.  Some cuts are small like paper cuts and heal without notice.  Others are huge, gaping, disfiguring scars that will be with me forever.  All of them tell a story of how I got to be me.

Now, my cousin pointed out that there's a difference between physical scars and emotional scars, but I disagree.  There's nothing we can do to change these scars.  They are with us whether we like them or not.  We can put Mederma on them, but it will only lessen the signs rather than obliterate it completely.  I feel the scars on our soul are worse because you can't see them at first glance.  You have to truly get to know us in order to see them.

So, why do we accept men that see those scars and won't accept us despite them or - staggering thought - help us to get past them?  They aren't good enough for us, yet we want them anyway because we have convinced ourselves that there is something wrong with us for having those scars!  Do we not think we deserve a man that helps heal those scars?

I now know that I am and won't settle for anything less.  And I hope you won't either!

I'm Not Afraid of Failure

I've been away from you for a while, and for that I'm sorry.  I've been trying my hardest to get things going with my art that I haven't left much brain power each day to write you.  I've had something on my mind lately that I'm ready to share, so hopefully this will inspire me to write more often.

I've failed at every aspect of my life but one (being a mother).  I lost my career.  I lost my house.  I lost my credit.  I lost my marriage.  I don't say that to for your pity or concern but to prove a point.  I'm not afraid of failure anymore.  Do you know that I've never been able to say that before?  I'm not afraid of failure!  I've already failed, so I have nothing to lose.

I'm creating art I've always wanted to create because I'm not afraid that I can't.  I'm selling that art on Etsy because I'm not afraid to list it; I may not be making anywhere near a paycheck, but people like my work enough to pay for it.  I'm not afraid to put myself out there because I've already failed and survived.  It wasn't easy and it wasn't fun, but I did it and I can do it again as many times as I need.

In the mean time, I'm showing my son what it's like to work hard for your dreams.  I'm showing myself that I can work hard.  Who knows if I'll fully achieve those dreams, but I'm not letting fear stop me from trying.

Silver lining? Try a silver cloud!

What's the best cure for a serious blow to the self esteem?  Doing something that (1) takes your mind off things and (2) gives you a little boost in the "can do" department.  What's my poison that fits both those criteria?  Generally, home improvement.  Specifically, laying baseboards.

These baseboards are incredibly beautiful and have been waiting six months to make my home a better place, and this was the weekend to end that wait!  Well, last weekend was the technical start of the project, but this weekend was the time to make it all happen.  Between wrangling the Toddler Terrorist and trying to make it big as an artist, not to mention my dad's hectic schedule, finding time has been difficult to say the least.

I love to work with wood.  I mean LOVE to cut and sand and nail and screw and... well, work with wood.  Actually, I love anything that involves creating something tangible from a hint of an idea lodged deep in the back of my brain.  Add that it is for home improvement, and you could say that I had a cheese grin on my face the whole day.

It was a slightly rocky start to the process because I had never actually done anything as technical as this project, but I have a pretty steep learning curve.  You have to understand my dad has been the boss for more than (ahem) thirty years, so it was difficult for him to give up the reigns and allow me to be the lead.  He did awesome, and it made me feel like gold when he said the same about me.

Color me six shades of awesome!  Each corner fit better, and each cut got easier to make.  I'm pretty proud of myself, and it shows.  Thanks Daddy for helping me find yet another silver lining!

Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones...

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but your words pierced my heart.  Today someone I trust very much and who's opinion I value greatly said some not very nice things about me to my face.  The words may have rung with a modicum of truth, so you obviously felt that I needed to hear them right then.  There's a part of me that would like to call it "tough love" and brush it off as a growing and learning experience, but that part seems to be the part filleted to the bone by the sharp words.  Mostly I call it a betrayal.

Most words may be just words, but many words can be used as weapons depending on the wielder.  I'm an emotional soul.  Borderline empathic, my validators come from external sources and I - more often than not - consider someone else's hurt feelings over my own.  Letting someone inside means giving them the power to hurt me with very little effort.  That's what happened today.  I let someone in and was carved into tiny little pieces then pushed out the door with a half-hearted fare-the-well.

I'm way too ashamed to repeat what was said or even give you a hyper-quick overview, but know that the words have echoed in my head for just over 10 hours now.  You would think that at - ahem - 25 years in this world (more like 34 and counting...), I would have grown some self esteem and not cared what anyone says or thinks about me.  I haven't.

What's my point to all of this cloak and dagger reference to a potentially juicy story?  Watch your words.  You may think nothing of the daggers you are throwing, but the recipient will feel every little knife point and resent you for it.

There's a Silver Lining to Every Cloud

I haven't been ignoring you.  I promise.  Life is a rollercoaster with ups, downs, twists, turns, dips and lots of screaming.  The past few weeks have been no exception for me, including the screaming.  I could present the laundry list of unfortunate events from the past couple of months, but the important part is that I'm still standing!

Today is my little man's second birthday.  He's the one that makes it all worth it.  He inspires me to do better and be better.  I'm pursuing my art career so that I can show him exactly who I am with every art piece I produce and sell.  I want to be a financial success, so I can give him everything my parents were able to give me without the monthly worry of where the light bill money will come from.  I want to be able to pay my parents back for everything they've given me and all the times they've lifted me when I couldn't lift myself.  I just don't want to worry anymore.

Luckily, I've been able to use my past experiences to help others through similar heartaches and heartbreaks.  It just goes to show, there's a silver lining on every cloud.  You just have to look really hard to find it.  Either that or get out your silver spraypaint and make your own lining silver!

The First Step is Breathing!

I often find myself holding my breath when I'm thinking of stressful things.  It isn't something I do on purpose; instead, it is more as if my body is concentrating so hard that it doesn't remember to push air in and out.  More often than not, it results in a wicked tension headache.  Of course, the gallon of coffee I ingest each morning doesn't help the situation.

I've been working on cutting down my coffee addiction, but it is just SO good that I'm finding it hard.  I'm one of those that likes a bit of coffee with my milk and sugar, so the end result is soft and sweet and oh so tasty!  Not at all bitter and hard like black coffee.  Yuk!

Back to the breath holding issue.  Not thinking of stressful things won't work for me right at the moment, so instead I'll find ways to remember to breathe.  Pending divorce, single motherhood, financial ruin... all of these things tend to take over a brain and not let go.  Most of the time, I'd love nothing more than to succumb to the pressure and just lay down until I could breathe again, but - with a toddler to wrangle and a life to run - that isn't an option.  Instead, I've been concentrating on deep, cleansing breaths combined with meditative exercises geared toward relieving the pressure.

What is it they always say?  The first step is admitting you have a problem.  Well, I have a problem remembering to breathe, so first step taken!  Now I just have to find real ways to not let the stress rule my life.

Go, Good Cop, Go!

For the first time in what feels like forever, I am the fun parent. I brought the baby to Disney, all by myself, and we are having a blast. I even let him have a sugary drink with dinner! (GASP!)

Here is the back story in case you've missed it: I am the primary caregiver to my nearly 2-year-old son, so I'm the one setting boundaries, establishing a schedule and being the bad guy by saying "no". (I'm learning that's a foreign concept to some people.) I am the one teaching him to play independent because I have things that need to get done on a daily basis. My ex husband gets him a couple days a week - when he is able to and if he feels like it - so he is on constant vacation mode and endlessly doing fun things to make up for lost time during the week. I can't say that I blame him too much, except that it makes my job 1,000 times harder. It always takes a day and a half to two days to get the baby back on the program.

The relationship that my ex and I were trying to keep friendly is crumbling fast, so I'm less and less able to rely on his ability to curb the super fun zone into the normal fun zone. Enter my master plan!

I've decided that every once in a while, I'm going to let myself be the fun parent. Since I have been relegated to the Bad Cop role, I figure I can take the liberty of expanding my resume and sharpening my Good Cop skillset. That way, if I ever get into a healthy relationship and have more children, I will have had the practice. If not, then London won't resent me because I'm no fun at all. Great plan, huh?!?

Tomorrow is a full day at the Magic Kingdom, and - who knows? - I might even let him have some chocolate! Go, Good Cop, Go!

In a Thinkative Mood

I'm in a thinkative mood today.  It's been a couple months since I've written but not for lack of subject matter.  As a matter of fact, I've had so much that I could (and wanted to) write about and have even sat down several times to get it out, but I've struggled with the thought of making such personal experiences public.

I want more than anything to make this blog successful, but do I really want my personal business out there for anyone and everyone to read and judge?  I value my anonymity and our privacy, but I have a lot to say and I'm pretty sure people would find it interesting.  (Full of myself, aren't I?)  More than anything, I'd like to make enough money from writing about ... well, anything... that I can work part time and spend the rest of the time with my son.

Before you think I'm lazy, let me give you some background.  I'm not good with change.  As a matter of fact, there are few things that scare me more than change does.  Variety is great, but change is terrifying.  Why, you ask?  Eight months ago, I was married with a happy, healthy 10-month-old and a mediocre career.  I was working 42+ hours a week, driving 80 miles a day, loving my work but hating my job, and feeling like I was missing all the good stuff in my son's life.  Then my son got hurt at his daycare.  I mean, really hurt.  I missed a lot of work carting him from doctor to doctor, meeting with a specialist and getting interviewed by a social worker.  Why a social worker if he got hurt at daycare?  The hospital called DCF because of the nature of the injury, and - when they are called in - they investigate everyone.

My boss wasn't as understanding as you would think, so he fired me... then tried to deny my unemployment.  Real prince, huh?  Before pregnancy, I never thought I'd be the type of woman that would want to stay home and care for my child, but that's what those cute little hormones did to me.  If every tragedy has a silver lining, this was mine.  I became a stay-at-home mom and loved it.

I could bog you down with the details from the past eight months, but that will be fodder for another post.  I have to get you nice and hooked before I feed you the good stuff, right?

Today, everything is different.  My husband and I are looking at divorce; I'm considering bankruptcy; and I have to go back to work.  Bankruptcy means losing the house we brought our son home to, and downsizing to something more affordable.  My husband and I are lucky enough that I think we will be able to remain friends, but there is a lot of sadness about the split.  We have a lot of love for each other, but we just can't be married.  The pressures were too much, and we realize now that we want different things from life.

Change.  I'm terrified of it, but it's the only constant for me right now.  I have to go to work, but I want to be with my son.  I don't want to miss out on another moment of his life, and I'm terrified of daycare now.  The words "partially amputated fingertips" will do that to a mother.  I love my home, but we need to start the moving-on process.  This isn't just about change, my life is being turned on its ear.

This post may have turned out to be all doom and gloom, but I'm willing to bet there are people out there that can relate.  But can I bank on it?  Hmmm, makes me a bit thinkative.