It's been a while since I last posted. I got a new job and have been scrambling to keep up with everything. A million things, hyperbolically speaking, have happened since then, but none of it matters much.
That's a lie. Of course it matters. It matters that I am still in love with ideas that are dead and gone. It matters that I feel isolated and alone. It matters that I feel like I'm pushing away the few friends I have. It matters that every day I fear that my ex was right when he said my daughters would be better off without me. It matters that the harassment continues in every correspondence and chips away at me little by little, the way that he's perfected over the years. It matters.
But it also matters that my little girl tells me that she thinks I'm beautiful. It matters that I get to snuggle in bed with three precious children who give my heart a reason to keep on beating. It matters, especially to me, the days when I can do it on my own.
Last week, I was ill for five days and finally ended up staying home from work. Those two days that I wasn't able to work were the worst. I had to lean heavily on my parents and I felt like a teenager again, straddling that line between dependence and independence, trying to prove to myself and them that I'm no longer a child and all the while being afraid that I will fail and have to crawl back, pride wounded, head down, talked tucked, etcetera, etcetera.
Those days I cried. Those days I felt so alone. I expressed this to a friend of mine and he responded that he was lonely too, and in a moment of selfishness I told him he didn't deserve to feel that way- that he was lucky to have so many people willing to just be there.
Unsurprisingly, that conversation didn't end well.
The most difficult thing to articulate to those around me is that it isn't help that I want or need. My tank is empty. I need fuel. Not the physical nourishment of sleep, water, and food, but the emotional and social nourishment of proximity. A few hours of adult interaction without a child vying for my attention, and maybe, a hug. A special someone once used to tease me about how I always just wanted to be close.
I'm touched by children all day. In my marriage, physical closeness took effort; I felt like somehow I didn't measure up and then, eventually, physical contact with the stranger living in the house with me caused my skin to crawl. Why do you want to touch me, but have no other part of me? Physical contact made me feel used and unappreciated. I felt like an object there for visual and emotional gratification.
But even at that, I miss touch. I miss having another warm body. I wish more than anything that a friend would just stop by one night after the kids are in bed with a bottle of wine and a shoulder to cry on.
But I'm no longer a teenager. I'm am adult who needs to take responsibility for her life. The last four years of my marriage I was a single mother, and I finally realized that it wasn't healthy for me or my daughters to accept as some kind of penance, the pain and isolation of an emotionally desolate relationship. It wasn't healthy to show my girls that women exist to be used by their husbands and abandoned when they've outgrown their usefulness.
I'm no longer simply proving that I can do it on my own; I've done that. No, now it's my job to teach my daughters how to stand on their own and not let others take advantage of then. Teach them to be kind, compassionate, strong, and discerning. It's my job to teach my son about what kind of a man he should be.
I don't need someone to do that job for me. It would be nice to have some fuel to get there, but if I have to get out and push, I'll do whatever it takes to make it.
That's a lie. Of course it matters. It matters that I am still in love with ideas that are dead and gone. It matters that I feel isolated and alone. It matters that I feel like I'm pushing away the few friends I have. It matters that every day I fear that my ex was right when he said my daughters would be better off without me. It matters that the harassment continues in every correspondence and chips away at me little by little, the way that he's perfected over the years. It matters.
But it also matters that my little girl tells me that she thinks I'm beautiful. It matters that I get to snuggle in bed with three precious children who give my heart a reason to keep on beating. It matters, especially to me, the days when I can do it on my own.
Last week, I was ill for five days and finally ended up staying home from work. Those two days that I wasn't able to work were the worst. I had to lean heavily on my parents and I felt like a teenager again, straddling that line between dependence and independence, trying to prove to myself and them that I'm no longer a child and all the while being afraid that I will fail and have to crawl back, pride wounded, head down, talked tucked, etcetera, etcetera.
Those days I cried. Those days I felt so alone. I expressed this to a friend of mine and he responded that he was lonely too, and in a moment of selfishness I told him he didn't deserve to feel that way- that he was lucky to have so many people willing to just be there.
Unsurprisingly, that conversation didn't end well.
The most difficult thing to articulate to those around me is that it isn't help that I want or need. My tank is empty. I need fuel. Not the physical nourishment of sleep, water, and food, but the emotional and social nourishment of proximity. A few hours of adult interaction without a child vying for my attention, and maybe, a hug. A special someone once used to tease me about how I always just wanted to be close.
I'm touched by children all day. In my marriage, physical closeness took effort; I felt like somehow I didn't measure up and then, eventually, physical contact with the stranger living in the house with me caused my skin to crawl. Why do you want to touch me, but have no other part of me? Physical contact made me feel used and unappreciated. I felt like an object there for visual and emotional gratification.
But even at that, I miss touch. I miss having another warm body. I wish more than anything that a friend would just stop by one night after the kids are in bed with a bottle of wine and a shoulder to cry on.
But I'm no longer a teenager. I'm am adult who needs to take responsibility for her life. The last four years of my marriage I was a single mother, and I finally realized that it wasn't healthy for me or my daughters to accept as some kind of penance, the pain and isolation of an emotionally desolate relationship. It wasn't healthy to show my girls that women exist to be used by their husbands and abandoned when they've outgrown their usefulness.
I'm no longer simply proving that I can do it on my own; I've done that. No, now it's my job to teach my daughters how to stand on their own and not let others take advantage of then. Teach them to be kind, compassionate, strong, and discerning. It's my job to teach my son about what kind of a man he should be.
I don't need someone to do that job for me. It would be nice to have some fuel to get there, but if I have to get out and push, I'll do whatever it takes to make it.
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