Too little... Too late...

I looked down at my phone. There was a text from him.

"I miss you so much!!! I'm sorry for everything vicky. LYC "

I pressed the lock button on the phone and threw it in my bag, momentarily thankful, after it hit my bag on the floor, that I'd spent that $90 on a case. It allowed for me take my second of frustration out on an inanimate object.

Too little ... Too late.

That was the thought in my head.
Not sadness. Not anger. Irritation ...
Hurt...

I gave you my heart. And you didn't honour, respect or care for it like you promised you would. I know, that just like me, you are only human and make mistakes. But a fundamental difference between my humanity, and yours... I treat people with kindness, and care, and love. And that doesn't make me weak or stupid. It makes me compassionate. Forgiving. Loving. Caring.

My view of the world won't be dimmed by someone else's negativity. If they are on a mission of self destruction, and choose to slap the hand of kindness and love away, that is their choice. Mine is to remove myself away from the slap, forgive but not forget.

Posted with Blogsy

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Disconnected

Going through the motions,

Doing the best I can.

Feeling disconnected,

From my body. From the land.

A thousand pictures shows 

Keep running through my mind.

I don't want this track to keep playing, 

I thought you were of my kind.

I tremble, not with ecstasy 

Not like I once did.

I tremble with the unknown

Of things that I have hid.

There is a weariness in my body

That I haven't felt in the longest time.

Don't surrender to it Vicky,

Don't walk that dangerous line. 

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Tales from my table: Mum what's an alcoholic

Lots of conversations happen around my table between myself and my two teens. A lot of them I have to put my mother hat away, and put on my "I'm just having a conversation with two teenagers" hat. The difference is I have to emotionally detach from being their mother.

Recently one such conversation involved a discussion around alcohol and alcoholism. Laura declared that she thought her father was an alcoholic. I was surprised, as when he and I were together that's not a label I would have given him. I asked her why she thought that. "Because when he gets home from work he will have a couple of cans of JD, or bottles of beer."

When my teens father and I were together, he was more in the habit of binge drinking. You know, go out, get smashed, not drink until the next time. We met when I was 19, so it was clubbing, socialising, dancing, and general misbehaving. By the time we had Laura and Nathan, he would have the occasional beer after work.

Later Nathan asked me, "Mum, what is an alcoholic? Because I don't agree with Laura. I don't think Dad is!" I told him to look it up. I felt a written explanation would give him better information then I, and also information that was less emotive on my part.

So he did.

al·co·hol·ism

noun \ˈal-kə-ˌhȯ-ˌli-zəm, -kə-hə-\

 

Definition of ALCOHOLISM

1

: continued excessive or compulsive use of alcoholic drinks

2

a : poisoning by alcohol

b : a chronic disorder marked by excessive and usually compulsive drinking of alcohol leading to psychological and physical dependence or addiction

 

 

I asked him if after reading that whether he thought his father was an alcoholic or not. Nathan decided that he wasn't. And I agreed.

 

I looked at him and asked, "Do you know anyone who is like that?"

 

He looked at me, our eyes connected in collective recognition, "Yes."

 

My reply. "Yes. Yes he is."

 

Pretty much what my recycle bin looks like on a bi-weekly basis

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I added another "hat" to my wardrobe.

When I fell pregnant with my first child in 1995, I was the Supervisor of Operations, Financial Services, St. George Bank. I even had a business card, and an office. My first. I loved my job. I had started at St. George when I was 20, as a teller, and then moved to head office, working as a administration clerk in first the Visa department, then the Financial Services Department. I quickly worked through the ranks - first 2-i-c, then Supervisor.

Falling pregnant wasn't in "the plan". I was on the "career path", not the motherhood path. OK, yes I know, its possible to have both. But this is my story. OK?

When I gave birth to Laura, all thoughts about career very literally fell out of my head, as I fell in love with this amazing gift I had been given. So when I was promoted to Manager of the department while I was on maternity leave, with a healthy pay rise, I was surprised, and thankful, but my internal dialogue was going "thank you very much, I'm incredibly honoured that you think I'm capable, but yeah - that career path I was on... well, its not the path I want anymore".

But me, being me, knew that I needed to experience first hand if that was really the case, and even though my gut was screaming "Abort Will Robertson", I cut my maternity leave short to 4 months, left Laura home with her father (who was still trying to figure out what he wanted to do when he grew up, so he left work to look after her) and returned to the "career path". For 8 weeks, in between meetings - oh the fucking endless meetings, staff training sessions, and my own management training workshops, I sat in the women's toilets and pumped two 240 ml feeds into bottles while holding a picture of my baby girl. I still have the milk spattered photo.

For 7 months, I came home each night, exhausted beyond belief, and cried, while her father made empty promises of bringing her into work more often. A month before Laura turned one, I handed in my resignation, with a months notice, came home and told him that he had to find a job.

On Laura's first birthday I began my journey as a full time stay at home mum. That's the job I did for the next 8 years. When Laura was 8, and Nathan 5, I worked part-time for an artist and his wife at their gallery as their PA for two years. The beauty of this job was not only was I surrounded by beautiful pieces of art, it was always during school hours. This meant that Laura and Nathan were never affected by me being at work. They were at school, and where unaffected by what I was doing, well, lets be honest, as far as they were concerned, out of sight, out of mind!

Europe, and all it had to offer, beckoned my employers, which meant unfortunately for me, I was out of a job. Fast forward 8 years and another child to February this year.

Since moving to Brisbane from the Sunshine Coast, I have been looking for work. I naively thought it wouldn't be a problem. While it has made life a little difficult not having work, it was good in the respect that it allowed me to be available for my kids as we all settled into living in suburbia.

In November last year I happened to be in an Art and Craft supply shop (my candy shop!), and overheard that they were looking for employees. I dropped my resume in, and ... well heard nothing. The manager I had given it to had apparently left the next day. I was somewhat disheartened, and more then a little disillusioned. I was already spiralling into the hole, this was just another thing to push me down there.

After Christmas I popped into my candy shop to pick up some paper, and decided to go out on a limb and ask what had happened to my resume. Serendipity stepped in. It turned out the the lovely lady I was talking to, was the new manager. Two weeks later, she rang me and asked if I was still interested in a job. Abso-friggin-lutely!!!

The floor at where I work. Pretty cool hey?

 

 



I've added another hat to my already bulging wardrobe of hats: cook, cleaner, mediator, taxi driver, healer, counsellor, partner, mother, artist, etc etc etc. This one has employee on it. I very luckily landed a permanent part time position, and started in February.  (Which is why its been rather quiet in here of late.)



To say the least, it has been very interesting times in my house, as we all adjust to this new regime. I guess the saying is true. The only thing that is constant, is change.

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8 years

8 years

Blood, sweat, tears

So many tears

Beg, plead, threaten

Sever - broken and shattered

Resolve. Focus on the boy

Always on the boy...

Change. Awakening

Consistency. Focus on the boy

Always on the boy...

 

 

 

Watching

Seeking... And finding

Someone else benefits

My blood, sweat and tears

Focus on the boy

Always on the boy....

 

 

 

 

Bittersweet. Heartache

What could of been. Is

Focus on the boy

Always on the boy

 

 

 

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any fool can make a baby...

Why try and say it, when someone else has already done it so aptly

 

 

On Saturday night my teenage children's father got married.

 

Laura and Nathan found out via the facebook status update of their now stepmother. (I'm beginning to agree with M's renaming - fuckbook)

 

My son was confused, and asked to call his father. Nat spoke to him for all of two minutes, to be informed that yes he had gotten married, and that no, his wife's children where not there. Once he got off the phone he became very emotional and upset, and wanted to be left alone, and proceeded to shoot anything and everything on C.O.D.

 

My daughter raged with fury- for her, for her little brother, for all the times that her father has hurt her and her brother.

 

The lioness within me roared. How could he be so insensitive to his children? How dare he be so selfish! How dare he.... behave as he always has.

 

Laura's initial reaction of fury fell away two days later, finally revealing her real feelings. "HE DOESN'T EVEN CARE ABOUT US!!!" she screamed sobbing at me this morning.

 

What can I say to that? How do I act with grace when all I want to do is scream at this man how can he be so hurtful AGAIN to our children? He doesn't see the hurt, the tears, the confusion, the questions... he doesn't have to deal with any of that. I do. Again.

 

 

Will he ever think of them and their feelings? Am I expecting too much?

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It's all about the kids (part 2)

I wish that when I had separated from Laura and Nathan's father there had been something like the Foundations Parenting orders program. It may have made all the difference to how the last ten years played out, and continue to play out.

 

The parenting orders program is ordered by a family court judge when parents are unable to come to an agreement in regards to their children. However, I initiated the process before Aston's father and I had gotten to the stage where we were fighting in court about Aston. Having already been there and done that with Laura and Nathan's father, it was a process I did not wish to repeat.

It involves attending 6 workshop type meetings with a group of 4-6 other people, both male and female. In the group(s) I attended I was the only person there that had NOT been ordered to attend. During the initial introduction, I sat listening to the vitriol pouring out of the other participants, all the time thinking to myself 'I do not want to be like this!'

When it came time for me to introduce myself, I apologised, and said that I was here voluntarily and I didn't want to end up wasting my energy being angry like the other people I had just listened to.

Each workshop focuses on different aspects of being able to keep your child(ren)'s best interest at the fore front when dealing with your ex partner, as well as reinforcing that you as an individual are responsible for your actions and behaviour. If your ex partner chooses to behave Inappropriately and doesn't put your child(ren)s best interests first, it doesn't automatically give you a free pass to behave the same.

Aston's father also participated in these work shops at a different time and venue. I know that it was our mutual participation in this program that has made a monumental difference to how he and I conduct ourselves in regards to Aston and allows us to successfully co-parent him.

I have always tried to remain neutral in regards to Laura and Nathan's father, choosing not to react in front of them when something happened that infuriated or annoyed me about their father. Unfortunately, and somewhat ironically, when Aston's father was in their lives he didn't behave that way, and we often argued about him saying things about their father.

Recently, a little boy, the same age as Aston, died 13 weeks after being diagnosed with an aggressive malignant brain tumour. It was sad and tragic, and broke my heart when I heard about it. Unfortunately this little boy's parents were no longer together, and both had set up public facebook pages to honour their son. What disturbed and distressed me though is how they both very publicly wrote about their obvious anger towards each other. Neither of them were able to put aside their own bitterness for the sake of their little boy, and his brothers, even in though one of their children was dying. It left me uneasy, incredibly sad and questioning, but for the grace of god, what would happen if I ever found myself in a similar position with either Laura and Nathan.

I truly believe that the greatest gift I could give any of my children in this situation would be the appearance of a united front between myself and their father. Isn't that what unconditional love is? It's not, sorry you're dying, but I refuse to be in the same room with the other person that made you. Why can't we, as adults, put aside our anger and bitterness at the demise of our relationship with each other, and put our children's needs first?

These are questions I constantly ask myself. When ever I feel anger raising at the situation between Laura and Nathan's father and myself, I ask myself, am I behaving in their best interests? If the answer is no, I modify my behaviour, call a friend and scream down the phone my frustration, rather then engage in a tirade with him. I am not responsible for how he behaves, but I am responsible for my behaviour and reactions, what my children see and hear from me. If he chooses to behave badly, it is also he that will have to deal with how his behaviour affects his relationship with his children. Me... I just have to learn to tame the lioness that roars within when I see how his behaviour affects them.

I am aware that every situation is different, and all that I have said is a moot point in situations where abuse is a factor. Even so, that doesn't give the other parent free reign in degenerating the abusive parent. In the period of time that Aston didn't see his father whenever he asked why, or when was he going to see his daddy, I always responded that daddy wasn't very well at the moment, and that when he was better he would be able to see him. That was the age appropriate response at the time. I still acted in Aston's best interests. It wasn't safe for him to see his father, but it also wasn't appropriate for me to say to him that his father was currently behaving abusively and was mentally unstable.

At the end of the day, a child's relationship with their individual parents is THEIR relationship to navigate. As Children get older, they develop their own ideas about who their parents are. If a child has been fed nothing but vitriol about either parent from the other is that fair, or in the childs best interests? The relationship that an ex partner has with their child may well be very different from the relationship they had with you. Be a grown up, do the right thing, love your child unconditionally - even if it means you have to stand by and watch them have a relationship with someone that caused you pain.

Posted with Blogsy

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Its all about the kids! (part 1)

I have three children, two from my first marriage, one from my second.


The 22nd April marked ten years since I left my first husband. 18th June, 3 years since I separated from my second. (I'm sure that one day I won't physically cringe when I say I have been married twice, and divorced twice. Today isn't it.) All I wanted once I had separated from their fathers was for us - the grown ups! to be able to parent our children, and put their best interests first and foremost.

My first marriage was fairly uneventful in the drama stakes. The biggest problem was I should have never have married him. I got married at 22, thinking "He loves me, no one else is ever going to, so this will do." We were like two separate animals species - He was a dog, and I was a cat, that tried to turn herself into a dog. I knew 2 years into being married to him that I had made a terrible mistake. I liked being a cat, I didn't want to be a dog. Then I fell pregnant, and we had a kituppy... Sorry - lame attempt at humour.

Once I fell pregnant, I decided that this was it. I'd made my bed, and now I had to lie in it, whether I liked it or not. I tried to furiously metamorphosis into a dog, denying my cat qualities until I no longer looked or felt like... anything. I surrendered my authenticity to remain in this relationship with my child's father.


While the role of being his wife was slowly killing me, the role of motherhood kept me alive. When I had my first child - she taught me what unconditional love was. It cracked my harden heart wide opened, and out came one that was soft shiny and vulnerable, but bigger then me. The irony of this is not lost on me. Experiencing the unconditional love of my child, brought into the focus the very conditional love that was occurring between myself and her father. 

Years passed, another child was born, the secrets that I had buried deep exploded into the now. After spending ten years of supporting every choice he made, every decision, every career change he wanted, when I needed him to support me he couldn't, or wouldn't. And that was the straw that broke the camel- that- was- a- cat- trying- to- be- a- dog's back. I left.


In the midst of Post traumatic stress, when I shouldn't have been making any major life decisions, I married my second husband. My relationship with him was fraught with drama. In fact the whole damn relationship was one long drama that peaked in a painful crescendo of him attempting suicide. He was mean, and ugly, and hurt myself and my children profoundly. The hurt he bestowed upon my children is a guilt that I will carry forever, as I brought him into their lives. The only good thing that came out of my second marriage was my little boy Aston. Every time I watch him with his older sister and brother, and the love they have for each other, soothes my hurting soul from the pain that they experienced at the hands of his father.

Eventually I was able to convince Aston's father that we needed to separate for every one's sake. Even then I still hung on to hope that now the reason behind his ugly mean behaviour had been identified, and was being treated, we could reconcile. But I was broken, and weary. So were my children. He was inconsistent with his treatment, and it just drove more nails into my heart. I realised that being with him wasn't living. I was only... just... existing.  And it would end up killing me. 

I did what needed to be done. To protect myself, and my children. It was met with fury, and of course, more drama. Once I severed the connection between Aston's father and myself, everything I did after was motivated by making sure that Aston's interests were being taken care of. That he was kept safe. That meant that if he was to have a relationship with his father it had to be conducted in a manner that kept him safe. Based on his father's history, I wasn't prepared to throw the lamb in with the lion. If he wanted a relationship with his son, it had to be under supervision. He fought this. For six months Aston didn't see his dad. Once he finally agreed to it, there were only 4 visits before his anger got in his way. It was then that I was given the contact details of Foundations Child and Family Support and their Parenting Orders Program.

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river of tears

anger pulses through me ...
white hot heat...
it masks the deep sadness that hurts my heart...
anger fuels me to action,
to do what needs to be done,
keep the sadness at bay...

image source

if you peel back the anger,
let the sadness out,
I'll drown in a river of my own tears,
like Alice in wonderland,
just looking to get home.

I swim to the shore,
feel the sun on my face,
dry out, renewed...
My grace restored,
I will not let it be destroyed.
..the sadness remains
like a lonely child inside my soul,
to cry another river for another day.

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Shaking off the shame

I had mixed feelings when I saw that Wanderlust was speaking out against Domestic Violence. I admired her confidence in speaking out... I tingled with shame at my own story.

You see, I grew up in a family where domestic violence - in all its categories... physical, verbal, mental, emotional, sexual - was the norm, not the exception. And I swore as a young adult that no-one would ever treat me like my mother (and every other woman that the sperm donor brought into my life) myself and my sister had been treated. Ever. I swore it adamantly. Vehemently. Absolutely.

In March 2009 (while this story started a long time ago, you can read about my awakening, everything in between, and finally resolution to make changes) my husband attempted suicide. It was horrible, horrific, devastating.

I sat in the special room at the hospital speaking to the Psyche nurse... no, make that vomiting out my husband's behaviour... all of it. The nasty, horrible, hateful things that he had done, said, behaved towards me and my children. Suddenly I stopped. Because I HEARD myself....

I turned to my friend that was with me - someone who had saved me from myself once before (but that's another story for another time) and said to her "Oh my god. If someone was sitting in front of me telling me the things that I have just spoken I would be looking at them aghast and asking them what the hell are you doing??" That was my moment of realisation. Realisation that I had landed in a relationship that I swore I would never have. One full of violence - verbal, mental and physical. I was devastated. How the fuck had I got here?? What had I done???

I started to cry - not for my husband, but for myself. For my children. In disbelief.

It took me nearly another 12 months and an Apprehended Violence Order, changing my home phone number and mobile number to finally cut him completely out of my life - or as completely as  you can cut someone that you share a child with. It took another 12 months and a whole lot of persistence, and me standing my ground, for something that resembled him having a relationship with his son to occur. For ME to no longer be afraid, and know that he no longer has any power over me, to be able to see him for the pathetic sad little man that he is - that took another six months.

Two and a half years in total. To feel like he no longer had a psychological hold over me in some form. To feel like the person I know I am. To reclaim my self esteem. To trust. To love myself. To forgive myself - well that's still a work in progress.

Its easy for outsiders  to say a million things about a situation that they haven't walked or lived. To have an opinion. Hell, I even had a million things to say, and an opinion, and I had already lived it as a child... and I still fucking ended up in an all to similar situation as an adult. Why do women stay in abusive relationships? There is a myriad of explanations out there. Its insidious and gradual the slide down that slippery slope. By the time it happens your self belief, esteem, courage, worth are so eroded that you start to believe it is all your fault. That you are the cause of it all.

What should you do if someone you care about is in this situation? Don't judge them. Be there for them. Let them know, when they are ready, you will stand there beside them. They are going to need you.

What if you find yourself in this situation? Firstly - even though it no doubt feels like it, please know that you aren't alone. Reach out. Speak out. You too can shake the shackles of domestic violence. If you can't do it for yourself, and have children - DO IT FOR THEM. Show them how brave, and strong you are. Show your daughters that it is not OK to be treated badly. Show your sons that it is not OK to treat women badly. Show your children that domestic violence is never OK.

Knowledge is power. Find the knowledge. Find the power.

Domestic Violence Resources and Help in Australia

Lifeline Phone: 13 11 14 (cost of local call from landline) Website: http://www.lifeline.org.au

This website is all about the line and the kind of behaviour that crosses it. http://www.theline.gov.au/

What is domestic violence? http://au.reachout.com/find/articles/domestic-violence

Domestic Violence Resource centre http://www.dvrc.org.au/

Australia's Campaign to stop violence against women

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old habits die hard...

Some habits take a while to stop. Well they do for me anyway. Especially ones that involve my psyche, guess it comes from having PTSD. My brain automatically goes to the programmed response - even though that response hasn't been required for quite a while now.

Last week a girlfriend text me asking us to a trivia fund raising night for the local scouts. My internal dialogue went something like this:

"M won't want to do this, he'll think its lame, stupid, dumb (any other adjective that is used to describe something someone considers a waste of time). I won't bother asking him. I'll just say no we are busy... hang on a minute Vicky - you don't know that M will think its lame etc. Ask him."

So I did. And he said yes, that sounds fun. I was gob smacked, until I reminded myself that this M. NOT R... and that I have to stop having expectations - good, bad or indifferent.

In the book I read fearless loving by Rhona Britten, she talks about exactly this. Letting go of expectations ... all of them. I was expecting a negative response, based on my previous experiences with R, when asked to go somewhere social. I almost didn't ask M if he wanted to go. I'm glad I pushed through the uncomfortableness of it, and asked.

We went. We caught up with my friend's husband before we went to the trivia night. It was a nice, calm, normal thing to do... (It seems I'm still getting used to what normal looks like) M can hold a conversation, I don't have to be on egg shells worrying about what he is going to say, do, behave, be...

I finally have what I have craved for such a long time. A partner. A person who interacts with me. A grown up. Someone I can be silly with, serious with, just be with...

I had such a lovely weekend. We didn't do anything tremendously exciting (the trivia night went on for an awfully long time....), watched some episodes of Rome together, had a sleep in, bacon and eggs breakfast, washed the dogs, had a water fight with the boys...  It was just ... nice. Calm. Normal.

I love nice. calm. Normal... I love it a lot.

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I gave away my heart...

11 years ago, as my world started to unravel, and in a desperate need to try an understand what was going on inside of me I went away for a week to a healing retreat Mayumarri , a safe place to explore the effects of childhood abuse.

For me it was the place that I stopped trying to keep the lid on my Pandora's box that I had held and hidden deep deep down inside, and let it burst open, letting all the secrets, fear, hurt and tears out. I wish I could say it was the place where I got all better... it was instead the place where the healing began.

A local craftsman had made beautiful wooden hearts, attached to a leather thong. They were about the size of a child's hand, polished and smooth, something soothing to run your fingers over. Excellent for someone suffering from anxiety. I brought two - one that was perfect, no bumps, or knots, or imperfections, the other - while as polished and smooth as the other, on one of its surfaces it had marks that were contained with in the wood. The two hearts represented different things for me. The one that was perfect, I gave to my daughter, who was 5 at the time. The other I kept for myself... It was representative of how I felt my heart was, beautiful, but a little bit damaged. I've carried around the wooden heart, hanging it on the wall in my private spaces of the places I have lived.

Commitment, or the representation of commitment to another person is traditionally done through marriage. I've done that one - twice... and well, neither, as far as me and the other person involved, proved to be very successful, other then producing my three gorgeous children - so I guess that is a success in itself.

I never wanted to give anyone the token that represented my beautiful, but damaged heart... ever. But for a little while now, the need to show this amazing man that has entered my life, just how much he means to me, how much I deeply care for him, and how much I trust him has been rattling around in my head. I tell him these things of course... but sometimes, a token, and what that token represents means more then a million words.

Last night I gave M my heart for safe keeping....

I love you... to the moon and back.

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Hold on tight... we may hit some turbulence...

I can feel my anxiety raising and my throat closing as I get closer and closer to Sunday.

This Sunday marks a change in how Aston sees his dad. From two hour supervised fortnightly visits at an independent centre to supervised by Aston's aunt and uncle at R's house from 10 until 4.

If I said I was fine with it all, I'd be lying. I'm not fine with it. At all.  tentacles of anxiety are tickling in my limbic brain system. The desire to fight or flight is raising in intensity. The little girl who lives within is even throwing a few tantrums ... "I DON'T WANT TO!!!"

I hear words come out my mouth "Aston has the right to have a relationship with his father, and the right to work out who his father by himself. its my job to provide him safe opportunities to do that" and wonder if they sound as empty as I feel them to be...

Just gonna have to dig a little deeper, get out my resources, and remind myself this isn't about me, its about Aston.

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a light bulb moment

I had a session with my therapist today. She came to see me, seeing as how I can't drive. I told her hollow I was feeling inside. about how I stuck my neck out so that R would finally go to Robbie's house so Aston could see him.about how angry I am at my mother.

As we talked, and she suggested things, it suddenly dawned on me that the reason I turned myself into a pretzel for the kids, in regards to their absent fathers was because it triggers something deep with in me... that disappointed little vicky...that didn't have a father as he should have been. She pointed out to me as we discussed it further, that the next time a situation presents itself that does exactly that, trigger me, then I put my children's feelings first and foremost, to stop, and think about what was really happening. It is NOT my responsibility to make sure that their fathers have a relationship with them. Its their FATHER's responsibilities. I end up sacrificing myself and my heart, in the hope that my children's hearts won't be hurt, and it doesn't end up making any difference... we all still get hurt.

She also spoke to me today about thinking about what it is that I desire in my life... to consciously think about what it is that I want to come into my life. and my first thought was I want someone in my life that will treat me with kindness... and as much as I say I don't ever want to have another relationship, in my heart I do... to be treated with love and respect and kindness.

So there.. I'm putting it out there...that there is someone out there who wants to treat me with love and respect and kindness.

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