Fuck. Squirrel and I are at it again, having another knock
down drag out fight. I don’t even know what the topic is because it doesn’t
matter. He is right and as always I am wrong. Oh my gosh I am so beyond
exhausted from these fights and worse, I am frightened that my child is going
to be an angry person for the rest of his life. There I said it. I’m afraid I
have fucked him up by getting a divorce.
Contrary to what the Squirrel believes, I tried everything
to avoid getting a divorce. Hell, I’m Catholic – Catholics don’t even let you
take communion if you’ve had a divorce and they make you promise that NO MATTER
WHAT you won’t get a divorce. (Fortunately I’ve switched churches because this
is not healthy on so many levels – I’m not even going to get started on how
this practice abandons you in your worst time of need.) However, for whatever
reason, the Squirrel blames me for everything divorce related and HATES me for
it. I have ruined his life and things will only be good again if his father and
I get back together, which we are not. Ever. Like Taylor Swift song never.
Welcome to my reoccurring battle with the Squirrel. While
the Moose has quietly (and unhealthfully) internalized his feelings, the
Squirrel has taken them all out on one person – me. In my better moments I see
this as a compliment – I am the safe spot, the security blanket, which means I
am the one he rails on in his insecure, anxious and angry moments. In my not
better moments, I am down. Does this child not realize that I too have taken a
beating this year and am trying to become whole again? I cannot take more hate
directed towards me, especially from someone I love beyond the universe and
back. And the Moose? He doesn’t want to
talk to me about things that bother him because he’s trying to protect ME, his
mom. He’s got his roles reversed – I’m the one who takes care of HIM. I am
doing my best to make this as good as possible for them and failing. I just
desperately want to hope that if I put on my best Mary Poppins, they will act
like nothing has happened. Cue the laugh track. My therapist has dubbed this
the “Messy Middle” stage. Messy, my ass. It’s the Sucky Season.
**The next two paragraphs have been redacted Robert Mueller
style because my Squirrel has asked me to not share some of his “finer” moments.
Let’s just say if war was art, they would be his masterpieces. Honestly, he
gets props for his level of finding creative yet exquisitely cutting ways to
take me down. Like a surgeon with a sharpened blade. Slow clap. I’m actually
kind of proud of him for going all in. If you are going to do something, do it
well. But while I am comfortable sharing my worst self with the world, my
sensitive Squirrel is not and I respect that. So let me just say that we had an
epic fight recently that made me realize I’ve got to up my parenting game.**
The Squirrel found the chink in my armor. He knows that I
would do anything for him and the Moose and that my time with them is more
precious than ever. That doesn’t mean he gets out of homework or manners, but
it does mean that threatening my time with them by saying he wants to go to a
different house than mine because he’s mad at me takes me straight into fight
or flight mode. And this mama bear has never flown from her cubs – she will
always pick fight when given the choice. And now that the Squirrel has
discovered my weakness, he knows he can use it against me. Or so he thinks.
You see, for weeks I couldn’t eat because the thought of
breaking my children’s hearts by telling them I was getting a divorce swallowed
me like a sad whale. Sure I looked good but I was wearing a size grief in
jeans. For months I couldn’t sleep for fear of not having my kids as much as
possible after the divorce. I did not sign up to be a part-time parent. In
fact, I have been the 100% parent 100% of the time since the Moose was born. Every
cell in my body screamed against what I knew would have to happen. And while I
knew that having the boys less could be good for me from a balance perspective,
I have always been more than willing to give up my mental and physical
wellbeing in order to be there for them all the time. I’m not saying this is
healthy but I think a lot of moms feel this way too.
My friends recently assigned me the polar bear for my spirit
animal. I was pretty sure that this was because it has a fat ass and lumbers
around. Let’s be real. I have been eating a lot of divorce donuts and skipping
the gym way too much lately. I own that. They swear that’s not why. Instead its
symbolism/traits are strength, endurance, acceptance and surrender. It also has
a deep strong protective nature, meaning it will do everything in its power to
take care of its loved ones. Enter my cubs, the Moose and Squirrel. Okay, that
I can agree with.
So where does this all put me? As much as I need it to be
the Year of Me, I’m going to have to share this with the Year of the Child. You
see, my babies are going through the stages of grief as much as I am. I can get
frustrated every time the Squirrel tells me that my new last name is wrong or I
can recognize he is going through denial (one of the first stages of grief) and
look at him and say, “having a tough time with the divorce right now?” My Moose
can become a statue sometimes and I can let it go and give him space. And he’s
a teenager and maybe that’s what I should do, but I don’t. I ask the hard
questions like, “was I inappropriate back there?”, “is there any way I can
personally make this better for you?” and “what is the story going on in your
head?” I may not always like his answers but I am getting better at accepting
them with an open heart because I’m far from perfect and I too am learning to
navigate this new terrain. I’m not going to be better at this if I don’t learn
from my mistakes. And I make a lot of mistakes. I am not a Zen Jen, at least
not yet.
One of the side effects of divorce is that I do have less
time with my kids than I am used to. Wow, that sucks. But instead of wallowing
in it, I’m going to try to make the best of it. I recognize that I’m going to
need to Mom harder than I ever have before, and frankly, I’m licking my wounds
too. So those days I don’t have my babies? That’s Jen time. That’s where I do
my healing and my resting. So far I’m terrible at the resting part and instead
am nesting into new open spaces in my home. But that’s a form of healing too –
making this space mine, a place where we feel safe, a place that radiates love
and feels like me again. Friends, I found my college CDs and have been blaring
Alanis Morrisette and the Dixie Chicks throughout the house. It feels good (and
old, oh so old.) And on those many days where I have my babies? That’s the Year
of the Child. While way too often I fail, I am trying to remember that this is
their year to heal too and I’m going to need to bring my A game as much as
possible to help them through this new season of life. And if I do this right, instead
of fucking them up for life by getting a divorce, hopefully they will learn how
to adapt to change, accept new situations, see that things that are buried are
actually planted, and that we will bloom with love and laughter again. They
will learn that when things look bleak, we are a team that supports each other
even when it is ugly and hopefully that gives them a sense of security I could
not have created without a major life event. You can’t become resilient without
adversity. And this polar bear is resilient, fat ass and all, and is teaching
her cubs to be the same. Now if she could only switch to a fish-based diet
instead of donuts, she’d be in really good shape. But she hates fish so maybe just
more fruits and vegetables. One thing at a time. It is the Year of the Child
after all and they really like their donuts.
No comments:
Post a Comment