There are only about 8 hours left in 2015. I want to reflect on the year before heading out to ring in the new one. I'm using this article as a guide, making some lists and writing some letters.
Accomplishments:
- I got accepted into the highly competitive nursing program at KSU.
- I began the nursing program at KSU.
-I learned a ton and got straight A's my first semester of nursing school.
-I kept my children in my (superior) school district after a long battle over it with their dad.
-I created/achieved healthier and safer boundaries for my children in our joint custody situation.
-I bravely engaged in some difficult conversations.
-I made a number of new friends, including one former enemy.
-We started the "marble system" with tasks and rewards for the kids, and family meetings to talk about areas of growth as "thoughtful earthlings." They have grown so much.
-We transformed our yard into a pretty cool place to hang out.
-I planned a kickass surprise party with many close friends and family members in attendance and ASKED KAYLA TO MARRY ME.
-She said, "Yes, of course," so I am engaged!
-I got at least 300 compliments on my hair.
Disappointments or Setbacks:
-The lawsuit my ex filed against me in June 2014 is Still. Not. Over.
-I suddenly had a hip injury and nerve problems, and I was in pain and limping for over a month.
-The lavender I planted did not survive.
-I did not play basketball as often as I wanted to.
-Some people close to me caused me a great deal of hurt/stress.
Lessons learned from setbacks:
-When I feel weak, it might be that I'm actually stronger, just carrying more.
-My ex is a deeply broken person, and I will never know the extent of his dishonesty.
-My losses are not as terrible as they first feel.
-I need to strengthen my core.
-Stretching and hydrating work wonders.
-Lavender needs more sun.
-Dynamics change, and that's okay. Don't try to get back to how things were, but create a new normal.
-Let go, let go, let go!
Now that I've made these lists, I will write and burn a few letters as an act of forgiveness, gratitude, and letting go of past hurt. Thank you, 2015, for more growth and memories. Peace out!
Thursday, December 31, 2015
Tuesday, December 29, 2015
Lighten Up
Here is a Pema Chödrön quote from Comfortable with Uncertainty that I wrote in the first page of my journal, a little over a year ago:
"If we have the aspiration to stop resisting those parts of ourselves that we find unacceptable and instead begin to breathe them in, this gives us much more space. We come to know every part of ourselves, with no more monsters in the closet, no more demons in the cave. We have some sense of turning on the lights and looking at ourselves honestly and with great compassion. This is the fundamental change of attitude - this working with pain and pleasure in a revolutionary and courageous way."
What a challenge! One that I wanted to take on--turn on the lights, so that there are no more monsters in the closet or demons in the cave. Not easy or fast or fun. I am slowly working on it; the aspiration is there.
Now I am reading Chödrön's Start Where You Are, and she says we've got warmth and brilliance right here, despite whatever darkness is around. Her first bit of advice is to lighten up. As in, relax. So, I'm integrating these thoughts of turning on the lights and lightening up. Yeah, it's hard work to look at ourselves honestly, but we can relax a bit, knowing that we've got this warmth and brilliance going on too. It's winter now, gets dark uncomfortably early, but I've got twinkle lights plugged in and firewood at the ready, not to mention cozy blankets, roasted vegetables, and family.
"If we have the aspiration to stop resisting those parts of ourselves that we find unacceptable and instead begin to breathe them in, this gives us much more space. We come to know every part of ourselves, with no more monsters in the closet, no more demons in the cave. We have some sense of turning on the lights and looking at ourselves honestly and with great compassion. This is the fundamental change of attitude - this working with pain and pleasure in a revolutionary and courageous way."
What a challenge! One that I wanted to take on--turn on the lights, so that there are no more monsters in the closet or demons in the cave. Not easy or fast or fun. I am slowly working on it; the aspiration is there.
Now I am reading Chödrön's Start Where You Are, and she says we've got warmth and brilliance right here, despite whatever darkness is around. Her first bit of advice is to lighten up. As in, relax. So, I'm integrating these thoughts of turning on the lights and lightening up. Yeah, it's hard work to look at ourselves honestly, but we can relax a bit, knowing that we've got this warmth and brilliance going on too. It's winter now, gets dark uncomfortably early, but I've got twinkle lights plugged in and firewood at the ready, not to mention cozy blankets, roasted vegetables, and family.
Sunday, December 27, 2015
Big Magic
I'm about a third of the way through Elizabeth Gilbert's latest book Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear. Her writing, particularly Eat, Pray, Love, has meant so much to me (and millions of other readers). I don't know if she has changed or if I have--well, both, duh--but the book is not resonating with me yet. I think that a combination of studying so much science the past few years and the tremendous load of stress I've borne has taken some of my woo-woo ways away. I miss my woo-woo ways.
After I left Christianity, I still very much valued spirituality. During a great and difficult period of personal growth in my early 30s, I always thought of my process as a benevolent one. I would repeat to myself and my journal, "This is a benevolent process. This is a benevolent process," and it would bring me comfort. There were obviously unknown powers at work in my life. I don't know if I believe that anymore. I'm agnostic about my agnosticism. I wonder if my journey is still a benevolent process, if I can still hold on to that comforting thought.
Recently, I came to a comforting conclusion: yes, this is a benevolent process because I choose it to be so. I, Jenny, bestow kindness, compassion, and well meaning onto my life, my journey, and my processes. So, in the future, when I'm not feeling kind toward myself, or when I'm in the thick of stress/depression/loneliness/____________ (insert difficult feeling), I will be held in the kindness I now choose.
The world is made up of matter and energy, much of it and its interactions still unknown. That is mysterious unknown power. Big magic even? I look forward to the rest of Gilbert's book, and the light it might shed on my journey.
After I left Christianity, I still very much valued spirituality. During a great and difficult period of personal growth in my early 30s, I always thought of my process as a benevolent one. I would repeat to myself and my journal, "This is a benevolent process. This is a benevolent process," and it would bring me comfort. There were obviously unknown powers at work in my life. I don't know if I believe that anymore. I'm agnostic about my agnosticism. I wonder if my journey is still a benevolent process, if I can still hold on to that comforting thought.
Recently, I came to a comforting conclusion: yes, this is a benevolent process because I choose it to be so. I, Jenny, bestow kindness, compassion, and well meaning onto my life, my journey, and my processes. So, in the future, when I'm not feeling kind toward myself, or when I'm in the thick of stress/depression/loneliness/____________ (insert difficult feeling), I will be held in the kindness I now choose.
The world is made up of matter and energy, much of it and its interactions still unknown. That is mysterious unknown power. Big magic even? I look forward to the rest of Gilbert's book, and the light it might shed on my journey.
A Thrill of Hope
It's Christmas 2015, warm but rainy here in Georgia. The day started with such joy, as I heard the kids whispering with excitement in the living room at 6 o'clock. Stella made the coffee, and then the four of them rang their bells outside our bedroom door to wake us up. Opening presents was a blast, then lots of family came over with more presents, and then we ate super delicious vegetables and played with our new toys. I took a brief nap, followed by a brief walk, and now I'm damp but comfortable in the post-Christmas living room mess.
Different lyrics from different Christmas songs stick out to me each Christmas, whether it's realizing that Baby, It's Cold Outside is about date rape, making a joke about donning our gay apparel, or watching in wonder at the kids' "eyes all aglow" as they prepare to go to bed on Christmas Eve. On my walk this afternoon, I was thinking about the words "a thrill of hope" from O Holy Night. I was thinking that I sure would like to feel a thrill of hope.
I have so much to be hopeful about. I successfully completed my first semester of nursing school. What was a faraway dream will be a concrete reality before I know it. I'm engaged to be married to a wise, loving woman who is a true partner and witness in my life. Our kids are so thoughtful, smart, fun, creative, and joyful. They are going places - interesting places where they will solve problems, lead others, create art, and experience the world. Hope!
But no thrill of it. I'm thrill-seeking.
Different lyrics from different Christmas songs stick out to me each Christmas, whether it's realizing that Baby, It's Cold Outside is about date rape, making a joke about donning our gay apparel, or watching in wonder at the kids' "eyes all aglow" as they prepare to go to bed on Christmas Eve. On my walk this afternoon, I was thinking about the words "a thrill of hope" from O Holy Night. I was thinking that I sure would like to feel a thrill of hope.
I have so much to be hopeful about. I successfully completed my first semester of nursing school. What was a faraway dream will be a concrete reality before I know it. I'm engaged to be married to a wise, loving woman who is a true partner and witness in my life. Our kids are so thoughtful, smart, fun, creative, and joyful. They are going places - interesting places where they will solve problems, lead others, create art, and experience the world. Hope!
But no thrill of it. I'm thrill-seeking.
Saturday, January 17, 2015
You Have No Idea
Tara has left a new comment on your post "Betty's Birth Story":
Noticeably absent is a loving father who would have loved to have been there. It is sad when a mother's hate for her ex-husband is greater than her love for her children. This blog proves that is how you feel. You put your interests above your children. I feel sorry for your girls.
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The above comment came to me for approval yesterday, LOL. Let's break it down...
First: Tara. I have known a couple of Tara's in my life, but I don't think I know this Tara, if that is truly the name of the person commenting. For all I know, "Tara" could be my ex-husband or one of his family members or friends. Let's give them the benefit of the doubt, since using a fake name is cowardly, and assume this is a woman named Tara whom I do not know.
Since I do not know her, I will further assume that she does not know me. She does not know me, but she has found my blog, read at least this one post I wrote two years ago, and felt compelled to comment on it.
Third assumption: she knows my ex-husband. Her language sounds strikingly similar to the narrative on his various online money/sympathy-seeking pages. Come to think of it, I wouldn't be surprised if Tara found this blog because he put a link to it on one of his sites, as if it proves he is some kind of victim. (When the predator presents himself as the victim, it's called manipulation.)
Okay, so, on to the comments you felt compelled to leave on my two-year-old blog post, Tara...
"Noticeably absent is a loving father..."
Yes! So true. There was indeed a loving father absent from my pregnancy, birth, and postpartum period.
"...who would have loved to have been there."
My ex-husband chose his mistress over his family, plain and simple. He gave up the privilege of seeing our baby born when he gave up on me in the middle of my pregnancy, cheating and lying yet again. I could not and would not allow an unsafe, unsupportive presence in that hospital room. Love and support only as Betty made her entrance into the world!
"It is sad when a mother's hate for her ex-husband is greater than her love for her children."
While my hate is quite strong, it does not begin to approach the extent to which I love my children. You do not know me, Tara, and you have no idea how much I love my kids. I am CERTAIN that I know my story better than you do. Your comments are based on a one-sided, false narrative. (When the bad guy thinks he's the good guy, it's called delusion.) I assure you, Tara, that this little moment of sadness you've experienced as a result of my story is nothing compared to the months of sleepless nights I spent sobbing, praying that the distress caused by my abusive, habitually lying and cheating husband would not harm my unborn baby as she grew inside me.
"This blog proves that is how you feel."
How's that now? "This blog" is a birth story about an amazing, natural labor and delivery, about the power of genuine care, and about Betty's welcome into a tribe of women who tend to each other and fight for authentic, joyful lives. Tara, there is always room in the tribe if you want to trade your blindfold for truth.
"You put your interests above your children."
As I stated above, I prioritized Betty's interests by making sure she was born in an environment of honest love and support. Also, my children are my interest. I shield them from the painful truth of how their father behaved and continues to behave, and focus on filling their lives with love, curiosity, and good ol' goofy fun.
"I feel sorry for your girls."
I feel safe in assuming that you do not know my girls well, if at all. They are incredible, and in need of no pity. Pity is something we feel for people we do not know or love. I pity you, Tara, and I pity my ex, for delusional superiority and pathetic claims to victimhood; but I do not for a second pity my children or myself, because we are filled with and surrounded by SO MUCH JOY AND LOVE.
Thank you, Tara, for taking the time to read and comment on this old blog. Your ridiculous statements have reminded me what a fantastic mother I am, how clear my conscience is, and how grateful I am that my ex-husband is absent from my story. Oh, and I do love re-reading this birth story; it was truly amazing to witness Betty's first moments of life.
Noticeably absent is a loving father who would have loved to have been there. It is sad when a mother's hate for her ex-husband is greater than her love for her children. This blog proves that is how you feel. You put your interests above your children. I feel sorry for your girls.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The above comment came to me for approval yesterday, LOL. Let's break it down...
First: Tara. I have known a couple of Tara's in my life, but I don't think I know this Tara, if that is truly the name of the person commenting. For all I know, "Tara" could be my ex-husband or one of his family members or friends. Let's give them the benefit of the doubt, since using a fake name is cowardly, and assume this is a woman named Tara whom I do not know.
Since I do not know her, I will further assume that she does not know me. She does not know me, but she has found my blog, read at least this one post I wrote two years ago, and felt compelled to comment on it.
Third assumption: she knows my ex-husband. Her language sounds strikingly similar to the narrative on his various online money/sympathy-seeking pages. Come to think of it, I wouldn't be surprised if Tara found this blog because he put a link to it on one of his sites, as if it proves he is some kind of victim. (When the predator presents himself as the victim, it's called manipulation.)
Okay, so, on to the comments you felt compelled to leave on my two-year-old blog post, Tara...
"Noticeably absent is a loving father..."
Yes! So true. There was indeed a loving father absent from my pregnancy, birth, and postpartum period.
"...who would have loved to have been there."
My ex-husband chose his mistress over his family, plain and simple. He gave up the privilege of seeing our baby born when he gave up on me in the middle of my pregnancy, cheating and lying yet again. I could not and would not allow an unsafe, unsupportive presence in that hospital room. Love and support only as Betty made her entrance into the world!
"It is sad when a mother's hate for her ex-husband is greater than her love for her children."
While my hate is quite strong, it does not begin to approach the extent to which I love my children. You do not know me, Tara, and you have no idea how much I love my kids. I am CERTAIN that I know my story better than you do. Your comments are based on a one-sided, false narrative. (When the bad guy thinks he's the good guy, it's called delusion.) I assure you, Tara, that this little moment of sadness you've experienced as a result of my story is nothing compared to the months of sleepless nights I spent sobbing, praying that the distress caused by my abusive, habitually lying and cheating husband would not harm my unborn baby as she grew inside me.
"This blog proves that is how you feel."
How's that now? "This blog" is a birth story about an amazing, natural labor and delivery, about the power of genuine care, and about Betty's welcome into a tribe of women who tend to each other and fight for authentic, joyful lives. Tara, there is always room in the tribe if you want to trade your blindfold for truth.
"You put your interests above your children."
As I stated above, I prioritized Betty's interests by making sure she was born in an environment of honest love and support. Also, my children are my interest. I shield them from the painful truth of how their father behaved and continues to behave, and focus on filling their lives with love, curiosity, and good ol' goofy fun.
"I feel sorry for your girls."
I feel safe in assuming that you do not know my girls well, if at all. They are incredible, and in need of no pity. Pity is something we feel for people we do not know or love. I pity you, Tara, and I pity my ex, for delusional superiority and pathetic claims to victimhood; but I do not for a second pity my children or myself, because we are filled with and surrounded by SO MUCH JOY AND LOVE.
Thank you, Tara, for taking the time to read and comment on this old blog. Your ridiculous statements have reminded me what a fantastic mother I am, how clear my conscience is, and how grateful I am that my ex-husband is absent from my story. Oh, and I do love re-reading this birth story; it was truly amazing to witness Betty's first moments of life.
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