That’s Rad: Part 2

In my last post, I wrote about the concept of radical acceptance. To summarize, this is a philosophy I try to embrace in my life, which entails offering love, acceptance, forgiveness, grace, and a growth-oriented mindset to other people in your life, as well as yourself. In a partnership, radical acceptance means choosing to love your partner and accept them no matter what. 

In my relationship, the dynamics between me and my partner can be challenging because we both have ADHD, we’re both empaths, and we both have unhealthy stress responses at times. 

ADHD can make emotional regulation quite challenging. We have big feelings, sometimes about things that seem small, and we can be impulsive when it comes to expressing and acting on those emotions. For my partner, it frequently manifests as him being grumpy and irritable, sometimes for no reason that I am even aware of. If he’s hungry, tired, overstimulated, distracted, stressed out, or anxious, then everybody around him will be able to see that he’s not happy. He might snap at people more easily, get irritated at little things, or be sulky and sullen. 

As an empath, I have a big problem with taking responsibility for other people’s feelings. When it comes to the people I love and care for the most, the desire to make everyone happy is often overpowering. Part of that comes from being able to feel others’ feelings, which naturally makes me want to fix it so we can all feel better. I’m also a people-pleaser, and I will put everyone else’s wants and needs ahead of my own because that’s what feels safest to me. If someone is grumpy, you can bet I will be desperately trying to diffuse them, or if all else fails, escape the situation before things get worse. 

As you can imagine, having all of these complex dynamics in play can make things difficult in my marriage. My husband gets grumpy, which makes me feel sad or scared, and I try to fix it. But his stress response is avoidance, and he won’t talk to me about what’s bothering him. This causes me to shut down, or even sends me into a death-spiral of negative thoughts and despair. To put it most simply, I take my partner’s feelings personally, and that has very harmful effects on my own emotional state. 

But in choosing radical acceptance of my partner, I can accept his moods as momentary instead of something that I need to fix. I can radically accept not only him, but his feelings. That means noticing and acknowledging them without judgment and without trying to fix them.

When I say “without trying to fix them,” I don’t mean that there isn’t a place for constructive criticism. It would be silly to live with something that frustrates you about your partner without at least letting them know that it bothers you. In loving relationships, this must be approached with a high level of sensitivity and consideration. The goal should always be to protect your connection and strengthen your relationship while trying to address something you’d prefer to be different. 

But the word “fix” implies that something is broken. It also is an action word, something that you do to something. Just because you are annoyed or even hurt by someone’s behavior doesn’t mean that they are broken, and it is never our job to fix someone else. We can’t change their behavior for them, after all. We can only advocate for ourselves and our preferences, and allow them the chance to adjust accordingly if they wish. 

Regardless of our differences and imperfections, our partners need to know that we accept them fully. We can see their flaws as a part of them that we hope will improve over time, but that doesn’t detract from their value to us. We love them, flaws and all. It doesn’t mean we love the flaws—or that we are okay with our boundaries being violated. But we choose to love our partner, unconditionally. 

Unconditional love does not mean we don’t have boundaries. Boundaries are for our protection. Because while it’s not okay for our partners to hurt us, the reality is that everybody hurts others at times, and everybody gets hurt by others in life. It’s unescapable, and it’s inevitable that at times our partners will hurt us and vice versa. Trying to avoid being hurt at all costs and cut off any relationship that isn’t perfect would mean choosing to be alone. 

That’s why boundaries are so important. They keep us safe! Before you can expect someone to honor your boundaries, you first need to define them for yourself and then communicate them to the other person. It isn’t fair to blame somebody for crossing a boundary when they weren’t even aware that it existed. In short, we need to decide what we are okay with, and we are not okay with. We also need to sort out which things are our preferences, and which are our non-negotiable boundaries.

Preferences are not deal-breakers. They are things that frustrate or annoy us or bother us. It is good and healthy to communicate these things to our partners in a kind way, because oftentimes they are willing and able to make small changes to improve for us; we should be willing to do the same for them, of course. If they aren’t willing or able to change those things, that’s where radical acceptance comes in. 

Boundaries are more serious. They involve defining treatment that we won’t accept, and the consequences for those who violate them. 

Some boundaries that I have are the following: I won’t accept being talked down to, being yelled at, being blamed for things that are not my fault, or being snapped at. I won’t accept my partner storming out and ignoring me. I won’t accept being criticized in a way that is intentionally hurtful and/or not constructive. 

When I say that I “won’t accept” something, it doesn’t mean that I will end our relationship. It just means that I will call it out, and then take space as needed. I won’t be around energy that is making me feel badly; I will either physically leave or create a safe mental space by pausing the conversation and doing something else by myself. I also won’t fake affection. If I’m feeling disconnected from my partner, I won’t act like everything is fine. I require resolution of the issue before I am willing to interact with him on that level.

In my marriage, the key here is that my withdrawal, whether physical or emotional, is temporary. Even when I have to step away to enforce a boundary, I don’t try to punish him by making him afraid that I am not coming back. He knows that I am ready to work with him on our disagreement or issue as soon as we are both in a good headspace to do so. 

In other relationships, like with acquaintances, friends, or extended family members, the consequences might be different. Violating some boundaries actually could lead to me ending a relationship. Sometimes that is the healthiest thing to do. But for the people whom I love, I want to try to preserve the relationship whenever possible. Using boundaries where they are needed and radical acceptance for the rest is a great way to accomplish that without letting resentment build up. 

When conflicts arise with others, including my partner, I try to use the perspective of asking myself “What would I rather them do?” and “Is that a reasonable expectation?” as well as “What can I do to be constructive in this situation?”

For example, say that I’m frustrated that my partner has not done a chore that he agreed to do. I am annoyed because I don’t want to have to be his manager or nag him to do things that he should be able to do on his own. He isn’t being a co-equal contributor to our household. 

So what would I rather him do? I would rather him do his agreed-upon chores in a timely manner without me having to remind him. Is that a reasonable expectation? For many people, it would be. But for my partner, who has ADHD, it is much more of a challenge. 

I have a few choices here. I could passive-aggressively hint that he hasn’t done his chore. “Ugh, it would be nice if we had some clean dishes.” I could tell him aggressively. “For the love of God, do the damn dishes!” Or, I could tell him calmly and assertively how I feel about the situation and what I would like from him. “I feel frustrated because I noticed that the dishes have really piled up, and it’s your turn to do them. I hate that I have to remind you so often. It makes me feel like your mother instead of your wife.”

That last option is perfectly valid. However. 

Radical acceptance takes it a step further. Instead, I check my own expectations, offer empathy, and then I just… let it go. I ask myself why it feels like a negative thing to have to remind him. I remember that this is an issue of mine that I am trying to work on—being willing to be assertive as well as ask other people for help. 

I remember that he is neurodivergent and any ideas of what things “should be” like don’t really matter as long as we have a system that works for us. So the thing that I can do to be most constructive and functional in this situation is to simply remind him. I let go of the frustration, resentment, annoyance, or whatever negative feelings I was having; I can do that because I examined the underlying thoughts behind those feelings, and reframed them. “Babe, can you do the dishes tonight please?” 

It’s quite simple, when you think about it.

I also think it’s important to resist the temptation to let an issue or an event become bigger than it is. Even if it’s a recurring issue, it probably isn’t a deal-breaker for the relationship. 

The chore-related conflict I described is not an uncommon occurrence for me. It’s something that happens regularly. And there are plenty of other conflicts or disappointments in my marriage that happen regularly as well. He’s not perfect, and neither am I. Because of these things, I could choose to label him as an asshole. I could begin building a case, consciously or subconsciously, for why he’s a bad partner and our relationship is never going to survive the long haul. I could despair and emotionally withdraw from him. To be honest, sometimes I do find myself starting to do any and all of these things in my initial reaction.

But when I’m clear-headed, the path that I would much rather take is radical acceptance. I could recognize that the issue we’re struggling with is a flaw of his or mine or both, and that it is one of the challenges we face as partners. But there are also so many things that I love about him and our relationship. I know that if we work together, with time and patience, we can overcome these things together. 

It’s easy to blame the other person for conflicts, but it’s also important to honestly examine your own role in the problem. Are you overreacting to something because it is a trigger for you? Are your expectations realistic, taking into consideration your partner’s uniqueness and the context of the situation? Have you clearly communicated this preference or boundary to them?

I know that as an empath, I am affected more than “normal” by subtle shifts in my partner’s mood. What one person might consider barely a thing, to me feels like a punch in the gut. That isn’t his fault, and it’s something I need to take into account before I jump to the conclusion that he needs to change something. 

In partnership, communication is so important. When something is bothering me, I need to talk to my partner about it. This is easier said than done because when I’m hurt, it can be scary to let the person who hurt me know. It feels vulnerable. It can be uncomfortable to give them the chance to defend themselves when I know that what they did was wrong. It can feel upsetting to have to spell it out for them when it’s so obvious to me. But talking about it is often the only way to find resolution.

Listening is equally important, if not more. I need to invite my partner to talk it out with me and to share his perspective. I need to listen without interrupting, trying to defend myself, or planning my response. Only after both of us have shared our thoughts and feelings can we move on to problem solving together. We become a team, working towards a common goal. 

Radical acceptance helps with all of these things. It helps me to express myself more fully, because I have self-love and I am confident in advocating for myself. It helps me to listen more sincerely, because I’m focused on how I can love my partner best. It helps me to be quick to forgive, because I know that neither of us are perfect and that’s okay. It helps me to let go of things that are over now, because the past is past and we can only move forward. 

Above all, I remind myself about how much I love him and the life that we’ve built together. Things aren’t always and won’t always be as hard as they are in the bad moments. No matter what, we are in this together, through thick and thin—forever. 

That’s Rad

I am a type A personality.

This can mean a variety of things to different people, so let me break it down as to what this looks like for me.

I like things a certain way. I like things clean, organized, and sanitary. I wouldn’t consider myself a perfectionist though—that part of me had to die when I had kids because believe me, nothing is ever perfectly clean, organized, or sanitary. I’m lucky if things can be mostly clean, organized, and sanitary for at least some of the time.

But anyway.

I also want things to make sense and be clear. I put a lot of effort, energy, and thought into most of the things I do, say, and believe. I really do try to do my best at everything and be a good person. I always try to do the right thing.

Being this way can at times make me feel a bit frazzled by people who aren’t the same way. People who aren’t as methodical, or organized, or considerate—they can be incredibly irritating to me. When people like that are just living their own lives and it isn’t affecting me, that’s one thing. I couldn’t care less, so long as they aren’t hurting others. But when I’m around people who are not quite up to my personal standards, and they’re directly affecting me and my life (even in seemingly small ways), I can easily get overwhelmed and frustrated.

The sense of helplessness is what gets me. I feel helpless because I know that I’m doing my best, but the other person clearly isn’t, and this is causing problems for me that I have no way to fix. I can only keep my side of the street clean—so when the street is a mess despite my best efforts, because other people aren’t doing their part… well, that’s a sucky feeling.

I’m trying to survive in a world where everything isn’t always as it should be, because other people tend to… well, suck. I have to consciously remind myself that I am not responsible for other people’s behavior or feelings or opinions. I have to remind myself that other people are going to do whatever they are going to do, and I have to be able to roll with the punches.

As such, one of my mottos in life is that you can’t control others; you can only control yourself.

This all feeds into a philosophy I try to embrace in my life, which I like to call “radical acceptance.”

I have not heard this term anywhere else. I came up with it to conceptualize a philosophy that I’ve been trying to cultivate in my life. In a nutshell, radical acceptance means seeing the good in people and circumstances while also accepting the bad parts without judgment. For strangers or general people in our lives, it means being non-judgmental, forgiving, and compassionate. For ourselves and the people close to us, it means choosing to love and support unconditionally. For our circumstances, it means finding gratitude and remaining hopeful without requiring perfection.

Radical acceptance means choosing to accept others with all their differences, faults, and flaws. It often means choosing to forgive things that are unfair, unkind, or uncool. It means giving grace instead of harboring resentment. It means being the bigger person, without getting a big head. It means deescalating even when it would feel more satisfying to stick to my guns.

It means loving the people in your life just as they are, instead of needing to fix or change them to make them loveable. It means accepting yourself for who you are—the things you are good at, the things you struggle with, your quirks, your unique needs, your passions and interests, and everything else that makes you who you are. 

To put it most simply, radical acceptance means letting go. To radically accept someone or something, you must let go of control and the need to change or fix it. It is what it is, and you accept that. Or, to put it another way, radical acceptance means caring less about things that don’t truly matter.

Trying to be a person who embraces radical acceptance is challenging for me. I idealize it, though, because I have come to realize that a lot of my life is spent focused on fixing. I see problems with myself, with others, with things in my life, and I immediately go into fixing mode. I want to solve the problem, make changes, and make it better. In theory this sounds like a good thing, but in reality, I have found it to be exhausting, defeating, and depressing. It is not easy for me to simply accept imperfection and sit in it. It’s against every instinct I have.

But the urge to continuously improve is not bringing me happiness. It’s bringing me hopelessness, more than anything. Life will never be anything close to perfect. Even at the point in my life where things were outwardly the most perfect that I could have imagined, I wasn’t truly happy. I had an easy and happy marriage, three wonderful kids, a gorgeous house, financial stability, time and energy to work on my writing, reasonable support to pursue my hobbies and interests, a secure plan for my future, good relationships with my extended family, a sense of community and friendship in my day-to-day life… basically everything that makes up a “good life” was there. But it wasn’t enough. I was at the summit and there was nowhere to go but down. And so down I went.

My life now is much further from “perfect,” although beautiful in its own way. Still, I often find myself wondering if I ruined my life with the choices I made. But the truth that’s even scarier to admit is that regardless of my circumstances, I have never really been satisfied. Nothing is ever enough, and I am afraid it never will be. Why? Maybe because I haven’t learned to just accept things as they are without trying to change them.

Radical acceptance is possibly just a desperate ploy to stop the endless reaching. Will it work? I have no idea. In a lot of ways it feels like defeat, complacency, and giving up on ever being happy. And this is why I have spent months working on this post trying to gather my thoughts enough to put together something coherent. Because what am I even trying to say?

But I think what I’m trying to say is that I suspect this idea of radical acceptance just might be the key to me finding peace. Because even though it may seem like “giving up” in some ways, it’s really more about giving up things that don’t truly matter so that I can better focus on the things that do. I want to do my best in life, and I want to believe that most people are probably doing the same. And I want that to be enough.

It is so hard to truly believe that I am enough, and that other people are enough, and that my circumstances are enough. Because other people can really suck sometimes, and circumstances can really suck sometimes, and if we’re being honest then the truth is that I can really suck sometimes too.

Anyone who has seen the new Inside Out movie can probably understand what I mean when I say that I want it to be true that I am a good person even with my flaws. “I am a good person,” is a powerful belief, and shouldn’t be incompatible with the multitude of facets we all have within us. I am kind and I am mean and I am smart and I am stupid and I am brave and I am scared… but I am still a good person, right? Right?!

But much like Riley in the movie, I am finding it difficult to accept myself as a good person because the loudest voice in my head is telling me that I’m not good enough. That’s where radical acceptance comes into play. If I can just embrace that, I could maybe hold onto the believe that I am good enough. Not just good enough, but good and enough.

The reality is that nobody can be expected to do better than their best. And only I can know if I am doing my best. Maybe the point is that we all need to stay in our own lane, because we are in no place to judge other people in that regard. So instead of passing judgment, we can just accept. We can accept ourselves and others as worthy of love, and forgiveness, and the opportunity to keep growing.

For practical purposes, boundaries are what we use to keep ourselves and others safe, but we don’t have to apply a value judgment when we set a boundary. We can say “I won’t let this person do this to me (or others); this is my boundary and the consequence for breaking it will be ____.” We can say that without saying “you broke my boundary, so you are not acceptable. Nobody should love you, forgive you, or care about you. You are a bad person.” Sure, saying those things might feel good because they make us feel powerful against those who make us feel powerless. But that isn’t our place, is it?

Certainly we don’t need to love and forgive everyone, and especially not those who have hurt us. But we can accept the situation; accept what happened, and that it’s over, and that we don’t have to stay there anymore. We can accept that they are who they are, and that it’s really none of our business whether they are doing their best or not, because we are moving on and away from them.

Boundaries are really what makes radical acceptance a safe and healthy option. Respectfully setting and enforcing boundaries is vital to caring for yourself and avoiding co-dependence; because radical acceptance shouldn’t mean becoming a doormat, accepting injustice, or being complacent.

The goal of radical acceptance is not to give up or give in, but to keep moving forward, propelled by tenacious peace that comes from within. That is peace that is not fragile or dependent on external forces. That is peace that nobody and nothing can take away.

Silence Is Golden

I’ve been having some anger problems of late. After my last post, that’s probably no surprise. I’ve also written about my anger control issues before, which I’ve struggled with all my life. So this is not exactly breaking news, right?

But lately it’s taken on a different flavor. It’s beyond anger, or frustration, or irritation from being over-stimulated. It’s rage. 

My rage makes an appearance pretty often lately. It sneaks up on me and takes over, swiftly and overwhelmingly. It’s triggered by a few different things, frustration being one of them. But a bigger trigger lately is the feeling of being powerless, helpless, silenced, and/or unheard. 

For example, the person I wrote about in Vigilante Shit incurred my rage because they became aggressive towards me when I tried to enforce a boundary of mine that they were disrespecting. This led to me feeling helpless because I did everything I could to make that relationship harmonious, and the other person was still a bully. I was powerless to improve the situation while still protecting myself. And that sucks. 

Smaller things can also trigger my rage lately, when they trigger the same or similar feelings. Someone honking at me when they were the one who did something wrong. Someone being rude to me for no reason. Someone being inconsiderate and then being a prick about it if I say something. 

Basically, I go through the world trying my best to be a kind person. But when my kindness (or just my audacity to exist and/or stand up for myself) receives an aggressive response, it really pisses me off. In short, I’m a sweet little bunny until you fuck with me, and then I morph into a honey badger. 

It was hard at first for me to see the connection between that type of interaction and the feeling of helplessness or being unheard. But basically it’s a situation where I’m doing everything I can to be a good person, but I’m still treated as if I did something wrong. That feels helpless because I have no control over other people or how they treat me. My only influence over that is how I treat them, and unfortunately there are many people in this world who just don’t care. They will treat others badly if it suits them in the moment, and there is nothing anybody can do about it. 

Why does this trigger such rage in me? It’s a question I’ve been asking myself and exploring, and I think I might have an answer. 

This may sound a little “out there” to some people, but I believe that I experienced a childhood trauma that I have repressed. I believe that it was some kind of sexual abuse, and I have ideas about who might have been the perpetrator(s). But I have no solid memories. Just a gut feeling that has followed me around for over a decade now. 

Because I don’t have any memories, I tend to question myself about whether anything really happened.* I have high key imposter syndrome when it comes to being a trauma survivor. It feels really wrong to put myself in that category when I’m not 100% sure that I belong there. 

Of course, I know that I’m good at gaslighting myself, and it’s also possible that’s what’s going on here. Because when I allow myself to mindfully explore my childhood memories and speak to my past selves, I hear myself saying that something happened.

Ultimately, the results are the same. For some reason, either trauma-related or because it’s just who I am, I have a high sensitivity level to feelings of helplessness and being unheard. I believe that is because it triggers a childhood trauma in which I also felt helpless, powerless, and unheard. 

I feel unheard often. Sometimes it feels like the people closest to me don’t pay attention when I talk. Sometimes it feels like I’m shouting into the void and nothing I say is being absorbed by anyone. Sometimes it feels as if no matter how much I write and share, the few people who read it still don’t truly understand me. These are feelings, not facts. In reality, these things may or may not be true. Or, maybe it’s impossible for anyone to truly understand another person; maybe we just think that we can. 

Feeling unheard in those ways doesn’t put me in a rage, though–it just makes me feel sad and alone. What puts me in a rage is when I’m in any sort of conflict with another person, and I try to communicate something to make the situation better, or I try to defend myself, and they either don’t hear it, won’t listen, or misunderstand. Often it seems that they hear things I didn’t say, or read things I didn’t write. It’s so frustrating to be unable to make people understand. 

I think that the key to my rage is that I sense aggression directed at me. When I feel unheard, it doesn’t feel like an attack. But when somebody is mad at me, I do feel like I am under attack. I can literally feel my body going into fight or flight mode. My heart starts to race, I feel blood rushing from my extremities, and often I will start to tremble. Sometimes I feel nauseous or an uncontrollable urge to cry. 

When I am under attack, my first instinct (after my brain has a moment to process the threat) is to fight like hell. I quite literally am ready to fight someone, even though the threat is almost never physical. It’s all emotional, but to my brain the threat feels very real and needs to be addressed immediately. I can’t fully calm down until I have resolved it in some way, and even then just thinking about the event can cause the same physical reaction and trigger my rage all over again.

It’s all very interesting. It’s also something I don’t want to be controlled by. And so, it is something I am working on. 

My new approach is to remember the most important rule when dealing with a bully: usually the best way to stop them is to ignore them. Silence is golden! Any sort of reaction from you only gives them the attention that they want. But when you ignore them, there is nothing left for them to do because you are simply not engaging. Of course, it’s also important to protect yourself and your boundaries, which I believe is best done clearly, and succinctly. Everybody deserves a chance to realize their mistakes and redeem themselves. 

However, they should not need to be reminded constantly of your boundaries, nor should you try to explain yourself over and over again. They. Will. Not. Change. That’s when it’s time to move on to ignoring them.

None of this applies to children being bullied, or people of any age facing physical threats, to be clear. Children need to be protected from bullies, period. They should not be expected to ignore it; they can learn how to do that when they’re older, but until then we must protect them to the best of our ability because they are vulnerable and that is our job. Children who are bullies need to be stopped if there’s any hope for them to grow up and not be an adult bully.

Side-rant over.

My new approach is to ignore bullying behavior. Don’t respond. Do nothing. Say nothing. So simple!

I also am using mantras to help soothe my stress response and feelings of anger that could quickly escalate to rage. My mantras are: “This is not an emergency.”; and “I am calm, cool, collected, and in control of myself, even in chaos or conflict.” That second one is long, but easy for me to remember because of all the C’s. And it helps. If I can manage to stay silent and still for just a few moments and repeat these mantras, I can usually regain control of myself.

Reminding myself that “this is not an emergency” is huge. Because my brain thinks it is an emergency and I am being threatened in some way, when really all that’s happening is something insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Maybe my kids are running late for school… but really, that is okay. Nothing bad will happen. Or maybe somebody honked at me. That’s okay, too. It is not an emergency. I am calm, cool, collected, and in control of myself.  Who cares that somebody I don’t know and will likely never see again wrongly thinks I did something to them? Who cares if they’re screaming profanities at me from their car window? I don’t have to look. I don’t have to do anything except continue to drive safely. 

In situations like this, whatever happened truly does not matter. So I can just let it go. 

A lot of the time, reminding myself of that is all I need to calm down and diffuse my rising anger before it explodes into rage. And that is super important to me, because I want to be the kind of person who makes the world better, not worse. 

*Correction: I do have some definite memories of these things, but I’m so used to disregarding them because I didn’t want to believe it was sexual abuse. The things I remember were “not that bad” so to speak. But I suspect that there were more and worse events that took place which I have completely blocked out.

IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER:

I want to make it very clear that the abuse I experienced was not at the hands of anyone in my immediate family. This was not my dad, mom, or brother. I have no intention of naming names, but I do want to make sure nobody thinks my parents did that. My parents never abused me in any way!

Vigilante Shit

There is a blog post that I wrote but can’t post.

Personally, I have no issue with putting someone on blast when it is well deserved. And believe me, the person about whom I wrote the post deserves it.

This is a person whom I have been nothing but kind to, yet they have been an absolute snot towards me. It’s always been behind my back, and it’s always been done in a way that makes it seem not directed at me; but we all know that it is.

Treating me badly is one thing. I can get over that, limit my contact with them as needed, and move on. But treating someone I love badly—now that is a crime I will not forgive. Treating someone I love badly, while giving me the middle finger, and then trying to become the victim? That’s liable to put me right over the edge. And oh, it has.

Out of respect for other parties involved, I am keeping all the sordid details saved as a draft on my computer… at least for now. Maybe one day I will have the green light to break the silence on this one. For now, I will have to be satisfied by this vague post, and the thin hope that it is read and understood by this person who so badly deserves to be raked over the coals.

I can’t express all of the rage I feel in words the way I would like to, but I can share these lyrics. These are all from songs on a playlist of mine called “Vigilante Shit”, and these are the words that I relate to the most right now.

“thanK you aIMee” by Taylor Swift

All that time you were throwing punches
I was building something
And I can’t forgive the way you made me feel
Screamed, “Fuck you, _____” to the night sky
As the blood was gushing
But I can’t forget the way you made me heal

And it wasn’t a fair fight, or a clean kill
Each time that _____ stomped across my grave
And then she wrote headlines in the local paper
Laughing at each baby step I’d take
And it was always the same searing pain
But I prayed that one day, I could say

All that time you were throwing punches
I was building something
And I couldn’t wait to show you it was real

I wrote a thousand songs that you find uncool
I built a legacy that you can’t undo
But when I count the scars, there’s a moment of truth
That there wouldn’t be this if there hadn’t been you

And maybe you’ve reframed it
And in your mind, you never beat my spirit black and blue
I don’t think you’ve changed much
And so I changed your name and any real defining clues
And one day, your kid comes home singing
A song that only us two is gonna know is about you ’cause

All that time you were throwing punches
It was all for nothing.

“Vigilante Shit” by Taylor Swift

You did some bad things, but I’m the worst of them
Sometimes I wonder which one will be your last lie
They say looks can kill and I might try

Ladies always rise above
Ladies know what people want
Someone sweet and kind and fun
The lady simply had enough

I don’t start shit but I can tell you how it ends.

“abcdefu” by GAYLE

I was tryin’ to be nice
But nothing’s getting through, so let me spell it out
A-B-C-D-E, F-U
And your mom and your sister and your job
And your broke-ass car and that shit you call art
Fuck you and your friends that I’ll never see again
Everybody but your dog, you can all fuck off

“Cross My Heart I Hope U Die” by Meg Smith

Save me your excuse
Before it leaves your lips
You’ve tied the noose
And then you let it slip from under you
I hope that hell feels good

You’re gone and buried
The cemetery
(Oh) ain’t it scary?
R.I.P. you’re dead to me

“MEAN!” by Madeline The Person

One thing I like about me is that I’m nothing like you and I never will be
Someone who loves how it sounds when they speak
You’re not telling the truth, no, you’re just being mean

Had this look in your eye like you won (ooh, ooh, ooh)
Oh, but I can’t be surprised
You care less the more damage you’ve done (ooh, ooh, ooh)
I’m glad you’re working through all your issues
Projecting on me will never be the way to fix you.

“I hope ur miserable until ur dead” by Nessa Barrett

I still hear your voice, tryna rip my world to pieces
But I’m not your toy, you can break and leave there bleeding
The damage is done, moving on if I’m ready or not
But you drag me through mud, here I come now, I’m petty as fuck
(I’m petty as fuck)

I hope you never fall in love again
I hope you be yourself and lose your friends
I hope they call you out for shit you said
I hope you’re miserable until you’re dead
I hope you’re miserable, oh
So fucking miserable, oh
I hopе you’re miserable
I hopе you’re miserable until you’re dead

Been keeping your shit to myself
If I said it out loud, you’d be burning in Hell
And I can make everybody hate you, almost as much as you hate yourself
But I won’t ’cause (I won’t)
I know (I know), one day it’ll come around
But fuck you for now

“Wish You the Worst” by Ryan Mack

The worst thing about you is your ego, you’re so damn evil
You try to get to me by talking shit to other people
On a keyboard, not the real world when I see ya
‘Cause you’re you’re just another diva talking shit behind a screen

And I know, I know
That I should just forget about you
But oh, oh-oh
I’ve got something that I’m dying to say

When you’re out on a date and you order dessert
I hope you spill and it stains on your favorite shirt
And when you’re trying to pay, I hope your card doesn’t work
Yeah, I wish you the worst, I wish you the worst

And I hope I never ever see you again
Yeah, fuck you and all of your friends
You can all go to hell, I’ll be driving the hearse
Toss a coin in the well and I wish you the worst
Yeah, I wish you the worst

“Gives You Hell” by The All-American Rejects

When you see my face, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell
When you walk my way, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell
If you find a (wo)man that’s worth a damn and treats you well
Then (s)he’s a fool, you’re just as well, hope it gives you hell
Hope it gives you hell

Tomorrow you’ll be thinkin’ to yourself
Yeah, where’d it all go wrong?
But the list goes on and on

Now, you’ll never see what you’ve done to me
You can take back your memories, they’re no good to me
And here’s all your lies, you can look me in the eyes
With the sad, sad look that you wear so well

“Karma” by Taylor Swift

You’re talking shit for the hell of it
Addicted to betrayal, but you’re relevant
You’re terrified to look down

‘Cause if you dare, you’ll see the glare
Of everyone you burned just to get there
It’s coming back around

And I keep my side of the street clean
You wouldn’t know what I mean.

‘Cause karma is my (husband)
Karma is a god
Karma is the breeze in my hair on the weekend
Karma’s a relaxing thought
Aren’t you envious that for you it’s not?
Sweet like honey, karma is a cat
Purring in my lap ’cause it loves me
Flexing like a goddamn acrobat
Me and karma vibe like that

‘Cause karma is the thunder
Rattling your ground
Karma’s on your scent like a bounty hunter
Karma’s gonna track you down
Step by step from town to town
Sweet like justice, karma is a queen
Karma takes all my friends to the summit
Karma is the guy on the screen
Coming straight home to me

“This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things” by Taylor Swift

This is why we can’t have nice things, darlin’
Because you break them, I had to take them away
This is why we can’t have nice things, honey (oh)
Did you think I wouldn’t hear all the things you said about me?
This is why we can’t have nice things
It was so nice being friends again
There I was, giving you a second chance
But you stabbed me in the back while shakin’ my hand

And therein lies the issue, friends don’t try to trick you
Get you on the phone and mind-twist you
And so I took an axe to a mended fence
But I’m not the only friend you’ve lost lately
If only you weren’t so shady

Need You to Need Me

One of the things I hate most in life is the feeling of being a burden. I’ve written about this before, but the more I come to understand my own psyche, the more I realize just how deep this issue goes. Not only do I strive to avoid being an inconvenience or a trouble for others; it extends to me needing to feel needed. If I’m serving a purpose for others, especially a purpose that nobody else can fill (or fill as well), then I’m not in danger of becoming a burden. I strive to add value to the lives of others rather than detract from it. 

Why is this so important to me? It’s a question I am still trying to find the answer to. 

I think that one reason is my fear of being selfish. I was raised to see Jesus Christ as the ultimate example for how to live, and Jesus is the prime example of being selfless to the point of self-sacrifice for the sake of others. The idea of sacrificing oneself out of love for others is one that I have idealized from a young age. To me, being a selfish and self-centered person is one of the worst things I could be. Virtually all the problems with the world could be fixed or drastically improved if people simply weren’t selfish. It’s the root of all evil, if you think about it!

But beyond the philosophical ramifications of selfishness, I also think that I strive to put others before myself because of a deeply rooted lack of self-love. It sounds sad to put it that way, because it’s not that I think poorly of myself. I believe that I am a good person, and I like who I am—but that’s because I work hard to be a person I can respect. My love for myself has to be earned, just as I feel the need to earn the love of other people in my life. 

It is ironic, in a way, that I feel the need to earn love, even from myself. One of the main tenets of Christianity is that God’s love cannot be earned; instead, we’re supposed to accept God’s love as grace. So, trying to earn it is just silly. But, at the same time, maybe my desperate need to earn love, not only from God but from everyone else, is a reaction that makes perfect sense. Essentially, we’re told that we could never be good enough to deserve God’s love… and to that, I say: challenge accepted. 

Whether trying to be good enough to deserve love is a complex that stems from my upbringing in Christian culture, or from a variety of sources, it seems to be a fundamental part of my personal psychology. 

I focus on my mission to be needed because it is the only way I can feel valued. 

But there is another reason, too. Feeling needed is an excellent distraction from my own pain, anxiety, depression, and even boredom. If I’m focused on others, I can ignore myself. Or at least I can try.

Like a substance abuser who needs more and more of the substance over time to obtain the same effects, I seem to need more and more purpose. Maybe the “self” that I’m trying to ignore is getting louder to try to be heard over the noise of all of the other needs I surround myself with. Instead of listening, I just add more noise. And what is the best way to create a noisy life? Kids and animals, of course. (The ironic thing about this is that I have a high sensitivity to literal noise, and so I often find myself dealing with sensory overstimulation that causes a cascade of other issues). 

Long story short, I bring children and pets into my life because they need me, and I need to be needed. 

But, I’m also human. I get overwhelmed, stressed out, and burned out when I feel like I can’t keep up with all of the needs around me. I react by blowing up, or by trying to reduce my responsibilities—quitting things, basically. It’s too hard and I retreat; that is, until I start to feel restless again and I find new things to keep me busy. It’s a vicious cycle, y’all. 

I had a realization a while back—maybe a year ago, if I had to estimate. I realized that there came a point in my last marriage where I felt like I was no longer needed. I’d always felt that my ex and I made a great team in life. But when we became polyamorous and I started to find things that gave me life outside of our marriage and our family, I sensed resentment building up towards me. Perhaps it was that resentment that produced an attitude that I was no longer needed. My contributions to my family and home were suddenly not enough, or not valued. 

Besides, I was never a perfect parent (and shockingly, I’m still not!). I started to question my purpose in life.  I felt like I could disappear and my ex and kids would ultimately be fine, if not somehow better off. 

Meanwhile, my new partner needed me. He was like a wounded animal who needed to be loved and cared for and nursed back to health. And he loved me and appreciated me and it was gratifying to feel that I was making a positive difference in his life. I once again had a purpose. He needed me, and my ex didn’t, so when my ex essentially made me choose between the two of them, I chose the one who needed me more. 

Nowadays, I feel adequately needed by the people (and animals) in my life—most of the time. There are times when my kiddos say that they want to be at their dad’s house instead of mine, and times when my preschooler says she misses daddy when she’s with me but not the other way around. This is the reality of co-parenting. No matter what I do to make our home appealing for them, the kids will still complain, and they will still have times when they prefer the other parent’s home. The grass is always greener on the other side, right? 

Kids complaining is another big factor in my feeling unneeded. It’s quite a leap from “I wish you did this one thing differently” to “I wish you weren’t in my life.” Yet, my mind has no problem making that jump. When I do my best as a mom, and the kids still complain, it makes me feel like a failure. It makes me feel like my very best is not enough; it makes me feel like I’m not enough. 

A critical component in any machine is useless if it doesn’t work right—it can even be worse than useless if it causes a cascade of malfunctions. So, when it seems like I just can’t do anything right, I start to feel not only that I’m useless, but that I’m—you can probably guess it—a burden. I’m a problem, a nuisance, an obstacle to the happiness of others. I’m a crumpled-up piece of paper lying here, unusable and in the way. I ruin things, because I’m a ruiner. 

Which of course, circles back to the whole self-love deficit I’ve discovered within myself. Unfortunately, it’s not something that I know how to fix. Instead, until I find a better solution, I will continue to try to patch it with distractions and trying to find value in my existence (and most likely failing). 

Sorry… that got a bit depressing. But that’s life, am I right? There’s not always a lesson or a silver lining or a happy ending. Sometimes, you just struggle until you die. But hey—it could be much worse for me. My life is objectively pretty great, and my problems are miniscule compared to so many other people. I really shouldn’t complain. 

Maybe my mental shenanigans are my mind’s way of creating interest in an otherwise-too-easy life. Maybe I’m choosing to feel this way and let anxiety and depression mess me up. Maybe I should try just being happy. 

Unfortunately, I have so far been unable to do so. It’s not that I’m never happy; I’m actually happy fairly often. But it’s never long before I fall from the pedestal, right down the rabbit hole. Long story short it’s a bad time. And so the cycle continues. 

Karma

Have you ever had to take the high road in life?

I think most people have at least once or twice. There have certainly been plenty of times in my life I can think of where I’ve had to be the bigger person in a situation or relationship. Usually, I can let go of whatever insult or slight I’ve chosen to overlook, and ultimately feel good about doing so. 

Sometimes, though, you have to keep your mouth shut about something that just screams injustice. Perhaps you are taking into consideration the feelings of a third party who would be affected by your calling out the offense. Or perhaps you know that speaking up would only cause more turmoil. Whatever the case may be, it can be very frustrating and uncomfortable to have to grin and bear it when you see someone getting away with something messed up. It’s even worse when that person starts telling other people that they’re the victim in the situation, and never ever takes responsibility for the terrible things they did. 

Enter, karma. 

Karma is a relaxing thought. It promises that even when you can’t get “revenge” on someone directly, they will still get what they deserve in the end. What comes around, goes around. 

I have a situation like this in my life that often chafes at me. For the sake of anonymity and being discreet (hopefully), I’ll explain it as a situation between five friends. 

We start with Friend A and Friend B. They are very close for many years. They do almost everything together, and they have a dynamic that feels basically content. After a few years of being great friends, they even make a new friend together– Friend C. The three of them are a happy little trio, and they go through the ups and downs of life together. 

But one day, Friend A makes a new friend— Friend D. When A meets D, things start to change. Friend A realizes that while their friendship with B is comfortable, their friendship with D is exciting. Friend A starts to want to spend more time with Friend D than with Friend B. But A also doesn’t want B to go find other friends, because then B wouldn’t be around when A needed them. You see, the plain and simple truth is that Friend A is selfish. 

Friend C is mostly oblivious to everything going on, and really only cares about their friend group staying together. 

Well, eventually Friend B gets really lonely and starts to look for other friends. B doesn’t want to replace A; they just want a new friend to keep them company when A is busy with D. (Friend C is still there, of course, and they’re great! But, truth be told, C isn’t really best friend material).

That’s when Friend B meets a new friend–the final character in this story: Friend E.  

When B meets E and gets to know them, B realizes that A has been treating them very badly indeed. A is controlling, manipulative, demanding, and unkind. B finally understands what true friendship should look like because E shows them. And once B finally sees what has been happening for all of those years, they really can’t stay friends with A any longer. They need to break free to find their own happiness!

Of course, Friend A does not like this at all. Friend B is very important to them, not because of an emotional attachment, but because Friend B does a lot of things for A. Without B, Friend A would have to do things for themselves, and that sounds just awful. Friend A doesn’t care that B is unhappy, because if we’re being honest, A is a bit of a narcissist. Being abusive to B has become a habit for A, and the idea of losing their punching bag is very unappealing. 

Nevertheless, Friend B does break free. B becomes best friends with E, and even brings Friend C along to join their new friend group. Even though C is sad that their two OG friends aren’t friends with each other anymore, they adjust to the new dynamic and they’re able to travel between the two friend groups. And Friend A has their new best friend, D, so the reasonable conclusion would be that everyone wins, right?

That would make sense, except that as I mentioned before, Friend A is narcissistic; that means that they see themselves as a victim, and believe that they are never to blame for anything that goes wrong in their own life. The fact that Friend B had the nerve to end their friendship is infuriating. 

What happens after that is that while Friends B and E are moving on and happy together, Friend A is pissed. They did not get what they wanted out of the situation, and even though Friends C and D are still with them and they are closer than ever, it just isn’t enough. Friend A does the only thing that they can think of to do to change the optics; they become the victim and make sure that everyone who will listen knows how very wronged they were by Friend B. 

Friend A talks to Friend C about how sad they are that Friend B has left them. (While the truth is that the only thing A is actually sad about is that B isn’t there to provide for their every need). But A is so convincing, and C trusts A, so Friend C buys into it completely. They even cry about it together. Friend B destroyed their trio, and they both remember it all too well.

This is all fine and dandy, because Friend B has moved on with their life, and Friend E doesn’t really care what Friend A thinks. Even though Friend A tried to hurt Friend E out of spite on multiple occasions, Friend E basically just turned the other cheek because in the end, they knew that they had won. They had Friend B, and Friend A did not. 

But the problem is that E does care about what Friend C thinks. And it gets really frustrating to hear Friend C talking about how traumatic the whole friendship breakup situation was for Friend A. It’s really hard for Friend E to hear the bullshit about how Friend A was the victim in that story. Because E saw everything; the abuse that A put B through, and the total lack of love reciprocated. A was merely tolerating B’s friendship for so many of those years. A was not heartbroken. A had damaged B so profoundly that E knew they would be picking up the pieces for years to come. And while E might have been able to overlook the terrible way that A had treated them, E could not forgive the way that A had treated their best friend, B. 

That’s where our little alphabet story ends, because keeping the peace is more important at this point than making sure that the truth is known. The past is past, and digging it up again isn’t going to help anyone. 

But if there’s one thing that makes me feel just the slightest bit better, it’s this: karma is my husband, and karma is sweet like justice. 😉 

Sad Panda

Being an empath is hard. 

Before you roll your eyes, hear me out. I know that not everyone believes in empaths. So if that’s you, then replace the word “empath” with “extremely sensitive individuals.” That is essentially what being an empath is, anyway.

If you do believe in empaths, you might know that some people are naturally more attuned to the feelings of others. Empaths experience this sensitivity in different ways. Some “absorb” the feelings of people around them. Some can sense almost instantly what others around them are feeling, even without obvious signals. There are even empaths who physically feel the pain of others (AKA sympathy pain). 

Being an empath goes beyond just being emotionally intelligent, observant, or an empathetic person. It’s empathy on a stronger level, and it’s beyond the control of the person who experiences it. An empath can’t simply “turn it off” or choose to not feel it. 

That is the hard part. I’m an empath in the way that I sense the feelings of others very quickly. I suspect that I subconsciously notice tiny changes in a person’s demeanor—which is why my empathic-ness is much stronger with people I know well. With strangers, my subconscious mind has to go off of common behaviors, micro expressions, or mannerisms. I’m not as attuned to those I don’t know. Yet, I do still feel the emotions of strangers around me often. 

I don’t absorb those feelings, personally. They don’t become my own. But I can sense them, and I have a very strong urge to help those who I know are feeling negatively.  

And so, being an empath is hard because I have to constantly fight my instinct to take responsibility for everyone else’s feelings. If the person I’m sensing negative feelings from is a loved one, it’s even worse. I have a hard time being happy at all when someone I love is upset. 

On top of being an empath, I’m also sensitive– meaning, my feelings can be hurt by others very easily. It really doesn’t take much. So when I sense negative feelings from others, I instinctively worry that they are directed towards me. If it turns out that they are, then I can easily spiral into an emotional pit of doom.

My husband is also an empath, and perhaps that has something to do with his emotionally turbulent nature. Our kids and I all joke often about his grumpiness. It’s basically a part of his personality, and we’ve all come to accept and expect it. We all try not to take it personally—but for me, that seems to be nearly impossible because of my sensitivity and empathy. 

The challenge I face is not letting his bad mood ruin my day. I have yet to succeed at this challenge. When he wakes up grumpy, my morning starts off on a bad note too. My focus shifts toward helping him feel better. I go out of my way to make things go smoothly for him in any way I can. I’m extra sensitive with my words and actions toward him. I shut down any negative feelings I may be having, because I don’t have time for those when I’m taking care of somebody else. And taking care of somebody else is one of the things I’m best at. It distracts me from my own pain.

Unfortunately, having a partner who is grumpy often is exhausting for me as an empath. My mind screams at me that this pattern of grumpiness is a sign that he’s not happy on a larger scale. Something is wrong with our lives and I need to fix it! My anxiety and depression flare up because of the stress of frequently feeling like something is wrong. 

Finding support in my partner for my own struggles is difficult as well. I hate the idea of being a burden or even an inconvenience for somebody else. If my partner is already unhappy, then how could I add more to that by sharing my own pain? I try to keep it to myself, but I struggle under the weight of it. When I feel those negative emotions from him, I can easily fall into despair because I know that I cannot possibly do any more for him than I already do. I cannot fix it. I have failed. I am not enough.

I’m lucky that my husband is so caring towards me, and that he knows I am often carrying a burden that I’m not talking about. I honestly need a partner who can pry it out of me sometimes! The problem is that even knowing that he wants to support me, I’m still terrified of being a burden or even asking for what I need. Often, he just can’t help me in the way I need to be helped, because I’m unable to communicate it to him. I end up feeling incredibly alone and unseen. It’s not his fault. I’m the problem, it’s me. 

Parenting is also emotionally draining, especially for an empath. As a parent, I can pretty much guarantee that someone is unhappy with something at any given point. There is always something to complain about when you’re a kid. (I kid you not– the other day, one of my daughters complained about the idea of getting cupcakes as a treat instead of donuts, because she doesn’t like cupcakes now.) 

When you have more than one kid, you also have to contend with sibling rivalry; in those situations, it’s often impossible to sort things out without one or both siblings being upset. When you’re a parent, you have to accept the fact that no matter what you do, you will not be able to please everyone–and when someone is upset, as an empath you feel it. Which basically means that you are bombarded with upset feelings every day.

It once again feels like something is wrong, because there is this constant feeling of negativity. That can feed into worries that you are not enough, that you aren’t doing enough, and that you are failing at being a good parent. Because if you were a good parent, then there wouldn’t be this feeling that something is wrong all of the time, right? Needless to say, this is pretty damn draining. 

Even when I am aware of this cycle, and I logically know that I am a good partner and mother, the feeling that this is not true is hard to ignore. 

Sometimes, all of it just gets too heavy, and I start to feel like a sad panda–slow, bumbling, unmotivated, and colorless. Everything feels exhausting and I just don’t want to do it anymore. (Is it just me, or do pandas always look kind of sad?) 

A lot of people in my life don’t know that I suffer from depression, or if they do then they don’t realize the extent of it. That is because I’m extremely good at masking. Hiding my pain from others is one of my superpowers! I can act totally fine on the outside even when I’m a sad panda inside. 

Masking is tiring, though. When I’m at home, I let more of my emotions show. Sometimes, they explode out all on their own. Anger is a symptom of negativity-overload and depression for me, and I can’t always keep it under control. This is hard because I feel like I need to be in control for my family. They need me to be the one who has it all together. So that is exactly what I try to be, even when I’m crumbling to pieces on the inside. 

I know that my struggles as an empath are not the fault of anybody around me. Other people, including my husband and children, are allowed to feel whatever they feel whenever they feel it. If there are negative emotions around me all of the time, then that sucks, but it’s not because they are doing anything wrong. I’m a pathological people pleaser. I’m an empath and a fixer. It is… tiring. 

I’m still working on figuring out how I can take better care of myself emotionally, and not let my empathic nature wreck me all the time. I honestly don’t know if that’s even possible, but I suspect that if it is, then I have to start by believing some things that are hard for me to embrace. I have to believe that I deserve to be cared for; that I am enough; that I am safe; that I am loved unconditionally. 

I have to learn how to empathize without letting it consume me. 

iMom

When I was a teenager, I had a lot of stress in my life. Even though a lot of my time was spent with my friends– as it should be when one is a teenager—I also had a very big workload between school, my part-time job, and chores at home.

There were many days when I would go to school, go to work, go home, do homework and chores, and go to bed. That was my life, Monday through Friday. I had zero free time on those days. What’s worse is that even with multiple hours each night dedicated to homework and studying, it was still a challenge to keep up with my coursework because I was in very difficult classes. I have incredibly high standards for myself, and as a teenager I was also extremely motivated to make my dad proud of me. I worked very hard to achieve that. 

When life was very monotonous and demanding at the same time, I went into what I like to call “robot mode.” As a robot, I am efficient. I am productive. I am good at my job. I have a purpose, and that is my focus. I don’t have needs of my own, other than the basic requirements to continue to function. 

This is one of my shades of depression, I have come to understand. I haven’t experienced robot mode in a very long time, until now. When I recognized what I was doing, I welcomed my robot-self back as an old friend. 

The truth is that robot mode is very helpful to me, especially as a busy mom. Robot mom can handle all of my responsibilities. She has a schedule and a routine, and is very good at becoming whatever she needs to be whenever she needs to be it. When it’s time to take care of the kids, robot mom is patient and caring and even playful. When it’s time to go out in public, robot mom is doing just fine—she even greets others with a smile on her face. When it’s time to do chores, robot mom is on it. 

The thing about robot mom is that, well, she’s a robot. She doesn’t have feelings. She isn’t alive. She can feign emotions, of course. Her programming is well done. But the feelings that she lets other people see aren’t really genuine. She is excellent at masking, and the more she does it the better she gets. 

Robot mom is me, of course. Even when I’m in robot mode, I am still there on the inside, with all of my emotions and aliveness. I just choose to push those things aside because there is no room for them in my life at the time. 

What it comes down to is that I can’t be “on” 24/7/365 without becoming something else. 

I am a human being, and I have a limited capacity. I like to imagine my capacity as a backpack that I’m carrying on a hike that represents life. I carry all of the necessities in my backpack—being a good wife, being a good mom, being a good pet caregiver, being a good homemaker, being a good person. And all of those things are heavy. My backpack is full to the point that I don’t know how far I can go with it on my back. How can one person carry all of that?

Now, here’s the twist. I don’t get to take things out of my backpack, because there’s nobody else to carry them, and I can’t simply drop them. So I keep trudging on with my heavy-ass backpack, just trying to make it to my destination. (Don’t ask me where it is, because I don’t know what’s down this road. I’m just walking.)

Oh, and here’s the second twist. I have others on my hike with me; I have my husband, kids, pets, and other loved ones. They have backpacks too, and wouldn’t you know it? They’re also heavy. Too heavy for them to carry, it would seem, because I keep finding myself taking more of their things into my own backpack. When they need help, I’m who they look to. I am leading this hike. And so, I carry the things. 

Eventually, a person carrying too much will collapse. 

This is where robot mom comes in! Robot mom takes some of the things in my backpack and makes them magically disappear. Namely, my own needs and feelings. Without those things weighing me down, I find that I can maybe go a little bit further with all the stuff I’m carrying. 

When I’m in robot mode, I’m just trying to survive– but I’m not enjoying life. 

Above all, robot mode is lonely. It is both comforting and saddening to know that other people can’t see through me. Only my husband (and, I suppose now you, reader) knows I’m depressed and overwhelmed. That’s the way I want it, after all. I’m the one who takes care of everyone else, and to be honest, I feel quite uncomfortable when I become the one who needs help from others. I strive to carry not only my own weight, but the weight of others’ needs as well. When I need other people to help me, it means that I’m taking away from their capacity, and I am certainly not carrying my own weight. I become a burden. 

Pushing down my pain only works for so long. It has to come out at some point, and I do my best to ensure that it only happens when nobody else is around. That is why when I’m in robot-mode, I’m socially withdrawn and I try to isolate myself as much as possible. Masking takes a lot of energy, and when I’m alone I can take a break. 

I am in a stage of life right now that is incredibly challenging. I have three kids in school who need to be dropped off and picked up at different times each day, and who all need more attention than I can possibly give them. I have a baby who isn’t yet mobile but wants to explore everything while also being held at all times. I have a three year old. (Enough said.) Every day is exhausting. By bedtime, I’m a crumbled up piece of paper lying here.

I am fortunate, in some ways, that both my husband and I are 50/50 co-parents with our ex-spouses. It means that on half of my evenings, I have a break from the chaos of feeding dinner to five children, four of which are unbelievably picky (the baby is not picky yet), and getting them all to bed. From five PM until 9 PM on the nights when we have all of the kids, I am swamped. It’s a non-stop, well-choreographed dance to get everyone what they need and not have multiple meltdowns from multiple people. 

Co-parenting comes with its drawbacks for us, as well. It’s emotionally challenging to be away from my kids half of the time. It gives me anxiety and makes me feel like a bad mom; I often feel useless and depressed. Even though I know I need the break, I beat myself up for the mere fact that I’m struggling. 

But back to robot mom. Going into robot mode is a coping mechanism for me when I get overwhelmed with stress. Unfortunately, it causes me to feel disconnected from myself and my family, and especially my husband. That makes me feel even more alone, and from that point I can easily spiral into dark places. 

What it comes down to is this mindset: I am on my own here, and I will survive even if I have to be a robot to do it. It’s easier that way because then I don’t need to depend on anyone else or ask for anything. I live to serve and I’m not a burden. 

Of course, it isn’t sustainable. Eventually, my husband will get past the walls that I put up, either by his own effort or by my breaking down and letting him in because the truth is, I don’t want to be in this alone. When he tells me that I don’t have to, I cling on to that shred of hope. I start to think that maybe it’s okay for me to need things. I start to think it’s okay for me to be human. 

The jury’s still out on whether that proves to be true or not (that it’s okay for me to be human). Only time and experience will tell. 

Aftermath

Divorce is a weird experience. 

For one thing, it can mean different things to different people. 

For some it feels like defeat; for others, freedom. For some, it is a time of heartbreak and devastation; for others, a time of celebration and rebirth. It can be amicable and even unremarkable; or, it can be acrimonious and dramatic. 

Sometimes, divorce is many things to a person—either all at once, or day-by-day. What I mean by that is that for some people, they can feel both negative and positive feelings toward their divorce simultaneously. And for some people, how they feel varies from day to day, week to week, month to month, etc; sometimes they feel positively about it, and sometimes they feel negatively. 

The thing about divorce is that nobody plans for it to happen. (The word “nobody” here is used hyperbolically; I’m sure there are some people out there who marry with the intention of divorcing, for a variety of reasons either unhinged or calculated, or perhaps both). 

Nobody gets married and vows to be with a person for life, while knowing in the back of their mind that they’re lying. For most people, marriage is sacred. It is something they only want to do one time with one person. Divorce is something that happens to those who don’t think things through, act on impulse, choose poorly, or are careless with others. It’s something that deserves sympathy, that people look at and think, “okay, how can I avoid doing that? I don’t want to be that person.”

But the truth is that divorce is, well… complicated. It isn’t good or bad; it is both and neither. 

For me, getting divorced is something I never in a million years thought I would do. Like, ever. It’s also something that I am continuing to process, over two years after separating from my ex, and after getting remarried. Being married again kind of feels like starting to read a new book before you finish the one you were reading before… but you were kind of over it, and this new book is pretty great, so it’s okay? And yet, the nagging feeling of knowing you didn’t finish reading that book is always there. (Or is that just me?)

Long story short, I haven’t finished processing my divorce even though I’m married to someone else now. Which is weird, but also kind of makes sense. I was with my ex-husband for 13 years, and married for ten. That is a long relationship to change so dramatically, and processing that is bound to take some time. For all I know, I’ll be processing it for the rest of my life. I mean, I hope not, but still. 

When I think about my divorce, I realize that there’s a difference for me in how it happened versus why it happened. If someone were to ask me why I got divorced, I would have to choose which version to give them. 

How it happened is that we became polyamorous, and through that I realized that my feelings for him were platonic. I fell in love with someone else, and my ex was not able to accept that person into our lives as fully or as quickly as I wanted him to. Even though we’d both agreed to be polyamorous, in practice it was a very exciting experience for me but a very unpleasant experience for him. Losing my romantic interest was painful for him (I think I can safely assume), while for me it was painful to be separated from my new love. These factors caused conflict between us and led to both of us pulling away from the relationship. It came to the point where we couldn’t find happiness while staying married. 

How it happened makes me look like the “bad guy,” and that perception has messed me up a lot emotionally. Because I know that I didn’t do anything wrong, but from a simplified perspective, it would seem that I left my husband for somebody else. It looks like I threw away my marriage for something new and exciting. That voice in my head tells me that I’m the villain. 

This is why I feel the need to frequently emphasize that I could have and would have stayed with my ex, if only he had been able to support my new relationship. Perhaps that doesn’t make sense to people who aren’t polyamorous, but it is what it is. I would have done the same for him. In fact, I was his biggest cheerleader in dating! I truly wanted him to find a person who could give him what I could not, so that we could stay married and both be happy and fulfilled. 

Why it happened is different, I’m beginning to realize.

As I mentioned, while I was falling in love he was going through emotional upheaval. I was changing and discovering a life of my own apart from him. Because I was changing, he needed to change too. In the end, we were two very different people who could have stayed married if we’d wanted to, but the reality is that we didn’t want to. 

I find it annoying that it sounds like a cliché that “we both changed” and “we grew apart.” Because it’s not just as simple as that. But at the same time, it kind of is. 

We are different people now. Throughout the 13 years we were a couple, we obviously changed a lot as well. I always believed we could change together, and that’s what we did for all of those years. But when everything was falling apart, we both were changing in ways that specifically and by necessity pulled us away from each other. We were becoming our own people, finally. And if I’m honest, all of me changed like midnight. The people we became didn’t make sense as a couple, and so we walked away. 

When we decided to divorce, it was extremely… uneventful. It was a calm, cool, and collected kind of conversation. No anger, so hurt feelings (at least that were expressed), certainly no yelling. We even had one last cuddle. 

Looking back at that always makes me sad. What we lost was something big, and amazing, and rare. All of a sudden, we realized it was already gone and we were holding onto nothing. But at the time, I wasn’t sad. How could I be sad? The people who had that amazing marriage no longer existed. I wasn’t her. So, I had nothing to mourn. 

After the processing I have done thus far, I have found reasons to mourn. I mourn for that person who I used to be, who had that amazing love story, who felt safe and secure and settled. I mourn for all the love we unraveled; we still care deeply for each other, but obviously the type of love has changed. I mourn for how easy it was to spend time together, how much I enjoyed being around him, and how I never got tired of being with him. I lost my best friend, not just my husband. 

It may sound superficial, but I also mourn for the life I gave away. We had built our dream house together, and I loved that house. I loved our neighborhood and our city. I loved the kids’ school, and I loved the rhythm of our lives. Leaving the place I loved, that felt like home, was hard for me. I had to mourn for that as well, and still do. 

It’s strange to think that people can change so much, that they can be the same person and yet not. It’s hard to know how to be around them. When you’re with a person who you have known for so long and been through so much with, and they start to become someone that you don’t recognize, it is extremely disconcerting. You miss that person, but how can you say that when they’re right there in front of you? It’s hard to process. 

Getting divorced when I thought I was above that was humbling. Now, being married again, I have to balance my cynicism with optimism. It would be naïve to say that it is impossible I would ever get divorced again—even though that is how I feel! I guess the difference now, and one of the biggest lessons I learned, was that I have the power to choose what happens in my marriage. 

Of course, I only have control over myself, which is only half of the equation. But the point is that I have the power. It isn’t fate, it’s a choice. I know that I chose to divorce my ex. I know that I could have chosen differently. I know that I do not want to choose that ever again. I also know that I might change my mind about that someday and feel tempted to leave—but even if that happens, I can still choose to stay. If my marriage is as sacred to me as I say it is, then I will choose that even on the days I feel differently. And I am determined to prove that it is.

I’m very lucky with how things have turned out. My ex-husband and now-husband get along really well, and I have a good relationship with my ex as well. There is no animosity. On my husband’s side of things, everything is harmonious with his ex-wife as well. The four of us make up a sort of co-parenting chain, and it feels nice. Our blended family has blended smoothly, and I am happy with that. 

So, the aftermath hasn’t been so bad, on the surface. Emotionally, though? That’s a different story. It just goes to show that nobody goes through divorce completely unscathed. We bear the scars, whether we like it or not. 

Five Months of August

Dogs seem to come and go more frequently in my life than most. I’ve had 12 dogs as an adult. Three were rehomed, four passed away, and one went to live with my ex-husband. Currently, I have four dogs. 

Dezi was my husband’s dog before I met him, and I adopted Pepper when I separated from my ex. Then we got Nugget as a puppy in December of 2022. Three dogs felt manageable, probably because two of them are small and Dezi is older and less needy than a younger dog. But I felt like there was something missing. It seems as if my heart is continuously expanding to want “one more” thing to love and care for. And so, I got the itch for another dog. 

I found myself thinking of my first dog that was my own (rather than a family dog growing up). His name was Marley, and he was very special. He was an American Pitbull Terrier mix, absolutely gorgeous, incredibly gentle and tolerant, and just overall a very good dog. His only vice was separation anxiety, which was something we struggled with for most of his life. But it was worth it to me because Marley was amazing. 

He passed away at the age of 13, and since then I’ve had five pitties—that is, pitbull-type breed dogs. First there was Macy, who I actually got as a puppy before Marley passed away. She was what I referred to as my “soul dog.” While I don’t think there’s only one dog in a lifetime who can speak to a person’s soul, I do feel that some dogs are more special than others. At least, that has been my experience. For me, Marley and Macy were my first two soul-dogs. They held special places in my heart. 

Sadly, as Macy grew up she began to have unpredictable bouts of aggression towards other dogs. These were dogs who she grew up around, as well as others. And when it happened, she went for blood. One minute she could be innocently playing or cuddling with one of her doggie siblings, and the next minute something shifted and she was trying to kill them. We never understood why it happened, but we did everything we could to fix the problem. We did extensive training, and she responded very well. But, because her aggression wasn’t a habitual behavior but random episodes, training didn’t stop these attacks from happening. 

While I never worried that Macy would hurt one of her human family members intentionally, she did bite my ex when he tried to separate her from one of our other dogs during an attack. His injury was fairly serious, and we began to consider our options. We tried to rehome her, but a pitbull with aggression issues is nearly impossible to adopt out. After our second professional training program with her, which was followed shortly after by another attack in which my ex was once again bitten—we knew it was time to put her to sleep. 

Having to put a perfectly healthy, young, sweet dog to sleep was horrid. But we knew that it wasn’t safe to continue to have her around. It was heartbreaking to say goodbye to her.

The two other pitties I had with my ex were Moosey and Buddy. We got Moosey as a puppy, and he was very sweet and overall a good dog. For our family at the time, though, he turned out to be too much of a handful for us. So when my parents offered to take him as a trade for their older dog, Buddy, we jumped at the opportunity. Buddy is tolerant, gentle, playful, and loyal—a great dog to have in a family with young children. He wasn’t as great of a dog for a couple who liked to travel a lot, which is why my parents wanted to trade. We were all satisfied with this decision, and it worked out great. 

In my current marriage, I’ve had two pitties. One of them is brand new as of this post; we just got a puppy, who we’ve named Forrest. But before Forrest, there was Auggie. 

As I mentioned earlier, I began to feel a pull to get another dog this past summer. I was thinking a lot of Marley and how I wished I could find another doggo like him. Well, I looked, and I found August. 

August—Auggie for short—was also incredibly gorgeous and sweet. He was super tolerant of the kids, the cats, and other dogs. Nothing seemed to bother him. His demeanor was exactly what I knew pitbulls could be, at their very best. I loved him from the day I met him.

We adopted him from a couple who was looking to rehome him. He was about ten months old when we adopted him, and they said they were rehoming him for financial and family health reasons. When they said goodbye and we took him with us, they were visibly upset; it was clear that they loved him very much. But what happened in the month following our adoption of him made me suspicious that they gave him up for a very different reason. 

At his initial vet checkup, he had some unusual blood test results for his liver. We ended up doing many follow-up tests, the most serious of which was a very expensive imaging procedure. Finally, we had our answers. Auggie was diagnosed with multiple liver shunts. What this means is that his liver started growing new pathways for blood to be diverted from passing through. This meant that his liver was not serving him well—and the naturally occurring waste and toxins that it should have been filtering out were staying in his body and slowly poisoning him. We also learned early on that his liver was undersized, and when we learned about the shunts, I suspected that his unusually small liver was the reason they developed. 

Unfortunately, while congenital liver shunts (ones that a dog is born with, which are usually just a single shunt) are surgically repairable, multiple acquired shunts (ones that a dog develops, which can be many) are not treatable. The only options for treatment were basically palliative; he was put on a special diet and given a few different medications to help slow the process of him dying. After a couple of months of me making homemade dog food for him, I couldn’t do it any longer. The expense and the time was too much for us. We took him off the special diet and medications and decided to enjoy him for as long as we would have with him. 

I suspect that his previous owners knew about his condition. The prognosis for this is bleak; dogs with this condition can live up to two years, at the very most. The majority don’t get even that long. And I understand why his previous owners might not have wanted to be the ones to lose him that way—or the ones to make the decision to end his suffering. 

Ultimately, we had five months with August. During those months, we took him on camping adventures and gave him all the love we could. We watched and waited for the signs that he was beginning to feel the effects of his disease more acutely. 

The week that we knew it was time was rough on him. He had vomiting and diarrhea, sometimes with blood in it, appetite loss, and general malaise. We could tell that he was just not feeling good. I came home one day and he ambled over to me in his usual “Eeyore” way and he put his head on my lap and looked at me in a way that told me it was time. It felt like he was telling me that he was ready, that he was tired and done. We took him to the vet to put him to sleep that night. 

Saying goodbye to Auggie was painful—as it always is. It is an unpleasantly surreal experience to watch a dog go from alive to gone, just like that. They have no idea what is coming. They are so innocent and trusting, and as human caretakers for them we have to be the ones to decide when to end their lives to prevent needless suffering. It feels like murder every time, to me. I have to constantly remind myself that I’m doing the right thing, the loving thing. 

In the weeks after losing August, I have continued to grieve. I’m still not done, and I don’t know how long it will take until I can think of him and smile instead of breaking down into tears. But one thing that I believe with dogs is that when you lose one, it gives you space to take in another. I debated whether getting a fourth dog (again) was a good idea. I knew that our lives would be simpler if we just stuck with the three that we already have. But, I also knew that I needed a pittie in my life. 

Three weeks after losing Auggie, we found Forrest posted online for adoption. We went to get him that same day. We’ve only had him for a few days now, but already we know that we found a really special one. He is definitely a puppy—mischievous and untrained—but for a puppy, he is incredibly easy so far. He is so affectionate and smart and just plain cute. He’s already captured our hearts.

I know that Forrest will never replace Auggie. Auggie will always be special to me, and I will always miss him and think about the years we should have had with him. But it does bring me a bit of comfort to know that without August leaving us so soon, we would not have found Forrest. The circle of life continues. With any luck, we will have many wonderful years with Forrest. And for that, I have August to thank.

Of course, this post is dedicated to my Auggie boy. I miss you, puppers. I love you and can’t wait to see you again at the rainbow bridge. Until then, have fun running around with Marley and Macy! 

Hello, Forrest.
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