Another December

Hi. It’s been a year. 

Did you miss me? Probably not. 😂 

I was reading through the last post on this blog and remembering what a year ago felt like—how frustrating it was to watch my son’s biological parents give up on fighting for him. 

The story pretty much ended there. After last December’s court hearing, Cubby’s bio mom never saw him again. 

Because of some mistakes made by the attorney, our adoption story took a little bit longer than planned but we adopted our boy in October of this year. 

I now have THREE children—and still no husband. 

Christmas can be such a lonely time. I definitely seem to struggle more around this holiday season. 

We made some huge changes this year that brought our family closer together. But I still go to bed and feel alone at night and wonder if I will ever be good enough for another man. I try really hard not to base my self-worth on whether I am in a relationship but it is really hard. 

Six years ago, I wasn’t the only one out of my friends whose relationship status changed from married to single. Not necessarily close friends, but friends/acquaintances nonetheless. And I often compare my life to their’s and wonder why I am the only one that has never been in a relationship since then. Is it because I’m not pretty enough? Skinny enough? Is it because I am a Mormon? or maybe it is because I am not a strong enough Mormon. Is it because of my personality? Gosh, what is it? 

It bothers me from time to time. I don’t think about it throughout each day and it definitely does not consume my life but that doesn’t mean I don’t think and wish my life looked different. 

I am a single mother. And yes, I adopted a baby on my own. And that doesn’t make sense to a lot of people. But even though I know it was right to adopt my son, I really wish he had a dad. I really wish I wasn’t embarking on a career while raising three young children on my own. It is so scary. The last of my college adventure starts in January, where I get to work a job for 14 weeks without getting paid a single penny. At the same time, I am expected to pay all of my bills and support three children on my own. At the same time, I am expected to be on time to pick my children up from school and day care and take them to their various activities.

That all starts in less than three weeks. And I am panicking. I am so damn scared that I am going to fall short as a mother, as a breadwinner, and as a freaking human being. What if I fail? What if I can’t do all of the things, all at once? 

My anxiety is high. Some days, I just wish I could run away with my children and not do these hard adulting things. I just want to be a mom. I just don’t want to fall short. 

I can’t voice all of these things to my closest friends and family because they don’t understand. I constantly feel like my life as a foster mom and adoptive mom doesn’t make sense because I am placing more stress on myself. But every time I pray about it, I get this overwhelming feeling like I’m supposed to be a foster mom. 

I am sure I sound crazy. What’s new? 

I miss my older kids right now. I am sure that is why my emotions are heightened. I hate sharing holidays. I hate sharing any time with their dad. I know they need him but I still selfishly want them with me all of the time. 

I need friends who are closer and more available. I don’t have that right now. I do have amazing friends but not ones that are close and available. I try really hard to mask some of the darkness that I feel because I watch other single moms and feel like somehow, they are just doing it better. They have their people. 

There is this part of me that believes I have my people. There is this part of me that tries to ask for help and reach out. And then there is this other part of me that doesn’t want to ask for help because I usually feel let down when person upon person upon person isn’t available to help. Belle moved away and I don’t have a relationship like that with anybody else. I don’t think anybody would understand what a huge loss that was. And then she made new friends and it all just feels so different. 

Sometimes I look back to three or four years ago, when the actual relationship between myself and Peter was a lot harder. And I wish we could go back to that because at least I had more people who saw me. I wish I could go back to that because back then, my relationship with religion was less complicated. 

I love my life and my children. But it is so hard. These nights, the nights where the demons come out in my brain, are so hard for me because there is no one I can reach out to and talk to. I’m just alone. 

My fear is that I will always be alone. 

It Hurts

*******************

The majority of the reactions included:

It was bound to happen eventually.

Good for him. He’s moving on.

You had to know this was going to happen.

So why are you acting so upset?

******************

They say it shouldn’t hurt because it isn’t happening to them, because the person they loved for 8 years wasn’t now in a relationship with another woman.

They say it shouldn’t hurt because they didn’t feel the hurt I felt when he walked away.

They say it shouldn’t hurt because they haven’t gone three years fighting extremely lonely thoughts and struggling to learn how to find a relationship worth trusting and then finding out that he gets to have the very thing they have wanted.

They say it shouldn’t hurt because they don’t see the day-to-day life of ‘single mom pouring her life into her children’ while he has 25 days a month to be a bachelor.

They say it shouldn’t hurt---but they are wrong.

Because it should hurt and it does.

I didn’t know how I would react when this eventually happened. Honestly, I think I figured it would be me in a relationship first so I wouldn’t react as poorly as I have.

My daughter got in the car on Sunday and almost immediately stated, “Guess what? We might be getting a new mom because I saw dad kissing a girl out on the front porch.”

And I should’ve handled it better. The tears that started pouring down my face surprised even me. And then my sweet baby girl felt like she had done something wrong. And I felt like a complete mom-failure. I should’ve been able to keep it together for her sake.

But. It. Just. Felt. So. Horrible.

So. Horrible.

So shockingly, devastatingly, painfully horrible.

And all of my feelings of loneliness were intensified.

I can usually keep them together but not this week.

This week, the tears seem to pour out of the corners of my eyes with the tiniest little thing.

And although yesterday was horrible because I was extremely sick and threw up 7 effing times, I think I needed that day in my bed, to hide from life a little bit. Because now that I’m back living life again today, I’m trying to deal with it a little better.

And it is extremely difficult.

And really, that is all I have today. Because my beautiful life is clouded right now by some really shitty feelings. 

Unbreakable

 Once upon a time, I thought I was unbreakable.

And then my husband left me.
And my children struggled.
And a lot of my friends decided to hate me.
And some of my friends betrayed me.
And I struggled with my faith.
And my eating disorder almost killed me.

And I broke. 

I thought I was unbreakable---and I broke. 
Not once. Not twice. But multiple times, I broke. 

And I remember as each of these things happened that I would look toward Heaven and wonder WHY?
I would get so angry.
I would cry.
I would reach out.
I would hide out.
I would experience deep feelings of anxiety.
And some of the times, I wanted to die.


And then time would pass and people who truly loved me would remind me why they stay and God would comfort me.

And somehow, the thing that I thought I would never heal from would start to heal. The wounds would scab over. The sun would peek out of the clouds. The flowers would start to bloom again.

It was in these moments that I was reminded time and time again that I am not unbreakable.
I am not. 
But when I break, I don't break forever.

Today I am relishing in this truth---that I am a survivor. I did not give up, even when I wanted to so many times.

I did not give up. 

I have spent countless hours of crying and wondering and doubting and although this sounds awful, it isn't always awful. Because those hours of crying and wondering and doubting are what made me who I am today.

A much stronger, more resilient, more compassionate Wendy. 

And I've learned that the people who blame me or hate me or try to break me---they don't know me. And that thought used to frustrate me. I used to get upset thinking I'd given up a portion of my life to people in my life whom I truly loved but who didn't love me back and I hated that they never took the time to truly know me.
But I no longer feel that way.
It no longer makes me angry.

It makes me sad---for them.

Because I know who I am. I know how incredible I am. I know what is inside of my heart. And anybody willing to try and break that is missing out.

My life is beautiful not because it's perfect and not because the sun is always shining. My life is beautiful because I choose to see it that way.

I choose to bask in the brightness that is my children and being a dance teacher and being a child of God and a Christian. I choose to remember the good and learn from the bad.

I might be breakable---but I am also capable of healing. 

And that is what truly counts. 

Forgiveness is Freeing

The beauty of life is that although really hard things happen, we can move on.

We can pick up those broken pieces and fight like hell for what is important to us.

Lately, I've been thinking about forgiveness and how powerful it is---or more-so how freeing it is.

Two years and one month ago, I was in a marriage that I had fought for, living each day and believing that I would be married forever---and then my husband came home and told me he no longer loved me.
Two years ago, I was told by some of my family members that I needed to fight harder to keep my marriage together, even after Peter had left me.
Twenty-two months ago, I was told on two separate occasions that I should "lose weight to show him what he's missing out on".
Sixteen months ago, I found out that my ex-husband had hidden a pornography addiction from me our entire marriage.
A year ago, a family member told me they didn't understand why I felt the need to broadcast my pain all over the internet and that it could ruin my family.
Six months ago, I lost a friendship I thought would last forever.
Three months ago, there was a stream of hateful comments on my blog that stabbed at my character.
A month ago, my Bishop told me that all I needed to do was pray and read my scriptures to find my faith in the LDS church again.
Three weeks ago, I tried to open up to my mom about leaving the church and the first thing out of her mouth was, "Aren't you worried about ruining your children?"

It's been a painful few years---and not all of the pain is listed above.
But the reason I brought that pain up is not to relive it---I've done that enough in the past two years.

The reason I bring those painful memories up is to remind myself that I am a different person, a better person, because of each and every one of those comments and trials. I am stronger and I have forgiven.

This past month, it started to hit me just how much I have moved on. I woke up one day and realized that I hadn't thought about my pain in over a day---and then sometimes it'd go two days or three days or a week.

And the dreams have stopped. That might sound odd but for me, that is an indicator of my healing. For at least a year after Peter left, I had nightmares almost every night about him. Once in a while, I'd have a good dream with him in it but for the most part, my dreams brought out so much of the pain I was feeling and wasn't able to articulate.

I survived the anger phase---I survived so much that I thought I wasn't capable of surviving.
I can look back to six months ago as I sat in my therapist's office and sobbed for the first time in front of her (after seeing her for 2.5 years) and how much pain I was trying to unload. I can look back at that moment and marvel that I am here---that I am not only breathing but smiling and focusing on so much of the good in life.

God has been working miracles within me. I have faith that the journey I am on is exactly where He wants me to be.
I have faith that whatever I decide will only bring my children and I closer to God.

Forgiveness, for me, starts when I am able to see the perspective of the other side and feel empathy for the other person's pain.
I first felt this a week after Peter told me about his pornography addiction. I remember him sobbing on the phone and apologizing over and over again. I wasn't yet able to forgive him in that moment but it was my first glimpse of empathy for him. I realized how scared he had been for years leading up to the day he left.
And God allowed it to happen many more times in the past two years, from realizing my family was trying to grasp the reality of divorce just as much as I was to realizing that the hateful comments I've read about myself came from a place of love and protection for another person in their lives.

We can choose what we want to see. 
We can choose to see the hate and label it as such or we can try and look through it to see the fear or the protection behind the choices people are making.

Today I choose to look beyond and find empathy for everyone around me.

We are all fighting battles. We are all trying to do what we believe is right.

Forgiveness is freeing and I am choosing to be free. 

The Grief Cycle

Never is an awfully long time.

I've been studying the stages of grief, not really for school but because I'm a nerd and like to read my textbooks if I feel like they can help me in certain situations.
And I thought that I had passed the stage of anger.
I really did.

I hit a breaking point a few weeks after my recent friendship d-day where I was angry. So effing angry.

But I was proud of myself. I did not allow my anger to burst out of me and poison the surrounding friendships we both shared. I did not gossip. I did not fight for my side to be told.
I got help.
I spoke about it in therapy. I spoke about it to my parents. I spoke about it with my best friend who does not know these other friends.
I didn't want relationships to be poisoned just because I was experiencing anger.

Ironically, that was not emulated on both sides.
My friendships were poisoned.
Regardless of what I had or hadn't done, I became very unpopular in a lot of people's eyes.

And maybe this is me trying to force my way through to acceptance. Because hell, I know I don't want to hit the depression phase. I'd rather just skip it.
But the acceptance isn't coming. The anger is raging. My mind is more clear now. I can look back and see what has transpired these past few months and I am angry that so many people left me. I am angry that I gave my heart to so many people who misused it.

I want to lash out. Oh heaven only knows how much I want to lash out.
Because it isn't fair.

Unintentional mistakes shouldn't turn you into a monster. And when they do, it hurts.
It hurts like fucking hell.

And it's worse than Peter's betrayal because frankly when he left me, I didn't trust him. He hurt me in so many ways but I already knew he was struggling and a bit crazy.

But when I gave my heart to friendships that I believed were firm and when I think back on all of the times I had strived to be an amazing friend, only to have it shatter into a million pieces, I cannot help but be so angry.

Angry that some of you chose to take a side when this wasn't even about our relationships. This had nothing to do with our support group.

Two people had an issue and for some reason, it turned a majority of my support group away from me.

How am I supposed to trust support groups anymore? How am I supposed to feel like I'm equally as worthy of support when THIS, this is what happens?

This is NOT what I envisioned a support group to look like. This is NOT what I envisioned my life would be like.

Shit isn't supposed to get harder in a support group.

But it can and it does.

Because among a group of hurting women who find themselves barely staying afloat most of the time, maybe support isn't healthy. Are we even healthy enough to support each other without going bat-shit-crazy if we feel like others aren't reciprocating?

That is my ginormous question of the day.

What the hell kind of support group deserts you when you need them most? And what the hell kind of extremely close friend decides that you are THE WORST PERSON IN THE WORLD after all of the things you've done for her?

You hear about this shit happening to other people but when it happens to you, the pain is almost unbearable.

I've never felt betrayal like this. Ever.

And that is saying something because I am divorced from a porn addict.

The Worst Day Of It All

Today was the worst day of it all.

Because although I haven't eaten in two days or gotten off the couch or changed my clothes, the ONE thing I wanted out of all this was for my kids to never be involved.

Today I found out they were involved.

Today feels like the darkest day of my entire life.

I hate myself today.
I hate everything today.

Except my kids.

I love my brave kids with all my heart.

Goodbye, Old Life

Today my life is forever changed.

Today my life feels ruined. 

I don't know if I'll ever pick up the pieces from today.