Peter Pan

Peter.

This weekend was one of the worst weekends to date with Peter.

He refused to give me a time frame of when the kids would be home on Memorial Day and kept saying, “When we’re done…”

He then refused to drop them off to me while I was teaching dance so I asked him to keep them until I was done (Because, you know, if he wasn’t going to drop them off BEFORE I started teaching, he would need to keep them until AFTER…common sense…)

And again, he refused.

I got a text a while later stating he had dropped the kids off at my parents’ house.

What. The. Hell.

And by this point, I was going all sorts of crazy. They had been away for a few days and they were late 2 hours getting home and now I had to drive to my parents to get them?

And I lost it. Big time.

I called my mom and yelled at her for not questioning why he was randomly dropping the kids off to her. {Not her fault…}

I fought with my mom and dad when I got to their house because the kids were swimming and I JUST WANTED TO GO HOME. {Not their fault…}

It was horrible. I felt so horrible.

On the drive home that night, my 8-year-old said, “Mom, dad says you were mad at him today but it’s not his fault. He says Memorial Day was his this year and since you never give him extra time with us, he shouldn’t have to give you extra time with us.”

So after I put the kids down to bed, I wrote Peter an email with the new Parenting Plan contract I had written up {because it’s long overdue to be updated} and I told him how disappointed I was that he had brought our children into this mess and talked poorly about me to them.

And he wrote me back some confusing paragraph about how he will ‘review it and we can come to an agreement upon said plan after adequate time is allowed for assessment of the plan you are suggesting.’ {Seriously, the oddest email I’ve ever read before with a bunch of big words that DID NOT make sense together}

Why does it still surprise me that Peter acts the way he does?

I think that’s the most frustrating part for me---that his actions catch me off guard and I allow myself to burst with anger.

I should be used to this by now. I should be able to handle things like this without getting so angry.

My therapist gave me good advice on this because I absolutely HATE when my anger escalates to the point that it did on Memorial Day. I hate feeling guilty after because I want so badly to just love and understand people and be calm and compassionate but realistically, I make mistakes and sometimes I let my anger pour out on others.

I hate this about myself. I’m trying to give myself more grace but I seriously hate this about myself.

Because I hate hurting people.

I’d rather hurt than hurt others.

But sometimes I am the one doing the hurting and I’m trying to work on that. I’m trying to recognize the anger when it’s in the beginning stages so it doesn’t get out of control. 

I wish Peter would grow up.

I do. 

But I have to remind myself that I still have a lot of growing up to do. 

And that really is the only thing I have control over.

Face To Face

Finally. 

Face to face. 

It only took fourteen months. 

Fourteen months of hurtful comments and hateful looks. 

I took a trusted friend with me because I knew I needed someone to actually process and hear everything while my anxiety did it's work. 

And when we walked up to her, I felt this waive of relief that we were finally face to face after so long. 

And maybe I felt like I had missed her. 

Three hours of each of us explaining our side and trying to get the other person to understand. 

It felt like a divorce mediation. 

She said some things that later I realized were hurtful to me as I thought over them. And I think she knew that. 

I didn't need to know details. But because she had been hurt living through it all, she wanted me to know all of that pain. 

And the reason it was unnecessary is because the whole point of this meeting was supposed to be about moving forward and about telling her how ONLY in hindsight could I have prevented everything. 

The whole point was to convince her I wasn't ever malicious. 

She already knew that though. I know she did. Because she knows me---or at least she knew me. 

I am a completely different person after going through everything I've experienced these past fourteen months. 

So we met. 

And afterward, she asked if I wanted to keep talking and let my friend go home. Maybe her and I could go grab some lunch? 

But I said no. I wasn't ready for that yet. Or maybe ever. 

And when we got in the car to go home, my friend set me straight. 

She is still blaming you. 

What she said was manipulative. 

That felt fake. 

Don't go home and blame yourself all over again. 

And I was surprised because I felt so good. 

But my friend was right. 

Because later that night, I started to panic about all of those details. 

She had gotten to me again. 

Whether consciously or subconsciously, she had said things in a way that made me wonder if this was all my fault. 

Was I really to blame? 

Somewhere deep down, did I know what I was doing? 

And as I pondered these questions and allowed myself to go back to that dark place for a minute, I suddenly remembered back to those days and weeks. And I remembered my heart and how I did everything right in the moment---the best I knew how. 

I told the truth. And although that truth brought about more pain for a while, it was still the truth. 

And in that moment, I knew that meeting did not have the power to put our relationship back where it had been fifteen months ago. 

And I didn't want it to go back. 

Because I remembered how all of this hurt my family and made it so that I could not safely talk about my own children's pain and healing. 

I had been stifled because I had been blamed by someone who should've trusted me---who should've answered when I tried to call dozens of times---who should've come over to my house to talk face to face when everything happened---who should've trusted me instead of turning me into a villain. 

I was never able to talk about my own children being hurt because the times that I tried to, I received nasty comments about how this was all my fault anyway. 

 And I suddenly questioned how any of those people would've known the part about my own children. Because I had only told one person from their group. 

And so when months later, a comment was made on Facebook that said, "How sad that you are dealing with that on top of your son being molested", how did that person know? 

And I suddenly realized that the betrayal went much further than I had thought. I kept quiet about what had happened, not knowing that a large group of people were spreading around the fact that my son had been involved. 

My family was not kept safe in all of this. 

And none of them really seemed to care about that fact. Nobody stood up and said, "No matter the circumstances, we should NOT be gossiping about her children." 

Nobody did that for us.

So yes, we met face to face. And maybe it helped in little ways. 

But it will never be the same. Because the protection of my family is far more important than gaining a friend back who wasn't really a friend anyway. 

And I have so many people in my life who are capable of trusting me through really shitty times. 

So I'm glad it's over. And I will continue to move on and heal each and every day. 

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

PS: My children are bravely and beautifully doing well. They are warriors. And they are my greatest teachers. And I may never mention their part in this again. Or I might if it feels right. But I hope if you read this, you will respect the privacy of my children in all of this. 

------------

Excuse me while I let the negative feelings seep out.

Does there just always have to be something?

I feel good about my maturity and strength with some things that have brought immense anxiety lately. I haven’t let them get to me. I’ve done so well letting myself feel the fear without letting it consume me, and talking myself out of taking on other’s problems and anxieties.

But I cannot apply those same things that I’ve learned to my eating disorder.

I literally consider(ed) quitting my day job…for my eating disorder. Because then I’d have more time to exercise and control my eating without being around people so much of the time.

I mean, if that’s not irrational, I don’t know what is…

I’m about to get on a stage in two days and dance for the first time since having my two kids. There are days I can talk myself through this because I absolutely love being on stage and performing but there are also days where I cannot even fathom the thought of this.

I am not anywhere near what I would consider to be a goal weight. In fact, I switch between starving myself and stress-eating every damn thing I can get my hands on.

And the stupidity of this is not lost on me.

If I would just NOT eat…or if I could just eat smaller portions…or if I could just pick healthier foods…

If I would do ONE of those things, I wouldn’t be overweight. Or at least, I don’t think I would. But maybe I would…

I have a friend who is a Beachbody coach. Two years ago, in the middle of my worst addiction cycle to date, she invited me to try Beachbody shakes and I remember telling her, “Absolutely not”, because part of recovery was trying to eat like a normal individual---crazy/fad/strict diets don’t work for my recovery. But then I got to a point where I felt I was ‘in recovery’ but I was overeating and needed a different kind of help.

She offered the shakes again and I decided to try it.

And I hated them. They were so gross. I tried so hard to convince myself that those chocolate shakes didn’t taste like Pediasure but they did. So. Gross.

And that experience had me frustrated because if I could just ENJOY healthier foods and not feel like ‘eating healthy is a punishment because I’m a fat person’, I feel like this would all be easier.

Because that’s how I view food---it’s either a reward or a punishment. 

I'm Done

I was so triggered by a friend's comment today. And she doesn't get it, she doesn't understand how telling me 'skinny people are more self aware' is so damaging.

I can't do this anymore.

I'm done fighting my eating disorder.

I tried. I failed. It wasn't worth it.

The end.

Their Safe World

My children have been through so much in the past 3 years.
Often times, I've wished I could erase the pain and confusion they've felt as they've witnessed us navigating through divorce and co-parenting.

My youngest has been especially impacted by all of this. He has grown fearful of many things and often begs to just stay home with me instead of attending school. He holds his blankey tight and would suck his finger all day long if he could.

I know my son has ADHD. I know this. I have it and I see it in him. His therapist has mentioned it on many occasions.
And up until this point, I didn't think anything needed to be done about it. He's doing fine in school and I know how to parent him at home.

But the past few weeks, things have been getting worse. He gets kicked out of his dance classes almost every session. He has daytime accidents and cannot seem to remember many of the things I say to him.

Tonight I was at the end of my rope with him. I love him so dearly but it was an exhaustively frustrating day. I called Peter on our way home and told him I'm going through with the psychiatric evaluation to get our son the help he needs and he got angry and told me he doesn't want to medicate our son.

And a part of me gets that. A part of me thinks he's too young or that maybe I'm overreacting. But he gets in trouble all the time these days and he is starting to fight back and become more aggressive toward me when I discipline him.

Peter told me the solution is that I need to discipline more...

Can someone remind me why I even called for his advice? I should've known it was going to be asinine.  

I kept arguing and telling him that I discipline and he said, "No. You need to put the fear of God in that kid."
And my heart broke knowing that my son is parented that way at his dad's house.

I'm just not willing to parent that way. I don't want my children to be afraid of coming to me. I don't want them to grow up not trusting me with their hearts.

So tonight, I just sat and cried as I worry about the life my son will have, where he will have to struggle to pay attention or have friends because of the way his brain works.
I'm sad that this is a part of myself that I passed on to my son and now he will have to deal with his own set of challenges that come along with having ADHD.

I don't know how to help him right now or what I can do to protect him from feeling like a failure.
I'm not willing to give up on my little bubba just because his brain cannot physically connect to what I'm saying every time I tell him something.

I don't want him to grow up feeling like an outcast. My heart aches even considering that a possibility. I want him to be loved and accepted and understood.

I hate feeling lost as a mother. I hate feeling helpless and fearful about my children's futures.

I want the best for them. I want them to live in a safe world.

But they don't live in a safe world, do they?

Eating Disorder Reality Check: Part II

We filled today up with family time.
I think that's why I've been feeling a little lighter load than the other days this past week.
Even though I'm still not listening to my recovery voice and I'm still fighting the urge to break down, I opened up to my best friend because I needed a reality check.

And she gave it to me.

And I didn't much like it.

Because instead of telling me that it is wrong for me to feel the way I feel, she validated my feelings. And that should be a GOOD thing---we all love feeling validated, right? But in her validation, she told me that there are many men who go for the skinny girls, the perfect bodies, the impeccably distributed curves.

And then she asked me if I really wanted one of those guys...

...and although I gave her an answer (No...), I'm still struggling to believe my own answer.

What do I really want? 

Perfection? Is that what I want in a man?
No.
I want someone who is caring and HONEST and loyal and funny and outgoing.
But really, I'd settle for someone who is honest and who loves me.
Seriously.

But knowing what I want hasn't made this any easier. Because I'm starting to think that what I want doesn't exist.

I'm starting to think that recovery, or whatever you want to call the past year and a half, was a waste of my time because even the best of the best guys want skinny girls.

*****

This past year, I still turned to addiction. I was addicted to food. Much like the trauma from Peter leaving me, my immediate reaction was to turn to food and tell myself I didn't give a damn what people thought or said. And much like my pattern from back then, it was only a matter of time before I found myself overweight and feeling worthless. And it is when this break happens that I switch gears and give in to the purging.

I remember a friend telling me once that she didn't enjoy throwing up (Does anyone, really?). But the thing is, when she said this, I was smack-dab in the middle of my eating disorder hell and I remember thinking, "I may not like this but I like the way I feel right after. I like the control." I felt strong. I felt incredibly invincible.

When I woke up the other day and realized that this is a pattern, I was angry. And sad. And extremely frustrated. I want to beat my own statistics.

But I can also tell you on the flip side that I already feel a sense of control that feels highly addictive. I feel like I am working toward a goal to better myself.

I don't know, you guys. I really just don't know.

Some days, I try to fight my eating disorder and other days, I don't believe it is worth the fight.

And that's frustrating for me because every time I relapse or gain weight or believe unworthy thoughts, I start feeling like maybe this fight will never be over.

Like ever.

And I really hate that thought.

Eating Disorder Reality Check

Four relapses in one week. It's been a while since I've even considered this being a huge deal. In fact, most of the past year and a half, my struggle has been with loving myself and not so much about restricting/purging.

I don't know how much weight I've gained because instead of smashing my scale this time, my children accidentally broke it. And I feel like someone should give me a high-five for not even getting upset at them. In fact, I took it as a sign. "Wendy, you don't need a scale to tell your self-worth."

Ed tells me there's no one I'm hurting if no one knows. Or at least that there's no one I'm hurting if no one knows how bad it gets. So if it does get bad, just don't tell anyone, right? Don't reach out. Because if you reach out, they will tell you to stop.

And you don't want them to be disappointed.

Ed tells me that when they see my weight loss mixed with my beaming smile and awesome hair, they'll congratulate me and think of me as strong and capable, rather than weak and incapable.

Ed tells me that the reason my friend who's been single for less than 6 months has a boyfriend is because she is beautiful and skinny. And that the reason I have been single for almost 3 years and haven't had a boyfriend in that time is because I'm the opposite of beautiful and skinny.

That last paragraph might be my main trigger this week.

In fact, I know it is. Because I don't believe the lies about this not hurting other people. But I can't help but believe that the reason she is dating while I'm not is because she is skinny and I'm not. I honestly don't think there's anything anyone could say to convince me otherwise. The truth is right in front of me.

Ed tells me that people will take me more seriously as a dance teacher if I'm skinny, that my career will be much more gratifying and fulfilled if I lose weight and become as skinny as the ballerinas you'd see at the professional ballet.

And I don't think Ed is lying about all of the things I'm being told. I don't.
I'm still struggling because I know what a lot of the world's views of right/wrong with eating disorders are. I know it isn't considered healthy to purge meals or restrict eating.
But I don't quite know what to believe when I feel bombarded with a society telling me that my worth is equated to my size.

When I look in the mirror, I don't love what I see. I love my hair and my eyes but I don't love my body as a whole.

Will I ever love my body as a whole?

And I don't have an eating disorder support system. I don't have people who fully understand what I'm feeling or why I'd want to choose my eating disorder.

And I guess that's ok---I didn't have that for the first 26 years of my life so I don't think it's something I necessarily need to have now but it's still hard when you've experienced that support for a while and then it's gone.

Because now I'm left with my family support---which is just one big effing joke since nobody in my family takes eating disorders very seriously---and my friends---which is semi-ok because they try to understand and at least make an effort to support my struggle.

But Ed never left me. In fact, Ed has been one of the most consistent companions I've had. And I look back to the times where I was going to the gym a few hours a day and obsessing over my intake in food and I think I'd be happier being her and looking like that girl I used to see in the mirror.

Because if I'm supposed to create my own happiness, I think weight loss is a huge part of that.

I remember being happy with the path I was headed down before. I went into recovery for other people, not for myself. And if I had continued to listen to Ed, maybe I'd be dating or married or at least a lot prettier than I am right now.