Jennifer Lambert

A Sacred Balance

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Confidence

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Years ago, I was searching and wondering if I was on the right path.

My kids were very young. I felt worthless, exhausted, and mostly a failure in all aspects of my life.

I went to university to become an English teacher. I sailed through a master’s in education, then got a job teaching high school English. I was able to teach two semesters of college writing as an adjunct and it was a dream that shattered when we had to move out of state. I never returned for that coveted Ph.D.

I left the world of academia to be a stay at home mom, homeschooling my four kids. To many, I was considered a failure.

I grew up in a time that mere mothers were ridiculed (and I think they still are). The Supermom had to do it all – career, marriage, family, extensive social engagements, church, charity.

It’s too much.

It seemed like so many women had it all together, seemed at peace with their place in life, had a successful life doing whatever they were called to do.

I struggle. I feel like I am fighting something or someone all the time.

It took me many years to figure out my priorities as a parent and homeschool mom. I still have moments, days, weeks, seasons of doubt.

When we first began homeschooling, I made so many mistakes. I didn’t know really how to begin. I looked to other homeschool moms who had perhaps been homeschooled themselves or who had older kids and had been homeschooling them for years.

I questioned everything. I questioned my abilities as a mother and teacher. Even though I had gone to college for education and earned an M.Ed., I didn’t feel confident teaching my own kids for a very long time.

Some wives and mothers I knew who did not homeschool felt the need to speak up about how they thought it should be done. And many homeschool parents criticized me for not doing it their way.

I was criticized for answering the phone during the day or running errands with or without kids in tow. I was told to just get a nanny for the babies so I could be social. Or that I should do more for the kids and less for myself, that I was selfish to want any time or self care.

I’ve been criticized for attending church, not attending church, reading the wrong books or watching the wrong media.

Eyebrows raised over what I did and didn’t let my kids do.

So I’ve been told my entire life that I am just wrong. After so long of being told all these things, I started to believe it. And it wore me down and I got depressed and anxious. Then they want to throw pills at me and tell me it’s all my fault anyway, something wrong with my brain chemistry.

I worried about fitting in with the moms who seemed to have it all together. They look like magazine models and their kids seem perfect and their husbands and parents are proud and doting. Theses moms have lots of friends and social engagements, but somehow seem never rushed or stressed. How did they do it? Why did they do it? It was like Stepford and did I really want to be like that?

Would I ever get to that point of confidence?

After a women’s conference years ago, I met up with a group having breakfast at the airport before flights. I asked a very well-known Christian homeschool mom, author, and speaker if we ever get to that point of…

And she cut me off with an emphatic “NO!”

I was shook at her attitude, her rudeness, her anxiety. This lady is supposed to be a mentor to other wives and moms? Her curated perfection on social media, in her speaking engagements, and in her books seem all lies compared to her real self shown to us in that airport.

Almost ten years later, I want to understand where she was coming from, but I’m not even sure what she meant. That we are always a work in progress? But her delivery overshadowed any lesson she was trying to impart.

Some of the most self-conscious, cynical people I’ve met are self-professed Christians.

Forget about your life situation for a while and pay attention to your life. Your life situation exists in time—your life is now.

Eckhart Tolle, The Power of Now

Confidence means many things to different people.

To me, confidence means becoming unashamedly more of myself.

I’ve been told that I appear confident. But they mean intimidating.

Why is it that confident women are considered brash, angry, hostile, arrogant, aggressive?

I am quiet. I am not shy. I am introverted. I do not have social anxiety. I think carefully before I speak. I observe.

I have felt a vast shift since I hit my 40s.

I am less concerned about what people think of me – my appearance, my parenting style, my kids’ dyed hair.

This summer, I bought new clothes that I never felt I could wear before: shorts, sleeveless tops. I am not ashamed of my thighs and arms. I spent most of my youth desperate for my body to change and when it never really did get curvy, I was so disappointed. I’ve never had a flat tummy or a big chest and that combo is unfortunate in our society and both women and men humiliated me for not looking like they thought I should. I’ve had so many ask if I’m pregnant because I’m thin all over but with this round soft tummy. I will never look like a magazine model and that’s ok.

I know that I am not stupid. I am not uneducated, but I still have so much to learn and I try to be humble and not insert myself where I am not wanted or needed. I trust my intuition more now. I made lots of mistakes with my kids and I am making amends now. I am ending generational trauma and healing my own self. I love seeing my kids become who they are meant to be – dyed hair, piercings, tattoos, unique clothing, whatever.

I wasn’t allowed to express myself and it’s good to see my kids live free.

I’m remembering who I am, who I was when I was a little girl, before I got stifled, and I feel more safety to express myself now.

I have long straight mousy blonde hair. I even have a few silver streaks. I’m tired of going to salons where they want to make me look like everyone else. I’d rather have dirty tomato-scented fingernails than have a manicure. I have stretch marks, forehead furrows, a vertical line between my brows, and an indention on the left corner of my mouth. I earned these marks. Why would I want to erase them with Botox?

My first three decades or so brought much anxiety with doubting myself and my circumstances with education debt, job security, marriage failures, pregnancy and motherhood.

I’m tired of the comparison trap. I don’t subscribe to shopping emails or newsletters. I loathe the social media ads. I don’t care about the blogger or influencer recommendations as much as I used to. I see the hot trends that everyone “has to have” and I just don’t really need any of it. I am more confident in myself and my style and personal needs. I actually really hate shopping.

When you do not know who you are, you push all enlightenment off into a possible future reward and punishment system, within which hardly anyone wins.

Richard Rohr, Falling Upward

I do long for more than this mediocre suburban life and maybe I will find it someday.

I do get depressed by events happening in the world and by mean people who only care about themselves.

I’ve streamlined and minimized our life. I am prioritizing rest.

We homeschool based on interests and annual rhythms. I refuse to rush or stress over things I can’t control.

I’m excited by what the next few decades may bring.

I don’t have all the answers and I usually don’t even know what the questions are.

And that’s ok.

As we move into the second half of life, however, we are very often at odds with our natural family and the “dominant consciousness” of our cultures.

Richard Rohr, Falling Upward

Resources:

What does confidence mean to you?

Linking up: Pinch of Joy, Eclectic Red Barn, House on Silverado, LouLou Girls, Keeping it Real, Random Musings, Anita Ojeda, April Harris, Mostly Blogging, Create with Joy, Pieced Pastimes, Stroll Through Life, OMHG, Jenerally Informed, Shelbee on Edge, InstaEncouragements, Suburbia, Soaring with Him, Ridge Haven, Ducks in a Row, Ginger Snap, Girlish Whims, Anchored Abode, Fluster Buster, Thistle Key Lane, Jeanne Takenaka, Try it Like it, Artful Mom, Debbie Kittmerman, Slices of Life, Imparting Grace, Penny’s Passion, Hubbard Home, Modern Monticello, Simply Beautiful, Being a Wordsmith, Simply Sweet Home, Answer is Choco, Momfessionals, Embracing Unexpected, CWJ, Fiesta Friday, Shabby Art, Cottage Market, Pam’s Party, Grammy’s Grid,

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Prioritizing Rest

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This last year or so has highlighted so much that is wrong about our individualist society. I grew up with the message that I should work more, harder…push…bigger, better, faster, more. Even to the point of collapse. Mental health be damned. Just push through physical exhaustion or illness. The prosperity gospel perpetuates this mindset – just fake it ’til you make it. It’s dangerous and wrong.

We have witnessed some privileged rich and famous people taking breaks and stepping away from the limelight to protect themselves and set boundaries. It’s a great thing to see them modeling health for the rest of us, but if we as a society cannot allow for rest, it just spotlights the problems even more. We pride ourselves on our self-reliance and grit to our detriment.

Naysayers (and even I at times) wonder at what point do we push on with courage in the face of fear and adversity or just quit? When do we know what to do? Most of us don’t have that luxury – paid time off, savings for vacations, help with responsibilities.

How many people feel trapped by their circumstances and cannot or refuse to rest or quit? We see so much depression, anxiety, disordered eating, and more. What will it take to wake up and make systemic changes?

We live in a rat race society. I refuse to succumb to the hustle.

We have had seasons of rushing and I didn’t like it. We tried to fit in and do all the things – signing our kids up for every activity, volunteering for everything at church, doing, going, hurrying. I didn’t feel safe or content and I think our health suffered with the added stress.

I had to learn how to say no. And NO. is a complete sentence. I had to learn how to discern what we should and could do with our time, protecting our rest, limiting ourselves to what felt safe and sure.

Thankfully, we are in a season we are able to get enough sleep and rest. I don’t have to stay busy all the time.

My youngest is eleven. I remember the days when he was a baby and toddler and seemed never to sleep. I don’t really miss those times. I love having big kids and teens.

How we rest

I wake up naturally most mornings. I don’t like alarms. I don’t like to be rushed. I don’t think success is waking up before dawn, unless that’s natural and normal for someone. I don’t function well in the early morning.

I don’t make appointments for mornings if I can help it.

During summer, my kids each choose a camp realizing they have to plan to go to bed and wake up earlier to get ready.

Every morning, I refill the bird feeders and I sit on my deck with my tea and our two cats, watching the birds and damselflies. I inspect my garden for new blooms and ripe tomatoes. I love birds and gardening.

I make a hot breakfast for my three kids who live at home every weekday morning. My husband has weekend duty.

Most months, the kids and I do read alouds after breakfast.

The kids usually watch Netflix with their lunch of leftovers or homemade ramen.

Afternoons are usually carefree and easy. The kids work on science, history writing, arts and crafts, hiking and exploring, bug watching, reading, baking. I read or clean or run errands. We sometimes go to the library or a park. I try to schedule appointments in the afternoons – dentist, orthodontist, therapy, doctor, vision. My kids are now old enough that they can stay home alone for a couple hours so I can go by myself to my own appointments or just take the one child to their appointment. I don’t like rushing, so I leave with plenty of time to arrive safely without feeling anxious.

The kids have classes a few evenings a week. One does aerial gymnastics twice a week. One has art classes and ice skating. One plays elite baseball.

We try to have dinner together every night. Occasionally, we eat while watching a TV show and Fridays are usually homemade pizza and movie nights. Some nights are difficult to plan, with art, gymnastics, if my son has a baseball game or practice. I don’t like rushed meals. I don’t like having two dinnertimes. We try to have an early dinner (preferable) or a later dinner to accommodate these evenings. Often, on nights we don’t have activities, we go for a walk after dinner or play cards or board games.

While the kids don’t have a specific bedtime, I encourage winding down and getting in bed by about ten at night. I know this is when our bodies are ready for sleep. I feel the natural melatonin kicking in and my body temp lowers and I get sleepy. I teach my kids to listen to their bodies. We try to limit devices and screens before bed, plugging them in outside bedrooms, and turn off the WIFI at bedtime. We prioritize sleep so our kids grow well and perform at their best.

We worked hard to get here, to this place of peace and rest.

9 Types of Rest

  1. time away
  2. permission to not be helpful
  3. something ‘“unproductive”
  4. connection to art and nature
  5. solitude to recharge
  6. a break from responsibility
  7. stillness to decompress
  8. safe space
  9. alone time at home

Resting is doing.

I am not about that capitalist grind. I don’t have a home business. I am not that boss mom or whatever. I realize how incredibly privileged I am to stay home as a mom and teacher. We have worked hard to get to this place.

I am introverted and highly sensitive. I don’t enjoy being busy. I don’t enjoy crowds or excessive noise.

I protect my kids’ time and childhood. We don’t overschedule. I want them to have lots of time to play instead of every moment of their day filled with programs.

I refuse to push my kids with their academics or make them hate their passions and hobbies by attempting entrepreneurship. They have freedom in our homeschool to explore and go at their own pace. They choose to take classes for art or sports or new activities with spaces and tools we don’t have in our home. We are in a place where my young teens can choose to do volunteer work for experience if they desire – since they legally cannot work yet. I don’t think that older teens or young adults should waste their time with unpaid work. Their time is valuable too and they should be paid for work.

My son chooses to do elite baseball and while I am so proud of him and his growth with the sport, I am not thrilled with missed or delayed meals or rushing to pack healthy portable snacks for games in the middle of breakfast, lunch, or dinner. I have stressed about games far from home and how my son will eat if there isn’t a grocery store nearby for me to acquire healthy choices. We observe with dismay the families who choose to eat greasy fast food during game breaks and then their boys play poorly and sluggishly. There are times when my husband has to take our son to practices or games and I have to take another of our children to a class or appointment. I can’t be everywhere at once.

My middle kids are in high school and I refuse to stress them out with tests, driving lessons, college prep, part time jobs, or volunteering. I offer them opportunities so they can make choices. I coach and guide and answer questions. I do so much research. I am constantly telling my kids to protect their time. I teach them to say no and manage their schedules wisely. There will be time enough for them to stress later. I don’t want to add any anxiety.

My eldest is on her own and I am sad for her hustle to survive and trying to be healthy and happy. Good paying jobs with a healthy work environment are scarce and having a certificate or college degree is no guarantee of insurance, competitive pay, or decent treatment.

I limit my interaction and time on social media. I encourage my kids to be careful online and protect their time. I am impressed that they can and do often walk away often to pursue other interests.

I love that my kids still like exploring and hiking in the woods, playing in the creek, biking, roller blading, skateboarding. They’re often the only kids I ever see outside. They ask to play cards or board games after dinner. They play Legos and Wii and Switch together if the weather is too much.

Fitness and exercise seems even to be stressful for many people. I refuse to overwork myself. I love programs that are short and intense and I do see results. Every evening after dinner, I walk about 45 minutes around this little pond park about a half mile from our house. It’s peaceful and I enjoy seeing the waterfowl, bunnies, sometimes deer or horned owls, even a coyote.

I take a bubble bath with Epsom salts every night before bed. I have chamomile tea and read or watch a show. This is my alone time and I protect it.

I still read a story to my son every night at bedtime. Then I usually read an eBook until I can’t see the words anymore and fall asleep. Screens before bed aren’t recommended. I turn off the blue light with settings and I haven’t noticed any problems.

How prioritizing rest helps:

  • Better digestion
  • Better nighttime sleep
  • General contentedness
  • Less stress
  • Time for exercise
  • Peace
  • Less forgetfulness
  • Less anxiety
  • Less clutter
  • Deeper relationships
  • Time for spontaneity
  • Creativity
  • Better immunity

It’s important we model rest for our children so they have better health. We don’t have to hustle like everyone else.

Resources:

How do you prioritize rest?

Linking up: Grammy’s Grid, Pinch of Joy, Random Musings, Anita Ojeda, April Harris, Mostly Blogging, Suburbia, House on Silverado, Stroll Thru Life, LouLou Girls, InstaEncouragements, Shelbee on the Edge, Jenerally Informed, OMHG, Blue Sky at Home, Anchored Abode, Life Abundant, Fluster Buster, Ginger Snap, Ridge Haven Homestead, Girlish Whims, Ducks in a Row, Penny’s Passion, Try it Like it, Artful Mom, Debbie Kitterman, Slices of Life, Embracing Unexpected, Modern Monticello, Fiesta Friday, Answer is Choco, Momfessionals, Hubbard Home, CWJ, Create with Joy, Being a Wordsmith, Pieced Pastimes, Pam’s Party, Simply Sweet Home

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Tired

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My daughters were 7, 2, and newborn.

We had just completed a transcontinental move from Texas to Hawaii.

I was recovering from a Caesarean section.

We had one car.

We moved into our house on base to find out lots of broken and stolen items from the Texas packers.

My husband began his new job.

I was homeschooling my eldest child.

I couldn’t find any friends with whom I felt actually comfortable.

I was so tired ALL.THE.TIME.

Then the pastor’s wife at our new church came to visit me at our home.

I was grateful that it was naptime for my younger girls and I had my eldest read and play quietly in her room.

I had set out fresh baked sugar cookies and lemonade. Because I was raised always to serve food to guests.

After the pastor’s wife shoved our friendly cat off the sofa, shamed me for my daughter not having made the cookies from scratch, she proceeded to tell me that I was doing everything in my life wrong, wrong, wrong.

I’m not sure what I expected her to do or say, but that wasn’t it.

I was so stressed. I was anxious. I was depressed. I was cooped up in a house with three young children all day every day, homeschooling, nursing, making food, doing laundry, cleaning, barely surviving. Still in recovery from major surgery of a C-section, never resting.

Why couldn’t I lost weight and look like I did before the pregnancies?

My house was spotless. Meals were on time. Chores were completed every day. Homeschool checklists were checked.

I ran a tight ship. I was very efficient.

The visit from the pastor’s wife was the equivalent of telling me just to “calm down and smile more.”

The pastor’s wife didn’t even quote any Bible verses at me.

Surely, I was the epitome of the Proverbs 31 woman?

The pastor’s wife’s visit only made me feel worse.

I felt like I was drowning.

I went to a medical doctor for a physical later that month.

He prescribed lots of mineral supplements, light exercise, and a Paleo diet – before that was even a thing.

Within a few weeks, I felt loads better physically.

But I was still exhausted mentally.

The mental load of a mother is tremendous.

Why is it so hard to make sure everyone in a family of six has good shoes that fit? Why must I remind everyone every day to brush their teeth? Why must I keep track of the family calendar? Why must I purchase all the presents for every single holiday? Why must I do all the research for every little thing?

Life was just hard with young children. I felt isolated with so many neighbors putting their kids in school so they could socialize with each other during the days. They made me feel outcast since I was homeschooling and keeping my kids close at home, with me. These moms made me question my values.

I reevaluated what I needed to do and wanted to do.

I had to focus and let some things slide.

Medication for anxiety and depression actually made me feel worse. I don’t allow myself to be a guinea pig and try lots of new meds or dosages. I just stopped the rx meds and managed my lifestyle and made lots of changes.

But even doing all the “right” things – exercise, getting fresh air and sunshine, eating well, meditating, reducing stress…the depression is still there. But if I don’t do those “right” things? The depression rears up like the monster it is.

Parenting with depression is really hard. There are some really bleak days.

But there are lovely days too.

We’ve moved so many times, starting over in new places, all hopeful – to have those hopes dashed for various reasons.

As my four kids are growing up and becoming more independent, many things become easier and other things become more difficult.

We’re now busy with sports and extracurriculars. I’m sad that most of these classes and practices are right in the middle of dinnertime.

I’m disappointed by so many people just assuming we are like average, mainstream white Americans.

We homeschool, but not like that. We don’t go to church, but we are spiritual. We don’t like guns. We are trying to be not consumerist. We are actively anti-racist. We seldom eat fast food – or out at all. I don’t work outside our home.

It’s really hard to fit in with families who all have known each other for generations.

I don’t have any family. And I’ve never had any friends.

While I happen to be alone, I constantly try to teach my kids how to have healthy relationships. I don’t want them to be friendless or awkward or anxious. I want them to recognize dysfunction and abuse. I want them to be open and friendly. I’m learning along with my kids how to have healthy emotions.

I feel dismissed when I meet new people. I say and do all the right things and I am begging to be liked but tryin not to fawn. I see in their eyes that I don’t have anything to offer them and they smile with only their lips and say, “Nice to meet you.” but turn away to talk to their friends.

It’s like high school all over again. They have no need to make room for me. They don’t make room for me.

I am more than a stereotype. And I’m sure many of these parents I see are too…but how would I know?

I’m still tired.

I’m still isolated.

I’m not unhealthy tired, physically.

My heart and soul are tired.

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Linking up: Random Musings, Anita Ojeda, Marilyn’s Treats, April Harris, Little Cottage, Create with Joy, InstaEncouragements, LouLou Girls, Fluster Buster, Gingersnap, Girlish Whims, My Life Abundant, Ridge Haven, Soaring with Him, Suburbia, Anchored Abode, Slices of Life, Imparting Grace, Debbie Kitterman, Crystal Storms, Grammy’s Grid, Katherine’s Corner, Penny’s Passion, Lauren Sparks, OMHG, Grandma’s Ideas, Our Three Peas, Try it Like it, Simply Sweet Home, CWJ, Lyli Dunbar, Answer is Choco, Momfessionals, Being a Wordsmith, Mostly Blogging

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Parenting with Depression

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I’m really tired of all the blogs and articles telling mothers to just get help.

I think some people assume it’s easy to get help.

There are so many obstacles to getting help.

Sometimes, the help isn’t helpful.

Sometimes, therapy makes things worse.

I’m sorry that I do need more than Jesus. Many require therapy, meds, and many things more than Jesus. When Christians admonish those with mental illness or recovery from abuse or living with addiction that all we need is Jesus, it diminishes us still further, stigmatizes, silences. Why do we need more? Are we not good enough? Are we not Christian enough? Maybe these “Christians” aren’t really showing us Jesus. It’s just empty words like so much emptiness in my heart, mind, soul.

Depression isn’t always obvious.

I hide my inner self because no one really wants the running commentary about everything that is out of sync with our natures with this dying society.

I could fit in if I wanted to, if I tried harder. I could paste on a smile and giggle and be fake and nod along with other parents telling horrendous stories shaming their kids and making fun of their spouses.

My values aren’t their values. No one shares my values.

The trite checklists on how to help moms, depressed or not, is really out of touch with reality.

As a military wife and homeschool mom, I don’t have any help or family or friends or staff or child care. I don’t even have an emergency contact on forms!

Finding a therapist or psychologist is virtually impossible. I don’t have the luxury of shopping around and moving every few years makes for no continuity. Why should I even start to trust someone and open up to them if I have to move?

There is no extra money for hiring out home cleaning or yard maintenance.

Self care is way more than bubble baths. No one actually cares. And I struggle to care for myself.

I learned early in life not to have needs.

It was a cycle: Felt need, shame for need, inability to meet my own need, increased shame for need, paralyzing effects of shame blocking self care, increased need, more shame—on and on until I felt into my darkest, most fearful mental anguish.

Janyne A. McConnaughey, Ph.D.

Those depression and suicide risk assessments at the doctor’s office are bullshit. “Don’t hesitate to reach out.” Reach out to whom, exactly? Reach out for what? If I were honest with health care professionals or acquaintances or family members about my inner thoughts and feelings, I would be locked away against my will and my children might be removed from our home.

Every single appointment, the doctor offers me drugs for anxiety and depression. It’s so easy. I could just medicate myself into annihilation.

So I suffer in silence.

Our culture tends to think of depression in the person who finds work too stressful as a sign of weakness. Self-help articles imply that they just need more mental toughness and they could lean in and solve it. Even some therapists tell them that their depression is a distorted perception of circumstances that aren’t so bad.

Alison Escalante, M.D.

I had panic attacks the first couple years of marriage. We moved across the country, had two babies, and I quit teaching to begin homeschooling my eldest daughter. I just couldn’t cope with all the quick changes.

I struggled for years to do everything I thought I was supposed to do. I was constantly irritable. I just lived angry. I couldn’t delight in my kids and the cute things they said or did. Everything was a dreaded chore. I resented everyone.

I accomplish my duties every day.

Some days, it’s just “good enough.”

I never want to get out of bed. Usually my bladder says otherwise. I drag myself away from the oblivion of sleep to face the day.

I try to fill the kettle with water the night before so I just click the switch to boil the water for tea.

I give myself a pat on the back every day that I unload and load the dishwasher, wash, dry, and put away the laundry, prepare and clean up three meals for the kids. I read aloud for about an hour every morning.

It frustrates me all the mothers who are proud of their neurodivergence. I am not proud. I wish I were oblivious to all the horrors of this world. I wish I were a slaphappy InstaPinterest Stepford wife who doesn’t have a care in the world. I wish I could medicate it all away.

Ignorance really is bliss.

Sometimes the sheer weight of the world knocks me sideways and I inwardly rock with the collective pain. I’m dizzy with fear. I smile it away and pretend I’m fine.

I’m fine.

It’s like I have a constant dull headache.

I don’t want to frighten my family with my inner thoughts. I pretend they’re not there, the intrusive thoughts.

Every single day, multiple times a day, I tell my suicidal thoughts to shut the fuck up.

I am not dying today. I have things to do. Even though my life seems tedious and expendable, I am needed. Maybe I am not so easily replaceable.

I will not traumatize my kids with a dead mother. I will live to see them grow up.

I know all the “right” things to do and I try to do them, especially when I don’t feel like it.

I make my bed every morning – so I won’t climb back in it. I try to eat well. I limit myself to two cups of tea or coffee. I try to remember to brush my teeth. I limit visible clutter to help my inner anxiety. I exercise almost every day. I go for walks outdoors with my kids almost every afternoon. I get off social media when it seems too much. I surround myself with blues and greens. I take an Epsom salts bath every evening. I listen to music and read a lot.

I need to model good practices.

It’s devastating to me that my kids remind me to brush my teeth and take my vitamins. I know they’re just modeling back to me what I have taught them and they’re genuinely concerned, but I’m the mom, the adult, and the kids shouldn’t have to worry about me.

I don’t want to be a burden on my family. I’m sure parents with diabetes or some other physical medical diagnosis or chronic illness don’t feel the shame and guilt that parents with mental illness feel. We suffer in silence and put on a brave face in spite of everything.

I say “I’m sorry” all the time. I feel so ashamed when and if I forget something or get caught being careless.

I’m sorry the store was out of the good sausage and I had to buy this lesser one. I’m sorry I forgot the ice cream again. I’m sorry I am overwhelmed and have to interrupt your game to ask for your help. I’m sorry I got frustrated by the shoes left in my way. I’m sorry that I need your laundry basket back to fill it up with your clean laundry.

I’m sorry

I’m sorry

I’m sorry

Imsorry

Lately, I’ve been so clumsy and disoriented that I’ve knocked glasses off the kitchen counter and slipped getting into the bathtub. The doctor said it’s probably anxiety since my physical health is fine. He offered me meds again. He offered me an appointment with the behavioral health specialist. The last time – four years ago – full of hope and younger then, I went to BHOP, she offered me a breathing app for a smartphone sponsored by the U.S. Air Force. She told me to fill out a graphic organizer detailing my support system. I don’t have a support system. She is no help. She doesn’t really care. I am just a number, a box to check. She even called the house to ask if I’m ok and I let the answering machine pick up multiple times before I picked up to say, that yes, I’m fine. I’m fine.

For the life of me, I can’t remember or find where I got this list, but I think it’s important to post it here as some common reasons for depression in moms.

  1. Standards of Perfection – Holding ourselves to impossible standards
  2. Lack of Adequate Coping Skills or Self Care – Setting boundaries, saying no to more, being confident with your choices – all self-care
  3. Unresolved Pain – Failure to address suffering of past trauma or abuse
  4. Attempting To Control The Future – An unhealthy concern of how today’s actions could result in a future negative outcome: ANXIETY
  5. Lack of Support – Knowing where to turn for help without feeling guilt 

wow, I have all of those!

Wine mom culture isn’t gonna fix it.

I think there are many causes of depression. Of course it’s a mix of environmental causes and brain chemistry.

I’ve had functional depression since about the age of twelve. I think growing into abstract thinking and the hormone surge of adolescence triggers a lot of mental illness. I struggled with cognitive dissonance with my parents’ abuse and societal issues with my introversion and high sensitive emotions. So, it’s a lovely melting pot of negativity and lack of connection and having no one to help me.

It’s been difficult to come to terms with who I really am – as an adult, a wife and mother. I spent my whole life stifling it and hiding as never enough.

By Laura Grace Weldon:

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Raised Better

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I remember being spanked, backhanded, pushed, yelled at, belittled, called “stupid” and “worthless.” I was told to stop crying or I would be given something to cry about. Nothing I ever did was good enough.

I was not a bad kid. I got good grades. I seldom got in trouble at school. I did home chores, anything I was asked to do. I helped with cleaning and cooking and yard work.

All grown-ups were once children…but only few of them remember it.

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

My parents stole so many wonderful memories from me that I longed to happily share with them – moving out in a healthy way, graduating college and grad school, having my first baby.

I did my best to drag myself out of the pit I made. I struggled. I learned. I grew.

What if I had been raised better?

What if I had been protected, loved, cherished, validated?

I can reparent myself as I learn how to gently parent my four children. I can repair and heal myself as I learn better ways.

I’ve spent over twenty years stressed and anxious about my four kids.

I have running commentary inside my head all the time:

Am I doing this right? Am I doing enough? Should I back off? Should I do this? Should we stop that? What can I do differently? What is working or not?

And I have so many regrets about doing the wrong things when I was a younger and more inexperienced parent.

What are my expectations and are they about my ego or what’s best for my child?

We sometimes struggled to give our kids the life we didn’t have. We have no guidance or role models.

When children are little, parents do have to make (sometimes hard) decisions for the child. I try to include my kids and respect them, but sometimes I have to override their wishes to make the best choice for their well-being.

Children naturally trust parents and are attached to them as caregivers. They have little choice, so it’s very important that I do the best I can and treat them well and respectfully. I want my children to grow up healthy in mind, body, and spirit. Better than I was.

I made sure we enrolled the kids in recreational sports, dance, gymnastics, music, art – whatever was available and they expressed interest in. The kids often shared my enthusiasm and we were careful not to pressure them. If they expressed they wanted to move on or update their interests, we welcomed their input and made necessary changes.

As my kids grow into teens and young adults, they sometimes express themselves to me and their dad in ways that hurt. I try really hard not to be triggered or take it personally. I try to listen and understand. I cry alone, in secret. I don’t want my kids to feel guilty or wrong for telling me their thoughts, wishes, dreams, feelings. I want them to feel safe to tell me anything. I don’t want to put pressure on my children to rescue me.

I worry constantly if I’m saying or doing something like my parents did to me.

I have to update my expectations often as I continually remind myself and realize that my children are individuals with their own lives to lead. Parents surely have dreams for their children, but we can’t and shouldn’t impose that or try to live vicariously through our kids.

I have spent over twenty years meeting physical needs and trying my best to guide my children into being healthy adults – mentally, emotionally, psychologically.

If the consequences of my child’s action or inaction does not affect me, then I must force myself to back off.

My kids this spring are 11, 14, 15, and my eldest will be 21 this fall.

I have imparted my values to them. I guide them and answer questions. I try to be proactive. I tell them what my experiences were in similar situations.

I can only be as concerned as my child.

My child’s grades do not affect me.

My child’s hair, skin, makeup, clothing is their personal choice.

My child’s possessions are their responsibility and I cannot dictate how they treat their possessions.

It is not up to me how my child spends her money (whether money is earned or a gift).

My child’s choice to quit or postpone college is not about me.

My child’s car (after age 18) is her responsibility for maintenance, insurance, gas, repairs.

My child’s choice to move into an apartment is not my fault nor can I control anything about it.

My adult child’s food choices are not my concern unless they become disordered or extreme.

My child’s tax return is her responsibility to gather paperwork and to file.

It is not my job to say “should.”

It is not my job to offer unsolicited advice.

It is my concern to help my child manage her personal hygiene and keep her room relatively clean and neat for physical and mental health and to learn executive function.

My child’s health is my concern. No matter her age. I worry about physical, mental, and dental health. I worry that my adult child has to buy her own health insurance this fall. I worry about some of her personal choices that could pose problems later. I worry that I will want or have to rescue her from herself.

While I will, of course, rescue my child in an emergency (in most cases), it is not my duty to be anxious that she makes different choices than I did or would in her circumstances.

I do intervene when a child’s mistake, words, physical abuse, action, or inaction affects her siblings or others. It is often difficult to parent a child who doesn’t react to natural consequences or is constantly flippant, expecting the problems to just go away on their own. Lack of empathy and refusal to make amends is not ok.

It’s been hard having a child who laughs at consequences and no punishment matters.

Parents are still constantly learning.

I am so glad I am out of the baby, toddler, and young child stages. I love having older kids and teens. Conversations are lively and exciting. I love seeing my kids still act like kids and wanting to be together and show affection to each other.

Look at how much love and joy comes from just letting people be who they are.

Dan Levy

Linking up: Pam’s Party, Random Musings, Mostly Blogging, Anita Ojeda, April Harris, Marilyn’s Treats, Uncommon Suburbia, InstaEncouragements, LouLou Girls, Jeanne Takenaka, Grammy’s Grid, Our Three Peas, Grandma’s Ideas, Soaring with Him, Anchored Abode, Ridge Haven, Ginger Snap, Fluster Buster, Girlish Whims, Ducks in a Row, Katherine’s Corner, Penny’s Passion, Crystal Storms, Debbie Kitterman, Slices of Life, Answer is Choco, Momfessionals, Simply Sweet Home, Embracing Unexpected, OMHG, CWJ, Create with Joy,

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Maybe We’re Not Lost

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I think many of us have felt lost this year.

So many changes thrust upon us and we are not in control.

Plans canceled.

An entire year that feels missing.

Many of us stay home from school and work and most other activities. I realize for many this has been a very difficult transition.

We’ve isolated ourselves and quarantine inside our houses with our family bubble.

We also realized that many people are not capable of caring for others or following science and health safety guidelines.

I really just don’t have a lot of sympathy for people crying they can’t go to Target without a mask or needing to eat dinner out in a restaurant.

We’ve lived through many crises this year – a pandemic, forest fires, political upheaval, natural disasters.

What will we do next year? Do we really want to “go back to normal” when normal wasn’t really working?

What if we’re not lost?

What if we’re right where we ought to be?

What if we’re…found?

While our homeschooling lifestyle hasn’t much changed with the quarantine, we do miss the freedom of extracurricular activities.

(For people confused about what freedom, liberty, rights, and privilege mean – I spell it out in my Independence Day Unit.)

We narrowed our focus even more.

Perhaps we would have missed opportunities for blessings if we were distracted by other things.

We explore our backyard nature – the woods and nearby pond. We hike when it was safe at local parks.

We bought a house. We probably would have even under other circumstances. We cleaned our new house top to bottom, inside and out. We certainly had time. We did some repairs and updates. We organized and purged clothes, books, toys and more. We donated items when thrift shops reopened. We’re streamlining our possessions to what is best needed and used well and beautiful.

We’re certainly on screens a lot – social media, Netflix, games, etc. But the kids decide to play board and card games or D&D or draw or paint or bake cakes or skate quite often. They have natural cycles and their own needs and desires and balance their time pretty well. They have no schedules.

We’re continuing our regular studies, relaxed and unhurried. We read lots of books and research our interests.

I had surgery – laparoscopic myomectomy. I’ve working hard on myself – healing and growing.

My eldest daughter decided not to return to college this year. Online school was difficult for her last semester and she didn’t feel she could continue for this whole year. She wanted to explore other options. She is focusing on her mental health.

Then she decided to move out the first week in November. At first I was heartbroken and hurt. I felt betrayed. Why would she do this when she has freedom and security and no worries? At least it’s not with a toxic, abusive boyfriend. Then after two weeks, she was laid off from her new job. She went on numerous interviews and has a few offers.

Parenting young adults is hard but I’m learning.

What blessings will these sudden changes bring?

So, even though we’re existing in a liminal space, an in-between, unknown realm of possibilities…we are learning to recognize what is important right now.

Maybe we can use this time for rediscovery. We can reconnect.

We could examine ourselves and our values. What do we want our future to be? What do we want our society and our country and government to look like? What will we tell our children and grandchildren about this year and how we changed for the better?

It sometimes feels that we can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. There are moments and days of darkness when we’re sad and angry and just feel hopeless. I know I’m tired.

These are the times when we shed a few needed tears, hug our families close, snuggle our pets, water our houseplants, make a warm cuppa, look out the window, and dream of a better tomorrow.

We must stop telling ourselves that we’re lost.

We might be on a road with no discernable destination. We’re just rolling along with hope that we might find a place we like, to stay.

I’m not lost. I’m on my way.

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Red Flags

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It’s important for me to teach my kids about red flags in relationships.

I didn’t have anyone guide me in healthy relationships when I was a teen or young adult and I found myself in toxic patterns.

We seldom see the red flags while we’re walking past them or living with them.

We want to ignore the red flags. We’ve been taught to only see the best in people. We’ve been taught to be polite and compliant.

I realize there were so many red flags in my previous relationships that I should’ve seen, that maybe my parents and friends should’ve said, “Hey! This isn’t ok!” but they didn’t. Even when I knew I wasn’t healthy enough to protect myself and relied on them for help. They didn’t vet my relationships well. They didn’t see it either or didn’t care.

I was deceived about so many things. I had no power to discern the truth.

I was so naive. I was so gullible.

Big Red Flags

Communication

He made fun of me, belittling me, humiliating, shaming. I took it because he was “older and wiser” and I just thought I surely must really be dumb.

He was often distant. He monopolized conversation. It was always about him. He didn’t want to hear my stories. He didn’t want to know what I did at work that day. He only wanted to talk about himself.

As an introvert, I’m a great listener. This wasn’t a red flag at all for me. I loved learning about his past and hearing the stories that were important to him.

But I failed to realize that I wasn’t important to him.

Trust

I want to be trusting. I want to believe the best. I’m still devastated that people will lie and deceive.

Years later, I’m still realizing how he lied to me and about the stupidest things. Things that shouldn’t have really mattered.

He lied about dealing drugs. He lied about stopping the dealing. The gallon bag in the hall closet was not full of catnip.

He left me at a party with his friends. I wasn’t that comfortable with his friends. I didn’t know what to say or do around them. I had to wait hours to get a ride home.

After the separation and divorce, he lied about my daughter. I was a puddle of emotions every weekend she visited him. I wondered who she stayed with, what she ate, where she slept. I asked why she returned with infected bug bites all over her legs and the worst diaper rash anyone had ever seen in history of diaper rashes. He had no good answers. She stayed with his father, his niece, his girlfriend. He had to work and he wasn’t that involved or interested.

And I just recently found out (eighteen years later!) he plotted to start a custody battle. But he never paid the child support or the credit card that the court mandated.

His narrative to his family and friends about the divorce are vastly different than the truth.

Abuse

He was addicted to porn. He made fun of me. He didn’t like my lack of experience. He said no one had every criticized him in bed. He didn’t like the way I looked. He didn’t like where I had hair. He wanted me to look fake and plastic like the porn models.

So many red flags before he ever hit me.

Then I really believed I deserved that first time. I calmly patched the hole in the wall of our rental house and fixed the windowpane.

The second time he hit me, I left. I didn’t want my daughter witnessing that.

He was furious with me for being so hands off while our daughter toddled around, learning to walk. She stumbled and bumped her head on the coffee table and he lost it.

Earlier that day, he had been talking about wanting another baby. I was barely hanging on financially. We had just bought a house near his parents. I was commuting to work about an hour each way. He made about $10/hour, developing photo film.

His family is Pentecostal evangelical. This was the first taste of any real religion or church I had. It all but broke me. They didn’t like questions. They didn’t like women being intelligent or leaders. It was hard and I tried to conform to what they wanted. I thought it must be right and good. I never could live up to their standards. We got married because his church said it was sin to live together.

I don’t even remember what my wedding ring looked like. I do remember picking out one together at a shop, but he lapsed on the layaway, so I didn’t get that one. He wore a borrowed, too big suit to our small wedding in their warehouse church. The “reception” was at his parents’ house. I remember cubing cheese in the kitchen and there wasn’t enough food to go around. My father didn’t go at all. My mother attended the wedding and went home. There was only one night in a local hotel I was comped as a kickback from work. Nothing was idyllic. Nothing was looked back on as charming. It was sad and devastating and embarrassing.

I can’t remember him ever giving me gifts. I remember maxing out the Best Buy credit card for electronics for him. I remember explaining and then arguing that the bank card was attached to our joint account and if he blew money on cigarettes and soda, I didn’t have enough for gas to work or monthly bills.

I was criticized by his family for negotiating the purchase of vehicles from his cousin, who worked as a local Chevy salesman. I was encouraged to use that dealer because that’s where his whole family went. I also went to another dealer just to check pricing and loan info. I was able to get a better deal than from his cousin. They accused me of disloyalty to their family. I still find it ironic that they thought it was better to pay more for loyalty.

I should have seen and reacted to the red flags sooner. Hindsight is always 20/20.

It takes a long time, years…to heal from abuse. Trauma reactions continue with my current relationships. I try to recognize where my triggers occur and deal with that so I don’t confuse my husband and children. It’s never about them.

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Memes as Therapy

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I’ve noticed a trend among young adults and teens.

Since mental illness and mental pain in our society is so silenced and scoffed at, ridiculed and invalidated, they make fun of it.

They have to make fun of mental illness in memes and stories on Tumblr, Facebook, and Instagram, SnapChat…teens and young adults share parodies and self-deprecating humor extraordinaire in group chats and when they actually meet face to face.

In his 1976 book, The Selfish Gene, scientist Richard Dawkins coined the word “meme” from the Greek word for “mimesis,” meaning to imitate when describing the natural selection of transmittable ideas. So of course, we bastardized that word to mean funny images online.

The apathy of my Generation X certainly showed in our nihilism and absurdism. We really were lost, latchkey kids, left to our own devices. No one knew where we were or what we were doing. We raised ourselves. Our grunge music, art, and movies portray us as hopeless, jobless, depressed slackers. We just shrugged and sort of accepted it.

We didn’t have cell phone, Internet, or social media. We weren’t constantly connected. We broke up with lovers and friends and never had to see or speak to them again. Stalking was in real time, if at all.

We grew up in the vestiges of political correctness, etiquette, courtesy, politeness. We obeyed authority, but grumbled about it behind their backs. We didn’t have any solidarity. We had no one to fight or blame.

By the late 1990s, Boomers gained the greatest social, political, and economic influence worldwide, and also a multitude of long-percolating crises reached their boiling points – climate change, national debt, a shrinking middle class, and worse.

The Simpsons and other parodies and dystopias have opened a doorway into darker and darker humor. It’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Millennials and iGen are suffering from student debt and feelings of loss of the American dream that plagues past generations but is now nowhere in sight.

The nihilism and absurdity of memes that joke about dying and mental illness reflect a neo-Dada movement. 

I wonder if we more openly discussed mental health in past generations would it have been more diagnosed and treated without so much stigma – or are society’s issues creating more mental illness in the last couple decades?

I’m a little bit in awe of today’s youth who are more thoughtful and aware and connected than any peer I’ve ever known.

They’ve never known a world without Internet, cell phones, social media.

Teens and young adults today recognize injustice and they speak out about it. They feel lost and alone, depressed and anxious, and they make memes, share stories, poetry, art online. They find their patrons, followers, comrades. They virtually rejoice together and curl up in fetal positions together.

Sometimes you just need to talk about something—not to get sympathy or help, but just to kill its power by allowing the truth of things to hit the air.

Karen Salmansohn

Memes as Therapy

Humor

Humor breaks the ice.

When we see funny memes, we LOL or at least breathe out through our nose a little more harshly.

Laughter really is the best medicine.

Humor helps regulate our emotions.

Those of us with depression might have a darker sense of humor than most.

Cognitive reappraisal is more than just counting our blessings or telling ourselves to cheer up. We can sometimes thoughtfully internalize a meme without feeling attacked or reduced.

Affiliative humor are jokes that connect us with others. Self-enhancing humor is similar, find absurdity and joy in dark situations.

Rejection

So many of us feel rejected – by parents, siblings, lovers, spouses, friends, pastors, society.

Memes are a way to show solidarity.

They can point out prejudice, -isms, injustice.

Memes can educate about marginalized groups. It’s not aggressive humor at another’s expense.

Yes, there is irony in sharing these memes. Social media brings exposure to an issue without adequately dealing with it. Social media is also a notorious breeding ground for negative behavior, and may exacerbate any feelings being shared.

We’re not trying to romanticize or trivializing mental illness with dark humor. While there is a risk of someone somewhere misconstruing or becoming offended, that is seldom the intent behind the memes.

Vulnerability

I love seeing celebrities being vulnerable when they share memes or personal images and stories online.

It shows us that we are all human with roller coaster emotions or overcoming trauma.

We can work through those ups and downs in healthier ways than past generations.

Memes lighten the heaviness of therapy topics. Sharing could raise ideas I have gone to therapy or experienced struggles. Potential disclosure through a joke allows us to be vulnerable in a controlled way, using humor to communicate about sensitive topics.

Studies show depressed people who struggle to control their emotions are most likely to enjoy depressive memes.

When my teens and I share these memes, it helps me to understand what they’re going through and how I can help. Often it gives us info to take to our therapists.

Do some of these memes make me uncomfortable? Absolutely. And I think that’s what makes them so powerful. I can examine why and search my soul.

Camaraderie

We share our experiences, opinions, and feelings easily with a relatable image.

When we share a meme and it gets spread, we feel seen We read comments. We connect. We laugh and cry together.

Memes can help destigmatize mental illness and help us feel a sense of community.

While many of feel isolated and have few IRL friends, we can connect online and make virtual friends.

We are not alone in our pain.

Escapism

The pain seems to be overwhelming.

But sharing it makes it bearable.

We like to read about other people. We like to think we are not alone.

This is why we like science fiction, dystopias, speculation.

We want to see a cartoon of ourselves cocooned in blankets eating Cheetos on our devices avoiding responsibilities.

We need the chuckle of a WTF moment or a nod at someone else’s experience.

And even this, like all escaping from reality and pain, can dissolve into an unhealthy coping mechanism. It’s a tool, but it needs to be used wisely.

Memes can offer familiarity, freedom, and levity in a world that, more often than not, flattens and invalidates queer experience.

Bitch Media

Some favorite pages: Pictures for not killing yourself, Cheerful Nihilism, and Aborted Dreams.

Therapist: And what do we say when we feel anxious or have a depressive episode?

Me: It just be like that sometimes.

Therapist: No.

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What Depression Feels Like

Books about Depression

Living with Depression

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Grieving Family Who Are Still Alive

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We don’t have any family nearby or any relationship with any family really anyway.

When my daughter and I told our therapists about my parents and the in-laws, they were just like, “Well, that’s a clusterf*ck.”

I really needed the affirmation that it’s not me. I needed an outsider to tell me that I tried really hard to develop a relationship and was met at every turn with negativity, disdain, ridicule. I needed a third party to tell my my parents aren’t the nicest people and that I’m not a bad child.

I’ve always felt out of place – at home, at school, with my own aunts and uncles and cousins, with people whom I thought were my friends over the years and at various places where we’ve lived.

May all that is unforgiven in you Be released. May your fears yield Their deepest tranquillities. May all that is unlived in you Blossom into a future Graced with love.

John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us

It was nothing new to me to feel a little awkward around my new family. I just tried harder. and more.

I don’t have any good role models for healthy relationships. I am winging it and reparenting myself and doing my best to raise four healthy children without trauma.

We live in a generation that is highly skilled at allowing connections to fade away. Because of social media and cell phones, we think people are replaceable, and that’s silly. You cannot replace the energy of someone who is genuine especially if they’re putting the consistent effort out, to be in your life. Appreciate them, cherish them, those people are gold.

Sylvester Mcnutt

Grieving Family

My husband’s parents passed away the first year we married.

I know it’s really hard for him even still, probably forever. I never had time to build a relationship at all.

While most newlyweds stress over which holidays to spend with which inlaws, I never got to have that delight. We’ve never had the ability to travel over the holidays to visit my parents in Georgia or Aaron’s two sisters in Illinois after his mom passed.

Neither my husband nor I really know our cousins or extended family.

I am the youngest grandchild and many of my aunts, uncles, and older cousins have been passing away frequently the last few years.

We moved to Texas our second year of marriage and I tried really hard to develop a relationship with his paternal uncle living there – which was my husband’s entire reason for wanting to move there. A relationship just never developed after two years. We had dinner a couple times and that was about the extent of it. We were just never accepted. It doesn’t help that he raves about the two sisters and their kids online and travels annually to Illinois to visit them and extending family. He just completely ignores us.

Grieving Sisters

I tried and tried and tried to develop a relationship with my husband’s two sisters but it has always been a failure.

They don’t want me.

As an only child, I am equally devastated and indifferent.

I didn’t see them from our second year of marriage at his mom’s funeral until about four years later.

I flew from Utah to Chicago for his youngest sister’s outdoor July wedding with four children, alone, while my husband was deployed. At the time I felt honored my middle girls were requested to be flower girls. My son was barely a year old and spent too much time with babysitters who were strangers to us. My eldest daughter (from a previous relationship) was asked to be an usher until I pitched a minor fit for her to be a junior bridesmaid like the other sister’s daughter. The uncle was even rude to me at the wedding and reception, seriously?

I was picked up from the airport by the middle sister and put my son in a filthy borrowed carseat. She took us to her house and fed my kids eggs and ramen. I was stressed and exhausted and I felt like a burden the entire week as I tried to compensate by cooking every meal for 9 people, cleaning, doing laundry, buying presents. I even disposed of a rodent family in her basement and cleaned up cat pee when the cat freaked out with all the air mattresses my kids were using in her territory.

That might have been the beginning of the end for me.

They drove down to visit us our last summer in Utah before we even knew we were moving to Europe. It was stressful. I felt like an entertainer, cook, tour director. We were constantly on the move since it was their vacation. Nothing I did seemed good enough and I was exhausted.

They haven’t visited us since we moved to Ohio. They couldn’t fit us in their schedule between sports tournaments that they traveled to/from on the road right near us.

I had to stop following my husband’s sisters, brothers-in-law, cousins, and uncle because their entire social media is softball, baseball, sports, kitschy crafts, home remodeling, and how great their friends and family are – except me and my children.

They’ve told my husband to tell me to quit writing and posting online about homeschooling since they feel it’s a kick in the teeth to them, as public school teachers. As if I didn’t teach in various school environments for ten years before committing to homeschooling. I’ve examined my posts and my heart and I’ve tried to be kind, welcoming, open, forgiving over and over again. I realize many families have vast differences and I want to accept and learn from those differences. I have a voice and I will use it.

For a long time, I just told myself it’s because we didn’t get a lot of time to get to know one another before I married Aaron and we move frequently with the military. I want to understand they’re closer to each other than they can ever be to me and my kids. But it’s becoming obvious that I’m not wanted nor welcomed.

I stressed for ten or so years to send the perfect thoughtful presents of equal value to my husband’s middle sister’s three kids at Christmas and birthdays while receiving handmedowns that I wouldn’t even donate to thrift stores and dollar spot junk in return. When I asked to exchange gift cards instead since we moved overseas, it was met with exasperation and online gift lists. I asked to just stop exchanging gifts or gift cards and I know that didn’t go over well.

We offered to meet any or all of them for dinner when we visited Chicago, which is about an hour away from where they live. We drove 7ish hours for an event that got canceled last minute. They couldn’t fit us into their schedule.

His youngest sister and husband fostered and recently adopted a little girl and I didn’t even know. I found out on social media.

I just always wanted to be a part of a big family and have my kids be loved by a big family and it just hurts me that we’re not wanted nor welcome.

Grieving my Parents

My parents adore my husband. They adore my son.

They don’t care for me or my daughters and they aren’t even trying to hide it. We even often get lesser gifts at holidays.

My parents claim they’re on “a fixed income” which is a great reality for many elderly people, but they own a 3500 sq. ft. house, 3 vehicles, no bills, and a mortgage of $850/month as they sit back and receive several retirement checks and social security that total more than my husband makes.

I try not to be bitter and I seldom ask for anything.

When my parents casually ask any of us what we want for a birthday or Christmas, we never know what the right answer is because we’ve been told so many times to choose something else, that they won’t be able to get that.

I received hate mail after my parents visited me during my husband’s deployment – in May, but not the week of my youngest daughter’s birthday or over Mother’s Day. They refused to stay at my house and instead opted for a nearby hotel. They sauntered over midday, about lunchtime and then naptime for my son. It disrupted our whole schedule and they kept telling my girls to go away and play outside or in the basement. I was super stressed and confused. My mom made my middle daughter cry about something irrelevant. They didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything except sit on my sofa and they were upset my TV was in the basement. Then, they got mad and left early and I later received an actual letter in the mail, outlining everything that’s wrong about me, my children, and my lack of good mothering skills. Also, that I should hit my children to make them never cry and behave perfectly.

I just always envisioned my kids having loving generous grandparents and it hurts me so bad that they don’t.

I never know what to say to my mother. She is disinterested in what the kids or I are ever doing. She doesn’t pay attention when I do tell her anything.

At least once a month, I realize I’ve really messed up again because my father quits communicating with me until I apologize and make amends for asking him to please stop sending me racist emails or he told me what an awful mother I am again and how worthless my almost twenty-year-old daughter is.

After 44 years of hearing how stupid and worthless I am, I wonder if I should just believe it.

I know I am an awful daughter.

They know what they’ve done.

I grieve the loss of relationships that never happened. I grieve my husband’s parents whom I never knew and only met a couple times. I grieve the uncle who doesn’t want us. I grieve the sisters I longed for my entire life who don’t want me. I grieve the cousins my children don’t know.

Just like mourning a physical death, my grief is real too. My grief comes in waves, at various times – suddenly and unexpected. I have never chosen to sever ties with anyone. I try and I try and I try again and again and again. I suffer the loss of something I never even had. There will probably never be closure. It’s never easy.

You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.

Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life
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My Father is a Racist

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I tried to set a necessary boundary. I asked my father to please stop sending me racist emails.

After ignoring me and pouting for a week, he sent me a hateful email telling me that he is proud of being a racist and he can cut me off if I don’t like it.

Well then.

He just told me that he wants to complain about Black people to me and speaking his mind is more important than maintaining a semblance of relationship with me.

My parents are racists.

I am 44 years old and my parents are turning 80. I am an only child.

My parents have disowned me before.

I was 21. They sent me a torn-up copy of their will in the mail and informed me that they had a new one filed with their lawyer, leaving their estate to a local college.

He has ignored me for weeks, months, even years.

I didn’t realize I grew up in an abusive household until very recently. I was spanked as a child, but that was normal for my generation. He seldom hit me after I was a teen, but I have extreme trauma responses to certain verbal phrases and tones of voice. I was frequently told I was stupid and worthless when I disagreed with my parents or didn’t meet their expectations. I was often negatively compared to my father’s mother.

My mother doesn’t have a thought of her own. She just echoes my father. She brags about her selfishness as a teen, young adult, and her years of marriage before I was born thirteen years later. My family and I have seen her selfishness in action numerous times.

I was not allowed to socialize with anyone who wasn’t White and appropriate. This wasn’t exceptionally difficult until I was a teenager since there really just weren’t that many non-Whites in my elementary school or neighborhood and races often separated themselves at lunch and on the playground throughout high school and college. I didn’t understand or think much about it then. It’s just the way things were.

My father was often traveling for work when I was growing up. He always said he hated it and he had anxiety from the stress, but it was much more pleasant for my mom and me not having him around much.

I couldn’t have friends over to the house if he was home.

I don’t remember him being at any of my birthday parties.

He didn’t come to the hospital when I attempted suicide.

He refused to come to my first wedding.

He refused to attend my graduation ceremony when I earned my Master’s degree in education.

He didn’t visit me when I gave birth to my son.

He sent me hate mail while my husband was deployed the first time, telling me what an awful mother I am, after they cut their visit short in rage.

He had a tantrum and broke promises to my children when we stayed briefly at my parents’ house during our PCS from Germany to Ohio.

He’s told me many times that it’s all my fault, that I am disrespectful and selfish.

Since I always put myself last, it especially hurts deep when I’m called selfish.

It’s really hard sometimes.

Therapists makes it sound so easy that I should find and have a support system. Moving every 2-4 years with the military makes that harder than it should be.

I’ve never had a support system. I am all I have.

I’m tired of walking on eggshells all the time.

Grief is real.

Though its way is to strike
In a dumb rhythm,
Stroke upon stroke,
As though the heart
Were an anvil,
The hurt you sent
Had a mind of its own.
Something in you knew
Exactly how to shape it,
To hit the target,
Slipping into the heart
Through some wound-window
Left open since childhood.
While it struck outside,
It burrowed inside,
Made tunnels through
Every ground of confidence.
For days, it would lie still
Until a thought would start it.
Meanwhile, you forgot,
Went on with things
And never even knew
How that perfect
Shape of hurt
Still continued to work.
Now a new kindness
Seems to have entered time
And I can see how that hurt
Has schooled my heart
In a compassion I would
Otherwise have never learned.
Somehow now I have begun to glimpse
The unexpected fruit
Your dark gift had planted
And I thank you
For your unknown work.

John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us

I just tried to set a small but clear boundary: stop sending me racist emails.

There’s a lot of white folks out there hanging on to their God-given right to look down on some other class of people. They feel it slipping away and they’re scared. This guy says he’s bringing back yesterday, even if he has to use brass knuckles to do it, and drag women back to the cave by their hair. He’s a bully, everybody knows that. But he’s their bully.

When men fear the loss of what they know, they will follow any tyrant who promises to restore the old order.

Barbara Kingsolver, Unsheltered

I couldn’t reply to his email or call him like he requested. I knew I would make it worse since I was so hurt, upset, and angry.

I try to capitulate. I try to write his attitudes off as old, retired Army, the way he grew up in the 50s. But those are just lame excuses. There are numerous others his age, military, with similar circumstances who are not racist.

Every time I think things are good, going well, I am shocked into this twisted reality where my parents are not good people, not nice people.

Then he sent me another email over the weekend that he had received his birthday card and orchid and apparently all is well.

This is not normal behavior. I shouldn’t have to appease him with gifts like he’s a god, like he thinks he is.

Is this the precursor to dementia, Alzheimer’s? I grew up with this kind of abuse cycle, but is it getting worse or is it that I’m just older and won’t abide it?

This can’t be ok.

We cannot control another’s behavior, but we can control our own response to another’s behavior.

Happiness is letting go of what you think your life is supposed to look like and celebrating it for everything that it is.

Mandy Hale

Want To Have Better Conversations About Racism With Your Parents? Here’s How

He finally reluctantly came around and pretended we never had that email exchange, but he occasionally refers to “not being to talk about politics” in a sulk.

But it’s way more than politics. It’s more than the financial differences of the two parties in America for the past several hundred years. It’s about lives. For a man who is proud to have voted straight Republican his entire adult life, I can’t excuse it. For someone who voted for Trump twice, it is sheer hatred of other and I can’t excuse it.

All the effort to be antiracist and teach my family to be antiracist is worth it. Loving others and healing from our own abuses and trauma and relearning how to live well is worth it.

Resources:

AntiRacism Resources:

How do you maintain boundaries in toxic relationships?

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