oops

i’m in bed.  yep, lying here in my bed per the doctor’s orders.  sigh.  i feel so damn stupid.

last night i had a soccer game.  it was only my third indoor match.  i was just beginning to feel in the grove again and was having a blast playing when it happened.  what exactly i don’t know.  all i know is that one minute i was running and dribbling and kicking and the next i was limping, slowing and cursing.  i hurt my back.

i tried to play through the pain but my back would hear nothing of it.  i had to take myself out of the game.  you don’t know me but that was damn hard!  i iced it immediately in hopes that i would be able to go in the second half but when i tried to get up my body didn’t cooperate.

i went home, went to bed and woke up the next morning unable to move without assistance.  hubbie and i decided a trip to the emergency room was necessary.  so off we went.  after spending time in the ER and then in a doctor’s office all i found out was that i might have a disk problem or it might just be a serious strain.  i will have to wait for the MRI to find out.  until then, bed rest.  fuckin bed rest.

the timing could not have been worse.  now there will be no 8 hour drive to my hometown for thanksgiving.  ok, let’s be honest that could be a blessing in disguise.  but don’t forget, there is this little trip to france approaching in a couple of weeks.  i just have to be better by then.  if i can’t go to france, well, let’s just say that i won’t take it well!

last night as i got into bed, i just let the tears flow.  i had been holding it in all night, trying to be tough.  always trying to be tough.  i couldn’t do it anymore.   i just cried.  here i am about to be 40 and i can’t get out of my bed.  totally pisses me off.  and it really isn’t the number.  it has nothing to do with 40.  it has to do with the fact that my body isn’t as strong as it used to be.  i can stand getting older but only if i can stay active.  i have to play, be active.  i can’t imagine myself any other way.

so i lay and wait.  wait to feel better.  wait to be able to move enough that i can take a shit without my husband lowering me onto the pot.

i will be less cranky tomorrow.  so goodbye until then…

 

i don’t get it

i don’t get it….

why don’t people recycle?
why would anyone want to pay over 40,000 dollars for michael jackson’s glove?
why do we worship celebrities?
why do we let an elite group of people dictate what is beautiful, cool and important?
why do people settle for bad coffee?
why are we never content with what we have?
why is it politically incorrect to have convictions?
why did i drink that beer tonight?
why is it okay to objectify men?
why do we waste so much damn time watching tv?
why are young people getting more violent?
why do i still bite my nails?
why do school’s prepare shit for lunch and then wonder why all the kids are overweight?
why are we as a nation eating ourselves to death?
why is america more violent than europe?
why can’t i decide whether or not to color my hair?
why don’t we care more, protest more, stand up more?
why in the hell are we so lazy?
why are we born with a desire to effect change?
why is it no longer cool to be a christian?
why don’t we support our economy and buy american?
why are people so obsessed with image?
why don’t we ask why more often?

i just don’t get it….

mamma mia

i hesitate to write this post.  i don’t want this blog to be all about my therapy.  i don’t want to bore you with it and i don’t want it to seem like i have nothing better to talk about.  i do.  problem is that sometimes what is on my mind and what i feel a need to write about is the things i am processing on a weekly basis.  so here is your warning.  if you want something light and fun, just skip to the next blog in your reader….

my relationship with my mom came up in therapy last week.  we haven’t gone there yet.  most of the hurt and pain from my childhood was dished out by the hand of my father.  i have spent a lifetime trying to come to grips with it, learning to forgive and trying to find that place where i can relate to him without getting hurt.  i have been so distracted by that relationship that i have, for the most part, ignored the role my mom played in what went on in our home.

my mom was a passive woman.  i never heard her stand up to my dad.  i never heard her disagree. like planets, we all learned to revolve around my dad.  we did what he wanted to do when he wanted to do it.  i never saw my mom challenge him.  if she wanted to do something and it conflicted with his agenda then the answer was no.  her job was to be in the house taking care of all of us, and especially him, come hell or high water.

it seemed like everyone in our family knew their role.  dad was god.  mom was his maidservant. my sister was the dramatic rebel and i was the peacemaker.  everyone had their place right up until my parents separated.  my sister went with my dad and i went with my mom.  at that point everything turned upside down.  my mom fell apart and i immediately assumed the full time job of taking care of her.  in some ways i had been doing that my entire life.  i have always been my mom’s emotional support, the easy thing in her life, the one who brought a smile to her face, her favored child.  now i became caretaker, the mature one who was responsible for keeping her together and our heads above water.  i thought it was my responsibility even my duty to step into this role.  after all, i was stronger than she was.  i could keep my cool.  i could think clearly.  i even felt a spiritual responsibility to take care of her.  what kind of child would turn her back on her mom in such a time of need?

the problem was i was only a child.  i was 14.

the weight of the role reversal crept up on me slowly.  i had no idea of the impact it had on my life, on the ways i related, on the ways i viewed and lived out relationships.  only in the last couple of years has it become clear to me how dysfunctional our relationship truly was.

as i began talking about this with my counselor last week, i felt ambivalent, so many conflicting emotions.  i can feel such anger and resent and guilt and sadness all at the same time.  one minute i am admitting that she failed me and the next i am trying to defend and justify her actions.  i have spent a lifetime protecting my mom and the emotions that come with looking at that relationship honestly are making my stomach churn.  i feel like i am betraying her by stepping back, by saying that i can’t be her emotional crutch anymore.

i know in my head some of the right answers.  i know the relationship we have had is not healthy, but my feelings are still my feelings and i guess feeling them is a part of the process.

barring a miracle, my mom is not going to change.  she is who she is.  she refuses to allow the wounds of her past to heal.  she will be a victim,  a walking wound for the rest of her life.  i can’t change that and believe me i have tried.  what i can change is me, how i relate to her, how i respond to her manipulation.

these past couple of weeks have been hard, draining even.  there is so much to unwrap, so much to acknowledge.  i just keep walking.  i don’t have an option really, not if i want my own family and my own relationships to be healthy.  and i want nothing more.  i refuse to pass this down to my kids.  i refuse dammit!

i’m not afraid of anything, right?

ok so a blogger friend of mine got me to thinking.  damn you cyndi!  you can read her thoughts here to see what stirred the pot up.  but if i am really honest, it really started with this post.  i gotta stop reading that blog.  anyway.

in one of her posts my blogger friend talks about realizing how she is afraid of men.  when i read it, i thought to myself, “well that isn’t me at all.” men are my buddies.  growing up as a tomboy, i always had a lot of guy friends.  i was interested in sports, liked to do outdoorsy stuff and could talk their lingo.  two of my best friends in elementary school were guys.

when i transitioned into a middle schooler, things did get awkward.  i started becoming aware of what i wore, what i looked like and how much my boobs were growing.  boys started getting cute and i definitely wanted to do more than play football with them.  i stuttered around the guys i had crushes on but still maintained very comfortable relationships with guys in general.  all in all, guys were still my buddies.  i could walk into a group of them and become “one of the guys” very easily.

high school was the same.  and college….or so i thought.

recently it has come up in therapy that i have created a barrier of some sort in my marriage.  it is like there is a gap between me and my hubbie that i am reluctant to fill in or bridge over.  i keep him at a slight distance, at arm’s length emotionally.  i have always sensed this gap but would justify it with some dynamic in our relationship that needed work, or i would blame it on his lack of this or that.  but the reality is that this gap has always existed between me and the men in my life.

i had lots of guy friends because friends can’t hurt you.  you can control a friendship.  you can limit the impact it has on you emotionally.  when i dated guys, i only went out with the ones who were more into me than i was into them.  i was always the one in control, always the one who determined how long the relationship lasted.  i never fell head over heels with any guy i dated.  i liked them, had fun but eventually i would tire of the obligation that came with a long term relationship and i would break up.  oh i did go crazy over a few guys, but they were always the kind of guys i knew would never like me back or would never ask me out.  even my crushes were safe.

so am i scared of guys?  in a way i guess i am.

my dad treated my mom like shit and she let him.  i swore at an early age that i would never let a man treat me the way my dad treated my mom.  the result is the emotional gap, my protective layer that prevents anyone from really getting close to me.

so what about hubbie?  well hubbie was the first guy i couldn’t control.  he wouldn’t let me manipulate him and believe me i tried.  i felt nauseous the first few months we dated because i knew i was falling for him and i knew that that meant trouble.  i wasn’t sure i could get away, let him go, just break it off.  and believe me i tried.  i gave back one engagement ring!  yet, i couldn’t get him out of my heart.

i’m tired of being in control.  i’m tired of standing with my dukes raised, sporting an attitude that says “you won’t hurt me.”  my hubbie isn’t trying to hurt me or devalue me or treat me like shit.  he just wants to love me and it is really hard to embrace a woman who has her dukes up.

walls don’t go down in a day.  i’m looking at why they went up in the first place, the dynamics that were in place, the attitudes and responses i learned oh so long ago.  it is hard work acknowledging your actions for what they really are.  it is humbling to admit that much of the lack of emotional intimacy i have sensed in my marriage for the past few years is actually my fault.  (oh he isn’t blameless but i sure had more to do with it that i was confessing to….)  but one brick at a time, i’m pulling stuff down.

here i’ve thought that protecting myself was a wise thing to do and really it has been a destructive thing to do.  i’m the one who has suffered from keeping people at a distance.  i’m the one who has missed out on intimacy.  i’ve settled for less because of it and i tired of doing it.

this ass kicking girl has got to learn to put her dukes down….

yea for play!

every thursday is weigh in day, and ladies and gentlemen, i am happy to announce that i have now lost 8 pounds!  yes that is right, 8 freakin pounds are gone off of this body, some from the ass, some from the legs and not near enough from the middle.  i do wonder if mommy belly will ever leave me completely…anyway i digress.

8 pounds!  i just feel better.  i’m eating better.  i sleep better.  i’m kicking some ass on the soccer field. and when i do body combat, i can keep up with the smiling, Jillian-like wanna be that is leading us.

it was the extra boost i needed.  i was starting to wonder if i had hit a plateau.  i guess not.  i’m aiming at losing about 5 more.  that would put me down into the weight range of my single days. i may even fit into my skinny jeans, that damn pair of levi’s that has been mocking me for years.

it has been a good day.

i think one of the keys for me has been making more time to play.  i love to play.  i play more than your average adult because i never bought into the lie that you had to stop playing after you turned 30.  lately i have neglected my play a bit.  joining this soccer league has pushed me right back into it.  i got all giddy about going to practice.  i bought new cleats.  i practiced with the 8 year old in the street yesterday.  i went to bed happy.  i need to play more.  working out is great.  going on a walk is good.  all are great to keep in shape.  but play, what better way to stay active than to just play, play, play.

now i think it is time to go teach these neighborhood kiddos how to play kick the can…..

 

mumble jumble

warning….a rambling post….

i have been a bit discouraged lately.  since i started my therapy, i have felt a strong compulsion to paint.  i keep getting these images in my head that symbolize what is going on in my soul and i feel compelled to capture them in some form.  the problem is that i have only been painting for a little over a year.  though i have piddled with art my entire life, my main skills have always been in the area of sketching.  i have never messed with color or paint until recently.  i have so much i want to do but lack the knowledge of how to do it.  i feel like a toddler, so much desire yet lacking in the know how.  i have finished one that i am fairly pleased with but the one i am working on now just sucks.  i can’t decide if i should hang with it or just trash it.  it was meant to be a gift for a friend but at this point i would rather dig a hole and live in it for the rest of my life than give it to her.

then there is the writing.  i write all the time.  i blog.  i journal.  i write bits and pieces for this and that but i have no momentum in any one thing.  that pisses me off too.  i’m going to paris in december for work and i will be spending a couple of extra days with my friend who is an editor. the plan was to have something significant to show her.  now i am thinking i will go empty-handed.

why do i do this?  sometimes i wonder if i subconsciously block myself.  could it be a fear of failure? do i not finish things so that i won’t have to hear that i suck at it?  or am i just feeling down on myself at the moment?  who knows….

speaking of my trip to paris.  can i just say that my soul needs to be there for a while?  i need to hear and speak french.  i need to sit at a cafe and drink good coffee.  i want to spend time with friends over a good meal and an even better bottle of wine.  i will be away from my kids and even from my husband some.  i’m looking forward to the time.  looking forward to reconnecting with old friends, tasting again my “other” life.

i joined an indoor soccer league.  yeah, this has nothing to do with anything else i have said.  didn’t you read my warning at the beginning?  anyway, i had my first game last night.  wow, it was fun.  hard though.  i work out 4-5 times a week and i was still sucking wind.  i haven’t played soccer in years.  it used to be my sport but i haven’t had a chance to play since college.  the funny thing is i am the only gringo on the team.  it doesn’t bother me though.  i’m used to being the only native english speaker.  that’s my life in france.  and apparently that is my life here.  i like it.  so much more interesting.  i did okay last night.  didn’t embarrass myself.  had a couple of really good moments but i need some practice, some de-rusting if you will.  it has been fun rediscovering things that i loved doing growing up.  it brings a bit of healing as well.

there is so much i want to say.  so many things i want to talk about, ramble on about….but this is a post not a conversation.  i guess i will just end your agony and say goodbye…

later friends….

opening a can

i need a fun post today.  nothing heavy.  nothing controversial.  just something light.

i kid a lot about kicking ass.  my first reaction to the pain of my friends is “why i’ll kick ______’s ass!”  and i most of the time the sentiment i am feeling really is that.  when i get mad, when others hurt my friends, all i want to do is ball up my fist and open a can of whoop ass.

now before you go and add violence to my list of needs to be covered in therapy, let me just say that it has been years since i have actually kicked some ass.  whether that is a result of maturity or of the purchase of my punching bag is yet to be determined.

i grew up fighting.  yes, i know.  i am a girl. but when you grown up in a west texas, one of the things everyone learns to do is fight.  my dad put boxing gloves on me at the age of 7 and taught me how to defend myself and hit without breaking my hand.  he told me in no uncertain terms that i would never get in trouble for defending myself.  that promise would be tested often in elementary school.

i will never forget my first fight.  i was in the 2nd grade.  at recess, i noticed a big circle on the far side of the soccer fields.  i ran over to see what the fuss was all about.  what i saw made me see red.  there in the middle of the circle was a girl, about my age, who was crying.  some bully was calling her names and making fun of her.  without even thinking, i shoved my way through the crowd and in a furor of righteous indignation pushed the bully away from the weeping girl.

as the girl made her getaway, the bully’s friends began to chant “hit her. hit her.”  he looked at me, sneered, pulled back his fist and before i knew it my nose was stinging and my eyes were watering.  i stood there stunned for a moment and then turned to walk away.

i guess you can’t really call that a fight.  i have no idea why i didn’t hit him back.  i think i was in shock that someone had actually punched me.  i can assure you that was the only time in my life that i didn’t fight back.

maybe because i was a tomboy.  maybe because i had a bit of a temper.  maybe because i had a savior complex.  maybe all of the above made me never back down from a bully.  matter of a fact, if any of my friends got bullied, they called on me and i took care of him or her.  i wasn’t known as a mean person at all, just one who could and would defend herself and others.

i guess i haven’t changed much.

i still stand up to bullies.  it looks different now.  neither of us walk away with bloody noses but i’m not afraid to say what needs to be said.  i don’t like anyone picking on those that i love.  now that i am a mom, i have had to soothe the inner beast on several occasions and allow my sons to stand up for themselves.  that has been a real challenge.  they have to walk their own path, face their own bullies.

my guess is that my ass kicking days are over but the fierce loyalty that calls it to the surface is still alive and well.

hitting the wall

i have hit my first wall in counseling.  up until this point, everything we have talked about, though difficult has been very healing.  i have cried a lot of tears, felt a lot of emotions but through it all i have not hesitated to continue walking.  until now.

i’m the person who minimizes everything that has ever happened to her.  i never want to play the role of a victim.  i never want to let on that the things that have happened to me in any way affected me.  to me that is weak and i want to be strong.  in the total scheme of things, what i have lived is much less severe than what others have lived.  i have friends who have been horribly, violently abused.  my heart aches when i think of all they have been through.  compared to them, what i have experienced IS minimal and less traumatic.  i never want to talk or act in a way that makes a bigger deal of my past than it is.  i thought i was being reasonable.  my counselor thinks i am denying.

so i’m having trouble saying a few things.  i’m having trouble admitting that maybe what went on in my home was more than just dysfunctional, it was abusive.  there i said the word.  abusive.  why is that so hard for me?  why do i want to candy coat it?  i want to let you know that i truly believe that my parents were ignorant.  they were just acting out of their own woundedness.  my dad is a child of two alcoholics.  my mom was abused by her father.  they have a lot of baggage and it was inevitable that some of it would be unpacked on my sister and me.

as i squirmed through my last session, my counselor looked at me with such compassion. she wants me to call a spade a spade and i can barely get the words out of my mouth.  i think what i need to realize is that the point is not to assign blame so that i can justify the choices i have made in my lifetime.  the point is to see why i am where i am today.  what causes me to hide from intimacy?  what walls do i build to keep myself safe?  what beliefs have i absorbed that aren’t true?

this journey is all about freedom.  i want to be free.  i want it more than i want to be safe.  and like Jesus himself said, “the truth shall set you free.”

oh that i would have courage to look at the truth….

afraid of normal

last night hubbie and i were watching a documentary on the seven wonders of the ancient world on the history channel (crazy sat. night eh?).  the first sight they covered was the pyramids in egypt.  smiling mischievously at hubbie, i asked these questions.

“have you ever climbed a pyramid?”
“uh no,” he replied looking at me like i was insane.
“have you ever ridden a camel?”
“again. no.”
“have you ever taken a cruise on the nile and visited the valley of the kings?”
by now he is just looking at me with scorn in his eyes.
“have you ever made out with an egyptian?”
“no.  no.  and no.”
“well i have, ” i said smugly.

after my series of questions, i had to go get my photo albums.  for the next hour or so, we perused my anything but normal childhood.  you see, i grew up traveling the world.  my dad is in a profession that kept him on the move internationally.  from about the time i was 7 years old, he began taking the entire family with him.

united kingdom. holland.  egypt. brazil. argentina. italy. singapore. bali. norway. greece. israel. egypt.   hong kong. all by the time i was 16.  i was screwed.  the wonder lust was injected in my blood and i have been thirsty for travel every since.

as i think about potentially moving back to the states, i feel a panic invade my system.  can i live a “normal” life?  here i am living in a suburb, in a house for the first time since i was a kid.  for a decade, i have been living in france, learning another language and culture and jet setting any chance i got.   if we come back that could all come to a screeching halt.  finances might be tight for awhile.  our jobs would no longer require travel.  and with only two weeks of vacation, how can one do anything but use it to visit family during the holidays?

will i shrivel up and die?  or will i find a different kind of contentment in a more rooted lifestyle? will it be good to know my neighbors for an extended amount of time?  would my kids like growing up and graduating with the same group of friends?  what would it be like to actually own a home and decorate it the way i want?

plus there is this little thing of visiting the only country in the world i haven’t seen–my own.  the grand canyon.  the southwest.  the midwest.  maine.  so much my eyes haven’t lighted upon yet.

so i wonder.  wonder if i could live a normal life.  wonder if the wonder lust would leave me edgy and discontent.  wondering if i should just embrace a new chapter and see what adventures this one has to offer.

normal.  hmmmmmm.

our story

12 years ago today, i dressed up like a princess in white, put a veil on my head and walked down an aisle on my dad’s arm.  today is my anniversary.  wow.  12 years.  how is it that i have been married that long?

i thought for your reading pleasure, and as a way to let you get to know me better, that i would tell you our story, the story of me and hubbie.  ok, maybe i just want to remember as it seems fitting to do on a day such as today…

i was beginning graduate school and a friend invited me to church with her.  that is where i met hubbie.  he noticed me immediately and i noticed someone else.  it took about 3 months for me to figure out that the guy who had captured my attention was a total loser.  hubbie was persistent, always showing up where i did and finally nabbing a place next to me at a superbowl party.  it was there that i noticed him for the first time.  maybe it was the fact that we both were crazy about the Cowboys.  maybe it was those damn puppy-like brown eyes.  next thing i knew he was asking me out and i was saying yes.

our first date was a Dallas Mavericks basketball game.  now before you boo, you must understand that i am still a tomboy at heart and i love sports!  he scored big points with that idea.  (no he didn’t score that night, get your mind out of the gutter people!)  we ate pizza, watched the game and got to know each other.  i walked away that night thinking that we wouldn’t ever go out again. he walked away convinced that we would.

that next week, i had a week off from school.  a group of friends and i decided to go skiing and of course hubbie went too.  i have to give the guy credit, he pursued me with dogged determination.  by the end of the weekend i had decided to give him another chance.  though he wasn’t like the guys i usually dated, he was much kinder and less egotistical, i was finding myself more and more attracted to him.   i couldn’t commit to exclusive dating but i could at least give him a few more chances.

the next year of my life was an emotional roller coaster.  without focusing on my junk too much, let’s just say that i was a commitment phob.  i was falling in love and i had no idea what to do with that.  i was used to dating, having fun and then casting boys off.  this boy wasn’t going anywhere. this boy wanted to marry me.  i would get scared, pull away and then find myself being drawn in his direction again.

finally he proposed.  i said yes.   2 months later i broke it off.  i freaked out.  got scared.  ran away. we broke up.  we tried to be friends.  we tried to just date till i was ready.  eventually we just had to part ways.  or so i thought.

after dating a couple of other guys, i came to the conclusion that i wanted to be with hubbie regardless of how much marriage frightened me.  i went crawling back and he graciously accepted me.  a year later we got engaged for a second time.  (let me just answer your question…different ring).  this time there was no freaking.  still a bit of fear but an assurance that he was the one i wanted.

my hubbie has put up with much.  he has been patient.  he has been forgiving.  he is by no means perfect.  we have struggled much in the past couple of years but he has never wavered in his commitment to me and our marriage.

today i celebrate him.  today i celebrate us.