What Kind of a Childhood are You Giving Your Kids?

Yesterday was my dad's 75th birthday.

As a surprise, we thought it would be fun to take him to The Greek Theatre to see his all-time favorite showman and singer, Neil Diamond.  The fact that he was playing locally on my dad's birthday was unbelievable.  We planned the night for months, excited.

Hugo, Kristi, Misti, Mom, Dad, Lori, Aunt Liz, Uncle Tom and Not Pictured, But With Us in Spirit: Gregg, Uncle Ernie, and Aunt Donna

It wouldn't be the first time he would get to see The Solitary Man in concert.  Last night was his 3rd time to see him at The Greek, and there have been at least 2 other times at other venues.

In my childhood home, we all grew up listening to Neil Diamond.  I can remember when the Hot August Night album came out forty years ago, and my dad played it on our stereo.  I can remember sitting on the living room floor holding the album sleeve, looking at the cover picture, and back at my dad, in total disbelief that this is what Neil Diamond really looked like.  And that my dad liked someone who liked like that.

My dad was more of a Rat Pack kind of guy.  Very short haircut, ties, polished shoes, suave attitude.  Crisp.  A defiantly proud non-member of the hippie-revolution.

The music of Neil Diamond spoke to his soul.  In spite of Mr. Diamond's long hair, rivets, and fringe.

Whenever my sisters, brother, or I hear a Neil Diamond song, we're transported in time to our childhood.  Camping on the Kern River.  Cleaning out the garage, or washing the cars.  Going fishing in the mountains.  Christmas, especially if a new album had been released.  Neil Diamond was there, and every one of us kids knew the songs, just as well as our dad.

Neil Diamond started promptly at 8:15, with no headliner.  His band of 35 years started playing, he appeared on stage, and I cried like a baby.

It was no wonder.  I tear-up when I hear a Neil Diamond song come on at the grocery store.  I'm taken back to my childhood.  My happy, happy childhood.

It was surreal.

I took in the music, the moment, and my spirit was flooded with appreciation for the beautiful childhood our parents gave us.

OK.  So, with Family Crisis Recovery dwelling so prominently in the doorway of my soul, I find that lately, I can't let anything in, without measuring it against the things I now know in life.

Let me explain.

How about the many families who suffer by accepting various forms of dysfunction as normal?  Physical abuse.  Alcoholism.  Drug abuse.  Neglect.  Sexual abuse.  Infidelity.

And what about the dysfunctions that aren't as obvious, but are just as damaging?  Control.  Anger.  Verbal abuse.  Mental abuse.  Spiritual abuse.  Co-dependency.  Selfishness.

So, with tears streaming, and gratitude over having had such a beautiful childhood, I caught myself thinking about my own children.  And then I got a little sad.  Would they ever have such a moment as this when they're forty-five?  Would they ever look back on their childhood with reflective joy?

When I first separated from my ex-husband, I had a lot of support.  But, I also endured sharp criticism from some for taking a stand against my ex-husband's behavior by actually leaving him.  I was told that as a Christian wife, it was my duty to stand by my man, even though he was hurting the kids and me.  Even though his dad hurt his wife and kids.  And his grandfather hurt his wife and kids.

All I could do was look at my kids, and want more for them.  I didn't want them to continue to be subjected to his control and abuse, but even more, I didn't want the pattern to continue.  So I left.

Now that I know more clearly about the things my denial didn't allow me to fully get when I was still with him, I know that had we stayed, my children would have had more pain to process in their adulthood.  And gauging by the amount of time it has taken them to work through the stuff they did endure, I know that my decision to leave was the right one, in spite of the difficulty, challenge, and even the criticism.

My childhood, as great as it was, wasn't perfect.  Theirs hasn't been either, obviously.  But I do hope that as they reflect upon the sad or difficult memories, they can also reflect upon the happy ones, as well.  And I hope that as they're reflecting, they will dwell on the empowering confidence we all have knowing that we, as a family, took a stand against things that weren't right, for the better of not only our lives, but for future generations as well.  I hope that they can look back and see that, as they look forward to a positive future for our family.

We don't have to accept and live with dysfunction.  We don't have to stick with it for the sake of the children.  Because, in truth, the children end up not only hurt from it, but as they grow, they tend to repeat it.  There is no sense I can make from that.

It's hard to be faced with the decision of whether or not you should demand change, or even leave your spouse if he or she is bringing Crisis to your family.  I know.  But your child's childhood will only be lived once, and in that one shot, they will learn what they learn from you, and they will take the things you teach them into their adulthood, and straight to their own family.  As their parent, what would you like for them to take?

I thank my parents.  Because, truth be told, this is what they did for us.  Both my mom and my dad had challenging childhoods.  They took stands against what they had been subjected to, and as a result, my brother, sisters and I benefited greatly.  Our parents sacrificed tremendously, so that we could have what they couldn't have.

Are you in a relationship you know deep down isn't right?  Is your spouse or partner engaging in behaviors that jeopardize healthy living?  Are you scared?  I know the fear.  I lived it.  I'm here for you, and I will be more than happy to guide you.  If you act now, there is a greater chance of your relationship surviving with help.  A greater chance of your children having less pain to have to process.

Call me.  Message me.  Friend Request me on Facebook, and I will accept.  We can communicate privately.  Kristi Tisor Ambriz.  I will hold our conversation in confidence.  I give you my word.

I wish you well.  I wish your children well.  I wish their memories well.

A Poetic Dose of Reality

My friend Tara posted a poem on Facebook.

It spoke much about the things we have come to know at Wings Like Eagles.  About lives shaped horribly by dysfunctional sickness that is contagious, and passed on to subsequent generations.  We work hard to open the eyes of families in Crisis, so that they see the need to break negative cycles and change the modi operandi of their forefathers.

It also challenges our thinking, and quickness of judgement toward children in our community who act out.  Oftentimes, their behavior is indicative of something dark, and broken at home.   Rather than our judgement, these families need our love.

I do not know who wrote the poem, but if you do, I'd love it if you'd let me know, so that I can credit, and thank the writer.

The poem:

Behind closed doors you will never know. The "private" lives that friends don't show. 

It happens in the best of places. And shows up first on children's faces. 

First, the look of their sad eyes. Then their voice complete with sighs. 

They don't talk much, nor do they play. You ask them why, but they won't say. 

They bear the weight of parents' sin. Of daily abuse and anger turned in. 

They have that look that says "don't touch," I've had enough, in fact too much. 

They fight with all to show their power. But while at home they sit and cower. 

To wait upon their nightly whip. Sometimes from hands, sometimes from lips. 

It matters not where comes the pain. From stinging slaps or words of shame. 

'Cause as they grow in size and age, their minds still fill with thoughts of rage. 

And when they wed and parents are, they still bear the wounds and have deep scars. 

That bind them in so many ways, to their past lives which they replay,

And on and on the cycle goes, unless it stops and we can show: 

That "private" lives in "private" places. Ruin future lives in future spaces. 

So be not silent, don't turn in fear. Reach for their hand, give them your ear. 

With gifts of love, touch their young heart. And the cycle of hate, you'll surely part.

i guess i have a bit of a bitterness thing going on toward my ex-father-in-law

It's true.  I'm struggling in the area of bitterness.

My ex-father-in-law wasn't the nicest man, but I always believed in him.  Always believed that I saw sincere kindness deep down in the very eyes most people perceived narrow scrutiny.  Few understood him, I believed.  Few were allowed access to him, because his bristles and growls warded most people off.

Right away, I made him my project.  I would dive in, searching for the wonderful man inside, believing in those eyes, that they weren't lying to me.  That there was sincere kindness in them.  Love, even.

He responded well to the grandchildren I gave him.  He approved of my mothering methods.  He approved of my devotion to his son.  After years of hard work, I believed he approved of me.

He approved of my decision to quit college all those years before, when his son and I first got engaged. The reasoning between both father and son was that continued education for me, a woman, was unnecessary.  I was to be a homemaker.  A college education would be self-serving and pointless.  My father-in-law always told me that if anything ever happened to his son, he would support the children and me, so that I could continue to raise his grandchildren properly.  This fed every maternal instinct I had, and it left me feeling as though the children and I were safe, and loved.

When I left his son after discovering him in an affair with another woman, his approval evaporated as quickly as my delusion that we were a happy family.

His wife, my dear Mary Mom, was not allowed to help care for the children while I worked outside the home trying to support them.  She did a few times, but he put his foot down, as he used to say.  He wouldn't allow her to help me in any way.  She used to call me at night after he had gone to bed, talking in whispers so that he wouldn't hear her on the phone.  Otherwise, she wasn't even allowed to call me.

Looking back from who I am now, I'm disappointed and disturbed that I allowed myself to be immersed into such an unhealthy system.  That I laid my children and myself at the feet of something this weak, and this twisted.  Because we weren't safe, and we weren't loved.  We were controlled.

I should have never quit college.  I should have never bowed to a system that dissuaded me from my natural development as an individual, but instead, placed me into the rule of 2 controlling men--my husband, and my father-in-law.  But, at the time, I was so sucked into their line of reasoning, that I actually allowed myself to feel loved and protected by them both, and I never for a second doubted their honor.  I believed them, and I believed in them.  I believed that their position and reasoning was in the best interest of our family.

So, I was on the outside of their favor, my eyes were finally wide open, and I was bitter.  Very angry with myself for believing the lies.  Angry that I allowed my children and myself to be left so vulnerable, and as a result, had to leave my teenage children to raise my younger ones while I worked 2-3 low-paying jobs, just to stay afloat.

Lee was just over 2 when I had to start working.  He would frantically fight, trying to get me to stay home when I'd leave for work.  He would cry at the door, running outside to get me before I drove off.

I would crawl into bed next to his sleeping little body when I'd come home late at night, kiss his little cheek, and whisper in his ear that Mommy was home, and loved him so much.  Then, if it was the weekend, I'd crawl out of bed in the early morning hours before he'd even wake up, so that I could be at work by 5:45.  At least we could both be spared the torture of me having to leave home with him crying again.

Maybe it's because of this little history Lee and I share that I now enjoy every moment I have with him.  I appreciate every sound he makes, every thought he shares, and every direction his little imagination takes him.  Maybe this is what I always did with my other kids, and it isn't all that different.  But, I am different.  Maybe that is what seems to set this experience apart from anything I had before.  I'm looking at it all through new eyes.

But, on a deeper and even darker level, I wonder sometimes whether I soak him all in, enjoying the moment and all that we have, in an effort to quiet the bitterness that continues to pop up when I think about the time I missed with him.

I take full responsibility for placing myself under the rule of my ex-father-in-law, and ex-husband.  For believing in what I wanted to believe in, rather than allow myself to see, and believe how things really were.  I was a consenting adult.

I need to forgive him for not being what I wanted him to be, and I need to forgive him for being who he was.  Because I can't change any of it.  Because he didn't lie after all.  He really was looking at me with narrow scrutiny.  Not with kindness, or love.  That's what I wanted to see, but it wasn't what was really there.  The bristles and growls were true indications of an angry, broken man who would say and do anything to feed the egocentric whole of his being.  He said, and promised whatever he had to say or promise to keep me in line, and submissive, and under his rule of control.  Because in truth, the man had no control over himself, and was running amok in selfishness, and hatred in a world that let him down somehow, somewhere.

That is a life to pity, not be bitter against.  And the kids and I have done well, in spite of his shortcomings, and we are persevering, in spite of our past.  So, really, there is no logic in my holding onto bitterness.  All that does is serve my inner need to cast blame onto someone else, and not accept responsibility in my own actions.

There.  Right?  Forgiveness has won over bitterness, just that easily.  Hardly.  It's a process, and it is going to take time.  But, if I say it out loud enough times, I believe my heart will catch up with my mouth.  Eventually.

And while my mouth is moving, I might benefit from throwing in some heartfelt prayers, asking God for some help with this one.  Because He knows a thing or two about forgiveness, doesn't He?

Fear of Disappointing Others

One of the biggest issues I continuously have to work through is my fear of disappointing others.  That, coupled with the fear of what other people think of me.  I'm very insecure in this area, and that insecurity wrecked havoc on my spirit when I was in my darkest years of Crisis.

This issue of mine didn't come from a childhood of being made to feel unworthy, or like I was a disappointment.  Quite the contrary.  I had two loving parents who constantly encouraged me, and who constantly expressed how proud they were of me.

Had my adult life taken a different path, I probably wouldn't have developed any insecurities over fear of disappointing.  Instead, I would have simply pursued life with gusto, driven to excel and over achieve, without really knowing why.  Probably, just by thinking that this is how I am wired.  But, rest assured, I would have worked hard to keep my parents proud, as in truth, I was probably a little addicted to the feeling of having their smile upon me.

So, when I made the choices I did in my early adulthood, I had that psychic sense that those closest to me weren't exactly thrilled with my choice in a mate.  Still, they switched into their natural state of support, and they did their best to cheer me on, even though they didn't like seeing the hidden subtleties that were defining me as an adult.  Things like me not pursuing the things I wanted because they were different from what my then-husband wanted.  Or that I pulled away from my family because my husband thought my family was too close.

The amount of shame I felt when my life exploded into ruin 18 years later, was greater than any other response I had.  Even greater than the fear of what would become of the children and me.  I was a 38 year-old mother of four with no way to support myself, no way to establish stability, but yet my greatest concern was that I had become a disappointment to my family.

When I started attending Celebrate Recovery, I heard women introduce themselves with their name and struggles, and for the first time I heard the issue, "fear of what other people think," said out loud as an actual struggle that needed to be addressed in a 12-step program.

I identified with that particular issue, and added it to my list.  "Hi.  My name is Kristi, and I'm struggling with co-dependency, betrayal, anxiety, depression, mental/verbal/emotional/sexual/Spiritual abuse, and fear of what people think."

Through simply eye-balling that subtle, but very powerful issue, I have been able to catch myself behaving, and reacting to situations in my life, according to the view of others.

Sometimes, this is good.  I wouldn't chew with my mouth open, for fear of offending others, right?  And even more, there are many, many times when seeking the wisdom and advice from my closest friends and family is just what I should do.  Sometimes it helps to hear whether my judgment is on track.

But, to move in a direction, or to not move in a direction, because I fear that my choices will be met with disappointment is unhealthy, and a sign of emotional instability.  I have to know who I am, and move forward, accordingly.

Actually, that was the very first exercise I remember being given when I first started going to counseling.  I had to figure out who in the world I was.  Because when I stepped into the counseling office, the only person they saw was a Christian woman, my then-husband's wife, and my kids' mom.  I had no identity outside that.

Now that I have had a good 6 years under my belt of developing who I am, I can't allow myself to stay stuck in an attitude of shame because of any disappointment anyone dear to me might have actually had during the darkest points of my life.  I have to extend myself grace.  Yes, I made some seriously bad mistakes.  Yes, I disappointed the people I love the most.  But, I didn't go into my life, seeking the outcome I ended up with.  I went into it with hope, and high expectations of greatness.  I wanted what was best for my life then, and I want what is best for my life now.  The critical difference is that then, I was grossly misguided, and now, I'm pursuing it with a more healthy me.

Still, that struggle of fearing that I might disappoint others is ever-present, and at times, still an issue.  But, being the healthy me that I am doesn't mean I'm perfect.  It just means I'm aware of how imperfect I am, and I know what to do about it.  I have broken free from the chains that had me bound all my life.  Chains that still get tangled up around my ankles from time to time, but they get my attention, and I kick them away and move on.

I like it better this way.  The chains were heavy.  Without them, I am able to fly, and go where I'm supposed to go, to the places where God has guided me.  After all, it's His approval that I need to seek, right?  And He is always there, smiling.  Because the God I follow is all about that.

deflection of the betrayer, and that little voice we can't ignore

So often, when we're confronted with something we're ashamed of, we tend to deflect.  Point out the other person's dirty porch, rather than acknowledge that ours has some missing floor boards.

Almost without exception, when you question an unfaithful spouse about their questionable behavior, they will point at the things that are making them behave strangely, like, the shiny object over there.  Or, they'll point toward you.  They have been living a double life, a lie, so they have an ability to direct attention away from the obvious, with a precision that keeps your head spinning.

That whole thing is a form of abuse in itself.

It sucked to be suspicious for all those months.  To have that little thing deep within my spirit that made me wonder, only to have it be dismissed.

Once, he was outside cleaning the inside of his truck.  This wasn't a normal thing for him.  He very rarely washed his truck, or cleaned the trash out.  He told me that a girl from work needed him to pick her up, and give her a ride to work the next day.  He said he thinks that she might have a crush on him, but that she was a sweet kid, and that he kind of felt sorry for her.  She lived with her mom, whose birthday was only 2 weeks apart from his.  This girl was literally young enough to be his daughter.

From the very early beginning of our relationship, he had established honesty as a virtue he held the most dear.  He wouldn't even tell a white lie.  He was brutally honest.  Blunt.  Proclaimed often that he didn't care what other people thought.  He was going to say it like it is, whatever it is, and if people didn't like it, it was their problem.

So, if I was suspicious or concerned, and I'd appease that thing in my spirit, and question the situation, he'd deflect.  And I'd buy it.  Over, and over again, as other situations would arise, or people in town  would come to me with concerns about this girl.

I believed him when he said I was being ridiculous.  That I was being paranoid.  That he would never hurt his family.  That I was wrong for even thinking that he could.  That I hurt him for even suggesting such a thing.  How could I even think that of him?

I believed him when he said that the people in town were liars.  That they were gossips taking a little bit of truth--the fact that that sweet girl living with her mother had a crush on him--and that they were running with that little truth, and creating a big, ugly, completely untrue story.

Naturally, I felt terribly for falling prey to lies and gossip.  For listening to the people in town, over the man I had been married to for all those years.  Never mind that thing in my spirit.  It was nothing more than female emotion, and everyone knows that women are run on unpredictable emotion, and can't be trusted, right?

For our entire marriage, he was bold in his rants against pornography.  He believed pornography was evil, that viewing it was sinful, and he was even against R-rated movies that contained nudity.  So much so, in fact, that he'd record a movie and delete that bad scenes so that we could watch an edited version.

So, when I woke up early that morning to get a drink of water, and I startled him, and he quickly minimized whatever it was that he was viewing on his computer, I was more than just suspicious.  I sat across the room from him and I struck up a conversation, wondering all the while what would happen if I clicked that minimized button on the bottom of the screen.  I watched him.  I observed him.  His nervous slurps of coffee.  His nervous laugh.  For a half hour I watched while we talked, and at that point, I knew.  That thing in my spirit was validated.  I was calm.

It wasn't just the pornography.  It was way that he had preached against pornography for over 18 years.    But, in spite of his stand against it, in secret, he participated.

I discovered once and for all that morning, that the pedestal of honesty he stood on, the same pedestal I had him propped up on, was made of Jell-O.

Pornography today.  What's tomorrow going to bring?  Within 2 weeks, I was able to get him to confess to multiple emotional, lewd, and sexual affairs.

Listen to that thing in your spirit.  That little voice.  Quietly watch.  Listen.  And stay patient.  The more agitated, frustrated, or angry you allow yourself to be, the more likely the cheating spouse will use it to strengthen that weapon of deflection.  They'll make it be about your lack of trust, or your paranoia, or your jealousy.

The pain of betrayal is complex.  We are complex.  But, God has given us simple things, like that voice,  and listening to that little voice can be just what we need to take us out of denial, and on the right path of recovery and restoration.

living with a sex addict and the clues I missed telling me that things weren't OK

Recently, I have joined the leadership team of Celebrate Recovery at my church, CCV.  Last night, I had the opportunity to share my story with just under 20 newcomers, as we explained the CR program to them.  It's helpful for people to see the roads we have traveled, as we present ourselves transparently, offering our help to direct them down their road to recovery.

Talking about my story last night has left me thinking today about things I don't always think about.  And thinking about those things has made me think about the many people who are currently wearing the shoes I wore those 7+ years ago.

We had been married 18 years.  My husband was home every night.  Every night.  Without exception.  In fact, he was home, in the house, and he insisted on the kids and me being inside the house with him.

He never went out on weekend nights, or had any guys nights out.  He never had private talks on the phone.  Or late nights at work.

None of the usual things that would cause alarms to sound, or red lights to flash.  No red flag waving moments.

Except...

He was distant.  Impatient.  Angry.  On the computer a lot.  A lot.  He worked out a lot.  A lot.  He tanned himself a lot.

He made no effort to be involved in the lives of the kids.  He never spent quality time with them.  He never spent quality time with me.  Unless it was bedroom time.

He never took interest in home repair or upkeep.  He would respond with irritated anger if the kids asked anything of him.

Fridays were fun, and we would have Family Night.  That would include yummy, fun food, sometimes a family game, and usually a family movie.  Or, at least, a movie he would want to watch that he would allow us to watch with him.

But, Saturday morning would find him back on his computer, sometimes in a good mood, but usually not.

He was an early riser, like, 3:30 or 4:00am, so bedtime for him would always be between 8:00 and 9:00.  He would go to bed slightly later on Friday night, but no matter the day, he was up very early.  On the computer.

He would position the computer so that the screen would be away from us, so the light wouldn't bother us if we happened to wake up for a glass of water.  

He kept passwords on everything, and never shared them.  With anyone.

I was never allowed to open mail that was addressed to him.  Ever.

He seldom pursued friendships with other men.  He seldom maintained relationships with male friends. He didn't like any of my female friends.  He didn't trust anybody.  He assumed dishonesty in everyone.

He didn't allow me to have male friends.  I wasn't allowed to talk with mutual male friends.

I wasn't allowed to wear anything buttoned lower than about an inch, or maybe two inches below by collar bones.

Bedroom time was very difficult.  Since he was a morning person, he would wake me.  Even if I'd been up during the night with babies.  These times were emotionally painful, and even more so if they followed a night of anger.  He'd berate me in my waking hours, only to want to use me in my sleeping hours.  I would eagerly participate, hoping that a morning started well would lead to a happy day together, and believing that it was my duty to submit.

There are so many women (and men) who identify with my story.  So many.  Too many.

New Life Live is a resource I have used for many years.  They have a ton of information about sexual integrity, and even resources that can assist you in identifying whether or not your spouse is being unfaithful, and what you can do if they are.  

Marriage is sacred, and worth the fight.  Even if you have a spouse who has fallen in this area, there is so much hope that your marriage can be restored, and greatly improved upon.  The powerful impact a restored marriage can have on the many broken people out there is tremendous.

Getting past the hurt, the pain, and even the disgust in the unfaithful spouse is no small feat, but with a lot of work, it is extremely possible.  There is going to be a lot of work required regardless, if you want any hope of having a fulfilling life that isn't stuck in bitterness.

Tomorrow would have been our 25th wedding anniversary.  My marriage didn't survive.  But, I did.

I submit myself to you, my broken-hearted reader.  Please contact me if you, or anyone you know needs help.  Email me.  Friend Request me on Facebook.  Search for Kristi Tisor Ambriz, and Message me.  I'll accept your request.

Your life is valid, and full of purpose, and although this painful time will always be a part of your past, it doesn't have to affect you negatively for life.  Fly above it, by climbing out of it.  Want it.  And know you're not alone.

My Grandma -- Rising Above the Ashes

Four years ago today, my grandma passed away.

It is really something, isn't it, when we write or say something like that, and it kind of stops us, cold.  My fingers were honestly kind of stuck for a minute.  They had just typed words that still make my heart stop for a second.

Losing people we love is a difficult, but natural part of life.  This loss was particularly difficult for my family, because in every sense, my grandma was the Matriarch of our family, and the impact of her loss was felt by all of us who called her mom, or grandma, or GG.

The thing that will always stand out to me about her is how she took what had been handed her in this life, and she rose above it.  She was handed the title orphan at the tender age of 4.  She was soon handed the title abuse victim when a man she always referred to as "evil," hurt her as a child and teenage girl in ways she only just hinted at later in life.  She was handed the title single mom in an era when divorce wasn't an acceptable escape, no matter how drunk a woman's husband might be.

But, with her three girls as her inspiration to rise above it all, she worked her fingers to the bone to create a better life for her family.  She left a horrible situation, and even with financial challenge and difficulty, she created a more stable one for her children.

She had no idea how her strength, and inspiration would impact me, two generations later, when I would have to take those same steps.

I miss my grandma terribly, but, her whole family is very aware that she sacrificed her life to give life to us all.  We are none of us without problems, but we live with normal problems, and like the example she gave us, we work our fingers to the bone to rise above them.  Thankfully, the challenges we face pale in comparison to those that she endured.

My grandma passed away four years ago, but she passed out of this life, and into another that is blissfully free of the demons that haunted her here.  As her family, we can all smile knowing that she has finally found peace, and for once, she can finally relax!  Something none of us in this world were ever able to get her to do here.

Starting Monday, I will be featuring a weekly column from a guest columnist, Tracey Hallberg, called Stolen Innocence -- Rising Above the Ashes.  Like my grandma, Tracey has had to live with horrors beyond anything most of us will ever know.  But, unlike my grandma, Tracey was raised in a generation that has given her something my grandma's generation would never give her:  A Voice.

With that voice, Tracey blows the whistle on chemical dependence, mental illness, pediphilia, and incest.  Her story is raw, and difficult, and all too familiar for far to many of us.  Shining light on it gives Tracey a power over her demons that my grandma never fully knew.  My grandma worked them away.  Tracey exposes them away.

Her posts are not suitable for young children, and have a PG-13 rating.  They contain images and language that might offend some.  But, they contain so much help, and so much healing, and since her story is so close to home for me, I want to offer it so that it can help some on a level my story couldn't even touch.  Unfortunately, there are many who can relate to Tracey's story.  Like, my grandma.

OK.  Back to my grandma.  My family is really remembering her today, reminiscing with each other so many wonderful memories.  We all love it, that in spite of it all, she never stopped laughing.  In her own way, she too rose above her own ashes.  She had the best laugh.  The memory of it makes us all smile.

What joy it is, to take life and run with it.  We can choose to run away from it, but why do that, when there is so much to gain from just living it, learning from it, and running freely?

We celebrate that today.  Running freely with this thing we call life.  My grandma.  Tracey.  All of us.

Finding the Burnett Heart

I need to postpone Adam's Story -- Part 3, because I have a time sensitive review I want to share with you.

Last Saturday, Hugo and I saw Finding the Burnett Heart at the Lillian Theatre in Los Angeles.  I was on assignment with Life in LA, and the entire experience confirmed to me just how much I love my job.

Click This Link to Read my Life in LA Review

You've read the review.  Now, here's a little something about the cast.

Jeff L. Williams is the Lead Producer, and a lead actor in the play, and as it turns out, a kindred spirit.  In my review, I erroneously credited The Lillian Theatre for having the class to choose U2 songs in their "intercom music" before and after the show, and during intermission.  After reading my review, Mr. Williams gave me a much needed oh, by the way, when he told me that the music selection was a soundtrack, so to speak, and that they had hand selected each of the songs.  And that the U2 selections were all his own personal contribution.  Another reason why I love my job.  I get to work with awesome people, with impeccable taste.

This guy with impeccable taste also happens to be a fabulous actor, as it turns out.  He plays the father of a 16 year-old boy who comes out that he is gay.  By far the most endearing personality in the show, he warmed the hearts of the entire audience, when he accepted his son, and he promoted it boldly, in spite of the fact that he was challenged with accepting the sexual preference of his son.  That is no small feat to tackle as an actor, when most of us can't even pull that one off in real life.  To love, and accept someone dear, when you don't accept what they're doing.  But Mr. Williams pulled it off very well, allowing us to see a true battle going on in his spirit, while his family fell apart before him.  He demonstrated love and tenderness, and he also demonstrated frustration, and disappointment.  His character had confrontations, and Mr. Williams was able to let the audience in on the disappointments in his childhood without coming off bitter, or resentful, because his character really wasn't about either of those things.

James Handy is a veteran TV, film, and stage actor, and he played the boy's grandfather.  Mr. Handy worked his craft flawlessly, playing a mean-spirited, bigoted, and defeated man.  It took an actor with his level of talent to take the audience on an emotional ride that brought us from a place of hating him, then pitying him, and eventually loving him.  Many people can do anger on stage, as we have many places from which we can draw that emotion.  But to compartmentalize that emotion and display the varying levels, and triggers of anger, is definitely an art form.  He is able to shift in and out of humor, and he keeps us challenged in our feelings.  He can say one thing, and think another, and let us see it, without overacting.  He's subtle, but yet such a powerful actor.  It was a joy to watch him in action.

Colleen McGrann played the mother of the boy, and hers was the character with whom I identified with the most.  Thankfully, God has brought me far, and has showed me that it isn't my job to dispense hate, and judgement.  It's my job to dispense love.  Unfortunately, Grace doesn't extend any grace to her son, and in fact, is antagonist in the play.  Or, at least, her bitterness and anger are.  Ms. McGrann embodied the spirit of every one of us who have gotten lost in the troubled waters of misguided faith.  She was natural as an angry mom, angry wife, and angry Christian.  A thin, smaller woman, she was still able to push along the views of her character, going against 3 men at once, towering over them every time.  She expended high energy in just about every scene.  She would deliver a biting line, and the audience would gasp.  She owned all of us, bringing an audible response from us all, many times.

The boy.  Wow.  Joel Johnstone played the 16 year-old boy.  If I hadn't done a little snooping, I wouldn't have known that Mr. Johnstone is really 27.  Mr. Johnstone gives us insight into what it might be like for a child who has always respectfully abides by the rules of his parents, but yet has a secret that he fears they can't accept.  He has to demonstrate a wide range of emotions, and responses to the situation that would be a tremendous challenge for any actor, and he does it so well, we are able to really get what the boy is going through.  We see denial, fear, anguish, shame, anger, coolness, and amazingly, we also see happiness, laughter, joy, peacefulness, and even acceptance.  We see it in his face, his body, his countenance.  We hear it in his voice.  It takes a great deal of substance to pull all that off.  Joel Johnstone is the heart of the play, because of what he is able to bring to it.

The show closes this Sunday.  You have got to go see it!  Call 323.960.7792, or go to www.plays411.net.

Bad Situations Arise With Their Dad

We are taught, as young children, what is right and wrong by the models we have in our families.  I tell my kids all the time how important it is for them to be able to get along with each other.  If they can't resolve sibling conflict as children, chances are they will have a harder go of it when they are adults, and they are trying to deal with conflict within the work place or their own marriages.

If I teach my kids that it is normal for us to speak disrespectfully to each other by allowing them to speak disrespectfully to each other, then when they establish their closest relationships as adults--like, with their spouses or their own kids, it will be natural for them to speak disrespectfully to them as well.  It would be what they know.

I cringe when I hear a parent tell their child that they are stupid, or slow, or are a disappointment to them.  The damage this does to their little hearts can sometimes be irreparable, or at best take years of counseling to correct.  But yet, even with all of the years of the message getting out to all of us that this behavior is unacceptable, and destructive, and taboo, we still hear it.  It breaks my heart.

When I made the decision to divorce my ex-husband, it was largely due to my need to protect my children from being raised in a system that is chronically dysfunctional.  Our kids are taught what is right, and normal, and acceptable by how we raise them, and they gauge what a "normal" lifestyle is by what they live in--if it's a home that is happy, and positive, and healthy, then this will naturally be normal to them, and this is the standard by which they will undoubtedly measure their own conduct.  If it is a home that is angry, and negative, and sick, then this will naturally be normal to them, and well, we see the results of lives lived like this in modern society more and more frequently.

So, as a divorced mom who has gone through hell and back to make a better life for my kids, what on earth do I do when my kids suffer the very negativity I've brought them out of, when they visit their dad?

It has been a difficult summer in that regard.  Stresses have been high.  Their dad has a mother who is sick, and who has been in and out of the hospital for nearly two months now.  He hasn't worked in three years, other than a week or two here and there as contract work for his former employer, so there are stresses there as well.  He doesn't like living in California and is unhappy that I brought us all back.  Add these recent stresses to a man who already had anger issues and conflict resolution challenges, and you end up with a stressed-out, impatient man with a harsh word on his tongue.

It's been particularly difficult for one of my children.  They call me from their dad's house after the big arguments happen.  When he finds this child on the phone with me, he is angry and threatened.  He will mock them and show his displeasure with them.  He behaves childishly and he berates this child and then goes to the other children and tells them about it, and how angry it makes him that this child doesn't call him every time a conflict arises with me.  And yes, conflicts do arise with me.  This child is a teenager.  But when they arise with me, they are driven by the fact that this child has done something wrong that needs correction.  When conflicts arise with their dad, they are 95% of the time due to the fact that he has misbehaved, and this child has called him on it.

These are my kids.  Not "kids," out there.  My kids. 

So, I have taken my kids out of a daily living environment with a man who is ultimately abusive, due to his inability to be the adult when it comes to conflict resolution.  He reverts back to his childhood, and the way he felt small when his older brother or his dad belittled him, and when the chips are down, he dishes it right back.  But not at his dad or brother.  At his kids.  It used to be to me.

The abuse is subtle most of the time, and the kids are divided on how bad it is.  Unfortunately, it isn't against the law to be a jerk.  Some believe that if they just ignore the bad behavior, it will subside and a good moment will be right around the corner.  Others believe that the issues have to be confronted now, and that they are a problem.

It takes Hugo and me a day or two to debrief them when they get home.  First, the child who has the most conflict with their dad, and secondly, the children who are left confused by all of the spins their dad puts on situations to validate his own behavior.  Even if his behavior includes a mocking laugh at the child, or a lot of yelling for the sake of venting anger, rather than trying to resolve the situation, and even worse, the coldness he gives to that child by even refusing to pray with them at bedtime.

I'm so thankful that my kids don't learn the model of unconditional love from their dad.  If they did, they'd never "get" God.

Just because we as survivors take drastic steps to get out of Dodge, it doesn't men that our kids won't ever have to go back for visits.  This is the hardest part of it all--to get out, only to have them have to be exposed to it regularly.  But as survivors, by getting out, we gain a strength to keep up the good fight, and keep our eyes fixed on the prize.  Leaving troubled and toxic family environments don't keep us from having to experience them still, from time to time.  I can't protect them from everything.  At least they have a home to come home to that is healthy and positive, and it's a home that leads them toward excellence.  All levels of excellence.  Academic.  Spiritual.  Emotional.  Relational.

Like it or not, our kids' home will be the model they use later in life, and I'm so thankful that they have been given a second chance.  And as hard as it has been, you can darn well know that I'd do it all over for them, if I had it to do over again.  For all of us.  This way, we're growing healthy kids.  After all, as parents, it's our job.

When a Pet Dies, We Learn So Much

Yesterday was a sad day for our family.  Hugo's cat Chi Chi died.  She was 18.

She had been losing weight steadily for the past year, and would go through bouts of weakness, but then she would rebound.  Her age alone told us that she wouldn't have much longer, and we anticipated that one of these bouts of weakness would result in her going to sleep and not waking up, and when it happened, we weren't surprised, but we were all sad.

It was interesting to see how each family member dealt with her passing.  Death is a natural part of life, and as unpleasant as it is to experience the wild ranges of grief, it is important for us to allow ourselves to  go through it, rather than make feable attempts at hiding from it, uncomfortable with how it makes us feel.

Lee faced it head-on initially.  I had wrapped her in a towel and laid her on a blanket so that the kids could see her and say good-bye.  He went right over to her, without fear.  He crouched down, and he literally said good-bye out loud.  Then, he turned and left.  Before he left the room, though, he stopped and asked me whether or not Chi Chi could hear him tell her good-bye.  I told him that I believe God let her spirit stay for a little while so that she could hear us.

The others varied...some went in, others only peered in at her from the door...even several feet from the door way.  We all do it differently.

The death ritual is for the living.  It is to comfort and bring closure to those of us who mourn the one who passed.  We bury them with dignity, we remember them lovingly, but none of these things benefit the one who has died.  We honor them, their memory, but we are the ones who feel better when we honor them.  Like, one last act of love without expecting a thing in return.  It's unconditional, and it's important to each of us when we contemplate how we would play out the ritual of their final physical presence in our lives.

Having pets, and then having to see them die, kind of gives us a dress rehearsal for when we lose people who are dear to us in our lives.  We can experience the finality of it, the feel of life without them, and we can see and learn about ourselves through the stages of grief, and the strangeness of how we can go from one stage to another, and back to revisit one we already left, with no rhyme or reason or consistency.

Take Lee, for example.  So brave and inquisitive early in the morning.  In the late afternoon, he drew a picture for Hugo.  A picture of himself with Chi Chi, our dog Luke, Abi, and Hugo.  I prepared dinner while he created his work of art.  Suddenly, the sound of a loud sob escaped his little lips.  I quickly turned to him where I saw his shocked, tear-filled eyes.  He said, "I wish Chi Chi didn't have to die," and then he began blinking his eyes hard, like he does, when he tries not to cry.  By the time I made it to him to comfort him (which was immediate and quick), he was already composed and rather stoic.  I hugged a little stone boy.  We wouldn't see the emotional sorrow in him the rest of the day, even through the back yard funeral service.  Quite the contrary.  He wanted it over with, asking when we would put Chi Chi in the hole Adam dug.  Seeing these things in Lee has given me opportunity to peer into his soul a little--to see that there is still evidence of a wounded spirit that needs attention.

Yes, the death ritual is for the living.

We laid her to rest with dignity, and stories about her, and memories shared by Hugo of her days as a playful kitten.  He saw a lot of changes in her in those 18 years.

Everyone hurt for Hugo.  He had contact with both sides of our family all day yesterday, as they expressed their condolences.  At one point I received a text from him asking me to tell everyone we're NOT getting a kitten.  I LOL-ed.  Hugo isn't exactly an animal-guy--and the poor thing inherited a Labrador and 3 more cats when he married me.  I wasn't surprised by his text saying he doesn't want another cat.  I texted back, "Haha.  Everybody knows you're a Chi Chi lover...not a cat lover."  There was a pause, and then he responded, "That's pretty much it right there."

He was a Chi Chi lover.  We all came to be Chi Chi lovers.  She was a part of our family, and we will miss her.

When my ex-husband dropped the kids off last week from their vacation, I knew something was terribly wrong with his mother.  She stayed in the car while the children were being unloaded, which seemed odd, but thinking that she was just eager to get home, I brushed it off and I went out to talk to her.

The divorce between her son and me was difficult for her.  She and I had a beautiful relationship--she is one of the nicest ladies God ever made, and from the start, I loved having her in my life.  We often times supported each other through the challenges of being married to men who were verbally abusive and controlling.

There are obvious changes in the relationships with extended family that are bound to happen at the hand of divorce.  Eighteen years of relationship-building, in my case, kind of got put on hold...nobody quite knows how to manage the changes when divorce happens.  A sad, and unfortunate thing.

One thing I did know...that my ex-husband desperately needed his family.  He had always been close with his parents, but somewhat disconnected from the rest of them, and was afraid that since his act of infidelity was the initial cause of the break up of our family, his family would side with me.  Because of these things, I did make a cognizant decision to step back and not get in the way of his opportunity to lean on them, and gain strength through the building of relationships between them.

His father was furious with my decision to separate, and even more angry with my decision to divorce.  He didn't let his wife have contact with me, and only limited contact with the grandchildren.  When the kids and I moved back to California, my ex-mother-in-law would call me on an untraceable calling card after her husband went to bed, talking with me in whispers.  I put an obvious strain on our relationship.

After he died, she sold the acreage they shared and moved back to California to live with her son, my ex-husband.  She has enjoyed being able to see her grandchildren often, being a part of their lives.  I have enjoyed having her closer, getting to see her and talk to her without either of us fearing the anger of my ex-father-in-law.  Hugo has enjoyed her sweet spirit--they greet and say farewell with a hug.  She is an amazing woman, to push aside her sorrow over the divorce between her son and me, and to then embrace my new husband...literally.

So when I went out to the car to see her the day that they arrived from vacation, I was beyond shocked at what I found.  She was anxious--almost afraid.  She had been trying to get out of her seat, but couldn't make her feet move.  Abi and I had to help her out of the car and into the house--she was very weak and very uncoordinated.  She was confused and disoriented.  Getting her into the house was a challenge.

I later found out that she had begun failing about half-way through their vacation.  Her sister is an RN, and went on the vacation as well.  She urged her to go to Urgent Care during their time up in Oregon and Washington, but she insisted that they return home and go to a local hospital.

A visit to her local Urgent Care that night revealed severe dehydration, and after rehydrating her, she improved.  But after a day or so, it was obvious that still, something wasn't right.  So she was evaluated by a neurologist and admitted to the hospital.

Scans have revealed a tumor on her brain stem.  It is too deep to biopsy, so they are shrinking it with drugs.  She will be treated at City of Hope.

Today Tessa, Adam, and I went to visit her at the hospital.  She was very emotional when she saw us, which resulted in us both crying.  She was more lucid than I had anticipated--I'd heard about how bad she has gotten this week.  Still, she can't remember where she is, why she is there, and she wonders why all those noisy kids in the hall don't go to bed (the nurses).  She keeps trying to get out of bed, which is a bad thing as the tumor has affected the right side of her body.  The staff moved her to the room across from the nurses' station, and they put her in a lower bed.  They also put a sensor in her bed with her, so that if she tries to get out, alarms will sound.

My commitment to her is a forever-commitment that lives long after my marriage to her son died.  She will always be my Mary-Mom.  I have pledged myself to her care, wanting to be rotated in with the rest of her family, to sit with her, if needed.  And it is going to be needed.

It is hard to see her go through this.  But I am so thankful that since she is going through this trial, I do have the opportunity to be a part of the plan that helps her.  It says a lot about her, and about her family, that they would embrace me.  It also says a lot about my ex-husband, that he wouldn't keep me from being around her, since officially, I'm no longer family.

It is also good for the children to see their father and me in the same hospital room together, working together on the common goal of seeing a dear woman kept comfortable and loved.

Please pray with me for her, that she recovers fully.  That the tumor is able to shrink completely, and that she regains the impairment she is currently suffering.  There is a chance she suffered a stroke in addition to the problem with the tumor.  Once the swelling subsides, the doctors will do another head scan to see whether or not there is any scarring.  If there is, it would indicate that she did, indeed, have a stroke.  Until they know for sure, they are keeping her legs circulated to prevent blood clotting.

Adam chose to stay behind for the weekend so that he could be there with his grandma, but mostly so that he could be a support to his dad, who is feeling the effects of this in dramatic ways.  Since he lives with her, decisions will have to be made as to whether or not she be transported home, or to a facility that can care for her as she recovers.

I am so proud of my Adam's heart.  And I am so happy that no matter what has happened between her son and me, I still have my Mary Mom.

My Response to the Recent Pain of My Children

Hugo and I went away for a little vacation.  We drove up to Lafayette, CA to see his sister Olivia and her husband Scott and celebrate America's independence.  We based out of their house and from there we went on a couple of day trips.  One to San Francisco (LOVED it!!), and one day we went to Napa.

It was a great six days away--just Hugo and me, sans children.

Truth be told, it served as a convenient distraction.  Some of the children went away with their dad for an 11-day vacation up to Washington state.  I had to work very, very hard on my attitude.  This is the longest time I've ever gone without seeing Abi or Lee.  I also knew that the trip would challenge the patience of their dad, and I feared bad experiences for them.  But out of respect for their need to spend this time with him and with their grandma, as well as their adult cousin and his young children, I hoped for something better than that which my fears could conjure.  I chose to believe in the good that could come from this.  I also knew that it would be a good time for Hugo and me to get away--something we haven't done.  Ever.

Hugo and I are back home, and the children will return tomorrow.  As the hours tick closer toward their arrival time, I find myself overwhelmed at times with emotion--such is the extent of my longing for them.

While they have been away, I have had the sorrow of seeing some of my worst fears realized.  There have been phone calls and texts to us from the children that have revealed harsh words spoken, and painful moments spent at the hand of their dad.  Now this time, out of respect to the children, I will not reveal details.  But out of my need to be transparent in my journey, I will share my response to it all.

I am bitter.  The root of bitterness has found fertile soil, and I have a vine that is twisting and turning within my spirit, and I fear for the density of this weed, and the potential destruction of many good things I have sown.

When I reflect on the memories from our life together those 18 years, and of his verbal abuse and extreme control, I can be at peace, as it is behind me.  Sometimes the memory stings, but it isn't a system in which I still live.  It is in my past.  But it is so hard to have to relive the verbal abuse and powerful control of my ex-husband, as I see the same patterns he used on me lived out in his approach to the children.  The way he speaks, and cuts, and breaks-down, and is threatened by thought and opinion that differs from his own.

It is at this point in my life, that I must rely on the support and prayers of my closest family and friends.  Please pray for me, that I can take captive the bitterness that wells within me.  I want to acknowledge it, I want to understand it, I want to accept that there is an element of righteousness and validity that fuels my feelings of anger.  But I don't want that anger to become bitterness.  It has, but I don't want it to.

Bitterness will keep me from being able to keep a clear head as I deal with my ex-husband on his treatment of the children.  Bitterness will keep a dark perspective on the issue at hand, rather than an accurate perspective.  Bitterness will get in the way of my ability to talk through the bad behavior of their dad as I sit with the children and discuss the things he has said and done on these days that were supposed to be happy.  Bitterness will keep me from being able to see.  And the children need me to see.  I need me to see.

My head hurts badly--it has for days.  It's awesome of God that He has seen fit to give us pain as a symptom of a tremendous wound.  Even of something destructive within us.

It is my hope--my prayer--that I can get a grip quickly.  Please pray for me!!  They will be home tomorrow afternoon.  Nope...I just looked at the time.  They'll be home this afternoon.  This afternoon!!  I need to be right for them.  I can't wait to have my babies back.

Living Under the Abusive Control of Your Spouse...Far Worse Than Infidelity

You would think that having a spouse who is unfaithful is the worst thing that can happen in a marriage.  Yes, it is horrible, and it sucks the breath out of your body when you discover that yours is a marriage defined by such a horrible end, or at best, a horrible break in trust.  But it wasn't long after I left my husband that I discovered something far more ominous that had been lurking in our marriage from the day we started dating.  He was controlling.  So much so, that he was abusive.

I knew that he was high-control.  In so many ways, I am too.  I have seen in myself the completely illogical pattern of thinking that if I'm with my kids, tending to their needs and present with them, nothing bad will happen.  They won't fall.  If I pray hard enough at night, they won't have bad dreams.  If I keep them pumped with Vitamin C, they won't get sick.  But, of course they still got skinned knees, they still have nightmares, and they have had a lot of colds.  But my brand of control is different from the control that was the foundation of our relationship.

When he wouldn't let me go anywhere after dark, I believed it was because he was protecting me.  We couldn't even play outside with the Nebraska lightening bugs.

When he wouldn't let me pursue my education, or work outside the home, or have our kids in public school, or go out to dinner with friends, or have friends at our house when he'd come home from work, I believed all of the reasons he'd give.

I believed him, when he said that I needed to stay home with the kids during the day when he was at work, rather than being involved with friends and their kids.  We did do things, but I had to limit it, and many of the things we did, we did without his blessing, and with difficult consequences when we'd get home.  Anger.  Angry words directed at me and my recklessness.

Homeschooling was something I loved doing, and it was something I believed in.  We did it for 9 years. Tessa went to public pre-school and Kindergarten, but otherwise, she was homeschooled all the way through to high school.  Adam has a very social personality, and he craved interaction with other kids.  We had an active homeschool group, and we did do a lot with them, but again, I had to wrestle the needs of the kids with the need of my husband, for us to be home.

I believe that there are many excellent options for our kids' education, and not every method works the same way with kids with different learning styles and needs.  The option of putting the kids in the one-room schoolhouse nearby was out of the question.  In spite of the excellence that came from that school, and in spite that 2 of our kids would have loved it.

When the kids got to a level in math beyond my ability to teach, he wouldn't let me get them tutored.  In spite of the fact that we had many people we knew who excelled in math that were offering to help.

When he'd come home from work at 4:00, he wouldn't let us go outside again.  If we were outside with the horses, we had to wrap it up and head inside.  He didn't like the outdoors, and he wanted us in with him once he was home.  So, in the summer, we had to miss out on the joy of a ride in the early evening.  A time of day that is full of beauty and relaxation.

I wasn't allowed to wear anything that was lower cut than my collar bones.  He preferred me without makeup, which I only agreed to in the first years of marriage, and he liked me dowdy.  He knew that men would try and get a peek of whatever it was I had that he didn't want seen.  If I ever bent over without holding my blouse down, he would lecture me about my being too eager to share what I had.  He believed that even though I was holding a baby on my hip while serving the plate of food to our guest, I let my blouse fall open intentionally.  Anger.  Angry words at night, when we were alone.  Accusations.

When we were first married, I wasn't allowed to be friends with any guy-friends I had before we were together.  In fact, I wasn't allowed to be friends with men, with the exception of my boss at the time, who was (and is) a very important man in my life (miss you Christopher!!).  I couldn't even be friends with the best man in our wedding.

Never, never, never did I ever stray in our marriage.  My commitment to my husband was solid, because my commitment to God is solid, and I take His words about marriage seriously.  Besides, any self-esteem I had entering the marriage was gone early on.  Even if I did want to think outside my marriage relationship, nobody would want me, and I didn't feel like I had anything to offer.  I was a size 14.  And I'm 5'3".  (I weighed 105 pounds when we married, 112 pounds after I had our first baby.  I'm not supposed to be a size 14.)

It was always known that he was the smarter of the two of us.  That he was the more logical, and the only one able to make wise decisions.  Women are emotional, and incapable of true leadership, even in the family.  This is what I had been taught by both my husband, and my father-in-law.



Being on the other side of a life like that, I feel like I have a special radar that allows me to see this type of a limited lifestyle.  Life is so much more than living it through the narrow lens of the perspective of someone else--especially when their view is distorted by fear and paranoia.

So, what do you do if your radar points you to a friend or sister or neighbor who is living a life like the one I lived?  Or, what do you do if you suddenly see that yours is a life lived under the control of someone else?

First of all, find a safe, unbiased friend or group of friends to confide in.  A friend or group of friends who will speak the truth.  Someone who loves your family.  Someone who will listen.  A support group will give the battered spouse the backbone she (or he) has had weakened.  They will direct her (or him) toward counseling, or a pastor, or a rabbi, or toward Celebrate Recovery (one of my best friends).

The biggest fear those of us who have been in a controlling relationship has, is that others will see negatively the person we love, and that they will judge them for being bad or wrong.

Co-dependents love to have others love the ones we love.

But there is no act more loving than taking steps that might set you in the right direction, so that you can hopefully lead the one you love down the right path as well.  I learned that being an enabling co-dependent was the single most selfish act I could have owned.  I made it my job to build up my husband on a foundation that was bad.  Where was the love in that?  It would be far more loving to blow the whistle on something as destructive as control, get help, take steps off of such a foundation, and then build up something healthy and good.

The sad truth?  Most, if not all, spouses who are as controlling as my husband was, are controlling because they are hiding something.  Some deeply-rooted secret they are terrified of having found out.  Something they take great pains to keep covered up--which is why they have to keep their families so tightly controlled.  They control their environment, because they know deep down that they themselves are out of control.

We all have a responsibility to help to guide our loved ones out of such a life as this.  Imagine what we are doing to our children, when they are raised in such an environment?

There is so much life on the other side.  So much satisfaction, when we are free of something as ominous as living under the control of a terrified spouse.  Get help.  Get help for the ones you love.

Reflecting On a Life Regret

My girls got classes for summer session, and if you know anything about the state school system in California, you know that this is a big deal--it isn't an easy thing, landing classes, with budget cuts limiting the number of classes offered.

They are both students at a community college near our house.   They both plan on transferring to universities after they get their general education out of the way...neither felt that they could handle the pressure of going to a university first off, in spite of the encouragement they got from their family.  It seems to be the right fit for them--they're both doing well.  Very well.  And at the rate their class-acquisition is going, they should get their Associates Degree in, say, 5 years.  That might be an exaggeration.  I hope.

The two of them having summer classes does mean that my job as primary taxi driver is in no jeopardy of being lost anytime soon.  Neither girl drives.  I just sighed deeply.  We're working on one--she will take her behind-the-wheel driving test this week.  The other is still reluctant, but will be peer-pressured in August when her younger brother goes for his permit.  Nothing says, "Just do it already," like a little brother coming up from behind, threatening to pass you up.  She has agreed to take her test when he takes his.

But until they are both driving, I will take part in a practical part of their educations.  And for me, it works well.  It gives me an "in," as I live vicariously through their educational pursuits.

One of my biggest regrets in life is not having obtained a college education.  I was in college when I met my first husband, but since I totally fell into his spell, I believed him when he said that it made no sense for me to get my degree when he didn't have one.  I know.  I look back now, and I scratch my head.  But, at the time, I believed everything he said.  He explained to me that since ours would be a marriage based on Biblical principals, we needed to take literally the fact that the woman is never to be above the man.  So, if I got my college degree, I would in essence be putting myself above my husband, and that would be wrong.  It so made sense to me back then.  It hasn't made sense to me since.

When the grandchildren started to come, my father-in-law assured me that should anything ever happen to my husband, I would be taken care of so that I could still be home to raise the children.  His reassurances were my life insurance.  But if the plan had fine print, it would have read, "Except, in the event of you leaving my son."

I was completely cut off after I left my husband.  And I had no career, and no degree to fall back on.  I had no financial plan.  I registered for school within 6 months of leaving him, but trying to balance school with 4 children--the oldest being 14, and the youngest being a year old--was a little much, and I was completely in over my head.  Dealing with adolescent hormones and diapers in the same house is hard enough.  Add to it the fact that the kids were completely upside down in grief and shock after seeing their lives completely fall apart, and it was clear that school wasn't going to be an option.

I had to work in order to support them, so I worked part-time in a hospital as a cook, as a server at a country club, and as a server at a restaurant.  I did what I could.  Having the serving jobs allowed me to make tips, increasing my hourly rate significantly.

I think back at myself as a young college student.  How would things have turned out differently, had I stood my ground and continued my education?  Maybe a formal education would have broadened my perspective, rather than allowing myself to only see things through my fiancee's eyes.  Maybe that was what threatened him in the first place.  But, even if it didn't change my perspective, I believe that I would have had an easier time supporting them when I was raising them on my own.

So, my girls are getting their education.  Actually, all of them will--girls and boys alike.  Even if it takes them 10 years each to get their Bachelors Degree.  They will have this foundation, no matter what they choose to do with it.  But they will keep their options broader this way, and it will be something they can build on in all stages of life.

And if I have to be their taxi driver to make it happen, so be it.

Cleanliness--A Common Casualty of Family Crisis

IT'S THE FIRST DAY OF SUMMER VACATION!!!!!!!  I keep saying that, but really, next Monday will be the first day that all 5 kids are on break.  Tessa and Danielle still have finals this week.  But they're both so on their own that I don't even break a sweat about their schooling.

Abi had a friend spend the night last night.  Actually, Abi was invited to spend the night with this friend, but I begged and pleaded with her parents to let them sleep over at our house.  I wanted to have all the kids home this morning.  An extra one would be a bonus.  I've dreamed of being able to be home with them on their first day of vacation since we left Nebraska.  This is a big deal for me.  A first since 2006.

We've had an extended period of what we call in California, June Gloom.  That's where the Marine Layer is so thick that nobody sees Mr. Sun until later in the afternoon, if at all, and the last week or more have been dark, and gloomy, and freezing by my standards.  It's nice to not have to be using the air conditioner, but it's even more nice to have this particular weather pattern pass.

Today it started to clear up earlier than yesterday, and as soon as the sun broke through, the kids were outside having a very LOUD water fight.  I had to call out to tell them to pipe it down...it sounded like someone was being sacrificed back there.  But between you and me, the screaming, and laughing (and the fact that nobody ended up getting hurt), were all musical.  I loved listening to them.

I dropped Danielle off at her college and then I went to Costco (where half of my bill went toward the dog's needs, and LA County Sales Tax!!!  Yikes!).  When I came home, the kids were all dry and back inside.  Lee passed me by and I noticed a fresh set of clothes on his cooled-down body.  Then I started to remember the other side of summer vacation, the side that's not so cute, and I started to assess...he started out in an outfit this morning, then he changed into his bathing suit & rash guard, and now it was fresh clothes--not the ones he started out in, and then there were towels.  OK...I can see Laundry Mountain getting bigger.  Then I had a flashback of summers past, with unclaimed drinking glasses everywhere, half-finished play projects strewn throughout the house.  Not again.  Not anymore.  Time to set up some boundaries.

Really, Hugo and I have worked hard at getting the kids more serious about their chores and working together so as to not live like PIGS.  That means picking-up after oneself, and everyone being assigned daily house chores, as well as weekly house chores.  They really do a good job.  They hop up after dinner and they start cleaning the kitchen.  Some are more thorough than others, but they all make an effort and it is nice.  But this is how it is now.  It's not how it's always been.

One of the casualties of Family Crisis seems to be a complete disregard for keeping ones property neat and clean.  Don't know what's up with that...depression?  There are exceptions, but unfortunately, I wasn't one of the unusual ones.  I was more typical.

I was raised to be neat and clean, and to keep my home neat and clean.  But the longer I was married before, the harder it was to maintain order.  It was like somewhere in my spirit I knew that there was a deeper lack of order, something far deeper than my housekeeping habits, and the symptoms of it came out in how I kept house.

It became even worse after I separated from my husband and lived as a single working woman.   My kids lacked in most levels of discipline.  There is therefore no way the home can reflect anything differently.  And try as I might to crack the proverbial whip, it didn't matter if I told the kids to do this thing or that thing on their lazy days of summer, when they were left alone at home without a parent.  The teens were in charge, but teens are still kids.

But the biggest problem was this:  Why would they do what I asked them to do, if I'd never remember I asked them to do it in the first place?  Zero follow-through.  So things would never get done.  Because once I'd get home, I'd collapse.  For long periods of time, I worked from pre-dawn to late at night, 6 or 7 days a week.  You can't properly follow-through, if you aren't even home.

Still, the shame I'd feel over the condition of my house, especially through the eyes of my extended family, was intense.  I come from a clean family.  Even if they never said a thing about the shape of my house, or even if they reassured me that they knew that I was overwhelmed, I still felt so much shame.

My house wasn't a mess because I didn't care.  My house was a mess because it was a symptom of things not being OK.  Still, the self-loathing was constant, with the voices I'd give myself in my head.  Words like, "White Trash," and "Loser."  It's hard to climb out of a situation when you render yourself weak simply by the way you feel about yourself.

Fast-forward to today.  I'm now home, and available, and able to perceive things through healthy eyes.  And man!  I see how it is that a house can get trashed so easily.  Give any of these kids an inch, even as good as they are now, and then remember that they're just kids.  They need to be reeled in.  Like the Little One and his 3 sets of clothes today.

Admittedly, I'm no different.  I need to Swiffer the kitchen!!!!  But yet, here I sit.  I still need to work the Discipline Muscle.  Sometimes, if given the option, I'd chill on the computer and write, over doing what I need to do in my house.  But this time, there are no ugly voices in my head.

Thankfully, that muscle hasn't atrophied.  Thankfully, we were rescued by Mr. Ambriz.  He made it possible for us to be stable.  He made it possible for me to be available.  And he too comes from a clean family.  Nice dynamic.

Thank you God!! :)

The Birth of My Codependency--A Raw Account of Years of Conditioning

Seventeen years ago today, my sister Misti, and her new husband Joe, left California for their honeymoon in Jamaica.  Yesterday, on their anniversary, my sister posted a Facebook question:  What were we all doing that day, 17 years ago?

I was very pregnant with Adam, and Tessa was 2 1/2.  She had been the flower girl at their wedding, and I had stood at my sister's side, very large in my green taffeta dress.

The day that the Newlyweds left California for the beginning of their new life together, my husband, Tessa, Adam and I left for our new home...Omaha, Nebraska.  We had just moved there 4 weeks before, but we flew back for Misti's wedding.

Born and raised in Southern California, moving to Nebraska was a mixture of many strange emotions.  My family is close.  Very close.  My husband, although he said he loved my family, was irritated at the frequency in which we would gather together.  Sometimes it was for a birthday party, sometimes it was for a holiday, sometimes it was for no particular reason.

We had been married 7 years, but as newlyweds, the first thing to be crossed off the list of our weekend agenda was the Just Because family gatherings at my parents' house, or especially at my aunt and uncle's house.  They lived farther away than my parents (just an hour), and he never wanted to go that far.  We were always invited, but whenever I'd tell my husband of the weekend opportunity, he'd become angry.

Growing up, my mother always made family plans, most of the time without ever having to clear it with my dad, and he was always happy.  Being a Sales Manager for a major furniture chain,  my father always worked on weekends, with his days off during the week--usually Thursday and Friday.  He'd come home every Saturday night to extended family in the house.  Almost without exception it included my grandma (my mother's mom), and my aunt (who is only 8 1/2 years older than me).  Often, it also included my mom's other sister and her kids, or my dad's mother and his sister.  Once in a while we'd throw in extra adult cousins and their kids for good measure.  To me, this was normal.  A weekend alone didn't seem right.

My husband's family seemed very disconnected.  He had one brother and one sister, and neither had a good relationship with their dad.  Family gatherings were frequently very tense, with my mother-in-law nervously trying to keep everyone happy and fed.  Although I had grown to love each of my in-laws independently of each other, I found these family gatherings to be cold in comparison to mine.

Family wasn't a cherished gift for my husband, and within a year of our marriage, he started talking about wanting to move from California.  Leaving family behind, to him, was of little consequence.  He was dissatisfied with California, and spent hours upon hours talking about the ills of raising children in this state.  These were days before the Internet, but he would always study-up on other states, and as he would plan or envision us living there...anywhere but California, I saw a light in his eyes and in his spirit that mesmerized me.  I was lulled into believing everything negative he said about living in California, because quite frankly, every position of negativity he shone light on was bathed in truth.  Why wouldn't it be?  There isn't a place outside The Garden that is perfect.  Every place has a downfall. But to my husband, there was no downfall to the "other" place...again, no matter where it was, so long as it wasn't California.

Like his father before him, my husband had tremendous potential.  I fell in love with the man he could be, without letting myself see the man he really was.  He was a man broken by verbal and emotional abuse from his father.  He was a man broken by episodes of turbulent rants by his father, sometimes resulting in his mother being physically mistreated--one memory was of his father actually knocking the feet out from under his mother, causing her to fall.

His mother, one of the sweetest ladies ever created by God, ended up living over 50 years under his tyranny, and with decades of mind conditioning, she always obediently defended her husband.  Believing her role as a Godly wife to be that of one who always lifted up her husband, theirs was a pattern of her husband misbehaving badly, then she would agree that either she or the kids brought it on themselves, and then after a cooling-down period, he would oftentimes come back jovial, like nothing bad had happened.  My husband always told me this of his dad.  "If he is mad and yells, and says bad things, it's best to ignore it, or not argue it, stay quiet, and it will pass as though nothing ever happened."

So to my husband, this was normal.

When he'd get mad with me for wanting to go see my family on the weekend, it was my job to know that it wasn't my husband's fault, but that it was my family's fault for wanting to do so much so often.  In time, it became much, much more easy to avoid tension between my husband and me, and to just not even ask if we could go see them.  They would invite us, and I would make lavish excuses.  Mostly, it was along the lines of my husband having had a hard, stressful week, and he needed to rest on the weekend, or that he was sick and I needed to stay home and take care of him.

On occasion he would let me go alone.  He'd tell me that I had to be home before dark, and sometimes he would even give me a time in the afternoon when I'd have to leave.  So, if lunch was to be served at 1:00, he would tell me to leave by 3:30 saying, "There is no reason to stay later, and you need to be home, spending time with me." So, I'd leave at 3:30.  It didn't matter if we were engaged in great conversation, or if we were in the middle of a game. If for some reason lunch had been delayed, and we still weren't done by 3:30, if I wasn't home the time he expected me, he'd call the house phone.  On his end, he'd be loud and angry, throwing accusations of my lack of submissiveness, and on my end, which was within earshot of my family, I'd laugh a lot as though he was being funny, and I would assure him that I would be home soon.  Then, offering an explanation to my family, I would try and paint him as a hopeless romantic who missed his wife.

Six-and-a-half years into our marriage, his company decided to move his office to a different location--Omaha, Nebraska.  They would pay for our entire move, within 6 months, even giving him a bonus for moving.  It was a way out.  For him, a way out of Hell, and for me, it was a way out of the knots I always had in my stomach about the tension between my husband and my family.  I conditioned myself and readied myself for the major departure by believing and speaking frequently about every negative point of California.  For me, the only way to find peace in my marriage was to be away from my family, independent.  I latched on to my independent God-given nature, and rather than apply it in a healthy way against the emotional abuse from my husband, I used it in the dysfunctional and seemingly more simple way of distancing myself from my family.  I made my bed...I was committed to having a Biblical marriage, even if the only one remotely close to holding up her end of the deal was me.  Rather than see my husband as what he was, I chose to see him for who he could be, and I believed that this man would emerge and thrive in a better living environment.

So, with the hand of my parents' only grandchild in mine, and with their next grandchild on his way, we left.

Weeks later and back in California, seeing my sister and her husband off was bittersweet.  I was so happy for them.  So happy.  But I didn't know when I'd see my sister again, and my heart was breaking within.

The next day, my family saw us off from LAX.  Leaving wasn't quite as hard as it had been 4 weeks before, when I left alone with Tessa (my husband drove back, and I flew with Tessa and our 2 cats), but still, I cried so hard that I started having regular contractions on the plane.  Adam wasn't due for 7 more weeks.  They subsided and went away somewhere over Colorado.

That was 17 years ago today.  Little did I know what would come, or by what circumstances the kids and I would be coming back to California to stay, some 12 years later.  If only we could live out our days with hindsight, but of course, that perspective can only come after we've lived our mistakes and triumphs.

It does mess with the mind.  If only I had seen things more clearly when I met him.  If only I had stood my ground on all that worked so hard to erode.  But I wouldn't have my 4 kids with him.  And then, if only he didn't have an affair.  But I would have never had the strength to really see him, and then demand a stop to all of the other areas in our relationship that was so, so sick.  If only none of this ever happened.  I wouldn't have Danielle.  And then, I wouldn't have Hugo.

Things happen for a reason, even if we bring them on ourselves with bad choices.  What I have left, what my family has left, is all that we have now.  What we have now is healthy, and it's beautiful.  Beauty from Ashes.  I've always believed in that concept.  So, rather than dwell on the If Onlys, I work hard to focus on the blessings of how things have materialized.  I am so grateful for what we have now.

On a silly side-note, Hugo was at Joe and Misti's wedding!  Hugo and Joe have known each other since they were teenagers.  Hugo's brother Luis, my future brother-in-law, was in the wedding too.  Hugo and I didn't know each other, but as he told me yesterday, "We breathed the same air that day."

Cool.