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I always envision other bloggers sitting in Pinterest-styled offices, wearing the perfect seasonal ensemble, hair pinned back in a “messy” up-do that’s still stylish ( like they just left the salon). And, their makeup is to die for. I mean it’s on point. You know…the latest youtube tutorial on the perfect highlighting techniques that everybody’s watching. While I, on the other hand, sit in my kitchen with books and bags haphazardly toss on chairs and counters, sporting mismatched sweats topped with a messy…I’m talking really messy bun that no stylist would claim as their own work. And at this moment as I have these visions and reality checks, I wrestle with the topic of my post and with the fact that I didn’t write since last week.  There are a couple of reasons I’m struggling. First, I really hate when I can’t keep a commitment I’ve made to myself. Second, I feel as though when writing a blog you should have your sh……ah, crap together. But since this whole blog idea was based on the premise of honesty. I decided to just write.

So here’s reality…..

Last Friday night, I had planned to write a blog about how strangers have been coming from all over the country to share support and encouragement on our facebook page and the positive effects resulting from that and the “Ripple Effect”.  That was my goal. My psyche, however, had other plans. It decided to team up with my hormones (gotta love Fifty!) and create a black hole that was pulling me in quicker than I wanted it to. So instead of writing a blog post, updating my website, facebook page, and facebook group, I was embracing the feeling of being a fraud and a failure. That’s not a good description for a blogger. But, I’m being honest and admitting that I was stumbling, breaking down, feeling exhausted, feeling sick and was trying to take care of myself. I gave in to the tears, the doubts, and the criticism. I had a pity party like I’ve had before and most likely will again. I’m not ashamed to admit that. It happens. But I’m here to write about it passing, or in this case, getting shut down! Pity parties don’t have to go on and on. They can actually come to an abrupt stop. You can stop them. I know it isn’t easy. Sometimes, I don’t want to halt the bad feelings. Sometimes, I want to wallow a bit longer. But during this party, when my daughter needed poster board for a project, and I saw the last drop of milk in the only gallon in our frig, I knew it was time to shut the party down. See, I’m a mom first. My kids didn’t ask to be born to their dad and me. It has never been their fault I have anxiety and depression. They didn’t cause the divorce.  They are innocent when it comes to my pity parties. They have nothing to do with my setbacks. Therefore,  I’ve never been able to live with the idea that in fixing myself I might break them. Or, at the very least, affect their psyches. My troubles shouldn’t be their troubles. So I’m careful not to stay too long at my pity parties.  Mostly because I have very…very few people that can take over for me. Not that I do this whole mom stuff better than anyone else can. It’s just, literally, no one is available. So, I have to push myself to monitor my moods and to notice what triggers might start a chain reaction of downward spiraling. I’m always writing to get out emotions, thoughts, ideas. I make notes of my behavior..causes and effects. And, I read, and  I read. But, I do this all with the knowledge that not everyone has the answer and not everything works the same for everyone. I listen to my gut and let it guide me. It’s not easy or fool-proof. But, it’s how I’m managing to keep things together and heal at the same time. Of course, there is one more thing that helps tremendously. Believing.

Having a belief.

It’s surprising how much can change in twenty-four hours. In twenty-four hours, you can cry, sleep, write, and have a full blown conversation with yourself and your higher power. The big part is the higher power. Believing in something bigger than yourself. For me having faith in God gets me through each twenty-four hour period when I feel as though I have nothing left to give. For me, giving it an hour or two doesn’t seem enough time. But, waiting an unlimited period is too much to contemplate. So, twenty-four hours at a time works. You’ve heard, “One Day at A Time”.  I believe it’s in those hours that God sends His Holy Spirit to remind me of my strengths. It’s in those moments when I know that my situation is temporary. And, those are the times when a silly piece of poster board will get me out of bed, showered, and on my way to the craft store. There’s so much energy in the Universe, in a Higher Power, in the All-Mighty, in God…whatever your spiritual beliefs may be. I’ve had many spiritual paths over the years, but the one constant, in all those paths, is a higher power. A belief that I am never alone. Knowing with certainty that I will get up, be a mom, take care of my responsibilities and continue to move forward. So maybe I don’t sit in a stylish office, with the clothes, the hairdo, and makeup. Perhaps there are some days I have a pity party instead of writing a blog. It’s ok. Because in twenty-four hours, anything can happen. You just have to believe.

Yes, that title got me a few times. I had to keep repeating it slowly to myself to make sure that it was, in fact, how I felt. And, it is. I’m tired of saying, “I’m sorry.”. I’m tired of being sorry for things that aren’t my fault. I’m tired of feeling guilty because I can’t please everyone. But, I’m not sorry about that those facts.

So many of us go through life with this self-imposed guilt for not being everything to everyone. We are people pleasers. We try so hard to accommodate everyone all the time. But, it’s an impossible task. No one can do it. It can’t be done. Not everyone is going to be happy all the time by everything you do, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

Today, I had to run to our local Wal-Mart. I swear I’m there enough to have my mail forwarded to that store. Anywho, I went about my shopping like I usually do. I have a specific routine of exactly how I go through the aisles in that store. I’m a Virgo. We’re very detailed oriented and a bit obsessive compulsive. It hit me the sixth time I said, “I’m sorry” to someone who directly got in my way.  I was doing it again. Absently apologizing to people. They get in front of me, and I apologize. Not them, me. I apologize. It’s always like this. No matter where I am. No matter what the venue is. No matter the time of day. No matter who I’m with, I’m apologizing for things that aren’t my fault. My first response is to be mad at myself. Seriously, grow a backbone. Stand up for yourself. Quit apologizing. But, nope, on I go to another aisle, and it’s another “sorry” to someone who hit their cart into mine. Really????

Now, I can sit here and write about all the reasons I’ve been a people pleaser all my life, but, honestly, I’m sick of thinking about it. Why bore you with it or think about it for the millionth time. Bottom line is I’ve always felt the need to apologize or please. It’s that simple. Two ways of living. Apologizing or Pleasing. Sad, isn’t it? There are so many ways to live my life. And, those are the two behaviors I’ve chosen. Ugh, that’s enough to make me bitch slap myself. In case I didn’t mention it, I’m fifty-years-old. Too old to continue behaving in a way that isn’t serving me well.

I need to look at my life in this way. I’ve been through a lot. I’ve got the scars. Unfortunately, the memories, too. I’ve been abandoned. I’ve been emotionally and sexually abused all the while saying “I’m sorry” and yet still the pain. Saying sorry didn’t prevent anything. Pleasing people, especially the wrong people, for the wrong reasons didn’t keep them in my life. Let me stop and clarify that I’m not a victim of violent domestic abuse. I can not advise on how to handle that type of abuse other than to say, please get help and get out as soon as you can. As to being a victim of sexual abuse, I handled mine in silence. Although I do not recommend doing that, I am not an authority to advise or counsel on these topics. My point is that saying sorry at the wrong times didn’t get me any closer to pleasing anyone. It didn’t benefit me or prosper my life in any way. It never made me happy. Not then; not now. It certainly doesn’t satisfy me to continually be apologetic. It needs to stop. I need to stop it.

It’s not easy to break a habit that is so ingrained in you. It feels very uncomfortable to suddenly stop doing something you’ve always done. But, I do believe that you can train yourself to pretty much do anything you need to do to improve your life. Even, if it’s stopping the impulse to apologize automatically. Being in the wrong is a whole different situation. I have no problem apologizing when I’m wrong. I admit there have been times when I’ve really messed up but would have preferred chewing glass over having had to apologize to a specific person. But, when I’m wrong; I’m wrong, and I step up and apologize.  Apologizing for your wrongdoing is the right thing to do. Apologizing for someone else’s wrongdoing is not, however.

So, back to the whole point of this article. I am not going to keep saying sorry when there isn’t a need for it. If I have to repeat to myself before going into public, “I will not apologize to someone when it is not my fault” a hundred times then that’s what I’ll do. If I need to write down sample situations where I would not need to apologize, then I will. If I have to search out every article on reprogramming myself to not be a people pleaser, I’ll do that too. One method may not be the magic cure. Often I find that I have to pick and choose from different behavioral techniques until I find the right healing techniques for my situation. I can’t tell you what might work for you if you are constantly apologizing when it’s not your fault or if you happen to be a people pleaser. We all approach situations differently. What I can present to you is this question. Are you tired of being tired of saying, “I’m sorry.”?

We now have a closed group on Facebook for anyone who would like a forum to communicate, commiserate, celebrate, this journey of living a genuinely happy life. Not all days are sunny. Not all storms last forever. Join us for the ups and downs, wins and losses, trials and successes in a supportive and encouraging virtual environment. The First Lives Club Group on Facebook.

This morning I sat down to write this newest addition to my blog. It’s important to me to post it today. Today is my ex-husband’s wedding anniversary to his second wife. The wedding anniversary comes the week after our divorce “anniversary”.  Both happened in the same year. In case you think you misread that, my ex-husband married his girlfriend a week after our divorce was final. A mere few days after he announced his official engagement on Facebook. He didn’t get around to telling our children and me until a month later that he had remarried. I’m not here to delve into whether that was a right decision or a wrong decision on his behalf. This article is on my blog. Not his. He can write an article on a blog if he wants. The point is that I wanted to write this today, and I wanted it to be from my perspective…. which is basically what a blog is for, right?

So, this morning, I began writing a beautifully, articulated, self-enlightened piece on what I went through and the healing process that has been taking place since then and………. I wanted to puke. I mean I was sick inside from the anger. If I’m going to be genuine and raw, as I promised, then I’m going to tell you exactly how I felt……exactly how I feel. I was so mad that I wanted to scream. I was pissed. Screw self-enlightenment. I’m still angry. I know all the lessons I learned and how much stronger I am, now, then I was back then. I know my ex-husband is entitled to be happy. I know that his girlfriend wasn’t the only issue in our marriage…. yeah, yeah, yeah. I KNOW all that. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m mad. I’m pissed. I’m furious. Not about the marriage ending in divorce. About where my life has taken me over the years. About what my children have been through over the years since this all began. I’m, even, still angry at how he handled our divorce proceedings and his remarriage. I’m mad about the mistakes that I made because of my emotions and my denial of how I was suffering. So, no, I don’t want to be enlightened today. I want to be angry. For once, I want to embrace my anger. That’s right, embrace it! Anger is a healthy emotion. However, what I do with my anger is another matter altogether. If I allow myself to feel it, process it, and find a healthy way to release it, i.e., exercise (yeah…no), journaling, blogging that’s fine. Condemning my ex and his wife, destroying something, or punishing someone isn’t a healthy, acceptable, productive outlet for me. For me, journaling has been incredibly therapeutic and positive. I still may give exercise a try, but baby steps…baby…steps.

So, yes, “Bitter, Party of One, your table is ready.”. All of my children have quoted that to me from time to time since 2009. Perhaps, my children will be happy to read that I’m admitting to being bitter, petty, jaded. Am I proud of that? No. Not only no, but HELL NO. But, it’s life. It’s what can happen when your marriage ends, and your ex-husband gets his “happily ever after” and you get the sleepless night, no breaks, bills, chores, failed relationships, and even a protective order (because online dating was such a great idea). I didn’t expect to be fifty years old, living alone with my children, divorced, in a state away from my family and my best friend, no career, no social life, and a floundering sense of identity. So yeah, it stings. Even seven years after the divorce, nine years after he moved out, it hurts. It makes me angry and bitter. And that’s ok. I’m allowed to feel that way. It’s my life. They’re my emotions. It happened to me. No one gets to say that’s wrong. No one gets to tell me I’m not allowed to feel this way. Accepting my feelings as valid has always been a hard concept for me to embrace. I was conditioned to believe I was wrong about everything. So, naturally, I thought I could be wrong for feeling a certain way. That’s how I used to think, but now, I know I can’t be wrong. It is what it is. I know that now. It’s ok to be mad. My anger is what pushes me to go to a support group meeting tonight, to organize my basement once this is posted, and to read article after article on healing, boundaries, self-awareness, etc. My anger is just a part of this journey. Anger, bitterness, the occasional petty remark (under my breath). Those are typical during the surviving portion of divorce. I just have to be careful how I behave and what I say. Feeling something is one thing. Acting out is another. I try very hard to balance my emotions, explain my feelings, and limit exposing my children to too much. Although we are probably one of the most open families I know, I do shield them from specific events and emotions when I feel it would do more harm than good. Even though this is my journey, being their mother is a journey I started long before and one that I take very seriously. Balance is everything. It is possible to be on more than one journey and successfully navigate both. I firmly believe that. Success doesn’t have to mean perfect….in fact; it doesn’t. It’s about surviving in this case. And, in this case, we are, in fact, surviving.

In the years following my divorce, my daughter shared with me an experience she had with one of her closest friends. My daughter’s friend mentioned that things were bad and nothing seemed good. My daughter, who was still healing from her parent’s divorce, instantly replied to her friend with these words…….

“The smell after it rains, Vincent van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’, the first time a baby laughs, the relief you feel listening to the album that just came out, a movie that makes your brain hurt, a warm mug, feeling confident, getting an A on an assignment you worked hard on, when you find the perfect sleeping position, seeing the stars for the first time after living in a big city, reading a good book, seeing a good friend, making someone laugh, hearing your favorite song, finishing a project, hearing I love you from a little kid, applause, when your hair looks perfect, wearing clothes that are comfortable, snow globes, wars ending, smiles, seeing how far you have progressed, pretty eyes, trains. Need I go on?”

Needless to say, she gave her friend plenty of examples of what’s genuinely good about living. Such simple happy thoughts changed the mood and outlook of an average teenager that day. But, could it change an adult’s attitude? Could it change my attitude?

When she finally shared her words with me, I was absolutely speechless. I was in complete awe of my daughter. It amazed me that this young teenager (I had created) had a better perspective on happiness than I did. She was capable of instantly recalling happy moments and memories. She saw the everyday beauty of life and, without hesitation, articulated it beautifully to her friend. I was barely thinking, much less speaking coherently. I was more focused on the negative side of life. I was recalling the bad moments, the pain, the disappointment. My brain was muddled. I was much farther behind in the healing process than my daughter. It was clear to me that I needed to take a lesson from her and her outlook on life.

When looking at life through a broken heart, it’s almost unrealistic to expect to see a whole picture. My heart was in pieces. Everything I saw was cracked or flawed. Nothing seemed whole. Nothing seemed perfect or pristine. It all seemed ruined. Life, in general, seemed ruined. And, something that’s ruined isn’t, generally, good. It’s rather bad. It’s certainly not worth smiling about that’s for sure. Why should I have questioned my outlook back then? It seemed reasonable. Rational.  But, then, my daughter changed my outlook completely.  Just because my heart was seeing life as gloom and doom didn’t mean my eyes and mind had to follow. In the past, my heart and mind had been able to function independently of each other. So with a little effort, my mind…my way of thinking….. could do the same, and therefore, override my heart.

Once I started looking through clear eyes, and not the ones muddied by my heartbreak, I saw that I  was surrounded by beautiful reminders of what life has to offer regardless of my relationship status, age, or economic situation. Everywhere I looked, whether, in my home, my local county, my glorious state, my little world, I saw something……people……places…..ordinary things that made me smile. There was so much surrounding me that was truly good. I just hadn’t been looking.

I read a while back that it can be very beneficial to keep a journal with a list of things that make you smile….things that make you happy…..accomplishments that make you proud. Lists like my daughter quickly came up with years ago. On these occasions, when you’re questioning whether there is any good in your life, let this list remind you of the reasons you can still smile. The reasons life is good.

On a bad day, I, simply, need to look at my daughter (and my sons) to see that there is a lot of good surrounding me. Some days have been more challenging than others. But on those days, I have a printed page, pinned to our corkboard, of things to smile about. “The smell after it rains, Vincent van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night”,  the first time a baby laughs………..”.

Some nights can be downright exhausting, especially a Sunday night. After the week and weekend have kicked your butt, you sit down to prepare for the coming week and following weekend. My planner and notebook are always within arms reach. When you’re a single parent, there’s no “Tag, you’re it!” You have to handle everything single-handily that comes at you. You don’t always get a time-out to regroup despite the strong desire to do just that. It’s tough. It’s challenging. But, it’s also rewarding and empowering. Sometimes, when you’re so tired, and there’s still laundry, dishes, bills, you forget to see the real picture. You’re surviving. You’re kicking butt and taking names. You’re getting stronger. You’re learning to juggle a lit bit more day after day. You don’t even stop to think that if you had some help, it would be easier. During my separation and after my divorce, I used to get angry when life piled up on me, and my children needed me. I would torture myself thinking of my-exhusband and his girlfriend/wife drinking wine alone in a clean and organized house. And, here, there wasn’t enough of me to go around. It was just me. Then, one day, as I was handling things on auto-pilot, it struck me that “just me” was enough. I could handle everything despite being exhausted. I felt stronger than I had in a long time. I reveled in the fact that I, alone, was handling life without help. So, on nights like tonight, when I’m dragging along, I think to myself how strong a woman I am to be handling a home, being a mom to four children, and taking care of myself. I do it alone because alone, I am enough.

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One comment that’s plagued me since my marriage ended was made by my ex-husband. “I’m tired of validating you.” Had he been validating me? It sure didn’t feel like it. I didn’t see it that way. But, did he see it that way? Was I projecting a need for validation without realizing it? Was it really a contributing factor in my marriage ending?

It had given me sleepless nights, and I had given it more consideration than I like to admit to you. I knew I had to confront the topic, but I’ve always been one hell of a procrastinator. Let’s be honest, who really wants to dissect their shortcomings, insecurities, or failures. But, to heal, I knew it had to be done. So, I thought about it. And I thought about it and thought about it then thought about watching tv, surfing the web, foraging the pantry. Procrastination 101. That did nothing but waste a bunch of years (yes, years) and mess with my bathroom scale. So, I finally took a hard look. Damn it, my ex was right (sort of). I was looking for validation, but I wasn’t consciously intending to. It was a just pattern that developed over time as my self-esteem dropped. Sometimes, when we’re so lost, we don’t see how it manifest in our behavior. Apparently, I was lost, blind and deaf.

Over decades, my self-esteem had taken hit after hit after hit. I hated to look in the mirror, hated who I was as a person, hated who I wasn’t as a person. There wasn’t anything on the inside, or outside I deemed worthy. And, with issues in my marriage, the chances of my self-esteem and self-worth building weren’t favorable odds. And, the worst part, I didn’t realize how it was affecting my marriage or relationships with other people in my life. By no means does my lack of self-esteem justify my ex-husband’s behaviors, but, about validation, he may have a point. The funny thing was he wasn’t actually validating me. He was, in fact, doing the complete opposite. He just didn’t see it that way (or chose not to see it that way).

That’s water under the bridge…sort of. The reason I bring this up is that that nagging statement got me to a turning point in my healing. I was looking for validation, and it was actually ruining my life. Since being given up for adoption, I had been searching for proof that I was, in fact, loveable and not expendable. Lots of adoptees feel this way. We’re discarded from birth. At least, that’s how we feel. When my birth parents rejected me again, 27 years later, it drove the point home. Multiple that with a husband who asked for a divorce on more than one occasion and well, you probably get the point. My life was a series of rejections, betrayals, infidelities, and even abuse. Not, all were from my marriage, but they all played a role in breaking me. Completely breaking me. By the time my ex-husband had moved out and was visiting his girlfriend in another state, I was nothing. At least that’s what I thought. I don’t know if anyone knew how bad I was at this point because I had learned to hide it well. I still took care of my children, our home, the finances, went to work, went to my kids’ sporting events and performances, even socialized. But, it wasn’t me. I was broken. I was existing. I was living as a fraud. I had no clue who the real me was because I kept morphing into someone I wasn’t all in the hopes of feeling accepted, loved, wanted. And, that made for some of the worst mistakes in my life.

Loss of one’s self, the loss of a relationship, the loss of a dream, the loss of trust. Loss wreaks havoc on a person’s life. So much becomes affected. Health. Finances. Behavior. Identity. And, still more. There have been so many studies on what loss and the stress of loss do to the human body and mind. For me, loss and the need for validation created a pattern of behavior that nearly killed me.

To make my postings fairly quick reads, I am breaking down these behaviors and dealing with them individually. In the coming weeks, I will be writing about my addictions, dating the wrong…not quirky….WRONG men, putting my family in danger, the rapid decline of my health, and a few more topics that make up the dysfunctional behavior of over a decade and more. I hope that it will give a raw picture of what self-loathing and denial can do to a person and how it’s possible to overcome the dark and finally see the sun. From a sham of a life to genuinely living, the road is windy and long, but it can be traveled. I did. I walked it, even crawled it at times, but the destination was and continues to be worth it.

Most days, I’m at home with my “grandson” watching “Moana” over and over and over and you get the point. The other day, I was sitting with him, once again, somewhat watching / somewhat listening to Moana singing to Te’Ka (“Know Who You Are”) when I heard….

“They have stolen the heart from inside you, but this does not define you. This is not who you are. You know who you are.”

It hit me! I had been Te’Ka. Oh Lord, I had been a fire monster! My heart had felt like it wasn’t there anymore. I was a raging mess. Angry at so many things. Hurting from the pain of so much. It progressed in this way…the hurt fueled my anger which ignited the rage and, subsequently, turned me into a fiery monster. INSIDE.

On the outside, I appeared to be a divorced mom who was holding it together (I thought). I put on a smile when needed. Held back tears until alone in my bedroom. Swallowed my hurt. Suppressed my anger. Kept the rage under wraps. A few times my children would see cracks in my armor and Te’ka would appear briefly. But, mostly, I tried like hell to put on a show. Business as usual.

And for what? Because I was afraid to be weak? Afraid to be honest? Afraid to give in and admit defeat? Thinking I was some broken excuse for a woman, I pretended to be anyone but me. Anything but broken. Talk about not living genuinely. But, even with the denial…even with the turmoil….even as a fire monster, I knew, somewhere deep inside of me, I still existed. Te’Ka’s heart was stolen. Mine wasn’t. It was there. It was just battered and bruised. My heart didn’t define me, but my denial was creating a shift in thinking that was beginning to define me. Making me someone I wasn’t.

Te’ka’s heart needed to be restored for her to transform. Mine just needed some TLC. I needed to care for myself. Admit to myself what I was going through. Be brave enough to reach out for help. And above all, admit my feelings. I needed to shift my way of thinking. A loss doesn’t have to define us. A broken heart doesn’t have to define us.

I believe who we truly are is embedded in us. From the moment our souls are created, our genuine self takes form. Our perception of who we are can be altered by experiences or outside influences. But if we can acknowledge these shifts in perspective and resolve them, we can get back to who we were meant to be. Once I did that, I remembered who I was and that I define me. Thanks, Moana!

2-28-11. The date of my final Divorce Decree. Each year since I question if my divorce-a -versary is an anniversary to celebrate or mourn. Some years were celebrated. Some years were mourned. In the past, I’ve arranged shopping trips, a girls’ day out, bought myself presents, and “enjoyed” celebratory meals. But, inside, I wasn’t in a celebratory mood. The celebrating wasn’t genuine. I was still feeling like a failure. Still questioning my worth. What about that is worth celebrating? The years I mourned the day were confusing for me. Was it the marriage I mourned? Was it losing myself? Was I feeling betrayed? What was the twenty-eighth doing to me? It wasn’t until this year that I realized the day is just a day. See, the date my divorce was finalized was/is an arbitrary date. We didn’t choose it like we chose our wedding date. The court did. It really wasn’t about us. The marriage was already over. This was just the date that a court clerk got around to filing and stamping the paperwork. So, 2-28-18 is just a day of the week this year. Now, I have one less reminder that can haunt me. I’m changing my perspective on the end of February. It’s the time of year that gauges progress. The time of year that I take a conscious look and reflect on how far I’ve come. Now that’s worth celebrating………… not a silly date.