Micki's Musings

"I love my life!" That's what my son said over and over the other day. He used to say things like that all the time. I haven't heard him say it for months. But the other day, he loved his life again. Both of the kids were feeling good about life. At the same time. For an extended period. Miracles. We had worked together cleaning all that morning, and then some of the neighbors stopped by, dropping off secret Santa gifts. That was happy-making. Then we went sledding for a couple of hours. More happy-making. Then we came home and I made dinner while the kids played nicely together for another long while. They also helped me make dinner. More happy-making. Happy-making happens again. That peaceful, everything-is-okay, trauma-is-not-around-the-corner-or-hanging-over-our-heads feeling has been making appearances again. How nice. My kids are still super stars. I am so proud of them. I worry still. They will always have to deal with a father who isn't all the

I'm coming back. It's wonderful. Little things that are big things are easier again. I have been dealing with trauma and abuse for a long time, and I wasn't sure what parts of me were authentically myself and what parts were the trauma and survival mode. I'm pleased with the me that is slowly emerging, slowly returning in some ways, and growing in others. I like my work more and more. Grading doesn't feel so daunting and overwhelming to the point where I can't even start. I had resigned myself to the space I was in. I had resigned myself to be forever ADD. Forever unable to focus and concentrate, to adjust my teaching to this new self who could not handle grading papers. That was fine, I'd just assign less writing, have the students "grade" each other, etc. There are ways around things. But now, I like giving feedback, I like correcting misconceptions. I like researching new, better teaching methods again. I have more energy for those things

Taking a sideways step from my usual ramblings all about myself and processing a few other kinds of things today. Today is election day. Millions across America will go to the polls, or have already sent in their ballots, electing officials who will lead our country for the next four years. This election cycle has been the most despicable, most deplorable, most disgusting display in living memory. Many of us, at the beginning of the process, laughed off both of the current leading candidates. "People will never actually support either of them, but they sure are entertaining," we chuckled as we shook our heads at how such inane adults even got as far as those two did. Then Clinton had the backing of some big names and Trump's reality TV persona captured the imaginations of too many. So many of us sat back and watched at first with amusement, then with concern, then with horror, as these two corrupt, ridiculous persons blindsided and manipulated their way to the top of

Balance. It's a tricky thing to keep. I am constantly swinging back and forth, shifting from one side to the other, frequently flailing my arms, desperate to stay on course. But, every once-in-a-while, I hit the mark. I'm centered, focused, on point. I've got this. Then, something or other or myself pushes me off-kilter and I am unsteady once more. That's okay, though. I always have my safety net. Lots of them. People and tools and helpers and reminders in all varieties catch me when I fall. I never fail to get back up onto the rope and keep trying, and my balance is improving. More and more often, I feel centered. I know I'll never be perfectly balanced all the time. That's too high of an expectation. It's about progress, not perfection. Sometimes I'll slack off in my physical health, sometimes in my spiritual. Sometimes I'll let my obsessions and addictions have too much control. Sometimes I'll just plain get tired. But I'll get a littl

Last weekend was very big. I had someone be afraid of me because of lies. That hurt. For a few hours, I thought a dear friend had given up and that I had lost her. That was scary. I had to make the ex accountable for his actions and he went to jail again. That's always hard. I had someone blame me for all the things the ex has done wrong. That was irritating. Someone I had begun to care for deeply betrayed me in a very huge way. My heart broke. All of this happened within three days, one thing after the other, pressure after pressure, weight after weight, pain after pain. "No mortal could bear this," I told a friend through my tears. "No human being could endure this pressure without being crushed. But I will not give up. I will not give in. I will transform instead. I will be stronger than I am. I'm a super hero." The spider bit me, I fell into the radioactive sludge, I entered the experimental chamber, I traveled from the distant planet, my elements re

Today I spent nearly an hour in the resource officer's office at my work, sobbing. I recently found out more things I was being accused of, more things that were being said about me, more ridiculousness I'm going to have to deal with. I'm so tired. I hate him so much. I want him to go away forever and leave us alone. He's been on the attack the last few days. He's getting sneakier, so apologetic, so humble, so confused as he messages and messages and messages me. I tell him to stop and he stops, for a while. Just long enough I don't know if I have grounds to report him for the protective order violation. It's all just enough about the kids, I'm not sure if he's violating the order or not. "I'm fit as a Fidel," he texts me. Appropriate misspelling. He is like a manipulative, dictatorial Fidel, an infidel. He is "fit as a Fidel" and doesn't need treatment, he says. The kids shouldn't be scared of him. They don't need

Proverbs 16:18 "It's hard to be humble when you're as great as I am." I remember reading that quote over and over again growing up. My dad had a pencil holder with that quote etched along the side of it. It's facetious, of course, and I always knew that, but it's applicable to so many. Applicable to me. Pride sucks. It sucks me dry. It sucks my joy. Humility is powerful and liberating. Pride is destructive. I shift in extremes. For so many years, I was everything everyone else needed me to be. I remember very deliberately being chameleon-like in high school. I took on "projects," you see. I scanned the crowds, focused in on the broken ones, and "fixed" them. I sent four young men off on missions this way. It fulfilled me. I became what they needed. For some, it was a listening ear, for others it was a "safe" girl to spend time with as they prepared to serve the Lord. Mostly, it was a combination. But I remember very conscio

I need help. Things are a little out of control. I am still not healthy. Step 1: Admit that you have a problem and that you are powerless to overcome it. I admit. I admit my head off. A while ago I posted that I exhibited all the trauma symptoms except obsessive compulsion. I see it now. Addiction is an obsession, a compulsion. I get obsessed with things, with people. People are my drug of choice. There are lots and lots of people. There are lots and lots of men. I am pretty. I did not know this. I joined an online dating website just to see what it would be like, what was out there. It's hilarious that I was worried it would be hard to find dates. It's not. I have to hold them off, filter through them, find the ones that might be worth my time. I need to be a queen. At first, I said hello back to every one. I learned I don't have to be nice. I learned I have to say no, to block them, to not give more than I want to spare their feelings. There are lots of wolves out t

Today, I really need to grade papers. Today, I really need to clean my house. Today, I really need to get my son to school. Today, I really need to have had a good night's sleep. Today, none of those things will happen because today, we are traumatized. Today, my brain is fried, my emotions are frazzled, my tears are near the surface, and I am weary of this life. It was bound to happen again. He is still in our lives, so he will continue attempting to destroy. It is all he knows. But it's still okay. Well, maybe not okay, but I still won't give up. I need to grade papers, but I'll blog instead, because that's all I can do--today. I need to clean my house, but I will not because I'm taking the kids and myself to counseling. My son needs to be in school, but I will let him come to school with me because the idea of dealing with school for him today makes him literally pull his hair out of his head. I need to sleep well, but anxiety may prevent that from happenin

I'm actually doing fairly well lately. I know my latest posts were kind of dark and slightly--or extremely--disturbing. But there is a healthy reason for this. I am sloughing off the excess. I am going through my internal inventory and cleaning things up, throwing things out, dusting things off. I am choosing what I want to keep and what I want to get rid of. I am deciding what I want to encourage and remember and keep at the forefront, and what I want to file away for later or am not sure what to do with yet. I'm draining out the stagnant pools of bottled up emotion and shining light into the corners of the avoidance closets. Some of the pools are smelly and some of the closets are very dark. I'm processing and working through all these things so I can let them go or apply them proactively. It's a good thing. A hard thing, but a good thing. Every day my foundation becomes more solid while at the same time I soar ever higher. I am making micro-changes in my world th

I don't know you. You are probably a father, maybe a grandfather. You probably have favorite TV shows and enjoy playing catch with your kids. You probably love to laugh and go home each night to a spouse who greets you with a kiss. You're probably a good person. But you facilitated one of the most painful and traumatic moments in life. You don't know me. You probably saw yet another bitchy ex-wife who was trying to use the kids as a pawn to torture her weak-minded ex-husband. You may have seen my tears as weakness, or a tool to manipulate. You wouldn't know they were an expression of deep-seated anger and overwhelming helplessness at being silenced once again and not allowed to even try and protect myself and my children. You wouldn't know this because you did not let me speak. That was wrong. That was so, so wrong in every single way. Even if the orders were "only temporary." Even if you "didn't want to wait" to at least partl

You want a written statement, your honor? I'll do you one better. I'll paint you a picture. I'll tell you a story. Once upon a time...and every day thereafter… “Why do you have a secret bank account?” he asks, out of the blue. “What?” I respond, startled. “Your secret bank account. Why do you have it? It’s okay that you do, I just want to know why.” “My account isn’t secret. You know about it and I gave you the passwords to access it.” “I’m talking about the other account.” “There is no other account.” “I saw that you transferred money into it.” “I don’t know how you saw that, since I never did it.” “Where did all the money go then?” “You spent it on Transformer dolls and bullet reloading supplies at Sportsman’s.” We go on like this for hours. I ask him to show me the transfers he’s talking about, but he won’t. He refuses to believe I don’t have a secret account, insisting over and over again that it’s okay I do, but he doesn’t know why I won’t te

Someone tried to take my voice again last night. He didn't realize what he was doing. He was trying to help, to smooth things over, to find some middle ground and help things out so everyone could move forward. I understand he was trying to do good things. But that does not mean I will let him take my voice. I reached out to a family member of the ex's who has been a powerful ally in all of this. I explained the truth of a situation that arose this week because I was going to have to enforce consequences, and I knew that lies would erupt about me as a result, so I wanted to lay a foundation of truth first. At least, the truth as I saw it. I had not been reporting the ex for the protective order violations again this week because I was trying to be nice again. I know, I have problems. Then I discovered that, despite my kindness and despite being told the opposite by my ex, he had been reporting me for imagined custody violations and basically trying to get me thrown in jail.

Lots of things. Life gets really big sometimes. Adjustments are hard for anyone. Divorce is traumatic for anyone. Teaching is strenuous for anyone. Add in mental illness and extra trauma and life gets really big with lots of things. We ended off our summer with a bang. The kids and I went to Las Vegas and played with family, then out to California and played with friends and more family. We hit resorts, shopping, theme parks, beaches. It was marvelous and relaxing and exactly what we needed. Miraculously, I didn't hear a peep from him until the day before we came home. Then he hit it hard, with a vengeance, stalked us some more, and went to jail again. But we're getting better at handling him. My choice is back and I'm going to fight with everything I have to keep it. I felt so good after our vacation. So relaxed, so centered, so able. When he started in on his regular and expected behavior, I fought to stay in that space. I decided--I chose--to recognize the anxiety

I'm shifting out of it, now. The fear has dissipated. The frustration has ebbed. My desires now stem from wanting to do and be better instead of basic survival. I'm glad. I keep trying to do this life in absolutes. I keep trying to find the  fix, the solution, the end to the fear. I keep thinking I've learned the  lesson. Silly me. Life is cyclical. It's up and down and backwards and forwards and sideways and up and down again. Every single time I think, "Oh, I've figured this out! I've got this, now!" life shows me how ridiculous I am. Pride doesn't get to ride this ride. Whenever it does, it throws me off course and I crash. I'm ready to listen again. I'm ready to see that I have to employ self-discipline and do things I don't want to do. I despise schedules. They grate against something in me that doesn't want to be controlled. I like going with the flow and doing what feels right. That's okay sometimes. But I need schedu

Moment to moment. That's how I'm living right now. It used to be one day at a time. That's too long. Moment to moment. I'm not sure why. I'm tired of trying to figure it out. I currently live in a world of extremes. He's attacking and on the prowl, stalking me and wanting the kids--or he's completely silent for days and I'm chewing off my fingertips with worry about what he's planning and when he'll attack next. I'm still not free. I need to get to the space where it doesn't matter what he does or doesn't do, I can still be free. I play so many head games with myself. One of them is called worst case scenario. I figure out what the worst case scenario is and I accept it. Sometimes it includes death and dismemberment, sometimes it might be dealing with cops, sometimes it might be losing some sleep. Whatever the scenario, I figure out what the worst case might be, and come to terms with it. This helps me realize that, even if my g

Too many bad days in a row. He's been on the attack too many days in a row. He demands too much. He expects everything from everyone and recognizes the boundaries and feelings of no one. The kids have learned they have a choice. They've learned they have a voice. They are making themselves heard. He doesn't like it. "It's my turn and I'm in charge," he texted me. The kids don't care if he thinks he's in charge. They protect themselves. It makes him mad. I'm proud of them, but it's hard on me. I'm used to giving in to him to calm him down. I'm used to doing whatever it takes to make him happy and make him go away. It wears me out. Even though it's good for them to stand up for themselves, a tiny piece of me wants them to give in and just go stay with him so he'll stop. They're right to stand firm in their boundaries and what they feel is safe. I will never take that from them for my own superficial facade of peace. Thei

Feeling very weary today. I had to report him, yet again. I hate doing it. I hate making him accountable. I've always sucked at doing so and it hasn't gotten any easier. He needs help. He needs to be forced into treatment. He is so sick and his mind is gone and I don't know what else to do but enforce the consequences over and over and over until he wakes up or the courts wake up and order him into treatment. I don't enjoy it. I admit, there were a couple of times he got arrested that brought such relief I actually felt good. But now it's just getting old. It's getting ridiculous. I'm not a spiteful or vindictive person. My heart aches for how sick he is, how gone he is. I don't like destroying him. My daughter reminded me of something important today, though, as I sat filling out yet another police report with tears streaming down my cheeks. She asked me why I was crying and I told her I didn't like destroying her dad. "You're not the

My kids are rock stars. Or super stars. Or shooting stars. The sun is a star. It's big and bright and powerful and untouchable. That's my kids. I am in awe of them. I am in awe of their brilliance and resilience and ability to manage all that life has thrown at them thus far. My daughter was supposed to testify against her dad at the hearing where none of our voices were heard. I didn't tell her until the last minute, the day before the hearing. I didn't want her to have to worry about it or stress over anything until she absolutely had to. I sat her down and let her know she'd need to testify about the day her dad broke into the house and the other traumatic experiences she has had with him. I was prepared to comfort her, to offer her words of encouragement, to help her process what she would have to do. Here response was, "Finally!" and she began discussing what she should wear and if she should look sweet and innocent or tough and no-nonsense. I belie

He took my voice again. Today, I prepared for a hearing wherein I was going to present evidence that showed his psychopathy, that showed how dangerous he is, that showed how emotionally and physically unsafe he is around our children. I prepared to protect them. I was ready. And then he took my voice. Again. I sat there for two hours while he spewed his lies across the stand, so thick and ridiculous you could almost see them dribbling down the face of the podium. He got two hours babbling away like he does, talking in circles and getting himself and the rest of us confused. He got TWO HOURS. I got nothing. Yep, at 5:00 pm the judge said, we're done, here's my verdict. Bye. At 5:00 pm the judge decided, based on ONE SIDE of the evidence, that my daughter was traumatized and my son was not, and my son would be forced to see his father without supervision and my daughter's visitation would have to be supervised. Well, partial victory, right? At least  our daughter