Micki's Musings

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