Overcoming The Anger Within

"Anybody can become angry, that is easy; but to be angry with the right person, and to the right degree, and at the right time, and for the right purpose, and in the right way, that is not within everybody's power – that is not easy." ~Aristotle

I’m not an angry person, but I do have an immeasurable amount of undirected anger built up inside of me. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it’s leftover bitterness from ex-boyfriends who dared lay a hand upon me. Perhaps it’s from other wrongdoings against me. Perhaps it’s even from the very hatred I had for myself at one point, many moons ago. I’m now very much an optimistic person. It takes a lot to get me really angry, and even more to get me angry at you.

One huge struggle that I’ve had since becoming involved in my relationship is the red hot white anger that I have toward the boys’ mother. I’ve learned to swallow it down and hide it behind a kind smile. That kind smile only slightly turns up at the edges, because I’ve been told that too much frowning will give you wrinkles. The boyfriend I’m sure can sense it, he can read me better than most. (And I guess it goes back to bottling up feelings again, but this is one that can’t be helped at the moment.)

There seem to be a lot of reasons this anger shoots hot through my veins. The uppermost reason is that I just can’t seem to understand or grasp why she doesn’t want them in her life. They love her, and she can only bear to see them once in a while when she feels like it, and makes an effort to call and ask for them? I guess I should be thanking her for the choices she’s made. Because if she hadn’t made those choices then I wouldn’t have this wonderful man and I wouldn’t have these three amazing boys in my life. (Was it a sign or pure coincidence that I met the boys on Mother’s Day?)

But I still can’t help but swallow the anger down. At this point in my life, she’s really the only cause of me feeling it. I feel hurt, I feel disappointment and even frustration – but generally not anger. Specifically the red hot white anger like the kind I feel toward her. I sit there and try to reason with myself. “She can’t be that bad, she can’t be that selfish, she has to have some sort of nurturing and loving nature if she had three boys (with another on the way).” But then I keep finding things out that keep smashing any hopes I have of her being a good person or at least a decent human being. (Perhaps my expectations of a decent human being are too high?)

I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with a sour stomach because she failed the boys at being a decent mother. I’ve always tended to turn anger toward another person toward myself. (Don’t ask me why, it’s a torturous thing I’ve always done that I’ve actually come a long way in not doing in the last year or so.) I’ve learned that it’s OK to be angry toward someone. But – this powerful emotion has to be handled with gentle hands. There’s a time and a place and a degree to be angry, and then there’s a time and a place and a degree to let it go.

Another part of this anger is that I see what I am doing for these boys, with these boys – and I can’t understand why she can’t even put forth 1/4th of the effort that I am putting forth for them. I quit my job and moved up here (I realize I’m crazy, and lucky as my company appreciated my work enough that they created a new job opportunity for me up here) and have jumped feet first into this ocean of change (vast change). And she, well she just quit them, and pokes her head in when she feels like it. (Maybe I’ve just dramatized it all in my head, but the words I type are truth. And in this world truth sucks sometimes.)

My homework that I’ve assigned myself is to find a way to let go of the anger. She’s always going to anger me as a human being. She’s always going to disappoint me as a mother. But I’m going to work on not allowing the anger to become so great and powerful that I can’t see past it. My life (as challenging as it is right now) is far too precious and wonderful to let someone like her ruin it. I’m a much better (and bigger) person than that.

And Then I Cried

Day two was a lot more of an emotional struggle than I could have ever imagined. There should be a packet or something that you can sign up for that will tell you tips and hints to becoming a step mom – or perhaps just a booklet full of tips and hints from other step moms.

On the way home from school on Monday, Middle Boy said to me, “This isn’t my last house. When I get older I’m going to live with my mommy.”

I sat there a little stunned … what do you say to that? I tried, “We’ll you’ll have to talk to your daddy about that, but right now you’re living with your daddy and me.”

He responded with, “I think mommy will like me living with her.”

My heart ached. How do you tell a 5-year-old child that his mommy didn’t want him? That she didn’t care to have any sort of custody or responsibility for him. What the hell are you supposed to say to that?

I told the boyfriend later that night, I’m really not sure if he’s talked with him about it or not. But the look on his face seemed to be of the same pained, aching expression of “How do I tell him this?”

My heart continued to ache though. I pushed it down like I do with most uncomfortable emotions that I feel – that was, I learned later that night, the wrong thing to do. Day Two was most definitely an emotional roller coaster.

Not an overwhelming “I can’t do this” sort of thing. Not even really an “Am I crazy? What am I doing here?” sort of thing. It was most definitely an “I’m really scared …No one told me how unnatural and painful this could be” sort of thing.

I’ve handled change. I’ve handled change of all kinds, but, the change was generally my own. It wasn’t shared with three children and a boyfriend. It was like my sensory was turned to extra sensitive. I seemed to feel everything. I even felt for the cats yesterday.

And then I watched my favorite all time little guilty pleasure (One Tree Hill). And it was one of those heart-wrenching shows … the kind that you know is going to probably going to make you cry so you grab a box of Kleenex. And then you watch it, and you really cry. But once the show was over, the tears didn’t stop – they just kept falling. Once they start, it unleashes the floodgates of bottled up emotions. And oh wow, there was a lot built up in there.

The bath didn’t seem to help, and neither did the shower and neither did lying on my bed in the dark trying to calm myself down. And of course, when the boyfriend and the boys got home from his sisters house, I tried really hard to suck it all in. There was no fooling the boyfriend. And I felt them, the walls going up. Trying to push him away, literally trying to will him to move back and leave me. “Don’t do it!” I pleaded with myself. “But this is what I’ve always done!” I replied. “Well, not anymore!” I said back. “It’s time to change.”

That is the most annoying thing I’ve ever been told “It’s what I’ve always done.” I refuse to let this bring me down. I can make it through this, even if it’s always going to be like this. I will find a way to live this life, because I want it badly enough. I wish that I had a better clue of how to handle it, but I know that I’m not alone. I know that other women have done this before me, and I can and will do this too.

This has always been my philosophy and the way I’ve lived my life: "Risk more than others think is safe. Care more than others think is wise. Dream more than others think is practical. Expect more than others think is possible."
-Claude Thomas Bissell

Day 1 – Then I Jumped, And Here I Am

The last couple of days have been rather chaotic. Clearing through junk, packing, driving, moving…moving is not on my top 100 lists of things I like to do. But here I am.

I had my last day as a Website Editor at my company on Friday, packed up what I could and moved up to Northern California Sunday and here I am, Day 1 of my new life.

And there’s so much change that I have been trying to prepare for… and, well Bob Dylan sang it best … the times they are a-changin'.

Let me romanticize it for you a bit.

There I was standing at the edge of a cliff, in my black power suit and shiny heels…the independent, career-oriented girl staring out across the ocean of change below. And it appeared that happiness, love and happily ever after were on an island a couple of miles out. And the only way to get there was to jump and swim.

Behind me was comfort of a job and some good friends that I wouldn’t trade for the world, but happiness and love weren’t here. At least not the ones that I knew existed.

Being the risk taker I am, of course I jumped.

And here I am, freshly walking out of the ocean of change (still dripping with it), and panic settled in this morning around 5:30 a.m.

What the hell was I doing here? Could I really live with a boyfriend? Could I really live with the three boys? Could I really do my new job from home, care for this new family, keep my sanity and not royally mess it all up? When did this growing up happen anyway? There were so many “Can I really do this,” “What am I doing,” and “Are you crazy” phrases pouring through my head.

And then, the strong-willed fighter inside of me bitch-slapped the insecure doubtful scaredy-cat inside me and said, “Pull your self together woman!” And I got myself up out of bed, took a shower, made some pancakes for breakfast and brought the boys to school.

I’m sure that there are going to be many more times that I’ll go through a panic fit … because change is scary, especially when it’s something as big as this. But I know that I can do it. And as scary as it is, I'm already a lot happier being here with the boyfriend and the boys (and the cats).

Highlight of this morning: I was putting a fresh diaper on Younger Boy. And I’m staring at it, trying to figure out “How do I fasten this?” Then I realize – “Woman, the diaper is on backward!” How many diapers have I changed lately? Quite a few! What a way to start off Day 1.

Gray With Smudges Versus Defined Black And White

"See I thought love was black and white, That it was wrong or it was right"
~ Missy Higgins, Where I Stood

I’m starting to think that I need these boys about as much as I think they need me. In their own ways they’ve been reminding me that enjoying life is important. And that sometimes it’s not about coloring inside the defined lines.

On Saturday morning Older Boy and I were making pancakes for breakfast. He had first asked if he could help, and I told him I would let him know when I was ready for him. Then I thought better of it, and let him pour in the ingredients as I mixed them up in the bowl. Then, there we were. He was pouring the batter in the pan and I was flipping them.

He looked at me and said that Middle Boy and Younger Boy were missing out on delicious pancakes. “They sure are,” was what I said smiling.

OB: I heard that you were sad because they didn’t come.
Me: I was sad. *Pause* But I’ll be able to see them next weekend. But we’re having fun now, aren’t we?
OB: Yes we are. I’m going to try that sausage.

It was a little frightening that I could feel so vulnerable and exposed like that. I’m not one to share my inner most emotions, much less if I am feeling anything other than “I’m going to take over the world today.” And yet, with the words coming out of an 8-year-old’s mouth … it kind of made me change the way I handled myself in the situation.

It’s not just about turning something sad into a positive. It’s making sure that the boys know that even if I am sad or upset, it’s OK. And that I like being with them and that I’ll still be here. I know that my feelings are important, but so are theirs.

And of course, as usual, that got me thinking. And that innocent little sentence … well that little thing makes a lot of sense (even if just for a minute).

By “makes a lot of sense” I mean that maybe my perception was out of focus and for a slight minute it’s suddenly been brought back into focus. And I had better grasp on before it slides back out of focus.

My perception had been so focused on how love ought to be. Perhaps it was because of how I was brought up. Perhaps it was because of Disney’s Princess complex. (Your true love will come into your world and sweep you off your feet.) Or maybe it was all of the lovey dovey sugar and spice dreams a young girl has that sticks with her despite the moments that she realizes the perfect romance is a load of crap.

I realized that in my mind, Love was black and white. It was either there or it wasn’t. The lines defining it of what I wanted it and expected it to be were so crisp, so hard, so defined … there was no room for error or smudges. And man, my love right now, I realize, is lined with a lot of gray from all the smudges.

And I don’t say that because I’m confused, or because I’m not sure. I’m very sure. It just wasn’t exactly what my “Ideal Romance” consisted of. And if this is going to work, I need to allow myself to smudge up my perception a bit. To allow room to color outside the lines, because nothing in my lifetime is going to follow my “Ideal Romance.” And although my love story is somewhat of a wonderful fairy tale come true, I need to remember that it’s not perfect. It’s just life. And life is full of changes and lessons and more changes.

All that perception, out of one sentence from an 8-year-old boy and some not-so-golden pancakes, who would have thought…

Finding Happiness Between Point A And Point B

The event from my last entry has really been on my mind all day. Not really stewing on it, but how can I better myself from this experience. How can I make this a better situation? Well, I have today off from work, I’m supposed to be packing, but instead I’ve been cleaning up the wonderful mess left behind from roommates and my cats’ messyness so that when Older Boy and the boyfriend get here tonight, it will be clean. And while doing the dishes, I had a thought. Significant enough that I had to come here and write it down before it slipped away into the other thoughts of the day.

In college as a Sigma Chi Sweetheart, I learned that you can always better yourself, no matter how close you think you are to being your best. I also firmly believe that everything that happens to you in life is a lesson to be learned, and that your life is a result of the choices you make, and the way you live your life between your lessons (getting from point A to point B).

Well, while washing the dishes, I came across the thought that maybe the lessons I thought I had already learned…perhaps as I get older and wiser some of those lessons need to be revisited, revised and relearned.

Specifically, the lesson of “Not allowing the choices that other people make affect my life.”

This was a lesson that I first was told in college my sophomore year. A friend of mine killed himself, and I was at the edge of a very dark place. The Spring semester had literally just started three days earlier. On my second class session, after this had all happened, my Shakespeare professor pulled me out of class and told me, “I know that this is hard right now for you. But you can’t allow the choices that other people make affect your life. You need to learn to walk away from this a stronger person.”

At the time, I was too distraught to absorb this. In fact, this didn’t even find its way through the fog of depression well until I had already withdrawn for the semester to sort things out. But from then on, I lived my independent life making sure that my choices were my own, and not allowing other people’s choices to have an effect on my life. And if it became an issue, I simply walked away. I didn’t need other people’s bad choices to drag me down.

Of course, in college other people’s bad choices generally revolved around drinking, smoking, drugs and whoring themselves out. On another level, there were also the annoying irritating girls they often slept with and insisted on bringing over to the house. But they were easy to ignore.

Well, now I find that this lesson and solution don’t apply in the same way. I can’t escape my boyfriend’s choices. There is no easy get away plan. And it’s really frustrating…and as my own worst critic…I’ve really been coming down on myself to figure it out. So what’s a girl to do?

I think that I need to relearn this. I need to revise my solution of walking away because, although it’s an option, it’s not an option that I want to choose. I’ve already decided that it’s not an option. Instead of telling myself to grow up and get over it, I need to figure out something else. Because “Grow up and Get Over It” just isn’t working.

I have enough faith in myself that I’ll figure it out…or at least figure out a temporary solution outside of pushing the icky feeling down and letting it bottle up inside, because eventually that’s not going to work any more either.

Interestingly enough, I’ve experienced more horrors in a lifetime than any woman should. But this, this is the thing that has me all hung up. And really, I refuse to let myself make myself miserable between this point of figuring out that I need to relearn this lesson and the day that I finally find the solution. I will figure this out, and this thing that has me all hung up, this will make me a better person.

The Little Green Bolt

So I had something rather positive to write about tonight, and then I talked to the boyfriend on the phone, and I don’t really feel like writing about it anymore. I don’t want what I’m feeling now to taint it.

The boyfriend and the three boys were supposed to all come down this weekend to see me. Well, now it’s just the boyfriend and one of the boys, because the other boys are going to stay at their “Real Mom’s” house (as she was called tonight by one of them). What sucked even more was being told:

“I pulled them aside individually and asked them, ‘Do you want to go down to see Crys or do you want to stay here with Mommy?’”

Well, we all can figure out what each of them said. So Older Boy is coming down here to see me, and Middle Boy and Younger Boy are staying up there.

I’m not quite sure what upsets me more. That fact that I don’t get to see all three of them (because I really was looking forward to seeing all of them) or that two of them didn’t want to come see me.

It makes me feel rather sad and bummed and a bit jealous. And man, I hate feeling jealous. That little bolt of green does nothing but make my stomach turn sour. And damn, I’ve had to fight that little bolt of green a lot lately. It makes me feel so immature and childish and high school drama-ish. But it’s there, and it’s a feeling, and I can only continue to tell myself that maybe, one day, it will finally go away.

I feel that little bolt of green for a lot of things. And they all seem really stupid.

My Top 5 Stupid Reasons (Occurrences) of the Little Green Bolt:

1. I wasn’t his first wife
2. Those kids aren’t mine and (technically) never are going to be
3. That the mere mention of “her” from his lips seems like a kick in the stomach (whether the mention is negative or revolting)
4. That “Our Real Mom” compared to “Our Step Mom” just sounds so less nasty and icky and feels like an ever swifter kick to the stomach (perhaps with a steel-toed boot)
5. That I have to share my new life with her, in some capacity, and it’s more of an ultimatum than a choice. (Either I have my boys or I don’t. If I do she’s there and if I don’t none of them are there.)

I should be my positive self, and focus on the fact that Older Boy DID want to come see me. But no, that damn little green bolt is insisting that it stay in my mind and heart just a bit longer. So here I am, deciding which book I’m going to read so that I can get my mind off of it. Reminding myself “This is the life you chose” and trying to convince myself “Maybe this will get easier one day.”

411 Miles

411 Miles … that is the distance that currently separates me from the boyfriend and the boys. (Technically 428 miles if I’m leaving from work.)

I didn’t know that it would be this hard to be so far from them. I guess it shows how much I’ve grown to care about all of them, and how much they’ve really become a part of my life.
11 Days is the countdown to when I move up to Nor Cal. And trust me, I’m counting down the days.

One of the things heavy on my mind lately is my commuting between my job and my life up there with them. It’s like having two lives. It’s an awfully long commute between what feels like home and having to go to work. 411 miles away.

Even more so, though, is that I don’t want the boys to ever get the impression that I’m going to leave and not come back. I’ve made sure to tell them when I’ll see them again, each time before I leave. I couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like to be a child, and to have to try and process through my mind that my mother had left. Much less that she had chosen to leave and didn’t really care to have custody of me.

So it’s been very important to me that they know that I’m coming back, and that I want them in my life, without being overwhelming.

At first I got the half hugs … the kind of, “Oh, Crys is here” looks and glances. And it sucked. It royally blowed feeling like you’re the only one excited to be there. It’s like in college (or high school maybe) when you’re totally into a guy. And you put all your heart and effort into being there for him, helping him, caring for him. And then one day, you realize that he could care less if you (specifically you) are there or not.

But this … loving children that deserve as much love as you can possibly give … I know that it takes time. No matter how long it takes. And even with the risk of knowing that I may never receive it back, I’ve given them the best care that I know how and all of the love I possibly can give.

I was up in our new apartment this weekend moving some more stuff in. And, like all the other weekends until the big move, it came to the time when I had to pack my bags and head back down to go to work the next day. The boyfriend told them I was going to be leaving soon and Middle Boy innocently looked at me and asked “Who will care for us?”

It was funny and cute and painful at the same time. Funny because it was random, Cute because he was serious, and painful because I was leaving to go to work 411 miles away.

MB: “Who will care for us?”
Me: “Well, I’m going to fix some dinner for later this week. And your Daddy will take care of you until I get back. Is that OK?”
MB: “OK”

I felt rather important that day. Important, and loved, and needed and accepted.
To top it off, before I left I got three really good real hugs … from all three of the boys. And I think that’s a pretty good sign that maybe I’m doing something right. (Considering I’m winging it here.)

And even though I’m 411 miles away right now…those hugs bring a big smile to my face and I’m filled with warm fuzzies.