Time to Regroup

I'm attending a Christian divorce support group called Divorce Care. This is my second time through the 13-week session. Yes, it's been four years, but I've learned that it can take up to five to really heal from a divorce. It's a good reminder of what I've always known and at one time practiced. I subscribe to their daily emails, each one an encouragement and lesson to help us grow spiritually through this awful process. This one especially has stood out because I find it's where I repeatedly trip up (Note the paragraph in bold). I thought I'd share.

Resetting Your Expectations
Day 27

You have certain expectations in your daily life. Expectations of yourself, your children, your family members, your friends, and your former spouse. Until you stop and think about it, you may not realize just how high your standards are for yourself and for those around you. To move forward into the future, you need to learn to reset your expectations.

Consider how much you are asking of yourself and how much you can actually handle. Also, do you expect more from others than is realistic under the circumstances of your divorce? If you find yourself getting upset because someone does not live up to a certain expectation of yours, then maybe it's time to back off and reset that expectation.

Dr. Jim A. Talley says, "You expected somebody to do something. That person didn't do it, and you get mad. What makes you even madder is that person doesn't seem to give a rip that he or she didn't do it. Now you're really hurt, and you begin to boil on the inside. You shift at that point to real bitterness. You have to go back and reset your expectations to what you can control and deal with. You can't force other people into your expectations."

Reset your standards to a place where you can function, and examine your motivation for having that expectation in the first place.

"People may think they are doing what is right, but the LORD examines the heart" (Proverbs 21:2 NLT).

Heavenly Father, sometimes I expect too much and for the wrong reasons. Show me how to reset those expectations to a healthy and productive level. Amen.

Chronicles of an Ex-Wife

I used to blog (on a different site) about life lessons, mistakes I've made (boy I've made some), and how I planned to overcome them. I used to focus on my own actions and reactions to how I was treated rather than the treatment itself. Of course if I was treated negatively, it would affect me. I would hurt. But I still would try to gain knowledge of my own character and attempt to grow from whatever I experienced. Somewhere along the way I've fallen off this track. I've justified whatever impulsive actions I made on the basis of, "But he did this!" or "She said this!" Where I once committed those people to the laws of sowing and reaping, aka karma, I now have taken things into my own hands...thus reaping my own actions.

I could easily account for all the nasty, abusive things done to me. I could easily justify all the horrible, nasty things I've done in return; but as justifiable as they may be, they were still horrible and nasty things. They were still bad decisions. The right decision would have been to continue on the higher road, no matter how much pain I endured. I still would have my character to stand on. Not only do I look at my present character and see a deflated replica of what once was admirable, now others who I highly respect do too. "But...but they don't know the whole story!" No. Doesn't matter. I made a choice. "But...she has no idea everything this man has done!" No. Doesn't matter. I made a choice.

I made a choice to befriend an untrustworthy person for what I thought was the benefit of my kids. I made a choice to disclose certain feelings and thoughts to this person; to divert down a road of bitterness and gossip with this person. Yes, I know. "But...! But she stabbed me in the back!" Doesn't matter. I made a choice.

I made a choice to take matters into my own hands. To attempt to shine certain lights on actions taken against me, or just actions in general, that I'm sure were hidden from the new woman in the picture. "But...she has no idea!" Doesn't matter. Not my responsibility. If I were to start over with someone new, I would want my past mistakes erased too. "But...! But he lies!" Not my business. She has chosen deceit.

Throughout all this, I really did make attempts at rebuilding my character. I listened to a show devoted to the perspective of the step mom. I invited them to functions and when it looked as though my daughter would miss out on an event because she would be at her dad's, I suggested she invite the new mom. Of course these things are either overlooked by, or unknown to them. Doesn't matter. In their eyes, whatever mistake I make screams in comparison and from here on out, whatever I do will give them cause for accusation, which should completely justify me to question their character. But doesn't that defeat the purpose of this life lesson? It is my responsibility to question my own character and my own motives. It is their responsibility (whether they accept it) to question theirs. And it is the responsibility of those who have turned away from me without coming to me first, to question their own.

I've accepted God's grace. It's time I let go of the actions taken against me and give it up to God as well. They deserve to walk in grace just as much as I do. Someday restoration will come. I have to believe that and I have to do my part to achieve that. My part isn't to show them I'm not horrible. My part is to not be horrible. I'm not going to become a doormat again. I'm just going to make better decisions.

Make sense?

Discipline

I want to be disciplined, not because it's expected of me, but because things need to be done. When I look at all my responsibilities, I realize everything I do is expected by an outward source. I cook dinner because my children need to eat. I go to work because I'm expected to go to work. I study to learn when I have a teacher to assign me something. When there is no expectation, I do nothing. I know people who will not stop to rest until their house is tidy. They will not sit to watch TV until their self-assigned tasks are complete. I want to be like that! Yet instead, I sit here and type. I didn't drink alcohol until my late 20s not because it was poison for my body, but because abstaining was an outward expectation. Then I observe those claiming not to believe in any higher power also abstain from intoxicating substances. So what is the difference? Why can't I be that disciplined? Once any outward expectations are lifted, I slump like a rag-doll into a pile on the floor. I have no inner discipline. Well...I'll say I have no consistent inner discipline. How do I start?

Ranting

Here are some things that I am good at: I am a good mom. I am a good friend. I am a good person. I am not always these things.

Sometimes I promise a bedtime story and get sucked into the wonders of the intrawebs until it is too late and the children must get to bed. Sometimes I lose my temper. Either way, I apologize and vow to do better.

I am not good at calling friends to check up on them. I am better a being taken care of, than taking care of others. Sometimes I go too far with my joking and feelings get hurt. Whatever the case may be, I apologize and vow to do better.

Sometimes I gossip. Sometimes I allow bitterness to creep into my heart. Sometimes my tolerance is stretched, and I lash out in bitter sarcasm. Sometimes I make really big mistakes, too big to confess publicly. In all of that, I check myself and vow to do better.

I really try to allow others these same do-overs. It's really sad that some do not allow these of me.

Early Morning Memories

I was lying in bed not sleeping (as I tend to do at 4:30 a.m. these days) and this memory came to me:

Maybe it was two years ago? Maybe three? We were having tacos and Isabelle suggested having hot chocolate with our dinner. So that's what we had. The real struggle came when the little 6 or 7-year-old refused to eat her taco because there was lettuce on it (she doesn't like lettuce). I could feel this tension starting to build. For some reason I had the idea to cut the tension by thanking her for the good suggestion to have hot chocolate. She got this proud look on her face, picked up the taco, and took a bite.

Sometimes I'm a good mother. :)

Fight! Fight! Fight!

I promised this blog on my Facebook and now I feel like a dork for doing so, but a promise is a promise.

Remember back in junior high school when word got around the school there'd be a fight in the park and after class we all went running out there to see what was going on? I remember the two guys with intense rage and a hint of fear on their faces, all the kids around them yelling, egging them on. I was so intrigued and just wanted the fight to get on so I could see someone get punched. I think I eventually left because all they did was face each other and occasionally yell some sort of threat. I think I stopped attending those fights after that. I didn't really care. But there's something about a fight that makes people stop and watch.

Last night I had the pleasure of taking my children to the Spokane fair with some other friends and their children. We did the whole fair thing, rides, animals, food, booths, etc. My kids wanted to try some games and now that I'm a grown up, I understand why my parents hated letting me play those fair games. I did my best to convince them to try out the spin art booth instead, that way they're guaranteed a prize! (You know, you squirt some paint on a piece of paper for the guy to spin around and voila! Art!) We found three open spots right next to each other and I was digging in my wallet to pay the attendant when loud voices distracted me. To my right were two very angry, snarling people. It looked like a couple fighting; the shorter, Latina-looking lady and not-much-taller guy yelling at each other. It sounded as if someone intervened and the guy suggested in his angry way that they take it outside the fair. Well that satisfied me, so I relaxed a little until a split-second later, fists started flying. This was happening only a few feet away from us, so I calmly lead the children in the opposite direction to wait it out before we returned to our art project. I couldn't understand why the other customers just stood there captivated by this violence while the entire time I kept wondering when the weapons would surface. The mob had even bumped into a few working on their masterpiece and moved around behind the booth. I kept waiting for it to calm so we could return, but it continued! Up popped this white guy out of no where with blood running down his face who I later was told was on the ground getting kicked in the head by all these people. I steadily inched further away, but kept my eye out to make sure the fight didn't come toward us. Finally someone in uniform as well as the biggest black man I'd ever seen (or maybe he was just in hero status at that moment for me) arrived and the fight was ended, the not-much-taller guy yelling "Call me when you get your green card." We made our art pieces and our way out the fair gates. Note: While before this fight occurred, that game where you squirt water to fill the balloon until it pops was just a startling annoyance, but afterwards turned into a PTSD symptom. Also note: On our way out, we crossed paths with the same guy in uniform and biggest black man I'd ever seen and I wondered if the fighters had been escorted out the same gates we were now exiting. My nerves were on edge until we were safely in our van.

Being one of those regular "clubbers" I've witnessed my fair share of brawls. They are never too bad, but it isn't fun being on the dance floor when all of a sudden you're getting pushed all the way to the other side of the room along with everyone else by two drunk guys until the bouncer jumps in, stomping all over your feet. I never really was afraid of those fights and eventually learned to look for the first clear escape to get out of the way and let it dissipate. Then there was Double Dribble.

I was working a remote at the Double Dribble for Live 104.5 two winters ago with my cohost DJ Manic who had been spinning that night. We shut down the club and I hung out there while they put all the equipment away (I would've helped, but I don't think they trusted me touching any of it). It's always a challenge to get everyone to leave because they usually are drunk and don't want to go home, so when I started to hear weird, drunken wailing, I just figured it was some girls whining about having to go out in the cold. Everything got packed up and we said our goodbyes. I headed toward the front of the club while they exited through the back. As I stepped outside, I heard more wailing and noticed some very drunk people, so drunk one of them was being held up while he walked, eventually collapsing not far from me. However, when the person next to me said on the phone that there had been a stabbing at the Double Dribble, the picture became much clearer to me. I started to panic. I couldn't get to my van because it was in the same area from where those people were coming. It was a wall of stab victims I would have had to walk through. Plus, I had heard that the actual stabbing took place only a few feet from my van. I walked back toward the club, but saw no one inside. I called Manic, but no answer. I called anyone else that had been there, no answer. Finally Manic called me back and I told him what had happened. He had no idea and had been trying to get the station vehicle unstuck from the snow in the back, so he told me to meet him back there. After they freed the car, he and I walked back to the front while I tried to warn him about the scene out front. By then the police were there and those panicky feelings started up again. There was the guy who earlier had been assisted by his friends, his blood soaked into the packed snow on the parking lot. Manic tried to calm me down, grabbed my hand, and commanded me to walk. Don't stop, just keep walking. A police officer tried to stop us and ask if we saw what happened and Manic told me to keep walking. We had to walk over this huge bloody spot in the snow and I started whining, but Manic said to keep walking. We made it to my van, said a very short and frightened goodbye and I drove away. It took a few days to get over that one.

I've been lucky enough to have missed out on the shooting that left one man dead outside a well-known Spokane bar last Halloween, and other violence that has happened downtown. Now that I think about it, I really don't know why I continue to stop in those places, and I'm sure I'll have family members and certainly my boyfriend questioning this as well. I was brought up in very sheltered and small towns where the most violence we witnessed were two guys or girls yelling angry threats at each other with the rest of us spurring them on. But take it from this girl who has never witnessed a drive-by, a club shooting, gang violence, never been mugged, never been raped, never been threatened by any violence whatsoever that if a fight breaks out in a public place, to walk as far away from it as possible because as the woman next to me at the spin art booth said, "Bullets don't have names."

(I think that means they aren't assigned to specific people, or...um, something.)

Abused

Something that's been on my mind for a while:

The abused react...as abused.

I watch a married couple, two people very close to me, two equally wounded individuals from very different backgrounds, go back and forth snapping at each other on a regular basis. From my perspective, neither of them hardly ever has ground to react in such a way, but the response is so knee-jerked, there hardly is time to really think whether they are justified.

I watched a young mom whose daughter throws violent tantrums and will hit her and throw things at her and instead of disciplining, the mother will react as if the daughter should instinctively know her feelings are hurt; as if the mother has taken all this personally, which to be fair, is probably very difficult not to do.

I myself sometimes react to my argumentative daughter defensively, even responding in sarcasm or condescension, immediately regretting my choice. The way I treat my mother sometimes takes me by surprise and I have to turn around to apologize.

Having apparently gotten into a heated political discussion with someone I care about on Facebook (I say apparently because I was not aware it was heated at all until I read her latest response), I had to take a step back and think. Why is she reacting this way? Why does she assume my tone is what she thinks it is? Perhaps she is a wounded person? My statements, completely neutral in my mind, were probably taken as angry and lashing out at her.

It's so very curious to me. I wonder if I stop reacting as if abused, how that would affect my day-to-day thinking and interactions with other people? But how do I stop?