While down on my hands and knees scrubbing the floors this morning, I was caught off guard by huge alligator tears rolling uncontrollably down my face; splatting on my hands and fresh floor. These tears were like a waterfall cascading off a cliff.
Anybody that knows me well may assume the tears came from my having to clean. After all I hate cleaning. It’s truly horrid, everybody needs a magic cleaning wand. I wish I was somebody who loved cleaning more than Disney Land. I’m not. I hate everything about this process.
Anybody that knows about my medical history may assume the tears are streaming due to the pain I suffer from. Possibly the chronic fatigue; possibly the arthritis. It is colder, raining, and perfect “sore weather” day. My hands are throbbing and weak. I notice as I struggle to scrub at a spot Pig left by his dish.
Anybody that doesn’t know anything about me other than my betrayal may assume that the tears hit me because I don’t deserve this. They may believe that the betrayal is enough reason to cry. It is enough, I don’t want to down grade that fact. Not being important enough to my husband to keep me relevant in his life is a cut that bleeds often. However, not today. Today I’m rearranging the house the way I want it.
Once again, I’ve cleaned myself into a corner surrounded by wet slippery flooring. I really suck at this.
There I sit, stuck in my corner tears streaming and body shaking. Muscle spasms are setting into my bad knee and my tore up back. My shoulder that was operated on a couple years ago is burning, stiffening up. My neck that was already stiff from the weather, now feels like it’s working overtime to keep my head attached to my body.
Why are the tears streaming with no end?
Sometime during my floor cleaning session all 4 of my children popped into my head. They have become such amazing people in the last, now 7 months. The freedom to be themselves has been good for them.
Broken Girl has great grades despite her injury, despite her surgery, despite her personal trauma. She is learning to be strong. She is making progress with her therapy, progressing in her mental healing. She’s redefining who and what she is. It’s not easy work, but she’s doing it.
Welding Boy is getting good grades, holding down a couple ranch jobs, refining his welding, despite his personal darker struggles. He is teaching his brother the jobs he will need to help me with after Welding Boy leaves the house to begin his adult adventures. They are both learning patience and independence. Welding Boy never hesitates, when I’m having a hard day, to jump in and cook dinner. He’s a great cook. He knows what kind of man he wants to become and he’s working hard for it.
Blue Girl keeps her smile on her face, has amazing drive to do well at school and excels at her talents. She never hesitates to help with anything around the house. She is super intuitive and highly intelligent. I never have to tell her I’m stressed or struggling; yet she somehow knows. No matter how hard I attempt to hide it. She knows. She brings me inspirational pieces of artwork to cheer me up. She is the same way with her friends. Everybody loves her for that.
Movie Boy has never known “living poor”, so the adjustment of living with no income and having no support coming our way is shocking to him. Despite that he rarely ever asks for anything, or when he does, he says: After you get a few checks can we please look at getting xyz? He has faith I will get a job soon. Sometimes he offers to go to work to raise money or enter contests to raise money to help with the bills. He doesn’t have any concept of what he’s trying to help me with, he’s only 11, but the thought gets me every time.
All this greatness is NOT why the tears stream down my face today. My tears won’t stop because my family unit has been exiled and abandoned by the paternal side of the family. The side of their family they’ve known best.
My kids have loved their father’s side of the family unconditionally. They always believed their family members would walk through fire for them. Just to support them; to have their back. They thought this, because the kids would have done those things for the family. Absolute Love.
I see my kid’s devastation of losing that element of their lives with every memory they try to laugh about trips to the houseboat, visits to family homes, family coming to see us, beach days, all the silly energy that seemed to exist; once upon a time. They have memories pop up and they share the “remember when” moments with each other. They laugh, joke, and then it’s like they swan dive off an emotional cliff. One right after the other.
The kids know it doesn’t exist anymore. They know they’ve been left out to dry. They know there is no support, no understanding, for them.
No matter what I tell them about the paternal family just not knowing how to react, possibly they’re a little embarrassed; they know they don’t belong anymore. They know they, somewhat like me, are not important enough to stay relevant. They know I don’t know what I’m talking about. They know and feel that I’m making excuses for other people. They call me out on it. I can’t blame them for knowing what they feel, or how they process it; but it hurts every time.
Recently one aunt and uncle came to see us. We’ve always been insanely close with them. They were trying very hard to be present. They have tried really hard to “help” in the last few months. In the end though, they can’t help us. They’re in support of our abuser. They’re naturally biased, and they can’t help it. They are his brother and sister in law. They are his blood line. They are his family.
There was very little humor in their recent visit. Nothing like before. There was very little silliness that we’re so used to. There was a guarded feel on both sides. There was walking on eggshells; avoidance. There was a feeling that they were gathering information for him; for themselves maybe. Information that maybe wasn’t what they wanted to hear.
When the kids spoke to me about how candid they’d been about certain things I was proud of the kids. They’d been honest. They’d been transparent. I’m sorry if it wasn’t what our visitors were looking for, but it was true. The truth is that their father, my husband, abandoned us long ago…. He gave up on being a good man for us. He let evil into his heart, and we suffered. For years we suffered. Why is that so hard to understand?
I get that in the scenario we’ve been thrust into I’m collateral damage. I’m just some person that temporarily joined a family. The 22 years I’ve spent in this family I was simply tolerated. Message received; crystal clear. The family wants to blame me. They want the problems not to be their family member’s fault. They want me to be the problem…. Not the double life my husband lead; not the abuse he inflicted.
Fine. Blame me, dislike me, discount me, throw me to the wind.
I don’t care. I will survive. I was born strong.
What I will never understand is throwing away my children. Showing them that because they are with me, they are, somehow, not important. Giving them the feeling that our abuser’s life is more important than their lives is so very wrong.
My kids matter. Our healing matters. Nothing else matters right now.
These are the only truths to help me feel better…. To get me to come out of my crying corner.
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