The girl who was once from NYC unintentionally transplanted to the sticky trap of the CT countryside. Teacher, singer, writer. Dancer along the path through the dark.
~May words and music and laughter light the way to kindred spirits, kind of heart~
Also a Mommy. That's the most important thing that's happened along the way, but not what this blog will be about.
Words and music and more brought to you by merisongbird.
Sometimes intense anger is like spoken word poetry; like being in a poetry slam. And I wish I had recorded myself, because it came out so perfectly in isolation.
There’s a lot to be said for feeling like for the first time in twenty someodd years my life isn’t defined by another adult. Longer, if you count the relationship with my Mom after my Dad died when I was a teen. And it’s only been recently that I have really begun to let go, and see myself without feeling like without my husband and the long history of what was us, I am less than what and who I want to be. I don’t mean like i was crippled by being married, more that in our particular relationship I was always treated as something of a second class citizen; spoiled sometimes with gifts, but basically it was a tremendously uneven relationship, and the emotional stress was constant. Now my life is defined by my kids, and myself. I’m okay with the fact that my kids are a huge part of the definition of me. I think that’s a given when you become a parent. But relationships shouldn’t work that way where one person wields that much over you, and you feel yourself shrink. Probably the best and most successful marriages/relationships have an equal distribution of give and take and one person is not constantly sacrificing themselves and their own dreams for the other person. But that wasn’t my experience of marriage. I feel sad for how i hurt my husband when I left, but at what point did I need to really feel like I could stand up for myself and say enough; meet me halfway with your whole heart, because that’s what I tried to do for the longest time, even though I knew we were a mismatch in many ways.
I miss him and us and the family of four sometimes, a lot. I mourn what i had hoped for. But I feel good (or better at least) about trying to fly on my own, make a new road for myself. It’s so much easier than being weighted down, since being supported was an almost never in so many ways. I forgot for the longest time what is was to feel light. And missing love and affection for a lifetime is no way to live.
Obviously, I still have a bit of internal dialogue. But I suspect that’s pretty normal when you are a very caring person.
In the not-so-great state of CT, before you can get a divorce, if you have kids, you each need to go through a mandatory 6 hour parenting class that costs money and from what I have heard is a total waste of time if you have even a small brain in your head. I will be doing that on a Saturday in the middle of March. But what they don’t include in that class—from what I have heard—are the things that dads really need to hear, or things that dads who don’t get it, really need to hear; spending time with your kids doing things your KIDS want to do is so incredibly important. And it is with constant sadness that I reflect that even my moving out has not changed this. It did for a little while—like maybe the first year—but now it’s back to spending time with the kids means hanging around the house watching TV, or having dinner with the kids and the girlfriend (last night instead of taking them to the movie they wanted to see it was dinner at his girlfriend’s house), or maybe an occasional board game. And both of my kids are so sad and ask me to help and talk to him, but he doesn’t listen to me now any more than he listened to me when we all lived together. I feel like no matter what, they get so cheated because an every now and then, couple times a year, do something is supposed to be enough—in their dad’s world—because that’s how he grew up. They ask me if they can live with me more and him less. They ask me why does he even want us with him if all we do is stuff he wants to do that we mostly don’t. My son wants me to move away and take them with us but then he cries because he loves his dad and would miss seeing him…and I am committed to allowing them to finish school here, at least through age 18 for for my daughter and 15 for my son, before I move. There are several reasons for that, not the least of which is that despite who is he and how much I wish he did more with them, he is still their dad and they need access to him. And I know he does love them. He’s just never been too good at showing his love in ways that the people in his life—especially his kids now—really need.
Sometimes my daughter will tell me she’s glad I moved out because otherwise we would have all lived there with the constant air of gloom and things would still be the same; me and the kids going to do stuff, dad working out, working in the basement, working, and then sitting around watching TV.
I think it’s unfair to paint a picture like there are never any activities, there is just so markedly little quality anything, in so many ways. But back to my original point, that these classes parents in divorce have to attend can do nothing about the fact that some people just don’t get that whole spending quality time with your kids (and family) and having fun with everything you do—as much as possible—and that giving of yourself is such a huge reward and boon for your children. Some people will always be the reclusive, self-absorbed people they were from the start even after having kids.
Whenever i get really sad that this is what I have to work with, I remind myself that my kids are amazing and resilient and that somehow—even if i have to mostly do it myself—I will find a way to give them what they need to flourish in all ways. It’s just so hard to manage most of it by yourself as a single parent.
Without respect there is no real love.
the kindness and softness is what I think of
some people respect (I suppose) a hard shell
a rigorous ruthlessness to own what they want
but not me, not me
I respect honesty, and a real truth so deep it defies gravity.
some days it feels like even writing cannot save me
and the words do not help at all
(trying to find the grateful in the pocket of all the grief)
not a bandwagon jumper,
not a chaser of what can’t be mine,
just a singer
and a poet
and a teacher
and a Mom
just an artist
and creator of what I can
to bring some solace
to my life
and share this heart inside my chest
and soul that burns without the touch
of very much…