My mind's playing tricks on me. It's telling me that certain people have power over me, and they don't. "How do I know they don't?" my mind asks. Well, because the only person who has power over me--and my mind--is me. When you have built-up anger, it creates a boiling point. This boiling point causes my blood pressure to rise every time I speak or think of this person. I don't enjoy talking to him, and I can't remember the last time I did enjoy conversing with this, now, man. Unfortunately, you can't trade in family members. You can only learn from them and grow, if you want to stay healthy and happy. Life is challenging in that way. It gives you access to the deepest parts of yourself through your greatest nerve-wreckers. I mean, you have one day without that person and life is pleasant, but the moment that person comes into your space, they act as if they own you and have the right to intrude into your life just because they are family. What's up with that? I am angry about this because I've felt this for most of my life. I've felt this intrusiveness--this person who feels as if he can say anything and act any way. I believe it's from his own past that this behavior emerges. When someone feels that they can behave a certain way, without apology, it means, usually, that they believe they are entitled to certain behaviors because of their own personal experience--as if they have a pass to shout, yell, curse and fling their anger your way at any time. They are children trying to act like an adult, and I don't understand why someone would want to insult anyone, but it happens. This makes me really angry because I have experienced this time and time again, and I don't want to, nor will I choose to, be treated with disrespect anymore. I've taken a lot of abuse from this person. Now, I am a grown woman--a human being also--and whatever issues he has with his past needs to be dealt with by himself. If you don't like me--then fine--you don't have to like me. However, you will not treat me as if I owe you anything. No one owes anyone anything. If someone does something for you, and it's expected that you'll return a favor in the future, don't accept it. If you accept it, at least make clear that this is something that is for now and not for a future return. Otherwise, it's not a gift. It's an investment. Giving, in any form, is supposed to be done out of love and from the heart, and I don't feel as if I have to give or do just because you did for me. When I do or give it's from the heart, and if you haven't seen anything given to or done for you from me, then it's because I resent you.
Yes, resentment is another emotion that harbors no goodness. I have held onto resentment as well when I really want to acknowledge that some people are just bullies. Bullies are insecure individuals who are going to get you before you get them. Bullies come in all shapes, sizes and ages. We are all capable of being a bully. I have been a bully during my lifetime. Just admitting that makes me laugh at the one bully that I've known for a very long time. He thinks that he can get things done by talking to people in a mean and nasty way or that he can guilt you into doing something just because he did something for you. It's nice when people do things for you, don't get me wrong, but when something is expected in return, then that's when the giving is not good. The receiver's wondering when s/he will be expected to "pay" back this person and how. And it's not fair to impose your giving onto someone else only to expect them to return the favor at the exact time they need it. That means their time is more valuable than yours. And no one's time is more important than anyone else's. So, I've held onto this emotion--this grudge, anger, fear, resentment--towards this person for as long as I can remember. I didn't like the inconsistency in the expression of "love". If I wasn't who this person needed me to be whenever he needed me to be it, then it was a problem. I see him still perpetrating this idea even years later, turning people off who barely even know him. I refuse to be a victim to him anymore, and in order for me to do that, I have to do something I never wanted to, or knew how to, do before writing this. I forgive this person, even if he could care less. I forgive him for hurting me. I forgive him for hurting me, recently. I don't believe that he knows what he's doing and why he does it. Does that excuse him from doing or saying hurtful things? No. It does, however, bring down my blood pressure a great deal. Not feeling like I have to respond to every little request, question or remark he makes gives me back the strength and the desire to be myself. One of my friends could not understand why I felt I had to answer every question or concern when I was an adult, and I really didn't have an answer for her. I have one now. I was scared of him--scared of him yelling or getting so upset that he would curse or put me out. He's done it before, and I haven't done anything to deserve it. I know why he's angry, and he takes it out on me. I remind him of another person he despises--my dad. I can't help what my dad did to him even before I was born. I have my own relationship with my dad to live with. I can accept my dad for who he his because he was always up front with me about his life. This person not so much. So, all I can do is forgive, live and move on because life's too short to live with someone else's misery.
Love,
Yvette
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Who's Your Granddaddy?
Another good question, or a better one, that I have for my daughter is Where's Your Granddaddy? You know, I've felt a certain kind of way about my dad not being in my life. I've felt hurt, sad, ignored, invalid, unworthy, abandoned, undeserving, ugly, deceived, not good enough, and a whole slew of other feelings, at the absence of my father. It's been a very sad journey with my dad, or without him, but one that I've been able to deal with--one that I've learned to handle and not take personally. I forgave my father a long time ago. I don't know how I did it. However, I think I did it when it became too much for me to not forgive him--when holding onto so much animosity could have cost me everything and, possibly, ruined me. So, I believe that if there was anything I needed to do, it would have to be to forgive my dad. Holding onto the anger may have consumed me to the point of non-recovery, and because of that, I decided to let it go.
As time went on, I understood and accepted why my father hasn't been there for me. Over the years, he has told me parts of his story. My father was abused as a child and ran away from home when he was 14 years old. He never went back home to live. Can you imagine being on your own from 14 until forever? I cannot. I can't imagine what it took for him to survive this long. My dad will be 73 years old in December.
My father's been running ever since. He has helped to raise none of his children, and though it's not my responsibility to understand it all, I can't help but wonder what this has done to his soul. I understand some of my father's pain, for we share similar pain. We have both experienced abuse. So, I've learned to accept him on some levels--actually, on many levels. However, understanding my father's past and why he was unable to be there for his own children does not stop me from being saddened by his absence in this, his granddaughter's, life. It's as if history is repeating itself only this time, the excuses are not accepted--they are not resolved in my head and made okay. In fact, they're unacceptable. They're downright frustrating, sad and disheartening, to me. When I look at my daughter, I see this beautiful little baby girl. I'm happy about that. She's wonderful. But, when I look at her and see this beautiful little baby girl, whom her grandfather, who lives less than ten minutes away by the way, hasn't seen, I feel saddened to the point of fainting. It's disappointing. I feel overwhelming sadness as the tears well up even now. I don't want her to not know her grandfather. I don't want her to go through what I went through, and yet, even though she's unaware of it, she already has. That's hurtful to me--really hurtful because it makes my experiences with him more real. I don't know if the fact that she looks just like me makes it even worse, but I do know that the fact that my father is missing out on this lovely little girl is tragic. He's missing out, and he's causing her to miss out on him, and that's unfair. She should know her grandfather. That is her right, and he is not the least bit concerned about her. Okay, some may tell me not to say that he's not concerned. Well, if it wasn't true, then I have no proof. After all, actions speak louder than words. I feel overwhelmed with this fear of her being hurt like I was. I feel she deserves to be seen by her grandfather--she's beautiful enough--and even if she wasn't, then that would make her no less deserving.
I got it! I got two things, actually. One, I thought that my father wasn't around because I wasn't pretty enough. Well, Wynter has taught me that isn't the case at all. I can look at her and see that her beauty has not brought my father any closer to my doorstep than if we'd lived next door to him. And two, I realize that I'm saddened by what my father is missing out on. He's had ample opportunities with his children to make things "right". He has grandchildren and great-grandchildren--one of whom lives with him and is not being cared for by him--and for some reason, I'm expecting him to do right by this child. I guess it's because if he does right by her, then he does right by me. I'll feel validated. I'm looking for things to be made right through my daughter, and for some reason, I believe it is very possible. I won't allow my father to do an injustice to her. She doesn't deserve it, and neither did I.
I called my dad today, at the suggestion of my husband. It hadn't even occurred to me to call him, even with me knowing that he hadn't seen her since she was born two months ago. I called and let him know that I was saddened by his absence. He apologized for my sadness and promised me that he would visit next week. It's always next week, with my dad. He was supposed to come and see her "next week" a month and a half ago. He's been "next week"-ing me for as long as I can remember, and sometimes he has come through on his promise. I almost feel sorry for my dad--not having a car and all. My father is known for having Cadillacs and other expensive cars, and he made it sound so sad that he would have to have someone pick him up and bring him here, but I know my dad better than that. After he finished telling me his tale of why he hasn't been here, he informed me that he's going to Delaware--where many Marylanders go to gamble--this weekend. When I suggested that those same people who were coming to take him to DE could bring him over here, he began to laugh and say, "Yeah, well." Oh well is what I say. I can't force him to come. Still, there was a sense of sadness that my dad's life has become this.
I believe that my dad's anger and lack of forgiveness towards those who abused him as a child has hurt him deeper than the perpetrators. For many years, he's been wanting to write a book about his life. He recorded some of it on tape, already. I told him that I would write the book if gave me what he has on tape. I haven't gotten anything yet. However, towards the end of our conversation, today, my dad told me that he's going to find a recorder to finish taping the story of his life and that he had found the first tape on which he started telling about his life. (He just shared this information on his own. When we do talk about the book, I usually ask him but not this time.)
So, with all of my great despair, I feel a great sense of hope--almost tangible hope that my family's dynamics are changing at the hands of my father. I feel hope that my father finally completes his life story on another tape. Hope that he gives me his initial tape. Hope that he keeps his promise to see his granddaughter. Hope that "next week" is really next week because we all have to start somewhere. And, although tomorrow isn't promised, at the ripe old age of almost 73, I can't imagine my dad getting a better start. After all, 73 would also be the year I was born.
Love,
Yvette
As time went on, I understood and accepted why my father hasn't been there for me. Over the years, he has told me parts of his story. My father was abused as a child and ran away from home when he was 14 years old. He never went back home to live. Can you imagine being on your own from 14 until forever? I cannot. I can't imagine what it took for him to survive this long. My dad will be 73 years old in December.
My father's been running ever since. He has helped to raise none of his children, and though it's not my responsibility to understand it all, I can't help but wonder what this has done to his soul. I understand some of my father's pain, for we share similar pain. We have both experienced abuse. So, I've learned to accept him on some levels--actually, on many levels. However, understanding my father's past and why he was unable to be there for his own children does not stop me from being saddened by his absence in this, his granddaughter's, life. It's as if history is repeating itself only this time, the excuses are not accepted--they are not resolved in my head and made okay. In fact, they're unacceptable. They're downright frustrating, sad and disheartening, to me. When I look at my daughter, I see this beautiful little baby girl. I'm happy about that. She's wonderful. But, when I look at her and see this beautiful little baby girl, whom her grandfather, who lives less than ten minutes away by the way, hasn't seen, I feel saddened to the point of fainting. It's disappointing. I feel overwhelming sadness as the tears well up even now. I don't want her to not know her grandfather. I don't want her to go through what I went through, and yet, even though she's unaware of it, she already has. That's hurtful to me--really hurtful because it makes my experiences with him more real. I don't know if the fact that she looks just like me makes it even worse, but I do know that the fact that my father is missing out on this lovely little girl is tragic. He's missing out, and he's causing her to miss out on him, and that's unfair. She should know her grandfather. That is her right, and he is not the least bit concerned about her. Okay, some may tell me not to say that he's not concerned. Well, if it wasn't true, then I have no proof. After all, actions speak louder than words. I feel overwhelmed with this fear of her being hurt like I was. I feel she deserves to be seen by her grandfather--she's beautiful enough--and even if she wasn't, then that would make her no less deserving.
I got it! I got two things, actually. One, I thought that my father wasn't around because I wasn't pretty enough. Well, Wynter has taught me that isn't the case at all. I can look at her and see that her beauty has not brought my father any closer to my doorstep than if we'd lived next door to him. And two, I realize that I'm saddened by what my father is missing out on. He's had ample opportunities with his children to make things "right". He has grandchildren and great-grandchildren--one of whom lives with him and is not being cared for by him--and for some reason, I'm expecting him to do right by this child. I guess it's because if he does right by her, then he does right by me. I'll feel validated. I'm looking for things to be made right through my daughter, and for some reason, I believe it is very possible. I won't allow my father to do an injustice to her. She doesn't deserve it, and neither did I.
I called my dad today, at the suggestion of my husband. It hadn't even occurred to me to call him, even with me knowing that he hadn't seen her since she was born two months ago. I called and let him know that I was saddened by his absence. He apologized for my sadness and promised me that he would visit next week. It's always next week, with my dad. He was supposed to come and see her "next week" a month and a half ago. He's been "next week"-ing me for as long as I can remember, and sometimes he has come through on his promise. I almost feel sorry for my dad--not having a car and all. My father is known for having Cadillacs and other expensive cars, and he made it sound so sad that he would have to have someone pick him up and bring him here, but I know my dad better than that. After he finished telling me his tale of why he hasn't been here, he informed me that he's going to Delaware--where many Marylanders go to gamble--this weekend. When I suggested that those same people who were coming to take him to DE could bring him over here, he began to laugh and say, "Yeah, well." Oh well is what I say. I can't force him to come. Still, there was a sense of sadness that my dad's life has become this.
I believe that my dad's anger and lack of forgiveness towards those who abused him as a child has hurt him deeper than the perpetrators. For many years, he's been wanting to write a book about his life. He recorded some of it on tape, already. I told him that I would write the book if gave me what he has on tape. I haven't gotten anything yet. However, towards the end of our conversation, today, my dad told me that he's going to find a recorder to finish taping the story of his life and that he had found the first tape on which he started telling about his life. (He just shared this information on his own. When we do talk about the book, I usually ask him but not this time.)
So, with all of my great despair, I feel a great sense of hope--almost tangible hope that my family's dynamics are changing at the hands of my father. I feel hope that my father finally completes his life story on another tape. Hope that he gives me his initial tape. Hope that he keeps his promise to see his granddaughter. Hope that "next week" is really next week because we all have to start somewhere. And, although tomorrow isn't promised, at the ripe old age of almost 73, I can't imagine my dad getting a better start. After all, 73 would also be the year I was born.
Love,
Yvette
Monday, October 12, 2009
Post Now Before...I...Forget...
I'm feeling kind of down today. I guess I have the baby blues. I've been around Wynter--my daughter--for two months straight, already. I know two months is not as long as 18 years or more, but it is long for a new mom--at least, for me. You have a lot of demands that mainly come from the baby, and it's challenging to get things done. I'm not complaining. I am expressing what I'm sure many other new moms have felt. So, instead of bottling it in, I'm sharing. I have many demands on me, as most of us do, and I'm glad that Internet blogging exists so that I can let it out. I am a happy woman somewhere deep inside, but there is little outside that I see as happy.
I want to be all that I can be for my daughter, and I believe that sometimes the pressures of new motherhood get in the way. Am I doing this the right way? What's that on her skin? In her hair? What should I be doing with her at this stage? Is she going to be advanced? Is she going to be smart? If she's neither, will it be my fault? What if I miss out on her calling? What if I'm not living in the present enough? How much does her parents' intelligence play into her own level?
Okay, to you this may seem crazy, and it is. However, to a new mom with all the pressures of today you question these things, and it's not really what you wonder that can make you crazy. What can make you crazy is the number of times these questions can float through your mind, and they may no longer float but that can indeed become stuck. They've stuck themselves to all the other insecurities "not floating around" in my head. I am in trouble. I need help, and I'm glad to know that I have something like my blog to express my pains and doubts and fears and soul-filled insights. I am grateful for that! So, for all of you who aren't parents yet, be free knowing that, whatever your thoughts, they could very well have been had by your friends, neighbors, co-workers and even your parents. I'm just starting out, and I see my mom in a different light already. I love her! I mean, she had her moments when she could have possibly made other decisions. Who hasn't had the opportunity to make a better decision and didn't do it? I know I've had plenty. I'm not even sure if I could have been a single mom raising just the one--me. So, hats off to you mom and to all the other parents who took on the responsibility of parenthood without running. My dad ran and is still running, but, my mom, she hung in there and I love her for that!
I pray that I can be there for my daughter and that I can be present. With all the stuff that's going on in my life right now, it feels almost impossible for me to remain present. People will say that I have to be present. Okay, tell that to my mind with all the questions above plus the other fifty-million thoughts going through it. That's why I see this as a process. I know the learning will come. In fact, I'm learning now. My fear of failure is just that, fear. Nothing more, nothing less. Sometimes that fear feels so real that I can almost see it and touch it. I can believe every ounce of it. Yet, at moments like this, when I allow myself to step away from my thoughts, I'm able to see that I'm really okay. My love is there, for real. I'm learning and so are you. I just take it as part of the lesson--one for which I'm so very grateful to be having.
Love,
Yvette
I want to be all that I can be for my daughter, and I believe that sometimes the pressures of new motherhood get in the way. Am I doing this the right way? What's that on her skin? In her hair? What should I be doing with her at this stage? Is she going to be advanced? Is she going to be smart? If she's neither, will it be my fault? What if I miss out on her calling? What if I'm not living in the present enough? How much does her parents' intelligence play into her own level?
Okay, to you this may seem crazy, and it is. However, to a new mom with all the pressures of today you question these things, and it's not really what you wonder that can make you crazy. What can make you crazy is the number of times these questions can float through your mind, and they may no longer float but that can indeed become stuck. They've stuck themselves to all the other insecurities "not floating around" in my head. I am in trouble. I need help, and I'm glad to know that I have something like my blog to express my pains and doubts and fears and soul-filled insights. I am grateful for that! So, for all of you who aren't parents yet, be free knowing that, whatever your thoughts, they could very well have been had by your friends, neighbors, co-workers and even your parents. I'm just starting out, and I see my mom in a different light already. I love her! I mean, she had her moments when she could have possibly made other decisions. Who hasn't had the opportunity to make a better decision and didn't do it? I know I've had plenty. I'm not even sure if I could have been a single mom raising just the one--me. So, hats off to you mom and to all the other parents who took on the responsibility of parenthood without running. My dad ran and is still running, but, my mom, she hung in there and I love her for that!
I pray that I can be there for my daughter and that I can be present. With all the stuff that's going on in my life right now, it feels almost impossible for me to remain present. People will say that I have to be present. Okay, tell that to my mind with all the questions above plus the other fifty-million thoughts going through it. That's why I see this as a process. I know the learning will come. In fact, I'm learning now. My fear of failure is just that, fear. Nothing more, nothing less. Sometimes that fear feels so real that I can almost see it and touch it. I can believe every ounce of it. Yet, at moments like this, when I allow myself to step away from my thoughts, I'm able to see that I'm really okay. My love is there, for real. I'm learning and so are you. I just take it as part of the lesson--one for which I'm so very grateful to be having.
Love,
Yvette
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