Confession #10: I hide a lot of my pain out of fear.

I don't like the blame game. One of the reasons I'm divorced is because my ex-husband was searching for happiness and expected me to be the solution. By that I mean that he felt that if I lived the way he wanted me to live, then he would be happy. If life went the way he wanted it to go, then he would be happy.

The first part of our marriage, I desperately tried to find ways to show him how to be happy and change myself in an attempt to prevent myself from being a barrier to his happiness. I had lines I wouldn't cross though and ultimately we were divorced.

The reality of the matter is that I could never have made him happy. Just like none of you could ever "make" me happy. Sure, there are ways others could ease my burdens. Just like there are ways I could ease the burdens of others.

The reality of the matter is that happiness is a choice. One I really struggle to make right now. It's tempting to blame everyone and everything. So and so should have been there for me. Too many bills. The list goes on and on. I think I'm afraid to hope for good things in my life because if I hope for them then I risk that hope being crushed.

I have a good life and I know it. My boys are beautiful and they love me. Sometimes I feel like I'm the worst mom ever but I know that my boys know I love them. We have plenty of clothes (hence the never ending laundry) and food on the table (hence the never ending dishes.) There is a roof over our head and I have a good job to keep it there.

I struggle with the unfairness of life. I struggle with the pain and suffering that everyone experiences. I struggle to maintain my perspective.

Ultimately, I believe that God loves us. I believe that the experiences we go through in this life are temporary and are the best learning experiences ever. I believe that Christ made it possible to one day have the life I've always wanted. A life full of kindness, love, and family. Also, I believe that the majority of people are good. We have a hard time being good given our circumstances but I do believe that we want to be good.

So I hide my pain. I really just don't know what to do with it. Sometimes I intentionally hide it but, at this stage, I often subconsciously hide it because I don't understand it and I'm confused. I get stuck between the problems I face and my positive perspective of the future and of people. I really feel torn in half.

When I intentionally hide it, it's because I was terribly hurt by, not just one, but four of the people closest to me in the last year. Four people I came to trust with my pains and joys and fully believed they would always be there for me. People who betrayed that trust. All of whom were manipulative. Two of whom were violently hateful in their treatment of me. So, although deep down I know your intentions are probably good, I'm afraid of you. Afraid of what you'll do with my broken heart.

I have a very small list of people I trust enough to let see inside. My parents are at the very top of that list. I also have a very dear friend who's spent hours on the phone helping me without judging me. These people have seen all ugly yet love me anyway.

Other times, I intentionally hide it because most of my pain is caused by people letting me down. Little things have seemed amplified because of the big things I've gone through. Deep down I know it doesn't matter that someone didn't help me with that task but it bothers me.

Why does it bother me? Because of all the times my ex-husband told me to "just ask" if I need help with something. But then I'd ask and he wouldn't help. Eventually I stopped asking. Sometimes people don't help despite being asked. I rarely ask twice these days. Sometimes people don't help because I didn't ask. I feel safer not asking because then I don't feel like people consciously chose to not care about me. I'm afraid that you won't like me. Not only that but I'm afraid that your professed concern will result in hateful and/or hurtful interactions in the long run. I'm afraid that you're only helping me because you want something from me. Not because you care for me.

Anyway. Those are my fears. That's a little of my pain. I feel like this is a bit jumbled. It's been a rough week. A rough year. Things are getting better. I believe that.

Oh, I'm also afraid that you'll judge my feelings. When I was married, I wasn't allowed to have any feelings other than happy. Feelings are real. This is my perspective. It doesn't mean it's a perspective I want to keep. I hate fear. It's an unpleasant emotion. So, here I am. Sharing my feelings. Hoping it helps me heal. I know that it does. I feel so much better already. Ready to face life again.

Confession #9: I don't work out. I play.

I'm skinny. It's true. It's genetic. Also, I don't have six-pack abs.

Okay, got that out of the way. But I suppose I should clarify a little so that I make just a touch more sense.

As a child and teenager, I ate a lot. My brother and I used to have contests to see who could eat the most pancakes. I could eat a lot of pancakes. Once a school bully passed me in the hall after lunch and said, "Hey anorexic." I think she thought it would hurt me. What she didn't know is that I had just eaten lunch. Not just my whole tray full of lunch but all the pieces of my friends' lunches that they didn't want. I remember smiling at my locker because I couldn't understand how any one could think I was anorexic.

In my life, I put on weight once. I lived in Russia for a few months and my host mom seriously thought I was starving. She shoved food at me. And that food stuck for some reason. I think because it had a higher fat content (lots of oil) and my body was still adjusting to the fact that my activity levels had dropped dramatically in the last year. (Intense runner before; injuries led to being forced to slow down.)

When I say I "put on weight", I mean I added about 10-15 pounds. I was still in a healthy weight range. I don't think most people noticed. Why would they? (All the pictures in this post are from this stage.)

I don't count pregnancies as putting on weight. That's baby weight which is the creation of a life form. But, if you want to look at those, I lost weight with my first child and maintained my weight with my second.

That's a little background. Here's the reason this is a post topic.

Frequent comment this past year: "You just had a baby! Wow! You look great!"

I don't know how to respond to this because it's tied to a societal struggle that I wish didn't exist. I didn't want to burst their bubble but the reasons I looked great either weren't things I could control or weren't happy reasons.

Here's the reasons I looked great right after having a baby:

• Genetics. Look at my family tree. We're skinny people. Trust me, skinny doesn't prevent heart problems or other health problems. However, we can eat pretty horribly, miss the exercise, and not gain enough weight for society to notice and deem us worthy of their concern.
• Stress. My husband left me three weeks before Baby Brother was born. Yeah, I struggled to eat. I forced myself to eat. I had a baby to grow. But it wasn't enough to keep me from losing weight. (The reality of the matter is that a woman's body typically ensures the baby grows at the expense of the mother. Not always but usually.)
• More genetics. I have a stomach problem I inherited from my mother. We're still trying to figure it out a bit but basically sweets, lack of sleep, over abundant stress results in a very unhappy tummy. And when you're tummy is unhappy, who wants to eat?
• More stress. Some people eat more when stressed. I eat less. I lose my appetite when depressed. I forget to eat because other things are on my mind. Without the baby inside, I struggled to make myself eat.
• Keeping up is hard. It is really, really hard to work full-time, manage two little kids, and still find a way to put dinner on the table. So dinner usually isn't very exciting. My kids don't care. But sometimes I struggle with it. Then I get really distracted during dinner trying to feed both kids. I'm pretty good at using both hands so that multiple mouths get food. But the result is, sometimes I forget to eat enough. If I don't get dinner on the table, I usually forget to pack lunch for the next day. Even if I do pack lunch, I get so busy working through lunch so I can keep up that I often forget to eat until it's too late.

Now, before you get too worried, I've already made food a focus and do much better eating. Not perfect but much better.

My point with this. Why in the world are you complimenting me for an unhealthy lifestyle? I think women who just had a baby should rejoice in their "baby fat". Life was created! A large part of me wanted the baby fat. Because then maybe my family wouldn't have had to go through all the awful we went through.

On the other hand, I believe in properly caring for your body. I'm not encouraging people to overeat or not to exercise or engage in other unhealthy habits. My point so far was just to provide the truth of the matter. I didn't "look great" because I was healthy. In fact, I was extremely unhealthy.

Let's talk working out. For the past year I've been working to become more physically healthy. Step one was to eat better. Stop weight loss. No more missing meals. It's not perfect yet. But well on it's way to being on track.

Step two was to increase exercise. I really struggled with this until I realized that I really wasn't struggling with it as much as I thought I was struggling. See, I was trying to fit a mold. I felt that to exercise meant I needed to work out. So I tried to figure out some work out routine that would work for me.

I love to run. But running wasn't an option because I'd have to leave the house and I have two little boys in bed. Yes, I have a double-jogger stroller. But, the sidewalks near my house weren't made to be ran on with a double-jogger stroller. So to go running with my kids, I'd have to load all of us up in the car to go to the paved trail. Right...

I tried jump roping. But I had to be up before my boys so I wouldn't worry about hitting them. I didn't want to buy a work out program plus I own one. But the same problem as jump roping. Kids everywhere. (Note: I already get up early because school starts early. By the time they go to bed, I'm too exhausted to work out.)

I kept making goals. Try this. Try that.

Then I realized that I got plenty of exercise so why was I so worried about working out? Here's what I discovered is my "work out":

• Legs: Walking. I love taking my boys on walks. Walks to the park. Walks to the library. Walks to the Farmer's Market. Walks just to walk. We love to walk. Pushing that jogging stroller up that hill with 50 pounds of kid plus however much the stroller weighs is a work out. Same with holding it back so it doesn't run away without me as we walk down the next hill. 
• More legs: Jumping. Dancing. Tip-toeing. Chase. 
• Arms: "Fly me around, Mama!" says Big Brother in his Buzz Lightyear box. He weighs 30 pounds. Baby Brother is also a huge fan of flying. (He gets to fly a lot more than Big Brother since he weighs just over 20 pounds.)
• More arms: Dancing. Picking up toys. Picking up kids. Lots of picking up kids...
• Core: This is a little trickier for me to categorize. Bending to tickle. Up to chase. Bend to tickle. Up to chase. Laughing. 
• More core: Wrestling on the floor. Also, rolling back and forth with Baby Brother and, sometimes, Big Brother. (Baby Brother loves this. Basically I lie flat on my back. Baby Brother lies on top of me. I hold him in my arms so he doesn't go flying off. Then I quickly roll back on forth. Close to squishing him but not quite. His own personal mini-roller coaster.)

Once I made this discovery, exercise became much easier. When I feel like I'm sitting around too much or realize I haven't been very active that day, I get up and play with my kids. Not only do I get my exercise but I feel so much happier because I'm spending time doing something that helps them be happy.

My point is that I think that sometimes we end up on the wrong side of the whole eating and working out thing. Yes, I know there's an obesity problem. There's also an anorexia problem. (Which is not my problem. I struggle to eat but not because I fear I'm obese.) Most of us have an eating problem of some kind. Focus on your problem not the problems of other people. Let your doctor help you, let your body help you, don't let society help you.

Same with working out. I love that there are so many work out options. And I'm happy when I see people who love their work out. But I'm unhappy that some people, like me, who get a reasonable amount of exercise yet feel guilty because they're not "working out". So again, let your doctor help you, let your body help you, don't let society help you.

(By society, I mean the pressures of society such as all the Facebook nonsense about whether or not people are fat. I don't mean variety of resources that are accessible to help you such as nutrition facts or that work out DVD you love. Just do your research and find something that makes you healthy and happy.)

I'm not the epitome of health. But I am the expert when it comes to my body because I live with it every day and I try to understand it. I don't know your body. But I do know mine.

Lastly, the six-pack abs. That comes from the latest comment I received related to my size. I was at a conference and they had these cream-cheese danishes. I was talking to a woman there about the danishes as we contemplated eating one. I don't remember our full conversation but I do remember both of us ending up with a danish. Also, that she commented that I could afford to eat one since I had six-pack abs. I guess you can't tell through clothing but I don't have six-pack abs. Skinny, yes. Toned, no. That would require more focus...

Confession #8: I read my journals to help me heal.

This one's long. Kudos if you read it all. But the lessons learned cover almost twenty years of life and various stages of life so I needed a little length.

I started journaling as a little girl with a little help from my mom. Not much as a little girl but I became an avid journaler as a teenager. The first journal in my stack is from when I was 13. I wrote almost every day; only missed if I fell asleep thinking I'd written. Entries were never very long and showed the simplicity of my youth. For example, I flipped to this entry:

I always ended entries with "Night." Journaling is a weird thing. I always wondered who was my audience. Since I always wrote at night right before I went to bed (or before I stayed up too late reading...) "Night" seemed like an appropriate way to end an entry. Later I ended with smilies. Now I initial after the entry.

Anyway, I have short journal entries covering almost every day for about five years. Sometimes I reflected a little bit but often it was just a daily list of what happened that day.

After graduating from high school, I was a lousy journal writer. My life style took a dramatic shift. I had a blissfully easy childhood. By easy I don't mean I didn't learn to work. As shown by my journal entry, my parents taught me the value of work. By easy I mean that I had an extremely safe and smooth childhood. It's something that I've had used against me at times, especially in my previous marriage. "You've had an easy life so you have no idea what you're talking about."

I have always been a very thoughtful and reflective person. I may have had an easy childhood but I witnessed enough outside my home to know I had an easy childhood. It's something I was grateful for and I cherished. I knew I didn't have personal experience in the depths of what pain could be but I knew I didn't like pain and, having seen others pain, I could empathize with others. Who really knows. My perspective, your perspective, we all have perspective. I've been through enough life now that no one is accusing me of not knowing what "hard" really feels like anymore.

Anyway, growing up I went to school, did chores, played sports, and spent A LOT of time reading. I socialized a bit but mostly with my family. (With seven siblings, I didn't feel like I lacked a social life.) After graduating, I became a lot busier and, away from the shelter of home, experienced a lot more stress. School was harder, socializing took a lot more time, and somehow I had to make sure I ate and kept a roof over my head. I attempted to journal but it was frequently interrupted, shoved aside for more pressing items (like a touch of sleep), or forgotten altogether. Fortunately, I veered into some new forms of memory recording that document these years a bit.

I did journal a little bit but it was hit and miss. Some months I journaled frequently; others were neglected. I also have a few partially used journals. All of my journals up to this stage always had the intent of recording my memories, particularly what I was up to at the time and fun times I had. Although life was harder than as a kid, it was also so much more rich in experiences. It was a fun and adventurous stage of life.

Most of my journals (Yes, there are some missing...)

About five years ago, my journals became more reflective. At that stage, I was really frustrated with life and struggling to figure out how to be happy despite my life not going as planned. Sure, I had a good life, but I'd always dreamed of marrying and having a family. My dating life was pretty dry. Other than a 6 month spurt of dating the year before, I never really dated. My social life was active but guys just didn't seem interested in me enough to date me. Frankly, I felt pretty worthless. On top of that, the end of my college education was in sight and I didn't really know what I wanted to do with my life.

A friend gave me a journal and I started journaling again. About three months of mostly long, detailed entries. Then it became another partially filled journal. But it was an essential shift in my journaling and good preparation for the journals that now help me the most. I met the man I married and later divorced that year. Not documented in that journal. A few scattered entries in a computer journal. I wish I'd journaled more during that time frame. Oh well.

My marriage struggled from the beginning. I didn't worry too much about it. All marriages are hard, right? Shortly after I was married, I realized that I shouldn't spew my frustrations on my husband. That wasn't fair. Or, even when it was, it wasn't a good way to build a positive relationship. So I started journaling again. Very sporadically. As my marriage became worse, I journaled more. I recorded answers to prayers. I recorded the joy of my first child. I recorded my testimony of God. I recorded miracles. I also recorded that my family was struggling and my perspective on it.

When my mind convinced me that things were going to be better, I stopped. Things changed. I went through some difficult months. But I was convinced things were going to get better.

Until the day my husband threatened to take Big Brother from me screaming at me that I was a religious fanatic. This wasn't the first time I'd he told me that I was a religious fanatic. Or screamed at me. Or threatened divorce. But it was the first time he'd made such a point of it with the involvement of my son. (Baby Brother was still a couple months away from his due date.) A couple weeks later, this dramatic experience tied to what he termed his "mid-life" crisis which essentially was his choice to finally separate from what were once our shared beliefs. Maybe someday I'll post more on the topics of this paragraph. But tonight my focus is on journaling.

I didn't know what to do.  At the time, my policy was to avoid contention by letting him get out his frustrations while I quietly held mine in. I firmly believed he would eventually realize that I loved him even if we had some areas where we didn't agree. But this added a whole new dynamic to the trouble. I couldn't stand up for myself; I didn't know how to without adding to the contention. And I hate fighting. But he'd involved my son. That was unacceptable. I knew that if I was going to stand up in an appropriate manner, then I needed a place where I had the freedom to voice things in any manner I wanted. Where I could speak without fear of a fight. I needed somewhere I could safely reflect so that I could put my foot down in a way that worked towards providing my son with a safe home but without adding to the terror.

So I went out and bought a journal. I put a lot of thought into journal buying these days. They represent a stage of life

and I like them to visually help me. I bought a Marvel comics journal covered in superheroes. I figured if I was going to keep my family together, I'd need super powers. I was still firmly convinced that this was just a phase and that things would get better.

The first week of my new journal I wrote long entries that went back and forth about whether or not my situation was as bad as I thought it was. I did some serious analyzing. At the end of the week, I had my answers without the need for reflection. My husband and I actually had a good conversation. By good, I don't mean happy. I mean he actually let me stand up for myself and my family without yelling at me. He also seemed to reflect a bit on it a little and was a little honest with me. However, that was also when he told me he was actively avoiding being around me and basically deciding if he wanted to stay with me. That was Mother's day weekend 2013.

My "divorce journal" documents only 3 months worth of reflection yet fills almost all the pages. I was making some very difficult, life changing decisions. Ones that would not only impact me but also my children. My last entry was a week before the divorce was finalized. A month later I switched to the "blue journal". I chose it because blue is my favorite color and it's one of my favorite shades. Plus, blue typically represents sadness and I knew I was a bit sad. Little did I know it would truly document my "blues" as it documented my struggles after a severe bout of depression. (I struggled to write during the severe depression phase but wrote a ton the months that followed.) But it also showed how these struggles aided my healing.

Healing that I may not have noticed if I didn't re-read what I wrote. Healing that would have been delayed if I didn't re-read what I wrote. I needed reminders of my reflection processes. I needed reminders of the good, the bad, and the ugly. When I hated and blamed myself, I needed the reminders of previous experiences to help me see outside my current perspective. I needed to see my experiences and thought processes from while I was married to help me understand why I was no longer married.

How does this apply to being Supermom? I've learned that journaling helps me keep the right perspective.

The "Blue Journal"
(The "Pink Journal" is currently misplaced
but looks the same. Except bright pink...)

It helps me sort out my thoughts and feelings. The time to reflect allows me to deal with my frustrations with individual and family problems without taking them out on my family. It allows me to come back from my reflection and make decisions, not in the heat of the moment, but in the quiet, calm periods of reflecting. Finally, as mentioned earlier, reading my journals helps me heal. And I need to heal so I can be Supermom.

Sometimes it's hard to take the time to write. There's so many other, very visible things that need completed. But my heart needs the peace that comes as a result of journal writing.

I don't journal in book form extensively right now. I have a family blog that documents the joys known as my boys. This blog is currently helping me reflect on a variety of life issues that impact my parenting. I really needed it in this format right now. My current actual journal is the "Pink Journal". A bright bold pink as I learn to embrace the beauty and excitement of my new life. In it I record things I'm not comfortable sharing with the world. More personal reflections.

Finally, the beginning of the first entry of the "Blue Journal" shares what I've learned as I've re-read my journals: :

Confession #7: Sometimes I get "owies in my heart".

I've been through a lot the past few years. That could be a book on it's own. So, to summarize the cause of my pain, I had a lousy marriage which resulted in a lousy divorce. I always feared divorce. In fact, I tried to be extra careful in my dating and relationships in an effort to create a loving marriage and avoid divorce. Unfortunately, those efforts require the choices of two people and I'm just one person. There's more to that story but that's not really the point of this post.The point of this post is that Supermom experiences pain and sometimes her kids see that pain.

For a variety of reasons but especially owing to my marriage and subsequent divorce, I deal with a lot of pain on a regular basis. But, although a lot sometimes, the pain I feel now is nothing to the pain I felt 9 months ago right after the divorce. Now I have sporadic bouts of various levels of pain. Then I had almost constant pain. I felt crushed; was crushed. For a few months, I cried every day. I don't remember the date but I do remember the moment I realized I didn't feel like crying. The moment I wasn't trying to hold back the tears but just knew they wouldn't come that night. It felt like heaven.

Knowing my divorce was difficult for Big Brother, I tried to hide my pain. But sometimes I couldn't hold it back. I usually made it through the school day but by evening it was really hard. Sometimes the tears would just quietly seep out or something go wrong and I'd burst into tears before I was alone in my room after the boys went to bed. Big Brother would look at me with his sweet little face and I could see the concern in his eyes. I started telling him that I'd be alright. I just had an "owie in my heart". I didn't know what else to do. How could I be the strength and support my son needed when I felt so broken? Then I finished crying and continued on with life.

Big Brother caught on quick. It got to the point that, if I got upset at all (even if I wasn't crying), he would look at me with concern then say, "Mama owie in heawt?" And I would answer, "Yes. Mama, has an owie in her heart. But she'll be alright." He would immediately become more relaxed. He just wanted Mama to be happy. Sometimes he would follow up with a hug since he knows I loves hugs. Other times he just moved on with his life. Although he couldn't fully understand, he could understand pain.

Because he felt pain, too. Sure, he still gets to visit his dad. He can call him any time he wants, too. But it's not the same. As all of us do, he wants the people he loves to be close to him.

One day he was upset about something silly. I don't remember what it was; just that it was unusual. Something clicked. I knew he felt pain and I couldn't remove that pain. But maybe I could help him better understand it. So I gathered him in my arms and asked him if he had an "owie in his heart". He nodded his little head and held me close. Once he felt a bit better, he went off as if nothing had happened.

Since then, when he's unusually cranky or teary-eyed, I ask him if his heart hurts or if he misses his dad. I hold him close to remind him he's not alone. That I love him. Sometimes he chooses to call his dad. Sometimes not. But, when he comes to recognize the cause of his pain, it's easier to move past the pain and back to the rest of his life.

Baby Brother didn't go through the same painful experience. His dad left a few weeks before he was born and didn't really pay much attention to him until he was about four months old. So he's never known what life was like with both dad and mom in the same house. But he still goes through painful experiences. He doesn't know what "owies" are yet. But he does understand hugs. He also gets cranky when he hurts. Sometimes he just needs Supermom. Even if she can't fix the pain. Pain is just easier to bear when you have someone holding you who loves you.