Monthly Archives: May 2016
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Possible Indicators That You Have PMS And Everyone Should Clear Out and Go To Hell
If Lucy Fell – RRSAHM
If Lucy Fell
It’s all kinds of nice and dangerous, feeling butterflies.
There’s a terrible aching screaming fear in it too- a five year old girl in my mind, clutching at a blanket, screaming “What are you doing? How can you be so stupid? Do you want us to get hurt?!”
But you make a choice. You feel something, then you have that screaming anxiety attack, then you make a decision- do you freeze, or fall?
Fall. Every time. Because I cannot fucking live frozen, in a bubble, feeling nothing.
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So I may as well enjoy it. I remember, today, what it’s like to have daydreams, as opposed to flashbacks… and that’s lovely. I remember what it’s like to wake up and smell someone’s scent on your clothes and it makes your stomach flip.
I remember what it feels like to have a whole day slide away, slowly and lazily, but in a slippery silky sooth of happy thoughts, stuck in a bubble of the night before.
This might hurt, for sure.
But to feel that stupid head rush, to feel some kind of attraction and infatuation with someone…it’s worth it.
I can’t live frozen forever. If this hurts, then so be it… it’s a chance I’m willing to take.
***
Every time he calls, in my mind I know it’s the last time. Every text message I send I expect it to go unreplied.
I cannot see why he would come back, when I am so damaged, and come with two small children… who would want that?
I have been trained, repeatedly, to trust no one; and I keep myself as closed as I can, while having that stupid optimistic hope still. I can’t help it.
But despite it, I am still waiting for everyone to leave me.
Most people have proved me right. And I waiting for this to fall that way too- no fault of his, none of mine, just ‘the way it is’.
I am so damn sick of hearing that phrase.
It’s been hours since I heard from him… so it’s probably happened already.
(Oh, yes, I know. Fucked up. I know. It’s ‘just the way it is’, remember…?)
***
In the end, I get almost two weeks of feeling special before it all ends and I’ve lost more than I had to begin with.
Trust no one.
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Mummy did a bad, bad thing. – RRSAHM
Mummy did a bad, bad thing.
And you can read all about over at Lucy’s place, where I’m guest posting today!
And another bad thing- piccie pinched from here
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{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
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July 3, 2013 at 1:36 pm -
Hello there, I came across your website by means of Search engines all at once because trying to find a linked issue, your website surfaced, it looks to be just like very good. I’ve truly saved to help this favourites features|combined with bookmarks.
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June 1, 2010 at 4:04 am -
Good guest blogging!
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A Mother's Day GiveAway (To make up for all those other presents you'll get). – RRSAHM
A Mother’s Day GiveAway (To make up for all those other presents you’ll get).
This Mother’s Day giveaway happily brought to you by David Jones online store.
Mother’s Day in Australia is the second Sunday in May. It’s somewhat of a dividing issue, amongst the mums (and dads) that I know… how do you choose to spend your Mothers Day? Would you rather spend it with your kids; or take a day just for you and have some time out?
The thing about Mother’s Day when you have really little kids– and especially if you’re a single parent– is that you actually do most of the Mothers Day organizing for yourself. If you want a present, you buy your own. If you want breakfast in bed you may have to make it yourself; either way it’s unlikely to peaceful and you’ll find yourself sharing your sheets with toast crumbs, and your lukewarm cup of tea with your toddler.
Mothers Day is not a huge deal in our house. Mostly because it would require far too much effort from me to make it so. Although, with the Chop at school this year, I’m anticipating plenty of handmade cards and perhaps something extremely tasteful from the school Mother’s Day stall (if they still do that– do primary schools still do that? Anyone?)
In the Before, Mothers Day was a big deal, and I remember arguing with Tony over it– was going out to dinner with the extended family actually necessary, when all I really wanted was a few hours alone in my own house, with no urgent tasks that needed my attention to annoy me?
An
yway. When I was offered this post, I thought it would be a good chance to treat some of my readers who may not receive expensive dinners out, nor lavish breakfasts in bed. Because, while macaroni necklaces and cards painted with cut potato stencils are altogether lovely, all mums deserve something from the slightly more glamorous end of the Mothers Day gift range– some Aesop hand cream, perhaps. And a new manicure set to go with it (For all that free time you have to do your nails).
Whatever. If you’d like to win one of two $50 gift vouchers for David Jones online store, fill in the form below and tell me… What would you really like to do for yourself for Mothers Day, if the choice was all yours?
Competition closes midnight AEST Thursday 2nd May, 2013. Winners will be contacted by email soon after and have 48 hours to respond before their prize is redrawn. Australian residents only, sorry. Winning answers will be whichever ones I happen to be fondest of at the time of judging. My decision is final and no correspondence nor circle-jerking shall be entered into.
*In line with the new giveaway policy (ie– only doing giveaways if they’re awesome), I declare $50 DJ’s gift vouchers decidedly awesome. Please feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.
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{ 16 comments… read them below or add one }
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April 30, 2013 at 8:28 pm -
I would not do a thing, I would like everything done for me and I can either teleport myself off to some quiet deserted island and be pampered to the max with all sorts of food, drinks and massaged till i was fully relaxed. I would some man-servants wait on my beck and call and then have a comprehensive wardrobe to choose from to dress after my pampered, relaxing day. But in reality all I wish is to have all my chidren with me, but I know thats not going to happen as they live in other places.
oh well i probably just stay at home and be on facebook. -
April 30, 2013 at 4:33 pm -
Yes, they still have the stalls and mine bring home things they just know I will love! That’s all that’s needed to keep this Mummy happy!
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April 29, 2013 at 12:15 pm -
I’d take my Mum on an unlimited shopping spree at David Jones- nothing like a bit of retail therapy to spoil and indulge!
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April 28, 2013 at 6:16 pm -
Spend the whole day in a bubbling hot spa sipping on fruity Wine and nibbling on fresh fruits..
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April 26, 2013 at 10:57 am -
To sit alone at the beach in Noosa, with a great take away coffee, contemplating my navel for a few hours. This would bring me tremendous peace.
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April 25, 2013 at 4:39 pm -
A swim and a picnic (alone!). When I arrived home, the laundry, vacuuming, dusting, ironing and folding, would have been done by the family!
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April 23, 2013 at 3:17 pm -
A day with friends, shopping, coffee and lunch. At least 12 hours of child free activities, a blessing ♥
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April 22, 2013 at 11:34 am -
Do you know what, I reckon the best Mothers Day, would actually be with my bestest Mummy mates sans kids – is that mean to say without the children? We’d start of with a brunch, check out some op shops (although not many open on Sunday I ‘spose) or some trash n treasure markets, perhaps squeeze in a gallery visit, late lunch, and catch a Gold Class movie with a bottle of wine to share. Now that, would be awesome.
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April 21, 2013 at 7:05 pm -
How would I pamper myself for Mother’s Day….hmmm I would love breakfast in bed after a lovely sleep-in. Then out to a lovely lunch just with my family. Basically to do something that I want to do, not be at the mercy of what my mother wants to do because didn’t you know that it is only HER day?
But since we will be doing something with my mother I will be cooking something yummy for dessert that I want to eat! Carmel meringue pav or pecan pie,,,yummy
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April 20, 2013 at 5:38 pm -
Sleep in, toast with Nutella, fall back to sleep, read a bit, afternoon snooze, coffee and cake, early night.
Note the complete lack of children’s requirements, cooking and assorted duties!!!
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April 20, 2013 at 11:31 am -
I would like to spend the weekend – that’s right, I’m calling it a mothers’ weekend, because one day is just not enough for all the vomit I have cleaned up and all the shit I have dealt with – at some kind of yoga retreat, or meditation type place. Or even better, at some resort with a cabana boy and drinks with umbrellas. Yeah – fuck the yoga, just keep the drinks coming.
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April 19, 2013 at 11:11 pm -
Yeah, Mothers’ Day is about my own mum (90, and awesomely awesome). My own 3 boys are old enough to know that letting me sleep in is the best present!! I really don’t want anything more from them. Mind you, one year, I asked my partner for a year of “Friday thoughts”…. For him to come home on Friday nights with a thought especially for me. Free, but requiring a little foresight on his part!!!
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April 19, 2013 at 5:11 pm -
They still do the stalls. You can’t even hope for a lame bar of soap though. At least not from Bluey’s school.
Mothers Day doesn’t happen here, much like my birthday. Can I just say I’m 21? It was the last one Mr Black actually remembered. I’ve stopped reminding him because getting asked for money so he can get me a gift just pisses me off. Especially when I can tell that only half the money I have given was spent on my gift.
I used to love spending it as a family doing something special like going for a drive somewhere but the last couple of years I’ve really just wanted time on my own. I so rarely get it, and time with my kids seems to be in abundance. The only issue is it’s not just my day is it? There’s my mother, my nan, and so on to consider. Does it make me bad that I want a day to myself, not having to worry about anyone else?
Miss Pink recently posted…Bloglovin’
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April 19, 2013 at 4:16 pm -
As you know, I’m already spoiled with prizes this week (and may now be getting free tix to the Happiness & Its Causes conference too!) so I won’t enter this so others can win
Not having to make any meals, clean up other people’s mess or do any laundry would be a nice treat though
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April 19, 2013 at 12:15 pm -
Almond croissant, nice strong latte, full morning in bed with a Real Housewives of Beverley Hills marathon….set me up for the next year I reckon.
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April 19, 2013 at 10:56 am -
They still have the primary school Mother’s Day stalls here in Tassie. It took me by surprise the first year – buy something to donate to the stall and then send your kid to school with $2 to buy one of the donated items. I just gave you something, why do we have to pay for something off the stall….
The school newsletter has all the details usually.
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Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Washed Away.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Run, Run, As Fast As You Can….
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Steamy Windows
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: RUOK- Part Two.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Fuck You Too.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Lucky.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Falling Into Place
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: F*ck.
Secrets, Part Three- Anyone Want a Couple of Kids? – RRSAHM
Secrets, Part Three- Anyone Want a Couple of Kids?
The secrets of early widowhood, Part Three.
It would be so easy to run away from my children.
I know, as mothers, that’s absolutely the last thing we should confess with any seriousness. It’s OK to joke about it, but it’s always with an undertone of exasperated indulgence.
I’ve known mothers, a handful of them in my past, who chose to leave their children, either with partners, parents or state; who choose to run away and live a life relatively unencumbered.
I also judged them so harshly. Women without a womb or a heart.
I don’t judge anyone that harshly anymore.
I get it, now.
The human mind is a terrifyingly amazing thing.
I know, I’ve experienced the way your mind can conveniently disconnect from things when they get too much. The way your brain can cut off the emotional connections to your nearest and dearest, in order to protect yourself.
I think my mind would do that for me again, if I needed it to.
If I chose to run away.
It would be painful, at first, and the guilt of leaving my babies would eat and scald at me. But… I could be as self destructive as I liked. I could start again, and forget everything I’ve been, everything I’ve done, everything I’ve seen.
I know where I’d go.
With no hesitation, no complications, nothing to encumber me. (Us..?)
And I’d make occasional phone calls home, and send money and presents to my children. And I’d find a way to justify it, over and over to myself until it was solid- I could find a good reason why it was better for me not to be with my kids, better for them not to be.
We can lie and cheat ourselves, if we want. Eventually the brain puts up partitions to the guilt and those neural pathways I’ve talked about before, they reform so you don’t think so much about the things that hurt.
And in the short term scheme of things, wouldn’t that be easier? Stunted, muted pain that I can ignore, rather than swimming through it every day.
But I just.. can’t. It wouldn’t be fair. As much as I love the thought of being able to sleep for twenty hours a day, to read books and take heavy prescription drugs and eats lots of food and cry and hibernate and not have to worry about nappies and sticky figures and a little boy who is trying to make sense of a world that doesn’t exist properly anymore, that he just can’t bring into focus.
I can’t swap, one for the other. My desire for obliteration, as much as I can find, with my children’ desperate need for the only parent they have left.
The temptation, some days it’s so intense it takes my breath away….
And I remind myself, that chubby fingers, and lispy words, the scent of milk and innocence.. they keep my heart beating.
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{ 33 comments… read them below or add one }
- July 18, 2011 at 9:33 pm
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Mothers are human too. Thanks for being the voice for so many of us.
- July 18, 2011 at 8:22 am
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Lori, you're so brave to share how you're feeling. You are amazing and strong and so much more inspiring than I think you will ever realise. Hugs.
- July 18, 2011 at 2:09 am
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I'm not a mom, not even close. But I did go through a similar situation earlier in the year when my best friend's brother (aka, MY brother) took his own life. And I was overseas when this happened. I just went and saw the family for the first time without him the other day. And it's hard. And God knows I wish I could have escaped it all and left my exchange 9 months early. But ignoring problems and avoiding them doesn't solve anything. You never truly heal until you face your issues head on and muscle through them. Only then can you completely close the wound. It will leave a scar, but you will feel better for it. Keep fighting. It has to get worse before it gets better.
- July 17, 2011 at 12:56 pm
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I used to judge people more harshly, too, then life dished up something that reminded me that one that can never understand a situation unless its happening TO you; happening NEAR you doesn't count.
My husband had cancer and has survived, thankfully. But the long years of relapse and treatment and baggage that come with cancer made me understand how cancer can break up a marriage – I often felt it would be easier to leave. I didn't know if I could live with the daily stress and worry. It's hard. But we made it through. And then life dished up another blow: I got cancer. We're both still here and still together and still a family. And thats what matters. xx
- July 16, 2011 at 9:20 pm
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your strength continues to amaze me xo
- July 16, 2011 at 9:20 pm
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Yeah i get this too… but I thought to myself that my kid had already lost his sister, he didn't need to lose me too. It wasn't fair.
However… its important to give yourself space. My kid was in daycare regularly after my Jordan died. More than anything I needed the time and space to do whatever I needed to, just a few times a week. Me? I would clean my house and listen to sad songs on my mp3 player. I shut everyone out and just let it flow. I cried an awful lot… and eventually I managed to save the tears for these times. This was how I coped… when I am stressed I clean… my house was pretty spotless there for a while.
Anyway, point I am trying to make is that space is good. I hope you are getting some time off.
- July 16, 2011 at 5:33 pm
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I really get it…..but they do keep you going, those sweet little ones who need you so much!
Lots of love to you and your kids.
Wendy
- July 16, 2011 at 1:12 am
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For what it's worth, my husband and I adopted two boys (brothers) from a young woman who had lost her husband (for legal reasons) and was left on her own to care for them. She realized she could not give them everything they needed (and everything she wanted them to have) and she chose to make a plan for them to have a new family. It has been 6 years now and everybody is doing well. She knows the boys are happy and healthy. She can see them if/when she wants. She can call or write if/when she wants. The boys know what happened and they know that their birthmom made the biggest sacrifice that anyone could ever make and she did it because she loved them so much. The boys know that they have extra people who love them. And the birthmother has been able to move on with her life and is now so much happier. The birth-father and -grandparents are all part of our lives now and we all feel this was a blessing for everyone, including the two boys.
Now that I am the mother of these two boys, I can only imagine the sacrifice that the birthmother made for her children. I have the highest respect for her in having chosen to make her children's well-being the highest priority. Interesting, my sons understand this and know that she undertook such a selfless endeavor because she loved them so much.
So there's the flipside. I am so grateful to the birthmother (and extended family) for trusting my husband and me to give those boys everything that she wanted for them.
- July 16, 2011 at 12:44 am
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They're probably the only thing keeping you afloat some days, so don't leave the raft, Lori. I know you don't really mean it, though. All mums think the 'wouldn't it be nice' thing and some days one foot is half out the door for many of us… but it's not real, my love. It's really not. x
- July 16, 2011 at 12:29 am
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Thank you for your honesty. I agree with you so much, I don't judge anyone anymore. I don't assume I know how I'd act and react if something might happen to me. It is hard to stay, to keep going when escape offers such a tempting release. I just keep hearing "small steps" in my head. I love what keeps your heart beating. It will only get stronger I hope!
- July 15, 2011 at 10:33 pm
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It's scary, isn't it, when you feel that way? When you really don't care one way or the other about what might happen to them? I have moments like that. Sometimes days.
And other times when my heart aches at the thought of them. At the thought of them being alone, bereft, abandoned. And I know, that no matter how badly I may be parenting them, how unhappy I am most days, it is still the best possible situation for them.
I never thought I would say this – but I do live for them. To save them from any more unhappiness…
- July 16, 2011 at 8:30 am
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It is a fantasy I have entertained often when things have gotten overwhelming. x
- July 15, 2011 at 10:00 pm
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It does make sense. But I think once again it just shows how brave and strong you truly are to keep making the tough choices.
- July 15, 2011 at 8:02 pm
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You know, the one thing that stopped me from turning to alcohol in a Big(ger) Way was the kids.
It's a fine line, so tempting to cross, but I'm so glad (now) that I didn't.
My kids have saved my life here in the After. Literally. - July 15, 2011 at 7:19 pm
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So honest. So real. I love reading your posts.
- July 15, 2011 at 5:39 pm
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We can never run away from ourselves, we can only learn to live with the grief, perhaps children are an important part of the healing process, reminding us we are needed in their own special way, non judging and pure. One day at a time xx
- July 15, 2011 at 4:12 pm
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When I was pregnant with my last bub (a year ago) I read a book called A Song In The Daylight by Paullina Simmons, about a woman who left her husband and family, and ran off with a younger guy. I couldn't put the book down, and yet I was so angry at the same time. I couldn't understand why anyone would do that?
Then i had my little girl, and fell victim to PND. Though I would never do what that woman in the book did, I understood her a little more. You're right the brain does play funny tricks on you. It's horrible feeling like that, and knowing that you shouldn't feel Ike that,and rationally being able to understand you're being irrational.
No one is judging you. Thanks for being brave enough to be honest. - July 15, 2011 at 1:28 pm
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Oh Lori, I so get this. Wanting to start over and forget what you know. No judgements here just appreciation for your tenacity, willingness to choose over and over again to be present in your pain.
May it ease for you. And may you reach sooner rather than later, a place of peace and solidity.
xx
- July 15, 2011 at 1:25 pm
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You're still grieving. And those kids will get you through. Hang in there. xo
- July 15, 2011 at 1:01 pm
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" I could be as self destructive as I liked. "
I have thanked the universe many times in the past months that I have my child safety net, to stop me from doing things I know in my heart I shouldn't do.
Maybe it is a bit the same for you too.
- July 15, 2011 at 12:55 pm
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I don't have children, but I understand. Many of my friends are parents, and I've seen some of the stress they endure just on a day to day basis.
I have one friend who basically ran away from her children, literally, so she could check back into the party scene. She never raised her children in the first place. She made her nine year old son bathe, feed, and change his 1 y/o & 2 y/o sister's diapers, and he is a teenager today who does not want children because at nine years old, he was raising his two younger sisters. My friend's excuse…"I changed all the diapers I needed to." I looked at her and said, "Your son didn't have sex to create these children, you did." Obviously, she didn't like my comment. I was the only constant in the three of their lives, and they looked to me for their needs to be met. If I could, I would adopt all three of them today. They've all three came to me in confidence and asked if I would be their mother, which led to lots and lots of crying on my part.
I have several other friends who are strictly devoted moms who don't need as much time away from their children as some of my other friends do. I have one friend who has a school aged son and a set of twins, and she darn near prayed for the day the preschool came so she could have several hours to herself. Her husband is in the military, so she's often stuck being the only parent. She definitely needs more time away from her three than my sister-in-law needs away from her almost four month old son.
My husband I want children, but I'm afraid I won't be a good mother because I have serious problems with OCD with germaphobia and having a serious need for everything to be clean and in order, and I know that's impossible with children. And my Dad's OCD had serious repercussions on me. I have a feeling I would need LOTS of time away from my children.
What I'm trying to say, if I could just get to the point, is that you shouldn't feel guilty for needing some Lori time. You've been through so much, and you're still able to be a good mom, and that is a miracle in itself. You have no idea how amazing that looks from this side of the blog. I know it's not easy, and I know it's not fair, but you're doing it. If anyone deserves a few hours alone, it's you. And your children are still growing, and it doesn't look like it now, but Chop's world will become more in focus, and there will be a time when the pain starts to give way to good memories of his dad. If I knew when that would happen, I promise, I would tell you, but right now is what it is, right now. And I will be here for you as long as you need me to be. If I lived closer to you, I would come and hug you every single day, and to help you and encourage you when you needed it. Until that day comes, if it ever does, you know where to find me.
- July 15, 2011 at 12:41 pm
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I am right there too, stuck in the dichotomy of "they keep me breathing" and "I cant live with them anymore". Both hurt like hell, both are enormously attractive. What a mindfuck eh?
Thank god you keep choosing the former.
- July 15, 2011 at 12:36 pm
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Listening, understanding, and sending healing energy to your heart and your soul and your son.
- July 15, 2011 at 12:32 pm
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is it possible that your loss made you feel that way..?
have you read the lovely bones, by alice sebold? or maybe, watched it? its a great story. sigh..
its normal to feel that way. you want to leave everything behind, start to live a new life, a new you. i dont judge you. because i think that is simply ideation on your part. surely you wouldnt leave your kids. as much as you want to leave them, you know deep down that you love them and that ought to be enough for you to not leave them. ever. - July 15, 2011 at 12:30 pm
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- July 15, 2011 at 12:19 pm
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hugs
- July 15, 2011 at 12:10 pm
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xxx
- July 15, 2011 at 11:39 am
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I get it Lori, although I haven't gone through anything like you have.
By the sounds of this post you're doing beautifully. So amazing!
- July 15, 2011 at 9:58 am
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It was so brave of you to share this. I hope it's your ability to share that keeps you going and helps you to make the decisions that you know are right for your life. You are truly amazing.
- July 15, 2011 at 9:24 am
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I haven't had children. And,I have never been through anything as awful as you. But, there have still been times I have wanted to disappear.
I think this must be a normal response when things get too hard (if there is any such thing as normal!)
My sister had three kids under the age of four – she said there were times when she understood how easy it would be to hurt your children. When you are just so tired you can't do it anymore.
But, somehow – you do.
Somehow… XXX - July 15, 2011 at 2:31 pm
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You say this you know why? Because you are human. You are mourning. And maybe you do need time to yourself. To do all those things you need to do. You sound like a fantastic mother but you are mourning and as a mother myself who is dealing with a separation I would admit any day that sometimes I don't want to deal with kids, I just want to be selfish and be on FB, or indulging in a drink or even being scandalous. Sometimes we don't have that luxury but you should take time to yourself any chance you get, don't feel guilty about wanting to sleep, or just feel crabby or for needing to get away. Inside you know you love those kids.
- July 15, 2011 at 9:08 am
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Wow… It must be so odd to want to run away from them and hold them close to you at the same time. I can imagine lots of (if not all) single parents feeling the exact same way. HUG!
- July 15, 2011 at 8:42 am
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I really get this.
I was told it is part of our flight or fight response.
Oh god I wanted to fly and my pain was not one tenth of yours.
x
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Noose Therapy – RRSAHM
Noose Therapy
Visiting the trauma psychologist- a new one, not my lovely shrink who’s been with me all this way- is about as much fun as a hole in the head.
Or a noose round the neck, as the case may be.
An hour every week or so, I spend deep inside my head, with a person who’s job it is to challenge my thought processes, to ask the questions other people don’t dare.
To dispense with the social niceties that ignore my guilt, and pierce it head on, and let it bleed all over me, burn me… until it’s all bled out. And I feel better.
I’m healing, you see, and quickly, and this is confirmed by my new shrink (hey Charlie). I think the aim of trauma sessions is to ensure I heal intact. With as few scar as possible. With as little of that bumpy, ugly scar tissue as can be managed.
My first trauma session left me an uncomfortable, weeping mess- with a small pinpoint of light in the clouds. Talking to this shrink, I had realised how much time I spend in a comfortable, sad fog. remembering and reminiscing and blaming myself.
Comfortable. Because to let go out that fog, to deliberately distract my mind form conjuring up an image of a dead man, a ghost walking through our lives every day.. how much that hurts. because that’s letting go.
I still remember, and mourn. But I can’t spend the rest of my life in a fog of regret… I can’t live like that.
And so, we pierced the fog. And I try to think more of the future, and less of the past. to exist more in the present. Fingertips tapping on keys, music and incense wafting through my windows.
These are good. And these are real, not memories, not figments of my imagination supported my relics of my past.
And now, we come to the next glut of bumpy scar tissue, the next spot where I’m not healing quite as right as I could be…
A noose. An orange noose. And I type that, I grit my teeth together.
There’s a tactic in trauma psych called ‘exposure’. When you identify something that you’re avoiding- avoidance being a key factor in PTSD- and then you practice not avoiding it. You focus on it, you expose yourself to it.
Remember losing a tooth, as a child? And sticking your tongue in that soft, raw spot of flesh that tasted of copper blood, and feeling the pain of it, that felt strangely good, tracing that fine line between pleasure and hurt. And eventually, if you touch it enough… it hurts less every time. Until the nerves dies completely.
Welcome to my missing tooth.
When I loop back that ugly movie in my mind, as I do, over and over…. I miss the part where tony stretches out the noose, stretches out that orange rope with both hands, and leans his head forward to slip it through it. Because while I remember it, my mind likes to tell me that I’m probably remembering it wrong, so I shouldn’t bother…
I don’t think I am. I think it’s just so much easier for my mind not to think about that. Because,hello, reality. A chair, a rope, a noose… all that is bad enough. but to see someone actually put their head through that noose… that’s reality. That’s no bullshit.
That’s the end of the purple world.
So…. the next few days, excuse me while I return to my fog. But this one will be orange, i think, and filled with images I don’t wish on anyone.
Pressing on the nerve, until it dies.
Fuck. How much fun is my head?
***
It’s probably interesting to note here that it took me three tries to write that horrible, descriptive paragraph. Every time I started, my brain would suddenly remember something desperately important that needed to be done online. At least I caught myself at it. they tell me this is called ‘mindfulness’.
Another one of those strange mind deviations- I almost put- still may, in fact- a disclaimer at the beginning of this post warning it was potentially traumatic and triggering. Is it any more triggering than anything else I write, or is it just that my head finds it so much more confronting?
The mind is a funny monkey.
Leave a Comment
{ 43 comments… read them below or add one }
- June 3, 2011 at 1:18 pm
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Hugs
- June 3, 2011 at 8:17 pm
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It's hard. Once I forced myself to start wearing stockings again, it was uphill from there though. It gets easier, but it never goes away – I've learned that turns out to be a good thing.
(Sorry I have been AWOL, I haven't forgotten you <3)
- June 2, 2011 at 2:55 pm
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You are an amazing woman and the kids will learn and grow with you. From a Bay far away I send you strength to help you pass the noose problem.
Can I ask you to hold a good thought for my dying brother? He’s just turned 48 and is coming off the vent to let nature do its thing.
- June 2, 2011 at 2:39 pm
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The author Mary Karr (Liar's Club & Cherry) said that her mind was like a bad neighborhood that she doesn't want to visit.
I often try to divert away from my bad neighborhood until I realize a visit is necessary to get to the beautiful view on the other side.
Still terrifying though.
- June 2, 2011 at 2:12 pm
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Sometimes the hardest stuff is the most helpful. Which sucks. Wishing you all the healing in the world
- June 2, 2011 at 1:30 pm
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My sore teeth is the hospital where my daughter was born and spent most of her five and a half months. I hated that place…
With my subsequent pregnancy I was forced to go back their however and although the first time was really hard… excruciatingly so… it is a lot easier to go there or even drive past it now.
If I had that noose, I would burn it.
xx
- June 2, 2011 at 9:54 am
- June 2, 2011 at 9:45 am
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Definitely agree – 100% – about staying present. Yep, the fingers moving on the keyboard, the sound of typing, the warmth of the coffee (or tea, if you're like me) making its way down your body…
Thank you
- June 2, 2011 at 2:56 am
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Fogs have a purpose. They really do.
I'm glad you're learning to live without it, and I'm also glad you have a trained professional to help you with it.
xo
- June 2, 2011 at 2:39 am
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The shower. I avoided the shower like it would eat me alive if I stepped into it. The problem with that was not only was I avoiding healing, it's socially unacceptable to walk around unwashed.
I take three times my normal dose of anti-anxiety meds when I have my period.
I should really write this shit on my own blog, but somehow it feels safer here in your comments, where I can ignore it a little longer, but tell myself I'm facing it.
You're a brave woman. I know you don't want to have to be brave, but you are. And I love you for it.
- June 2, 2011 at 1:27 am
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Wow.
You rock.
Hugs. - June 2, 2011 at 1:09 am
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I pretty much just want to give a big HELL YES to Leithal's words.
You'll get there…however long it takes.
Emma.
- June 2, 2011 at 1:07 am
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This comment has been removed by the author.
- June 1, 2011 at 11:39 pm
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I can't even fathom what you are going through. But know that you are doing everything that you physically and emotionally can do right now. And right now? You are strong. Know that.
- June 1, 2011 at 11:27 pm
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You are completely fucking amazing.
- June 1, 2011 at 10:23 pm
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Mindfulness is a powerful tool. Mastering it is a journey in itself… but each journey starts with just a few steps and you've already done that.
Watching you grow and transform is a privilege, thanks for letting us all in.
- June 1, 2011 at 9:37 pm
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Fuck this!
- June 1, 2011 at 9:13 pm
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God. I am afraid you have some hard work ahead of you. I hope you can feel the love and support that we're all sending your way. Hang in there, you can do it.
- June 1, 2011 at 8:34 pm
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Nothing to say except I wish with all my heart this had never happened to you. Lx
- June 1, 2011 at 7:50 pm
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Keep moving on. It's great to have that external validation from a qualified person that you are doing well. You should grab on to that.
You really are an ad for blogging as therapy.
Hug your beautiful kids and keep moving on.
Sx
- June 1, 2011 at 6:46 pm
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i think this might be the beginning of your journey on the way back from hell. i have no doubt that you will reach your destination, no matter how painful this new journey may be.
xx - June 1, 2011 at 5:48 pm
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I haven't been through the trauma that you have but I am suffering from PTSD, from a bad car accident last year.
I have flash backs, avoid certain things or people and get angry at the kid who hit me.
I'd been thinking about it for a while but last week I wrote a letter to the kid (obiviously I didn't send it), but it was therapeutic. I'd avoided writing it but when I did it ended up 6 pages.
My psychologist actually told me to write every few months, to get those deep seeded feelings out.
I know its nothing like what happened to you Lori, but PTSD does suck and writing does help, identifying those memories and trying to store them away, to try and move on with your new normal, no matter how sucky that might seem
- June 1, 2011 at 5:25 pm
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You writing it down will help, like you have been.
Both my cousins, their father's were brothers, those of my mother, both hung themselves within two weeks of each other. Both were in their 30s. Even though I live half a world away and this was now 2 years ago, I still feel for those they left behind and always will. My mother still cries for her nephews. The pain might disappear but the thoughts may never not.
My thoughts are with you Lori. They truly are.
- June 1, 2011 at 4:48 pm
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Your shrink sounds like he knows his business and I'm glad you have him to help you through this very necessary step.
- June 1, 2011 at 4:34 pm
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You are still kicking some serious ass (for a tiny chick, as you say!). And a day still does not go by where I dont think of you and feel for you. Cold comfort I guess, but I seriously do think you are such a brave and beautiful soul who is working so hard to survive such a terrible tragedy. And each day is a step closer, well done xx
- June 1, 2011 at 3:02 pm
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It may have taken you three tries to write it, but you wrote it and now its done.
One big step in the healing process.
Love to you, Lori x - June 1, 2011 at 3:00 pm
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I'm so glad that you're getting 'healed'. But far out. It's a horrible process.
Thinking of you always. xx
- June 1, 2011 at 2:46 pm
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Despite not being a huggy person I really want to give you hugs.
I have a few things that have set me off. But they have lessened over time. Maybe becuase I have talked about them. Maybe because….hell I don't know.
Good on you for working on this stuff. You will be stronger for it, hell you are strong for just talking and writing about it.
No matter what you think, there are a bunch of people out here in blogland in awe of you!
- June 1, 2011 at 2:20 pm
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I guess I have a problem with green garbage bags, garden hoses and red gas canisters.
I haven't had therapy so maybe the association just wears off over time. I can put the swept up leaves in a garbage bag, hose the back courtyard and then have a BBQ without thinking about it too much anymore.
There is another theory that claims that thinking about something too much creates a neural pathway that only shrinks by NOT thinking about it.
There is also an NLP trick that is about unhooking the emotion from the image.
Fuck, who really knows if any of it works or doesn't work or if the success just comes from realising you are more than your thoughts — as you said, mindfulness.
You'll get there, the meltdowns became further and further apart as time goes on.
Love you.
Katie x - June 1, 2011 at 2:16 pm
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I feel like I should write something but I don't know what I can possibly say that won't sound condescending or like I have any idea of what you are going through. So I'll do what I do whenever words fail me, and pray.
- June 1, 2011 at 1:37 pm
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I guess it is just all part of the healing.
Hang in there. - June 1, 2011 at 1:22 pm
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Oh Lori. I feel so much for you. Our sore teeth is a road to a beach town where we lost Tarnia. I am so glad she strapped the boys and baby twins in properly, however, the two boys and I still grit our teeth 11 years later when ever we travel there, desperate not to look and see where we lost her. Now the road is so much better, after three or more families have lost loved ones along it. But that does not ease the loss. And now I hate Taragos with a passion.
- June 1, 2011 at 12:39 pm
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Your amazing Lori,you have been through hell already and you survived it. And you can do this too, the next step and the hardest part, but you will survive and you will heal.
xx - June 1, 2011 at 12:31 pm
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You can do this. I know it's hard and it's unfair that you should have to, but you made a start. You wrote that paragraph. Hammer the shit out of that nerve until it dies. The memory of Tony will not die with it. Just some of the pain hopefully.
- June 1, 2011 at 12:17 pm
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I don't know how you'll get through this part. I know you need to, I know that there's no going forward without it. But God. I don't know you, I never met Tony, and I can't see the *colour* orange without thinking about it. Seriously.
You're one brave chick, I'll give you that Lori. I'm glad you've got good specialists to help you find your way through this bit.
And, again. Every one of us here with you, ready to hold your virtual hand on the way.
xxxx
- June 1, 2011 at 10:08 pm
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Can I just say that I am so unbelievably proud of you? I really am – you're doing everything you need to do in order to get yourself better even though it's… fuck, worse than Hell! I know you're doing it because you "have no other choice," but honestly? I'm still proud of you. Just keep at it.
And yes, the mind is a very funny (and I use that term loosely) monkey!
HUG!!!
- June 1, 2011 at 8:55 pm
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Out of everything that I have ever tried for PTSD, Mindfulness was the one thing that really worked. It's a daily practice but it is so worth it.
I can't begin to imagine how you have gotten through this so far. You must be an amazing woman to pick yourself up and keep going.
- June 1, 2011 at 6:47 pm
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^^^what Toni said (way above). She's got a wonderful way with words that woman. Concise, caring, yet straight to the point.
I'm not sure I have anything else constructive to add.
I'm speechless for you.
Can only offer hugs, and wish you good things. My god, you deserve them. I know you do.
xx
- June 1, 2011 at 6:43 pm
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Writing.
Healing.
Thinking.
Sleeping.
Talking.
Walking.
More help from the professionals.
Even more help is coming from within.
You are OK.
You are warm. Can cuddle those tiny ones. You are so determined to 'get on with after' even tho' the 'before' sits very brightly coloured purple and orange before you.
Tough girl. Love your courage. D XXX - June 1, 2011 at 2:53 pm
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So, here I sit with tears rolling down my face, yet again . Midnfulness is about being in the present moment and being present in the moment. Yep, I've done time with cognitive behaviour therapy (CBT). I think that's wot you're learning about with [Charlie]. At some stage, you going to have to learn to at least 'sit with' purple, & hold onto 'orange' without seeing rope, especially when you look at a rainbow. You'll be singing the rainbow song to Bump & Chop & you will be able to sing all the colours without pain or hurt or memories. My son (Charlie – must be something good about ppl with that name; Charlie Chaplin, Charlie Brown) did a school play about shrinks & their patients. Turns out you can 'revisit' you just can't 'rewind'. Ah well if we could all rewind, how many things in our lives would be different. So, kiddo, (oui,cest moi…) you have the strength to rewind and deal with it & you will grow with your babies & you will find a place of peace once more. (xx)
- June 1, 2011 at 1:27 pm
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Just leaving you some love, Lori! You are so brave & so strong, really really really. I admire you.
xx - June 1, 2011 at 12:23 pm
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This may be one of the hardest parts in all of this.
Just know that you are not alone. Someone has done this before, and come out the other end ok! x - June 1, 2011 at 12:20 pm
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My God.
Trying so hard to think of something sensible to say and all I can come up with is MY. GOD.
Thank God you have somewhere safe (if uncomfortable) to talk about that stuff, Lori.
Cos, Jeez, that would be a conversation killer at the dinner table.I'm so so proud of you for tackling this. MUCH more comfy to not face it, MUCH easier to hide in the fog.
Your courage astounds me. And it IS courage. You choose to heal. That's brave.
Previous post: The Fetal Position
Next post: A Very Long Memory
You Wanna Know About Me? – RRSAHM
You Wanna Know About Me?
Really?
OK then… brace yourself. And remember; you asked for it.
My name is Lori.
I’m thirty one years old, and I live a little way out of Sydney, Australia I’ve just recently moved to live in Melbourne, Australia. I always thought I was common-or-garden variety normal… I’m sure that, for a while there, I was. My life has been good fun. I studied to be a social worker, and that didn’t work out; so I ran away to be a clown, and that did work out. At twenty five years old, I met the man I would marry.
His name was Tony, and in the space of five years we managed to squeeze in a lot. We bought a house, moved in to it, became engaged, got married, and had two gorgeous kids in very quick succession.
This blog begun in The Purple House, in the time of the Purple Before, when God was in his heaven and all was right with the world.
On the 6th of January, 2011, everything changed… and nothing has quite been right since.
Things unfolded in a way I still don’t completely understand, and my husband suffered a sudden and violent psychosis that resulted in him taking his own life, in our Purple backyard, while my youngest child and I watched on.
…
Don’t worry… I never really know what to say after that, either. I guess if you want to know more, the RRSAHM Mental Health page is the best place to start.
My name is Lori. I still write this blog. I’m still a mum to two beautiful kids– the Chop is all boy and all energy at five years old, the Bump is sugar and spice and a princess at four.
We lived in the TinyTrainHouse, in the TinyTrainTown, for a while, and we spent a lot do time in our heaven scented backyard. There’s always been lots of love here… and we started to laugh a bit, too.
Not too long ago, I met The Most Amazing Man In The Universe and he’s… well… pretty damn amazing. He’s taken on all three of us, with all our lumps and bumps and faults. These days, we live in The New House, in Melbourne’s inner suburbs, and we’re currently working on making this blended family a pleasant, messy reality.
In case you’re wondering (I know I would be) the About Me page I wrote long ago, way back in the crystal Before, is archived here.
I still prefer pasta to steak, and cake to chocolate. I’d still choose Billy (Connelly) over Jerry (Seinfeld) and I’ve come to the conclusion that Russell (Brand) is a douche. I like flowers, I like to sleep, I accidentally take good photos occasionally. I listen to a lot of music, I hate bullies, I live on sugar, and I don’t watch TV. I’m a chicken hugging hippy with some serious nanna tendencies who speaks semi–fluent geek.
I am a black widow spider, an urban explorer, a story teller, an accidental advocate for mental health.
People like to tell me I am little, but fierce… I got it tattooed on my leg as a reminder.
And this place? This is my salvation. I talk a lot about things other people don’t, and sometimes that makes people uncomfortable. This blog can be a strange place. It’s about life and death and children and nappies and diaphragms and vibrators and grief and loneliness and loss and love and suicide and survival.
It’s about all those things and more.
It’s about the things that make us real.
And, of course, it’s about the jellybeans– if nothing else, it’s all about the jellybeans.
So… come on in. Grab a cuppa, maybe some tissues. This is my life, and it’s a strange place to be, too. But I’m told it makes for interesting reading, and you’re welcome to partake, if you wish…. but don’t say I didn’t warn you.
When your entire world starts shifting beneath your feet, you reach for the only solid object you can see. Like it, or hate it… this blog is my truth.
And I write what I like.
***
I’m available as a freelance writer– you can check out stuff I’ve written at Mumbrella and MamaMia; and I’m an experienced speaker and panelist on the topics of blogging and social media, and health and happiness.
Feel free to drop me an email for more details.
***
If you happen to be looking for a blurb and high res pics, allow me to make life easier for you. High-res headshots are here and here. Blurb is as follows… (you’re more than welcome, by the way).
“Lori Dwyer is a thirty–ish widowed mum of two young kids. A former clown and relapsed sugar addict with an overgrown fairy garden, she considers herself an urban hippy born a few decades too late and believes jellybeans solve most problems.
Leave a Comment
{ 57 comments… read them below or add one }
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January 2, 2014 at 1:00 pm -
Hey Lori,
Just started my site today and need some ideas, can you help me???
Regrads
Somebode-little -
December 27, 2013 at 9:08 am -
Hey there Lori,
I was just reading through a magazine yesterday when I saw your story, it was truly inspirational. I also feel your pain as it is not easy to take in the fact that half of my family have moved to the states. But anyways, I’m 12 years old and am not to bad at horse riding but if you could reply to me that would be great
Regards,
Somebode-little -
October 19, 2013 at 3:29 am -
Don’t know why my last comment got cut off…
I’m glad you’ve updated your “about me” page. It really sums up your journey and I’m so happy for you to see the sunny/happy reappearing for you.
Marianne recently posted…Best. Christmas. Gift. Ever
- October 19, 2013 at 3:22 am
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I love that you’ve updated your “about me” page.
Marianne recently posted…Best. Christmas. Gift. Ever -
July 2, 2013 at 4:48 pm -
June 26, 2013 at 1:58 pm -
I was researching ideas about a “unity” sand sculpture for a non-profit children’s charity summer camp for autistic children. Your image of the “unity family” on your blog page is a great inspiration for the design. I can send you a pic when it’s complete. I’ll be working on the design this week and complete the sculpture on July 9th.
Thanks for the inspiration. -
May 14, 2013 at 3:55 pm -
Hi Lori,
I have been reading your blog and it is very touching.
I wanted to also see how old your child is now? If not older than 36 months then I would love to send you some information about a great new product we are looking after the PR for.
Regards,
Georgie- May 15, 2013 at 4:41 pm
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Hi Georgie,
Thanks for reading, and for your comment. Sadly, my youngest is 3 and a half- just a little past what you’re looking for!
Cheers,
Lori x
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May 1, 2013 at 10:51 pm -
It’s appropriate time to make some plans for the future and it’s time to be
happy. I have read this post and if I could I want to suggest you some interesting
things or suggestions. Maybe you can write next articles referring to this article.
I desire to read more things about it!
jennifer recently posted…jennifer - September 10, 2012 at 2:06 am
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Just want to tell you I admire your strength, your wit, and your courage. I have struggled with Depression and Anxiety since I was 15 I am now 28 with a beautiful 2 year old little boy. Only YOU can understand your pain because only YOU have lived it but just know that you are admired beautiful creative courageous FIERCE and that though you have already lived thru such tragedy that most cant begin to comprehend that "Every little thing is gonna be alright"
- August 27, 2012 at 12:24 pm
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Australia has odd relationship with suicide. We like to believe we are strong, but strength isn't about dodging issues. Suicide needs good discussion in schools and generally. Mental health is a big issue, but needs more understanding.
I hope we learn from the horrors and tragedy of those poor folk who suffer from mental illness. We need to be strong, but in a real way. Our fragile strength isn't good enough when life becomes overwhelming from illness and sorrow.
All the best to those seeking to understand,
seeking peace and working through their pain. - March 21, 2012 at 8:26 am
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Haven't checked in for a while. I just wanted to let you know that I am glad you are still blogging, healing and finding joy where you can.
Blessings to you and yours,
R – from America - November 1, 2011 at 10:48 pm
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Hey, have had my own slice of hell – a variant to yours but just as unpalatable. Fortunately I am in the 'new normality'. Just wanted to say I do think you are brave to bear all on your blog. Somethings are very raw and those bits of me I saved for the 'in my head blog'. People still tell me I am brave etc but when you have a couple of little kids staring at you, you don't get a lot of choice but to be brave. I don't know where the inner resources come from that help you to cope but I am sure as hell glad they are in there somewhere. Solidarity Sister!
- September 13, 2011 at 2:07 pm
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I too have had this most terrible and isolating experience. I was 28years old when my 32 year old husband committed suicide leaving me and our two children, son 4 years old and daughter 2 years old. I still remember the Police knocking on the door to tell me that my husband's body had been found at the bottom of a cliff. I felt like a rug had been pulled out from under me and that I had fallen into a black hole that I was to remain in for quite some time. The hardest thing in the world was to tell my two children that their father was gone and was not coming back. Organising the funeral was a surreal experience – I was too young to be a widow and it all just seemed to be so wrong. So called experts recommend that you see the body to say goodbye as it helps with the grieving process. I looked at this person who was once my husband and said goodbye. This was 16 years ago and I still have nightmares about it. The funeral didn't seem real either. The kids were running around, not really knowing what was going on. After the funeral, I felt so alone even though I was surrounded by friends and family. In the weeks that followed some people could not do enough for you, others avoided you at all costs. It was those who avoided me that hurt the most. I stayed at my parents' house for a couple of months as I could not face going to what used to be our family home. Eventually I went home and had to sort out my husband's things. I kept the things that would best describe him to the children that would never know him. I then had to sort out all the legalities of loans etc. When the cause of death is suicide, some wanted to know why he did it. I guess that is when I would tell people he died in a car accident – not that I was ashamed but because people would not question it and seek answers that you could not give. I would try to hide my grief as best I could from my children and found the shower was a great place to break down and cry without upsetting my children. My children were my strength but I needed time out just to re-discover myself as a single person again. Two years after the tragedy I went on a world trip for 2 months without my children. I was criticised as a bad mother for leaving them but it did much for my bruised and battered soul and I returned a better parent and person. Looking back I would say that it took a good 5 years to be comfortable with myself and my situation. You never forget but you learn to live with it. Each year would bring milestones with the children that their father was missing. Although my children were too young at the time their father died, they have grieved at different times and in different ways. My son had some memories of his father and grieved at the time. My son continued to miss his father terribly until he was about 10 years old but then seemed to accept it and coped ok until he went through puberty. He went to spend a few weeks with his father's parents and it did him the world of good. My daughter had no memories of her father and seemed to cope ok until she was about 8 years old when she asked to see her father's grave. My daughter went through a grieving process when she was going through puberty. It saddened her that she had no memories of her father. I have always talked about their father to try to give them some memories. I did not tell them that their father had died by suicide until they were in their late teens as I felt that they would be better equipped to understand it then. They have never felt anger towards their father, just sadness and loss for both themselves and me. For me, I eventually found my independence and made new personal goals which I achieved on my own. I have been lucky enough to find love again and have remarried, living a very different life now. But you never forget it, you learn to live with it and life does become enjoyable again. Life becomes more about adding and less about subtracting. This is my ramblings about surviving suicide.
- September 7, 2011 at 4:09 pm
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I just wanted to say thank you for sharing your journey. I'm back where you were in January. I have a one year old and a broken heart. I found my partner just over a week ago, he had taken his own life after an argument about mowing the lawn. It feels horrible to summise in such brutal terms. It helps hearing that people know how this feels even though I'd never wish it on anyone…it helps knowing others have survived the grief.
- September 7, 2011 at 10:59 am
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Stumbled across your blog and think its great that you write what you feel from your heart. Pain and suffering can blanket us for sometime but having two wonderful children must bring sunshine to your life and give you meaning to keep going day to day. All i can say is try hard to let the sun shine in and keep those dark clouds out. Time is on your side….much luv xxx
- September 5, 2011 at 10:54 pm
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I feel your pain, stay strong and you'll get thru this.
I find it's my kids that keep me going. - September 5, 2011 at 1:31 pm
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Lori,
My name is HitNMiss, and I am a 47 year old male. I tried to kill myself twice, both about 3 years ago, but thanks to a security guard on a bridge and a chance passerby, I ams till here. I have two fantastic teenage kids and a wife who went through hell and I have to say I am glad to still be here. Your story echo'ed with me and made me cry. I wish you hadn't gone through all this, and I wish your husband hadn't put you through it. I also wish he'd had someone to listen to his pain, and sadly our spouses cannot. It just doesn't work that way, our spouses are too close, and see us too clearly to see our "darkness". Walk On!
- August 29, 2011 at 7:20 am
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I found your blog searching for SAHM's thinking the same as me…I was shocked to read your story. The strength you show by sharing your life is amazing. I join the others with a hug, thoughts and the hope that one moment of clarity will spread to a day, a month and eventually to good times again. Love to you and you little ones xx
- August 24, 2011 at 10:30 pm
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I've only just come across your blog. It is so inspiring. You are such a strong person.
- August 23, 2011 at 12:17 pm
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Hi Lori,
Another new comer to your blog – I came across it while writing an article for web media about the best blogs in Australia (yours won the Lifesrtle/Personal category in the Sydney Writer's Centre comp – congratulations!)
I have children the same age as yours – I am amazed that you have the energy and motivation to post, especially since you loast your husband.
What can a stranger say except that you appear to be an incredible human being. I hope life from here is kind to you. I think your children are blessed to ahve such a witty and obviously strong mother.
Take care and if you can, keep the great writing coming!
- July 18, 2011 at 9:49 pm
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Your strength is inspiring, and your writing is gorgeous. Your kids are lucky to have you.
- July 15, 2011 at 12:58 pm
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I'm just reading through your heartbreaking posts.
Your strength and honesty is inspirational, Lori. Keep speaking your truth x
- July 7, 2011 at 6:19 pm
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i saw your link at sandra of http://www.absolutelynarcissism.com/
indeed, your blog is awesome. i just finished reading this section and it made me smile, and sad, and also cracked me up.
your new follower.(;
- July 7, 2011 at 1:23 pm
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Lori, as of this writing, I am your newest follower. Your story struck me. Will link you up so that I could visit your site through mine whenever I want. Blessings to you and your kids. xo, Pearl
- June 8, 2011 at 5:28 am
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What an inspirational lady you are. Would love to meet you. Your husband would be so proud if he could see how you are getting your life back together slowly.
With love and best wishes to you and your children. - May 4, 2011 at 11:44 pm
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OMG – you must be awesome. To have gone through what you have, there are no other words. Well done you. Through tragedy, you find words. I'm glad I have found you. =)
- May 4, 2011 at 7:14 pm
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I think you have written your story very well, Lori. x
- April 15, 2011 at 6:06 pm
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Oh my gosh I'm so sorry to hear of your loss. I only just stumbled across your blog today from a link on another blog I stumbled across and yet my heart is aching for you and your beautiful kids. I'm so glad you are still blogging. I haven't read your recent stuff yet but I look forward to when I get time.
- April 11, 2011 at 12:49 am
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I'd just written a long, meandering comment here, but Blogger threw a shit-attack and lost it. Probably a good thing, since I ramble too much. Anyway, Lori, I just wanted to say that, platitudinous as it sounds, your posts since your husband's death reflect are remarkable in their candour and courage, and have reduced me to tears. In reverse, the posts from Before have made me smile and laugh
I can't imagine your pain. Again, it's trite, but you and your children are very much in my thoughts, and I hope that somehow you'll find some peace sooner rather than later. I hope Tony is at peace too.
I'm really glad to have found your blog – but I'm so, so sorry for the circumstances that led me here. However, your strength and your message of speaking out if in mental distress are inspiring. Thank you for sharing all that you have.
Take care, and sending you very best wishes
Pandora xxx
- February 26, 2011 at 7:03 am
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So brave, as always, superstar Lori. Can imagine things like this which appear simple, would be heartbreakingly hard to do. I commend you, as always for you unbelievable determination and strength x
- February 25, 2011 at 11:39 pm
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well done xxx
- February 20, 2011 at 10:22 pm
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I know its inadequate, but I'm so sorry for your loss. You are one awesome human being, don't ever doubt it. No matter what anyone says, you are frickin awesome and deserve your life of happiness back. What happened was not your fault. A big NOT and anyone who says otherwise has issues that are their own, not yours. No one s perfect, you are allowed to make mistakes and still be awesome. Love your blog Lori. You are a talented writer. Major talent. And you love your kids and they love you. The negative people are NOT right to attack you. Hold on to yourself. You will find your way again, it just takes time. It will never be the same of course. The hurt will always be there, but you can find your way again. Sending you love. You do deserve love and support. xx
- February 13, 2011 at 12:22 am
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So many people take things in life for granted and after reading what you have recently been through I am not going to do that anymore.
Thank you for sharing your feelings here. Thank you for being honest and down to earth in your words.
I pray and hope in time your pain will ease and you will find some comfort and happiness once again.
- February 10, 2011 at 8:04 am
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i just got to your blog 10 mins ago & i type thru tears for you & your kidlets..when you send your thoughts out into the cyber void please know that they are powerful & important,& i for one am in your corner quietly pushing you forward step by step,day by day! thank you for sharing… j9mrox@hotmail.com
- January 29, 2011 at 11:47 am
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Lori,
I knew you as a teenager. You are my daughter's dear, dear friend. I knew then that you are a very special person. You have just gotten better. I wipe a tear from my eye as I type. That this should happen to you is wrong. So wrong. You will feel the sun on your face again.There is a huge network of us out here loving you even if some of us have never had the luck to actually meet you. If you fall we will catch you. It is OK to cry because you will laugh again. If you let us help you then that will ease our pain.
Big motherly hug from Una
- January 29, 2011 at 4:29 am
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It's amazing the way messages can be impressed upon you.
Today, after a craptastic week, I logged on to her to catch up, to laugh and to feel a little bit better. She sent me here.
Your words are deep and profound and I am amazed that you can hold your head up and stand against the thoughts and emotions that I can tell are weighing you down. I find your strength and desire to persevere not only admirable but it's an inspiration as well.
I'm so sorry for your loss, but your voice and most importantly your message, the message to speak, it's being heard.
- January 27, 2011 at 9:34 pm
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My heart is breaking thinking about the trauma you have gone through recently. I only hope that with your gorgeous kids and obviously supportive group of friends you have, that one day you can wake up and life is just that little more bareable! HUGS to you!
- January 27, 2011 at 9:42 am
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Oh my heart is broken for you. You are in my thoughts and prayers.
Julieanne. - January 27, 2011 at 8:36 am
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Also found my way here today via someone else's words. Of course, there are no words that are not too small, too trite, too hollow-sounding. So consider this me reaching through my computer screen, and taking both of your hands in both of mine, and simply breathing for a long moment. Like so many other strangers out here in the ether, I would embrace you if I could.
- January 27, 2011 at 1:51 am
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I watched my sister survive this very same situation that you are now facing. She was left with her 2 year old son after her fiance took his life. The pain you are in is shocking and real and I am so sorry that you too have to find a way to make it through each day. Please know that this one irrational act was just one uncontrolled moment and was never intended to cause you the pain you are in. Your children will be the reason you get up each day to face it all again, and one day although it seems like forever away, there will be more peace and less pain in your life. I am truly sorry for your loss.
- January 27, 2011 at 12:25 pm
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I found this blog from a link on fb. I wish I had found it a lot sooner. Absolutely love it. So funny, so normal, so … great. As many have said before me, I'm a stranger (with an awesome name though) but I want to send my most deepest sympathies and lots and lots of healing energy to you at this, the most difficult time in anyone's life. I'm sure many tears have flowed from behind computer screens for you and your loss – mine will add to them.
Lots of love to you xxx - January 26, 2011 at 9:59 pm
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Hi, I found your blog thru a forum. Just wanted to let you know that I am thinking of you and your little ones.
- January 26, 2011 at 10:38 am
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I know there isn't anything a stranger on the net could possibly say to make you feel better, but if it helps any, I'm terribly, horribly sorry for your loss, and my thoughts and prayers are with you and your little ones.
-Dawn
- January 26, 2011 at 10:37 am
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This comment has been removed by the author.
- January 26, 2011 at 9:35 am
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Found your blog via another and I have no other words than…HUGS
- January 26, 2011 at 5:16 am
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Just talk ? Not so easy when no one around is listening, is it ? Hope you and your children will get over this. Just wait and see, the sun is still here, birds and seas too. They are just hidden behind cloud. Believe me it took me 10 years to find them back. But they are still there. Somewhere. Not sure I found enought words in your language to ease off your sorrow. Can't pray for you, but you are all in my thoughts, if this can help. Still there to listen if needed, above all when everybody else will be asleep…
ALAKO5 on tweeter
- January 26, 2011 at 3:52 pm
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Sorry just doesnt cut it. But ive learned to hug my guy a lttle closer, appreciate the small things, and ask a lot of questions because of eveything youve been through. Youre helping me, and i hope, in that way, you also help yourself.
It fucking sucks. And will fucking suck for quite a while. Very few understand, but theres a helluva lot out there that care. count me as one of them and ive known you for all of three hours.
*hugs* if you ever need a stranger to talk to….
- January 25, 2011 at 5:18 pm
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I found your blog through a Facebook page, who put up a link for your blog whilst your Man was on lifesupport. I really wish all of our prayers had created a miracle for you, I hope you can feel the love everyone is sending. Your blog has helped me to get help for my hubby – before it was too late. So thank you xxx
- January 25, 2011 at 2:24 pm
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*hug*
- January 25, 2011 at 12:53 pm
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Hi Lori, What a fucking nightmare. OMG, what words to say?. I've just followed a link from somebodys blog I read every now and then. I can't begin to know the heartache and pain you have-and I hope I never have to. I hope you can get through this.
You sound like an amazing person. Keep on taking one step at a time. I wish you strength. I really do. - January 25, 2011 at 12:47 pm
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It's so hard to know what to say. You don't know me, but I'm holding you and yours in my heart.
- January 25, 2011 at 12:32 pm
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this, for me, is the calm for my brain when i just can't find it anywhere else. put on headphones, turn it all the way up. i wish you peace and a strong rudder to get you where you need to go. <3
- January 25, 2011 at 8:21 am
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I recently came upon your blog and I just wanted to let you know that I have been in a similar (although less heartwrenching) situation and I and sending you love and support. Seriously. I wish like hell that I could hug you.
- January 25, 2011 at 7:46 am
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There are no words to heal this horror for you, so I will just send a wave of love to you and your kids and maybe day by day the door that slammed on you will open just a little and you'll be able to feel some of the love shining on your skin and slowly it will reach deeper and maybe one day your heart will thaw and you will find peace. Blessings upon you all.
- January 18, 2011 at 11:19 am
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So sorry to hear of your loss from a blog I follow.I don't know you but I send you a big hug and say you just have to stay in there for the kids Lol Angela
- December 10, 2010 at 11:35 pm
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You are feckin hilarious I love your blog!
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Random Ramblings of a SAHM: F*ck.
tactless idiots
tactless idiots
There’s been a thread of holier-than-thou judgement of my parenting in a few comments left of late.
It’s made me afraid of using my own space in the way that I find most therapeutic– spilling all my secrets into the digital Neverland. I don’t like being afraid. These are comments that pick and pluck at the spot where I am weakest– my own parenting skills, and the way I navigate life with two little people. The possible damage I may be inflicting on my children.
I think it’s the soft spot of all parents. We’re all hyper-aware of the responsibility of raising little people. We know we will be judged. From the moment we reveal we’re carrying a baby, until long after we’ve passed away. Forty years from now, should our child break all social codes and do something terrible; one of the first places people will look for answers will be with us. Where did we fail? In what facet of parental responsibility where we so inept that it can explain what went wrong with our children?
And we are judged on the tiniest, most inconsequential endeavours. It seems so socially acceptable to comment on the parenting of other people and the probable fate of their children; and to do so with such casual study of their situation. There’s a self-justifying benevolence in the social sport of picking apart another mum because she works, or doesn’t; or smacks, or doesn’t; on whether her children are well-behaved and polite, or not. The behaviour of children is seen as an obvious manifestation of their parents child rearing skills, or lack of them. And we seem to encourage ‘keyhole judgements’– taking a tiny slice of a story and attributing it as the rule, when it just may be the exception.
I think, perhaps, that’s one of the elements that digs at me so much, in regard to comments left here lately. The arrogance of assumption of people feeling that because they’ve read my blog, they then have the right or the obligation to comment on my parenting; on the lives of myself, my mum, and my children.
You only know what I tell you here. Judging me on what I choose to share with you is the online equivalent of judging a parent at a local playground after watching them interact with their child for two minutes. It doesn’t give you enough information to make calls like you do, to look down on someone else because they’re not doing it the way you consider to be ‘right’.
I share a lot of my life on these web pages. I write without thinking much about how I’ll be perceived. I tell stories about my children and myself. That leaves me inherently open to judgement… that’s okay. It’s part of the give and take of blogging. People have every right to voice their opinion, particularly when there’s a comment section inviting that very thing.
But this isn’t so much about me, or my ‘emotional state’. This is about the bullsh*t judgements people feel they have a right to make, when you never know enough about a another’s person life to make that call. Whether you’re their best friend or they’re someone you see for thirty seconds in the local supermarket, or because you’ve read what they’ve chosen to share with you.
It’s about how we make parenting, mothering in particular, into some righteous, beautified social test. It’s about the way a mother and her actions are considered wholly objectified public property. It’s about the way women are expected to ‘embrace mothering’ and your children are supposed to be your ‘whole world’. The way mothers are crucified and shamed if they don’t hold up to other people’s ideals of what a ‘good mother’ should be.
It’s about the way we’re not allowed to say what sometimes might be the truth. That you can love your kids desperately, think they are the most awesome little people… and still not like being a mum very much at all.
My kids aren’t a burden. As I’ve said– they are awesome little people, and I’m honoured to be able to spend the bulk of my time with them. But changing dirty nappies, making school lunches, being yelled at, moderating temper tantrums, listening to whinging, and all the other stuff that comes with small children? That’s a burden. I’m not fond of it. Not at all. I don’t have to be.
Don’t get me wrong, there are some bits of parenting that I thoroughly enjoy. Deep conversations and answering questions. Showing my kids new things, taking them places. Watching their face light up with new concepts my new knowledge. I love playing video games or curling up on the lounge watching movies with my son. I love playing with my daughter’s doll-house (sometimes I even let her help) and painting her fingernails. I like doing the fun stuff. But I find the hard stuff really difficult. And there’s nothing wrong with saying that.
I became a mother, not a martyr. Giving birth didn’t provide me with some selfless gene that made me suddenly enjoy being every aspect of raising kids. I’m inherently selfish. Most people are; we just find ways to temper that against the realities of life and the needs of the people we love.
My children are the most important people in my life. They always have been and probably always will be. But I allow myself to have a life, and a personality, outside of being their mum. I’m devoted to them, but I never want them to be responsible for my happiness. I want to teach them that all of us are responsible for finding our own. I’m happy to sacrifice things. But I keep things, too. And I want to teach my children– my daughter especially– that that’s an okay thing to do. Women are expected to give and give and give until there’s nothing left of themselves but a shell that functions, providing for people’s needs. It doesn’t have to be that way.
I’m the first to admit that I find spending time alone a necessity. I’m okay with that. I’m also quite happy to admit that I do spend whole weekends with my boyfriend. I’ve confessed to temporarily running away from my kids and wanting to leave for good. I’ve stated– and I stand by it– that some days I just cannot handle my five and three year old (which I’m fairly sure shocks absolutely no one) and everything falls down in a screaming heap.
Why do any of those things have an influence of the effectiveness of my parenting, anyway? Do you have to spend every second with your kids, to parent well? Or is it that you can’t have other focuses in your life? Do you have to enjoy every aspect of motherhood in order to ‘embrace’ it? Are you allowed to like parenting without being particularly enamoured with the really-little-kid phase of it? Can you love your kids without liking being a parent at all?
I’m predicting that even writing that last paragraph is enough to have me labelled as unfit mother– one who’s probably causing deep, awful emotional agony– in some people’s mental filing system.
Again, I’m (surprisingly) okay with that. If you’re that attached to the concept of martyred parent that it personally offends when someone else doesn’t live up to it… I kind of feel sorry for you.
To the commenter who wrote this one; and anyone who feels the same…
I originally had a few hundred words written here, defending myself and my parenting. Then I decided, f*ck it. I have no obligation to justify myself to anyone.
So all I really want to say is this.
Get f*cked.
And bite me.
{ 30 comments }
I know a lot of you have been following the story of Darrell and his struggle with his employer, DFAT. The following was written by Aaimi, Darrell’s mum.
I just… don’t even know what to say.
What a massive pack of cowards.
***
As a result of Darrell’s continuing battle against bullying within DFAT ranks, Darrell’s parents (Darrell Snr and Aaimi) started their own campaign to make the interested parties aware of the unacceptable level of leadership and management within DFAT and other public sector institutions. Their campaign flag ship is the Anti-Bullying and Discrimination League of Australia (ABDLA). Under this banner and with the aid of social media, they began to spread the message of their son’s plight and the inadequacies of a range of senior level Australian public servants. In order to further their crusade, Darrell Snr and Aaimi obtained, through a family member, some pointed but reserved merchandise (T-Shirts, pens, pencils etc.,) advertising the following message, ‘Stop Bullying in DFAT’. This material was sent to a number of politicians from both sides of the House to inform and to engender a reaction. In addition, a number of individuals were sent an e-mail as follows:
“As part of our anti-bullying campaign we have produced numerous promotional items to raise awareness of bullying and discrimination issues in Australia. Particularly, as we understand, conducted by yourself and others in the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade.
We are freely distributing this material widely (internationally), noting you as a person who contributes to bullying and harassment in Australia and potentially the international community.
Regards
The Anti-Bullying and Discrimination League of Australia”
Meant to be provocative, Darrell Snr and Aaimi to date have not received a single reply or rebuttal to these e-mails.
In addition to the above actions, a partition to stop the bullying in DFAT was also started via social media, which has received support from people both here in Australia and from overseas.
Without any reasonable preliminary investigation, Mr Peter Varghese, Secretary DFAT, through Mr Chris Moriatis, First Assistant Secretary, Corporate Management Division, has suspended Darrell Jnr pending an investigation into possible breaches of the Australian Public Service Code of Conduct.
Darrell Snr upon hearing what had happened to his son attempted to contact Mr Varghese in order to clarify that his son had nothing to do with the Anti-Bullying and Discrimination League of Australia activities. Darrell Snr was told that there was no one available in Mr Varghese’s office/area, but someone would return his call. Darrell Snr is still waiting for that call. The office of Senator Bob Carr (Minister for DFAT) was also contacted, but Darrell Snr was told the matter was an internal DFAT issue that should be referred to Mr Varghese. (Somewhat difficult when he won’t accept your call!).
Darrell Snr and Aaimi will continue to promote the fight against bullying and discrimination in the workplace and demand leadership from executive level APS throughout Australia. Further attempts will be made to reverse the suspension of their son and to seek assurances that bullying is investigated and offenders and their supporters are held accountable.
Who is responsible for bullying in the workplace? There at least three groups responsible for bullying in the workplace; the actual individual who initiates or continues the bullying; those that are aware of the bullying and do nothing; and senior management or in the case of DFAT, the Secretary, Deputy Secretaries and Executive level officers. In the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade – Enterprise Agreement 2011-1014, the following statement is made:
Harassment, bullying and discrimination are unacceptable in DFAT and contrary to the APS Values and Code of Conduct. The department is committed to providing a fair, flexible, safe and rewarding workplace, where all employees are responsible for promoting a work environment free from harassment, bullying or discrimination. Managers and supervisors have particular responsibilities for implementing the department’s Workplace Diversity Program as set out in the HRM, being alert to diversity issues in the workplace and taking timely action in response to reported or observed harassment, bullying or discrimination. The department does not tolerate behaviour which undermines morale and productivity and which, if not dealt with, can harm the wellbeing and performance of individuals and work units.
The fact that the Secretary and his senior executive team cannot honour this laudable sentiment indicates that they have failed in their responsibilities as the appointed leaders of the Department.
***
My challenge to Aussie journos still stands… does anyone have the balls for this?
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I get a stack of PR emails. Most are awesome. Some are not. The one I received recently titled something along the lines of “How To Look Hot After Birth” was most definitely in the ‘not awesome’ category.My response, as seen on Twitter, went as thus.
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And obviously, I was quite smug and happy with my response, yes… thanks for asking.
But it bitches at me in the most unpleasant way that, for every response such as mine, and for every twenty other people who received this email, rolled their eyes and moved on… there is probably at least one woman who didn’t.
At least one woman who didn’t dismiss it and return to thinking about more important things than looking ‘hot’ or ‘sexy’ or ‘reclaiming a pre–pregnancy figure!’.
For every one of us who hears sentiments like those and feels a bit disgusted, a bit cheated out of the ripeness that should be a feminine birth right; there is at least one new mum who feels fat and inadequate.
For every grown woman who views her body as a soft place, a miracle, a playground; there is a teenage girl who’s convinced, positive, that her bum is huge and life would be better if she were just that bit prettier, if her hair was that bit longer.
For every handful of us who find ourselves angry at such irresponsible, un-sisterly bullsh*t; there is at least one media outlet– social or mainstream– who has taken this PR approach on, who is promoting it, who is saying it’s a good idea to fill the heads of a million impressionable minds- male and female- with this crap. At least one publication who’s allowing this kind of unhealthy, detrimental pressure and focus to continue to seep into the spot where women are most vulnerable, where insecurities lay stagnant in dark crevices of the soul.
And I know (thanks, those in the peanut gallery– shut up already, this is my show), that by addressing it here I’m quite possibly giving it a voice, giving this platform attention it certainly doesn’t warrant.
But if I have a voice here, the let me use it. And if for nothing else, then let it be to ensure, every now and then, that things like this don’t seep into the female psyche so… quietly.
If this idea is to be presented to us as valid, then let there at least be a voice that speaks otherwise.
And so, to every woman reading this, to the mothers who are and who will be, to the grandmothers, aunts, best friends and cheer squads, to the millions of my sisters around me who bear the weight of being female, who feel all the weight of the immortal responsibilities of reproducing, nourishing and rearing, to you; let me say this…
Eat.
Eat… gloriously. In health, and good fortune, in company and pleasure. For sustenance and growth, for love and pleasure.
There is no hunger that compares to the famishment of a new mother, her body shell-shocked, tired arms cradling a baby freshly birthed. All energy has been spent, used, burnt– labour, birth, the body pulsing and recovering, retaining shape slowly like strong tempered rubber, producing food perfectly weighted and optimally nutritious. There is no meal that tastes as good as the first you eat following childbirth, no hunger that could possibly be so demanding nor so satisfying when satiated.
Babies eat and suck and chew calories from their mothers, swallow kilojoules in slurping breaths, literally and figuratively sucking your life away. Mother’s milk, enough to sustain life. Compound the exhaustion of constant waking, continual watching, always worrying. Then babies grow to toddlers and they move, fast and unpredictable, with you the only one to catch them and still their tiny feet. You the only one who’s energy is eaten and resources drained by the constant thought processes, the constant re-prioritizing that’s required to keep up with hundreds of questions, the mental fog of attempting to stay one step ahead and quench that frantic curiosity, that intense drive of seeing, doing, thinking, being; a constant sponging of information from the world.
And toddlers, eventually, they become children. And still it’s hard work, still it’s constant. Playing, running, making, hugging, cleaning, building, doing. It feels as though it’s been five years since I sat down, relaxed and put my feet up… maybe it has been.
Being a mum– being a woman, in general, I believe– it requires energy untold. I’m always tired, always slightly shabby. My body always feels as though it needs that little bit extra nourishment, something that bit more to get me through. As though it needs a big cuddle and warm blanket, a bad rom-com on DVD and a big plate of soft lasagna, with hot chocolate and marshmallows to follow.
There is, so they say, three guaranteed pleasures in the human existence– sex, sleep and food. Primal, tribal, biological…. urges that cannot be ignored.
So I say, mothers, ladies of all ages and denominations… let us eat. Let us eat breakfasts and brunches, lunches and suppers, dinners and teas and snacks and midnight feasts by fridge light. Let us eat food real and rich, cooked and raw, prepared or thrown together, freshly cooked or lukewarm and waiting for hours. Munch, nibble, graze, chew, masticate, relish, swallow and suckle; dine, pig, nourish, gorge, pick, fuss and tuck in. Eat real food, and enjoy every mouthful. Taint it not, for today, for right now, with weight and calories and peer pressure and pairs of size-eight jeans.
Just eat, the way you did as a child– ripe peaches held with both hands over a scratched stainless steel sink, flesh stuck between teeth and juice flowing down china, streaking the backs of forearms and pooling tangy iridescent on elbows. Sticks of fairy floss bigger than your head that leave sticky pink spiderwebs strung between your fingers. Mangoes eaten in bathtubs filled with tepid water at the humid height of a bushfire summer.
If you are, or plan to, or have been providing with every piece of yourself in order to nourish a new life on this planet; recognize the divine in that, and worship that divinity with the pleasure of food, eaten messily and hungrily and without care of who’s watching on, in the sunshine of the altar of life.
No mother needs to ‘look hot after birth’. Especially not by starving herself, by punishing herself with exercise that’s excessive to the detriment of herself and her child.
Nurture yourselves, ourselves.
Be kind to ourselves, and one another.
Being ‘hot’ is such a relative concept. As is being ‘healthy’.
But beauty comes from within.
And so I say- ladies, women, sisters… eat.
{ 4 comments }
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: It’s not my fault. It’s because I have boobies.
The Medium, Part Two – RRSAHM
The Medium, Part Two
I’ve been asked a few times since yesterday… was there anything the medium knew, that wasn’t on your blog…?
A few bits and pieces, that meant more to me than most people who read this would realise… the older woman who gave him a kick up the bum, the message he passed on (cheeky) about getting to heaven… and those fingers through my hair.
I don’t think I’ve ever written about it, correct if I’m wrong, please… That maddening feeling, right from the start… worse, or better, whichever way you look at it, on the nights I sobbed myself to sleep. Tony’s fingers, running through my hair, the way I’d felt a hundred times before. And the positivity that this was it, that tomorrow, or sometime during the night, I’d wake up with my mind completely missing in action, cracked under the pressure… praying that I wasn’t going insane, half laughing that I was finally losing my mind.
***
It takes me days to recover from seeing the medium.
I cry for 24 hours. Sometimes I sob noisily, but mostly it’s just fat salty tears that travel down my cheeks and plop onto things, puddles of salt on my keyboard, the plates for dinner, mixing in soundlessly with my children’s bathwater.
I try not to cry in front of my children. It breaks my heart that my son is so used to me crying he barely bats an eyelid- a concerned hug and he’s on his way. After watching me cry for hours, despite my best attempts to hide it, he turns to me and say “Mum, are you still crying? You can’t be sad all the time!”
Which makes me cry all the harder.
I’m not sure what I’m crying for. Shock, at first. Then pain, because that was so exactly what I needed to hear, and came so quickly and forcefully, it was as if he were waiting for me, just waiting for the chance to make himself heard.
He plays with your hair at night… I can’t describe the shock, the comfort…. I am not, it seems, as psychotic as I feared. When I feel his presence there, warm and strong and comforting, standing behind me, holding me up… maybe that’s not as much of my imagination as I thought.
At the same time, I am pissed. How dare he. Stupidly, the knowledge that he is having the tattoo on his back finished makes me angry… nice for him, of course, to be able to go and get a tattoo whenever he pleases, without the military operation of finding a babysitter for two small children. Nice for him, too, to be happy and at peace, when that’s the furthest island from me right now, and I either float aimlessly or splash frenetically toward it, all the time going nowhere.
But deeper than the angry, deeper than the unjustness, is the simple, desolate pain of grief. Sorrow. Somehow, the knowledge that he isn’t angry at me, that he loves me, that he’s sorry… it makes things worse. I have permission now to miss him as much as I choose, as much as any widow would miss her husband.
The grief is all consuming, and I spend almost two days wanting nothing more than to die, to leave, to stop this pain and be with Tony again.
Because if he’s there, he’s still around… what am I doing here?
And then, of course, I’m pissed at him again. Because by dieing, he went and left me without that option.
It passes, of course, as it always does. I contemplate running away from my children, starting a new life where I can pretend I haven’t lived my old one, pleasing my self destructive as it wishes. And I do none of those things.
I emerge from that dark cloud around the day I turn thirty. And I feel… better. There are so many tiny things cleared up now.
He’s sorry, and he loved me, all the while, as much I as loved him. He’s OK with me moving on. He’s happy, and I’m not… but I can be, if I happen find to come across it, and he won’t hold it against me.
And my children are just mine, Any lingering grief about having to raise them as Tony would have wished is gone… he’ll always be their dad, and they’ll always know all about him. But with that one sentence- he doesn’t feel he has the right to call himself Dad anymore– he removed all that guilt and worry. I know that might make people In Real Life angry, but I took it in the spirit I’m sure it came… he left them so young, his influence will be so diluted… he’ll never be a real, flesh and blood person to them, and while that breaks my heart, I know it’s true.
It’s a relief, and a balm for my pain, and brings me closure. I feel loved again, I feel a right to grieve for my husband. Questions are answered, and this experience tells me what I’ve wanted to hear, what I’ve needed to hear for months now.
That he loved me, desperately, as much as I loved him.
That this wasn’t my fault.
Skeptics, shush now, if you can help yourselves. I believe that this was real, that this was truth.
And considering what it’s given me, if it wasn’t…. does it matter?
Leave a Comment
{ 28 comments… read them below or add one }
- March 11, 2012 at 9:34 pm
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The thought of seeing a medium scares me. When my father passed, my mother saw a medium. She was also a prior sceptic.
It's ironic, but in my post hippy days I think my parents may have listened to my ramblings. Yet now I can't face the probability of knowing about that thick, opaque glass wall that separates us. I can't think about that possibility. - January 2, 2012 at 11:34 am
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I am SO HAPPY you got to do this, to hear from Tony and get this closure. And I totally understand everything you're saying here. What a gift!
- December 13, 2011 at 5:49 am
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I'm so glad it's helped you and given you some closure. That's so important.
- November 20, 2011 at 4:43 pm
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No, it doesn't matter. Much love to you Lori xo
- November 18, 2011 at 1:27 pm
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I balled reading these medium posts…I totally believe in mediums (well, the real ones, lol). I must admit my first thought when I read about Tony getting his tattoo finished and enjoying heaven so much was also a sarcastic "well, how nice for you".
Love you Lori, you are the awesomest person ever!(yes, I know that's not a real word, lol). - November 16, 2011 at 11:13 pm
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Leaving love and hugs to you and your little ones, girl!
- November 16, 2011 at 12:02 pm
- November 15, 2011 at 11:22 pm
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It doesn't matter what anybody else says, if you believe it was real then it was.
When you meet your soul mate in life (and I believe we have more than one of these), then that connection is never lost.
My husband still plays with my feet in bed 10 years after he left me, and I lost him when I was 28. - November 15, 2011 at 10:37 pm
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Wow, again. I'm so glad you had this experience. And I agree with a previous comment – it really doesn't matter what anyone else thinks, the message was for you, and you alone. So you take what you've been given and run like hell baby. Moving forward with a bit of peace and closure – I could not have asked for more for you. Yay for psychics
- November 15, 2011 at 10:35 pm
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Such a sense of peace, love and healing in your words today. It's gorgeous xxx
- November 15, 2011 at 10:06 pm
- November 15, 2011 at 9:46 pm
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I don't know if I could handle that. I WANT to know…but I also don't want to know.
I'm scared to death of what they might say. Confirm my worst fears? Terrifying.
You are brave, and wonderful. And I am so glad that you have answers.
- November 15, 2011 at 8:46 pm
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I'm so happy you got some answers and you can take them and move forward with less guilt. It must have been a shock to you… but a good result I think.
Annie x
- November 15, 2011 at 3:00 pm
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Gah!
*biggest sceptic of them all* - November 15, 2011 at 2:59 pm
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I've posted on my blog before about sessions i've had with a pyschic, and a few very specific things she said would happen that came true, so i'm a believer. Sure some of the so-called gifted out there are complete shysters, but if you can find even a little solace in a "special " message, than who is anyone to try and diminish that for you with their skepticism?
- November 15, 2011 at 2:58 pm
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Lori – I was the biggest sceptic of the mall. I mean I have a PhD in science ffs.
Until my husband died that was….
Now I *know* he is here and while it is frustrating (yes darling – I'm so glad you see and hear every move we make but unless you find a better way to communicate with ME, that's not that much help), I love that I *know*.
I am not crazy.
I can feel him touch my face and I know I felt him touch my arm a few weeks ago.
But while it is nice to know, it still doesn't bring him back … and that part really sucks.
huge hugs.
XA - November 15, 2011 at 11:42 am
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Lots of people won't understand.. many who know you will.. and they arte the ones who matter. The naysayers are not worthy of your attention.
You know the next steps, you will know when to let go of what you have been holding onto.. at first it will be uncormfortable and a little scarey.. but you are strong and will move through that step when you get to it.
Good friends will help again when it gets tough to let go.
Love for you and your's,
Oldie
- November 15, 2011 at 11:33 am
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It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks – the message was for you, and you alone. Tony gave you what you needed to keep going, just as he did in life.
It's an awesome gift
x - November 15, 2011 at 11:33 am
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Lori, I have only just found your blog today.. have bawled and laughed and shaken with disbelief at your past year. I don't think any one has the right to try and siprove your beliefs. Tony was there, you heard from him. I can't imagine how beautiful and wonderful and exquisitely frustrating that must have been.
Love to you and your little ones xxx - November 15, 2011 at 10:33 am
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This is just perfect – in the most imperfect way.
Your pain and sorrow are no less – but hopefully, your self image is on the up.
The one whose opinion mattered the most has let you know that you are free to love yourself again.
x - November 15, 2011 at 10:19 am
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I'm one of those people who believes in mediums and supernatural so I totally get this.
- November 15, 2011 at 9:50 am
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Thanks and I'm sorry if I made you doubt even for a minute. I'm no longer a skeptic of this psychic! You didn't mention those things in the blog, I went looking.
I am so happy that Tony found a way to communicate his love and tenderness to you. And that you have validation you are not going mad. Although, apparently people that are, rarely question their sanity. My hubby had a psychotic episode (only once thankfully), and he had no idea he was nutty. {Hugs}
Now I have to go away and unpack what this means for myself. If there are real psychics, then reality is way more interesting and amazing than I ever dared to believe. Wow!
- November 15, 2011 at 9:43 am
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How would she have known the things she did if she didn't have some connection? Things that your body language, it wouldn't have given away, they were far too random and specific, not broad.
I am glad you saw her.
You needed to hear, from the one person that could make you listen, this wasn't your fault. - November 15, 2011 at 9:33 am
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I am so very glad for the relief that his messages brought you.
- November 15, 2011 at 9:30 am
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And considering what it's given me, if it wasn't…. does it matter?
To me, Lori, this hits the nail on the head. What is most important here is that you believe, and that you have (ultimately, at least) been comforted.
I think that's pretty priceless.
Sending lots of virtual hugs to you, for what they're worth.
Take care
Pandora x
- November 15, 2011 at 8:45 am
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I read you rpost yesterday and today and all I can say is that I am so happy for you that you got answers to questions that you had. It is so good to hear that our loved ones do see what is happening after they are no longer here and I am really happy to hear that you feel like you can move on. I can only try to imagine what you have been through.
Have as good a day as you can.
- November 15, 2011 at 12:03 pm
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Let the healing commence!
Lori, this was exactly what you needed to hear, so you can put down all the guilt and get on with the grief.
Life will get better.
It WILL.xxx
- November 15, 2011 at 10:50 am
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Im glad you were able to get some answers. It must have been incredibly hard to hear but at the same time a huge relief. I believe, i always have. Huge hugs Lori Xx. I do hope it has brought you some peace.
Previous post: The Medium, Part One
The Medium, Part Two – RRSAHM
The Medium, Part Two
I’ve been asked a few times since yesterday… was there anything the medium knew, that wasn’t on your blog…?
A few bits and pieces, that meant more to me than most people who read this would realise… the older woman who gave him a kick up the bum, the message he passed on (cheeky) about getting to heaven… and those fingers through my hair.
I don’t think I’ve ever written about it, correct if I’m wrong, please… That maddening feeling, right from the start… worse, or better, whichever way you look at it, on the nights I sobbed myself to sleep. Tony’s fingers, running through my hair, the way I’d felt a hundred times before. And the positivity that this was it, that tomorrow, or sometime during the night, I’d wake up with my mind completely missing in action, cracked under the pressure… praying that I wasn’t going insane, half laughing that I was finally losing my mind.
***
It takes me days to recover from seeing the medium.
I cry for 24 hours. Sometimes I sob noisily, but mostly it’s just fat salty tears that travel down my cheeks and plop onto things, puddles of salt on my keyboard, the plates for dinner, mixing in soundlessly with my children’s bathwater.
I try not to cry in front of my children. It breaks my heart that my son is so used to me crying he barely bats an eyelid- a concerned hug and he’s on his way. After watching me cry for hours, despite my best attempts to hide it, he turns to me and say “Mum, are you still crying? You can’t be sad all the time!”
Which makes me cry all the harder.
I’m not sure what I’m crying for. Shock, at first. Then pain, because that was so exactly what I needed to hear, and came so quickly and forcefully, it was as if he were waiting for me, just waiting for the chance to make himself heard.
He plays with your hair at night… I can’t describe the shock, the comfort…. I am not, it seems, as psychotic as I feared. When I feel his presence there, warm and strong and comforting, standing behind me, holding me up… maybe that’s not as much of my imagination as I thought.
At the same time, I am pissed. How dare he. Stupidly, the knowledge that he is having the tattoo on his back finished makes me angry… nice for him, of course, to be able to go and get a tattoo whenever he pleases, without the military operation of finding a babysitter for two small children. Nice for him, too, to be happy and at peace, when that’s the furthest island from me right now, and I either float aimlessly or splash frenetically toward it, all the time going nowhere.
But deeper than the angry, deeper than the unjustness, is the simple, desolate pain of grief. Sorrow. Somehow, the knowledge that he isn’t angry at me, that he loves me, that he’s sorry… it makes things worse. I have permission now to miss him as much as I choose, as much as any widow would miss her husband.
The grief is all consuming, and I spend almost two days wanting nothing more than to die, to leave, to stop this pain and be with Tony again.
Because if he’s there, he’s still around… what am I doing here?
And then, of course, I’m pissed at him again. Because by dieing, he went and left me without that option.
It passes, of course, as it always does. I contemplate running away from my children, starting a new life where I can pretend I haven’t lived my old one, pleasing my self destructive as it wishes. And I do none of those things.
I emerge from that dark cloud around the day I turn thirty. And I feel… better. There are so many tiny things cleared up now.
He’s sorry, and he loved me, all the while, as much I as loved him. He’s OK with me moving on. He’s happy, and I’m not… but I can be, if I happen find to come across it, and he won’t hold it against me.
And my children are just mine, Any lingering grief about having to raise them as Tony would have wished is gone… he’ll always be their dad, and they’ll always know all about him. But with that one sentence- he doesn’t feel he has the right to call himself Dad anymore– he removed all that guilt and worry. I know that might make people In Real Life angry, but I took it in the spirit I’m sure it came… he left them so young, his influence will be so diluted… he’ll never be a real, flesh and blood person to them, and while that breaks my heart, I know it’s true.
It’s a relief, and a balm for my pain, and brings me closure. I feel loved again, I feel a right to grieve for my husband. Questions are answered, and this experience tells me what I’ve wanted to hear, what I’ve needed to hear for months now.
That he loved me, desperately, as much as I loved him.
That this wasn’t my fault.
Skeptics, shush now, if you can help yourselves. I believe that this was real, that this was truth.
And considering what it’s given me, if it wasn’t…. does it matter?
Leave a Comment
{ 28 comments… read them below or add one }
- March 11, 2012 at 9:34 pm
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The thought of seeing a medium scares me. When my father passed, my mother saw a medium. She was also a prior sceptic.
It's ironic, but in my post hippy days I think my parents may have listened to my ramblings. Yet now I can't face the probability of knowing about that thick, opaque glass wall that separates us. I can't think about that possibility. - January 2, 2012 at 11:34 am
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I am SO HAPPY you got to do this, to hear from Tony and get this closure. And I totally understand everything you're saying here. What a gift!
- December 13, 2011 at 5:49 am
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I'm so glad it's helped you and given you some closure. That's so important.
- November 20, 2011 at 4:43 pm
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No, it doesn't matter. Much love to you Lori xo
- November 18, 2011 at 1:27 pm
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I balled reading these medium posts…I totally believe in mediums (well, the real ones, lol). I must admit my first thought when I read about Tony getting his tattoo finished and enjoying heaven so much was also a sarcastic "well, how nice for you".
Love you Lori, you are the awesomest person ever!(yes, I know that's not a real word, lol). - November 16, 2011 at 11:13 pm
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Leaving love and hugs to you and your little ones, girl!
- November 16, 2011 at 12:02 pm
- November 15, 2011 at 11:22 pm
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It doesn't matter what anybody else says, if you believe it was real then it was.
When you meet your soul mate in life (and I believe we have more than one of these), then that connection is never lost.
My husband still plays with my feet in bed 10 years after he left me, and I lost him when I was 28. - November 15, 2011 at 10:37 pm
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Wow, again. I'm so glad you had this experience. And I agree with a previous comment – it really doesn't matter what anyone else thinks, the message was for you, and you alone. So you take what you've been given and run like hell baby. Moving forward with a bit of peace and closure – I could not have asked for more for you. Yay for psychics
- November 15, 2011 at 10:35 pm
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Such a sense of peace, love and healing in your words today. It's gorgeous xxx
- November 15, 2011 at 10:06 pm
- November 15, 2011 at 9:46 pm
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I don't know if I could handle that. I WANT to know…but I also don't want to know.
I'm scared to death of what they might say. Confirm my worst fears? Terrifying.
You are brave, and wonderful. And I am so glad that you have answers.
- November 15, 2011 at 8:46 pm
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I'm so happy you got some answers and you can take them and move forward with less guilt. It must have been a shock to you… but a good result I think.
Annie x
- November 15, 2011 at 3:00 pm
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Gah!
*biggest sceptic of them all* - November 15, 2011 at 2:59 pm
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I've posted on my blog before about sessions i've had with a pyschic, and a few very specific things she said would happen that came true, so i'm a believer. Sure some of the so-called gifted out there are complete shysters, but if you can find even a little solace in a "special " message, than who is anyone to try and diminish that for you with their skepticism?
- November 15, 2011 at 2:58 pm
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Lori – I was the biggest sceptic of the mall. I mean I have a PhD in science ffs.
Until my husband died that was….
Now I *know* he is here and while it is frustrating (yes darling – I'm so glad you see and hear every move we make but unless you find a better way to communicate with ME, that's not that much help), I love that I *know*.
I am not crazy.
I can feel him touch my face and I know I felt him touch my arm a few weeks ago.
But while it is nice to know, it still doesn't bring him back … and that part really sucks.
huge hugs.
XA - November 15, 2011 at 11:42 am
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Lots of people won't understand.. many who know you will.. and they arte the ones who matter. The naysayers are not worthy of your attention.
You know the next steps, you will know when to let go of what you have been holding onto.. at first it will be uncormfortable and a little scarey.. but you are strong and will move through that step when you get to it.
Good friends will help again when it gets tough to let go.
Love for you and your's,
Oldie
- November 15, 2011 at 11:33 am
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It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks – the message was for you, and you alone. Tony gave you what you needed to keep going, just as he did in life.
It's an awesome gift
x - November 15, 2011 at 11:33 am
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Lori, I have only just found your blog today.. have bawled and laughed and shaken with disbelief at your past year. I don't think any one has the right to try and siprove your beliefs. Tony was there, you heard from him. I can't imagine how beautiful and wonderful and exquisitely frustrating that must have been.
Love to you and your little ones xxx - November 15, 2011 at 10:33 am
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This is just perfect – in the most imperfect way.
Your pain and sorrow are no less – but hopefully, your self image is on the up.
The one whose opinion mattered the most has let you know that you are free to love yourself again.
x - November 15, 2011 at 10:19 am
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I'm one of those people who believes in mediums and supernatural so I totally get this.
- November 15, 2011 at 9:50 am
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Thanks and I'm sorry if I made you doubt even for a minute. I'm no longer a skeptic of this psychic! You didn't mention those things in the blog, I went looking.
I am so happy that Tony found a way to communicate his love and tenderness to you. And that you have validation you are not going mad. Although, apparently people that are, rarely question their sanity. My hubby had a psychotic episode (only once thankfully), and he had no idea he was nutty. {Hugs}
Now I have to go away and unpack what this means for myself. If there are real psychics, then reality is way more interesting and amazing than I ever dared to believe. Wow!
- November 15, 2011 at 9:43 am
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How would she have known the things she did if she didn't have some connection? Things that your body language, it wouldn't have given away, they were far too random and specific, not broad.
I am glad you saw her.
You needed to hear, from the one person that could make you listen, this wasn't your fault. - November 15, 2011 at 9:33 am
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I am so very glad for the relief that his messages brought you.
- November 15, 2011 at 9:30 am
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And considering what it's given me, if it wasn't…. does it matter?
To me, Lori, this hits the nail on the head. What is most important here is that you believe, and that you have (ultimately, at least) been comforted.
I think that's pretty priceless.
Sending lots of virtual hugs to you, for what they're worth.
Take care
Pandora x
- November 15, 2011 at 8:45 am
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I read you rpost yesterday and today and all I can say is that I am so happy for you that you got answers to questions that you had. It is so good to hear that our loved ones do see what is happening after they are no longer here and I am really happy to hear that you feel like you can move on. I can only try to imagine what you have been through.
Have as good a day as you can.
- November 15, 2011 at 12:03 pm
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Let the healing commence!
Lori, this was exactly what you needed to hear, so you can put down all the guilt and get on with the grief.
Life will get better.
It WILL.xxx
- November 15, 2011 at 10:50 am
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Im glad you were able to get some answers. It must have been incredibly hard to hear but at the same time a huge relief. I believe, i always have. Huge hugs Lori Xx. I do hope it has brought you some peace.
Previous post: The Medium, Part One
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: It happens on Monday.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Milk
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Soul Cancer.
A Prayer For My Daughter. – RRSAHM
A Prayer For My Daughter.
Unashamedly inspired by Tina Fey’s prayer for her daughter. She did it better.
***
A quick, quiet prayer to whoever may be in charge, regarding my sweet, fairy daughter. If it be within the keeping of your (admittedly skewed) sense of humor…
May my darling little girl always keep her uniqueness, her sweetness, her sense of humor. She may need it.
May she know that, no matter what, she is loved by a great deal of people; and will undoubtedly be loved by many, many more people over her lifetime. And if everyone else seems to have failed; I hope she will know that she always, always has me.
Allow her to be teased, bullied and left out, but only once or twice; just enough to grant her empathy and convince her never to hurt someone else like that. When it happens, may she have enough of those people who love her unconditionally around to break the humiliating impact.
May she feel the simple platonic pleasure of being mates with members of the opposite sex. Let her know, every know and then, how it feels to be ‘one of the boys’, so she might respect them and demand the same in return.
Let her know herself enough that she is able to find interest and hobbies she is passionate in. Let her know, through some divine intervention, that high school, homework and final exams are not the end of the world- six months after her eighteenth birthday they will probably seem insignificant, anyway.
May she be at ease with her body, know herself and how she works; and never think of herself as shameful or dirty or unpleasant. Allow her to know the decadence of food, untainted and untouched by belief her body is not perfect as it has been made.
May she fall in love, hard and fast and blissfully, at least twice. And may the first time break her heart, shatter it to pieces… much as that hurts to ask for. But allow her that so that, the second time, she appreciates and understands what it is to love someone and be loved in return.
Give her the ability to appreciate simple pleasures that come with being female. Allow her to feel the simple fancies of lipstick and high heels, having her hair done and dancing, dressing beautifully and batting her eyelids. Let her enjoy the ripe pleasure of sex. But give her control over herself, and make her at least a little aware of how awesome she is, so she avoids doing the same silly things that I did.
May she be blessed with children, should she want them. May the conception be without the heartbreak of infertility, and childbirth as fast and pleasant as her own entry into the world was.
Give her the blessing of female friendships, of sleep-overs and coffees and play dates- give her sisters in other women that she will not have by blood.
Let her work hard enough that she knows what hard work is; but never to, nor for, desperation. May she find a job where every day is an adventure, where her mind feels stretched and her comfort zones questioned.
Let her live, completely and fully- taste things, feel things, smell things, see things. May her life be peppered with experiences, with happiness and sadness and realities and laughter. If she is afraid then allow her the strength to see through that and do the things she wants to do anyway. May she see every day as something new, every road as a possibility.
And when things do go wrong- when she loses her favorite toy; when she misses out on something she really wanted; when her best friend hangs out with someone else; when that first love breaks her heart or the pregnancy test comes back positive; or her own daughter won’t stop screaming at her for something undetermined…
May she known that I have been there, done that; and even if she never, ever wants to admit it, I kind of understand. And may she not hesitate to come to me. Without guilt or fear of judgement, though no doubt she will have them.
But may she know that whatever she confesses to, whatever the problem may be; I will always, always love her, and never turn away.
And may she know that’s because she’s beautiful, inside and out. And even if she wasn’t, I hope she knows that I would still be there, anyway. Because that just what mothers are for.
Leave a Comment
{ 8 comments… read them below or add one }
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March 1, 2013 at 8:34 pm -
Lori,
I know you don’t scrapbook, but please do her a favour… Hand write that, put it in a card. Seal the card and put it in your box – the one in the cupboard. When she is older, even after having read this post, or had you say it to her time and time again over the years. Trust me, she will appreciate it, nay treasure it… she will indeed treasure it.X rah rah
spagsy recently posted…What’s in a name? (A rose by any other name) -
February 28, 2013 at 9:27 pm -
Yes, yes, yes! You have made me cry…again.
Kylie recently posted…Miss Peregrine’s Home for Perculiar Children -
February 28, 2013 at 8:49 am -
Stunning writing. Just beautiful.
- February 27, 2013 at 4:25 pm
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Beautiful.
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February 27, 2013 at 2:13 pm -
Lori – that’s beautiful. So beautiful.
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February 27, 2013 at 1:55 pm -
I hope she receives all these wonderful things you pray for her too
Beautiful post!
Kimmy xox -
February 27, 2013 at 12:09 pm -
February 27, 2013 at 8:53 am -
Hello, Lori!
Forgive me for being gone for so long. I’ve been completely overrun by life, and working on a book series that should be ready for publishing, at least one book, by October of this year. I have seventeen books so far with no end in sight.
I recently rediscovered Twitter and now have many writer and author friends there. And I saw this post and wanted to check in with you. I like what you’ve done with your page. And this post is one of my absolute favorites! I totally agree with everything you said, and I think your daughter is going to turn out wonderfully and beautiful, just like you!
Have a great day!
Shellye H. Townsend! recently posted…January Events and Happenings!
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{ 16 comments… read them below or add one }
Lori, I'm sorry that I haven't been around, and if you thought I took off, it wasn't that at all. I've been really busy with my book and we just moved to a cottage. I still think of you and pray for you. I just haven't had any real down time to read or leave comments.
This sucks so badly
One day there will be a man that can handle everything that came before him & love you for the Lori you are now, in the After.
I know it.
hugs – i completely understand
a very wise woman once taught me that we can't rely on trusting others, what we need to learn is to trust that we will be able to deal with 'whatever' happens. You have already shown that you can deal with the worst so you can certainly deal with phone games..
Thanks. Not even me?!
You deserve the best, dear girl. You are wonderful, worthwhile and lovely. Your children are amazing little beings and I can't help but believe that you will meet someone to share your lives with. Soldier on through the losers. Lots of love.
Babe, I have so much baggage that I call myself that on my blog. You deserve a man who will work with your baggage. Everyone has baggage. I was with a guy for 7 years who never really wanted me, then I met my husband and he wanted me, even with three adopted children with a host of issues. You deserve the best, Lori. I think of you often.
Three & a half months on I'm still numb. I can't even think of being in your position right now. No-one can fill that gap, can they? I know everyone says we should move on, but fuck! How dare anyone expect me to get over it & let anyone fill that hole in my soul.
Oh sweetheart. Agreeing heartily with those upthread – we all have baggage….he needs to deal with that, and if he can't it's definitely his loss.
If he doesn't call… he's an idiot. pain and simple. We all have baggage… some is "big" and some is not. I'm sitting on my couch, no shower for days, watching my son's face blow up in a rash as he is on his feeding tube. Tell him to fuck off
If he doesn't call, then who needs him?! Don't let a man determine your worth. You deserve love again, and it will come. Here's what you do – make him squirm a little. Don't answer his text or call when he finally gets around to sending one. Ha! Maybe that's not a good idea – but don't you just want to do it?
I still remember as plain as day being told by a man that he didn't want someone with' 'baggage' meaning children and emotional stuff. I was so hurt but looking back now I can't imagiine many people are clean sheets, he certainly wasn't and ironically he ended up marrying a single mum. I too found a rock that was prepared to help me carry my baggage. Trust is hard to give and easily lost. It seems a happy fact of life that we are prepared to keep trying. Don't give up. Trust in yourself xxxx
Good on you for opening yourself up to possabilities.Yes we may get hurt again.I guess we all get hurt at times in out lives but we need to learn from it and grow in what ever way we are meant to.My sister slept with my fiance 2 months before our wedding.My world fell apart.I didnt have to see him again but her I did as is family.So was very difficult to forget the bad.I found it extremely hard to ever open up and give of myself and trust again.I found happiness in time and got married but probably dont really give 100% like before.The hurt stays but we need to just think of the good we got from past relationships and push the bad to the back of our minds.It was the only way I could get on with my life as I felt so betrayed and broken.I wish positive thoughts for you so as to bring positve into your life as you so deserve it xxx
Not all of us (men, that is) are crap… just most. :/
From everything that I've read of your words, you are an awesome and beautiful human being – don't ever let someone's failure to recognise that fact become about you. And a man that looks at two kids as a negative? Again – not worth your time.
Trust is overrated. Why do we crave it so?
wow, i've said every word that you have written in this post…i too never thought things would be right again, i never thought i could trust someone again…i didn't think someone could want someone so damaged that came with 2 kids…i still have the feeling that it's going to end no matter what eventually.
things got better every day, it's not easy…not at all. i still struggle, but i fight through it. you will find that love again, you will find that happiness. please don't set yourself up for failure. keep your head up, you are worth it.
Big hugs xx