I don't even need a band-aid.

I thought I lost a friend this week. 

Turns out I didn’t “lose” anything.  I know right where he is.  And though it is a claim that he was walking away, and that I was going to be no longer allowed in his heart and life, truth is, he hasn’t been going anywhere but in circles under a wandering star for a long, long time, and I had been making steady progress on my journey of self-reliance and solid values, and he had not come along at all. And when it got hard, and required actual putting foundation into practice, test the stability he so desperately needs, he bailed.  

I thought I would be hurt.  Truly, I love him.  But what I feel more is relief.

In the past few years, I have had things happen.  If you have read this blog at all, you will understand the road, and know that getting myself out of an almost debilitating depression and codependency has been a tortured path.  I was not always successful, and had lots of times when I stood still, or took steps backwards.  This often happened when I was hit with a 2x4 to the back of the head, bleeding and damaged, and some ugly monster came out and tried to pull me back under. 

It was, and is always, a fight. It is not pretty. I can get moody.  And by moody, I mean fucked up neurotic.  I am selfish, and distant.  I get quiet, then unpredictably angry.  I forget things. I cry. I am not particularly helpful and have a hard time understanding your world while I am caught up in mine.  But, to my defense, while this used to be my norm, it is now my exception.

Let me say that again.  It is my exception.

Recently, I had one of the exception times show up full force.  My ex (you can read about him all you want in other blogs, and it will give you some insight into who he was/is and how I got out) decided to drag me back into court. The reason and justification for why is not even the issue, because honestly, he and I will not be happily co-parenting, ever, and this is just one more way I have to deal with him.  It was a 2x4, for sure. It put me on the floor, the way it does for most people when they are smack in the middle of their old lives without much choice but to get through it with some semblance of grace.  I was not succeeding in the grace department, but was blessed with knowing I would get out of it. I had before, I would again. I just needed the reminder.

The reminder came in the form of being held while I cried.  It came in the form of long conversations with my children.  It came in fun activities. And movies. And good sex. And a truly deep happiness that I would try to suppress, because, well, I am stupid about my own happiness sometimes. And stability. And being still.  It did not need to pursue anything else.  I already had the tools and the gifts. 

What is did not look like was the constant instability this friend lived in.  It did not look like pretty words without a lot of follow through.  It did not look like a list of desires without any work towards them. Or blame when personal actions caused the instability. Or like excuses for others who did not move forward together.  It did not look like having to find myself in a different place because I could not face any of the mess. 

On the literal contrary, it looked like actually being in the mess daily.  There was no avoidance on my part.  I was blunt, maybe to the point of shock.  I was non-accepting of people who were also a mess and doing nothing about it but felt empowered to try to drag me there, too.  There was no more desire for connection to people who did not meet the rules of the Yes List, or who were flat-out on the No List.  I would not develop relationships with rude alcoholics making noise in the middle of the night.  I would not wait for yet another phone call from a manipulative suicidal narcissist whose needs were so heavy that it stopped all progress toward other goals.  I would not try to get to know temporary romances from 1200 miles away that barely sparked of passion and could only be had in 48 hour blocks of time once every 6 weeks or so.  I was in no position to create yet another black hole emotion vacuum just for the sake of the newness, when I wasn’t making the stuff I already had my sights set on, work.  I was staying put.  Roots. Fight. Stability. Grounded.

This is not where this friend is. At least not with me. I had picked moving towards strengthening MY emotions with the people in my life who said they would stay. I had to trust them. I had said that I thought I didn’t have a tribe, but what I really found out was that I do have a tribe, just, sadly, one that did not include him.  I thought maybe I had just been too raw with someone else who was also too raw and that maybe we could not support each other.  But that wasn’t true.  I might have pushed hard, and been distant, but I never walked away, never said encouraging connected words only to not mean them, and I never used the excuse that there were others that thought I should eliminate people from my life and then actually listened. I have come to trust myself, my core of knowing where I came from, how it plays in my life, and what I am both willing and unwilling to do to keep it that way. My core about it is totally defined, and not at all by others, even when I listen to their counsel.

Nope, I take full responsibility for my own choices, supported or not, because that is part of my journey as well.  I am no longer interested in how things can’t be fixed.  I want to stomp and whine about them, and then put in the real work, even when it is hard.  Even when it looks like I am alone.  Then I want the people who say that they will stick by it to actually do that. If you can’t? Well, you can go.  I will not be examining it further except to realize I want the stability I have created.  My job that pays my bills.  My lack of bills to begin with. My house. My running car.  My amazing children and the learning they are doing, even with the bumps, and my role in that.  My belief in parenthood and everything I have done to make that as my first priority, regardless of the boulders that sometimes seem to block my path. My desire for communication inside my partnership, and having that get stronger every single day.  Love on a much deeper level.  One that knows that in order to actually have all the good stuff, you have to get through the bad stuff. And that even when it looks uneven, it all comes around to settled when it is working.  No books, no meetings, no unprecedented clarity. Just everyday ordinary heartbreak and redemption.  I take it. Life, with all of its compromise and thorns, and joy and forgiveness, and ache and laughter.  I get to have this. I get to stay.

So yeah, I thought I lost a friend. Turns out I didn’t lose anything.  He is right there, still spinning in his universe wondering what happened to get him to where he is at, and how he believes he will have to change his life and start all over. Again.  I am grateful for getting to stand perfectly still this time and just kinda wave as he floats away on yet another star. I am not going anywhere, and for that hard won stability, I am grateful.

9 years and 24 hours later.

My first breakdown happened almost immediately. 

I felt sucker punched with the irony of having the envelope handed to me by the same son who the letter was about.  It seems that my children’s father has decided to show up now. Now, after almost 9 years, is when suddenly his father-son bond desire has decided to kick in.  And my son, every bit of a 14 year old entitled teen, is buying it. Hook, line, sinker.  And sadly, it means, in his head, that I have never cared about him, never loved him, am trying to keep his life from being his choice, and basically stopping him from the amazing and one true relationship he is missing.  Yep, his dad. Like me, his sister, his best friends, his grandmothers, my partner, my adult friends, and well, everyone in my village who has shown up and covered that lack of relationship he has had with his dad for, um, ever, are somehow not really worth much.  It hit me hard to hear it.  Almost on the floor.  My reaction was to be angry, but that was just a mask for how sad and hurt I felt.  The breakdown, well it was loud, and then immediately quiet.  I wanted to cry, but it was stuck in shock.  I had been served with papers asking the court to grant his father custody. 

The second breakdown happened in the car while driving. 

I called my partner, and my best friend, and without even remembering to breathe, I was sobbing on the phone to each of them, separated by minute of cell phone time.  I don’t remember how I could have still been driving, and yet I was.  My SO telling me to be safe but get to him.  My best friend telling me to go let my SO hold me and reminding me to be grateful for the many people in my life that will have my back.  I would not go to a court battle alone.  This time, unlike 9 years ago, I would not be alone.  They knew better, and would support me, and prop me up.  I cried anyway, and drove, and tried to remember that, and not feel like a failure.

The third breakdown happened in the night. 

I had crawled in to bed with my boyfriend, and what I wanted was sex.  Yep, not gonna lie.  Sex, throughout my adult life, had been my go-to to feel connected. The need was raw.  I had shut off, felt too hurt to let myself cry or explain.  It, too, was my go-to, when emotions were too in-my-face and out of my control, and shutting off seemed easier that facing anything.  I wanted to be wanted.  I wanted my son to want me as his mother.  I wanted my ex husband to want me to continue to raise my son with all the wonderful things I could and have exposed him and his sister to.  I wanted to be the kind of woman that really could have and do it all. I wanted to know I was strong, and composed, and in the right.  I wanted to be powerful and aloof, and so above it, that I could fuck and have it not even phase me. No pain, no fear, no commitment to being a mom.  Just me. Oh yeah, and my BF was gonna have to be there.  Or at least the part that would get me to an orgasm was. The rest, well, it was not something I needed to be connected to, since I wasn’t connected anyway, in my shut off state, and I just fine with being just a body right then.  He was having none of it. He was not going to let me run away.  He was not going  to let me be emotionally vacant.  So, instead, he held me.  Turned me down flat, but held me as I balled, first not able to breathe, and then until the sobbing took over and shook me. Then as I fell asleep.

The final breakdown on day one happened while out shopping.

Everything looked like something I would buy for my son. Everything.  I didn’t even want to touch things because in my head I already would never even be able to show him any of it. He was already gone, like the court fight had already happened and no matter the outcome, everything had changed.  I could do nothing about it.  I would have to comply.  The shutdown was back in full force, and that is when I broke again. Something inside me said it was going to have to be okay, because it already was. I had not died, as if that was even possible, and I was not alone.  The world had not stopped. This breakdown happened silently. I was broken, but knew I would survive.

So, what’s next?  Court, I suppose. And trying to figure out what to do with this new space I have to live in with my son.  And my daughter. And my boyfriend, and my supporters, and my friends, and my village.  Not so broken down after all.   Bruised and still fragile, and completely exhausted by the last 24 hours, but present. This time around, unlike 9 years ago, I am writing about it immediately, owning it before it owns me.