This Is A Test

Parenting is the hardest life test you’ll ever take and never truly know whether or not you passed.  Sure, there may be sections of the test you may find out how well you did, but truly getting a pass or fail score probably won’t ever come.  Blindly, we go through the struggle of attempting to pass a test with no right or wrong answers.  We may try to “cheat” by asking our classmates for the answers, but they’re taking a totally different test!  Basically, we’re screwed.  The time we have before we take the test to study is brief.  It almost feels like we get only a few minutes to glance at the curriculum before we’re head first in the exam.  What makes this test so significantly important is that the outcome of our performance weighs heavily on our entire “life” grade.  Ugh.

When I first held my daughter in my hands I won’t deny the level of arrogance that I had in being a great mother.  At the stupid and immature age of 18, there was this sense of confidence that was so wildly misplaced that it could have been clinically diagnosed.  Nevertheless, I stepped into my role, as a mother with what I felt was precision and determination.  Looking at the first months as a mother now, I have no emotional reaction except maniacal laughter.  It wasn’t until the age of 30 that I felt I had the justification to feel confident as a mom.  I realized that prior to Alex, I wasn’t passing this test as well as I thought I would.  I almost treated my daughter’s early years as a practice test.  Epic.  Fail.

My kids are spread apart in age.  I have an 18 year old, a six year old, and a two year old.  In between my first and second, I had my sweet Connor who would have turned 8 this last June.  When I tell people the ages of my kids, I’m met with wide eyes.  It’s just the way it turned out.  I get a little piece of entertainment when I elaborate on the reality of my life with my kids when I inform them that my oldest is married and in the Army.  I have a son who still poops his pants and a kid who is probably pooping her pants as she navigates the real world as a private in basic training.  My test feels somehow rigged.  But, I digress.  There is nothing more polarizing when evaluating your skills as a parent when you have such a gap in ages. 

I recently posted a status on Facebook asking how you define whether or not you have successfully parented.  What characteristics are there in your kids to either validate or invalidate your performance as a parent?  The answers were very much what you would think.  If your kids are happy, healthy, and good contributors to society:  WINNING!  There was a huge part of my life’s story that prompted such a query of my fellow parenting colleagues.  My daughter had recently gotten married despite significant protest from her dad and I.  I was devastated.  I’m still devastated.

There has been trepidation as to writing this blog.  I nearly NEVER air out “dirty laundry” online.  I make a concerted effort to protect the more intimate details of my life.  I try to share my experiences without getting to specific as to the roots of the topics I tend to write about.  Even more so when people provoke those emotional experiences.  I’m sure one could read between the lines, I’m not that brilliant a writer.  However, this time I’m not feeling so delicate.

There is absolutely no regret at all when making the choices I did when I found out I was pregnant with my daughter.  The magnitude of such a responsibility was easy for me to accept.  I had no problem getting married and “doing the right thing.”  I had plans.  I wanted to go to school and be an English major with a minor in journalism.  I wanted to get the hell out of Sierra Vista and find out who I was the traditional and hard way.  There was so much I wanted to do.  I wanted to travel as much as I could.  I wanted to meet as many people as possible and sponge on the experiences of others.  My bucket list was healthily long and achievable.  Peeing on a stick instantly changed every single idea I had of my life.  Suddenly, she was the only person in the world I cared about.

As she came to an age where she started to fantasize about what her life would look like, I took the opportunities to impart my knowledge and dreams onto her.  I made very selective choices with my words when telling her what I didn’t want for her.  What I didn’t want for her was violently obvious to me.  I wanted better for her than what ended up happening for me.  I remember talking to friends about this.  How can I tell my daughter to not short change herself without her feeling or thinking for even a second that I regretted her?  This test question was worth a LOT of points.  The way I handled this part of parenting her would substantially impact her life.  This wasn’t a moment where I could just spout off the answers I thought I had without worry for consequence.  There had to be a poetry in which I tried to lead with a massive aura of hypocrisy.  Whoa. 

When my mother informed my father of my pregnancy, I will never forget overhearing their conversation.  Through the tears he graphically cried, he asked over and over one simple question:  How did we fail her?  He asked me that to my face.  I cried, too, as I answered that he hadn’t.  He explained to me that he had done so much to try and prevent this kind of circumstance from ever coming into my life.  He wept as he sat on the living room floor, with his head in his hands, in total shock as a section of the test he was taking was given a failing grade.  It wasn’t until we spoke during his dying days that he discovered, he hadn’t failed at all.

The day my daughter got married, I had a hint as to the level of disappointment my own parents endured during my own nuptials.  For years, I have hated looking at pictures of my wedding because the camera captured the very essence of how both my ex-husband’s and my own parents really felt about the path their children were taking.  Even though they wanted us to get married, they knew that staying married would be a fight, being married would challenge the core of our personalities, and the success rate was not in our favor.  The catch 22 was so evident, but it was the lesser of two evils.  Not unlike this year’s election.

The reason I only had a hint into the minds of my parents was because of very uncomfortable difference. She is not pregnant.  There was no sense of urgency for her marry.  The tip of the iceberg of her life has only started to show above the ocean she has to navigate.  I still cannot wrap my mind around the choice she made to complicate such a delicate period of her life.  It’s hard enough to be 18 and embarking on your own journey but to add the responsibility of another person’s needs and desires?  It makes no sense to me at all!  Needless to say, I expressed my lack of approval with my over-inflated-sense-of-self teenage daughter.  It didn’t go well.  It didn’t matter that I had intimate experience with how hard it is to “grow up” with the responsibility of other people at risk if she failed.

This whole story has an asterisk next to it with a very long back-story.  I’m not going to go into that whole thing right now.  But, I will summarize, as it does matter to how my parenting test is going.  My daughter and I have not had a healthy relationship since the divorce.  In fact, before I found out she was getting married, we had not spoken in nearly three months.  I had only seen her twice in that period of time and no speaking was actually conducted.  Her opinion of me is so low that she has literally adopted another person as her “mother.”  I may, in the near future elaborate on this.  For the sake of story telling, this piece of information is instrumental in understanding part of why our conversation about her decision to marry went so horrifically wrong.

As a parent, we have a job to coach our kids through the big stuff.  For a while, we have to simply place bumpers around them until they’re ready to take things on their own.  Letting our kids go screw themselves up is hands down one of the most gut wrenching experiences of mother/fatherhood.  I hope that one day, my daughter will see that me sort of yelling at her that there’s a cliff up ahead will not be thought of as controlling and/or manipulating but as truly loving her.   She told me, “I’m an adult and can make my own choices.”  I was so amply prepared for that statement.  As if reading from the script of life, I said, “I’m not speaking to you as a child.  I’m speaking to you as an adult.  If you think for one minute that adults don’t give counsel and guidance to each other, you’ll figure it out soon enough.  Mature grown ups know when something is too much to do alone and find other grown-ups to help them through it.  Why do you think I spend so much time on the phone with my best friend?”

I didn’t see her again until she was standing in front of the courthouse.  She wore a red prom dress that showed entirely too much cleavage to be considered classy.  Her to-be husband did not shake her father’s hand, or mine, nor did he even acknowledge our existence.  Those who came to “support” the wedding gathered around them.  Her father and I were treated as no more than an afterthought and the air of annoyance was ripe.  We were passively greeted and even more blatantly ignored.  I watched as my daughter prepared for her ceremony with what felt like teenagers gathering before the homecoming dance.   The women my daughter has replaced me with, fawned over her and complimented her detailed look.  She had a bouquet.  Her hair was done.  There was detail given to the event and I wasn’t part of a single second of it.  I couldn’t breathe.

Each moment I had to endure by attending this major event of my daughter’s was wrought with nausea, faintness, a lumped throat, and finally (thank God) numbness.  I wasn’t invited to any of the after ceremony activities.  I went home and cried like an infant with colic.  I was grateful I wasn’t on my week with the boys.  The myriad of hysterical emotions I had to endure would have been too much to handle with the needs of small people impeding the intense need to have a meltdown.  I had a hint of what it felt like to be my parents.  For the first time in a long time, I felt such grief for their absence that I worried for a few days that my depression was going to take a muscle man’s grip to my life.

Today, my daughter is in training for a career in the Army.  I don’t have a single idea as to how she is doing.  The details of her enlistment are a mystery to me.  I have no idea if she is happily married or not.  My only daughter has disowned me and has had no qualms in expressing her disapproval of me.  So, I have no choice but to evaluate how my test has gone so far.  Right now, with the status of my relationship with my daughter being so strained, I can feel nothing less than failure with her.  I have made the hardest decision in my life when it comes to my motherhood.  I have stepped back and I’m giving it to God.  I am giving it to time.  I am giving it to hope.  I just pray earnestly that taking a step back and giving her space to grow and develop will end with her coming back to me and maybe getting the chance to get some extra credit to help improve the grade I’ve been given in the test of parenting my first child.

Love

There must needs be opposition in all things.  In order to know darkness, one must know light.  To understand hate, one must understand love.  There has to be an opposing force to all things to have universal balance.  In all of the extreme cases, there has to be opposition.  It’s a bitch really.  I remember the first time I said the word “hate.”  My father immediately had me explain what that meant.  How could I know how to hate Brussels sprouts?  It was puzzling.  I was maybe 7 years old.  That was a complex question apparently and because I couldn’t answer, it resulted in the gag fest of masticating those damn things until they were gone.  He was quite strict with knowing how to use your words.  Years later, he told me that you couldn’t hate something until you have loved it.  Whoa.

Now that I’m a grown up and have a slightly better comprehension of emotions, that conversation has frequently replayed in my head.  There must be opposition in all things.  You can’t hate something until you have loved it.  I have argued that many times in these elaborate musings I entertain in my head.  I have surely never loved terrorism, but I sure hate it.  I have never loved paying bills, but it is certain that I hate it.  However, if you take that philosophy and apply it to the dynamics of human relationships…it bears some logic.

Love is gorgeous.  It lightens your aura.  It places slight flickers of sparkle in your eyes.  Love empowers your convictions.  Love has this poetic ability to shine optimism in every shady corner of your perspective.  Alanis Morrissette wrote this awesome song called “Head Over Feet.”  One of my favorite lines is “I’ve never felt this healthy before.”  Love does that, too.  It’s nuts how incredible being in love, feeling loved, showing love, etc. can shift so many intricate facets of your life.  It’s obvious when someone is feeling love.  They glow. 

Hate is hideous.  It puts dark circles under your eyes.  It haunts your sleep.  Hate fuels every hint of negativity your narrowed mind concocts and turns it into a bonfire.  Hate transforms your hope into despair.  Hate roots itself in your physiology and wretches your guts.  It is equally remarkable to note that when a person is full of hate, it shows.  They’re dim.

Those two life altering emotional experiences are polar opposites of each other.  How would you know what love is without knowing hate?  How would you know what hate is without knowing love?  I thought I knew what hate felt like.  I also thought I knew what love felt like.  I’m not talking about the love of friends, family, children, etc.  I’m talking about that love movies lead us to believe is sitting on a barstool at your local bar just waiting for you to walk in on a rainbow carpet with trumpets blaring your arrival for that one person to immediately recognize you’re amazing and fall over themselves to make you smile.

Getting to know what real love feels and sounds like, has also introduced me to what real hate feels and sounds like.  I couldn’t have had either without the other.  The past couple of months have been so enlightening.  I have actually had to stop for a moment and allow the truth set in and wash over me.  It has been the most fascinating lesson I’ve ever learned.  I’m generalizing just how huge this has been.  Things I thought I had a good concept of were made so clear that it shook me.  Chapters I thought I had closed were suddenly reopened and I have been able to rewrite my account to truly obtain closure.  I have had one of Oprah’s “Ah-ha moments” on steroids.

 I have come into the stage of my evolution where I won’t let a single thing I know is good for me slip through my fingers.  Without hesitation I am eliminating negative forces from my life.  There is always going to be the pull between two opposing directions.  Never will there cease to be choices between relenting and persevering.  But, now that I have this infectious frenzy of joy in my life, the fortitude to see things through to where I want them to be is stronger than ever.  I am so grateful for the place my heart is in and how quickly I have been able to embrace a love I have daydreamed about. 

I recently wrote that I am digging this era of my life.  It’s so immensely true that I could spend pages talking about the specifics of why.  I feel like I’ve grown.  There is a security in my character that is continuously gaining validation.  Truth is drowning lies.  Knowledge is shattering ignorance.  Bravery is slaying cowardice.  Love is devouring the hate.  Joy is lying to rest what has been a very heavy depression. 

Language

I have been reflecting for about two weeks about this blog.  There is a general excitement at this time of the year.  The end of one year and the beginning of another is that great time for me to seriously think about where I am.  Several questions run through my mind as I truly consider what I have learned.  This year, probably more than any other, I have treated this contemplation with more reverence.  It was simple to remember several moments over this past year that caused me to stop dead in my tracks.  This wasn’t a year of massive trauma (Thank GOD!).  This was a year of emotional growth and recognition.

There was a theme this past year that I have come to recognize.  Language.  I learned two new languages.  The first is still being taught.  I am learning how to work in the world of IT.  I have never had to understand network infrastructure.  Certainly, it never occurred to me to understand network security.  With the prodding of financial responsibility, I set out to learn just that.  Over the course of six months, I toiled over a thick set of documents filled with acronyms and jargon I was only vaguely familiar with.  This past December 18^th, I passed the Security+ exam with flying colors. 

That was huge for a couple reasons.  There was significant pressure to obtain that certification if I wanted to maintain my employment.   This is a test designed to be taken by those who have at least two years of experience in the IT field and several other certificates earned prior to taking it.  I had none of that.  Instead, I stuck my head deep in the material I was provided and studied my rear end off to learn this subject.  I engaged others who had taken and passed the test for tips and suggestions for studying.  I crammed the last week with a dear friend who helped me believe in myself.  Turns out all I needed was someone to help me pull my head out of my fear and face the fact that I was prepared and knew all that I needed in order to pass.  Funny how believing in yourself can push you so far!

The other language I learned over 2015 is also one I am still learning, but I have gained the conversational elements to understand and communicate the language of my depression.  It is absolutely no secret that I battle this monster.  I have for several years.  Minus one very ugly year, I have mostly accepted my struggle.  However, for the first time I have figured out exactly how to manage it.  I thought I already knew this.  In fact, I am pretty sure I’ve blogged about it before.  While none of my previous comprehension has been rendered moot, it has paved the way for my deeper understanding.

When the news took off of Robin Williams’ passing, the world seemed to turn a new eye and ear to those quietly suffering with such despair.  For the first time I really saw people making an effort to understand what it was and even more impressive was the “coming out” of so many regular people and declaring their own trials.  I quietly applauded from my computer as I read blog and post about so many people sharing not only that they have depression, but,that they shared how they cope or don’t cope with it.  A real conversation started. 

In no way, shape, or form have I mastered the ability to secure my depression into a box of silence.  What I figured out this past year was how to ebb and flow with the avalanches that slide over me.  I don’t fight my depression any more.  I have learned how to listen to my depression.  The fact of matter is this:  It’s a part of me.  I will never hold my sweet Connor in my arms.  I will never be able to tell my mother how much she has impressed me and how much I idolize her.  My father will never fully understand the impact he has had on me, both good and bad.  I am divorced and that relationship will never be the same again.  There are so many things that have happened that I can’t change.  I have accepted that I will always miss the ideas I have had about how things should/could/would have been.  Let me tell you, accepting that has made this all so much easier to understand. 

My depression is a product of my life’s battles.  My depression is my body letting me know I’m still hurting.  The depression speaks to me and reminds me that sometimes I have to acknowledge the things I try to sweep under the rug.  Because I recognize the role my depression plays, it is not often anymore that I’m caught off-guard.  It doesn’t matter where I am or what I’m doing, if I smell my mother’s perfume, I’m going to miss her.  If I hear any song by Pat Metheny, I’m going to feel my dad sitting in the room with me.  There’s a ton of other moments that I know can happen without any warning.  When those moments happen, I shift my attitude from one of sadness to joy.  I now look at those moments as gifts.  The trigger of a memory I may not have recollected on my own that perhaps I needed.

Several instances have graphically put me on the floor this past year.  Over and over I have asked, “Why?”  I have no answer, still.  I know that this year will bring that wave of curiosity again.  The difference in how I will handle it the next time is to ask it where it needs to be directed.  That is a mistake I have made many times over.  “Why are you doing this to me?”  If there is no gratifying answer provided, the door will close on that issue and I will no longer sacrifice my self-worth trying to change that.  It’s not God.  I’ve been asking him.  He’s not the one who can tell me.  When dealing with free will of others, I was allowing the subjugation of their actions.  I can choose the level of impact those choices have over me.  I cannot hold myself responsible for anyone’s choices.  I am only responsible for the way I allow them to change me.  This is another giant piece to help me keep my depression at bay.  I have found the language I need to self-preserve.

For some reason, I have had more honesty given to me as to the type of personality I have.  So many people have never told me just how “difficult” I am.  I have laughed at each confession.  The difficulty has been defined as: strongly opinionated, vocally forward, and harsh.  Yep.  I’ve known that about myself.  I deeply appreciate honesty.  Even it may come off as hard to hear.  With those conversations, I have walked away taking note to be a little less unfiltered and reserve my bluntness for an audience that is slightly less sensitive.  Hard.  Very.  Hard.

I can see so many good things in my life.  There is a stronger sense of capacity than I’ve had in a very long time.  I started this last year feeling similarly.  I got knocked down a few pegs quickly.  But, I let that happen.  I didn’t fight against the opposition hard enough and lost footing.  I will probably face set backs this year as well.  I am not naïve enough to believe that I will face those trials with immunity.  I’m human and have several massive flaws that I am still working on.  Survival isn’t good enough for me anymore.  I watched myself grow up a bunch this last year.  I can’t unlearn lessons.  I am trying to reduce the amount of pop quizzes for this upcoming year.  Prepared is what I am.  Living is what I want to do.  The path is paved.  I no longer have ignorance on my side as I am well on my way.  Any failures are mine alone.  It used to feel too big to accept that responsibility.  Now, it feels damn good.