Tuesday, April 3, 2012

About Me

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A Well Traveled Woman
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Read the previous entry here.


The smell of cows and corn fields remind me of home.  I'm from a small town in a loosely populated mid-western state.  As a kid I built a "save the salamander sanctuary" in our back yard.  Every...single...one of them died and I bawled.   My blue banana-seat bike was nick-named the "blue-light special" and hidden behind a lilac bush I camouflaged my face with mud while slinging bombs at my 2 younger brothers.  I was shy, awkward, skinny and never felt too comfortable.  My best friend lived down the street.  She was AWESOME!  She had a mullet!  Which we called the Fem-ullet.  Her mom always had Capri-Suns and she had a slobbery-kiss giving chihuahua named Frisky.

Frisky had a thing for my best friends sister's hair.  Her hair was shiny platinum blonde and fell to her waist.  The weirdo chihuahua loved to to get all messed up in her hair and chew it.

We died laughing one day cause there was a foot-long string of hair coming from it's little anus with a tiny chihuahua-turd dangling at the end!  He was running around chasing a stranded turd on a string of hair that hadn't finished digesting somewhere in his large intestine!!  Our sides ached, we couldn't breathe and tears squeezed from our little 9-year old eyes!  We laughed and laughed!

Seems I mention poop a lot...see here and here and here.  Poop is funny, even for a girl like me.
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My Dad didn't think poop was funny.  Being nice wasn't natural for him.  His eyes were steely blue,  he was ridged, yelled at a lot and thought spanking was good idea.  He was a talented spanker, a gift he inherited from his father.  Sometimes I thought it was a bit manic.  I wasn't happy at home and I learned more about being mean than being kind.

He's an artist and our house was always filled with buckets, cans and bottles of paint.  My brothers and I were latch-key kids and after school was the best time of the day; 
we were unsupervised!

The garage housed a massive collection of spray pain., I was fascinated with the endless colors and textures.  We sprayed everything: the walls, the tool bench, sticks, rocks, spiders and styrofoam.  Have you ever seen what spray paint does to styrofoam?  Try it.  My brother spray painted his arm and then lit it on fire!  He scorched one eyebrow off and lost part of his coat sleeve.  Yes, we were all spanked when my Dad got home.

My Mom thought poop was funny, until she caught the scolding look my Dad sent her.  She was quiet and seemed afraid.  I love her.  She was soft and kind, she liked to fish, had long strawberry hair and wore pink homemade pants.  She made me a matching pair.  When we were too poor to buy a real Cabbage Patch Kid she made me one out of nylons!  It was perfect.  She was an awful cook but she always made a delicious breakfast.  It's still my favorite meal.

She was creative but my father squelched it with criticism.  Somewhere along the way I lost respect for her; she never stood up for her children or herself. I felt sorry for my Mom and knew she wasn't happy either.
   
Math hurt my brain.  I wasn't a savvy cook. Baseball, basketball or volleyball always ended with me on the bench with a goose-egg and ice pack on my head.  I got fired from my paper route (allegedly, I threw all the newspapers in the garbage).  At 13 I got caught stealing a piece of candy from the gas station. Classic!!  I was voted class president my freshman year but was replaced by the v.p. when I never attended an officers meetings.  My drama teacher always cast me in the most minor of non-speaking parts. My spirit was adventurous and not afraid to try new things but, honestly, I wasn't very good at any of them.

Seventh grade rolled around with its hairspray, big hair, acid wash jeans and an annoying monthly visitor called a period.  This year the high school running coach asked me if I would like to train with the JV cross-country and track team.  So I did.  This skinny, clumsy pre-teen was finally good at something.  I was fast.  My first pair of running shoes were a cheap pair of white Keds but that didn't matter, I was still fast.  My lungs were strong and the farther I ran the fast I went.   By my freshman year I was faster than anyone in my school.  Running healed me.

Nothing in my childhood built my self-worth more than being good at something.


My husband didn't just hurt me.  His sex addiction hurts our daughter too.  She's a little girl becoming self-aware on the edge teenage befuddlement.  Can't he see how necessary he is? Doesn't he know his love can teach her she's safe and adored as herself and not a sexual object? He can offer her confidence to stand up for herself and say "no".  Has his power and influence as a father escaped him?  Doesn't his wholesome attention and affection provide a solid foundation for her self-esteem? This is heartbreaking; I can never offer the same gifts a loving father can give her.

My heart beats faster as my Keds propel my feet and my self-worth takes root, making permanent residence in my heart. I think it's time to take her for a jog.  Oh, and we'll be sure to dodge any unassuming piles of poo!

Follow the story.
Read the next entry here.


11 comments:

  1. When I first started reading here, I thought you were divorced. That's why I said yes to "revenge sex" - I'd like to take that back - NO on revenge sex. I didn't know you were still married - my bad.

    Okay, with that out of the way...

    This was a very powerful post but the thing that touched me the most was when you spoke of your daughter. I drill it in to my daughter's head how the images she sees on TV and in magazines aren't "real". That it's what's inside is what is important but it's so hard to do when I'm still trying to recover from my self esteem being rocked and damaged by my husband's sex addiction. Now he's left having to work with me to make sure she isn't just as damaged too. Thankfully, he tries, but it's a work in progress.

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    1. L...no worries! lol! Revenge sex wasn't really my plan. Just a shallow revengeful way to hurt him back. And yes, currently we are officially still married, but separated. Which is actually why I have about 101 million questions for you. I want to know all the gritty details...how did you decide to stay with him? I plan to send an email one of these days and ask you all my questions. Better yet, I'd love to take you out but seems we live pretty far apart. Maybe I'll come for a visit.

      How do you regain respect or even emotionally love him again? How did you let him touch you again...how did it ever mean anything again? How do you not tear out your hair and scream in hysteria? It's like you said in one of your posts, how are you ever going to be able to go to a movie without re-living all the trauma? You one of the few out there who's trying to make it work after infidelity. You seem genuine and real.

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    2. email away April. =) Seriously, I'm an open book.

      I'm planning on doing a tab on my blog page called "why do you stay?" because I figured people probably wonder think the same things as you. In short, it's because his recovery is sincere. He's remorseful and I work on myself. A lot.

      One of the best pieces of advice I got when I found out he was an addict was this: Could I take his addiction and remove it and still love him for him? If the answer was yes, put the addiction back into the picture....can I still love him with the addiction? Is the answer still yes? Now was I willing to move forward? Was I able to accept that what he did was because of the addiction and not because of me? Sounds simple but it's not. But, it was where I lay my ground work.

      Not sure if that makes sense..it does in my head LOL

      I think as far as respecting him, I'm an addict from 20 years ago. I know that he didn't set out to hurt me. It's a disease. He's now in recovery. As long as he doesn't hurt me again, I'm good. I've set my boundaries and as long as he doesn't cross them, I'll stay.

      Touching me again...that took work and I did it immediately before I would allow trauma to take hold. Yes, there are still moments that I can't' fathom it, after a bad trigger, but it doesn't last long. However, I went against all the therapists advice and what I read. I said, screw it. I'm bigger than this. I'm tougher than this. I just did it. If it made me cry we stopped. Then I would try again later or the next day. Eventually I got over it. Now I am teaching him intimacy.

      The movies...well...that is in MY head. Valerie (just look on my blog) caused that trauma. While it was his cheating and his addiction that did it, Valerie compounded it. I was on my way to healing and had been to the movies and then she resurfaced and stalked me. But, I'll beat that again too.

      Seriously, email me when you're up to it. You can vent to me anytime =)

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    3. I'm sending you an email now!! This is an insane road we travel and I'm so glad your willing to share your thoughts and feelings cause sometimes it seems so impossible.

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  2. Wow. You are a completely gifted writer. Seriously. I would pay good money to read about your life--you craft your stories in such an absorbing, relate-able way. KEEP IT UP. Love it.

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    1. you make me feel like a million bucks! I'm honored you read. Thank you. Ya know, you start writing cause it feels good and then a few people are listening and commenting and helping you through the tough times. All this when you never thought anyone would really be that interested in your stories. You're a talented story teller too!

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  3. Nora is right, you should be published somewhere. I was captivated.

    I think the best thing I can do for my kids is show them that no matter what crap life dishes us, we are going to be better for it. I will not be ruined, embittered or destroyed. Then maybe when they get their share of crap they will recall the power of choice.

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  4. I'm seriously so flattered! And sometimes when i re-read it I think, "this doesn't make any sense." I'm glad you get me, Jane. You're right, I hope they can recall the power of choice too.

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  5. HHHHHAAAAA! Dangling hair turd. I laughed out loud. You are incredible, and I'm even more obsessed with you.

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    1. Not as much as i'm obsessed with you! Ya, hair turd! It's a true story. :)

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  6. I happen to think poop is the funniest thing EVER...so long as it isn't between my toes or on my carpet. My mom thinks poop is funny too...and my dad, well...he's had it between his toes too many times to see the funny :)

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hi

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