It has been a while since I have written and part of it is at risk of becoming a broken record. I wish I could say the past few weeks have been good or at least uneventful, but it isn’t just the case. We seem to vacillate between mini disasters and chaos with my own meltdowns thrown in for good measure.
Both boys are struggling, with one able to verbalize and externalize his anger while the other holds it in with contempt for me while pretending nothing has changed. We have reached the point that I am in the process of getting more services to help the boys and myself. I started going to DivorceCare to work be around other people who have been through similar experiences. But, as my therapist said, “your story will usually win”. Believe me, this is not some contest you want to win and when I sit back and detach from this story, it feels too much to be true. But, alas, true it is, and there is a lot to it that I have not even written bout.
I have worked on building some new traditions for the boys and myself. Some have been flops (the Elf on the Shelf where we all take turns), and others have been big successes. I have been filling their advent calendars with coupons for fun things or breaks from chores and other small treats. That has been fun to create that little excitement every day. At the same time, Messi has really dug into his atheism and refuses to acknowledge any part of the Christmas story.
One of the greatest challenges of this past few weeks is the anticipation the boys have regarding their upcoming trip to see their dad. Messi is counting down the days and knows all the grand plans. Bolt is tentatively excited, but nervous and confronting his own issues with his dad. It has been over eight months since they have seen him, and a lot has changed for everyone. As for myself, facing the holiday without my sons and knowing that January could be rough…well that has me a mess of emotions.
The past week has seen me yelling and on my knees sobbing on the floor, sitting through church services with tears flowing, and overwhelmed. I haven’t had a working kitchen sink since Friday due to a drain clog and I have a door with a missing plate glass after an accident by Bolt. I have had help from unexpected sources, but at the end of the day it is the boys and I and we are a mess right now. I am looking forward to making it through this holiday and picking them up at the airport knowing that this first is over. Until then, I will try to relish the quiet warmth of winter – warm heat, chilly days, and the stillness of snow.
For most of my life, I have often felt like I didn’t fit in. As a teenager, I felt like I was meant to live in a different time. I felt like I started to find myself towards the end of high school and in college, I developed an excellent group of friends who I felt “got me”. Then, when I got married, I thought “this is it, I finally found someone who loves me, and all will be good”. Then, came the infertility…as I watched other couples and friends start to build families, I again felt left out. Suddenly, my friends were busy raising kids and even being around them was a painful reminder. When we adopted the boys, I again thought “this is it”, but I quickly found that in a small community, many families already had their “groups”. As Bolt began to really struggle, it felt further isolating. Why couldn’t I have the American Dream? We then picked up and moved across the country right when I was just starting to feel like I might have found a community. As I have said before, the move was the right decision, but also reactivated that feeling of isolation. Then, well, you know the rest.
Interestingly, in the past few months, I have really connected with the adoptive families group at church. It was feeling so alone that really allowed me to step outside my comfort zone for new friendships. However, with that, the feeling of not belonging has been emerged its ugly head again. While I now feel like I found a group of women who understand what parenting a kid from a “hard place” looks like, I look around the room and still feel so very much like a misfit watching couples mingle with other couples.
The other challenge I find, that churches are designed around families. You look around a service on a Sunday morning and are surrounded by families. I stand there in worship and often find myself overwhelmed by how alone I feel. I have one son who sits who his hands over his ears and both regularly excuse themselves for a bathroom run. I worry that people are judging me for the behavior of my sons. Part of me wants to shout from the rooftops, “I am doing the best I can”. Then, as I joined the sparsely attended singles group I hear that the church has so many groups that it can’t “publicize” groups that don’t feed a majority…
All while these thoughts are going through my head, I can’t help wondering if these experiences are teaching me empathy for the lonely…the left out…the misfits. I must take hold of the truth that we all have our own stories and those stories can either make us or break us. I don’t know the future, but I also believe that God can make beauty from ashes.