Drowning in insecurity

I lost a lot of things when I choose to walk away from my marriage. I lost a 17-year relationship, my best friend, my hopes for the future, the life I was accustomed to, but the biggest thing I lost was my sense of security. I am a pretty self-assured person for the most part, but I still have a good number of insecurities, just like everyone else. However, ending my 13 year marriage robbed me of any sense of security that I ever had, even if it was a false sense of security.
I am currently living in a state of complete upheaval with fears of what my future might hold. As a result of my pending divorce, in a matter of months, I will have to sell my family home of the past 7 years, uproot my kids, and move them back to a state that they barely remember from their childhood. I haven’t worked in 8 years and now I need to look at reentering the work force after a very long break from it. When I first stopped working to stay home with my kids, it was one of the most difficult decisions I had to make. I was riddled with anxiety over it. I’d held some type of job since I was 10 years old. I’d always had a way of making money and supporting myself to some degree. I often worked multiple jobs, including throughout college. After having kids, I often fantasized about staying home with them, but never really thought it would become a reality. I even switched jobs at one point to prolong my ability to work while still being a good mother. That job ended up being a nightmare. When I found out I was pregnant with my third child and that my pay wasn’t even going to cover the cost of childcare for three children, I was a little relieved to feel forced to stop working. That didn’t mean I wasn’t in a panic about it. By not working, I felt like I was losing part of my, not to mention the waste of my education that I’d worked so hard to complete. More than anything though, I was afraid of becoming that woman who took time off from work, sacrificed her life for her family, only to find herself, a decade later, divorced and needing to do the difficult task of going back to work to support herself. Basically, exactly what has happened to me.
In my marriage, I felt secure in many ways. I felt secure that someone loved me, was there for me, that I was financially taken care of, that my kids and I would never starve, that things would always work out somehow because I wasn’t alone. All of this, of course, was a false sense of security. My husband had secret credit cards and an addictive spending habit that, at times, made it hard for me to buy groceries for the kids or pay for things we needed. Often times, at the end of the marriage, I felt like I was doing it all on my own. I wasn’t even sure that he still loved me. There were so many lies, half-truths, and hidden secrets that my security in anything began to wane. I thought leaving him wouldn’t feel too different because I was already doing it alone for the most part. This feeling, however, did not prepare me for the stark reality of actually doing it all alone and the amount of insecurity about everything in my life that I would experience.
I try so hard to put on a brave face and pretend that everything is going to be ok. I’m like a cat, I always land on my feet, I’ll make it through this. If I keep thinking these things and remain calm, then my children with believe it and they won’t panic. Inside though, I am screaming with panic and insecurity. I feel like nothing is ever going to be okay ever again. I am moving back to a state that I never intend to live my life in. A place I never felt like I fit in. I picture my future as lonely, working multiple jobs to keep a roof over my kids’ heads, living on food stamps and state medical care. I see myself even more exhausted than I constantly am, taking care of four boys by myself. My life will be completely about my boys and working to keep them happy and give them the things they need. There will be no romantic partner to emotionally support me. Even if I had time to date, who is going to want to be with a middle-aged, single mom of four crazy boys? No one in their right mind. Not to mention, that no one will ever love my boys or me enough to stick around. Anyone who seemed interested I would immediately become suspicious of what their true intentions were.
The whole experience has left me so raw and insecure of everything in my life. I’ll never be able to support my boys all alone. Teachers aren’t exactly rich and have a hard-enough time supporting just themselves, forget about a family with four growing boys. I’m going to be so worn out doing it all that I’m going to miss out on actually being a good parent. My boys will become teens and I’ll see them between jobs, never really knowing what they are up to or what trouble they are getting into. I’ll be doing the best I can, and it will still fall short. They will probably hate me for taking away the lifestyle they are accustom to, even though that lifestyle wasn’t sustainable even with their dad. All the lies in my marriage have made it impossible to trust anyone. I can’t even trust myself half the time. My thoughts are constantly conflicted. I’m not even sure what I am feeling half the time because I am too afraid that if I acknowledge any real feelings, the flood gates with break and I’ll come undone.
I am so full of fear and anxiety. I fear not being good enough, not enough for my boys, not strong enough, not having enough money, not having support that I need, not being able to trust anyone, not feeling loved or lovable, not feeling worthy of anything, not being happy ever again, not being able to do it alone. My fear engulfs me often at night. I lay in the darkness of my room, hot tears running done my face as I try to quiet my mind enough to sleep. There is no security in my future, I am walking on uneven ground. I feel like I’m trying to climb up a hill made of sand. Every time I start to make progress up the hill, the sand shifts underneath me and I begin to slide backwards. I’ll never make it up this hill. I am going to die on this hill, sinking in the sand, choking for air as my anxiety and panic eat me alive.

I’m sorry I am failing you

Dear sons,

You are the most important people in my life and I love you with all my heart. I would do anything for you. I love being your mom and everyday I try to be the best mom I can be, but right now I am failing you.

Mommy isn’t at her best right now and is struggling. I want to be better and be the mom you deserve, but right now I am failing and it isn’t your fault or mine, it is just this moment in life. This rotten, awful moment that is making everything in life feel so much harder than it should be. I’m tired all the time, physically and emotionally. I cry all the time. I try to hide it from you, but I know you notice and I’m so sorry for failing to be stronger for you. I lose my temper and get upset. I’m not mad at you (usually), I’m mad at our situation and wish things were easier. I can’t concentrate and my headaches all the time. I wanted to finish that book for you tonight, really I did, but I couldn’t make my brain work to do it. I want to be alone more than usual and I’m so sorry, but you hanging on me and being in my face is giving me anxiety. I know you are feeling insecure and confused and so you want to be near me more, to cuddle me more, to get more hugs, and I’m trying, but I’m failing. I am far from my best and am failing you in so many ways.

My sweet babies, please know that I love you so very much, no matter how much I fail you right now. I will keep trying everyday to do better, but it isn’t easy. I hope that one day you are able to look back and know that everything I have done, I have done for you and despite my failures, I’m doing my best in a bad situation. I hope you are one day able to see that I tried. I hope one day soon that I will again find my strength and no longer fail you. Until then, please bare with me and know that I love you, even when I fail you.

Love,

Your failing mom

My hands are more full than you know

People often look at me, with my four boys, and comment something to the effect of, “boy, you’ve got your hands full.” I usually smile back politely with some cheery response and go about my day. That’s what I do every day; go about my day. I go about my day and smile as much as I can and just keep going. But it is getting harder and harder to go about my day and smile because inside I am falling apart and at whit’s end and don’t feel like smiling. In fact, what I feel like doing is crawling into bed and crying, but I don’t have that luxury because I am the single mom of four boys.

Up until recently, I was married and raising four boys. Raising four boys is a hard task in and of itself. It was hard in my marriage because my ex was never there. He did very little to help with the boys or around the house or to even be a part of the family. That is a huge reason why I left him. Now that he is out of the house though, he is involved with the kids even less. He is getting to live the kid free life that he apparently really wanted all along and has left me to parent four boys completely on my own. We moved away from family almost 7 years ago, while the kids were so young, for his job, so I have been left to care for our kids on my own. Now that we are split, I’m not only left to parent our four children alone, but I’m also left to pick up the pieces of our broken family.

When you are a single parent you don’t get any breaks. I have four, so even when I finally get one kid to sleep or busy doing something, I still have others that are making demand of me. The need cycle here is never ending, but unfortunately, my energy and emotional capacity is not. I am constantly running on empty and emotionally exhausted, even more so than before. When a kid needs something and I’ve just finally sat down to eat, take a break, or weed through emails, there is no one else for me to ask to go deal with it so I can have a minute. When the kids wake at night, and two of mine still do, there is no one else to switch off with after the third time of getting up and the fifth night of no sleep. When I am sick, there is no one else to make the kids dinner or pick up the groceries. It is constantly just me and four very needy kids who are having troubles figuring out the reality of their current situation.

My youngest is constantly throwing fits and having big emotions that he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand why the dad he loves and wants to spend time with hardly sees him anymore. He wants to spend time with his dad and call him, but his dad doesn’t feel the same way. It is hard to manage his emotions on a daily basis, but even harder to watch his dad yell at him for having these melt downs after seeing him for a short amount of time, when all he wants is more time with him. He comes home from his brief visits in worse shape than before he left. My second youngest doesn’t have too much interest in his dad, but likes his video games. All he knows is that visiting dad means lots of games and the heavy burden of being quiet while visiting or it will be all his fault that his dad gets kicked out of his not so kid-friendly apartment. My second oldest also craves his dad’s attention and hates that he must fight all his brothers for his dad’s attention in the small window of time that he gets with him. He constantly asks if he can get an extra day with his dad without his brothers, which I’d love for him to have, but his dad refuses to take them for anymore time than 24 hours in a week. He needs a lot of time to himself. My oldest doesn’t even want to see his dad and I have to beg and bribe him to go just so I can have a short break from them all and get stuff done. He hates going to his dad’s place and I don’t blame him. The place is small and not meant for kids. Other than video games, they have nothing to do there. They don’t even have beds to sleep in and are constantly threatened about making any noise. My oldest gets anxious and doesn’t want to be there. When they come back, usually after less than 24 hours with their dad, they are all a wreck. They are tired, hungry, cranky, and have been cooped up inside with each other for too long. I have to field melt downs and complaints and questions I don’t have answers to. If I can’t answer questions about their father’s behavior and choices, I’m not sure how they are supposed to try to understand and be ok with the situation. I’m always careful not to say negative things in front of them though. I might hate the way their dad treats them and his lack of interest in them, but I’m not about to say anything about it in front of them. I’m sure they will figure it out on their own as they get older, my oldest is already starting to.

Aside from trying to help my four boys through everyday life and deal with the emotional consequences of divorce, I have so many other things that I’m trying to deal with. I’m trying to pack up an entire house and get rid of things so I can move the boys back to where there is family to help me out. I’m running boys to appointments for different therapies. I’m trying to figure out how to do this divorce and make sure the boys and I get enough to survive. I’m dealing with the everyday messes, cooking, cleaning, and homeschooling of my kids. And I’m still trying to find time to deal with my own emotions in this divorce.

With each day that passes and each interaction I have with my ex, I become more and more sure that I made the right decision and that I probably should have made it earlier, except that I was scared. Now I’m in the thick of dealing with the things I was afraid of and I often wish I could just put a gun to my head. I don’t have the luxury to break down though and I certainly don’t have time for therapy or any kind of break from my life. But things are becoming more and more overwhelming and the tears are becoming harder and harder to choke back until I can find a few seconds of privacy to let them out. I often find myself turning up the music in my car so the boys can’t hear me as I cry while I’m driving them places. I sob loudly in the shower or hide in my closet to cry. I find myself paralyzed with anxiety, laying in bed balling with my door locked as the kids bang on it with demands. I cry until I throw up. My stomach is in knots and I don’t want to eat. If I do eat, I often throw it back up. I take pills to sleep and more antidepressants than usual. I can’t even hide my tears anymore. Today I sat quietly crying in a chair near my kids, while they ate lunch at a burger joint. People looked at me and judged me, but I just didn’t even care. It was a hard day, too hard, and I couldn’t do it anymore without crying. I have a hard time being productive because I constantly find myself in bed crying.

At this point, the tears aren’t for my broken marriage, I’m beyond that. At this point, my tears are for my boys and for me. I can’t do this all alone, but I have no choice and it isn’t fair the boys or me. I cry from the heart break that my boys deserve so much better. I cry with anger and rage that I have to do it all alone. I cry because I love my boys so much that I don’t understand how their own father can be so disinterested in being a part of their lives. I cry because it is all just too much and it is hard to keep putting one foot in front of the other to keep going on with my day.

Life isn’t easy and neither is being a mom, especially a single mom of four kids. Every day is a struggle just to survive and to keep going. I’m juggling more than just what you see on the outside and despite my smile, I’m falling apart on the inside. Yes, I have my hands full, more than anyone knows. I don’t need the obvious stated, what I need is some help, but I know that isn’t coming, so I’d settle for some sympathetic words or maybe a hug because raising four boys alone really sucks.

When vacations go bad: tales of a toxic trip

TMI warning: do not read if you cannot handle human bodily functions.

I need to get the toxins from this last “vacation” out of my system. So as a sit in the bath, trying to wash away the memories of the last few days, I decided that the best way to do that was to put it all out into cyberspace.

With only a week left until we move into our new home, the three boys and I ventured off on a “family vacation.” It was only a family vacation because we were traveling back to our previous habitat in the desert to meet up with family that still live there and more family that were coming in from out of town. Our family, however, was not complete because my husband stayed behind to work and we would not have chosen this location for our vacation had it been a true family vacation. Of course, after the events of the past few days, I’m not sure any of us will choose this location as a vacation destination again.

The trip started off beautifully, a little over a week ago. All three boys behaved nicely on the airplane back to the desert. The fact that the boys behaved so well on our first flight without Dad since the third son was born should have been the first sign that something was amiss and that I would pay later. Upon arriving in the desert, the two youngest and my sinuses instantly flared with allergies that we thought we had left long behind. Our skin began to shrivel and dry as if we were never once accustomed to the desert climate. Noses ran like faucets, throat stung like cacti, and hacking coughs sounded throughout the night like a coyote’s howl. Yet we sallied forth knowing that they were only allergies and could not keep us from the once a year rendezvoused we had with our cousins. Everyone was getting along. Sure there were the usual family squabbles; grandparents becoming overwrought with too many grandchildren in their house at once, siblings razzing siblings, arguments over who had dibs on the next margarita out of the blender; but everything was going well. that’s when the second omen occurred. It snowed in the desert (or at least in all the surrounding towns but where we were). Not quite as biblical as raining frogs, but we’re talking about a place where the slightest bit of rain garners breaking news updates as if it were the hurricane of the century, so snow is kind of a big deal. That’s when I made, what I believe to be, my crucial mistake; we went to the kid pit at the mall. We didn’t stay long, but I forgot to bathe my children in sanitizer when we were finished and then fed them a snack. After that, things took a real turn for the worse.

My kids went to sleep relatively easily (which I should have taken as sign #3), so I thought that I’d actually get to hang out and have drinks with my siblings. By 9:00, my middle child woke up very unhappy. I went into him just in time to move him away from the mattress that his two other brothers slept on before he vomited all over me and himself. I quickly moved him to the bathroom where he vomited more before I could get him near the toilet. I screamed for help, unsure if he got it on either of his brothers or had woken them, and waited an eternity for my befuddled mother to come in to help. Apparently once you get your kids through childhood, you don’t deal much with other people puking and begin to lose that quick response and sense of know-how that parents of young children seem to have. So I began barking orders like a drill Sargent while quietly praying between breaths that it was just food poisoning. Once we thought he was done, I changed both our sets of clothing and brought him out to the greatroom area (living/dining room combo for those of you unfamiliar) and began trying to figure out what to do about sleeping arrangements. That’s about when he projectile vomited all over the floor and us again. My dear old dad didn’t miss a beat, he looked over at the mess and promptly turned up the volume on the crime drama he was watching. Some shuffling of sleeping arrangements was done (thanks to my sister), more silent prayers were said, and I took my two youngest to bed with a puke bucket in hand. A few hours later, we did a similar song and dance. My mom came in to help, this time with her “puking child” wits about her, and for good reason. Apparently she had already dealt with my oldest puking all over himself as he sleep in her room several times. I still secretly held out hope of food poisoning since the two of them shared the same thing for dinner, but even more secretly, I was trying to keep down the possible reality of the situation along with my own dinner. Fast forward several restless and sometimes puke filled hours later to late the next morning. I was roused from my second attempt at sleeping by my middle child spewing strawberries slices in the hallway and my youngest reacting with an incredibly scared shriek. I then receive confirmation that it was not food poisoning. My poor youngest niece had puked in the car on the way to breakfast, while sitting in the restaurant during breakfast, and then again on the way home from breakfast. After another change job, I take my son and the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach back to bed. Fast forward a few more hours and it is my turn with the puke bucket. Back to sleep again and I awake to an empty bed and voices from the next room asking my middle son if he is okay and my niece saying “I think he’s going to puke again.” I scramble to get out of bed as I hear my son puking across the room in what feels more like a museum of things kids shouldn’t touch than a living room. Now where exactly the puke landed, I will not say in case my mother reads this, but I will say thank god for my sister and her powers of cleaning. It is a good thing that my parents are old and therefor slow when they go out to the store (I love you mom). That day was topped of with yet another of the clan following victim to the stomach virus from hell when my oldest niece took to the puke bucket.

The next day we thought we were all on the mend. My oldest niece was still weak, but had stopped puking. So we all headed off to the zoo with multiple strollers for puke weakened children. Sure, not the best idea, but it was our last day in town and we had more family to meet up with. It was a tiring excursion, but no major problems. On the drive home my two youngest fell asleep. When we got to the house, my middle child wanted to continue sleeping, but instead, wandered around the house until after everyone was bathed and then threw up all over us both again. I treaded lightly with him that night, fearful because the next day was our flight home. He ended up being okay, despite a few scary moments, but my nephew then started throwing up, as well as having it come out the other end, all over the bed. Him seemed better by this morning, but then it was my brother-in-laws turn, only hours before a six hour flight with a layover. I don’t think any of us could get out of there fast enough. With only the memory of the last few days, I’m not sure any of us ever want to go back. My middle child is so traumatized that he now associates Nana’s house with throwing up.

By some miracle, we all made it to our final destinations without incident. My sister texted me that they had gotten home okay, but now she was feeling sick. I breathed a sigh of relief that it seemed to be done for at least my family. Ten minutes after my sister’s text, while my husband was at the store, I hear my oldest yell to me from the bathroom “Mom, I pooped myself.” This is when we get the shit cherry on the puke sundae. I go into to find that not only had he pooped his pants, but he must have tried to take his pants off after making this discovery. There was poop everywhere, all over the freshly cleaned bathroom. Not to be overly graphic, but it was in his underwear, on his jeans, his socks, all down his legs, on the floor, and all over the white towel. My stomach was just starting to feel better, but was still a little queasy after lunch today, and this did not help the cause. I began to retch as I attempted to clean it up and end up running for the other bathroom before getting very far. I called my husband frantic, praying that he was close, but he wasn’t close enough. So I ventured in again, trying to come up for air frequent enough that I didn’t puke all over my son. Despite this tactic, I was overtaken again and ran for the other bathroom only to find my 3 year old pooping on that toilet. Luckily I managed to keep myself from puking all over the only other bathroom and my husband finally showed up.

So now the kids are bathed and I am too and I really hope that this is truly over. Hopefully neither one for my parents end up with it and if my sister does get it, it moves quickly. I think we all just need to have a little selective amnesia and forget this toxic trip, or at least the last half of it. I say instead of meeting at my parent’s house for our annual family vacation next year, we take a real vacation and meet at an all inclusive resort where the only reason someone might get sick is from too many drinks, not that that’s any fun when you are parenting, but that’s a story for another time.