Let’s talk about right and wrong, shall we?

I worry about the future.

It seems our current leaders are already lacking a moral compass and now? We’ve got a bunch of 20/30 somethings with the same issues. I worry about the work ethics and the inability to see outside oneself and as I watch certain communities as an outsider versus an insider, I worry. And I worry a lot.

So let’s talk about this. Shall we?

This is Davis. My oldest son and the other young man is Conor. They’re good kids. Both of them. But they’re friends and I happened to have a photo handy of the two of them. This is not about them but I want you to have a visual. So, say Davis is cheating on his school work. Like all the time. And that Conor found out. And then Conor totally ignored that what Davis was doing was bad. And not only did he not do anything about it, he gave him tools to help him to continue to cheat on his homework. And then Davis’ entire world imploded. He about lost his schooling and his life. Where does that leave Conor? To blame? No, not entirely but part of the problem. The really big, big, big problem. And let’s say there were many people who knew about Davis’ little cheating problem and they didn’t tell either. Are they to blame? Nope. But they’re still part of the problem. Davis life imploded. Davis’ mother is upset that his friend knew and didn’t tell her so she could help him and everything has gone to crap. And why? Fear? Is it fear that keeps us from doing the right thing? Is doing the right thing REALLY that hard?

Everyone is too scared to hurt their friend and then, in the long run, THEY REALLY HURT THEIR FRIEND. Are you getting this? By not telling, YOU ARE HURTING PEOPLE. You are PART of the problem. You have a shitty moral compass and then to smack “Christian friend” on top of that lack of morality? Well, there you go. This is a huge problem. Huge. We should be guiding people. Steering them to do good and be good and not be self-serving little assholes who will lie about anything to make sure they get their way or not feel uncomfortable.

And let’s think about Davis’ mom here. She was the LAST to know. The last. And should have been the first. When there was an inkling of bad doing, friends should have said to Davis, “hey buddy, this isn’t right.” and if he didn’t listen? Maybe the teacher or someone like that if you felt too afraid or worried to tell his mother. But nope, Conor and everyone else just ignored the problem and in some cases, handed him the homework to copy in the shape of a theoretical house key. YOU WERE WRONG. You are wrong. Period.

I am baffled. Frustrated really with people, in general. And look, I am not perfect. I have screamed and pushed people at church services. *WAVING*, hi I am an asshole sometimes too. But I know how to apologize. Like a grown up. I know to say, “hey I did a really crappy thing. I can’t change it and nothing you did or anyone did makes that okay. And I am sorry”. That’s how you apologize. You don’t say, “hey I am sorry that I did that thing but you picked on me and so I felt entitled. But I am sorry, kind of but not really.” No. You don’t get to make an excuse to be an asshole. Period.

You also don’t get to be my friend if you sit back and watch that shit. This is what we call boundaries. Your vibe attracts your tribe. I fully believe that if the company I keep tends to snakes, they very well might be a snake too. But people like to watch the shit show, don’t they? The gapper delay is proof of that, isn’t it?  If you call yourself Christian if you call yourself someone’s friend. You are MORALLY obligated to point out to them they’re assholes when they’re being assholes. My friends do it to me. It makes me uncomfortable and sometimes I recoil but I appreciate it in the end. It makes me a better person and it makes me a better friend.

And so, there is my lesson for the day. I’m worried about our future. Worried.

 

 

Hi! I’m Gail, the voice behind Mimicking Motherhood. I started blogging after the birth of my 2nd child as a way to connect with far away family. Things have definitely changed since then. Now, mama to five, this is a place to help connect with other mothers, who feel like me.I love to make and write all while trying to figure out how to be myself in the world of anxiety and depression. Glad you stopped by.

The last day I carried you

The day your brother broke his leg I knew of you. When they wanted me to go back and get X-rays, I knew of you. Struggling with the idea of you, I hadn’t told your father and when they needed another x-ray, I stared into his eyes, hoping he could read my mind. I think he knew about you too but didn’t actually know you, yet.

That week I stood at the dining room table and the word “Zika” came out of someone’s mouth. Your sister had just come home from Belize. I felt my stomach dip. I wonder if that was my first sign you wouldn’t make it to today.

We left for the beach that weekend. I carried your brother, your cousin. I walked up and down the beach and back and forth, collecting shells and memories. I felt the gush. Running back to our vacation house to check, I found the red. I tried to hide it from your dad. He knew though, that something wasn’t right. And I told him and I said goodbye to you. Sandra tried to tell me that not all bleeding meant a loss, but I knew you were gone. The guilt of my sadness had taken you. Six kids are too many. We’re not in a good place. How will I do this? But you were gone. I laid in the bathtub, alone, bleeding the pieces of my heart that I didn’t know I wanted until they were all gone.

You were gone.

You’d have been due today but you’d have been born next week. I always have babies that are late. Had babies.

I had babies.

I’ll have no more. Parts of me are okay with that. Most of the parts. Then, as I wash and fold the tiniest of clothing to send to baby Ritter, I weep, mourning you. You were my baby. A piece of my heart and a face I will never see.

I’ve posted little secrets about today, passively and quietly on Facebook. Hoping someone would recognize my sadness and mourning. Afraid to tell people of your loss, I wanted someone to tell me it was okay. I have been fortunate to have had a few people who did. I wanted someone to hold me though and drink in my sadness so it wouldn’t hurt so bad. Because it felt crazy to be so sad when I have five little things to be so happy for.

I’d posted on my large families board, one said: “oh it’s your age”, another reminded me we didn’t have to be done. I knew we were though. He didn’t want. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even imagine the comments I’d of received had we announced another one. “You don’t have to be done,” but I am. I have to be now. So much has stolen that choice from me now. So many people and so many things. 40 is coming. I am finally getting to the days I can watch the game and hang out with the adult people. I have to be done now. There is too much at stake.

I’m lucky to have Ritter now. Lucky to be able to breathe in his new. Holding him is like holding my own. And he knows my heart because he’s kind and an old soul. I’m lucky to have him.

Today though, I am going to feel sad. I am going to cry for you and remember the last day I held you. Making wet footprints, collecting the shells as though they were memories. Kissing baby heads and being a happy family that week. All that happy, I remember….

 

Hi! I’m Gail, the voice behind Mimicking Motherhood. I started blogging after the birth of my 2nd child as a way to connect with far away family. Things have definitely changed since then. Now, mama to five, this is a place to help connect with other mothers, who feel like me.I love to make and write all while trying to figure out how to be myself in the world of anxiety and depression. Glad you stopped by.

On losing my faith

I have been praying to God for many, many years. For many, many things. When the sadness started creeping in, I prayed for help and when it got worse, and after I started asking for help, I prayed that someone would help me. It didn’t happen. Everyone asked what I needed and then when I couldn’t answer what it was I needed, the question was lost in a sea of hustle and bustle. I prayed for peace in knowing my biological father left me. That he didn’t want me even after he knew me. That peace, well I thought it came until my brother killed himself in November and the peace, well it wasn’t there anymore. I prayed to be a patient mother, I’ve prayed to be a good wife. I’ve prayed for God to help me to stay on a path of kindness and peace. I’ve failed at all. And I’ve never heard his voice once.

This Easter Sunday as I walked out of the church who spoke of new beginnings, I lost my faith in God and in myself. I will never, ever be the same. I don’t even recognize myself anymore. And, she’s probably right. No one, especially in that moment, loved me.

Last year was wrought with tragedy. In August when my period which is never late, was late, I popped up with a positive pregnancy test. Afraid of the judgment and comments, I sat quietly on it, hoping to enjoy our vacation the following week. And when I walked down the beach with my tiny almost 2-year-old in hand, I felt that gush and knew, I knew there would be nothing to tell and so, I didn’t. And I wept in the arms of my partner, then bled alone in the bathroom. Leaving my baby at the beach. He was due April 24th. I find great sadness in that I will never meet him.

October stole my friend. My Santa. A father and kind man. Out of the blue, his life stolen from us. The sadness and inability to understand why shook me to the core. I think of him every day. I think of his family, every.single.day. And as I stood in that auditorium taking the photos of no Santa, I prayed for peace. It still hasn’t come. And when the children’s leader had the gall to say to someone, when I was waffling with the idea of doing Santa again, that they would do it with or without me, I knew my value in that ministry was nothing more than the help. And my passion and love for the event meant nothing, as long as she got what she wanted. There will be no more Santa photos from me. And that charity has fallen away from my heart.

November took my brother. I can’t even tell you how he took his life, only that the pain of losing him is immeasurable. That my anxiety and my own hustle and bustle kept me from knowing him. And that the great sadness, that I often fear threatens my own self, took him, without warning and without hope. I see his face in mine sometimes. I’ve spent hours looking through the photos. I write him knowing he’ll never read it. I worry, that I will never, ever see him again.

I watched my sister’s life destroyed in a web of lies and deceit. My beautiful and innocent niece’s life forever changed. I’ve watched so many lives just crumble. Trying to keep it in perspective, I’ve shut down my feelings of drowning, trying to thank “god” that it wasn’t worse. And then, it just got so much worse.

In six weeks I have moved from being a silent victim, to a rage-filled person. In one week, I let passive, nastiness get to me and I have called names and said things I never ever thought would come out of my mouth. And yesterday, when provoked with the threats of posting photos of my children and a snide “hi” followed by “do you have something to say to me” after not so pleasant eye contact, I flew off the handle and I pushed a person, at a church and followed it up with a nasty curse word, on Easter Sunday. And it was made very clear that I wasn’t wanted there and that my sin, unforgivable, as the ‘punishment” was handed out of me in the verbal lashing for a nasty mistake. The day was full of police, 911 calls and locked doors. And what I learned? The police can do nothing if a person drives by your house or shows up at your job. That people can post whatever they want on the internet; personal photos, texts. They can lie and delete and argue. They can do anything and it if is not a threat, only the person who lays hands is in trouble. Unfortunately in this incident, that was me. In a desperate attempt to get this person out of the spotlight, I put myself in a terrible position. And the people in the front of the building, rightfully so, screaming at me, sealed that I will never, in this lifetime, set foot in a church to worship and I will likely, never pray for anything again.

When this all started, I sat silently and watched the shit show twitter parade and read the forum posts filled with lies. I tried to hide the emotions when I found out this person had been inside my home, I tried to go about my life as though I wasn’t scared and angry and alone. It didn’t work. They stole the peace I felt inside that room, then stole the happy from my Disney trip. And when the therapist said it was okay not to hide, I stopped and when the tweet eerily resembled responses to my own posts, I let them have it. Replying to the nasty, passive tweets, exposing the truth on the forums. Because if they can say whatever they want online, why can’t I?

The thing I forgot was it isn’t that I can’t, it’s that I shouldn’t.

My moral compass is off track these days too.

I’ve sent messages to most of the people I knew were involved. One young man, who’d while working with him, had inappropriate comments with my daughter, and lied to me and others over and over, got an ear full. He’s never responded, except once, to tell me to calm down. And then quickly walked into a building, instead of sharing “his side” and when he continued to pursue my child, after I told him not to and after his employer did as well, he through a mutual friend, attempted to relay to her, that he was indeed “there for her” and “was around if he needed to talk”. He had recent trouble, and instead of owning his own mistakes, he blamed me too.

I am the monster here after all.

At the very least, three other people knew since summer and no one told. I’m truly and deeply worried about the generations taking over the world. I am thinking whoever is in charge forgot to pass out the manual on moral obligations. I think that when things are hard, it’s easier to lie and hide. It’s sad. I’m a truther as they say; look where it’s got me though? Maybe these people are onto something.

So many people could have prevented the sheer amount of heartache this has been. A single, albeit difficult, conversation could have prevented a good majority of this. It could have stopped it before it started.

And what do I want? I just wanted an apology and the opportunity to say, “you hurt me. You could’ve stopped this.” Instead I get radio silence and a brutal, passive online attack. And I attacked back, with force. I’m not proud of that. It’s one of those things I will likely beat myself up for, for years.

Yesterday I deleted some 4000 tweets. My entire Twitter history and I am waffling with the idea of permanently deleting my Instagram. Logging into and thinking that this person is knowingly, and legally posting photos of my children, for some reason, makes me physically ill. I know in my logical brain that they are not hurting them but that they have these photos makes me sick. Physically sick. The worst part of it is I don’t know who to trust anyway. When this person was removed as a follower, they still managed to view everything I was posting on my then private account. I don’t know how or through whom but they saw. Making fun of our service night, something I’ve been doing for years… something I’d only posted on my private Instagram. I know I need to go completely offline but, the unfortunately reality of my mental illness, is that I built most of my friendships online, and I am not sure that if without them, I will make it out of this as an intact, sane person. 6 weeks and I am desperately missing being able to log in and see their lives. Or know how the cancer treatment is going or how the kids are growing, without a series of text messages. And my phone, with each vibration, I want to throw it out the window. It’s been sitting in the window. I have been turning it off. The catalyst to that? The awesome Happy Easter from the “father” who walked away from me. Ain’t that the shits.

I don’t know what to do anymore. I just don’t. I got out of the car yesterday and headed towards the baseball field. My legs couldn’t carry me and I sobbed between the box offices at the field I spend so many happy lacrosse hours at. I just wanted to sit in the dug out and imagine my sons playing. The truth is, I couldn’t see the future. I am still struggling to see it. When the police officer I had called showed up at my steps last night and asked if I needed him to take me to the crisis center, my heart screamed yes but my head and mouth said no, because I’m so afraid that I’ll go in and they’ll never, ever let me back out. Words like “unlovable” and “monster” seeped out of my mouth yesterday. Phrases like “this is all my fault” and “I am afraid of myself”. The sad is scary. And the silence after the prayers is so unsettling, that I am done.

I have been seeing a therapist for about a month now. She had blue hair; a clock and fawn tattooed on her arm. She gives me permissions I can’t give myself. And despite being made fun of for having this mental defect, and this sad, I think therapy is important and needed. I wish other people would try it. Maybe they’d see they are not the victim but the creator and while their heartache isn’t discountable, these feeling were created in choices.

I just don’t think praying anything away works. And if there is a God, he cannot hear me. And I am done asking for his help. And please, for the love of everything, stop saying you’re praying for me.

 

 

 

 

Hi! I’m Gail, the voice behind Mimicking Motherhood. I started blogging after the birth of my 2nd child as a way to connect with far away family. Things have definitely changed since then. Now, mama to five, this is a place to help connect with other mothers, who feel like me.I love to make and write all while trying to figure out how to be myself in the world of anxiety and depression. Glad you stopped by.