Steps

We are in the middle of a thing. Again.

When Match and I got together, I knew I would need someone who was able to handle my really difficult Ex who sometimes could be dangerous, but also was my child’s Dad. I knew my Ex would disrupt life again and again. Yet, Despite it all, the rule was: We have to root for him.

I’ll be honest and admit I have not rooted for him everyday. Some days it is hard in the wakes of destruction. With time and distance I usually remember I’m not sending out support for the hurricane, but for the winds whipping up chaos to settle.

Mostly, I try to exist in the world this way, because my behavior and thoughts are things I want to own in life. It is never about her Dad and the choices he makes I believe it is important to be purposeful about who we are in life’s struggles– which are many and varied– because every choice sends a message to the universe, to our circle, to our community. Everyday tiny decisions and choices are ripples in the vast ocean of life: pushing and pulling ourselves and others in the wakes, storms, and stillness of the waters. It is a responsibility that comes with the gift of being alive. So, in times life is unbearable, one tenant of advice that’s been passed down, shared, and has stuck is this: Do one right, best thing at a time and let that bring you all the way home. It is the most reasonable strategy to being able to look back upon your life and avoid feeling ashamed regardless of how the situation turns out.

In all this weighted worry about bringing Match into my headache of life with my Ex, I didn’t realize that Match’s baggage would be the what fills the room and sucks out all the air. If you are a close witness to the pain my Ex spreads, it would be hard to imagine something worse exists out past his wake. Yet, somehow Match’s Ex manages. Yet, the rule is: We must root for her.

Again, it is a hard thing to do some days. The impact of her choices have caused ripples that have cascaded into our waters again and again for over twelve years. The ones that nearly drown us have been the silent treatment, creating situations where we are absent from H’s life, and the secrets she has H hold onto. We haven’t had peace on twelve years. It is more than picking up destruction… it is broken bodies, heartbreak, and being so disorientated that you can’t find the horizon. She is dangerous as I have watched her slowly drown Match bit by bit.

It has been 12 long years of painful moments that I can’t quite find the right way to exist with. While I wonder down the path, I look for someone’s footprints to follow. I read and listen: books on anxiety, high conflict, divorce, so much Brene Brown, Glennon Doyle, Laura McKowen, Elizabeth Gilbert, Rob Bell, and more. I wallow in blogs about blended families, watch IG accounts run by other people raising children they didn’t birth, and dabble in posts by mother’s sharing their children to understand the flip side. Again and again, I find so many things that don’t fit.

So, trying to decipher what is the right, best thing often means finding wisdom by listening to others who share these type of experiences. Down the rabbit hole of information, one end of the spectrum has things like: “It’s okay if you don’t love your stepchild, “How to disengage in high conflict,” & “Let your partner parent and support them.” The other has blended families mixed up together doing things together effortlessly.

I’ve dabble with both in twelve years. Neither end are quite right. I no longer feel very safe spending time with H’s mom. She’s made comments that feel sharp, accused us of things that are terrible, yelled at us in public, often thinks we’re full of untruths, & one time pulled up so fast beeping in the middle of the street blaring her horn to pick up H. Shamefully, feeling like we had no power, we let H leave our home like that. I don’t know how to soften the pit of dread and hurt her presence has made on mine. Nor do I really know if I should.

I spend a lot of time kicking the thing around, talking about it, reading & listening about it. It’s hard to know which way to take it would be the “one right thing” to do at a time. The only wisdom I have: Match & H are worth everything.

Currently, this summer, I am sitting in the wreckage. The ripples of choices made in the other home have whipped up the waters and our knuckles turn white as we clutch the rails sick to our stomachs. It is worse for Match. The horizon, mutually agreed upon, is being twisted and shifted so you can not navigate anywhere with precision. This summer is a shit show.

Old behaviors of making unilateral decisions with no room for us in them, mistruths to force issues, and shouting over the storm that’s been put in the motion where you can’t be heard has becomes the way we are forced to love lately. The anguish of it is familiar– Except this time something seems different. This time Match seems like something broke. Something new is going to be put together with the pieces.

It is hard to witness. It is hard to share space with. Poor communication and pain and fear– literally co-existing with this other person is trauma after trauma. I don’t know how to make it stop or hurt less or exist safely near it. I do know that I hate how much time this steals from our life. We only get this one life.

Yet, H loves her mom fearlessly. It is hard to sit in. Loving a person fiercely who loves the person who abuses you.

So for days, I have searched for something that feels like wisdom in this moment. I think I finally two things that resonate. One is the beautiful way JK Rowling closes out Harry Potter’s relationship with Dumbledore. Like Harry in the the ethereal version of Kings Cross Station, I find myself losing hours crouching near, examining, being scared and curious and distracted by this blobby, flailed thing that lives in the disfunction of H’s Mom and us, is: “Something beyond either of our help.” The second is wise words shared by Richard from Texas, I have to learn how to leave it alone. I have to learn how to stop looking at the misery and putting my wishbone where my backbone outta be.

I hope that when the water stops churning long enough for us to pick up the wreckage, that whatever Match decides to rebuild with the pieces is beautiful. Afterall, I root for him the loudest.