Category: dysfunction

Closure

I did a lot of thinking this weekend. I believe in truly understanding myself, my feelings, and clawing to the root of a problem instead of settling for what is often just a trivial top coat.

One thing I never anticipated about being a stepparent is that it gets substantially more difficult as the kids get older. I naively expected them to automatically surge forward, shape their own lives, and shed the straitjackets forced onto them during an abnormally chaotic childhood.

I assumed that is they want to do. Who wouldn’t? That is where I went wrong. I could not live under the suffocating thumb of malfunctioning individuals. I would be itching to heave their oppressive weight from my shoulders, spread my wings, and fly as high as I could.

The kids are not me. They will react, respond, and make choices based on what they are comfortable with, where they want to be, what they are willing to accept from themselves and others.

That has been my struggle: expecting the kids to want better for themselves, to hold higher expectations for themselves and for others, to fight to rise above the behaviors modeled for them all these years, and I am completely bewildered when that is not the reality.

I am not writing this to put down my stepchildren. I love them. I do not support all of their decisions, because I feel that they are selling themselves short, but I do finally understand that they are hesitant to unfurl wings that were discouraged and disparaged, by people they should have been able to trust, for as long as they can remember. They have grown up with unquestioned norms that inflict immeasurable wounds, but for them, that is simply the way it is.

I get it. It’s more comfortable, more familiar, for them to stay under that smothering rock, to be told what to think, to continue what they have learned and what they know best: lying, sneakiness, dependency, dysfunction. It’s sad, but I do see where it comes from. It would be hard not to.

Of course I expect them to rise above that, to want to be better than that…because I want better than that for them.

I don’t give them a free pass for accepting such low standards. Two of them have graduated high school and can no longer blame anyone, no matter how toxic, for the status of their lives. Where they are and who they are now is completely up to them, no matter how much they wish to foist responsibility onto anyone else.

I recently read (about narcissistic mothers), “Without proper healing, the child will pick up where the parent left off, by self sabotaging.” That made me sad. Yes, that is what seems to be happening with three of my stepchildren: they have not been given (and have not pursued) the opportunity to honestly face their upbringing, deal with it, heal, and move on in a healthier manner. Their self-sabotage is blatant to anyone who understands the situation without blinders. The fact that it doesn’t appear to be obvious to them makes me worry even more about them, the damage inflicted on them by others, and the denial of any problem that means they will not seek a healthier, saner path.

I can’t fix this for them. My husband and I have taught, coached, lectured, demonstrated, explained, modeled — have done everything but perform interpretative dance — to help them grow and learn and want better than the hand they were dealt by people who have ultimately failed them. We have counteracted as best we could with the limited time we had.

As they get older, it becomes more and more their own responsibility to direct and steer their lives. Watching them make choices that restrict, hinder, and obstruct their own growth and happiness is nothing short of heartbreaking. It can only considered a victory by those who self-servingly stifled them in the first place.

Part of a child’s maturation process involves the parents growing and learning as well. I know it is time to let go of that steering wheel for some of my stepchildren, even if I don’t support the direction they are heading. I have offered the best guidance, advice, and instruction that I could. What they do with it from here is up to them. If they choose to follow the footsteps of the same ones who deliberately shattered their wings, I cannot fathom it or condone it, but I refuse to hurt myself by taking responsibility for their crippling decisions.

I wish them the best. I pray for the best for all of them. I will always love them. Maybe someday they will wish for better, will stand up, and will strike their own path, and finally be truly happy.

Clowns

More importantly: what are the kids learning about relationships, respect, stability, and boundaries? Why would you want to model blatant dysfunction and present maladjustment to them as normal?

More likely: they discovered that no one else is willing to tolerate them. I’m not surprised. But if you’re going to make serial demented decisions, how about leaving the kids out of it for once?

Something Better

Once upon a time, I had a “what-was-I-thinking?” relationship.  I cringe now at how many red flags I ignored, the dysfunction I danced around, the denial I embraced, all with the failed hope that it would get better…someday.

But it wasn’t always that way.  Of course it wasn’t, or I would never have been with him in the first place.  At first, we had fun.  I laughed a lot when I was with him, and I looked forward to seeing him.  It’s hard for me to superimpose Crazy Him on top of Normal Him, because they were so different to me.  It was hard for me to let go of Normal Him, because I loved him, and I wanted him back.

Sometimes I need to remind myself that at one time, that is how my husband must have felt.  At one time, he must have liked being with Psycho (his ex and my stalker), must have even had fun with her.  It’s hard to imagine now.  Actually, it’s downright impossible, but once, she either wasn’t like she is now, wasn’t as bad, or was putting on a good act.  Who knows?

I don’t believe for one second that it’s just coincidence that both my husband and I had the worst relationships of our lives right before the happiest relationship of our lives.  After putting up with the drama and stupidity and insanity of a selfish and toxic parasite, we were both ready for a real friend, stability, someone we could trust.  We had both lost any tolerance for histrionic bitches of either gender.  We both slammed the cellar door on the slobbering beast we had left and were ready to step into sunlight, happiness, laughter.

I didn’t want someone who was anything like the man-child I had just left, and my husband didn’t want anyone like his ex.  (Luckily for him, I don’t have much penchant for lying, stealing, committing felonies, abusing kids, relying on Daddy to pay my bills,  penning fake suicide notes, baying at the moon, etc.)

A lot of people just stay in septic relationships.  I’m glad we didn’t.  I’m glad both of us escaped those foul cages, those infected traps.  I’m glad both of us never gave up on the idea that something better was possible.  And I’m glad we eventually found each other.

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We moved on, and we are happier.  One more thing we have in common is that our exes have not.  They both wallow in their own dysfunction.  They learn nothing.   They don’t improve or grow.  They fester and rot, rooted in their own waste, trying their damnedest to drag everyone down with them.  Not surprisingly, both of them are miserable creatures who offer nothing but stress, unhappiness, and disgust to those around them.

It is what they choose.  It’s not what I would ever choose, but to each their own.  I am happy that my husband and I disentangled ourselves from noxious people and freed ourselves to find each other.  I’m happy that our paths crossed so that we could finally discover what a truly loving relationship feels like.  I’m proud that we can offer an example of a healthy relationship to the kids, who desperately need to see that relationships don’t need to involve screaming, fighting, threatening to leave, name-calling, or non-stop drama.

I only wish we had found each other sooner, but maybe walking through fire first just helps us to appreciate and value and adore each other even more.  So if I have anything at all to say to my ex, I would say thank you for clearly showing me what I don’t want.

And to my husband’s ex, I would say thank you for showing me what I never want to be.

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Dark Cloud

dark-clouds-audrey-chandlerThings have been going really well lately.  It’s finally cooling down here, and there’s just something exciting and happy about chilly air and snuggly weather.  I am seeing some real results from months of hard work, from my distance in running to fitting into smaller clothes that haven’t fit for a looooong time.

One constant, though, one dark cloud that apparently will always and forever more dangle above my head, is worrying about the kids.  With the holiday schedule this month, it will be a few weeks before the kids are back at home with us.  And let’s just say that what we hear and see of their other home is obviously just the tip of the iceberg, and it’s still disturbing as hell.

For starters, at least three so-called adults in the kids’ other home have arrest records.  You think I must be making this up, right?  I wish I was.  Their own illustrious egg donor has a dazzling collection of glamorous mug shots for a variety of tasteless offenses.  Why worry, right?

No one at their other home ever looks happy.  They have perpetual frowns, sour glowers, and pissy attitudes.  They put on forced performances in public and tolerate each other for appearance’s sake, but it has the freakish look and feel of a bizarre puppet show.

All three of the younger kids have gotten a series of F’s in school recently, even the one who actually likes school.   Their dad and I check their grades every day and communicate with their teachers, but we unfortunately are not there every evening, helping them with homework, making sure they are organized for the next day.  Obviously, neither is anyone else.

Every good parent worries about their kids to some degree.  This is different, though.  There’s a huge difference when you go weeks at a time without even seeing them.  When we drop the kids off at their other home, we are leaving them for long periods of time in the hands of pathological, belligerent, and foul people who have demonstrated, over and over, that they truly don’t care about the kids.  And that’s damn scary.

The kids’ grades, safety, or well-being will never matter to them.  They care about themselves, and their precious greed and pettiness, and nothing more.

When I showed the kids the calendar for this month, and they saw how long it would be before they are back home with us, one of them said grimly, “I don’t like this.”  Well…trust me, neither do I.  And I will worry, and stress, until they finally step safely back through our door.

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