If you must continually announce that you are a good parent, then perhaps you are not nearly as amazing and awe-inspiring as you like to believe. Why would you have to say anything at all if your actions, behaviors, and choices reflected positive parenting skills?
Patting oneself on the back and congratulating yourself is not parenting. It’s merely grandstanding. And kids deserve better — much better — than that.
I have nothing to hide. Other people in the children’s lives cannot say the same, but that is on them, not me. I can’t imagine living a mockery of a sham life, one false prop stacked upon another, hoping the mask doesn’t slip too far, forcing others to read their lines and play their parts so everything doesn’t come crumbling down. Honesty and just being exactly who I am work best for me.
Part of my stalker’s obsession with my words is her need to control what is said about her, her need to force the narrative to support her lies. I know the truth, and the truth terrifies her, because all of her disgusting and shameful ugliness is laid bare to anyone willing to accept reality.
What is the truth? Let’s see. My youngest stepdaughter is failing three classes, has missed 20% of this school year, and has been suspended already. How is anyone supposed to overlook such obvious dysfunction and believe this woman has even a sliver of parenting ability or the slightest concern about the wellbeing of the children?
In time, the two middle children will be where the oldest one is now: still struggling with the reality that his own mother truly doesn’t care about anyone but herself, never has, and cannot be the mother he wants and needs. There is no way to prepare a child to face the ultimate reality that their mother is a selfish, manipulative parasite whose maternal skills were violently expelled with the placenta.
Since the kids were tiny, I have struggled with how to protect them, how to shield them from the agony of the day they fully open their eyes to what their mother really is. I have looked into their tearful faces as they ask why she lies so much. I have held them on my lap when they were scared and couldn’t possibly understand her rage or hurtful words. I have quietly listened as they got older and started to catch on that something about her is not right — other mothers don’t act like this — and are increasingly embarrassed by her behavior.
The kids are manipulated, lied to, jerked around, brainwashed, all to make their mother’s life easier, appease her ego, and maintain the façade that she is a decent human being and a wonderful mother. If the kids are chewed up, spit out, and destroyed in her attempt to make others believe she is something she is not, then so be it. She quite honestly doesn’t care about them, anyway.
I understand her desire to live a lie. Because the truth is, she is over 50 years old with no significant accomplishments, completely supported by her father, already long surpassed in adult accomplishments by my older stepson, and intensely disliked by anyone who has seen who she really is. Her delusions soothe her, comfort her into believing she is not an abysmal failure.
She knows the truth, though, no matter how much she promotes and defends her lies. She is too weak-willed to be motivated to improve herself or strive to be a better person, however, so she just lies some more and gets irrationally angry at anyone who refuses to swallow her fairy tale.
I know the truth. So does she. In time, so will the kids. That is the scariest, and most heartbreaking, part of all.
Of course, the morning I have to get up extra early is the coldest morning of the season! It was so hard to slip out from the warm covers, my soft pillow, and my husband’s sleepy arms, but I had a work event bright and early, so I braved the cold morning…reluctantly. Very reluctantly!
By some miracle, I have no events, appointments, or obligations after work, so I get to head straight home and actually enjoy an evening with my husband and stepson. Number one on my agenda is to fit in a workout: any kind of workout, even just 10 minutes, just to move my body, sweat a little, and then enjoy a long, hot shower on a chilly evening. I can already hear a cozy blanket, the fireplace, and my husband’s lap calling my name.
We got some news recently that didn’t exactly surprise us. Psycho is playing her latest round of me-me-me drama, dragging the kids around yet again, and and it’s already taking its toll. All three kids’ grades have dropped over the past week or so. Two of them are getting serial Fs.
I already knew, just from seeing their grades, that the crazy had been dialed way up at their other home. And I already suspected the source: the same person who typically causes upheaval and stress in their lives, but wastes not even a precious second worrying about the impact on them, as long as she is getting what she wants.
I certainly hope the attention, the drama, the pity, and the handouts from her daddy make it worth it to her. Because it sure as hell isn’t worth it to the kids.
No one is exactly shocked that yet another person has decided his life would be better without Psycho in it. We are also not surprised that she has made no effort to protect the kids from her incessant lust for melodrama, and that every choice has been made for her maximal gain and the kids’ utmost detriment. Her priorities are loud and clear, and once again, the kids don’t even make her list.
My older stepson said he described his dad’s and my relationship as “solid” when he was telling a friend about us before meeting us for the first time. That meant a lot to me, and I am proud that he feels safe, secure, and stable in our home.
If the best someone can offer the kids is instability, stress, yelling, worthlessness, and total dependence on others, then perhaps she should spend more time reflecting on much-needed personal improvements, and less time obsessing over my husband and me. But that would be rational, sane, and empathetic to the kids, and I already know better than to expect that.
Sweat & Sparkle 