Lessons Learned in 2020

There is a meme going around that talks about some of the medical science advances in the past 100 years. Then is points out that in 2020 medical science taught us the importance of washing our hands. This year has been a huge reminder of the importance of basics we were taught as children. Hand washing is a key lesson we've been taught. I remember the nightly call of "Wash your hands. Dinner is ready." We would all run to the bathroom or kitchen and wash up then head to the table for dinner. 

To this day I can tell you where we all sat around the table in the dining room. There were nightly comments to my brothers to watch their "chicken wings" and food was always passed right to left. I was always glad I sat next to my mom because that meant my brothers never added extra food to my plate like they did to my oldest sister. The rule was to eat everything you took. Often I was told not to let my eyes be bigger than my stomach. 

Dinnertime was that special time where we all came together for the evening and talked about our day. It was family time. It was that one moment each day where we were just family. At times I really miss those moments. I miss them more knowing that I wasn't the best at keeping up that traditional family time once I began going through my divorce. When I remarried it wasn't brought back either because there simply wasn't space in our apartment for a dinner table to sit around. 

In the past year or so I finally have that dinner table. Even so, we aren't the best at sitting around it for meals. We do better now, but it just isn't the same as when I was growing up. For one, my husband never really had that experience as a kid. It always seems to highlight the differences when we have dinner at the table and I remind him to pass the food. It just isn't his background. Although he is better about it now than at first. 

This year I have learned how hard it is to grieve when you are separated from family. Not just separated but estranged from them. It teaches you to really look inward and see where you need to change and accept your mistakes. It also teaches you that not being able to grieve in a more traditional way is a huge struggle. The biggest part of grieving when you can't be with others is that it is harder to move forward with out reaching out to someone to move through the process. 

A year ago I started following the news of the new corona virus that had shown up in China. Something told me to start preparing for things to change dramatically. Perhaps it was all of those disaster movies I have watched for years, but I knew I was looking at something that was going to shift how we all acted with one another. I began mentally preparing for something that I would end up not really being prepared for in the end. 

As shutdowns hit I had a friend staying with us. She was a childhood friend dealing with her own traumas. Then to add more to the situation we experienced an earthquake. Now those in areas use to earthquakes it may seem silly, but for us it was full of trauma. No one died. No major destruction happened. But we were scared. Every aftershock was hard to deal with and our cats went into hiding. Within the month of March I would be faced with a new normal in my work environment, learn that my youngest would not get the anticipated high school graduation, and have that friendship be destroyed. March was not a good month. 

As the year rolled forward we would learn of the ways people were connecting. Church through Zoom became the Sunday norm. People would sit outside and talk with neighbors. Some communities in Europe found ways of celebrating community that they hadn't experienced before. And doing the job I felt called to do was suddenly appreciated and respected as were the jobs of all healthcare workers. 

May came along and murder hornets were being talked about. We had begun as a world to wonder what would happen next. We seemed to hold our breath. May was not kind. May symbolizes loss now. The loss of a child who was so wanted and loved. The deep grief that I still carry with me. No parent ever wants to see their child suffer such pain. And then Memorial weekend came along and the name George Floyd was held by those who prayed for social justice. 

Not only did George Floyd become an icon for change, but so did Ahmad Arbury and Breonna Taylor. We learned to say their names and demand better training for law enforcement. Protests were held and riots happened in some areas. Those who were protesting begged for the riots to not happen. Suddenly the world united to say that "Black Lives Matter". Not only that but it went further. It demanded that the lives of all those who are othered matter. Disabled lives, LGBTQIA+ lives, immigrant lives, and so on. The prevalence of hate groups became widely publicized. Many were shocked at how prevalent they truly have become. 

As summer progressed we saw more and more people fight the usage of masks. The debate between science and pseudoscience raged on. It was during this battle that I became ill. I awoke one morning with a fever and a cough. I did not feel well at all. Exhaustion was my companion that day. As the day wore on I counted back the days to the one where I had a known exposure. It was 13 days. I contacted my work and went in to the ER where a covid test could be run. 

It was then that I truly came to understand the viability of these tests. It wasn't the first one I had run but it was the most significant. The negative seemed wrong considering my symptoms. My doctor let me know he viewed it as a false negative because of my overall symptoms and my recent exposure. Sleep overtook my life for at least 5 days. I have very little memory of that time. The first day I remember after becoming ill was my anniversary. My husband made it a memorable one with an awesome cake with a Doctor Who theme. I don't remember much else that day except the delicious cake. 

Fatigue became my constant companion after becoming ill. It lingered for weeks and to the degree which I was unable to return to work. It hurt not to be out helping in the chaos of another wave of the virus. It hurt not to have the energy to do much of anything. It just added to the continued mental health issues I was struggling to deal with at the time. I did find part time work that helped with finances, but I still felt like my body had given up. 

In late August there was a huge disagreement with my sisters. I wish I could go back and change that night. So many things that were said and reactions to others where I didn't want to hold myself accountable. But I finally did and I asked for forgiveness. The relationships will never be the same but we can work on rebuilding them. Maybe it is good they won't be the same. They were broken the way they existed before so to have a chance to rebuild them will hopefully improve them. 

All said, this year is how I had to go back and relearn the lessons I was taught as a child. I had to remember to do the basics. To show people the kindness and consideration I wanted to receive from them. To give of myself to others in their dark moments. To grieve those things which are lost. To stand up and fight for injustice. And most of all, to learn to forgive with the express intent of making changes within myself worthy of others forgiveness. Not just let forgiveness be lip service. 

If this year taught me only one thing I want it to be the lesson of forgiveness. I've always been told I forgive to easily, but I learned that I don't and I have let that hurt sit with me for far too long. Not only that, but I have demanded forgiveness without truly accepting that I need to make definite changes within my life. So I am making those changes. And it is not an easy road to look within and see how your words and actions have caused hurt to those you hold dearest. 

As we sit here with a new year looming I realize that the time for truly moving forward is now. I need to let those who I have hurt come back to me and tell me why and to accept their truths and find a way to change my own behaviors without an excuse as to why I acted as I did. Change will not be easy, but it will be so worth it in the end. Remember to always wash your hands. 

Bitter Fruits?

 I no longer watch General Conference. But sometimes I hear about a message that either resonates or irritates me. This time it is irritating. Evidently Mr. D. Todd Christensen gave a talk about "bitter fruits" and referred to children born out of wedlock as such. Honestly, it did more than irritate me, it angered me. My oldest was born out of wedlock. And she is one of the most amazing people I know, despite all of the heartache I have caused her. Not for a single moment would I consider her a "bitter fruit". In fact, if I had to chose a scriptural term for her I would call her "an elect lady" because she has been faced with challenges no person should have to face these past few years. 

I think what angers me so much is that this man is attempting to come from a place of love, but all it feels like is hate. There is little regard for the feelings of those children born under such conditions. After all this includes so many of those babies put up for adoption. It includes babies born because of rape. You don't even understand the scope of people hurt by this comment. It's unconscionable the harm his word have. Not that I expect him or any other General Authority to ever apologize for their words. It made the follow up by Elder Uchtdorf seem hollow. 

The past 5 years have been an eye-opening and mind bending experience. Walking away from a lifetime of religious pain to now has not been an easy journey. However, when it comes to words such as this being spoken, I am certain I have made the right decision. Now this decision has come with great pain as so many whom I called friend turned their backs during my time of greatest pain. They chose offense instead of looking for the underlying pain and conflict. I've also experience family turning their backs. If they truly believe that my oldest child is a bitter fruit then perhaps the relationship is worth ending. 

There is another scripture that came to mind when I heard about, and later listened to, this talk. It is in the Doctrine and Covenants of Community of Christ:

 "It is not pleasing to God when any passage of scripture is used to diminish or oppress races, genders, or classes of human beings. Much physical and emotional violence has been done to some of God's beloved children through the misuse of scripture. The church is called to confess and repent of such attitudes and practices." D&C 163:7c

I've shared this scripture before and it seems to fit so many old teachings from the LDS Church. A reminder to not use scripture to hurt others. I have no doubt that when this happens, God hurts. Just as if someone insulted your child you would hurt for them. 

There were years where my ex-husband's family referred to my oldest as a bastard. Every time they said this I got after them. I don't prescribe to an old testament description as to the birth of my child. Honestly, if you think about it, Christ very easily could have been born out of wedlock if Joseph had not accepted Mary being impregnated by someone else. He had every right to set her aside in divorce. Yet he did not. He showed love and compassion - even though an angel compelling him probably helped. 

I've heard many times that those who get pregnant out of wedlock deserve to have miscarriages or lose their child/children in some other way. This angers me as well. What you are doing is wishing a child dead. How is that any better than abortion? FYI - no judgment on those who have chosen abortion. That is your choice and I do not judge it. Especially considering I have experienced considering that painful choice. 

It matters not how a child comes into this world. Married parents, a single mother, a single adoptive father, unwed parents, or parents of the same gender. If those parents love, or opt to let their child go to another to be raised, then they should be accepted by society. No this world is not perfect, but we aren't either. And when Christ came he gave us new commandments that superseded all other commandments. To love God and to love our neighbor. No where in that did he say to pass judgment on others. Yes, I get the irony that I bring up judging others as not being right yet I am doing that myself. I don't feel it is judgment as much as a commentary on how differently I view what is being taught by the church of my earlier years. And this is done so as to understand when those around me, who are active members of the LDS Church, bring these things up it isn't going to catch me out in left field. I will have taken time to think and pray on them. 

This attitude is partly why I did not write this post immediately following conference. It seemed wise to take the time to pray and consider my words. Others have written about the talk in more depth than I. So I challenge you to read them and search them out. 

It is hard when I write about my children, especially the two oldest as we are currently not on speaking terms. I love them with all of my heart, but I have also been the parent that caused harm from which they are now healing. There is nothing more a parent could ask for than children who have found a healthy and happy place in their lives, even if it means you are not a part of it. 

So, to my oldest, please know that I have never, nor will ever, view you as a "bitter fruit". You are my hero. You've done so much more than anyone else in your position could hope to do. You've dealt with pain, loss, tragedy, frustration, and much more to become the amazing, beautiful, and confident woman you are today. Whether or not we regain a relationship is of less importance to me than knowing you are not just surviving, but thriving in this world for which you were so poorly prepared for by me. Thank you for giving me the gift of knowing you. May you find peace and joy in your life. 

Old Wounds

It has been 2 1/2 years since I last spoke with my oldest daughter. During that time my life and hers have experienced some huge ups and downs. If I had to guess I'd say she's seen some of the best and worst that life has to offer. There have been times I wish I could be there to comfort her, but it just isn't in the cards. I don't ever imagine that it will be. Being apart from both her and her brother this way causes a pain I can't describe. Yet, it is the price I am willing to pay for my past choices. 

You see, when it comes to a wound needing to heal you have to give it the proper time and the proper treatment. A small band-aid on a wound gushing blood won't help. And a tourniquet on a paper cut is overkill. Now if a wound has been around for a while, it is going to take longer for it to heal. Once it does heal the scar left behind will always be a reminder. You can do some things to lessen the severity of the scar, but it is still there. 

Some scars are barely noticeable after a while. Others will always be out in view of everyone. I once read a story about a man with a tattoo on his face. So many people judged him for that tattoo without ever asking why he had it. Well, that tattoo was there to cover up a scar, a burn, a memory of a terrible event. The tattoo gave new life where pain and anguish had been residing. We've also heard about the phenomenon of phantom limb pain. Amputees deal with this when an arm, leg, etc. has been removed. The actual injury is no longer there and neither is the source of the pain, yet it is still felt. 

Sometimes these scars are not visible at all to others. Some scars are reminders of a time when you made poor choices and did something less than brilliant. Some scars are caused by accident. Some scars are left behind after you've made an intentional choice. And sometimes the scars are the consequences of our own misdeeds towards others. 

So how do we heal these old wounds or accept these scars? Well it takes work, and lots of it. An old wound will typically need to be debrided or clean out. This debridement is a surgical act of removing all the dead and/or infected tissue to give the wound a chance to heal. It can take only one visit or many to a specialist or wound clinic. If this old wound is something that is mental in nature, it can take so much more to help it heal. If given the chance I'd rather go to a wound clinic week after week vs the many long years I've spent in and out of therapy. 

Don't get me wrong, therapy is a great tool. It can help so much with healing these old wounds. The problem comes into play when you think you've found the source of the wounds yet it's really someplace else. I've spent years dealing with anger issues. I've experienced anger management classes. This taught me better ways of dealing with anger. What it didn't fix were the issues I had with being abusive to my children. I finally took parenting classes run by the state. This did more to help with that issue than anything previous had done. However, the wounds in my children had already been made. I thought, mistakenly, that me changing my parenting habit would fix all past wrongs. It didn't. I still had to face the consequences of those actions. 

Two years ago I wrote a blog basically saying goodbye. I had not planned on being around any further after I wrote that entry. My plan had been to take the nearly 90 days' worth of my husband's medication for schizoaffective disorder and to end my life. Before I did that I called my mom. I wanted to hear her at least one last time. That call ended up saving my life. I admitted to being so broken that I didn't want to go on. My mom encouraged me to keep fighting. Late that night I was admitted into a psychiatric hospital to receive treatment. Even now it is hard to talk about. Suicidal ideation is never far from my mind. I'd love to banish it forever, but I now know that my mental health issues aren't a wound to be healed, but a scar. And not just one scar, but many scars. Scars over time have been healed, but not always with the best remedy. 

My stay in the hospital taught me to look further than I had before to find the true source of the injury. What I didn't expect was to see my own childhood as the source. Like many in Utah, I come from a large Mormon (Latter-day Saint) family. I am the unexpected caboose in my family. One that my oldest siblings were less than thrilled about. A fact that was shared with me over and over. What I didn't realize is this, along with a 4-year gap between me and my next closest sibling, had caused me to feel as if I didn't belong. I was always just on the outskirts of many of my friendship circles. When push came to shove I was the one left on the outside. On top of all of this, I have nephews and nieces as close in age to me as many of my siblings. Some of my nephews and nieces were more like siblings for a while. That isn't true any longer...but I wish it was. 

Through therapy, I have traced years of mistakes that link back to the central idea that I am not truly wanted. In reality, I know this is not true. I know I am wanted and loved. This does not stop the thoughts of not being wanted from coming up. It was this issue that pushed me to stay in a toxic and abusive relationship after relationship. Then I met my current husband. By this time I had been through enough personal therapy to recognize quickly when a relationship wasn't right. With him, it was years of chance meetings without realizing it, that prepared us to be together. Years of chance encounters had been happening. So with him, I knew it was the right place and right time. 

We fought a lot the first couple of years and finally went to marriage counseling to help us learn how to communicate with each other. It was a promise we had made early on that we kept. It isn't always the easiest relationship, but I am eternally grateful that I have him on my side. It has helped to soothe many of the past scars... They will always be there, but they no longer cause as much pain. 

I started off talking about being estranged from 2 of my children. I don't know if this will ever end. In fact, if we remain estranged beyond my dying day then it is the consequences of my actions all those years ago. Part of why this is as the forefront of my mind right now is that I recent learn others were well aware of my abusive behavior. Yet they chose to address it in a way that, instead of helping me, caused me to hide it even more. DCFS came to my home under the complaint of neglect...my house was dirty. I wasn't home when they stopped by. When they did come by, and I was still unaware of the reason, I made myself a promise that I would own up to my abusive behavior when questioned. But it was because my house was dirty. So I didn't own up to physical abuse. Yes, my house was messy. I had 3 kids under 4 and was dealing with postpartum depression. However, my fridge had food. My kids were being fed. I was asked to clean up my home and that was it. The DCFS worker never came back and the case was never actually closed out. For a few months afterward I was calling him regularly to get the case closed and then I learned that the case worker was no longer with DCFS. If it is looked into now it will show that the case is still open. I know this because I have had a background check bring it up. 

I still can't help but think back to that afternoon and what would have changed if those who had reported me had been honest about the abuse rather than skirting it by claiming neglect because of my messy house. I can tell you that the DCFS worker told me that whoever had reported me stated my house looked significantly worse than what he saw. He left me with a few things to clean up, but said that in his opinion the house was not anywhere near as bad as so many others he had seen. He did want to see an improvement before closing the case and we set a date, but he never returned. 

It has been 22 1/2 years since that case was opened. 22 1/2 years and because those that reported me decided to not report what they knew was actually happening it continued to happen for a few more years. As I said before, this is something I, myself, have only learned about recently. The wounds that could have been prevented...the relationships forever damaged...all for a lack of full honesty. It really makes you think. 

Well, here I am all these years later trying to heal from wounds. Realizing that the scars will never go away. And accepting the hard consequences of my actions. Part of all of this is recognizing that I play a part in it all. If, as a teen, I had made the decision to speak up when the opportunity arose then perhaps none of what came after would have happened. Or some of it. I still believe my kids would have been mine, but perhaps the abuse would've never happened. Even coming from generational abuse, I knew it didn't have to happen. I didn't intend for it to happen. I told myself I wouldn't carry on the line of abuse. That it would end with me. Yet, I see it now will end with my kids, but at least it will end. 

If my children do see this, I love each of you for the unique person you are. Thank you for being so much stronger than I was at your age (no matter how old you are). Thank you for teaching me the lessons you've taught in love, kindness, and acceptance. Because of you, I fight harder, love more, and forgive often. Because of you, I know that no matter what life throws at me I can determine how to face it and move forward. And if you have made that choice to walk away permanently, I understand. 

No, not all old wounds heal perfectly. It is in that imperfection that we try to find the light and change how we move forward. Sometimes that light brings joy. Sometimes that light shows the toxicity. It's how we change or don't that will affect our lives for the positive, or the negative.