So, wow. Six years since I've used this blog.
See, I moved all my "professional" stuff to WordPress. I've got an author site and blog there. Except...
Over there, I have to be positive. Upbeat. Project the right image. And, um, I kinda don't want to be upbeat right now. I know this is tied to my Google account and I can't help that, but maybe it'll be a little more "hidden." Especially if I don't use any tags or metadata.
I don't care if nobody reads this. I just need a place to get it out.
I feel like a fake, a phony. I suppose from the outside my family looks pretty cool. Inside, not so much.
I feel like I've failed my husband. Nothing I do seems to be enough to make him happy these days. He looked at me the other day and said flat out, "We know who does most of the work in this house." He didn't mean me.
He said he was going to "trust me" when it came to shopping for clothes for our daughter because he didn't have sisters, so teenage girls are a little foreign to him. Except...he doesn't. She likes short skirts (mini skirts, not micro-minis) and high heels. She's a teenage girl. She's supposed to like those things. Heck, I liked those things as a teenage girl. My mother said absolutely not and bought my clothes in the women's department. Long, flowy skirts with hideous floral patterns. I was quite the sight -- and the mockery was cruel. I'm not going to do that to my girl.
He thought her homecoming dress was suitable for a street walker. My 87-year-old great aunt thought she looked fantastic.
You figure it out.
I feel like I've failed my daughter. And my son, for that matter. My girl told me last night that she barely knows her father, she's appalled at the way he treats her brother, and she can't talk to me because she sees the pressure I'm under every day.
Fantastic.
I'm a 40-year old woman. I admit I've unloaded -- sometimes unintentionally (mostly unintentionally) to my teenage daughter. Why? Because I don't have friends. I have a life full of acquaintances. Why? Because most of the women I'm around aren't at the same stage of their lives. The ones who are have -- different interests, let's call them. Or they are in different socio-economic circles. And boy, do they let me know it. Not overtly, mind you. By little things. I am Not Wanted.
With The Boy starting high school, I'm hoping I find some friends. Not too hopeful, though. I had the same hopes when The Girl started high school.
I feel like I've failed my son. My husband is tough on him, so tough. He's a sensitive kid, always has been. He's smarter than his grades show him to be. But nothing is good enough for his father, who has on occasion hit my son when he's angry. I tried to step in, say that was unacceptable and inappropriate. I was shoved aside, physically and verbally, and told I didn't know what was needed to raise a "strong man."
My husband goes to church all the time. Almost obsessively. If it comes down to doing something for the family or doing something for the church, he picks the church. He think it makes him godly. He's getting enough positive feedback there. He's asked to be on all sorts of committees and groups. The implied message is, "You're doing it right."
Except in the church of the home, I think he's failing miserably.
I'd go to my mother except she died in 2001. My grandmothers are both dead. This mothering thing would be a whole lot easier to take if I had someone to talk to. But I don't. Maybe that great-aunt. But I have a feeling that nothing I do will be acceptable to my husband. It's his way or no way. I've tried to talk to men he respects at our church to try and get them to help me. Nothing. I talked to my pastor. Nothing.
And I've tried to talk to my husband. Honest, cross my heart. But the conversation always winds up about what I'm doing wrong, how it's my fault. It's never his fault.
Don't believe me? Last night I told him, "Your daughter told me something interesting tonight. She feels like she doesn't know you. And she'd really like to."
Without missing a beat he said, "I tried. She didn't want to listen."
See how he shifted to blame to her? She didn't want to listen to him. Not, "Thanks for letting me know. I'll talk to her and figure something out." No, it was "'I've done that and she didn't want to listen."
"Maybe she wasn't ready to listen," I said. "Maybe she's ready now."
At least I finally got him to say, "Thanks. That is interesting."
So here I sit at my job, at my computer, typing furiously and trying not to cry. I just make an appointment for The Girl to talk to a Certified Behavioral Therapist at her doctor's office. I have to hide it from my husband. His fear is that if you seek psychological help, you'll be branded and never get a job, never be able to own a gun (yeah, that's what he's concerned about). Yes, it's a very old-fashioned view on mental health. But again, when I try to talk to him, he accuses me (and her) of bowing to the liberal media and we're becoming a national of weaklings.
I can't win. I do nothing, my family falls apart quietly. I do something, it's an uproar.
So I plaster on a smile and walk out the door.
Because I have no one to talk to.
Because I'm alone.
I'm going on a church retreat this weekend. I plan to talk to one of the Passionist priests there. Hopefully I'll get some support and help.
God help me if I don't.
I don't know if this will get tied back to my "public" face. I hope not. But if it does, well, it's me being honest. There must be more people out there hiding behind the fake smile.
Right?
