Tag: family relationships

Lent

Day 8: Therapy 101

Alexandra Diane

Today I took the first step in actively working on my mental health. I had an hour-long session with a therapist. This isn’t my first time with therapy. The last time I sought help was to deal with my postpartum depression and anger. However, that ended quickly after the therapist said to me, “have you ever been to therapy before? Bec” Because this isn’t how it works.” The woman said, after I bared my soul… That may have been word vomit of emotions and feelings, but she wasn’t correcting me, just being rude.

Even though I had an awful experience with therapy, I have always suggested it to family, friends, and my students. My husband is alive because I pushed him to speak to those are the VA who were trained in his combat related PTSD. I have guided more than a handful of students into either talking with a guidance counselor or a mental health specialist. Even my own little clone is in therapy, learning how to handle her massive emotions. So when my husband told me I needed to get help, I didn’t fight him. I didn’t want to do it, but I did it. I would hate myself forever if I always suggested those to seek help while I became lost within myself.

Somehow I got lucky. My new therapist seems wonderful. She has a kind voice, and she genuinely seemed engaged when I spoke about the things I’ve lived through. I can’t explain why I went with the first therapist I contacted, but a tiny voice inside me said, “this one.” When she asked me to fill out the pre paperwork, she asked if I had any trauma. In that millisecond, I finally stopped running and decided I didn’t need to be strong. I said “yes.”

While I have documented my sexual assault by my boss on here before, I have lived through a lot of other extremely dark things. Situations that I don’t feel comfortable putting out in the world, I will say this: I’m essentially a statistic for many things that can go horribly wrong to a female.

One thing she was gauging me on was to see if I may suffer from PTSD because my scores were pushing me there. However, that I don’t avoid situations that have caused me trauma means I don’t qualify. Part of me didn’t like that response because, for most of my trauma, there’s no way to avoid it. As I keep finding out, Jupiter/Gardens is a small ass town and the only way to avoid being triggered would be to move.

But fuck that. I’m not leaving my hometown. This is the place I’ve always wanted to raise my kids. It’s a wonderful community offering more in one location than any other community I’ve lived in. Another reason I throw my middle finger in the air at the idea of avoiding things is that I won’t be the victim. I am stronger than that. Those people who have bruised my soul will not now or ever win.

After an hour of jumping around and explaining pieces of myself to this woman with a trusting voice, I felt drained. However, even though we didn’t dive that much into the crap burdening my soul, I felt a small sense of relief. One that I can only hope will grow.

Bloganuary, Mommy Blogs

Family Traditions

Alexandra Diane
Bloganuary writing prompt
Write about a few of your favorite family traditions.
View all responses

Today’s prompt left me thinking. The task was to write about family traditions, and I struggled to identify what truly was a tradition for my family, the one I created or grew up in. I have friends who spend Christmas day going to the beach to visit the Christmas tree they  set up the night before. I know those who will do an amazing Eggmpics on Easter Sunday. But when I think about my family, I don’t see such wild outlandish events. I know family traditions are not solely about the holidays; however that’s all I can focus on right now. 

I look back at growing up and think about how most holidays are organized around my dad working them. For Thanksgiving, we never ate early. It would genuinely be Thanksgiving Dinner, not a strange linner/brunch thing. My dad would always be home for 4th July. Which was fantastic since my mom did not like lighting off fireworks. She was paranoid we would all explode and die. That is a reasonable fear for a mother to have because I have that now when I watch my tiny pyromaniacs. Opening presents on Christmas day varied each year depending on the day it fell on and what schedule my dad was working. 

But now that I reflect on how my life was organized, growing up, I see that the tradition wasn’t an elaborate display. My family tradition is and has been to value time. It doesn’t matter if it was a hobby, sport, or a career, our parents taught us to put effort into what we do. Wasting our time was not something we did. Time was valuable because there was so little of it. My parents worked hard to provide for us and worked harder, making my brother and I know how loved we were. Family time, of value, was something that my parents stressed. They both grew up in broken families. My mom’s bio-father left when she was in middle and was blissfully absent after her teenage years. My dad’s parents divorced. While my grandmother raised four crazy boys in the north, my grandfather served in the marines and later became a border patrol agent, stationed all over the US. But when my parents became adults they settled states away from their family. The connection broken. All that was left were each other and eventually me and my brother. 

I see this reflected in how my husband and I are raising our kids. When we are not working, we are inseparable. Particularly, because I’m super needy, and lucky to have a husband who doesn’t mind my attention. However, we love spending time with each other. We enjoy many of the same hobbies, share the same taste in music, but we are also comfortable in the silence of each other. With our children, we embrace their hobbies and try to encourage them to seek what brings them happiness. We try not to push our ideas on them however; we guide them into putting the best effort in whatever it is they’re doing. My husband and I want our children to appreciate the time someone spends with them and how they use their own time. Because we can’t get it back. 

Bloganuary, Writing

The Greatest Gift: Safety

Alexandra Diane
Daily writing prompt
What is the greatest gift someone could give you?
View all responses

People say money can’t buy you happiness. I don’t think that’s true at all. Money can bring happiness, but it can’t buy me the gift I need the most. For me, the greatest gift of all is knowing I am safe. That doesn’t mean an alarm on a house, or a gun in the nightstand, but knowing that the person I am with will protect me at all costs. The type of significant other has a name now, the Morally Grey.

I don’t know how many times I have read that women want a man that is morally grey. Having someone who will burn the world for you is an incredibly comforting notion. However, usually there is a horrible or at the very least an unpleasant reason for them to want to burn the world. Knowing that your man would sacrifice himself for your safety means that your safety has been threatened or taken away from you. 

I did not expect my safety to come into question on New Year’s eve this year. In fact, I took every precaution to have a relaxing, safe holiday. Instead of visiting our friends who live a drive and a half away, we stayed close to home. We planned on being back at our place by the time the youngest was ready for bed. And without one minor moment, that all happened. 

My daughter and I went to mass on Sunday morning. The message for that mass was to remind us we aren’t alone. I absolutely needed to hear it. My hormones were going crazy, making my lingering postpartum depression rearing its ugly head. I was feeling alone while surrounded by family and friends for the last week. At the end of mass, they were releasing white doves. Well, white pigeons, the priest confessed, sending the congregations into a bit of laughter. After a prayer asking for peace in the new year, the four white birds flew overhead. Adelyn told me she whispered to them to say hello to Zoey, our dog we lost a few days before Christmas. 

We made it home, and the tiniest was napping. That made getting ready to leave far easier than having to chase down Godzooky as he terrorized the house. We were heading to our friend J.S’s house to watch the Dolphins vs. Ravens game while the kids ran around outside enjoying the cool weather. Everything was great. We had endless mimosas and steak to eat. Adelyn hit the wiffle ball a bunch of without a tee and none of the kids tried to murder each other. My husband, Tyler, and I even had a moment of peace when B laid down for his second nap of the day. It didn’t matter that the Dolphins lost to the Ravens; it was a great day. That was until someone I haven’t seen in almost a decade showed up. 

I don’t know why, one of the kids could have shouted, thrown or hit a ball, but for whatever the reason was I looked over towards the stop sign to my right. With the sun behind them and the figure shadowed, I saw someone on a bike. As he got closer, my heart stopped. He wore a Ravens’ hat and jersey and though his hair had grown out; I knew the person riding towards us. He shouted out something to our friend J.S. about the Ravens winning. I don’t think he noticed me yet, or maybe he did, but all I knew is I was seeing red. 

I felt my jaw clench as he rode up next to my husband and I. J.S. approached and greeted the man who almost a decade ago violated my space. As J.S. introduced my Tyler, I could feel the man’s hands on me, forcing me back into the chair. I grabbed for my husband’s hand, but I missed and latched onto his forearm. Tyler’s arm tensed under my touch and before I could say a word, J.S. said my name, and the man said, “I know Alex.” 

Hearing my name come out of his mouth made my blood boil. I don’t think I have ever said one word with such hatred before. Icicles could have been knocked off of his name as I squeezed it out of my mouth, remembering the feeling of his darting lizard tongue being shoved into mine. “Shawn.” 

I don’t remember when he and J.S. headed off to the garage to grab beers. But my husband never left my side. I could feel his eyes on me, but mine had not left the spot where the man had stood. “That’s him.” I finally said. I didn’t need to say anymore. Tyler understood precisely what I was talking about. He stood next to me as I tried to regroup. Being the safety I needed, knowing I wasn’t alone. I was also scared to move closer to where the sounds of J.S. and the man were laughing about something because I didn’t know what my husband was going to do. 

I knew we lived in a smallish town, but I never expected it to be that small. Where the man who assaulted me would show up at my husband’s closest friend’s house. Later, I found out that his son plays travel baseball just one year above my son. And the baseball world is a lot smaller than our town because of my former coworkers, who was present when this man assaulted me. His son plays one year under my son. 

We went inside to get B. I could hear the man talking to J.S., but as quickly as the man came in the shadows, he left. A lot of it was a blur. I was trying to keep my wits about me, not have a panic attack in front of the kids. My husband kept me shielded. I don’t know how he kept me stable, but he did sometimes by touch or by mere presence. 

When the man left, our friends asked me what was wrong and I don’t think I have ever screamed these words so violently, but I shouted and pointed to where he stood. “That is the fucker who sexually assaulted me.” 

J.S. and his wife were in shock. He apologized a million times. He had no idea. It wasn’t his fault, either. It’s not like I went around telling everyone I know what happened. But I did just that. I told them we were at a work convention in Vegas and that our group went out for drinks. While I was sitting in a chair, in front of everyone, he jumped across a table and he shoved me into a chair, bit my neck and forced his tongue into my mouth. When I reported it, everyone lied to cover up what happened because they were promoted or given a raise. 

I highly doubt I’ll see that man again. The next day, when we went to J.S.’s house, he said that the man had deleted him from all social media apps and blocked him. He also said he didn’t see him at Publix like he had for the past few months. But it’s funny. It’s not J.S. he needed to block. It’s my husband. 

Bloganuary, Mommy Blogs

Playtime: Mother/Daughter Bonding

Alexandra Diane
Daily writing prompt
Do you play in your daily life? What says “playtime” to you?
View all responses

I would like to say that as a creative person, I play all the time, but that’s not true. I am a working mom of three. By the time I get home, I am so burnt out and exhausted from work that I don’t have the same energy to play with my kids the way they would like. My daughter has a massive dollhouse field with barbies, Disney princesses and millions of tiny animals. I’ve always dreamed of having these filling my home, creating stories and wondrous worlds with my daughter, however, it doesn’t happen as much as I’d like.

I remember hours of playing with my dolls and stuffed animals, creating adventures for them to go on. Occasionally, I had friends over, but for the most part, I kept myself occupied. I couldn’t really have my brother play with me. Not that he couldn’t play with dolls, it’s just that he would not have his action figures rescuing my unicorns. Most of the time, they were the reason the unicorn needed to be reduced. I don’t think I was lonely or anything like that. I just enjoyed making up stories and having them play out the way I wanted them to. 

I wish my daughter was the same, and in ways she is. She will create crime scenes for her dolls to investigate. She has no problem weaving intricate stories for her toys. However, it is a struggle for her to do it by herself. She will ask me to play. Sometimes I do, but the way she wants to play is to tell me how my doll should act, and what path they should go on. I’m not really playing; I’m more like puppeteering the dolls for her. Most of the time I am fine with it, however when I go off script she meltdown. This turns into a conversation about how when you play, you can not dictate what people do. It’s a ‌learning moment, but not one I want to have.

I know these moments won’t last forever and I cherish them. I just wish I didn’t have to weave them between work, cleaning, sports, and dinner time. 

As I got older, I savored spending more of my time outside, primarily at the beach. Surfing was my escape. I didn’t see it as playing, but more of a chance to relax and clear my mind. My daughter is following in my footsteps. She loves being at the beach, building sand castles and playing in the waves. Last summer she finally grasped her swim lessons. I’m hoping as the seasons warms I will make her a stronger swimmer. That way I’ll be able to bring her out on my longboard. I know it will be a struggle at first, but the ocean is one of the best teachers in getting up and trying again. 

My playtime has been trying. I find little joy in scarfing my precious time for myself. It’s undoubtedly not healthy to look at it that way, but I’m working on it. Active 1: Instead of waiting for my kids to fall asleep or sneaking away to find time to write, my daughter and I cuddled on the couch. She’s watching a movie and I’m typing next to her. Since she knows how much mommy loves to write, Adelyn keeps peeking over at my words. She read the beginning of the post and a huge smile grew across her face when she realized was writing about her. I didn’t set out to create a total mini me; however, she already has her own stack of journals with stories filling the pages. 

While playtime looks different from what I imagined it would be growing up. I know I’m doing the best with my kids. They are their own unique little monsters who I have to learn with them as I navigate what now brings me joy in life.