Bulimic

I need a purge

Of my churning thoughts

Making me sick at heart.

A bitter rumble

Of anger and judgment

Ripping my brain apart.

Each dark thought

Simmering, burning

Acid in my brain

Begins to seep

Down to my lips

Raining words of pain.

I need a syrup

Of ipecac

Vomit my viral thoughts

Cleansing purge

Of bitterness

Healing brain of rot.

I went to bed frustrated on Friday night about things totally out of my control.  When I woke up Saturday, my mind continued to spiral.  Irritation and anger made me grumpy, and my joyful hope for the weekend began to wane. 

I knew that part of my problem was the very difficult two weeks of school I’d just completed.  I was emotionally exhausted and mentally drained.  Sometimes my job is so much pouring out that at the end of weeks like these, I’m running on fumes.  Eventually I come to a sputtering stop.

After a very sweet flute concert, I sent my loves off to the museum, Grandpa, Dad, and daughter.  I knew I needed the time by myself to regroup and refill.  But I could not shift the focus of my brain.  I was so annoyed and could not seem to stop fixating on the source of my ire.

I was texting with my BFF and trying to explain my need to purge my brain.  I knew that I was only making myself miserable, and that I needed to let it go.  I’m a counselor for goodness sake.  I know the toxicity of bitterness.

I’d planned to do my big Thanksgiving grocery run but had forgotten my purse at home, so I ended up back at the house.  It seemed like a good idea to put in a load of laundry while I was there.   And like the mouse and the cookie, that one load lead to dusting, another load, folding, organizing, picking up, and a third load.  Eventually, with the help of my Casting Crowns station on iHeart Radio, I had a much cleaner house, an organized grocery list, a less cluttered brain, and a spirit at peace.

High School Counselor

Today I watched a parent humiliate her man child in front of me and two other women.  It brought him to tears.  And when he tried to cover those tears, she scolded him more.  It was one of the most heartbreaking scenes I’ve watched play out before me in a long time.  It is still replaying in my mind, a horrifying loop of brokenness of spirit in his wet, red eyes.

Earlier in the day one of my frequent flyers showed up with fresh scratches marking her anxiety over the loss of a friend .  As we colored, she played songs for me on her phone that spoke feelings she wasn’t ready to articulate because this wasn’t the first time she’d lost someone to suicide.

Yesterday I decided to take on a basketball project.  I have this gifted player who didn’t make the team because of grades.  And brains aren’t the problem either.  The problem is moving to a new school and being fifteen and hormonal and unorganized and unaccountable.

Before that, there was a call from a fellow high school counselor in another district who had a student report that one of my students texted her student about wanting to die.

But before I could speak with that student I had to track down another student who has figured out that texting his mom about hating school and his life and wanting to die…is a great way to get to go home.

And both of those conversations led to lots of phone time with parents and documentation and research about resources and did I mention phone time with parents?  Because the parents needed to talk too.  Understandably.

I also made a CPS report yesterday.  Reluctantly.  Because you never quite know if that will be beneficial or harmful to a 15 year old high school student.  They are unpredictable…CPS AND high school students.  But I erred on the side of caution and made the report, after getting timed out three separate times due to inactivity while I conferenced with children who thought they might want to die.  Meanwhile, this child most definitely did NOT want to die. 

And today, a police officer showed up to ask me questions about that same student.  And then he interviewed the student.  And then he went and got money from an ATM to put on her account so she could eat. 

I can’t even remember what day it was, but another day this week one of my kids who graduated in 2013 came back to see me.  He checks in periodically.  Because me and another couple of people up at school are the only reliable adults he’s ever had in his life.  And sometimes he needs to talk.  And it takes time and energy I don’t have left.  But hugging his neck four or five times a year is one of the best things. 

Tomorrow is Friday.  And in the counseling center we are counting down the class periods to a much needed respite.  A break where we can deal with the craziness of our own families instead of someone else’s.  I’ll begin the day with Starbucks and end it with basketball, because even counselors have their vices…I mean coping strategies.  And in between, I may change some schedules.  Because that’s what counselors do…

Biggest Loser

Mom bought Ipad

Won that round.

With trampoline

Dad gains ground.

Easy Bake

Brought a grin,

But homemade cookies

For the win.

Mom’s attention

To herself.

Daddy’s shared

With someone else.

Tooth fairy mom

Gives a ten.

Tooth fairy dad

Ones again.

Vacation time

Which is best?

Local trips

Or Disney fest?

Edging closer

Mom bought phone.

Daddy’s lead

Swiftly blown.

Always tracking

Keeping score.

Stressing presents

Who spent more?

Feels like love’s

A competition.

Isn’t that

A contradiction?

Constant stressing

About the plan.

Good enough?

Or lesser than?

Throw in towel

I give up.

I can’t compete

To win your love.

Even when we

Aren’t the loser

Always fear that

She will choose her.

You can say all you want to that it’s not a competition, but until you’ve been on this field, you cannot fully comprehend the pull of the game.  When children are involved, divorce is the ultimate game of tug of war.  No matter how hard you try, or how many times you give it over to God, there is a constant inner struggle for the desire of your child’s loyalty and favor.  When you only get to see your precious one Thursday nights and every other weekend, you long to be the winner on occasion.

With Halloween, we have officially entered the competition season.  It is closely followed by birthday and Christmas in our home, and nothing brings out the desire to win your child’s affection quite like those holidays.

It isn’t always a conscious battle.  Sometimes it sneaks up on you in subtle ways as your child begins listing her birthday and Christmas wishes.  You begin to think about the budget and the gifts and the all important question of the mother’s gift plans.  And that is a rabbit hole that will cause you madness beyond any un-birthday tea party.

It is the beginning of wondering if your gift is good enough.  If your love is good enough.  If you are good enough.

This past weekend of birthday, we chose to purchase within the budget and within what we considered reasonable and appropriate for our family.  We provided a great birthday weekend and celebration.  But we knew that we had not purchased the most desired gift.

After hearing about the mom’s birthday gift tonight, we knew our girl had gotten the really big thing.  I asked Matt how he felt about that.  He said, “It’s just the way it is.  We do something while mom waits and does something bigger.”

That made me sad.  Until he went on to say this, “But what we are giving her is what she needs most.  And I’m comfortable with that.”

He wasn’t referring to our birthday gift but to our family.  And he is right.  If we ever are going to “win,” I want it to be a win of heart.  Of family.  Of boundaries.  Of stability and consistency.  Of a Christ centered home.  Of unconditional love.

Boundaries

Out riding the fence

Looking for weakness

Where the wire is getting stretched

I’m looking for breaks

Where intruders invade

Where new trails get slowly etched

Repairing each strand

Standing my ground

Protecting the herd from attack

Laying new wire

Stretching and tying

While also watching our back

Out riding the fence

Looking for weakness

Cow gets tangled and stuck

Approach with caution

Watching her hooves

There may be reason to duck

One section repaired

Another one waits

Along the never ending trail

Out riding the fence

Our hedge of protection

Praying boundaries don’t fail.

I’ve spent hours and hours over the years contemplating the idea of boundaries.  Healthy ones are critical to healthy relationships.  In my job as a counselor, I am constantly reminded of the problems that can develop when boundaries are neglected and  ignored.

In a blended family, I feel the urgency for boundaries more than ever.  Between parents and kids.  Step parents and step kids.  Between ex-spouses.  There are so many levels of boundaries that have to be carefully built and maintained. 

I’ve come to think of them like fence on a ranch.  The outer fences often have another row of wire the inner ones do not.  And there are carefully planned gates at various places for appropriate movement between sections as well as crossings in and out of the property. 

Boundaries in relationships are a lot like that.  The blended family fencing is a fairly complex system that takes time to learn to navigate.  Occasionally, I find myself getting cut by the wire or trampled when there has been a break.  The building and repairing is often a painful process, but the maintenance is essential to the emotional safety of everyone living on the ranch. 

Last night, both Matt and I had to work on various stretches in the wire.  It was painful and tiring work.  I’m so thankful though for a partner who is willing to ride the fence with me, sharing the miles of upkeep and rescuing me when I get tangled.

The Golden Rule of Cookies

As a counselor and long time baker, I have developed a sixth sense about people and their cookie needs.  Today I sensed that my administrative team was in need of a cookie boost.  Sometimes a random batch of homemade cookies is just the spirit lifter for which a stressful week is calling.  Fortunately, today’s disturbance in the cookie force just happened to coincide with my need to try out a new recipe. 

I came across a recipe on Facebook recently for white chocolate, candy corn cookies.  I briefly glanced at it but forgot to snap a picture as I normally would.  I’ve always felt that recipes are just nice suggestions anyway, so I decided to simply use a variation of my normal chocolate chip recipe but with white chocolate chips and candy corn instead.

About the time I had mixed up the cookies and done the super official dough taste test, I was reminded of a conversation I’d had with Matt and Isabelle Friday night.  While we were waiting for our Brother’s Pizza, I asked them a couple of questions.  What is the best thing about our family?  What is the worst thing about our family?  What do we need to work on?  (Oh the joys of living with a counselor.)

Isabelle’s idea of what we needed to work on was cooking.  She was NOT suggesting that I’m a bad cook.  She was asking, in her way, for me to include her in the cooking more.  I told her that was a great idea and that we could definitely do more cooking together.  So tonight as I was about to scoop cookie dough on to the cookie sheets, I wished she was here.  And then I wished that I could deliver a few of these cookies to her at her mom’s house when they were finished.  I just wanted to share the moment with her.

And that random thought took me back to last Halloween night.  Isabelle was scheduled to get ready for Trick or Treating at our house.  I’d brought home a goodie bag with spooky pencils, rings, erasers and activity book along with some very tasty Halloween cupcakes.

When her mom picked her up from our house, she delivered a very large and fancy, single packaged cupcake.  Isabelle saw it and her eyes nearly popped out of her head.  All thoughts of the cupcakes I’d brought home for us were gone.  She only had eyes for the cupcake her mom had brought.  For me, the evening sort of deteriorated from there.

Tonight as I was thinking about how much I would enjoy sharing these cookies with Isabelle, I think I realized more potently than ever before how acute the loss is that her mom must feel when Isabelle is with me.  How many times must her mom think of her and what she would like to share with her daughter when she is with me.

I understand logically that this must be so as I am very aware of Matt’s sense of loss and lost opportunity when Isabelle is not with us.  It is a wound that does not heal.  But before tonight, I don’t think I’ve ever really felt like I was missing out on anything.  Just him.

My heart hurt for Isabelle’s mom.  I had the tiniest taste of what she must feel every time Isabelle is with us.  Her cupcake delivery last Halloween wasn't meant as an attack on me.  It wasn't about me at all.  It was about wanting to share a moment with her daughter.

So though it was tempting to deliver some cookies to Isabelle and her mom, I didn’t.  I also understand what it feels like to have the good thing you do pushed to the shadows while someone else’s good thing takes center stage, however unintentionally.

It’s really all about the cookie golden rule.  Deliver (or not) unto others as you would have them deliver unto you.  

Out of Step

He's living for the weekend
Ironically, so am I.
Him to have his girl
Me to have my guy.

Thursdays and every other
The clock that guides our life.
The schedule of my stress
The constant guilt I fight.

Parenting in silence
Whispers in his ear
Texting him my thoughts
So that she won't overhear

Biting my tongue again
When sarcasm's at my lips
Beating myself up
When occasionally it slips

Counting down the minutes
Feeling like a fake
Anticipating grocery runs
And a secret Starbuck's break.

Our weekend free approaches
My rope is tied with knots
They are sad and mopey
I am forever caught

Between my guilty happy
For a weekend that's kid free
And sorrow for my other half
Who is fathering absentee.

We are living for the moments
When everything's in sync
When it feels like we are "normal"
Not some monstrous family freak.

I'm learning to trust my Love
Unpacking my bags of fear
Letting go of voices past
Still whispering in my ear.

The hardest part is letting go
Of things I can't control.
The tug of war within my heart
Eventually takes a toll.

Most difficult job I've ever done
A mix of joy and strife
Being stepmom to his gal.
But it's the calling of my life.


Recently, a friend told me I made being a stepmom look easy.  While I appreciated the praise, it made me realize that I have probably been answering "Fine" too much to the question "How are you?" lately.  The truth is that being in a blended family is a struggle most days.  Some of the struggles are bigger than others, but the struggle is real.

Over Labor Day weekend we went on a camping trip as a family.  It was a great long weekend, but it also had some rough moments.  On Sunday afternoon I took some time to sit outside under the trees and do some writing. This is one of the pieces that came out of those quiet moments. 

In case you were thinking I've got things all together, I definitely do not.  This is me keeping it real.  

SOS!

I need help.   Being a stepmom in a blended family is absolutely the hardest role I’ve ever tackled.  I drove to Dallas this weekend to attend the Sisterhood of Stepmoms Retreat looking for help.  I figured a group called SOS ought to understand my desperate need for a life saver.

I was not disappointed.  The Sisterhood was started by Laura Petherbridge, co-author with Ron Deal of The Smart Stepmom.  She and the other ladies brought years and years of experience, wisdom, and Godly principles to the table for the nearly 100 fellow stepmoms desperately thrashing about in the tumultuous stepmom waters crying for help.

I have been extremely blessed with my Stepmom Sponsor, Peggy, this past year, but I was hoping to get connected with other stepmoms on the journey as well.  With Dallas as the location, I thought finding connections in the Houston area would be easy.  It wasn’t.

By Saturday afternoon, I’d connected with several ladies from Oklahoma, and one special gal from Dallas, but no one from the Houston area. 

The second to last session I wanted to attend made me fairly nervous. It was a special breakout session for stepmoms who did not have children of their own.   This is a very tender spot for me, and I almost chickened out because of a desire to avoid what I knew would be a painful subject.

Sure enough, my heart broke listening to the stories and thinking about my own situation.  The tears poured down.  Laura’s story hit me especially hard as she shared her own struggles with the reality of not having children to take care of her someday as she gets older. This is a fear I’ve had for years.  While no parent really wants her children to have to take care of her, there is comfort in knowing you have children who would.  I don’t have that.  Laura reminded me that the Spirit who has been my comforter for the first 41 years of my life isn’t going anywhere.

As I stood up to leave from the session, a lady at a table in front of me stood up and turned around.  Our eyes met.  She was crying the same tears as me.  Our gaze held for a moment, and I considered speaking to her.  Because I knew in that pregnant pause that she got me.

But the moment passed.  I turned and walked away trying to gather myself on the walk downstairs before the final session of the day, on prayer.

The final session closed with a song and an opportunity to journal a prayer.  I sat quietly, fighting tears, not writing.  I listened to the song without words of my own.  All kinds of emotions swirled through me as my heart cried out to God.  It is in moments like these when I am grateful for a Holy Spirit who knows my heart and speaks to God on my behalf.

I left that session exhausted and a little discouraged that I hadn’t met anyone from the Houston area.  I texted Matt about the possibility of coming home early.  His response, “Why would you want to come home?  Why don’t you spend the time up there and network with others?  I miss you too, but I would hate for you to miss out on a possible opportunity.  Do you want to call me?”

So I called him.  And I shared and cried and eventually felt better.  And I stayed.

As I was walking past the pool to dinner, I heard someone call my name.  I turned to see Stephanie from Dallas waving me over.  She was so excited to introduce me to Brenda.  From Houston.  The same lady I’d locked eyes with earlier.  The one I was sure would get me.

The rest of the evening the three of us visited and got to know each other.  Brenda mentioned that when we had shared that teary eye contact earlier, she had wanted to speak to me too.  During the last session, she had journaled a prayer asking God to connect her with someone in the Houston area.

God tossed me a lifeline this weekend, and I finally swam out to grab it.  As I pack up to head home, I am renewed in heart, refreshed in spirit, and reminded of God’s faithfulness.