When I was asked to contribute to the The Child of Divorce blog, I began to worry. I began to worry about my parents, about sharing too much. I worried about how exposing my vulnerability will be seen, by some, as exposing weakness. The child of divorce I once was even worried that I would be seen as unfit, unworthy, to become Mrs. America, because of the conflict I witnessed and the pain I had been through as a teen. I realized that the children of divorce we strive to help can relate to that too. They worry about being labeled. Being lovable. Being normal. One ex-boyfriend's mom once said to me, "Sasha, you are just the picture of resiliency!" I realized that sharing, and soon following that sharing with real techniques on how to cope in a healthy way and feel better, was the best thing I could do for these kids.
I'll include my mom in the process too. I want to be certain to honor my parents, while being honest about what the divorce was like for me, and what it was like for my two younger sisters. I have no idea what it is like to be a divorcing parent. I can only speak about my experiences as a child of divorce. I called my sister Jade this morning and she had one experience that stood out to her. It was Easter Sunday. I'll share it with you too.
I hope my contribution will give others the courage to speak.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
Invitation
I have invited some of my adult friends that were once children of divorce to help me blog on this site.
My hope is that through our stories and experiences we will be able to speak up for those children who are living it now.
We can bring a sense of camaraderie with each other that only those of us who have experienced it can relate.
Thank you,
My hope is that through our stories and experiences we will be able to speak up for those children who are living it now.
We can bring a sense of camaraderie with each other that only those of us who have experienced it can relate.
Thank you,
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Insecurity
"Last time my parents fought, they were fighting about who would spend the weekend at home with me. Neither one of them wanted to! That's when I felt insecure," said Kelly, a fifteen-year-old boy from New York. During a fight between parents, kids occasionally feel insecure, almost always because they worry about what will happen to them (which they shouldn't worry about anyway). Cindy, a nine-year-old girl, said, "When they fight, I feel like they're forgetting all about me. What if they both just left?"
An excerpt from "The Kids' Book of Divorce, By, For & About Kids"
An excerpt from "The Kids' Book of Divorce, By, For & About Kids"
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Where is the turkey?
"This was my dad's first year to make the dinner without mom. We had some leftover ham from my grandma's house and some potato chips. I got as many cokes as I wanted. I really wanted my mom and a good meal, but this is what divorce looks like I guess." Tamara, 15 years old
Monday, October 26, 2009
Yesterday's Child
My name is Michael. Yesterday I was part of a family of four, but today there goes my dad.
There goes my dad. There goes his big TV. There goes his laugh. There goes his car that took me to basketball practice every Tuesday night. There goes our computer. There goes the after work hugs that I stood by the door and waited for when he came home from work. There goes our sofa. There goes his grill that made steaks every Friday night. There goes my dad.
I got my dad when I turned five years old. He met my mom at a baseball game. They fell in love and got married. When I turned seven I got a sister. She made our family a family of four.
Every Sunday after church we went to Nanny and Nana’s house to eat Sunday dinner. I’m still not sure why they call it Sunday dinner when it is really lunch, but I enjoyed it whatever it was called.
Nanny and Nana are my dad’s mom and grandma. They both lost their husbands early so they live together and my sister and I sometimes spend the night over there. They both cook and read us books. Sophie and I love their old house. It has heat that comes up from the floor, and in the winter we stand really close and warm up our cold toes. The smell of hot soup fills the house and hot chocolate comes right after lunch.
Now that my mom and dad are getting a divorce, will I still go to Nanny and Nana’s house?
Will we still go to church with them? What about my cousins in
Will my dad stop loving me? My heart is beating so fast. I don’t want to lose my family. I want to yell really loud, but he can’t hear me. He has already driven away from our house. I can’t see his blue car anymore. I can’t see my dad.
Will we still live here? Will my sister still live here? Will my mom leave too?
My mom sees me crying at our front door watching him drive away. I don’t want her to feel like she is not enough, but what if she isn’t?
Her hug feels good. I know she loves me. She can do this. I know she is tough. We still have her family. They love me and they can’t say that I am not family anymore.
My aunt pulls into the driveway. All of her kids are with her. I have never been so excited to see my cousin, Cole. He hits my left arm and I hit him back. It feels good.
The next few months my mom’s family keeps stopping by our house at least once a week.
We started going to another church, and I met some really cool new friends. My mom and my aunt started spending a lot of time together which meant I got to hang out with Cole. We are only a few years apart, so we are a lot alike.
I am still at the same school, so I got to keep my real friends.
I quit basketball. My dad used to be my coach. It hurt too much to play without him. My mom didn’t want me to quit, but I think she understood why.
It was a year ago today that my dad drove away, so my Papa stopped by to see me.
Papa and I throw the ball around outside in the front yard. He thinks I have a good arm and should go out for football next year. If we keep practicing on Sundays, I might just do that.
My mom is standing at the front door holding the phone.
“Michael.” My mom sounds sad.
“What is it mom?” I yell from the front yard, now walking toward her.
“Nanny died this morning,” my mom tries to give me a hug.
I run to my room crying. I haven’t seen her in over a year. Sophie still got to see her after the divorce, but I didn’t. I am so angry and sad all at the same time.
The next few days are really weird. My dad remarried right after he left, and his new wife is going to have a baby soon.
My mom and I sit on the back row. The funeral is at our old church.
I can see my dad and his new wife sitting with my sister on the front row. The casket is in front of them. His face looks longer than I remember. My sister sits on his lap. I am jealous. I wish I could just run up there and sit on his lap and get a big hug. I wish I was still his son. I wish he still loved me.
Our old church looks the same. Nothing has really changed. I wonder if anyone notices how much I have changed. My hair is longer and I have grown a lot, and I am not the same on the inside either.
My mom whispers to me that she has a surprise for me when we leave. I can’t wait.
As soon as they sing the last song, we leave. My sister stays with her dad.
She took me to her friend Tim’s house. He knows a guy that works at the Talon’s indoor football stadium. I got to go to a real indoor football stadium and throw the football to Tim. I run to catch the pass. We play ball all afternoon.
Mom brings us both some water and a sandwich. Tim likes PB & J just like me.
I like Tim, but he isn’t my dad. He is my friend.
As we drive away from the stadium, I look at my mom.
“You’re doing a good job, Mom.”
Yesterday feels like a long time ago.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Lovable & Capable
I have written a lot of grants in attempts to get funding for schools to have books and resources for children who have gone through a family change or divorcing parents. With each grant I quote statistics, sustainability, qualifiers, etc. Tedious details that were once a research project. Important, but not the full story.
Now, I write grants with Kiara and Marcus and their classmates that are so kind to reveal their stories to me. I write with a passion of understanding that, like me, they are growing up with a sense of robbery, a sense of confusion. They are trying to make sense of their world, their lives and their talents.
I write knowing that I am their voice. I am the adult in their life that has the means and heart to make a difference by believing them and listening to them. I am the adult that symbolizes hope of rising above the hurt and fear and becoming a person of character.
I love my adopted class. I love their vulnerable honesty. They are not afraid to say that it hurts when we lose respect, friendship or camaraderie with the adults in our lives. They are fearless in their writing...not afraid of what emotion they may provoke.
We close every class with these words, "I vow to always remember that I am lovable and capable. I vow to find my talent and never throw it away!"
As we chant our mantra, the little girl in me that is now a woman living her dream chants secretly, "me, too."
"The smallest act of kindness is worth more than the best intention."
Now, I write grants with Kiara and Marcus and their classmates that are so kind to reveal their stories to me. I write with a passion of understanding that, like me, they are growing up with a sense of robbery, a sense of confusion. They are trying to make sense of their world, their lives and their talents.
I write knowing that I am their voice. I am the adult in their life that has the means and heart to make a difference by believing them and listening to them. I am the adult that symbolizes hope of rising above the hurt and fear and becoming a person of character.
I love my adopted class. I love their vulnerable honesty. They are not afraid to say that it hurts when we lose respect, friendship or camaraderie with the adults in our lives. They are fearless in their writing...not afraid of what emotion they may provoke.
We close every class with these words, "I vow to always remember that I am lovable and capable. I vow to find my talent and never throw it away!"
As we chant our mantra, the little girl in me that is now a woman living her dream chants secretly, "me, too."
"The smallest act of kindness is worth more than the best intention."
Sunday, September 6, 2009
2nd Annual Chili On the Square
Come have a good time and support Blended Love, a nonprofit bringing resources to teachers and students dealing with the increase in our divorce rates and ever changing families!
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Can I stay?
Have you ever wanted to stay longer when you were enjoying staying with someone you loved?
Sean, a once ten year old boy, wants us to know that he felt that way every time he left his dad.
His dad lived in Colorado and his mom lived in Oklahoma, so his visits were for more than a week and usually during his school time off.
He said his bond with dad is so strong and that they played football and video games and talked a lot.
One of his last visits, all he could think about was the last day, so he sabotaged his whole visit. He acted terribly. Refused to play football and only did video games alone. On the last day, he whispered to his dad, "Can I stay?"
He knew the answer. The answer is why he refused to be himself.
"You'll always say no because you don't want me!"
Unfortunately Sean's dad didn't understand that Sean's anger came from hurt. He was housing pain of loving his dad so much and staying separated.
His dad penalized him by not inviting him back for almost a year.
This event destroyed what was once a healthy relationship and led Sean to finding acceptance with a rough crowd at school. A crowd he could control with his anger.
I would like to report that Sean has changed and the relationship has been mended, but I cannot.
I can only report that Sean is finishing his last week in rehab as a Jr. High student and may be out in time to still attend his alternative school.
Sean, a once ten year old boy, wants us to know that he felt that way every time he left his dad.
His dad lived in Colorado and his mom lived in Oklahoma, so his visits were for more than a week and usually during his school time off.
He said his bond with dad is so strong and that they played football and video games and talked a lot.
One of his last visits, all he could think about was the last day, so he sabotaged his whole visit. He acted terribly. Refused to play football and only did video games alone. On the last day, he whispered to his dad, "Can I stay?"
He knew the answer. The answer is why he refused to be himself.
"You'll always say no because you don't want me!"
Unfortunately Sean's dad didn't understand that Sean's anger came from hurt. He was housing pain of loving his dad so much and staying separated.
His dad penalized him by not inviting him back for almost a year.
This event destroyed what was once a healthy relationship and led Sean to finding acceptance with a rough crowd at school. A crowd he could control with his anger.
I would like to report that Sean has changed and the relationship has been mended, but I cannot.
I can only report that Sean is finishing his last week in rehab as a Jr. High student and may be out in time to still attend his alternative school.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
An Invitation to Hope
My heart was racing, my mind creating every kind of bad scenario for me and my friend, Rachel. The house we were in was incredibly dirty and the smell of sweat and alcohol filled the heavy air. In the back bedroom I found an old, tattered mattress on the floor. At seven, I was the leader, pulling my friend under the mattress with me and grabbing her hand.
I prayed for us. She prayed for us. We squeezed each other tight and prayed we would not be found by any of the men doing drugs that night in what later became known as the “crack house.”
Hopeless? No.
“So the helpless has hope, And unrighteousness must shut its mouth.” Job 5:16
I have no memory or conclusion to what happened to Rachel and I that night, but I do have many memories of what would follow --peace and a hand much bigger than the adults around me floundering about trying to make their own way.
He did not have a name to me, but His invitation included mine. His hand was that of a hearty, working man yet soft and warm. As I curled up with Him in my heart, I knew I was safe. Guarded from what was happening around me, guarded from the uncertainty and confusion that my world had always been to me.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Teachers Caught in the Middle
Something that was brought to my attention the other day was another one of the many struggles teachers are having with students from two homes.
Situation:
John brings spirit t-shirt money to his fifth grade teacher on Monday from his Mom's house in hopes of her receiving the t-shirt for him to wear on Fridays, which is spirit day most weeks.
The teacher passes out the prepaid t-shirts out on a Wednesday which means that the t-shirt Mom just paid for went home with John to Dad's house because it is a Wednesday and Dad has him.
Friday rolls around and Mom is incredibly angry because she doesn't have John's t-shirt that she paid for and John is angry because he will be the only one in his class that isn't wearing his spirit t-shirt.
Now, Mom shoots the teacher a hateful email expressing that she didn't receive what she had paid for and that it is her fault. Dad also shoots the teacher a hateful email because he feels like he was never asked about ordering a spirit t-shirt.
Who should be at fault for this?
Parents say the teacher.
Communities say the parents.
Schools stay neutral and try to accommodate on top of the huge laundry list of mandates handed down to them.
I say...regardless of blame...you still have to recognize and address the fact that this child has just missed out on having his t-shirt and enjoying spirit day like the rest of his class.
Situation:
John brings spirit t-shirt money to his fifth grade teacher on Monday from his Mom's house in hopes of her receiving the t-shirt for him to wear on Fridays, which is spirit day most weeks.
The teacher passes out the prepaid t-shirts out on a Wednesday which means that the t-shirt Mom just paid for went home with John to Dad's house because it is a Wednesday and Dad has him.
Friday rolls around and Mom is incredibly angry because she doesn't have John's t-shirt that she paid for and John is angry because he will be the only one in his class that isn't wearing his spirit t-shirt.
Now, Mom shoots the teacher a hateful email expressing that she didn't receive what she had paid for and that it is her fault. Dad also shoots the teacher a hateful email because he feels like he was never asked about ordering a spirit t-shirt.
Who should be at fault for this?
Parents say the teacher.
Communities say the parents.
Schools stay neutral and try to accommodate on top of the huge laundry list of mandates handed down to them.
I say...regardless of blame...you still have to recognize and address the fact that this child has just missed out on having his t-shirt and enjoying spirit day like the rest of his class.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Narrow Shoulders
I have recently learned that I have narrow shoulders with the weight of the effects of divorce on all the children I have met over the last year and half.
"My daddy said that he didn't want to pay for us anymore, so he threw my mom down some stairs and the cops took him away...we don't see him...I think it was my sister's fault because she wouldn't go to sleep when she was suppose to." Tulsa, 1st Grader
"When my momma gets three thousand dollars she is gonna ask for me back because my Grandma said she needs money." Tulsa, 1st Grader
"I've been in three foster homes..." Tulsa, 1st Grader
The quotes could go on and on....the tears could roll on for these children that are part of our world.
My shoulders are becoming increasingly more narrow and as I share this reality I am finding more shoulders standing alongside me keeping them strong.
Blended Love Board Members are standing side by side, shoulder to shoulder, saying..."we will be your voice."
Thank you.
The smallest act of kindness is worth more than the best intentions!
"My daddy said that he didn't want to pay for us anymore, so he threw my mom down some stairs and the cops took him away...we don't see him...I think it was my sister's fault because she wouldn't go to sleep when she was suppose to." Tulsa, 1st Grader
"When my momma gets three thousand dollars she is gonna ask for me back because my Grandma said she needs money." Tulsa, 1st Grader
"I've been in three foster homes..." Tulsa, 1st Grader
The quotes could go on and on....the tears could roll on for these children that are part of our world.
My shoulders are becoming increasingly more narrow and as I share this reality I am finding more shoulders standing alongside me keeping them strong.
Blended Love Board Members are standing side by side, shoulder to shoulder, saying..."we will be your voice."
Thank you.
The smallest act of kindness is worth more than the best intentions!
Friday, May 8, 2009
Visit to Skelly Elementary
Yesterday, Sandra and I had the privilege of handing out over 230 books to kids at Skelly Elementary School at 31st and Memorial. We taught four sessions of "Empowered Journaling" with the students and NY Life donated 240 journals/pencils.
I heard children saying that they had never received a book of their own and had no books at home. I saw first graders holding their book like it was a teddy bear.
We were also able to donate the other resources to the library, putting in our first Library Resources for the Child of Divorce.
The time spent at the school was amazing. Our reception from the staff and principal made us want to adopt them.
I cannot tell you how blessed I feel knowing our organization is providing resources to children who need them and want them.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Powerful Words
lack of trust
neglected
forgotten
deserted
guilt
different
confused
complicated
divided
torn
Monday, April 20, 2009
Did You Know?
..."children from divorce suffer from more depression, anxiety, low self-esteem. They experience higher rates of suicide, feelings of rejection, drug and alcohol abuse, delinquency and criminality and diminished learning capacity leading to more school failure. They have poor interpersonal relationships, are increasingly the victims of abuse and neglect, and are two times as likely to divorce than children from intact families."
Source: The Heritage Foundation / The Effects of Divorce on America
Source: The Heritage Foundation / The Effects of Divorce on America
Thursday, April 9, 2009
LOVE
Love is such a powerful word yet it has so many meanings.
Some of us use it to get someone we care about off the phone.
Others are fearful of it, so they go out of their way not to use the word.
Yet we are all drawn to a desire to hear it and see it in our lives.
We see it when someone is patient with us as we grow and learn in life.
We feel it when someone forgives something we said without thinking or acted harshly.
We know it by the mourners who sit by our side through a loss.
We observe it when we see a mom tenderly nurturing her child in a public place.
We realize it when it is aimed at us with an unconditional pact of friendship.
Love is all around.
Love does not discriminate, it can be received by anyone willing to give it away.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
What does divorce look like?
I knew a little girl who was so cute and bubbly that complete strangers would come up to her and ask her questions just to get to know her. She brightened a room with her love of life and her positive spirit. Her flame was bright.
At three, after her parents had divorced, she was forced to stay with a family member and had to endure an uncle touching her inappropriately and causing her to feel feelings she was not ready to feel yet. Her flame began to dim.
By seven, she was hiding under a bed for protection in a crack house praying to God to save her from the chaos. He did, but her flame still dimmed.
Now at eight, her confidence is shattered as she has been violently forced to watch pornography and abused by a man she trusted. Her childhood spirit taken from her, the flame growing dimmer still yet.
She is a fighter, but her flame continues to grow dimmer and dimmer.
Her new step dad promises to ease the pain for this little girl, but he is drawn to the small flame that still flickers and creates even more grief with his inappropriate love for her.
Her flame almost goes out, but her Father intervenes.
The intercession of Jesus erases her guilt, anger, and betrayal and replaces it with love, security, and forgiveness.
She is not an exception to the rule of divorce.
Children are at risk. Please keep them safe.
At three, after her parents had divorced, she was forced to stay with a family member and had to endure an uncle touching her inappropriately and causing her to feel feelings she was not ready to feel yet. Her flame began to dim.
By seven, she was hiding under a bed for protection in a crack house praying to God to save her from the chaos. He did, but her flame still dimmed.
Now at eight, her confidence is shattered as she has been violently forced to watch pornography and abused by a man she trusted. Her childhood spirit taken from her, the flame growing dimmer still yet.
She is a fighter, but her flame continues to grow dimmer and dimmer.
Her new step dad promises to ease the pain for this little girl, but he is drawn to the small flame that still flickers and creates even more grief with his inappropriate love for her.
Her flame almost goes out, but her Father intervenes.
The intercession of Jesus erases her guilt, anger, and betrayal and replaces it with love, security, and forgiveness.
She is not an exception to the rule of divorce.
Children are at risk. Please keep them safe.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Say What You Need To Say
Stolen from John Mayer, I am confronted again with the meaning of this song.
Usually saying what you need to say starts with, "thank you."
One of those close friends you have growing up is dealing with her incredible mom struggling with cancer. This family was so kind and accepting, taking me to the lake with them and inviting me to be a part of their family time. They are a treasured gift from my childhood.
Every time I buy an extra toothbrush for my daughter's friends to feel welcome to stay or I pick up "kid" food, I know it is because Carol showed me this example. I loved the way her kids said, "mom." And I remember thinking that when I got older I wanted my children to say it as endearing.
Thank you.
My step dad is also struggling with cancer and trying to make it to his birthday in July, the big sixty. He never had children biologically, so me and my sister began his parenting career.
My thank you for him begins with a phone call I got when my daughter was just six or seven months old. My real dad was facing throat cancer and needed to get a feeding tube to undergo the treatments. He had never really had any kind of surgery so he was nervous just to enter a hospital. I called my mom and Tom and told them what was going on and how scared and helpless I felt. Tom immediately decided he was going to drive Eden, my daughter, and I all the way to Orlando, Florida (twenty-four hour drive) to be there for my dad's surgery. He did.
Ironically enough, Tom merged my two families and gave me one of the best memories of seeing both my families around a dinner table laughing and enjoying each other. What a gift.
Saying what you need to say, usually begins with thank you.
Usually saying what you need to say starts with, "thank you."
One of those close friends you have growing up is dealing with her incredible mom struggling with cancer. This family was so kind and accepting, taking me to the lake with them and inviting me to be a part of their family time. They are a treasured gift from my childhood.
Every time I buy an extra toothbrush for my daughter's friends to feel welcome to stay or I pick up "kid" food, I know it is because Carol showed me this example. I loved the way her kids said, "mom." And I remember thinking that when I got older I wanted my children to say it as endearing.
Thank you.
My step dad is also struggling with cancer and trying to make it to his birthday in July, the big sixty. He never had children biologically, so me and my sister began his parenting career.
My thank you for him begins with a phone call I got when my daughter was just six or seven months old. My real dad was facing throat cancer and needed to get a feeding tube to undergo the treatments. He had never really had any kind of surgery so he was nervous just to enter a hospital. I called my mom and Tom and told them what was going on and how scared and helpless I felt. Tom immediately decided he was going to drive Eden, my daughter, and I all the way to Orlando, Florida (twenty-four hour drive) to be there for my dad's surgery. He did.
Ironically enough, Tom merged my two families and gave me one of the best memories of seeing both my families around a dinner table laughing and enjoying each other. What a gift.
Saying what you need to say, usually begins with thank you.
Monday, February 23, 2009
My Friend
I have had the privilege of visiting a lot of elementary schools in the Tulsa area. Each time I am amazed at the experiences that our children have faced and how time can be the only gap.
For instance, I met a sweet, shy, second grade boy. His naturally highlighted hair, blue eyes and smile could seriously melt your heart. Teachers shared the frustrations that were associated with him. None of them he could help, not one. He was a true victim.
Born a meth baby, he was very slow in understanding. Pushed down to the floor by officers in the middle of a bust that took his mom and live in boyfriend to jail, he had some anxiety issues. Raised by a grandparent because his biological dad rejected him, he dealt with abandonment issues.
He looked at the floor when I talked with him until I told him I had met some "shady" characters when I was about his age. His face was priceless, his smile will never be forgotten. For about five minutes he looked at me like I knew him, really knew him, and all because I wasn't afraid to look back at my own rugged past to sit eye-level with a peer. Sure, he was born a few decades after me, but we would have been friends then, so why not now.
For instance, I met a sweet, shy, second grade boy. His naturally highlighted hair, blue eyes and smile could seriously melt your heart. Teachers shared the frustrations that were associated with him. None of them he could help, not one. He was a true victim.
Born a meth baby, he was very slow in understanding. Pushed down to the floor by officers in the middle of a bust that took his mom and live in boyfriend to jail, he had some anxiety issues. Raised by a grandparent because his biological dad rejected him, he dealt with abandonment issues.
He looked at the floor when I talked with him until I told him I had met some "shady" characters when I was about his age. His face was priceless, his smile will never be forgotten. For about five minutes he looked at me like I knew him, really knew him, and all because I wasn't afraid to look back at my own rugged past to sit eye-level with a peer. Sure, he was born a few decades after me, but we would have been friends then, so why not now.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Library Resources for the Child of Divorce
As a public school teacher, I saw firsthand the limited resources teachers have for their students who are going through a divorce. After searching many libraries that did not have these books marked and seeing the limited experiences the characters had in the books, I decided to write my own.
Now, almost a decade later, I am founder of a nonprofit with a mission to supply at least 10 books per elementary in the Tulsa area with a section labeled, "divorce/fiction." This will make it easier for the teachers to find books and easier for the students who need them.
Last week I was reminded of the importance of this mission when I heard a close eight year old friend of mine stating he had never read a book with someone like him in it.
Please help our organization donate these books and make a difference in the lives of children who are needing the support and encouragement.
You can donate to this mission on http://www.blendedlove.org, we are a 501c3 so it will be a tax deductible donation. Thank you.
Now, almost a decade later, I am founder of a nonprofit with a mission to supply at least 10 books per elementary in the Tulsa area with a section labeled, "divorce/fiction." This will make it easier for the teachers to find books and easier for the students who need them.
Last week I was reminded of the importance of this mission when I heard a close eight year old friend of mine stating he had never read a book with someone like him in it.
Please help our organization donate these books and make a difference in the lives of children who are needing the support and encouragement.
You can donate to this mission on http://www.blendedlove.org, we are a 501c3 so it will be a tax deductible donation. Thank you.
Friday, February 6, 2009
True Story
I watched on the sideline as a child's life unfolded and ended as I viewed.
His story begins as a six or seven year old, hyper and misunderstood as he dealt with the emotions of losing his home and his dad to an affair. Next, came a working mother and having to be added to an after school program where he got molested by another boy in the bathroom. He began to have terrible nightmares, had to sleep with the lights on and his mother became his only source of refuge. Around nine, his mother, stressed to the max, dies of a brain aneurysm. I watched him lay on the floor pretending to be asleep because it was more than he could handle. His world, again, shattered. He now is forced to live with Dad and have another kind of life. New town, new life, new friends...nothing familiar.
I lost touch with him for awhile, but heard he tried to make the most of it.
The end came abruptly as I attended his funeral. His beautiful, blue eyes and stunning appearance, only now in pictures flashing on the screen. His life had become more than he could handle, so he ended it.
His story is another reason I stay in the fight to be the voice of children like him. Children who cannot speak for themselves, but need a voice.
His story begins as a six or seven year old, hyper and misunderstood as he dealt with the emotions of losing his home and his dad to an affair. Next, came a working mother and having to be added to an after school program where he got molested by another boy in the bathroom. He began to have terrible nightmares, had to sleep with the lights on and his mother became his only source of refuge. Around nine, his mother, stressed to the max, dies of a brain aneurysm. I watched him lay on the floor pretending to be asleep because it was more than he could handle. His world, again, shattered. He now is forced to live with Dad and have another kind of life. New town, new life, new friends...nothing familiar.
I lost touch with him for awhile, but heard he tried to make the most of it.
The end came abruptly as I attended his funeral. His beautiful, blue eyes and stunning appearance, only now in pictures flashing on the screen. His life had become more than he could handle, so he ended it.
His story is another reason I stay in the fight to be the voice of children like him. Children who cannot speak for themselves, but need a voice.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Second Chances
Have you ever been given a second chance? Then you know what comes after a second chance...an immense amount of gratitude.
Second chances can come as a war-torn relationship restored, two paddles circulating electricity through your chest, your home becoming affordable again, a friend forgiving you when you messed up royally, or even the email stuck in your Outlook that would have destroyed your career.
We all get them, we all give them. They are the love that circles the world, the events that bring us to happy tears and cause us to reciprocate.
Second chances are the glue that keep human hearts connected. They are a beautiful gift.
I have been given a lot of second chances in my lifetime...thank you. Tears trickle down my cheek as I see clearly the love that surrounds me.
Second chances can come as a war-torn relationship restored, two paddles circulating electricity through your chest, your home becoming affordable again, a friend forgiving you when you messed up royally, or even the email stuck in your Outlook that would have destroyed your career.
We all get them, we all give them. They are the love that circles the world, the events that bring us to happy tears and cause us to reciprocate.
Second chances are the glue that keep human hearts connected. They are a beautiful gift.
I have been given a lot of second chances in my lifetime...thank you. Tears trickle down my cheek as I see clearly the love that surrounds me.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
the two foot difference
As I am walking on my treadmill today, I noticed that if I moved it just two feet up I would be able to see out the window. So, I did.
For, no joke, the last three months I have been staring at drywall when I could have been gazing across the Arkansas River and the beautiful country side that graces it's edges.
I walked in amazement of the gorgeous view wondering what else I have been missing out of habit.
Being the philosopher at heart, I pondered perceptions, views and relationships.
What has been with me all along that I have missed because I have not made an attempt to look?
My new 2009 resolution is this: I resolve to let go of my perceptions and view the world with fresh, new eyes and find the beautiful views that have been available all along.
For, no joke, the last three months I have been staring at drywall when I could have been gazing across the Arkansas River and the beautiful country side that graces it's edges.
I walked in amazement of the gorgeous view wondering what else I have been missing out of habit.
Being the philosopher at heart, I pondered perceptions, views and relationships.
What has been with me all along that I have missed because I have not made an attempt to look?
My new 2009 resolution is this: I resolve to let go of my perceptions and view the world with fresh, new eyes and find the beautiful views that have been available all along.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Home vs. House
Our house is covered in ice right now. No one is going out and no one is coming in, so our family is all we've had for the last twenty four hours and all we will have for the next twenty four hours.
We are all at home. Not because we spent a year building it and all the colors and granite are all that we visualized they would be, but because we are home with each other.
All three of us have our own interest, enjoy our own books and somehow manage to make it downstairs to the kitchen island at the same time to eat.
Our weaving into each other is part of our "home" culture.
All three of us are first born children, pretty stubborn and independent, yet at some point we manage to have the same needs around the same time and come together beautifully to meet them together.
At times I grew up in a few different houses, but always recognized the ones that were homes.
There is no place like home!
We are all at home. Not because we spent a year building it and all the colors and granite are all that we visualized they would be, but because we are home with each other.
All three of us have our own interest, enjoy our own books and somehow manage to make it downstairs to the kitchen island at the same time to eat.
Our weaving into each other is part of our "home" culture.
All three of us are first born children, pretty stubborn and independent, yet at some point we manage to have the same needs around the same time and come together beautifully to meet them together.
At times I grew up in a few different houses, but always recognized the ones that were homes.
There is no place like home!
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Quality vs. Quantity
As I have been preparing for our board meeting tonight I am reminded of the strength of my passion, and am thankful.
Last night, I was surrounded by people around late sixty to seventy plus. I paid attention to what was being said, what they verbalized as cares and concerns and what made them smile. All of them, no exceptions, seemed comfortable with their lifestyle and choices on the outside. But I couldn't help but wonder what they really thought. Did age bring a mastering of masks? Or did they get to live out what they believed and felt passionate about?
My heart sank to think of "running out of time" and wondered if they felt that way. Should I feel this way? I have lost so many young people in my life that being young doesn't mean longevity.
I couldn't help but recall the old saying, "quality verses quantity" and the importance of the quality of each day.
I am thankful for the quality of my life. Thankful for the balance of relationships and desire to change the world.
I do not know what tomorrow holds, but I have this moment and this passion and I am alive to enjoy it!
Last night, I was surrounded by people around late sixty to seventy plus. I paid attention to what was being said, what they verbalized as cares and concerns and what made them smile. All of them, no exceptions, seemed comfortable with their lifestyle and choices on the outside. But I couldn't help but wonder what they really thought. Did age bring a mastering of masks? Or did they get to live out what they believed and felt passionate about?
My heart sank to think of "running out of time" and wondered if they felt that way. Should I feel this way? I have lost so many young people in my life that being young doesn't mean longevity.
I couldn't help but recall the old saying, "quality verses quantity" and the importance of the quality of each day.
I am thankful for the quality of my life. Thankful for the balance of relationships and desire to change the world.
I do not know what tomorrow holds, but I have this moment and this passion and I am alive to enjoy it!
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Dear Mom & Dad Letter
I know that you are hurting. I am hurting, too.
I feel and feed off your tension, fear and shock. Although I am young and cannot express verbally what is happening in our lives, I am still feeling the impact. My heart is broken every time I have to give up a parent. My sense of security is lost.
Please don't assume I am resilient. Please don't assume that my life will be exactly as it was and that I will continue to feel the same love from both of you. I am a human being just like you. My needs are just like yours. I need love, attention, nurturing, stability, consistency, affection, understanding, patience, and mostly to be wanted.
When you fight over me or put me in the middle of your argument you are sending me the message that winning with each other is more important than my life. I am learning from you that it is better to be right than to be loved. You are teaching me that I came from a person who is unlovable and wrong and that I am somehow wrong, too.
When you confide your hurt in my heart you are storing up adult pain and robbing me of my childhood. You are taking away my belief that love is unconditional and replacing it with a message that tells me to become hard and not to love because I will get hurt and not be able to recover. You may not understand this today and I am so small you are not thinking about my future, but you are putting me at a greater risk of getting a divorce myself.
At times you are risking my safety to fill a void in your heart. My safety is your job.
Without you and your protection I am unshielded from the world. This will manifest in irrational fears for me because I will stay in a state of fight or flight for most of my life.
Someday this initial shock will wear off, but how you choose to parent me through this crisis will never wear off. I will either feel your sense of selflessness, support, protection or I will have a scar on my heart with a message that reads, "Good things happen to good people...I must be bad."
Thoughtfully,
the child of divorce
I feel and feed off your tension, fear and shock. Although I am young and cannot express verbally what is happening in our lives, I am still feeling the impact. My heart is broken every time I have to give up a parent. My sense of security is lost.
Please don't assume I am resilient. Please don't assume that my life will be exactly as it was and that I will continue to feel the same love from both of you. I am a human being just like you. My needs are just like yours. I need love, attention, nurturing, stability, consistency, affection, understanding, patience, and mostly to be wanted.
When you fight over me or put me in the middle of your argument you are sending me the message that winning with each other is more important than my life. I am learning from you that it is better to be right than to be loved. You are teaching me that I came from a person who is unlovable and wrong and that I am somehow wrong, too.
When you confide your hurt in my heart you are storing up adult pain and robbing me of my childhood. You are taking away my belief that love is unconditional and replacing it with a message that tells me to become hard and not to love because I will get hurt and not be able to recover. You may not understand this today and I am so small you are not thinking about my future, but you are putting me at a greater risk of getting a divorce myself.
At times you are risking my safety to fill a void in your heart. My safety is your job.
Without you and your protection I am unshielded from the world. This will manifest in irrational fears for me because I will stay in a state of fight or flight for most of my life.
Someday this initial shock will wear off, but how you choose to parent me through this crisis will never wear off. I will either feel your sense of selflessness, support, protection or I will have a scar on my heart with a message that reads, "Good things happen to good people...I must be bad."
Thoughtfully,
the child of divorce
Monday, January 19, 2009
What do you care about?
One of the saddest statements I have heard from friends is, "I really don't care about anything."
Have we really gotten that hardened as a society that people could coast through and not care about anything?
I have a theory, of course it is not a trained or researched theory, but could be true nonetheless.
I believe that some of the most sensitive, empathetic people on earth have chosen to "check out" because it was too painful to care about something.
After many disappointments and heart breaks they just decided it was easier to be numb.
If you are one of those people, and I pray you are not, my challenge to you would be to purposefully care and engage in your environment.
Life is simply to short not to care.
What do you really care about?
Have we really gotten that hardened as a society that people could coast through and not care about anything?
I have a theory, of course it is not a trained or researched theory, but could be true nonetheless.
I believe that some of the most sensitive, empathetic people on earth have chosen to "check out" because it was too painful to care about something.
After many disappointments and heart breaks they just decided it was easier to be numb.
If you are one of those people, and I pray you are not, my challenge to you would be to purposefully care and engage in your environment.
Life is simply to short not to care.
What do you really care about?
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Train up a child
As I was getting my six, almost seven year old ready for the day this morning, it became obvious I am not equipped to "train up a child."
I am the mom who has the kleenex ready before the nose even runs, the water bottle squeezed on the sideline and the coat in the car "just in case." Some of these traits are a good thing, but some of them are because I have no clue how to teach independence.
I was a latchkey kid who survived. I had no formal training. I am not sure I even remember how I learned to run my own bath, tie my shoes or feed myself. I just learned. My needs developed my skill set.
But now, as a mom I find myself lost in this area. I am actually having to read books on teaching independence because the way I learned is not a nurturing option for my child.
Such a conflicting thing, to be incredibly proud of my resourceful ways, yet have no way of teaching them naturally.
I am the mom who has the kleenex ready before the nose even runs, the water bottle squeezed on the sideline and the coat in the car "just in case." Some of these traits are a good thing, but some of them are because I have no clue how to teach independence.
I was a latchkey kid who survived. I had no formal training. I am not sure I even remember how I learned to run my own bath, tie my shoes or feed myself. I just learned. My needs developed my skill set.
But now, as a mom I find myself lost in this area. I am actually having to read books on teaching independence because the way I learned is not a nurturing option for my child.
Such a conflicting thing, to be incredibly proud of my resourceful ways, yet have no way of teaching them naturally.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Even Pretty Girls Experience Divorce
As I was thumbing through some research, I was reminded of a little girl that brought me to tears some months ago.
I was reading my book, A Heart with Two Homes, to fifth graders at a Tulsa Public School when I felt a tug at my pants. I looked down to be greeted by a student gazing at me as if she was shocked. She said, "I didn't think pretty people had to go through divorce."
Of course being a bit emotional, I asked if she truly believed what she looked like caused her parents divorce. With all sincerity I could see that she had convinced herself that if she had been prettier she could have prevented her daddy from moving out.
It is one thing to research some of these beliefs in books, they are stats, but quite another to look into the broken heart that wears that scar.
I was reading my book, A Heart with Two Homes, to fifth graders at a Tulsa Public School when I felt a tug at my pants. I looked down to be greeted by a student gazing at me as if she was shocked. She said, "I didn't think pretty people had to go through divorce."
Of course being a bit emotional, I asked if she truly believed what she looked like caused her parents divorce. With all sincerity I could see that she had convinced herself that if she had been prettier she could have prevented her daddy from moving out.
It is one thing to research some of these beliefs in books, they are stats, but quite another to look into the broken heart that wears that scar.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
An assignment for you....
Divorce brings out a lot of emotions. Choose a few words that you would say define your experience..
broken promises
irrational fears
broken promises
irrational fears
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
How long is he going to be gone?
Last night my daughter and I had dinner with a friend of hers that is just a couple of years older... cute, little guy. As we were driving to the restaurant they were talking about her dad being out of town and that she missed him so much that it hurt inside. This sweet boy said, "I know what you mean, how long is he going to be gone?"
She sadly responded, "I think two whole days."
He said, "really, I have to leave my dad for two weeks...you are really lucky."
I could not help but to blurt out, "blessed, not lucky, just blessed."
We talked more about how I grew up like him with divorced parents and had to feel that sadness inside, too.
As he felt a sense of camaraderie, he opened up about how much fighting he has witnessed over the years. Also, how he has a dog at each house and he misses them, too.
I fought back my own sense of empathy for this child and kept a dry eye until later that night.
As my head hit the pillow, I felt a sense of purpose and a commitment to teaching my daughter gratitude for her life with two parents with one home.
I do not have the time to befriend every peer out there, but I have a peer group who needs a voice, so I keep telling their stories.
Thanks for listening.
She sadly responded, "I think two whole days."
He said, "really, I have to leave my dad for two weeks...you are really lucky."
I could not help but to blurt out, "blessed, not lucky, just blessed."
We talked more about how I grew up like him with divorced parents and had to feel that sadness inside, too.
As he felt a sense of camaraderie, he opened up about how much fighting he has witnessed over the years. Also, how he has a dog at each house and he misses them, too.
I fought back my own sense of empathy for this child and kept a dry eye until later that night.
As my head hit the pillow, I felt a sense of purpose and a commitment to teaching my daughter gratitude for her life with two parents with one home.
I do not have the time to befriend every peer out there, but I have a peer group who needs a voice, so I keep telling their stories.
Thanks for listening.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Stinky Thinking
I am a big fan of taking your thoughts captive. I think sometimes our thoughts are worse than the reality of our lives. The power of perception can dictate how we respond in life to our own definition of what our life should look like.
Last night, with some help from my emotional "Sherpa", I came to the realization that I allow everyone else to plan my spare time and I go with the strongest force. What a shame.
When I was younger I used to keep a really tight schedule of accomplishment to avoid having too much spare time. I guess I was brighter at 16 than I am now.
So, I have vowed to change the bad habit of believing my opinion of my recreation should be completely discounted and that I am not worth planning a bit more of my life.
Am I the only one? Have you ever felt like the empty spaces on your calendar are filled by the strongest forces in your life?
Last night, with some help from my emotional "Sherpa", I came to the realization that I allow everyone else to plan my spare time and I go with the strongest force. What a shame.
When I was younger I used to keep a really tight schedule of accomplishment to avoid having too much spare time. I guess I was brighter at 16 than I am now.
So, I have vowed to change the bad habit of believing my opinion of my recreation should be completely discounted and that I am not worth planning a bit more of my life.
Am I the only one? Have you ever felt like the empty spaces on your calendar are filled by the strongest forces in your life?
Monday, January 12, 2009
Love, Loss and Restoration
As I stood in the doorway of my five year old daughter's bedroom, wiping tears with the side of my sleeve, I watched her pounding, red face throw everything off her bed across the room. No words, just anger. She stood alone in her grief.
Her world had just been turned upside down.
She had helplessly watched her daddy move out.
Our pride, selfishness, lack of communication, mistrust, and anger towards one another meant nothing to her.
All she knew was her life was being dismantled.
A beautiful life filled with love and affection from her parents, grandparents, relatives, friends, classmates and neighbors.
She enjoyed the security of a daddy who went to work each day and a mommy who stayed home to nurture and train her.
In her world, she was center, a prized possession, prayed for, desired, and most importantly...loved.
What now?
Unfortunately, I could answer that question.
I lived it at one, three, seven, nine, twelve, and sixteen...with each divorce, a different life.
I knew her life would radically change.
Memories of my first experience with divorce flooded my mind. I found myself a broken thirty-three year old woman sobbing as the three year old that cried for her daddy to come home.
I stared at my cell phone seeing his number by this time crying hysterically because he had just died a few months prior and I needed him now more than I ever had as a child. I wanted to tell him that my heart was being ripped out and that I could not stop the pain. I wanted his gentle voice to calm my chaos.
Memories of his little, green truck pulling out of my mom's driveway knowing he would not be coming back for at least two weeks felt like a death each time.
I stood alone in my driveway with a broken heart.
The similarities of my life and my daughter's new life were more than I could bear. She was also left with a broken heart.
That night I was brought to my knees going to the only source of peace I had ever known, my Creator. As I cried and asked a million questions I felt His compassion and love fill the room. He reminded me that He fixes broken hearts. I prayed that He would mend my broken heart and allow me to love unconditionally as I had been made.
In the morning, I awoke to a restored heart. My broken heart and defenses that kept intimacy at such a distance had been mended with love and compassion for my husband and toward myself.
My husband was also receiving a mended heart through the love that we now were able to share. As he moved home, the blessing of this miracle poured out to our daughter who began to get her joy of love and peace back.
Now, a year and half later, we live in gratitude for the restoration of three broken hearts and a family legacy being changed forever.
50% of children who have been through a divorce become divorced themselves....
Her world had just been turned upside down.
She had helplessly watched her daddy move out.
Our pride, selfishness, lack of communication, mistrust, and anger towards one another meant nothing to her.
All she knew was her life was being dismantled.
A beautiful life filled with love and affection from her parents, grandparents, relatives, friends, classmates and neighbors.
She enjoyed the security of a daddy who went to work each day and a mommy who stayed home to nurture and train her.
In her world, she was center, a prized possession, prayed for, desired, and most importantly...loved.
What now?
Unfortunately, I could answer that question.
I lived it at one, three, seven, nine, twelve, and sixteen...with each divorce, a different life.
I knew her life would radically change.
Memories of my first experience with divorce flooded my mind. I found myself a broken thirty-three year old woman sobbing as the three year old that cried for her daddy to come home.
I stared at my cell phone seeing his number by this time crying hysterically because he had just died a few months prior and I needed him now more than I ever had as a child. I wanted to tell him that my heart was being ripped out and that I could not stop the pain. I wanted his gentle voice to calm my chaos.
Memories of his little, green truck pulling out of my mom's driveway knowing he would not be coming back for at least two weeks felt like a death each time.
I stood alone in my driveway with a broken heart.
The similarities of my life and my daughter's new life were more than I could bear. She was also left with a broken heart.
That night I was brought to my knees going to the only source of peace I had ever known, my Creator. As I cried and asked a million questions I felt His compassion and love fill the room. He reminded me that He fixes broken hearts. I prayed that He would mend my broken heart and allow me to love unconditionally as I had been made.
In the morning, I awoke to a restored heart. My broken heart and defenses that kept intimacy at such a distance had been mended with love and compassion for my husband and toward myself.
My husband was also receiving a mended heart through the love that we now were able to share. As he moved home, the blessing of this miracle poured out to our daughter who began to get her joy of love and peace back.
Now, a year and half later, we live in gratitude for the restoration of three broken hearts and a family legacy being changed forever.
50% of children who have been through a divorce become divorced themselves....
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