This past week has been a painful one. It appears that I've lost part of my family. My stepfather and stepmother in California have revealed their true feelings and natures to Robb and me, and we have mutually cut ties. Robb and I have always tried to be as supportive of them as we could be, but it appears not to have been sufficient to battle their personal demons. They're having a hard time finding an Episcopal church that is conservative enough for my stepfather, and by all appearances have chosen to blame this on me. It has never been a secret that my stepfather would have preferred my mother have no children, or at least no little girls. They felt it necessary to confirm this and many other thoughts and opinions in a series of emails they sent to me. Apparently, it's also my fault that my stepfather gave up his ability to have biological children by marrying my mother, who hemorrhaged during my brother's birth and underwent an emergency hysterectomy at the age of 26. They also accused me of contacting people I don't know to spread rumors about them, and also of trying to "set them up" to be busted by airport security during their last visit. If this was happening to someone else, I might be able to see the humor in it's ridiculousness. In this case, however, more hurtful words have never actually been said to me before.
Robb was at first stunned, then livid at the ferocity of their
cruelty...he created a filter on my gmail to prevent anymore of
their emails from reaching me. We spent most of Sunday in bed -- me
alternately crying and staring out at the rain, and Robb drawing or
just holding me. I recently told my mother-in-law that she raised an amazing man and that I would be so
lost without him. I hope it gives her some sense of peace or happiness
to know that - although Robb and I struggle at times - we both still feel that we are luckier than the other and got the better end of the deal. At least that's what he tells me...although I know that I am the luckiest woman in the world to have his affection.
When his father - who likes to be called "Capt Jim" - called us on Sunday afternoon, I was in the middle of
another crying jag. After several minutes on the phone, his father snapped that I was "coaching" Robb,
although I can't help but be a little insulted by anyone who thinks
that Robb doesn't keep his own counsel. Robb gets flustered talking to
his dad sometimes, and I can only listen to him say,
"...and...uh...and..." so many times before I have to offer him the
word I know he's looking for (having usually heard these stories a
number of times already). Given the circumstances, I took Capt Jim's
admonishment a little more personally and to heart than I'm sure he
meant me to. After dealing with my stepfather's bizarre
accusations...having my every motive and intention twisted into
something unrecognizable...I was on a hair-trigger.
I'm so scared...I never really thought I would have a child, having been told a number of times that it would be in the best interest of my health not to. Of course, Robb knew all of this by our 5th or 6th date. I wanted to make sure he knew exactly what he was getting into...kick my tires and all that. And I'm so tired. I wish I could be seven years old again, and lay my head down in my mother's lap...have her absently run her fingers through my hair and tell me that I'm okay...just for a moment.
Robb and I often talk about what age we feel we are "on the inside". Both of us still feel like we're in our early 20's...I think that's one of the reasons we work so well together, while appearing to be quite different. I asked my Dad how old he felt "on the inside", and he replied, "Not very..." Then I asked him how old he thought "grown-up" was. He said that he thought it was more a series of decisions one makes, rather than an actual, numerical age.
I asked Robb if he thought it would be alright to share any or all of this with his mom. I would never want to make her uncomfortable, cross any boundaries, or impress any premature intimacy upon her. I have always been an open book to anyone who's asked, and in many ways, she's the only "mom" I have left in my life. Robb thought that she would "like being counted on". It makes me happy to know that Robb grew up in an environment where that kind of assurance was all but taken for granted.
Raising a child scares the hell out of me because - from almost everything I've read - we are destined to repeat a great many of the mistakes that our parents made. I learned very early that I couldn't count on anyone but myself, and - even then - I didn't always give myself the most favorable odds. I want that kind of assurance for our child, though. I want him to grow up in one place, and have an extended family on which he knows he can depend. I never want him to feel like a second-class member of his family, or be unsure of where he will go to school in the next year or who his friends will be. I want him to know that he can express his every opinion - ask any question that crosses his mind - and he will not be judged...at least not by Robb or me.
On the one hand, it's an opportunity to use my past as a clear example of what not to do. But on the other...I wonder just how much of ourselves is already set in stone. I am constantly challenging myself to grow and to evolve into a better person. I think I've changed Robb's mind on how much a person really can change...I never stop listening to the opinions and experiences of others; the one thing I know for sure is that I don't know very much.
I hope I can instill these things in our child...to be tolerant, and to understand that he believes what he believes just as strongly as others believe what they believe. That there is a reason people think what they think and do what they do. The Jewish mystic, Philo, said, "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a great battle." Robb and I are thinking of painting that on the wall of the nursery, along with a few other quotes we love. Pythagoras said, "The world is a series of changes - sometimes in your favor and sometimes against you. When you are in charge, do good; when you are overruled, bear it." J.R.R. Tolkien said, "Not all who wander are lost." Robb likes, "It's not 'brave' if you're not scared." I said that. I say it all the time...it's kind of my mantra. But to be in such company - even on a child's nursery wall - seems disrespectful. We'll see what happens.
I have always been open to other people's experience and observations...probably the result of being raised by narrow-minded individuals: a mother and stepfather who certainly didn't seem to like me much or understand my choices -- nor did they make an effort to; conditional love, I would call it.
I am 37 years old, and at this writing am 19 weeks pregnant with my first child. I've spent a great deal of my adult life trying to figure out why I was such a disappointment to my mother. I could cite numerous examples of times where she was given the choice of believing my word - her daughter, or believing someone else - often complete strangers, and she chose the latter. I could tell you story after story wherein I was held to a completely different set of rules/standards than others -- even my brother (who is one of the loves of my life, and not to blame at all). Times when people who's credibility was in such greater question than mine - but she chose to believe them, when it painted me/my actions in a much worse light.
I can't begin to describe how damaging it is to a girl between the ages of 10 and 19 (when I lived with my mom & stepdad) to have your parents believe the absolute worst of you - no matter what you try to do, regardless of your intentions or the true nature of your heart. To this day, it's enough to make me change my mood for hours if I think about it for more than five or seven minutes at a time. That in itself is an accomplishment that has taken me most of my adult life to reach, by the way. I used to have such rage, and would completely lose it if ANYONE questioned my word or intentions; I was on a hair-trigger. Of course, I lost quite a bit of ground when my mother passed away suddenly in 1997, because that eliminated the possibility of working any of this out with her...but I kept at it. Therapy, reading, talking about who my mother really was with people like my father, uncle, and other folks who "knew her when..." helped a great deal. And I won't lie - a little herbal assistance didn't hurt in dulling the sharp edges of some the more painful memories.
Please don't get me wrong: I am NOT lily-white, nor was I an easy teenager to raise. I did some things of which I'm not proud, and I know I hurt my parents with some of them. I was an angry young girl, and the majority of the things that angered me where decisions they made. I didn't want to move clear across the country between my sophomore and junior years in high school, just so my stepfather could become an Episcopal priest, and I let them know it. They made it very clear that it didn't matter what I wanted, but I felt better knowing I had voiced my displeasure loud and clear. It always puzzled me that my mother had raised me to be passionate and to stand up for myself...as long as it wasn't to her. I guess I have her to thank for my abhorrence of hypocrisy, huh?
