Black and Blue

If you were to ask my favorite color, it would probably be somewhere on the purple spectrum right now...royal purple, burgundy, hot pink...all combinations of red and blue in varying amounts.  Many of my go-to shirts are those colors. 

However, if you were to observe my regular clothing choices for the past few years, you would see a bit different pattern.  Yes, there were purples...but more black and grey and blue than anything else. 

The colors I wear reflect my levels of inner torment. 

I have been depressed since I was an early teen. 

I self-medicated with food. 

I wrote angsty poetry and sad stories. 

I cried myself to sleep for years. 

I felt disconnected and unincluded, even excluded, for most of my life. 

All of these things are but symptoms...Complex Posttraumatic Stress haunts me, and shows up as nightmares, and messed-up sleep patterns, and messy relationships with food, and people, and things, and for many years, it reared it's ugly head as a heightened startle-response and fear. 

For close to three years after Jason and I were married, I flinched and cowered and hyperventilated when he moved quickly.  NOT because of anything he had ever done, but because of my prior experiences of abuse at the hands of someone who was supposed to love me. 

After more than 30 years out of that setting, and 20 years of therapy, I know I am doing better.  I have experienced some healing.  I also know that the things that broke me as a child continue to affect me every day. 

Someday, I may know that my favorite colors don't have be shades of pain, or to taste like tears.  I may not always experience the conflicting anger and love and hate and apathy when I think about growing up as an abused child. 

Black and blue may no longer be the colors of my thoughts. 

Dark Times require REST

This evening I am feeling discouraged about the direction of our country. 

On social media, I see bitterness, and division, and anger, and hurt, and fear...SO.MUCH.FEAR.  I also see hatred...especially present in conjunction with fear. 

I see this happening on all sides in politics, and in many different religious environments, and it is so sad to me. 

I was talking this evening with a young lady about taking on emotions from other people and from the movies we see, and the TV shows we watch....and I just realized that I am taking on the emotions of those I cross paths with on social media. 

IT. IS. EXHAUSTING. 

Our pastor did a good job this weekend speaking on one of the topics of current interest, and it is always good to see when God times things like this out...He knows what He is doing, and THAT is encouraging. 

I'm thinking I just need a break...this is something that happens regularly enough that I am recognizing the signs of my needing to back away from the hype, and the beating of war drums, and the yelling louder and louder, because those in the back of the room are deafened by all of it. 

Meanwhile, I have to be able to keep functioning in this real world in which I live....
...the one where my children still need clean, dry clothes, and food to eat, and a warm house in which to live. 
...the one where parents lose their edge as they age, and end up in hospitals.
...the one where friends also get discouraged, and need my presence more than more words. 
...the one where I have responsibilities that do not allow for a day (or week) of mental health time-off.
...the one where creativity is healing...and where I haven't had time or energy to create in far-too-long.
...the world where God has things to say to me that He doesn't say through short memes on social media. 

So, I think I am going to go take a sabbatical.  I wish I could do it for work, and life...but this time it will just have to be for social media.  Because I am giving myself permission to REST...to HEAL..to REJUVENATE. 

I'll be back.  I don't know when...because I know I need a LOT of rest.  But I WILL be back. 

Brutally Honest (and LATE) Christmas Letter

 I came across a challenge that really resonated with me, so I am going to attempt to rise to meet that challenge.  The spirit of the challenge is to be brutally honest with the Christmas letter, instead of creating a fictional front.  Soooo....in that spirit....

PAXTON FAMILY 2018 CHRISTMAS LETTER

2018 has been a strange mix of hard and wonderful.

Our year started with the whole family still in Massachusetts, due to the fact that the Navy couldn't make a decision.  The movers came on January 10, 11, 12...and Jason and Justin took the dog, and left and drove to Illinois since Jason had to be there to take the advancement exam (Spoiler: he didn't pass).  This left Laura, Heather, Leah, and Katherine still in MA, watching men pack, guarding Jason's baby (the Harley-Davidson, for the uninitiated), cleaning the now-empty house, breaking down the garden shed no-one wanted, and camping out with friends.  The highlights included Jason finding an amazing church the first weekend in IL, God having provided a GREAT house, Laura and the girls driving through the night in a blizzard that closed I80, spending a night in OH with friends, and arriving at our new home on January 16th.  Most of the rest of the month was spent unpacking and setting up the house.  We also learned that our children could NOT go to school in the district we thought we were in (off by something like 5 houses!), but were instead supposed to put them into one of the crappiest schools I have ever seen rated...so we are homeschooling.  (Cue unhappy 10th-grader).  Justin was finishing his classes via an online program through his school in MA.

February saw me starting back at Walmart in a job I never wanted to have again, working overnights on the remodel crew, which lasted into May, and I was able to translate that into a job working as a cashier...still don't want to be there, but it is helping pay the bills.   The kids started making friends in the homeschool group and church group.


In March, Justin took his SAT in Champaign.

In April, we had some wonderful visitors for Spring Break.

In May, the remodel was completed, and I celebrated by moving to days and starting working as a Cashier.  Frances also graduated from Gordon College and celebrated by flying to Spain the next day for a summer Spanish intensive.









In June, the kids and Laura drove to MA for Justin's high school graduation.  We stayed with friends, and got to see Nick and to hang out in familiar places with more friends.  Justin successfully graduated, and we drove back to Illinois.

In July, Frances came back from a very eventful time in Spain, having traveled, and seen the country, been hospitalized, had surgery, delayed her return home, and finally arrived home...to travel again a week later...after having Heather to dinner during HER visit to MA to spend time with friends.  Then Frances and Nick, and Jon all came to Illinois for the Shipp family reunion...which Heather was supposed to attend too, but ended up spending 24+ hours in the airport in New Jersey due to crappy weather.

August started with ALL of the kids here in Illinois and ended with everyone back to work in their various places.  Leah began a brand new adventure, taking dual-enrollment classes through the local community college, as well as her homeschool work for 11th grade.  Justin began training as a shift lead at work.  Katherine started her new school year...as a 9th grader.  Heather's job moved to another store, in another town, working as a co-manager of the Journey store there.  Also in August, Laura was reminded again that she was pre-diabetic, and finally figured out what to do about it (why no-one could tell me for the prior 10 years how to make any changes is a subject for another dissertation...).

We also learned that we will be grandparents in April...

September, October, and November are a bit of a blur.  Everyone worked their butts off.  Katherine and Leah attended to all of their school work, along with the requisite fussing by parents to complete homework and do household chores.  There were doctors' appointments for Laura, and adjustments in medications which resulted in more energy, better sleep, and other subtle signs of improving health. The dog went in and out with regularity, which is more than can be said for the rest of the couples represented.  Laura and Jason did KETO...Laura lost 30 pounds, and Jason lost 10 pounds.  Jason traveled for work and saw friends; Laura traveled to see friends and make plans for the future.  Heather turned 21, and we celebrated.  Thanksgiving happened, and we celebrated.

And then it was December.... and it was ALL about celebrating...Nana's birthday, Uncle's birthday, Katherine's birthday, Cousin's birthday, great-grandfather's birthday, another Uncle's birthday, an Aunt's birthday, Sissy's birthday, Jesus' birthday...  ALLL the celebrations.  There have been parties, and gifts, and cookies, and pies, and lots of time with friends.

And then December 27th happened, 11 years after my mother's heart attack and subsequent triple bypass surgery, my mother failed to wake up, and ended up in the hospital again, this time in a short-term diabetic coma.  And Laura and Katherine left, on New Year's Eve, for South Carolina. 

What a year!!  Moving, and job changes, and health stuff...oh my!!  We are glad to see 2018 in the rear-view...and excited to see what 2019 has in store for us!! 

On Belonging and Home

Today I am struggling with hurt and anger and loneliness. 

I am TIRED of feeling left out of life.  Like, I know we have all these great, wonderful, grand adventures, moving around, experiencing life in different places every few years, but I am seriously envious of people who live in one spot for years on end, and have family and friends nearby that they have been able to know for years, and who are their support network, and KNOW them without having to work to develop that in every new place. 

I am TIRED of being the outsider ALL.THE.TIME. 

I am SAD that my children who are trying to raise support don't have that built-in support network that their securely-planted friends have had all of their lives. 

I am ANGRY that I wasn't able to deeply connect with other military wives, and have always felt like an outsider there, too. 

I know that our family doesn't fit the typical MK/PK/TCK pattern, but living this life IS a third culture adventure that has third culture effects on all of us, and it makes me sad and angry, and feeling more and more like an outsider in life. 

I want to BELONG somewhere...but the itch to move on is always there...and that paradox is so painful some days (like today). 

Days like today are such potent reminders of what we don't have...a permanent, secure, abiding home...and a reinforcement of the hope that we have for our promised HOME. 

Until then.... 

I missed out

There are so many different ways that having a parent with a mental illness impacts the children's lives that it would be impossible to list them all.  Suffice to say that every part of life, physical, mental, emotional....all feel the impact of the parent's illness.

For me, I can count the things I missed out on....

I missed having a loving relationship with my mother.  Let me explain...I THOUGHT it was a good relationship...until I started seeing others' relationships with their mothers, and realizing how one-sided ours was.

I missed fun...don't get me wrong.  I had some fun...but it was strictly (VERY) regulated.

I missed friendships.  I had a few...which were VERY limited due to my mother's reticence to have anyone visit our home.

I missed out on differentiation in my teen years....

I missed out on following ANY dreams...mainly because the dreams were squashed so early that they didn't ever have a chance.

I missed out on getting into trouble...legitimate trouble...not trouble with my parents, but truly doing anything that might be considered trouble-worthy in any other family in our church.

I missed out on freedom to roam, freedom to be me, freedom to be unencumbered.

I missed the chance to explore who I was because I ALWAYS had to be/act/do as she determined.

Weariness

I was just re-reading an article by another military spouse, and one sentence she used jumped off the page at me:

I am weary of not being honest about it all.

I find myself identifying with her words.   

I'm weary of the military life, and yet I am proud to be a military spouse. 

I'm weary of moving, but start feeling claustrophobic and anxious to move if we've been in one spot for too long. 

I'm weary of everything being identified by my husband's military service, when I am a person too, and have things to do that are important and make a difference. 

I'm weary of the opportunities missed because we move so much. 

I'm weary of the friendships that haven't gone deep because we haven't had time for that to happen. 

I'm weary of feeling like I don't matter...only he matters. 

I'm weary of fighting to get things done that should be easily accomplished. 

I'm weary of having to explain everything all over again to a new doctor/dentist/physical therapist/counselor, etc. 

I'm weary of being the "new kid" at church, at work, everywhere....

I'm weary of starting over, and over, and over, and over.....

I'm weary of feeling like all of this is somehow my fault...like I should either "suck it up", or make him get out...

I'm weary of being measured against the wrong standards every stinking time...and coming up wanting. 

I'm weary of being weary, and not feeling like I can be honest about it because I am going to get flack from EVERYONE any time I say the actual truth.  There's so much more...but I already can hear the push-back from what I have said so far...and I can't deal with it because I'm weary. 

The unavailable mother

Often, when I speak of my experiences growing up, I see in people's eyes the disbelief, and sometimes they voice skepticism.  The mythical expectations that all mothers are caring, loving people who have the best interests of their children as their main focus means that disbelief is always a response experienced by those whose experiences are outside of the "norm". 

So, what is it really like to grow up with a mother who is unavailable because of her mental illness? 

She is unable to be available as a mother, grandmother, mother-in-law, or wife...never mind friend, sister, or daughter. 

In my house, the unavailability added up to a lot of isolation from outside influences, from extended family.  It meant that she was unavailable to be emotionally available to me, as a child, teenager, or young adult.  It meant that she often "checked out", escaping from reality into books.  It meant that her expectations of our behavior were to make HER look good...to reinforce her personal appraisal of herself as brilliant, the perfect mother.  She was unavailable to transport us to any events, unless those events made her look better. 

It meant that any infraction was met with harsh punishment.  Humiliation, beatings, kicking, pulled out hair, further isolation....all were on the table as regular punishments.  No matter that the punishment didn't actually fit the crime...if I were in the wrong, I made her look bad, and that was unacceptable.  She was not in touch with what it meant to have an actual long-term relationship with her children. 

As an adult, this unavailability has played out to mean that none of her children spend any time with her...she has chased us all away with her unrealistic expectations, attempts at control, and over-the-top negativity. 

While others have mothers that they can ask for help, can be friends with, can discuss their lives....I have none of that.  She is unavailable.

She has refused to take care of herself, so not only is she unavailable emotionally, but she is unavailable physically.  She is slowly killing herself, all while attempting to portray herself as the victim.  She has allowed her anxieties around other cars, and fear of my father's driving isolate her further.  She no longer can drive herself, but refuses to go any distance with anyone else at the wheel. 

*******
My mother is currently 73 years old. 
She has Type II diabetes, had triple bypass surgery, and (by dint of her refusal to eat healthily or take her medications for the diabetes) has developed some form of dementia. 

I am currently 49 years old. 
I have been working toward healing from the abuses of my childhood for more than 15 years. 
I recognize that she can no longer hurt me.  The sad facts of the matter is that a mother's mistreatment lives on in the head of the children they raise, and come back to haunt them for the rest of their lives. The words planted in my head that said so much about what she thought of me have formed the base upon which my lack of self-esteem was based.  The terrible names she spat at me in times of her rages live on in my head.  NONE of them are true, but they are part of the fabric of me.