I’ve made a realization over the past months that my biggest problem isn’t  that I grew up with a Borderline Personality Disorder mother.  Nope.  It’s that I’ve latched on to blaming her and her BPD for all that is wrong and unsavory in my world.

A year ago, I finally found out why I could never have the relationship i yearned for with my parents.  It was incredibly freeing.  ”Thank God, I’m not the crazy one”  But…I fixated on it.  I devoured countless books on BPD and Adult Children of BPD Parents, plus many more general self-help titles.

I was weary from this forced transformation I was attempting.  I wanted to be healed – right now.  RIGHT NOW DAMNIT!

I wanted to get to a point that I could look back from and say, “whew, I’m glad I don’t have to deal with/think about that anymore.”

I will always be that little girl with a whacked out mom.  I’m realizing that this journey of healing is so much like the recovering addict’s journey.  Once an addict, always an addict.  There is no magic pill, or mantra to clean your slate.

Letting go of the blame is part of the healing process for sure.  And honestly, it’s one I could never imagine being able to do.  I was happily loathing them from afar…wishing they would up and decide to move to Timbuktu.

I picked up SARK’s Transformation Soup a month or so ago.  And the words nearly pierced through my heart.  “Stop Blaming Your Mother.”

At first I scoffed, well you don’t know my mother.  Then as I read on, it began to resonate with me.  I was unwillingly for sure.  I stopped reading the book midway through, pulled my bookmark and buried that book behind some old high school year books.

Those words haunted me in my dreams.  In my dreams, my mom and dad were nurturing me, being the parents I have always wished for.  In my dreams, my mom and dad apologized, and in my dreams, I forgave my mom and dad.

The dreams I had previously frequented — the ones where I was yelling and screaming at my parents to get away from me and my kids, the dreams that sometimes even escalated to violence — made sense to me.  I was angry, hurt, confused and I wanted to keep my parents as far from me and my family as possible.

These new love-laced dreams were disturbing.  What was my psyche trying to tell me?

“Heal, sweet Salem, just heal.”

I will never get an apology in real life.  But it’s not relevant any more.  I know who my parents are, and I can accept it {or at least working on accepting it}.

Forgiveness is not about forgetting the past.  It’s about allowing yourself to stop blaming — yourself, your mother, your father…whoever.

Probably a little more so than your average woman does.

Of course, the whole genetics thing is difficult to overcome.   The older I get the more and more I look like her (even though everyone always said I looked just like my dad when I was a kid – go figure!).  I hate catching glimpses of her while looking in the mirror.

I am realizing though, that I have very little control over physical traits – like how my face is shaped!

And that those traits don’t really matter much to my kids.

They just see their own mom when they look at me.

But my actions, my emotions, my parenting, and pretty much everything else – I do have control over.

And through those parts of myself, I try to give my kids the childhood that I wish I could have had.

The first and foremost being an emotionally stable mother.

hugs and i love you’s – everyday – heck, multiple times a day even!

books read to me – I don’t ever remember either parent ever reading to me, ever.

a healthy diet – I grew up on processed, refined and pre-packaged junk food – ugh!

cuddle time – like at bedtime or just while watching tv – I hated feeling so alone and disconnected all the time.

Healing.

That’s my keyword for 2013.

It’s taken me over an month to come to it.  I’ve never been big on New Year’s Resolutions. January and February are for hibernating, not hitting the gym!  I like to let the energy of the new year settle in for a while, before I decide where it is going to lead me on my journey.

In reflection 2012 was a little edgy.  Last January and February (in full disaccord to my own beliefs about hibernation) I bleached out my long brown tresses – like platinum blonde! – and then decided on a whim to cut those crunchy fried locks.  I weilded the scissors myself one afternoon during nap time!  I didn’t go all Britney Spears (remember the shaved head incident?)  But I did lop off about 6 inches and ended up with it at chin length after my shocked stylist fixed it all up for me again.   I was frantically trying to change myself and leave my past behind.  But I was only looking on the outside – which really is the easiest part to change.

Springtime brought with it an epiphany of sorts and I started going to counseling.  That’s when everything started making a lot more sense.  By Fall, I had finally decided to confront my problems rather than continue to avoid them.  And well, that was partially freeing, but mostly painful.  At least I spoke my truth.  Even if it was only met with more accusations of how wrong and horrible I am.

With winter just weeks old, the universe decided to throw me into the fire of grief, love, pain and hope.  I took lots of naps, but did very little writing.  I found solace in cooking and sewing instead.  The decided snaps while chopping vegetables.  The simple rhythm of the sewing machine.  It was very meditative for me, shutting down the crazy, babbling monkey in my brain.

I had lengthy and emotional conversations (and rants) with Owen.  I voiced my worries and fears for my sister.  I voiced my frustrations and disappointment and anger toward my parents and their actions (or inactions in most cases).

It all kept me from imploding into myself.  I wasn’t about to slip into that deep and dark hole.  I just needed to get through it all and find some time to breathe and just be.

I never got around to the healing last year.

The truth seemed to do a good job of crumbling the past (and some of the present).

Now it’s time to clean up the mess and make way for a new beginning…

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I’ve rediscovered SARK’s writing and am hoping to give this healing process a little extra help with her books Transformation Soup and Glad No Matter What. Have you read these titles? Do you have any must-reads on healing?

“Your sister has been in a car accident and she is in critical condition.  We just thought we should pass the news on to you…and sometime you should just answer your phone.”

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For over two years I haven’t spoken to my parents.  And in early December, this was the message my mom leaves me.  Her voice trembling with emotion, yet she still managed to pull off the spitefulness with her last words.  Because, well, it’s always gotta be somebody else’s fault (good ol’ Borderline Personality Disorder!).  

 I did tighten it up a bit (she had left more details about the hospital and my brother-in-law’s condition) thus the usage of the “…” but otherwise it’s verbatim.

I’m looking forward to sharing more of this story in the future.  But for now, this is my way of breaking the ice.  

Does he remember me?  It’s been so many years.  We were practically children…

Her thoughts wandered through fuzzy memories of adolescent yearnings and confusion.

She looked around.  Children running, tossing balls, in the grassy bowl of the elementary school yard.

Her own children were down there somewhere.  His were too.

When did this happen?  When did we become the grown-ups?  The old people?  When did we become our parents?

Theryn still felt like that fourteen year old girl who was trying so hard to leave her childhood behind.  She had been running away for over twenty years.

As she stood on the sidelines of the children’s games, she pulled out her phone and acted like she was engrossed in reading and tapping out messages.  She couldn’t bring herself to look up again.

Josh watched her from the shaded lenses of his sunglasses, masking his line of sight.  He was certain it was her.  There was no mistaking Theryn, even spending most of their lives apart, that small flutter in his stomach told him without question it was her.

As his stood there amidst the memories of a life past, the fluttering turned into knots, and his conscience reminded him of the stupid, selfish actions of 15 year old boy.

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I’ve been silent here (and really, everywhere) for awhile.  It wasn’t something I did intentionally.  In all honesty, I haven’t put pen to paper for weeks at time over the past several months.  I dove into my life as a wife and mother, hoping to busy myself enough for those worries, fears, and nagging memories of the past to fall away and let me be.  Life doesn’t work that way though, and the more I have squashed away those feelings and memories, the more Life has thrown my way to stir it all up again.  

“Face your Fears head on”, Life has told me in these past months.  So here I am again, hoping to find peace in sharing my words, my life, my art – in other words – My Heart –  on these pages and posts in this little gray garden I’m growing.  

I want to paint my “plain-Jane-faux-wood-slab” interior doors. But instead of just painting them a solid color (like the traditional white doors of modern day homes), I want to paint designs or nature inspired murals.

Naturally, I have been scouring Pinterest for more inspiration. Have a peek:

The washed-out blue with the intricate designs on this door is beautiful!

Love, love, love the daisy! {duh!}

And this is a pretty amazing mural of a tree house.

I love tree-inspired art…I’m thinking golden Aspens would look pretty amazing on my entryway closet door!

Or what about tall, seeded grasses…cattails?!

The possibilities are endless! {If only time was too!}

{filagree is fun to draw!}

With Autumn quickly approaching now (my young Oak tree in the backyard turned yellow overnight!) – I find myself inspired more and more by the whimsy of fall and Halloween.

This is a small illustration I did based off of a stamp I saw at the art supply store a few weeks back. I snapped a picture with my phone to remind me of my inspiration. I use my phone’s camera All. The. Time. for those little inspiring images that I find while out and about. Otherwise, I think my sketchbook would remain blank!

Our suburbia landscape fills with a steady stream of cars, minivans and SUVs every single morning, around 8 am.

I watch as fellow parents that live on our street, load up their kids each morning as our little brigade passes their driveways, backpacks bobbing and ponytails swinging.

Even the handful that stay at home (like me), choose to drive the less than half mile down the road to school each morning.

The cars line the roads, parking just a few blocks from their very own driveway.  Everyone unloads – moms and dads included – and walks to the classroom doors.

It’s such a phenomenon that the school’s administration has sent home numerous questionnaires asking about the parent’s chosen method of transportation.  Because the overload of cars at and around the school every morning (and afternoon) is mind-boggling and chaotic, as one might guess.

Is everyone really just that lazy?  I know that many moms have “saluted” me as some kind of hero for pushing a stroller and toting along two others every morning.  Like I’m doing something above and beyond the norm.  Which I guess, in my little world, I am.  But, seriously?  It seems like so much more of a pain in the ass to deal with boosters and carseats and parking, etc.

I understand how hectic and hard it is to get everyone out the door in the mornings.  But that’s just life with kids.  I slap my ponytail in my hair, don my yoga pants (that have never seen a yoga studio!), a t-shirt and slide sunglasses over my naked face.

And we walk to school.

I was completely consumed with doing, and doing some more.

There were memories waiting to be born, dammit!

And if a summer’s worthiness can be measured by doing-ness…well, my summer takes the gold medal!

{I’m beyond exhausted…just in case you were in awe or something.}

Lots of family outings and seemingly impromptu backyard picnics and playdates (p.s. nothing is ever impromptu with a toddler in tow),  road trips and day trips – all which translate to lots of prep work and clean up for Mommy!

Ahhh…but the pictures, the memories, they truly are priceless.  And now that the world is spinning a little bit slower, my mind can focus on the good that I conjured up for my little tribe.

Is it selfless even when you have to remind yourself {many, many times} that you are doing something for the greater good of your family?

I hope so.

I think so.

So all of those days and weeks and months of no posts?  Well, they were anything but silent or empty in my little world.

I truly hope you enjoyed your summer months to the fullest like I did.

Even if it was a tad out of your comfort zone {like mine was}.