"I'm not bitter, I'm mad as hell."

Warning: This is likely to be contain some profanity, images you'd rather not consider and some seemingly irrational thoughts.





I've been reading a lot of feminist writings lately. I'm not sure why. I just know I've been drawn into it, and I haven't resisted as strongly as I might have years ago. Part of me has considered myself a feminist for years - hell I was labeled a "feminazi" in college by some of the more conservative white boys. But I don't know that I think I ever really got it. I think part of it has to do with the realizations of the past year concerning the role I played in my marriage and its destruction. Part of it comes from a wellspring deep in my soul that I've been struggling to hold down for years...perhaps my whole life. The problem of course is that one cannot hold back the water forever. Even with the best constructed levees, dams and fingers stuck in the dike, the water leaks out. And in my case it feels a bit like the levee has given way to a deluge of water.

From the time I was a little girl, I was been conditioned to be less than, subservient, submissive. Whether at home, in church, at school, it was all really the same in the small, subtle ways. Cook and clean for your man, women weren't allowed to be in lay or ordained leadership and girls were to be seen and not heard.

The line I used as the title of this post is from a Tyler Perry movie called "Diary of a Mad Black Woman" - and the woman in the movie is talking to a man who is dismissing her as "another bitter woman." I've watched the movie many times. In some ways it has been healing for me. In other ways it simply perpetuates stereotypes that I have grown to resent.



At no time in my life have I been more aware of all the things women endure that men don't seem overly concerned about. From the skinny, childlike girls who give blow jobs in porn movies to the girl children who are prostituted in the streets all over the world to the girls who are raped, mutilated and abused to the women who are beat on by their partners...it angers me. I'm not certain what to do with my anger. It doesn't feel very instructive or able to be utilitarian...all I know is I'm mad as hell. For the parts I was assigned in these sorts of horrors, but much more so for the collective whole of all of us who are women who have had to endure such things. Throughout history we have been oppressed, abused, raped, tortured, killed for nothing more than being born female. Just this past year a woman was kidnapped and murdered 100 yards from my office by her spouse. I have been the guardian of countless girls who have been victimized by men - whether sexually or physically. I continue to be involved in divorce cases as guardian for children whose fathers beat their mothers. I lived in my own "traditional" relationship where I was secondary to his primary. I have survived my own abuse at the hands of a man years ago. I don't get it. Where the hell is the outrage among women, men, the church, society?



I remember arguing with my ex husband years ago about pornography. His view (as is seemingly common) is that ordinary porn is not degrading to women. I remember seething at the time, but not really expressing it. I mean really, these women on their knees performing all manner of humiliating acts on men who hold their heads and occasionally slap or demean them. Really, this is not degrading to women? I'm amazed at how acceptable pornography continues to be in our society. And the same things goes for strip clubs. Hell, I'm not certain I've met a man alive who hasn't ventured into one of these places at some point. But, I've been largely silent about these things. Why? I can't explain it entirely other than to say I blamed women for their participation and I didn't figure it affected me by and large. That's the mistake, really. To assume that the oppression of one woman doesn't impact all of us in some ways.



But back to why I didn't express myself years ago - as is common with even educated, seemingly independent women like me, we are indoctrinated from the day we are born to be nice, speak quietly, not contradict the men in our lives. And I think the thing that has me the most incensed is that my religion preached this shit. Girls were dirty from day one - after all we ate the fruit - we allowed ourselves to be manipulated and then we tricked our man into eating too. I recall vividly my ex husband saying more than once to me, "Well, it was all Eve's fault." REALLY? The downfall of our entire species was a woman's fault. I suppose that's why so many of our churches still relegate us to the backseat, where we are told to keep our mouths shut and our opinions to ourselves. Look pretty, speak softly and above all serve the men in our lives.



What happened to God - our Mother? And why precisely is that so threatening for people to say? I'm not suggesting we upend all of our tradition - well perhaps I am. And what of it? Isn't it about time we let go of the patriarchal, misogynist, sexist theology of the past 2,000 years? Hell, we have so little recorded history of the women who lived in the first 1,000 years of Christianity, one would think men birthed themselves. And even the women in the Bible were rarely central or integral to any story. Why? Surely they existed. But in so many ways we have not advanced much since that time. We still dumb ourselves down. We still struggle to make our appearance acceptable to the standard created ... and perpetuated by...men. We still try to be seductive and "serve" whether it's in sex or in the kitchen or at the workplace.



As I said earlier, I'm not certain where all this anger in me is going. I just sense it there, stronger than I've ever felt it. And for the first time I'm choosing not to push it back down. I am noticing the little nuances and not ignoring them. When my father waits for my mother to clean up after him or a man I know well cannot stop ogling the women around him or the fact that most of the men I know take their position in the courtroom, church, society for granted. I want something different for my daughter than what I've known than what my mother has known, than what her mother knew. I'm not certain how to show her something different. It seems oftentimes that even the stereotypes and ways of conforming are so a part of me, it's difficult to separate my soul from it.

This is incomplete and unfocused and largely a product of a lot of reading and insight in a short period of time. But none of what I have to say is untrue and all of it is rather painful in many ways. As I struggle with my anger, I hope that I can learn where to direct it and how best to change my life and affect the lives of the women around me in good and loving ways. Regardless of how I got this far in life without having this awakening sooner, I recognize it for what it is now...an awakening and opening of my spirit. God as Mother, Sister, Woman. It's still difficult for me to imagine, but all the more important for me to imagine. So that one day my daughter can realize it on her own. So that awakenings like mine aren't necessary at some point in our collective history.

Providence

There's this thing. I call it Providence or sometimes divine providence. What I tend to mean by that phrase changes sometimes...but ordinarily what I mean is that thing that you cannot see or understand by reason alone. One has to be thinking with one's heart to "get it." But it's that unexplainable phenomenon where things just "fall into place." Whether it's coming upon someone who needs us, or someone we need or even finding a new friend...it's not explainable by logic.

Sometimes I think of providence as placing me in the right spot at the right moment to experience something big. Like for instance one of the families I have been involved in at juvenile court. I firmly believe that providence stuck me in the case for a reason. My understanding of the law, my expertise, my drive was needed for these children, and by what would seem to be happenstance I ended up being appointed their guardian. I had just the right knowledge of the law to be able to advocate for them very well. I believe God (however one might define him or her) knew what these children needed, and stuck me in the path for a reason. And the only way I would be as passionate as I am about their situation is because I have suffered some of what they have. I get it. From my own heart, I get it. I think God knows that despite the pain their stories bring me, there is healing for my own wounds there too.

Other times I think of providence as allowing me to meet the right people at the right time. Over a year ago I was sitting in my little church and was struck by the guy preaching on a Sunday. Turns out our lives have many parallels, and I've learned a lot by just talking with him about life, faith, relationships. What trajectory led to our meeting and then my persistence at figuring out how to contact him? I'm typically stand offish when I meet people. Certainly I don't just call them up and insert myself into their lives. Yet, that's precisely what I did in this situation. And I believe there was something bigger than me at work.

In another instance, I have known an attorney for years. But, from a distance, and not close-up. She and I, again seemingly randomly, have gotten to know each other in the past year or so. I've really come to enjoy her and love being around her. She's smart, interesting and a good person. She enhances my life in ways both clear and not always clear to me.

In yet another way, I stumbled upon the church family I now have come to love and appreciate. I was not really looking very hard when I happened upon the church. But something that is bigger and more gracious than I can be led me to the doors and provided an impetus to get me to walk through the door. I can't explain it any other way than providence.

While life seems random at times, and certainly I'm not pollyannaish enough to claim that I believe "everything happens for a reason" - I do have to believe that we receive gifts all the time, some we accept and others we reject. Perhaps the rejection is a deferral, I don't know. I do know when I'm open enough to accept the gifts and avoid trying too hard to discern from where/whom they came, they seem to fall from the sky continually. I know of no other way to describe those gifts as divine providence.

I was listening to a song the other day, and the songwriter said, "What is chance of that?" Really - what is the chance that these things would happen without the intervention of something greater and bigger and more loving than I can be? Whatever I choose to call it - I just pray to be open to the experiences.

Disjointed

If my thoughts are scattered today, it's because...well I feel scattered today. I've returned home today from spending the better part of three days with my parents and my children. It was a difficult weekend for a lot of reasons, and I returned home with a sigh of relief. Add to the feeling of being scattered to my current reading list which includes a healthy dose of feminist writings, and I become even more disjointed.

I went to the Lake thinking I would have a somewhat relaxing, laid back weekend of sun and boating. I planned some times to take the kids on my own, because I knew I would need the getaway time too. As it turned out, it really wasn't enough.

As the years pass, my parents age more drastically. And with that aging comes a more and more difficult relationship for them. They have fought often over the years, but now they live in a constant state of tension. The cross words and bickering have reached a feverish pitch. And unfortunately any one who gets caught in the crossfire becomes a target. This weekend that extended to my children. Nothing they did was appropriate. And unfortunately for me, they reacted to this constant state of tension by fighting continually and acting out.

As I tried to keep the peace all around, I just grew tired. And perhaps it forced me to face some of my own unresolved stuff from when I lived in the tension more often. In the still of a night, in my bed, my daughter asked me if her grandparents loved her. I answered that of course they do. She then asked me why she couldn't tell that they do? It broke my heart. I recall wondering the same thing as a child. I tried to explain to her that some people have trouble showing their affection. But, when you're 6 that doesn't make a lot of sense to you. So, all I knew to do was to reassure her that I loved her, and that even though it didn't seem so, so do my parents.

The other chief source of conflict this weekend was the contradiction between my parenting of my 2 children and my parents' ideas about what is appropriate parenting. We have had some minor skirmishes in this area since my kids were born, but none so obvious as this weekend. And while I respect my parents, I choose a very different way of raising my own children. It's a way of love and joy. Not of fear and domination. I have to believe that I am doing my best for my kids. And I do believe that, despite my parents' warnings of how my children will end up screwed up because of my permissiveness.

All of this ran headlong into the feminist thinking I have been reading about regularly. I see my job as a mother somewhat like a gatekeeper. I still feel disjointed, but I know that most of this will work itself out in time. I do understand more than ever that I have to protect my children from the influences of people who are toxic to them...even if those people are family members and even if it causes me some conflict. As I have tried to create communities for my children of people who care for them and love them, I have to make sure that those efforts aren't thwarted by the other people they come into contact with on a regular basis.

The bright spot for me this weekend came when my daughter, in the same conversation in the dark, told me by name other people in her life that she knows for sure love her. I knew in that moment, that I am succeeding in my job as her mother by building a community for her. And she fell asleep before she had named all of the people who love her...I thanked God for the people I have found, stumbled upon or who have found me and who love my child. If I have ever doubted divine providence, I believe in it now.

Another year, another lesson

Today was a somewhat monumental day for me. It was my 35th birthday...which I was mostly ambivalent about. It was a nice day - I had lunch with friends and dinner with the kids - it was mostly uneventful, but in a good way.

What made the day good was some time I spent by myself in the middle of the afternoon. For the first time in months, I felt something being restored to me. One of the things I've learned to about myself is that I can generally empathize with anyone. On some level, in some way, albeit small at times, I can usually put myself in someone else's place and feel for them. I've been like this since I was a little kid. While it is part gift - in that I think it makes me more sensitive to the people around me - it is also part curse. At times, my sense of feeling for someone makes me blind to his or her faults. And it clouds my judgment sometimes. Overall I trust people. I believe people mean well, even when perhaps they don't or can't. In essence, I feel things and people deeply. While it means great sorrow sometimes, it also means great joy at others. I can accept the lows, because I get to live the highs too. I have learned to love being the way that I am. And I've learned it's a gift. All in all, I like who I am, who I've become.

Today during a quiet moment, I realized that despite all of my anger lately, I feel some sense of sympathy for the woman my ex-husband cheated on me with. And I don't mean the fake, insincere, "Gee, you're so pathetic I feel sorry for you" kind of sympathy. I mean the genuine thing. The "I don't understand you, but part of me feels sorry for you." This feeling took me by surprise. I've been so pissed off recently, that I've forgotten I am who I am. I feel restored today, redeemed.

While I'm not silly enough to believe my anger has dissipated entirely, I realize now if I had to do it over again, I wouldn't change anything. I went into my marriage believing that my husband could be faithful to me. I trusted him. I didn't question him. I didn't quiz him about his whereabouts or his associations. Perhaps I was naive. Or even unsophisticated. But, all in all, I believed him. I thought he was a good person, who meant well. And despite all of his actions to the contrary, I wanted him to be able to overcome his weaknesses. In the end, he couldn't pull it off. His demons got the best of him. Not to let him off the hook for his actions, but he never learned from his mistakes...never got past being in his past.

Regardless of everything that happened, I wouldn't do things differently. Even if I could I would not go back and be a skeptic. Someone who didn't trust, couldn't overlook mistakes. That's not who I am. Fundamentally, I trust. I love. I care. I believe. These things get me hurt sometimes. And certainly the hurt makes me question why I do things the way I do them. But it doesn't change me fundamentally. And I don't want it to. I'm happy with who I am in this regard. That I can wake up one day and feel sorry for the woman who had sex with my husband and was a part of the demise of my marriage makes me who I am. I love. It is who I am. And I know that God blessed me with the ability to be who I am. Free of bitterness and hardness of heart. I am.

Last year at this time, I knew I had a hard year in front of me. And I would not want to repeat my 34th year if given the option. It was painful, difficult and sad in many ways. But it was also a year of tremendous growth and opportunity for me. And I've emerged from this year into the next one whole and intact. I hold a lot of hope for this coming year. I know that I can take control of my body again and get myself back into physical shape. I can to continue to feed and nurture that which is part of who I've been from the start - someone who trusts people - who believes that most want what is best for others.

Maybe in the end I will be accused of being overly naive. But that wouldn't be the worst thing.

My daughter

Tonight I was talking to my daughter - my firstborn. She is away from me, with her dad in another state. I didn't realize just how much I missed her until she called me tonight. She was slightly weepy. Tired, ready to come home, wanting me to wash her off and put her in bed like so many summer nights. But I can't from here. So I put on my "happy mom" voice and told her I loved her and that she'd be home tomorrow.



When I found out I was pregnant with her, I was overjoyed. My ex-husband and I had originally planned to get married in Hawaii in the fall of 2001. Then 9/11 happened, and no one wanted to fly to our destination wedding. Flights were getting eliminated and costs were skyrocketing. So, we postponed. We had been dating since late 1997, so there wasn't any huge rush. We ultimately married in May, 2002. I immediately stopped taking birth control, and hoped I would conceive quickly. I felt like I'd been waiting my whole life to be a mother.



The day I found I was pregnant, I had had a trial. I was throwing up during recesses. It was December 13, 2002. When I arrived home that night, my husband suggested the flu. Then we both looked at one another, and we knew. I took the test, and around 7pm we found out - we were going to have a baby. We relished in the news - not telling anyone that night. Talking about our hopes and dreams for this little girl. Somehow we were both sure I was carrying a girl.



A few weeks later I went to my first doctor's appointment and found out indeed I was pregnant and would deliver August 3rd. It seemed an eternity. I read everything I could. I cut out caffeine, alcohol and aspirin. It seemed so surreal. As my belly swelled with the life I was carrying, I found myself amazed. As the weeks and months passed, I cherished it all. I was fortunate, I was never very sick and had little bad effects from being pregnant. In fact, I felt round and full. It was a pretty glorious time. As summer came, and my ankles and belly swelled bigger, I looked so forward to her arrival. By then we had confirmed I was indeed pregnant with a girl.



Finally August arrived. And then the bad news - the unmedicated birth I had hoped for would not be. Our baby was breech, and they suspected had some hip dysplasia. I remember weeping at my appointment that week - the first week in August. I was overdue, tired, swollen and hot. My doctor told me she would have to be delivered via c section. I was upset by the news, so much so I sought a second opinion. Ultimately we scheduled a c section for August 14th.



That morning we checked in bright and early at Barnes Hospital, just down the street from where we living. It was hot. In fact there was a massive power outage in several cities that day from the heat. I wish I could say Melena's delivery was easy and roses, but it wasn't for me. I had an allergic reaction to the morphine in my epidural and felt out of it. It wasn't until several hours later that I felt I was really present.



She was born perfect. A big, healthy baby with a lusty cry. She fed easily and stared at me as if to say, "I know you." Her birth seemed like some sort of odyessy. She was so amazing. I fell in love on sight.



We brought her home from the hospital, and she delighted everyone. She smiled and laughed often. She was (and is) loving, affectionate and sweet. As time passed I realized what a gift she was. I'm still amazed at her. She will be 7 in August.



Now I'm most proud of her heart. She is a good kid. She loves others, has empathy beyond her age and is miles ahead of where I as at her age. I'm abundantly blessed just to be able to be her mother. To get to see all the "firsts" children go through, and realize that she is a part of me in some ways. I'm fairly sure I would feel this way regardless of our genetic makeup. When you spend your life with someone, and your role is to be sure that person has what they need physically, emotionally and every other way, you know them. While my daughter, now 7, has her own thoughts, ideas and feelings, I feel bound up with them and her. Her happiness is mine. Her sorrows are mine.

This morning (her 7th birthday) she woke me up at 6:30 a.m. to tell me it was THE day. I watched her open her gifts and now she's playing pretend with some of the toys not really aware I'm watching her. There is no better thing than this. If she is my life's work, it would be enough.

Letting Go Redux

Today I got a massage and a message all at the same time. It's been a crazy week complete with 2 kids who got sick and are now better. I'm worn down and worn out. I've discovered a pattern in myself.



The few times in the past few years I have gotten massages, I find myself a complete ball of tension at the beginning. While I'm trying to reconcile something inside myself that tells me I'm lying mostly naked on a table being touched by someone I don't know, I tense up. Instinctively. And it takes some time for me to loosen up a little bit. And if you don't loosen up, it begins to hurt a bit. If you can't release your muscles, and allow some of the tension to drift away, it can get downright painful.



Today in the middle of flinching as I tried to relax at the massage, I was struck by the image of a fire. As the fire burns, the smoke rises to the sky and disappears into the atmosphere. If it were only that simple to let go. I've felt myself getting downright angry and bitter in the past few weeks with my ex-husband. Over what he has done and over things he never did. And try as I might, I am mad. Some days that anger dissipates into tears of frustration. Other days I feel as if I'm biting my tongue clear through to stop myself from saying the things that spring to mind when I'm dealing with him or dealing with my children talking about him. Still other days I wonder what is wrong with me that I can't just "let it go." I tell myself I want to let go of the anger and hurt. But somehow I don't seem able to. No matter how much I try and convince myself, convince God that I don't want to harbor this anger any longer...I still do.

As I lay there, I thought of how I wanted to let those feelings burn off and into the sky. I want to be able to let go. A few words wandered through my mind - surrender, give up, let go, let it be.

Surrender to me is a very different thing than letting go. Surrender makes me think of giving up a part of myself to something/someone else. I surrendered my own wants and needs for those of my ex-husband. I don't want to surrender anything to him ever again. No, surrender is not what I'm thinking of.

Give up holds a relatively negative connotation for me too. Give up seems like quitting or walking away because I just can't cope anymore. While perhaps that is exactly what I need, it is not what I want.

No, the posture really is one of letting go. Similar to the fire, as it lets go of the smoke and releases into the air...I want to let go of this anger and bitterness. I want to release it to God, and allow Her to redeem me of it. I recognize it isn't useful to me anymore, that it is only causing me pain. All of the questions I have will never have all the answers I want...and so really there is no reason to continue the fight. There is no winner. There is no loser. The anger isn't holy, nor is it helpful. And, so as I lay there I began to imagine what would happen if I just let it go? Let it rise up to the sky.

I'm still not entirely sure I can let go. But I feel like I have nothing to lose by trying. My prayer is that Jesus can help me let go. That His love is strong enough to overcome the voices of anger, revenge, hurt, frustration that drown out the part of me that knows it's time to let go. I know it is. Now the questions is whether I can believe that my love is strong enough.

Letting Go

Today in a quiet time, I was overcome with an image. The thought or metaphor was of a plug/drain being pulled out of my side, and of some sort of "gunk" (for lack of a better word) came flowing out of me and into the earth. At first I didn't get it, but the longer I sat in silence, the more sense it made.

It occurred to me that I've been bombarded by a lot of really ugly things lately. Being confronted with my ex-husband's infidelity head on, watching the aftermath of his irresponsibility play out in our children, worrying about my niece, contending with a lot of really heinous cases of abused children...well it's been a little much to take in. But as my usual pattern, it takes me a minute to realize that my level of stress has gotten toxic. It isn't until I'm quiet and realize that my mind is racing from one thought to the next that it becomes crystal clear that I'm not coping as well as I would like to think I am. As I sat there, feeling overwhelmed by it all, I realized that the plug needed to be pulled. And now.

As much as I think I've got things under control most days, my emotions have gotten the better of me lately. As I sat through a trial recently, it became evident to me that my sense of control has eroded considerably in the past year. As I listened to a woman describe injuries to one of the children I've been appointed to advocate for, I felt tears spring to my eyes. I've heard her story many, many times. Her's and a hundred others equally terrible. Hearing it again, made me realize my lid isn't on as tight as it used to be. I overflow more often than ever. And I think that's a gift of some sort. The ability to feel for these kids makes me who I am, and makes me more sure than ever than someone must speak for these children. But there are those days when it all wears me down, wears me out. There must be a place that I can go inside of myself that replenishes my soul. That place where the Spirit lives and breathes.

As the metaphor of the plug being pulled became more clear in my mind, so did a new one. The idea of new life-giving water replacing that old gunk. The image recalled to my mind that passage in John about streams of living water.

More and more, I realize that I must daily, hourly, minute by minute pull the plug on all of my worries, fears, toxicity. This is the only way to live. Not by holding it back as if these things were to be treasured. Letting go is the only way to let in the Spirit that is love. Otherwise there is no room. All of the bad stuff takes up all the room in my heart, and no room is left for the Spirit to come in and transform/transfigure me.

As I left the silence, I was reminded of a hymn, that I've spent the remainder of today humming,

When peace like a river attendeth my way;
when sorrows like sea billows roll;
whatever my lot, thou has taught me to say,
it is well, it is well, with my soul.