Oh to have the confidence of a mid March Norwegian snowstorm. This storm came in closing the airport and crushing cars with trees while dumping a few centimeters of snow in the lower areas. It didn't matter to that fresh blast of chill that we think it is time for the snow to be gone, or that stores have patio furniture out for sale. Maybe that storm had more audacity than confidence, but nonetheless, I know leading into tough conversations, I want the confidence I witnessed. I've spoken before about how my blog hitting a wider audience has occasionally stifled my writing. At times, I am tempted to fall into that social media trap of painting my life the way I want it to seem. Honestly, we all take part in that dance between social media and truth/reality, giving readers a peek into reality while letting the glitter blind them to the dusty cobwebs. Yet, I have tried to keep my blog, pretty true to who I am, a fumbling, stumbling, growing human. It has been a way to record my journey through life. Although it was prompted by my move to Norway, there is as much of my healing journey here as my experiences since moving. This is where it gets really tricky. Telling my story is cathartic and in the telling, I know I have impacted others to feel seen and less lonely in their own journeys. While I am honored to know this, I also know my partner and children read this blog. Often I think, what a weight to carry, what a burden to know these things. Much more so I worry more with my children than my partner, because let's face it, the man is a rock and views exploring who I am as an adventure he's willing to travel. In other words, he got a choice. In the playbook for healing from a life of trauma, most of the pages in the book are blank. The chapter titles or general headings might be included, but mostly it is a family heirloom being passed down as the companion to depression and anxiety. A lot of pages are labeled, "I'll give you something to cry about," and "You think you have it rough..." I've added a fuck ton of, "Well, that didn't work out," and even more handwritten notes that needed to be scribbled out later. And in all honesty, I think I am the first one to earnestly write in my family's book. I don't intend to minimize my family's trauma. I know there were some big demons to vanquish. Even though my grandparents overcame alcoholism, they weren't able to heal their relationships with all of their children. My mom was one of them. And even though my sisters will swear my mom was a different person, we were never able to heal our relationship. It is a fact that I was raised by a different woman than them. So when it came to the general topic of generational trauma, I think I missed the chapter on compassionately supporting your children as they deal with intergenerational trauma as adults. This one is maybe better known as, "Well, well, well....if it isn't the consequences of my own actions." I have tried to be very open with my kids about where I feel I failed them as a parent. I have received some pretty blunt feedback about where they think I failed them as a parent. I mean they are my kids after all. And in all honesty, I kind of thought the apologies and new understandings put that mostly to rest. 🎤 🎶And then along comes Trauma! (You're old if you're singing that and know the woman's name that belongs there, just sayin') Just as I was raised by a different version of my mom than my sisters, my boys were raised by different versions of their own mom, but they are both facing the mom that still views them as children. For a fair bit, I listened in silence to the stories or "versions" of history my boys related to me. I tried to remain neutral and keep them from feeling like they were in the middle. However, some serious health concerns with their father has added another facet to an already complicated dynamic.
My ex is every bit as damaged of a human as I was, after all, that was part of what attracted us to each other. He's never really tried to completely unpacked his trauma, though, and what little progress was made was set back by things out of his control. During these times, the boys have had to step up as caregivers, and as a result, their relationship as brothers has been tested. It has also come out more strongly in these struggles that he has had a very hard time accepting our divorce, and to be frank, I don't feel like he ever fully has. He remained friends with some of my aunts and cousins after our divorce, which isn't so out of the ordinary since we were married over twenty years, but he reestablished relationships with my estranged mother and sister. I can be honest enough to say that this hurt my feelings tremendously. Here is this man claiming to have loved me, to love my children, who KNOWS the history in my family, and still, he makes the choice to invite them into a circle that includes my kids and is so dismissive of me. Not only invite them into that circle, actively encourage my children to see them for the "changed individuals" they are. The history he recounts to the boys is skewed, and I have tried really hard to just take the high road, maintain distance, and evaluate whether it is me that is remembering incorrectly. It is possible, trauma changes your brain. Trauma also reconditions you. For example, through parts of this blog, I am trying to pave the way for others to understand my actions and explain my justifications. I have been conditioned to assume I am misunderstood and will be dismissed as irrational. I'm choosing to leave them as they stand to remind me the next time I reread my blogs to remind myself. Regardless, we have reached a point where my kids will quite literally be squarely in the middle, and I realized, or rather decided, that I was not doing my best to be the adult in the situation. In September, NBF and I will head back to Kansas to attend a wedding and Jeff will be there. I tried to get ahead of it by reaching back out to my ex. It 100% went as well as you, on the outside, would expect it to go. I won't go through it all here because the point is the lesson. I was approaching this situation as if my children needed protection and for their mom to step in. We have had many conversations about how they have to filter news about my life to their dad and how they have had to stand in the middle. I feel extreme guilt about this because I have been there. I have been that middle filter and barrier. But you know what, my "children" are men now. They went out there and fucking grew up, and it feels like I didn't even see it happen. There was a time warp somehow, and surely they are just in their early twenties, right?? They'll always be "my boys", but they deserve the chance to lead their own lives and manage their own relationships. That was my goal...to raise capable humans with great capacity for life, so why is it so hard to let them live? Because I want to fix everything I fucked up, that's why. I can see all that went wrong in their childhoods that led to this point, and I feel this tremendous, life swallowing sadness. But these two are able to give me a type of grace I struggled to realize at their age, they see my past for the obstacle it is to parenting. Don't get me wrong, they still say I botched some shit, but they think I made a lot of good choices too. And yes, there are things they need to overcome from their childhood to deal with, but just in our conversations, I am sure that if they have kids, their own mistakes will be less about generational trauma and much more about the creative and inventive way all new parents fuck up their kids. I did apologize to both of them for trying to mother too hard and acceptance was given with a laugh. I suspect it was relief. But, apologies are also an oath to do better. So here's me, settling into my newly redefined mom role, watching my adult children navigate their own decisions, giving advice when asked, but celebrating every step of the way as they work to cut even more tethers from the family patterns.
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Optimistic me, sat in my office watching rain this morning thinking, so the snow forecast was wrong. It was pretty warm yesterday. We even had to pull the shade because the sun was crisping the air in the living room. Then of course, Norway started Norwaying....wintering,..springing, maybe? I am honestly so confused every year. As soon as there is a sunny day or it hits double digits, I hear Norwegians casually throwing around the S word. Like somehow that stray ray of sunshine should inspire all of us to pack away the sweaters and bust out the swimsuits. There was even a hotel posting tiktoks last week about summer activities. Mind you, I see that woman is wearing a hat and jacket while she's canoeing. Not fucking falling it for it. Sitting here watching the snow fall, and I can't help but notice that I don't feel that peaceful serenity that I felt in December and even into January. I think there is a difference knowing that soon it will all melt away like it was never here, and it will just leave a mess. There won't be a soft blanket to take the edge off the world. That magical time of the year is nearly over. It passes with fleeting glimpses and cold nips on your ears as it lumbers off to hibernate. It will probably stumble, gasping and clutching for a hold well into April, but the daffodils are blooming. Pushing their yellow faces out of the snow, reminding us that the sun has returned.
That is one thing I do understand...the sheer relief at seeing the sun. Perhaps not enough to boldly declare the arrival of summer like Norwegians, but I can tell you that the first time you realize the sun is still up at 16:00 there is a full body reaction. (honestly though ) It is quite a trip to watch winter melt away on my commute to work, and watch it return as I head back north. Sometimes it is hard to believe there is such a difference in a two hour train ride. I was just telling my coworkers last week about getting dressed for weather at home and then nearly roasting to the point of passing out on the train to work. Speaking of coworkers, we had the first of our monthly gatherings for relationship building. Although, I am unsure how relationships built on the humiliation of bowling can last, I am willing to try again for movie night next month. I shouldn't be so hard on myself, I doubled my worst score ever. I should celebrate that. This month I have also been working on the bonus kids' Easter hunt. Tony and I will not be back in time to run that, so I have planned the event in advance to pass off to other family members. Hopefully it goes well. The last of the plan is to go shopping to fill the eggs which we will do this weekend when we go shopping for the boys. I swear they could ask Tony for anything, and if he could fit it in a suitcase they would get it. He keeps asking what they want and should we buy this and that. FFS, they're adults, Tony. (But I love that he thinks about them.) As I thought, dinner break for Friday tacos was enough for the snow to stop and the melty mess to begin. Maybe that means we can start up our firepit evenings again. I think we can even make it out there without me getting lost in the drifts. Next time, I'll try to remember to show you how deep the snow was through winter. I was looking out the kitchen window today thinking how nice it was to see the whole apple tree again. For now though, I am looking forward to a nice relaxing weekend, and I think we'll start with a cider and finishing the Blacklist. |
Nellie HillJust a woman leaping outside her comfort zone and telling the tale. Archives
April 2024
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