Feels like a terrible confession...

... when it's really probably just me being rather human.

I'm jealous of my husband.

I'm jealous that he gets to leave the house most days without the kids in tow. This one could be said over and over because it is such a big thing to me right now. I feel isolated. I feel like I can't go accomplish what otherwise I could if there were no kids or at least less kids. I love my children. I do, but having so many so close together is a challenge. Having 2 of them be under the autism umbrella makes it even more of a challenge. I am often discouraged because I feel like I can never make all the progress with all my children that I would like to. Part because of motivation. Part because of energy. Part because of pure lack of being able to do it all myself because of time constraints and pure lack of ability. And then I get momentarily angry with God and want to say to Him, "Why the did you give me all of this?! I can't fucking do this!!!"

I'm jealous that he gets to further his education above and beyond anything I will ever accomplish. Because he's so much more intelligent than I am.

I'm jealous he IS smarter than me. Don't get me wrong. My husband NEVER willfully makes me feel stupid. He is considerate and compassionate. He values my "intelligence" [which is in quotes because my intelligence is not so much related to academia as it is people. Not that it isn't important to be smart about people and being able to read them, but in society it is usually an undervalued skill.]

I'm jealous that he gets to pursue so many of his dreams and I feel I have to give mine up over and over. So much so that sometimes I can't even think of what I would dream if I could have any reasonable expectation of reaching it. Seriously, part of the reason I think I can't decide what I would want to do with my life is because I know that it will probably not happen. Again not because he so much discourages me, but because I have these other obligations [called raising kids] to tend to before I could even entertain it. I would have to find the childcare and spend his money to do it. Which of course I feel guilty for the latter. Because he's the one working. I'm not [according to society anyhow.]

I'm jealous because often the kids act like the like him better than me. I know they just love their father. And they should. But I feel a little thrown under the bus there.

I know I'm not the only one with this confession. I know there's out there who have it worse than me because their husbands willfully to make them feel lessor. But know even if you husband was good about not trying to make you feel that way, you could still feel that way.

Into the waters

Usually I would have written something like this under my real name on my religion blog, but because I feel rather exposed because of the material, I'm posting it here, so please forgive me.

I think the first real religious choice I made for myself was being baptized. I was raised in a non-denominational Christian household. While there was no real set age to get baptized, there was still this unspoken guideline that you were supposed to be baptized [as a child] by 8-years-old. Thankfully, my parents didn't really push it. They figured I would make that choice when I was ready. I realize [now] though, I was still expected to choose what they chose.

 

I could have just as easily been any other religion, depending on what the tradition of my family had been. From a young age, I thought, "What are the chances they are right?" Not because I knew much about other religions traditions as much as I knew some believed in God and/ or Christ and some didn't. I didn't want to give my life and energy to a fairy tale.

So I waited. I was 12 when I got baptized. I'm still not certain if I chose it more out of expectation or pure acceptance of Jesus Christ. Don't get me wrong. I believe in Christ. I believe He was a good dude and that He probably is the link to help me get back to God [because of my own imperfections]. But other Christians would call me less of a Christian because of my non-literalism when concerning the Bible. And as time has gone on, I've taken less literally.

I made the choice to be re-baptized, into Mormonism, when I was 18. Again. This I really wonder if I had understood and known all I know now, would I have made that choice? I seriously doubt it. And because of Mormons believing being baptized by proxy for their kindred dead, I have been literally baptized so many times that I cannot count or recall it. Each time because someone else told me it's what was expected of me. But I walked into the water of my free will. The "authorized" person put their one hand behind me, raise their hand and said their words, dunk me entirely under the water, and lift me out of the water again. It was an emotionally moving experience each time. 

I still am doubtful that baptism in itself will or did save me. Yeah it was me giving my life to God. In that I was sincere, even if I think the act itself was unnecessary.

Surely She deserved it

I get rather tired of that line. And lines like it.

"She deserved to be verbally abused." "She deserved to be beaten." "She deserved to be raped."


What alternative reality do you live in? How can a victim ever deserve ill treatment?


When I was 16, I was dating 2 guys. Both of the guys knew I was dating the other. I made it very clear that they were not expected to be exclusive either. One was that good boy next door, Jack. He had a good heart, big smile, but was super shy. He was afraid to hold my hand, let alone give me a kiss. He was just super shy and super awkward with girls. The other guy was Chad. The bad ass mother fucker that my dad did NOT approve of at all. He was fun, sociable, hilarious, adventuresome and probably a few years too old for me.

Well, after a football game one day, I went to a party at Chad's with my friend Tonya. I had been to a few of his parties. They usually were innocent enough. We'd have some punch, eat some food, play some very silly games, and go home around midnight. There were lots of people there. There was Chad's brother, Jo (who I was really good friends with); Jo's girlfriend, Monique; and at least a dozen other people.

Well this party was a bit different. I had called my dad, and told him I would be going to my friend's Tonya's party afterward. No big deal. My dad wasn't crazy about the idea [because remember he didn't like Chad], but he trusted my judgment. Someone there. I don't know for sure who [but I would bet Chad], spiked the punch that night.

He asked me to have sex with him that night, and...














But he didn't listen. I couldn't fight him. Even if I had been sober. He was bigger and strong than me. I had done everything I should have done. I was with lots of people on a date. I was with people I trusted. I even checked in with my dad [on the way to the party]. I was wearing a damned sweatshirt and blue jeans that night (so it's not like I was dressed provocatively). And Chad still raped me. Thankfully, I blacked out about the time he was removing my bra. I don't remember any of it.

The thing was I was ashamed. Even though I did nothing wrong. My dad asked me if anything happened, and I felt so ashamed that I let Chad take advantage of me, that I lied to him and told him I just fell asleep on Chad's couch. I never pressed charges because I felt like I enabled him. I look back and I have to ask myself, "How?" I was doing everything I was supposed to be doing.

So this is for all you posers out there. Who say that men shouldn't be accountable for their ideas in their heads. This is for all of you that say that women deserve to be raped. Would you say that of your friend, daughter, sister, mother? Because there's lots of victims out there. Most of them like me. They were afraid to tell their tale because they thought they were guilty of some crime when the crime was inflicted upon them. Or they are afraid no one would believe them. I know people would have believed me about Chad. That wasn't the issue at all. He had a rep as a player. I thought it was just a rep and he was just misunderstood. Sadly, I know that I wasn't Chad's last victim. 6 months later, he raped a even younger girl and got her pregnant. So eventually, he did pay his price. But I wonder how many suffered before that occurred.

Victims, don't be afraid as I was. You did nothing wrong. You are wonderful, beautiful, fabulous. Get help and heal.

A Resolution

My biggest fear in life is that I will turn out just like my mother...


You see my mother abused me. Emotionally. Spiritually. Physically. It left all kinds of interesting scars. For the most part, I think I have forgiven my mother. Trust me, I'll be discussing my issues with my mom and the stories behind it at some length here. Yes, I've healed. But there's still scars. There's still others suffering from abuse in other arenas that I think need to hear my tale to hear that they can escape their world of abuse. My mother was the number one reason though why I am Lola Dahl [or why I am currently using a pseudonym in other words.] She cannot handle the truth. Any attempt on my part of examining the truth is automatically perceived [by her] as my non-forgiveness rather than my attempt to deal with my past and it's emotional baggage.

Because like it or not. The things in my past have formed who I am today.

I find myself at times sounding like her. Acting like her. It makes me sick to my stomach. Literally. I know really in my heart of hearts I am no where near as bad as her. But she wasn't always bad. Sometimes she was quite good. She was quite loving, caring, fantastic even.

But I hear her when I get frustrated with my children. I see her when I need to just do my thing but I resist out of guilt. This pattern is so eerily familiar, the little hairs stand on the back of my neck. I feel so conflicted to do anything other than mother, but ironically I think if she had done something other than just mother I think she would have been oh so much more content with life. I see her when I spank my kids. Note I said spank. And I spank very lightly and sparingly. She used her hand [or at times a wooden spoon] and usually left red marks on my bottom. I hear her when I raise my voice at my kids most of all.

So my resolution. Not to. Well, not as much. I resolve to be a better mother by trying to be calm. Understand their point of view. Meet them. Consider their personalities in my disciplining of them. But mostly love them. Do stuff with them. That is what my mother did right when I was young. I will aid them in their dreaming and fun. And I will aid myself in finding my own dreams and let myself be a non-mom from time to time.

A New Year's Thought

I recall an old adage that goes something like "The choices you make today, determine the choices you make tomorrow."

I am feeling that adage at this time in my life.

I'm not certain if it's a good or a bad thing. I suspect it's a bit of both. It's not that I don't like my current life. I just wish for something more and don't see a way to get it.

I am a mother of 4. I love my children. I feel so restricted by my motherhood. I wish I had known how hard and demanding motherhood would be before I had become one. I wish I could have felt that it was okay to feel overwhelmed before. When I had fewer kids. Because I was. I was afraid to admit it before. I am still am a little afraid to admit it now. Because I still feel like I have to, in some respects be the do all, be all mom. The Supermom that all seem to expect me to be.

I feel obligated to pour everything into them though because if I fail them, then I am indeed failing. They are depending on me to grow and learn. I want them to be loving, intelligent people. And they are.

And yet I feel this call to be more than a mom. The call is rather unclear to me though. Because I have so many interests. I hate all this contention. Not knowing what to do. And feeling so conflicted. Because of programming I had before that I *should* just be a mom. And so many still trying to push that programming on me. And at the same time, I feel like because I'm a mom of so many kids [and some of them with special needs] I have no real alternative. *sigh*

My past choices [even if I do love them] have at least narrowed my current ones.

Apostate

Such a dirty word. For a Mormon. For a Christian. But that's what I am. An apostate from Mormonism anyhow. Sometimes I take that title easily, readily. Other times it's "oh fuck, it's YOU again!"

Because those who knew me when I was Mormon [that are still Mormon] can, at times, treat me like I have some sort of leprosy. Careful. Don't be near me. You may catch my apostasy.

All joking aside, I do understand. In Mormonism, the prospect of falling is scary, dangerous. Because if you forsake Mormonism, you're going to outer darkness [aka Hell]. All promises are VOID. Baptism, confirmation, endowments, sealings. And if that's not enough, it's social suicide if you're public about it. Because you're not supposed to speak against the brethren [the former and current prophets and apostles]. And this social chocking is felt over and over as people socially isolate you from their circles. Old friendships are never the same because you can't possibly understand their eternal perspective or they don't know what else to talk about other than the church [because it is so much of their lives].

I think there's worse things in the world to be than an apostate. It's worse to be a thief. It's worse to be a liar. It's worse to be a hypocrite. I would be all of those, maybe worse, if I didn't own up to the label [that I feel erroneously gives me a negative image]. If I didn't own up to it, I would be taking stuff from a faith that I don't believe in. I would be lying to myself and to others. I would be dying slowly inside because of the lying to myself. That's just not worth it.

Slowly over time, I've been able to embrace this word. This label. See the ironic nature of it. Because I haven't apostatized from being myself nor from God. I'm happier now than I've been in years. I just have to learn to make new friends and recognize old ones who truly can take me for me.