And I Don't Know How to Do That

I was driving during a thunderstorm when my windshield wiper motor decided to wave the white flag in defeat.

And there were my wipers, skewed haphazardly across my window, pulsing like a metronome with hiccups. Mechanical death-spasms, I suppose. And ill-timed ones at that.

Soooo dramatic.

The thing is - they didn't look broken. All the necessary parts were there. And appeared to be without crack or obvious handicap.

I couldn't tell something was wrong until I saw them in action.

When I look at myself, I don't see a "broken" individual. All my parts are here and (with the exception of a few spots that make me crinkle my nose & furrow my brow) appear to be without crack or obvious handicap. I am a whole person.

Until you see me in action.

Sigh. A big part of me debated whether I should even mess with this post. It's personal. It's scary. It doesn't shed me in the best possible light (think fluorescent. Bleh.) And yet, here we are.

Those of you that know me, know that I was in a bad marriage.

Those of you that KNOW ME-know me, know pieces of how messed up it was.

And it is behind me and it is glorious and I made a cake to celebrate its official-ness.

You see, I learned an interesting thing about myself in and after that relationship. It was pure madness, being there, being in it. And it was unnatural. And I had a little boy. And I fought against the craziness every day. Because that was not going to be my life forever and it sure wasn't going to be my son's world.

When I was in it, I developed certain methods to cope and maintain a sense of control (of me & my son's world, not ex's. Only our Almighty God stands a chance at that.)

Truth be told, ex wasn't home much. Good news for this stay-at-home-mommy. I could make my son's world good and watch him discover innocent, mundane things, turn them into the BEST. THINGS. EVER. and not have his views bleakly tainted before any of that was given a chance to happen. Our world was beautiful and funny and full of slobber (Eric's and the dogs') and love (Eric's and the dogs'). I would cry solely out of being overwhelmed with love for him. And then Eric would cry when Mommy would cry, and Mommy learned to get a grip.

Even though I was part of a relationship (implied "partnership") that was legally recognized by our state, I became fiercely independent. I did not rely on, depend on, or make plans with ex. This was not completely by choice until a little later. It started out as a product of my circumstances. One I am now (mostly) grateful for. I wanted needed Eric to have a childhood where he wasn't kicking a ball around in the middle of a battlefield.

I raised Eric on my own, with my morals/principles/beliefs. There really wasn't too much outside interference (a.k.a. ex) because A) Eric and I were together all day, every day; B) if ex came home, I would pack up Eric & the dogs and leave whenever we could; and C) ex didn't care. Eric was little enough, long enough, that what was really going on was lost on him almost entirely. That fact is bittersweet for me.

Two very separate lives belonging to the same physical address. And when the time was right, I ended the relationship in a way that is also legally recognized by our state. And Eric and I got a new address. And for Eric, that was the most that changed, but even still, not really. We lived with my parents, where we had already spent so much of our time anyway, simply avoiding the reality of "home", and embracing the love that should fill every home.

And God said, "Let there be Wiersmas. And it was good."

Photo taken from Pinterest. Credit unknown.

And then, I met someone. Like, a real someone. And suddenly I was in this real relationship with real care/concern/love with someone who made coherent decisions, one of them arguably being to include me in his life. (I said arguably...)

And this someone had his own experiences/expectations/assumptions/methods/perspective.

And suddenly it dawned on me that I'm in a relationship (not yet legally recognized by our state), and this person is valid, this person comes with his own set of "baggage", this person is contributing, this person wants to work out compromises with me.

AND I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO THAT.

*Insert crazy, sporadic, pathetic windshield wiper skillz here.*

I mean, I do, but I don't. Like, it's a very deliberate decision for me to mentally/physically include him in my life & my plans. I'll give myself some credit and say that, now that it's been almost 2 years, it's not really an issue that deserves BOLDING AND ALL-CAPS, but you see what I mean.

I had learned to do "together" separately. And it took time, tears, and several soft-under-belly-exposing conversations for us to get a few questions answered. Conversations we have to revisit occasionally to remember the whys and the hows. Conversations that remind us of the beautiful fact that creates some of the biggest craters in our relationships: he is man and I am woman and we. are. different.

It has been a growing experience. Which sounds so small and anti-climatic. Would it be easier to perpetuate the independent/separate life path? Eh. Some days. Others, notsomuch. Would it be better? A resounding no.

The hard work, the good times, the memories, the family-unit-we're-attempting-to-assemble-like-it's-a-tetris-game-with-a-heartbeat, is so worth it.

Let's just pray he never sees the "Some Assembly Required" warning on the bottom of my foot.