Breakfast for dinner

Breakfast for dinner. Cereals, French toast, and pancakes. Some say it’s crazy, but the kids adore it.

Nothing in my life is conventional and I want my kids to know that there are norms and rules that which we need to follow, but there are also some that can be broken or bent. And it doesn’t matter what other people say. Do as you like, as long as it is legal and it’s not hurtful for the people around you. It’s easy for me to be that parent. It is hard for me to be that woman. My kids are loved and told so all the time. I share emotions with them, not all of them (because I feel intensely) but many of my feelings are shared. Because it is good to feel affection and disappointment, pride and shame, happiness and sadness, and the entire palette of emotions. If my kids are sad, I tell them that it is okay to cry. They are allowed to be angry or mad. They are encouraged to be happy and silly. I want my kids to show empathy and kindness to everyone, but also to be confident enough to stand their ground and never to hold back their opinions. I am empowering them every day and I am trying to make them good and loving people. I don’t know if my craziness is allowing me to equip them with everything they need. but I am giving my best.

It’s going to be okay

Life’s a bitch, but it’s going to be okay.

My daughter had a nightmare about me dying. I tried to comfort her as best as I could, but there was a thought I couldn’t shake. I will die. Some day I will. And I cannot change it. And when she was finally asleep again, i felt guilty. So many times i thought about dying. I thought about ending my life. No – I will not kill myself, no need to worry. But I have these thoughts and I am aware that those are thoughts normal people don’t have. I cannot save my children from all the hurt that the world will inflict on them. It’s impossible. But I can try and not add to it. It pains me when my seven year old is bullied. It hurts that she didn’t want to tell me because she didn’t want to make me sad. It pains me when she tells me that she will come to me with everything that bothers her but that I can also come to her with the things that bother me.
Parenting is the best thing I do. It’s one of the few things I am sure of. But there is so much wrong with me that I worry that I will never be the parent they need or deserve. The world is crazy. And I am too.
And I am scared to share. I used to share a lot. But back then, people from my day to day life didn’t read anything I shared. And now I allowed some people in. And I feel ashamed and frightened to share who I really am. I hate this. And I want to scream “help”, but I can’t, and to be fair, I wouldn’t listen to anyone anyway. I need a hug from someone who isn’t a child. Who knew that being married also meant being lonely and longing for human connection.

a brief conversation with my son

 

Today, my son asked about the stripes on my arm. I told him that they are scars. My heart began pounding… I am not ready to have that conversation. Not when I am still dealing with it.
I am not ashamed. I am just not sure how to explain it without sounding pathetic and at the same time, teaching him that it is a harmful way to deal with pain and frustration… The above is an exact transcript of what was said.

xx

 

(On this picture, you can only see the bigger scars, there are faint ones you can almost only see when you really look for them… apparently, he did. Also, I am not sure why the scars are this swollen today)IMG_20170514_194638201