Moments of sanity

There used to be moments of crazy. Days that I would find myself feeling like I had failed without the understanding of why or how.

Now, I find myself passing and I try to grasp onto the sanity that comes with it. I rarely know how I have found the sanity or how to get it back after the moment passes and the crazy returns.

At least that is how I feel at this moment. This moment when I have once again taken personally the lies that my daughter has told my husband to try to make me look like the worst mommy in the world. “Why are you so surprised?” he always asks. I am not surprised, I have just reached my fill of being able to let it roll off my back. My character has been attacked one too many times in the last few weeks to be able to let this one slide without hurt.

It hurts, this game of taking care of those that need to hurt you to show that they still don’t trust you. The ones that glare at you throughout the day and then turn into sheepish lost puppies when their father walks through the door. It hurts, even though you know what they are doing. It hurts because you are the one that is working so hard to help them heal. The one that spends everyday scheduling their therapy, their ortho appointments, their tutoring, school, and their social life. You are the one that notices their clothes have grown too small or have too many holes so you take time out of your day to buy more. You are the one that goes to bed every night after them, the one that wakes up before them, the one that eats last and sometimes hours after they have. Yet you are the one that they choose to say the worst about.

I get it, I mean it has been four years of the same thing. The pictures all show happy little smiles. There are always words of encouragement that she so polite and sweet or how nervous she looks all the time. I get complimented on how much she has grown and how good of a job I have done. I know that all this is true, she is a sweet girl. She knows how to be polite and most of the time she means it. However; there are most nights that she tries to see if she can hurt me or make me look bad in the eyes of my husband. I can deal with it most of the time. Roll my eyes and smirk “Oh, ok. Yes that sounds just like me.”

I can let it just go and tell myself I must be doing something right if she feels the need to see  if I will react and send her packing.

Can I be honest?

Can you handle my honesty?

I kinda wanna throw my hands up in the air, repeat the words of my mother of just wanting to disappear, and then actually follow through with it. I sometimes wanna look in her hurtful eyes and scream “you win!” I can see myself throwing in the towel and walking out the door, jumping in the car, and driving for days.

I drove through the mountains of Montana just yesterday and I dreamed of running deep into the woods and never looking back. The fog over the water of the lake called my name and invited me into the safety of its shield. The lone island whispered its freedom of solitude and I longed for the comfort of its quiet. I am tired.  I am hurting and I am not the only one. I know she hurts when she can’t just help me bake cookies and talk about her day. I see the longing in her eyes when I talk about getting nails done with a friend. I can hear the frustration in her journal as she describes her jealousy over her brother having a friend stay over. My brain gets it. My heart breaks with every lie told to her dad about my made up careless actions towards her. My heart aches with every milestone that passes without us getting to enjoy it together. I feel the guilt of being happy to leave for a work trip just to be able to put a few days in between the thick cloud of anger and hurt. I feel the guilt of not missing her while gone. I fall into feelings of inadequacy when I find something the rest of her siblings would love and don’t think twice about what she might like.

I long for just a moment of sanity during these times of crazy. I know it will pass, I will recover. My heart will heal, and in the meantime I will continue to do what I do knowing that I will be lied about on a regular basis. Some days it will hurt more than others and some days I will look out the window and wonder if there is life out there (a little Reba throwback). I know that someday she will look back at the mom who stayed and appreciate her. Until that day I will search for moments of sanity and so I write……………..