T Minus 5 Years

Moving in with Kurt

Kurt and I had been dating for a year. We were truly happy. We brought out the best in each other. The lease on his apartment was ending and he wasn’t going to be able to renew it.  Mine was month-to-month. We had many conversations about spending the rest of our lives together, the possibility of children and possible businesses we might want to start together. It made sense that we would move in together. I felt immense anxiety about the decision, not because of Kurt, but because of my parents.

I flew home to tell my parents in person. My parents reacted as I assumed they would, as if I had punched them in the face. There was a lot of Bible-quoting, along with complete and total unwillingness to be open-minded or support my adult decision. I might as well have told them I was quitting my life to do drugs and be a prostitute. They heaped on the guilt heavily. After that trip, we didn’t speak for six months. We had never gone more than a week without contact before or since. The silence was brutal. I went back to therapy to try to make sense of my loss. My therapist insisted I listen to the tightness in my chest. I learned that the physical feeling of being unable to breathe meant that whatever I was trying to say needed to be said more than ever. So, after six months of painful silence, I sat down at my computer and wrote my Mom an email.

Mom,

What is it that you want to say to me? I understand your concern, I get it, if I believed how you believe I would be worried too. But I feel there is more, I feel there is anger and resentment. There certainly is on my part.

I love you so much, I know you love me too. But I’m mad. I’m mad at you, because it feels like no matter what, from childhood to adulthood, I have never been and never will be good enough. I feel judged, I feel like I don’t measure up to some unrealistic person you want me to be. It feel like no matter what, I have to perform for you. I feel that your love for me is contingent on how well I perform, I’ve felt that way my whole life, long before Kurt or Josh or Jackson. It does not seem to matter how well I do at anything, it’s never been enough.

I want to own my part in this. I am competitive, even with you. I’ve always felt the need to prove you wrong or prove myself right. I’ve treated you like crap so many times, only thinking of myself and trying somehow to soothe my own pain by being more intelligent, more capable, more successful, more anything than you. I’ve rarely been on your side. I’ve purposefully pushed you away. I don’t know why I have done this but we both know I have. I am so sorry.  I ask for your forgiveness.

Melanie

My mom provided a well thought out response.

My Dear Daughter,

I do not know how to respond. I know whatever I say or do will never be enough. Your sense of worth can not come from me. I will never be able to fill you and neither will Kurt or any other man. Only God can do that. Somewhere in the teen years you changed, no longer happy. Did something happen I do not know about? Was there one thing I did or said that should be repented of?

You are more intelligent, successful, beautiful, and capable than I am. I am very proud of you! I would like all my children to far surpass me in all of those! So now quit comparing and striving you have reached your goal:)  

Both I and dad would like to embrace Kurt as family but feel that we have been cheated out of that. Just what is he to us? Is he going to be around for long? Do you even want him around for long? I want for you the very best and am disappointed you have chosen less than that.

I have not meant to put unrealistic expectations on you. I hate the fact that I have caused you to feel you must achieve in order for me to love you. I am proud of your achievements but I don’t believe they have ever changed my feelings for you. If you never ran a marathon, won a debate, received a master’s degree, traveled the country, have children or marry you would still be my daughter, the one God put in my arms to love. I believe mastering achievements is something God has put in your heart. What an awesome thing that is. But, do it because it pleases Him not me. I am sorry for making you feel that you must achieve to get my love. How can I change that?

There is much more to say but the Bible says “Many words mark the speech of a fool.” So I will try not to be a fool!

Love, Mom

My Mom always knew what to say. Her words helped. I cried bitterly when I read them. We had never spoken that openly before or after. But they also stung because I could see we held very different world views. My Mom was “disappointed” that I had “chosen less than the best” by moving in with Kurt. But I learned in therapy that I have ALWAYS made the best decision I could make in the moment I made it with the amount of enlightenment that I had at the time I made the decision.

My Mom said she believed I was smarter than her, but then she said she knew better than me. It didn’t add up, but it did give me permission, permission to quit trying. My Mom was right, no achievement would ever be enough for her, or for me. She said to find my worth in God, but all I knew of God was judgment and guilt. God said I was flawed and my desires were evil. God said it was selfish to want. So I quit trying to make her happy, I quit trying to make God happy. But I turned my attention to Kurt and to my body to make me feel enough.

T-Minus 10 months

Even after filing for divorce, I still hoped for a miracle during the mandatory six month waiting period in the state of California. The whole divorce process could be stopped at any moment by filing one form with the county. Kurt still had my heart, or at least as much of a broken heart as one could hold.

I was still working brutal hours, trying to get my business ready to be sold and organizing a yoga festival, but I was energized with the hope that the end was in sight. My Mom insisted I needed her support. I told her I was too busy with work to host her. She said she would just come and clean my house and do my laundry while I worked. Great. Mom is getting on a plane and flying across three time zones to talk me out of a divorce.

I was registered to compete in a longboarding competition at my local beach break over Mother’s Day weekend. In all my life, I can count on one hand how many football games, basketball games, soccer matches, public speaking events and debate meets my Mom missed. The number she attended, however, is too many to count. I always looked for her in the bleachers or folding chairs. With each basket scored, each shot blocked, each tackle, I would look up, and there she was. In those moments, I always felt enough.

I was embarrassed to have my Mom in my Princess Cave house. I didn’t have a couch to accommodate a guest, so she had to sleep on pillows on the floor. I didn’t have enough place settings for two, so she had to buy us paper dishware. I didn’t have time to do anything with her because I was hustling non-stop. I didn’t have money to go out to eat, but she wanted to try several restaurants, so she bought all my meals.

The day came for the surf competition. My Mom and I walked down to the beach to check the conditions. I was proud each time a neighbor would recognize me on the street or on the beach. I wanted my Mom to see how I had become a valuable part of my community. I was proud, explaining to my Mom how the waves broke over the sand bars, how the rips worked and the best strategy for getting waves, proving I had learned a great deal.

I had been in a handful of local longboard competitions over the past couple of years, collecting a number of second place trophies. The same local girl took first each time. When I first learned to surf, I told my journal, I want to be the best female longboarder in Ocean Beach. After I moved out of the house with Kurt, he found my journals left in the garage and read them all. He admitted to it, and commented that I had a big ego.

“The best longboarder in OB? Good Luck!” he mocked.

He was right, I did have an ego. But I wasn’t ready to hear it, and definitely not from him. On the day of this particular competition, Kurt and I were on speaking terms, my Mom was on the beach and my nemesis and I had both advanced to the finals. It was go time.

The waves were big by San Diego standards. Too big for longboarding and too big for the beach to handle. They were closing out, meaning crashing all at once rather than curling nicely to the left or the right. But this was my home break. I felt comfortable. My Mom was there, watching. Kurt would surely hear about it. And I had something to prove. I always perform better, the bigger the stakes and with an audience in attendance.

The horn sounded and we all hit the beach running. A large set was breaking out the back and I stopped short. I waited in ankle deep water while the other girls got washed down the beach by the impact. Waiting for the fourth wave to pass felt like an eternity, but I held my ground. Twenty minutes ensued of the hardest surfing I had done up until that point. Big, messy drops and huge wipeouts. Each time, resurfacing and ignoring my physical need for oxygen, the need to win was greater than the need to breathe.

When it came time for the awards, four names were called to the podium. My name, the names of my nemesis and two others. Fourth place was announced. It wasn’t me or her. I bit my bottom lip. Third place was announced and my face lit up: it was her. I took second, again, but I didn’t care. I beat the only one who mattered. I was beaming when my Mom took my photo. We met up with Kurt for lunch after the awards. He had about three weeks sober, and told us about a trip he was leaving on the next day, to surf in Indonesia. Mom said nothing about this.

The next day, Mother’s Day, my Mom and I were having tea when there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see a delivery driver holding a very large and expensive bouquet of flowers.

I looked at the delivery woman, “Band-aids don’t fix bullet holes.” I turned my back and walked away from the door. My Mom rushed over, took the bouquet and thanked the driver. She set the flowers on the kitchen table, the table which Kurt had purchased for me after I moved into my own place. I flopped down in my leopard print, oversized bean bag, the bean bag Kurt had purchased for me for my Princess Cave, after refusing to give me the futon.

Mom opened the card and read it out loud. “For Mom-in-Law, Happy Mother’s Day. Love Kurt.”

I shook my head and wiped my tears. Mom said nothing.

Over the next couple of days, my Mom refinished a patio set someone had given me, sewed up a rip in my coat, bought me several meals out, filled up my gas tank, stocked my fridge and cupboards with food and bought me new shoes. By the time her last day with me arrived, she had done nothing but mother me and smother me with gifts and acts of service. I wasn’t sure who this woman was. I had done nothing to deserve all of this love.

The night before my Mom was to leave, she put on her serious face on and assumed that familiar tone of voice. Oh boy, here comes the sermon. I sat up straight and clenched my jaw. My pain was real, my reality was real. My Mom’s judgment about my decision to divorce Kurt would not sway me. I too put on my serious face, ready for battle. I bristled.

First, she said she saw how hard I was working, trying to make ends meet. She said she was proud of me for what I had built. She said I was making a difference in my community and in people’s lives.

“But Melanie, sometimes you need to say when enough is enough.” She was referring to my business.

“Yeah,” my voice cracked, “Like when you are married to a guy who can’t take his recovery seriously, who takes a surf trip to Indonesia with three weeks sober, who sends gifts and makes promises and then gets high?”

I burst into sobs. My Mom was used to these teary outbursts. But her reaction surprised me. She reached for me. She put her arms around me. She pulled me into her. She let me cry. Was this what it was like when I was a baby, crying in my loving Mom’s arms? Is this what it’s like to have a mother?

She held me a few moments before speaking,

“I don’t know Melanie, I just don’t know. But I do know that God promises to ‘give back the years the locust ate.’ It’s going to get better, one way or the other.”

Mom didn’t know, she didn’t know. Mom didn’t know. Mom didn’t know, either.

But “one way or the other,” Mom supported me. “One way or the other,” Mom loved me.

I wasn’t ready for her to leave when I dropped her off at the airport, a first.

“I love you, honey,” she said as she kissed my cheek, another first.

“I love you too. Mom, I’m glad you came.” I whispered as walls came crashing down and a little piece of my broken heart grew back, new.

__________

*some names have been changed to protect privacy

__________

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