7. misunderstood

It’s day three of my bleed. This morning there was a conflict in our family that completely derailed me emotionally, and I’m still processing.

I’m writing from a tender, angry, lonely place as the only woman in a family of one man, two boys, and a male dog. 

The long and short of it: Tanner (8) and River (almost 4) were picking on each other this morning, as they often (seems like always) do. Tanner uses his brains and manipulates River, and River uses his fists and hits, pushes, or screams when he’s upset. It is fucking exhausting trying to keep them from fighting, and to a certain extent, it’s fine. It’s normal for siblings to fight, whatever. But it creates tension in our house, which at a certain point, creates tension in Brent or I, and we boil over. 

One such boiling point this morning: Tanner was playing with Catty, a small stuffed leopard, making him dance along the back of the couch. Cute, right? Except River wanted Catty, and Tanner knew that River wanted Catty - enter the drama. 

Brent saw that Tanner was teasing, and called him out. Tanner defended himself and got angry, acting as if he didn’t understand why it was problematic for him to play with Catty. The dynamic escalated (raised voice from the adult, dirty looks and crossed arms from the child) and I started to get activated. I could feel my heart rate increase, anxiety in my voice, and I intervened. 

The details of what happened aren’t really that important, because this isn’t about them - it's about me. It’s about my inner child, my maiden, my yelled-at little self, and my identity as a woman - and how that plays into this dynamic in a way that seems to always leave me feeling misunderstood. 

River makes Tanner jealous. 

Tanner makes River angry or sad. 

River yells, screams or hits. 

Tanner gets blamed; then defensive. 

Brent threatens a consequence (like taking away toys)

Everyone gets upset. 

I get anxious and protective of my kids.

I feel like I AM In trouble, and intervene. 

Brent feels disrespected by the intervention.

Tanner feels justified. 

River feels worried because everyone is upset.

I feel angry, sad, and misunderstood.

Within 10 minutes, the boys had all resolved their parts of it. Brent spoke calmly with Tanner, Tanner apologized, everyone had hugs and they were all okay. 

Except me. I was not okay.

Tearful, frustrated, closed-hearted, I found myself unable to ‘come back’ from the conflict.

Then my husband asked me, “We’re all good, we’re okay, why aren’t you able to feel okay?”

Inside my heart-mind, a swirling of images, sensations, experiences. 

Being yelled at by my father, feeling afraid of him, and my mom staying quiet, because she respected him. Her later crawling into bed with me and crying, not out of fear, but out of empathy for my emotional experience. 

Watching my ex scream at his daughter, and not intervening, because she wasn’t ‘my kid.’ Years later, learning that when I left her dad - to save my own life - it formed a wound she carried for the next 13 years until we found our way back to each other.

My whole life, being told the problem was ‘my tone of voice.’ Not being able to regulate my tone of voice at all when I am experiencing strong emotions. My emotions make me unacceptable and unable to be with, unable to love.

Boys growing up to be men who don’t express emotion because they’ve shoved it all inside - because they’ve been told they can’t have a DIRTY LOOK or CROSSED ARMS. Compliance and obedience being labeled 'respect.'

Feeling my husband angry and frustrated with ME for trying to protect OUR son from unfair consequences. Simultaneously experiencing anger, frustration, grief, and fear of losing his love. 

Hearing the story of original sin. It was the woman asking questions, the woman rebelling, that caused all the problems in the first place. And the one who wouldn’t submit, Lilith? She became ‘the mother of demons.’

Weight of the responsibility of mothering. Knowing that my children DID NOT ASK to be born, and they do not OWE us anything, no matter what we provide for them materially. That is our job. Their job is to grow into full humans. 

Being slumped against a wall, tongue cut out, with my young son sitting next to me, a soldier standing over us, completely helpless, completely defeated. An ocean of grief expanding within me until it swallows everything, everyone, all of time, into the pit of this ancient wound.

Unshakable bodily sense that somehow, it’s my fault. This, that, the other thing. Their anger. Their sadness. Their lack of mutual care. If I’d only done (insert anything here) differently, they would be better. This would be better. 

I’m too much. I’m not enough. Can’t trust my body. Can’t trust my protective instincts. Others know better. 

Dominator culture. Patriarchy. Dominator culture. Patriarchy. Dominator culture. Patriarchy.

“We’re all good, we’re okay, why aren’t you able to feel okay?” he says.

I think about the magnitude of my response, aware that it is beyond their comprehension, beyond his lived experience, beyond possibility of being understood - at least, not now, not here, not at 10:30am in the kitchen, when the boys just want to go play in the park. 

So I look him in the eye, and say, with as much love and groundedness as I can muster: 

“There are parts of my response to this situation that you cannot understand. That perhaps you will never understand. That maybe it is truly impossible for you to understand. Just love me and trust my process." 

He holds my gaze, loving, curious, patient, and kind. 

“Okay,” he says, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” I reply. 

Even now, I blink back tears feeling my tenderness towards the deepest wound of the world, given to me as an assignment, shown to me everyday, in countless ways. 

How do I embody the Great Mother in this motherless world?

I hold my soft belly and beating heart in my hands, breathing, slowly now, letting the tears fall as I write. 

I don’t know. But I do know that figuring it out, learning, one faltering step at a time, is the reason for my life. 

So I will continue, misunderstood. I will carry on and continue healing the wound in me, so that the healedness weaves rainbow threads of possibility from the loom of my body into the vast tapestry of the web of life.