It's Not Me, It's You

I’ve had my share of abusive relationships to recognize one when I see it.  They stem from a dangerously warped sense of self that tells you you’re lucky to be where you are because no one else could possibly want you.  So you put up with a lot and make excuses for staying.   You settle for less, or nothing at all.  You’re afraid of leaving, imagining all sorts of evils, remembering that old saying “better the devil you know”, and it goes on for years, say five.  The stronger you grow the more you’re demeaned.  Any sign of confidence or esteem is labeled as unworthy arrogance.  When you come to your senses and insist you’re worth more, you’re reminded that there are plenty who can take your place. At some point, when the excuses are gone and you see what God sees, you decide to walk away, imagining all sorts of miracles, remembering the old saying “if God is for me, who can stand against me”, and you step out blindly in faith, declaring your value as a daughter of the King.  Sure, there are plenty who can take your place.   Pray hard for them, for you know well the road they will tread.  

The Single-Mom Survival Guide: 5 Ways to Make Motherhood Manageable and Meaningful

The Single-Mom Survival Guide: 5 Ways to Make Motherhood Manageable and Meaningful

By Rebecca Fisher

I remember driving in circles at 2 am one hellish night many years ago after a long night of inconsolable tears and on and off fevers. I was beyond exhausted, having just worked an eight hour day beginning at 6 a.m., taken my daughter to preschool, somehow made it to work on time…only to have to leave early to pick up a suddenly sick child, sit in a pediatrician’s waiting room with other germ-carrying children and diseased toys, pick up the prescribed medications and recommended foods and finally, play nurse all night long.

So there I was at 2 a.m., knowing that the madness would begin again in four short hours, dreading the thought of having to call in sick again as preschools don’t like feverish toddlers as much as bosses don’t like single-mothers…well, at least not when their children are sick. I had no one to nudge in bed next to me and say, “hey, it’s your turn” - no backup plan for day care, as everyone else I knew had a job or zero interest in babysitting a sick child. Somewhere in the middle of my one hundredth circle around the block, I broke, crying aloud “I can’t do this!” between deep, sleep-deprived sobs.


You can imagine the scene. Between paying the bills and making a home; nurturing like a good mommy and disciplining like a good daddy, juggling the ever-changing schedules, recitals, swim-lessons and play-dates and bobbing and weaving around every other obstacle life throws at you without mercy, there comes a moment for all of us single-moms when we realize, this is impossible!


On paper, the demands of single-motherhood are impossible, and yet somehow many of us have found a way to make it work and raise amazing (and surprisingly functional) children. To be more specific, 11.5 million single-mothers in the U.S. have found a way to survive.


What made the impossible possible, sometimes even enjoyable for me? I’ll tell you. I found these five tips, given me by those blessed matriarchs of single-motherhood who had gone before me, the answer to my desperate plea that night.


1. Build a village. The African proverb, “it takes a village to raise a child” is wisdom that is lost on our society, carrying a 50% divorce rate average and the tolerated epidemic of absent-dad syndrome. Millions of mothers are left to fend for themselves with inadequate-to-no support from society, let alone the father of their children. The best thing I ever did was reach out to the community and find people who had experience, strength and hope to offer me. As much as I loved my young friends, they couldn’t relate to me and couldn’t support me. They were always calling to go out drinking and dancing. Partying was their priority. It was understandable. We were only twenty-one. But I needed the support of people who had lived in my shoes and done it successfully. Since my story also involved abuse and alcoholism, I reached out to a program where support for that was offered, and in that group I found many women who had lived through an abusive marriage, the tornadoes of alcoholism and had somehow come out happy, joyous and free; I wanted what they had, and was willing to do whatever they suggested. “Build a village”, they said. Find three good babysitters, always have a plan B, join a mommy and me group, exchange babysitting with other single-mothers, and learn to lean on other people. When a miserable 2 a.m. would roll around again, I had people to lean on, people who would remind me that I just have to survive one day at a time and it would be okay. It was miraculous what those words did for me. Hope got me through those nights. I had dependable babysitters or other moms who could help in emergencies. I had other young moms who could share and laugh about the everyday joys and war-stories that come with motherhood. I learned that we cannot do this alone. We were not meant to do this alone. Do you have a village?


2. Ask for help. Reaching out to that group was difficult, but well worth the humbling walk. There I was, surrounded by support. But here’s the problem: I, like many women, have a difficult time asking for help. Every cell in me fights against it. I feel like society expects me to handle my stuff. My family certainly expected it. The fact that I accepted government health care was frowned upon. I wouldn’t dare take food stamps! Even though I had built a village, I still hesitated to reach out to them. Sometimes that phone felt like it weighed two hundred pounds. Today, I still sometimes trip over my ego and struggle when it comes to asking for what I need, but I also have thousands of examples to remind me of the peace and freedom that follows. Do you ask for help?


3. Cut the fat. I had a therapist ask me once to write down EVERYTHING I did in a given week. When I handed him the list, he looked at me and said something I think all therapists take an oath never to say…out loud, anyway. “This is insane! You are insane!”, he balked at me, and I think somewhere deep inside I agreed. I’m an overachiever and I have a hard time saying no. I got really good at reaching out and getting involved, but that list had grown exponentially. I was juggling not just one full plate, but at least three. I was sternly given the task of cutting out EVERYTHING that wasn’t essential. The thought was terrifying to me, but life as a single-mother is unmanageable all by itself without the added stress of being the brownie troop leader, the secretary of the youth group at church, the treasurer of the Friday night group, and so on. How important is it? I learned to ask myself that question every time some new opportunity or request came my way. Is it worth my sanity? Simplicity became my goal. As much as my nature fights it, simplicity makes motherhood manageable. What can you cut?


4. Me time. As mothers, we find our worlds revolving around our children and can easily find ourselves lost in the mix. Someone asked me once what I did as a hobby, and I think I laughed out loud. But she was dead serious. This was one of those warrior moms who had been in the trenches and survived to tell the tale. She looked at me, brows furrowed, and said, “get a hobby!” She was porcupine bristly, but I knew she cared about me and, more so, about my daughter. When I don’t get enough me time I get cranky and I start to feel resentful. I snap at my daughter for the smallest of things. I had to learn how to have fun. I was far too serious. I can’t count how many times people told me to “lighten up!” or “relax!” So I started taking classes, which led to a degree, which led to a career that I love today. I remember walking around my college campus, so excited to go to my music class. I loved that class. I love music. I stood there in the middle of the grassy quad area and I cried. I was so grateful for that time just for me. And having the courage to take that time for me led to miraculous things. I took a writing class that led to a short story, which has turned into my first novel, All the Wrong Places. Do you have a hobby?


5. The man rule. This one is hard to write about. I cringe when I think about it. But it is so important. My daughter is one of the greatest blessings God has given me. I would protect her with my life. There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for her. But there were mistakes I made that left her very vulnerable. Being a single-mom can be lonely. I wanted love again. I wanted a father for my daughter. I made the mistake of bringing that need into our home. I introduced my daughter to men who, at the time, I thought were “the one”. But they weren’t, and time and again I exposed her to that loss of a male figure suddenly disappearing from our lives. Luckily, she wasn’t very old before I learned my lesson. Once again, one of those ladies, those angel mamas looking out for me, suggested I keep men out of our home, at least until I had a ring on my finger and a wedding date set. Our babies depend on us to give them security, to make everything okay. We owe it to them to keep their home secure and consistent. I had to learn to keep my dating life separate from my family life. Our kids deserve that. What’s your man rule?


We all need a little grace. We’re all figuring this out as we go along. Mistakes will be made, and lessons are to be learned. But the biggest mistake is going it alone. It wasn’t meant to be that way - there’s a proverb about it, for goodness’ sake! May we all find our village, humility and serenity on this journey of single-motherhood!






Rebecca Fisher graduated with a B.A. in English and an M.S. in Education, and teaches high school English. Her own experiences living in a mortuary in Northern California and raising her daughter on her own serve as the inspiration for the many macabre and eccentric encounters in her novel. She lives in California with her husband and two daughters.


All the Wrong Places is available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble online, and the Rebecca’s website (www.RebeccaFisherBooks.com) in both paperback and e-book format.

Review of All the Wrong Places by Sandra Sanchez

http://pagereadersbtr.blogspot.com/2011/06/all-wrong-places-review-by-sandra.html

The "D" Word: Reading Recommendations

Here are a couple of books I've read on the topic of Divorce and The Step-Family.  They've helped me immensely, though I'm a huge advocate of taking what you like and leaving the rest.  I don't necessarily agree with all of it, but all of it helped change my perspective on many things.  I will add links to Amazon so that you can read a bit of each with more thorough descriptions and reviews.

The first is titled The Smart Step-Family, by Ron L. Deal.


Deal, a family life minister and licensed MFT, looks at every aspect of step-families in the context of a relationship with a forgiving God.  It's practical in that he covers many issues faced by step-families everywhere, including the "sea of opposition" facing them, roles in the family, ex-spouses, co-parenting and letters from step-families who "are making it".  It was encouraging and convicting.









The other book, Divorce Poison, by Dr. Richard A. Warshak, gives advice on how to recognize and respond to alienation in its many forms, from bad-mouthing to brain-washing, in order to salvage the parent-child relationship.  This book offers tools on how to stop reacting and start making a positive change in the relentless cycle of poisoning.  Again, this book was very encouraging as well as convicting.

The "D" word...

Divorce
I know why God hates it.

It hurts just to write it.

It's so much more than custody and property and minor's counsel. Though I have to admit, it was quite cathartic to write those courtroom scenes and that miniature minor's counsel into my novel, All the Wrong Places. The truth is that at the end of the day, none of it matters. The war wages on no matter who is made to pay attorney's fees, no matter who gets the better schedule, because horribly torn and broken people are grasping at anything that might promise an ease to the pain. Children are used as leverage, reality becomes relative and insanity ensues. Casey is fleeing from her dark and destructive marriage, but she can't escape it entirely. I know too well. Sin has its price.

Have you ever seen that paper and glue demonstration? You glue two pieces of paper together and give them an hour or so to set. Did you cringe when they were pulled apart, piece by piece, never to be whole or recognizable again? I did. But I had already been torn to pieces by divorce by the time I saw that demonstration in a marriage conference. Yes, a marriage conference. I had already taken a vow once before, repeating blah, blah, blah, blah, you may now kiss the...figuring I'd give it a go. I mean, it seemed like the logical choice. I must have blacked out during every mention of God or worse or poorer or sickness, and definitely the "till death do us" part. I had bigger worries on my mind. Like the baby I would be bringing into the world in short order and the life I might assemble in desperation to offer it. It seemed like the right thing to do. "And the two will become one..."

For a while anyway. Two years tops. That life I had assembled was falling apart. The lies I had glued it together with were too glaring to ignore anymore. Things got lonely, ugly, scary...things got downright life-threatening. The foundation of sand upon which I had built that marriage was sinking. Lies, infidelity, drugs, alcohol, violence. It seemed every evil found its way into the cracks of the empty promises I had made that day at the altar. It was over before it began. Doomed. My paper was torn into shreds. That baby would be torn too, again and again.

There I sat, years later, in a marriage conference, engaged to the most amazing man I know, feeling like the biggest liar and the biggest failure. When they said God hates divorce, I heard, God hates you.
But I told that lie to shut up, yes out loud, because I knew from experience that wasn't true. When I had finally handed that failed marriage over to God, desperate and dying, He had taken my pieces and had begun putting me together again. As I grew more comfortable on my knees and began giving him more and more of my devastated life, He would fill void after void with peace and love. Sounds happy, happy, joy, joyish doesn't it? Well, that process took years and it wasn't a pleasant thing to behold. I grieved over every sinful and selfish choice I had made. I grieved over the carelessness with which I had approached marriage. I grieved over the damage it continued to wreak on my daughter. I would have to make amends for that damage with patience and love even when I wanted to point the finger and attack with wild rage. In time, a long time, I began to feel His healing, and to my amazement He blessed me with another chance.

I was terrified.


With patience and skill you can glue together those pieces of shredded paper. It's exhausting. But if you hold that reassembled paper up to the light you can still see its scars. The light shines through because in the places it was torn, the paper is thin and weak. Those scars still glow and ache today. The fear of failure throbs when life happens and I lose my faith.


God gave me another chance and quite a challenge. But he gave me a partner who knows my pain, who shows compassion and picks me up every time I stumble. We have what is called a "blended family". Sounds p.c. doesn't it? Pretty Cool? Well imagine a bunch of scared and broken people having to trust each other after the hell they've lived through, blaming each other for the life they can't have anymore and the life they do. Imagine all of the years of hard work they put into building that trust with a solid foundation of God, walls of tolerance and love, a roof of reliability and security. It's fragile. Now imagine all of that being undermined by people who don't want it to stand. People whose wounds are torn open again and again every time they see it grow stronger. People who don't know any better than to start fires and throw bombs. People who don't know God. That's the reality of many blended families. That's the reality of ours.

It sucks! Sometimes.

But I remember the rock on which I stand and it helps me to hold on tighter instead of letting go and running as far away as possible.

I didn't give God a chance to heal my first marriage, but He's promised to bless this one because I've given it to Him. Give Him yours.


God hates divorce, not the divorced.

I've missed you...

It's been a while.  And by a while I mean five months.  Literally, my blog tells me that my last post was in August.  But much has happened since we last spoke.

If you haven't heard lately, I wrote a book.  And if you haven't heard lately, then you don't log on to Facebook much or you nixed me as a friend because I've been haunting you all with announcements of its debut on Amazon, Barnes and Noble and Google Books.  Don't worry, I'll send more :)

It all started about six years ago in an English class at CSUN.  Oh the days of English class...in an actual classroom.  These days I'm relegated to the online "classroom" where you miss out on all of the face to face debate and pounding of chests, oh and the nodding off of your classmates.  I just loved watching others struggle to stay awake, head dropping an inch or two before they awakened quite startled, looked around and slowly but surely closed their eyes again.  But don't feel too badly for me.  One of my students was actually snoring in class this morning.  But I digress...

So the assignment was to write a short story in which you develop a character and some other fancy and insightful direction, but I don't remember the rest of the details.  I just know that a scene had been replaying again and again in my mind.  A woman is driving in the night and it's raining, the kind of rain you only experience outside of L.A.  She has a young daughter of course, but her daughter is asleep in the backseat.  This woman is crying because her marriage is over.  She's crying because she has nowhere to go.  Crying because she doesn't know who she is anymore.  She's reached that moment of crisis when you realize just how small and powerless you really are.  I wasn't sure how her story would unfold, but I knew one thing.  I knew where it would begin.  I too had met with that moment of crisis.  I too was once lost.  I too had felt the significance of my insignificance.  I knew that my character would have to fall to her knees and look in the only direction we can in that moment.  She would experience the freedom of powerlessness, the unfathomable peace of spiritual awakening, the fulfillment of agape and the hope of new life.  She would trudge that promising road, filled with fear and uncertainty, but I would give her what I was given, a new kind of family to carry me through it all.

It's still fun to watch the reaction of people when they come to terms with the fact that really, I'm not kidding, yes, I really did live in a mortuary.  And if you know me at all, you know that I love irony.  I speak its language.  I tease that it's God's way of reminding me I'm not in control.  So to have my character find new life while surrounded by death just seemed natural.  And I get to share a few of the fascinating and gruesome details of my experiences along the way.      

Visit my website for a peek at the first chapter.  rebeccafisherbooks.com

Do I Look Like My Dog?

Research by UCSD suggests that I do.  Resemblance appears to be greatest between owners and purebred dogs.  Maybe if I was squinting...or 1/4 my size or...

http://www.universityofcalifornia.edu/news/article/6241

Below is a link to some pretty funny pet/owner look-alikeness.

Please share your pictures!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=642qxehEcGg