This last week has been one of the epics. I myself remember my first marriage, the births of my children, my divorce, my real marriage, several deaths, several romantic encounters and going back further a host of childhood memories. Most of the time these epic events happen one at a time. The most epic events you know ahead of time to be dreading or hoping for the event to pass to herald a new age (Really, in the simplest of terms a new permanent change). So at the age of 45 I had my first double epic event and even better it was two very joyous events! First, my daughter is safe, permanently, I don’t have to worry about the other parent understanding or accepting their part in the situation. Our daughter gets to decide how much to take and my ex can’t demand she take more. Joy! Second, in a completely unrelated bit of luck a coworker was selling his old daily driver a Yaris! Now he offered me a smoking deal, one I cannot afford. But, I asked him hey I really want this vehicle for my daughter. He’s met Sam, thinks she’s something special and knows how much I’ve been going through. So when I offer to pay him back over the rest of this year he doesn’t blink and says if the one guy who called on it doesn’t accept then it’s yours next Friday! It’s Saturday and my girl has her first car (that she owns and I got for her). Joy number two!!!!! So, in my mind, hell in my world this is a premier week. Child safe, child happy, child has her own car no one can take away. Color me beyond happy!
I’d leave it at that and ride the glow of joy. Unfortunately, my heart, my wife is going through an existential crisis regarding the judge’s ruling and her opinion or view of my self representation in court. Apparently and I am most certain I am not getting the finer points here, these are not my colors and not my painting. I should not have been as upset and shown my irritation in trial and that my indications of frustration and anger at being out right lied on for the last 6+ years culminating in my Ex claiming I sent our daughter to a mental institution when in fact she had final decision making and would not allow any choice other than the hospital or her home in front of the therapist and our child. That my inability to handle things in a perfectly calm and dispassionate manner is some indication of my not being over it or having worked through 35+ years of abuse. This apparently also indicates she may be a “fool” for standing by my side. When I react to this “news” or rather “opinion” processing all that came before with this less than light, let’s call it dim view of what is frankly one of my happiest weeks. I am left irritated (I hate this color, it’s like puce). I should not be irritated because she’s just sharing how she feels and I am not creating a safe space for her to share her feelings. So, I didn’t yell, I didn’t raise a hand all I did was apparently make faces and “cut” her off from telling me how she feels and she can “feel” I’m angry from my body language. For that I am then compared to a monster from Grimm, you change just like that. Ok. So let’s go through the list of rules I have to follow for a successful negative discussion. I cannot raise me voice, cut her off, cannot make faces (furrow brow, squint, rub forehead), cannot be business like, no smiling or smirking. I can disagree as long as my argument or statements make total sense with her world view and she cannot provide any logical evidence or feelings that contradict my statements. Wow, I’m feeling painted into a corner of this canvas! So I have a communication major, who cannot communicate with an abuse survivor who does not accept criticism well if at all from his significant other because of the life long cycle of criticism he has fielded from his mother and his first wife. Painting me again with a color other than happiness… Sadness? Hurt? I don’t like these colors.
I’ve been attacked my whole life and instead of imploding or becoming what I was told I’d turn out to be I’ve chosen to love and be the best form of me I can be. I feel joy, happiness, anger, sadness and love. I choose to spend my time painting colors of joy and happiness for me… They’re my colors, they’re not for everyone and if you can’t see my canvas or the form I’m painting with the colors of my choice that’s not my problem. I’m painting with happiness and while I’d like you to be there with me painting. If you can’t understand that, see that then it’s ok… Just please don’t paint me with the brushes of the past… While I am responsible for all of my choices I am not responsible for other’s perceptions or their needs coloring their view. So please don’t adopt or accept the opinion or view of a person who literally has less than a week’s worth of time invested in what I’ve lived through. The colors will be weak and the lines underdeveloped, even worse it will not have been painted with happiness.