So I don't leave my house...
So add a little cabin fever to that rage and you got me right now, nostrils flared, eyes wild and hungry for blood.
You hear that, Universe? You messed with the wrong one, today. I know I messed up and you proved your point. But "Jessica Vivian" is NOT going down as a cautionary tale, you hear me?
That was the married Jessica with no spine. Jessica Vivian is back....
I don't think you understand.
Jessica Vivian has giant, stainless steel balls. And Jessica Vivian don't take no shit. And Jessica Vivian is big-hearted and patient but nooooo one wants to get on Jessica Vivian's bad side.
And now, Universe, you just made yourself an enemy. You think you can slow me down with this college rejection trick?
You. Fucking. Watch. Me.
"Jessica Vivian" is the machete mama.
I'm trying to show all the single mamas that it doesn't matter how long it's been, how many babies they got, how beat down they were – no one and nothing can take their dreams away without their permission.
My dreams ain't budging so you get on board, Universe, or we are gonna have some serious problems.
I'm gonna sell all this crap I got lying around and I'm gonna CLEP outta some classes because I'm fucking brilliant, maybe you forgot. I'm gonna be in class by midterm this Spring. I'm going to get my education and I am going abroad. Deal. With. That.
J. Viv, out.
*mic drop*
Christmas Doctor Who Seafood
Christmas was good. We had a bunch of seafood because something about Jesus...
I don't remember what the tie-in was. I just planted myself in front of the snow crab legs and ate my pain.
We had a Doctor Who themed Christmas tree with a weeping angel tree-topper. For those who do not speak Whovian, it's a statue of an angel that moves when you blink or look away. If it catches up to you it could kill you or zap you back in time and steal your energy or something like that.
Y'know, spirit of Christmas.
Sword
The post where I get New Age on you but trust me, it's worth it.
So, as you know I experienced a pretty weighty setback recently.
Being denied to this school was aggressively painful because, as I said in the post, to get tripped up at the beginning of the race just seriously stung. I could taste the mud.
And someone once told me that anger is pain turned inside out.
And I was angry.
I was trembling angry and all I could think about was getting a bat and smashing everything. And swearing loudly
Every time I closed my eyes I saw hot, burning anger and me – engulfed in flames – eyes wild and holding a bat looking frantically for something to hit.
It was fuel.
I could feel myself becoming addicted to it.
The anger, I felt, was what was going to help me move forward.
But I knew that throwing my anger at the Universe would eventually catch the eye of my step-mom and "spirit guide" and sure enough, bright and early this morning, I got a phone call.
I almost didn't answer because I knew what was coming and frankly, I didn't want to go there.
I wanted to hold on to the rage fire. It was the only fuel available and I feared that if I wasn't angry, I wouldn't be productive.
But I picked up the phone.
Allow me to detour for a moment because I want to talk about what I think a consciousness shift is.
I think people only hold on to thoughts and habits that work for them – even destructive, harmful thoughts and habits. It depends on your "agenda."
If your "agenda" is to avoid emotional pain then you may self-harm in physical ways that help detour that pent up energy but also distract you from feeling your feelings. Because the worst thing you can imagine experiencing is your feelings.
You get it?
For example, someone who smokes knows the data. They know it's bad for them. They may even want to quit. But if, in the moment, their stress level goes beyond their coping strategy the only agenda is “relieve stress” and all that knowledge doesn't matter. It's time for a smoke.
A shift in consciousness happens when your agenda dies and "the tape" stops playing.
It's that one day the smoker says “the stress won't kill me, I can manage it.” And they do, and they can.
Those harmful habits and coping methods are kinda like walking around in full rain gear just in case it rains. But it's sunny out.
What happens if you peek out from under your umbrella and notice the sun? Suddenly, that snow gear feels silly and useless and burdensome.
You immediately shed that protective wear and it seems ridiculous that you ever walked around in rain clothes just expecting it to rain!
Got it?
Ok, back to rage fire.
So, I can tell that despite my terseness and tight throat she is going to make me push through my feelings and deal with what I am really angry at.
But I did not expect what actually happened.
After pressing me to take some time to think about what I thought "the Universe" was, so I could more clearly examine where I was putting my anger she asked if we could do a short grounding meditation exercise.
I said yes because I knew it wouldn't make things worse but I was in a crappy head space so I wasn't particularly enthusiastic.
So the meditation begins and, having practiced lucid dreaming for over a decade, I'm pretty good at getting into the right space quickly.
As she's talking I see myself again, in my mind...
Only this time, that bat is gone and has been replaced by a sword. And this sword is particularly light. I've got my hand in my pocket and I'm struttin' and whistling and twirling that sword like Charlie Chaplin does his cane. My conscious mind decides that "no! I liked the rage! I need the rage!" and I try so hard to picture myself with that bat and that fire.
But I can't.
That image is just dead.
But the funny contrast between my two selves was this:
Rage Jess was holding the bat, looking for something to hit.
Sword Jess knew there was nothing to hit. There was no real threat. Nothing is against me.
As the meditation ended I was light as air and genuinely could do little other than laugh.
Everything was so clear and so obvious.
It was no wonder my darkest day was on the Winter Solstice. The longest night and ancient symbol of death and shedding. I shouted it in my previous post before I even realized what I'd said.
The married Jessica is dead!
The old me is dead – the me that would have just laid down and given up, that needed someone or something to blame.
And, coincidentally, an acquaintance asked if she could do a Goddess Card reading a few weeks ago,
Okay, I do not know what this means but it seemed fun...like something we'd do at a slumber party in 10th grade because we watched The Craft and wanted to be all ethereal.
This woman doesn't really know me and doesn't read my blog so she knows little about me.
The reading was encouraging. She said a lot of things that I needed to hear (kinda like when Neo visited the Oracle in The Matrix and HE said "I'm not the one" and she said "maybe next lifetime" and then he died but Trinity brought him back and then he realized Yes I AM the one so really she just said what needed to be said to put the right things in motion!) but she said one particular thing that really, really stuck.
She said:
"You've done a lot of intellectual and spiritual growth in the last few years but it feels burdensome to you. You don't know what to do with it. You seem to think it's creating conflict between yourself and others and you use your intellect and spirituality to separate yourself from the world. It's just this heavy thing you carry around but you don't realize that it is a tool, like a sword. You can be decisive and sharp. One day, you'll decide to pick i
t up."
I said, "Yeah like Alice slaying the jabberwocky."
And she said, "Yes but there is no jabberwocky."
Neo like a muhfuggah!
I get it. I get it deep, deep down. I've got a sword but I am not at war. The Universe is not against me, no need to shake my fist at it. That rant I went on last week? That was just my “Lieutenant Dan” moment. Now, I'm as calm as a cow.
My stepmom left me with another truth:
"Keep the goal steady, but be like water toward the path. When water meets a stone in the river, it flows around it and keeps moving."
Yes, my whole family is deep like that.
Going to college is my only goal. I am really unwilling to entertain anything else right now. I have no plan B. My focus is eagle-sharp.
So maybe that particular school was not the way. Maybe it's the right school and the wrong time. Who knows?
But what I do know is that rage is not the way.
Guilt
So, my youngest child is exhausting.
It feels like I cannot possibly make her happy. Nothing is enough. If we go swimming and get a treat she's mad that we didn't have time to go to the park, too.
The other kids get short with her for being ungrateful but I thought back to the situation with Jack and wondered if this was my fault...again.
I noticed that, with her more than my other kids, if she's upset I try to placate her quickly. I don't like when she was upset. I give in and resent her for being so powerful.
The only other person who made me feel that way was her father.
Uh oh...
Here we go again.
I don't want to create an entitled person who is incapable of being satisfied.
The older two aren't like this so what is different with her? Why are my boundaries so flexible with just her?
When I swear that she can't have ice cream, I bend a few hours later.
But why only with this child?
I realized that, subconsciously, I was guilt parenting.
The two older kids had a better recollection of what it was like when my ex and I were together. Jaya still says that “lasagna tastes like resentment” because of all the passive aggression that would be in the air at family gatherings when we lived in Tampa. She still won't eat it. Or chili for the same reason.
But Jordis was so young when we split she doesn't remember any discomfort. And that makes me feel like I took something from her. And treat her as such.
When Jaya was her age she was doing laundry, unloading dishes, keeping her hair brushed on her own, bathing regularly without me asking, doing her homework, reading for pleasure.
Jordis is not doing any of these things.
And why should she? The older ones do it for her.
Yeah, this isn't working.
But you know me, once I identify the problem I stop it immediately.
I gathered the kids and made a declaration that from now until I change my mind, Jordis is the oldest child.
This, of course, delighted her because she thought it meant she'd get some perks of some sort. Jaya, the oldest, usually gets to keep her electronics at night because she's responsible. Jordis's eyes gleamed.
She didn't realize it meant that I would expect from her all the things I had expected from Jaya. Jordis was now the go-to for chores and tasks. I expected her to resist and throw tantrums.
I got the complete opposite. She loved it. She absolutely loved it. She went above and beyond. She wiped windows I never asked her to wipe. She poured us drinks. She tried to make me coffee in the morning.
It was like liquid cocaine. But I drank it because I could see how proud she was of herself.
Jordis was bratty and high-maintenance because she didn't feel needed.
Jaya had a role because she is the oldest. She is the doer.
Jack had a role because he's “the man of the house.” He's the guy who catches the lizards and shoo's the spiders.
Jordis was the baby.
That was it.
No wonder she was angry. I didn't give her a reason to feel capable or proud of herself.
Plus, just like the situation with Jack, when I caved to her whining and her fits I was also telling her she didn't have the tools to handle her feelings.
When I gave her the ice cream, yes, on one level it was just ice cream. On another it was, “the other two can handle disappointment, but you obviously can't, so here!”
Every time I relented, she got what she wanted but she also got her mother giving up on her and giving in. That's no message to send.
So the birth order flip-flop was designed to remedy all of that. I had to train myself to see her as capable. She had to discover that she was capable.
And the birth order flip-flop worked well for Jaya, too, who'd grown tired of being the go-to helper. She was always so irritated when she cooked something and the two littles asked for some, too. After a few weeks off she was sort of offended that no one asked her to cook anymore!
I also made a chart for the two little ones who were falling behind in their self-care after receiving tablets from my sister for Christmas.
I made them a deal. I wrote out that they were to nurture their bodies, minds and space every day.
This meant clean bodies, schoolwork done and space tidied.
For every five days in a row they got this done, they got their tablets back. If they missed a day, the five days started over. And both of them had get it done, so this helped them learn how to motivate each other. Any rude language used toward each other meant offender had to write five things they love about the other and a written apology, and the five things had to be new each time.
There have been some sweet letters and they've all grown super close. I always catch them hugging each other. I don't know if that's normal because I didn't grow up with siblings but I think it's precious.
In short, my parenting game is on point.
Single – February 2014
It’s the day before Valentine’s Day and it’s been three years and four days since my divorce was finalized and there are twelve days until my 32nd birthday.
My blog is exactly three years old.
I am here to report that my stay-single-for-as-long-as-possible plan worked.
When I started this journey, my “self” had no outline. I was, as Liz Gilbert coined, a “permeable membrane.” I had no boundaries. Everything and everyone came in and occupied me and seeped out as easily.
Now my outline is permanent marker thick-dark and solid.
Every week it seems I learn a new skill, and not arbitrary ones like “learning to play poker” but universal ones like “learning when to remove people from my life” and “learning to protect my space” like my inner Warrior leads me to do.
I have become katana-sharp at identifying and removing users and takers.
The sort of thick, heavy obligation and guilt that used to accompany my fear of people’s reactions to my boundaries is gone.
I know there is a lot of romantic notion around the idea of fighting for someone. Rom-Coms and chick-flicks abound with people “fighting” for love and “fighting” for friendship.
I have found, in my life, that this has never been necessary.
And the relationships in which I’m always fighting to keep or please or satisfy or soothe someone, and vice versa, are the least healthy.
The people I can rely on the most in my day-to-day are actually really easy to get along with.
It’s just easy. We’re all fine and living our lives.
The friendships are as automatic and unconscious as breathing.
And that’s become the driving force in my boundary making. I know it won’t always be roses and cupcakes in all my relationships all the time, but I expect it to be pretty low-maintenance, easy - breezy at least the majority of the time.
I know I sound like a monster when I say, “I won’t fight to
keep you.”
But I really exist in a space where I am comfortable with the ebbs and flows of human interaction. People come and go. People change. People are good for you when you’re twenty-five and are neutral for you when you’re thirty. People who you barely noticed when you were fifteen may be your rock when you are forty.
The only constant is change so the idea that your humans will always be exactly the same how-you-need-them-where-you-left-them is just silly.
And speaking of relationships...
Deep Sigh
Three years out of my divorce and I still haven’t seriously dated. This seems to be more upsetting to the people around me than to myself so I’ll take a moment to explain and respond to some of the well-meaning rhetoric that comes my way.
I’ve noticed that being uninterested in dating is what I imagine it’s like to be a married couple uninterested in having children. People say to me, “don’t worry, it’ll happen…” as if I’m spending all my free time worried about the next time I make a poor choice in life partner.
It’s an assumptive little microagression, implying I am are somehow incomplete without romantic cohabitation and coupling.
People also say “you’ll find someone, you deserve to be happy.”
Hmm, so apparently it’s impossible to be happy alone. I guess I’m a walking and talking figment of my own imagination, then.
People say “you just need to find someone to sleep with, to get your groove back.”
Uhhhh, anyone who knows me well knows I had a very thorough sexual exploration period. I have no doubt that my groove is just fine. Secondly, “just finding someone to sleep with” sounds like the least interesting thing ever to me right now. I spent a decade having sex with someone I neither respected nor loved. I think detached sex is the last thing I need.
Let me tell you a little something…
This period in my life is, by far, the happiest I have ever been. I got a katana in one hand and a black permanent marker in the other. I have eagle-sharp super focus on exactly what I want to do with my life. I am actually, for real, kinda in love with myself. I love the results of my parenting. I love my amazing group of friends. I love my relationship with my parents and grandparent and siblings.
Pancakes Taste Like Poverty: And Other Post-Divorce Revelations Page 21
