Breaking the silence

Sullivan is a writer. Those words both made me proud and stung at the same time. I have always been a writer. It’s how I process. Many people say I should’ve made it my career. But I fear my passion being stifled. That’s a lie. I am my own worst critic. I don’t want to fail. But I do recognize this gift I have passed along to my child. And I know my failures. Sullivan thinks I’m a superhero. Batgirl. The pink Power Ranger. A writer. A dancer. When I get down, I need to be doing those things. But I have not been writing. Nor have I been dancing. And it is to my detriment. So, here goes…

I won’t go into all the failures of our marriage out of respect for my former spouse (and best friend) and my child. Let’s just say it got ugly. I did things I’m not proud of. It cost me a lot…financially, emotionally, physically. But, in the end, we all realized family comes first. Sullivan is penultimate and his needs come first. So, we are doing our best to get along. It’s a struggle, but worth the fight.

Throughout our marriage – and in our lives before it – was a common theme. Both my ex and I march to the beat of a different drummer, so to speak, from our families. The difference is that his family accepts it. Mine does not. I never did things the same. The right way. Different church. Different political beliefs. Different style. Different interests. Hence, wrong. I was always an outcast. Shunned. Even our marriage was not accepted. I wanted so much for Sullivan to have his blood relatives in his life that I sacrificed. Maybe even my marriage. I was always close to my family…I even practically raised my nephew. Yet, I never quite fit in.

Fast forward a few years (yes, I’m intentionally leaving out loads of bs) and I am getting divorced. It is not taken lightly. There has been no intimacy…virtually no relationship for years. In hindsight, I see a lot of it is due to the strained relationship with my family. I want to be close. But not too close. Spouse wants to be far away. We fight. We all lose. Constant battle. Mostly with myself. In the end, divorce proceedings begin. It’s contentious. All on different sides. All out for ourselves. We all lose sight of what’s important.

After all the struggle – in bizarre fashion – ex and I grow closer. Maybe a better relationship than when we were married. We work it out. We’re all happy with the strange modern family relationship. We all move on. Or so we think…until…

In a nutshell, my family is suing us for visitation. I. Shit. You. Not. I – writer or no writer – can’t bring myself to hash out details here. But the basis is that they are not happy with the amount of time they get to see my child. I get it. The kid rocks. But, who doesn’t have people they want to see more often? Heck, can I sue my ex so that I still get invites to all the parties I attended when we were together? Can I sue friends who live far away to come visit? Can I force a hot guy to hang out with me? Can I sue the government for deploying a loved one? Can I demand that I pick the college for the nephew I cared for as a baby?

My family just basically doesn’t agree with how we do things. I work a frivolous job. We eloped. We divorced. I had sex outside of marriage. I’m not a Republican. We go to art shows. I practice yoga. We don’t believe you have to see your family every day…or that family only means blood relatives. We are not horrible people. Or bad parents. Just different. And, despite our struggles as a couple, on the same page with regard to how to raise our child.

Consider this. Can I countersue? My family should get out more. Attend cultural events. Be involved in the community. Eat better. Exercise. Dress differently. Change careers. And religions.  Meet me for my sunrise walk or yoga. Preposterous? So is this lawsuit.

The attorney is so perplexed he even blogged about it. He says the law is on our side. Unless they prove that our child is not being cared for properly – that we are unfit – they have no rights. They didn’t even suggest that in their pleading. Yet, a judge did not dismiss. The attorney did say I gave a very compelling argument and missed my calling (go me!) but we still didn’t win. So, as it stands we are being forced to comply with the judge’s request for discovery. Lots of money. And time. And effort. We are requesting they drop the suit. If they lose – which our attorney believes – they will have to pay our fees, which continue to rack up daily. It will also likely be a year before trial. And we have ceased contact in the meantime.

The worst part for me – that we are all losers. They say they are doing this for Sullivan. But how is that possible? If they win, we either risk not fulfilling a court order or losing precious time with our child for their selfish desires. If they lose, they will never see any of us again. Family is not blood relations. What they have done is unforgivable. They threw us under the proverbial bus. My mother – who admittedly lied to police, as well as legal and mental health professionals to supposedly protect me – has lost all credibility and sympathy in my eyes.

In some ways, I have never felt so worthless or hopeless. In hindsight, I see that so much of what has transpired the last few years has been due to my family. They want to “help” as they see fit…and as long as I do things exactly according to their plans. They said their goal was for Sullivan to be happy and healthy. He is. I have never intentionally kept him from them. We just don’t do things their way. We are just busy living our lives the way we see fit. As a family.

So, goodbye hopeless and worthless. As the shirt Sullivan gave me says, I rock. I am Batgirl. I am the pink Power Ranger. I am Mommy. We are a family. Sullivan is happy. Healthy. A joy. A writer. A dancer. And so am I.  

Flower for Tony

Apologies ahead of time for the stream of consciousness, but that's how I roll...

I have been tied up with a bunch of things and, although Sullivan turned 5 a few weeks ago, I have yet to sit down and write out his birth story. Since we are super excited to attend the Shepard Fairey and Jasper Johns show at the Halsey on Thursday, however, some aspects were on my mind. So, here goes:

Lyndon and I attended an opening at our friend Andrea's store/gallery, the now-defunct Plum, on April 21, 2009. We spoke with Karen Ann Myers, then the director of Redux, telling her would likely miss her next show that opened exactly one month from that day. Sullivan was due May 9 and we didn't think it possible. We then went to dinner at D'Allessandro's, a Philly-style pizza joint that I adore. The next morning, I woke with what I thought was indigestion from the calzone. Not hardly. I am known to have a high tolerance for pain, but I thought I at least would know when I was in labor. Ha. Sullivan was born just hours after leaving an art opening :)

At 3 weeks, he was taken in a carrier to my beloved Drayton Hall. The same week he went on his inaugural visit to the Halsey. And, at one day shy of a month old, he went to that show at Redux after all. The beautiful and talented Karen Ann Myers was there to greet him...and seemed very pleased that we brought a baby. In a sling. To a quite loud art opening. She instantly became an artistic fairy godmother to Sullivan. I have never been particularly close to her but, especially now that she is a deputy director of the Halsey, it has been fun to follow her career and show her how much Sullivan has grown from that initial meeting.

Fast forward a few years. I am back in Charleston and still enjoy art openings. I have also found other things I love, including walking the Ravenel Bridge. It has become a great place to reflect and meditate...and just enjoy the beauty of Charleston. A few weeks ago, I noticed this:

It is certainly a beautiful lily, but I questioned the placement. Was it graffiti? Part of a project? Was it even legal? I then learned the reason behind it. And it floored me.

Karen Ann Myers came to Charleston for many reasons...the art community, the atmosphere, etc. But her partner was a fellow artist and educator here. They created a beautiful life together that many would envy. He painted an entire series of "Flowers for Karen" and lilies were her favorite. They walked the bridge at sunset, which became the subject of many of his paintings. Maybe they also saw the bridge as a place of enlightenment and peace. And one day, he jumped to his death from the very spot where Karen has painted a lily.

When I learned of all this, so many emotions were stirred. Quite simply, it is always difficult to read about anyone taking their life so suddenly. So young. So sad. What were the reasons? I may never know and it's really not my place to question or judge. I don't know Karen well, but have always felt connected to her. I hurt for her. What she must be going through just breaks my heart.

I have also been a strong supporter of mental health initiatives for as long as I can remember. My confirmation saint, Dymphna, is even the patroness of those who suffer from mental and emotional disorders. I have long fought for the stigma to be lifted...for people to take care of their mental and emotional well-being just as they would a physical ailment. For people to stop hiding their scripts and whispering when making appointments with their therapist. For people to stop judging and comparing themselves to a strange concept of "normal." Was Tony suffering? Was he afraid to seek help? Did he try to just "feel better" and "get over it?" Did people tell him he had a great life and had nothing to worry about? I may never know and, again, it's not my place to question. It just hurts to see so many people losing their lives this way. There are all sorts of campaigns to end drunk driving, gun violence, etc. Why do we view suicide differently...as if it's the person's fault? Just makes me even more passionate...a story for another day.

Lastly, learning the reasoning behind the lily made me think about my own life. The last few years have not been kind to me. I have struggled more than not. Thankfully, I have a great support system and have learned that self-care is not extravagant or indulgent. It is necessary. I have had times where I have felt extremely low, but I have developed ways of dealing with them. Looking at art. Smelling flowers. Getting outside. Walking the bridge. I am so thankful that Karen decided to honor Tony in such an amazing way. Turning something that could be so ugly and scary into a beautiful memorial for others to enjoy and reflect.

Rest in peace, Tony Csavas. And thank you, Karen, for the beautiful "Flower for Tony." May it bring peace to others so that your beloved did not die in vain.

My Crazy Kid

Thought I'd take a break from my usual thought-provoking, brooding entries to share some funny things Sullivan has said lately...because what good is a blog if you can't share cute kid stories?

1. S took the bookmark from my book and, with a diabolical grin, said "did you miss your page?"

2. After an Earth Day fest featuring how things grow, he flipped when he saw me eating sunflower seeds. He was convinced flowers would start sprouting in my belly.

3. Me: Watcha doin'? S: Watching tv. What else would I be doing...sitting on the ceiling?

4. S to L: Daddy you need to be more careful at workshop. You get too many boo boos. That saw will cut your fingers off.

5. S to me: Can we go to Sullivan's Island? I love my name. I love being Sullivan. I wouldn't want to be called Lucy!

For the record, I think Lucy is a great name...just not for Sullivan. And it slays me that he calls Chuck E Cheese "Chunkin' Cheese." Ok, that's all for now. Carry on.

Vulnerability

I've been ruminating on these words by Brene Brown lately: 

“We cultivate love when we allow our most vulnerable and powerful selves to be deeply seen and known, and when we honor the spiritual connection that grows from that offering with trust, respect, kindness and affection.
Love is not something we give or get; it is something that we nurture and grow, a connection that can only be cultivated between two people when it exists within each one of them – we can only love others as much as we love ourselves. Shame, blame, disrespect, betrayal, and the withholding of affection damage the roots from which love grows. Love can only survive these injuries if they are acknowledged, healed and rare.”

When it comes to relationships, past and present, I realize it has been my inability to be truly vulnerable that has caused many of them to fail. And I'm not just referring to romantic relationships, but also with friendships. I have had very few close friendships (and they're faithful blog readers, so what does that tell you?) and one -- no lie -- good romantic relationship. My high school boyfriend. Twenty years ago.

Vulnerability. That's what's been missing. Don't get me wrong. Not all my relationships have been unhappy. We each got what we wanted at the time and, in many cases, we ended up being friends. In fact, some of them were much more successful as friends. Why? Because it was then that I was at my best self.

In a strange way, I purposely chose people who were either overly affectionate and willing to please me or totally gave no regard to my feelings. No happy medium. No give and take. Sometimes it was just a physical attraction and I didn't have to open up about who I really am. Or it made them feel good to belittle me and I willingly took the abuse. In hindsight, I also see that I cast away good people who were truly interested in me. I felt undeserving. Unworthy. Unlovable. 

I have spent most of my life in relationships where I either held back. Retreated. Didn't make waves. Gave in. Or either I was just angry. Miserable. Shame? Disrespect? Blame? Betrayal? I did most of those things to myself. For the first time in my life I am not allowing myself to wallow in self-pity. Nor am I going to fall into the abyss of letting past hurts imprison my present and future happiness. I am vulnerable to my feelings.

And no, my dears, there is no back story here of a Prince Charming and a happily ever after. Instead, I am learning to rescue myself. If I can respect myself more, then I have a much better chance of building stronger relationships. And the one with myself is a good start. 

Not a total failure after all...

Well, I haven't EXACTLY followed through on my Lent blogging plans. AT ALL. But, ladies and gentlemen, there are good reasons so I will not apologize. In fact, if it comes to matters of self-discipline and being hopeful for a reawakening come Easter...then I have done myself proud.

I realized the other day that I have four goals of late: make my bed, remember to take out the trash, stop starting sentences with "dude," and learn to think more highly of myself. I made major progress on the first three this week. But #4 is something I've struggled with forever. Despite the fact that I have had a challenging few years, I am actually at a place of peace. I not only accept what I've been through and where I am but, for the first time in a long time, I actually feel settled. Joyful. Happy.

For one, I seem to have found a great support system. I often joke that I take abuse easier than compliments, but I realized that was a really crappy attitude. And not funny. I really don't want to keep blaming my upbringing but -- as "they" say -- if it's not one thing it's your mother. I was raised not to be selfish or brag about myself, which I can understand. But the result for me is that I question anything I get (even if it's well earned) and I brush off anyone pointing out a good quality they see in me.

If I had to pin down a turning point, it was at a farewell lunch for a friend who is going back to Michigan after wintering in the Holy City. She has never missed an opportunity to tell me that I rock. She also brought me shoes and rum...icing on the cake. Maybe it was her gentle coaxing, but I finally have learned that I am where I need to be, doing what I need to be doing, with people I should be with.

I am sure I will have more profound thoughts as the rest of Lent unfolds, but suffice it to say that I may have failed on the goal I set. But, in the end, I am succeeding in the mission.

Namaste, y'all.

Blessed

One of my favorite things about visiting Winston-Salem -- maybe even more than apple fritters -- is everyone  wishing you "a blessed day." Now this is very different than "bless your heart" which could be a topic for another post.

On this particular visit, I really took this saying to heart. I have spent so much time focusing on the challenges and negative aspects of my life that I have not realized all the blessings. I also spent a lot of time doing things out of the ordinary. I had girlfriend time. I went places on the spur of the moment...just because. I reconnected with people and places that I had been missing far too long.

I truly had a blessed weekend. And I do lead a blessed life. I have had some wonderful opportunities thrown at me, from places I've visited to people who have graced my life with their presence. I could make myself miserable by counting my troubles. Or I can creative positive energy by counting my blessings. I choose the latter.

Y'all have a blessed day...

Me, Myself and I

So, I've been thinking. Yes, I do more than take crummy photos on those early morning walks! I'm pretty sure most of you know that I have been going through a lot the past year or so. Ok, more like five. I feel like I've been a hot mess. Others tell me that they had no idea since I seem so upbeat all the time. Ah, well. Just another paradox of being Steph.

Unless you have been living under a rock, I am certain you have seen or heard a mention of the controversial "bossy should be banned" concept. I have never considered myself a feminist, but this really resonated with me. One of the things I have been considering a lot lately is how my life was shaped by how I was raised and how I choose to raise Sullivan. I've been a nanny/babysitter/mentor/teacher much of my life, yet it was like I started from ground zero with my own kid. But that's a story for another day.

My formative years were also somewhat of a paradox. My parents weren't ultra strict, conservative, or fundie (shout out to Jenny for that term) and even encouraged me to explore other political beliefs, cultures, and religions. All was cool with them, I suppose, as long as I came back to my traditional beliefs in the end. It didn't exactly happen that way, though, and I have always been somewhat of the black sheep. I was also raised to believe that I could do/be anything I wanted. Astronaut, doctor, lawyer, etc. But, if I got married and had kids...forget it. That was all supposed to go out the window. Being a wife and mother would trump everything. My life would end. Having my own life? Selfish. Getting a babysitter for a date night? Nope. Getting my haircut or going to the doctor alone? Not gonna happen. Oh, and even if you bring home the bacon, fry it up, and wash the pan...daddy-o rules the roost. Throw in that divorce is not an option, especially if kids are involved. Suck it up, buttercup. And if you happen to divorce, just plan on not dating until the kids are grown. I. Shit. You. Not.

All right, back to my point. Yesterday, I introduced a relatively new friend to my idea of "me time." It's not like I am cooking meth or pole dancing. It usually means indulgent things like errands or yoga or an uninterrupted bath. Contrary to what I was raised to believe, I truly believe these things are necessary. Does Sullivan really need an anxiety-ridden basketcase for a mama? Rather than be a martyr, I would much rather model healthy behavior for him to emulate. I also think about flight safety guidelines -- put on your mask before attempting to help others. And it's not like I haven't been taking the kid with me since he was a few weeks old in a sling.

Yesterday I dropped Sully off late and picked him early after being the guest reader in his class. In the meantime I did a few things by myself that included a trip to Donut World. Call me selfish, indulgent, whatever you want. But I do not regret it. And I did share :)

Enough deep thoughts for this early in the morning. Over and out.