Life sentence

I am doing a life sentence. No, I didn’t murder anyone, I merely got a divorce.

November 13, 2015 is when it was official, but somehow I am still dealing with the mental and verbal abuse.

He doesn’t specifically call me names, not to my face anyways. He saves that for telling the kids so when they get back home with me, I can hear all about what daddy said or what there soon to be wicked step mother has said about me.

And I don’t mean to retaliate, but I am almost 40 years old. Getting really tired of having to hear highschool drama. I bite my tongue most of the time. I know, just say nothing. But, it’s hard not to when it is so hurtful.

But, the never ending abuse is that no matter what I do or say, it is never the right thing, by his standards anyways.

I am not him, and I will make certain never to be. I don’t parent like he does, but that doesn’t make me a bad parent.

Their clothes aren’t new enough, or don’t meet his approval.

A long sleeved white t-shirt and pink sweatpants does not make a kid a hobo. As he called her that right to her face.

Loud flowery pants are not ridiculous if the kid likes to wear them. Kindergarten is not a fashion show and why can’t she within reason make some of her own decisions. It’s called having a mind of her own.

They obviously frown upon that considering they are all treated like little soldiers.

And it all comes back to me. I am a bad parent for allowing my kids to make small choices in their lives. Why does it matter what design was on her pants. She didn’t look “ridiculous”, she was happy with them and you made her feel bad.

They have clothes on their backs. Yes, the majority are hand me downs, because I just can’t afford to hit the malls and buy them the latest and greatest.

They have plenty of food to eat. They have a roof over their heads, running water and electricity. They have heat. They do homework and go to school each day. I buy them new shoes one at a time as I can afford it. They have backpacks and lunch bags to carry their stuff in. They have beds to sleep in. We do stuff as a family. I make homemade meals most nights.

I punish them when need be and revoke privileges when necessary. I take care of them when they are sick and I urge them to talk when I know something is wrong.

We play, we laugh and we love.

I don’t do things his way, but that doesn’t make me a bad parent.

I shouldn’t have to always defend myself. I shouldn’t have to always feel judged and scrutinized. I shouldn’t have to look over my shoulder constantly worrying that if I don’t do something to his standards that he will threaten to seek full custody or call children’s services on me.

I shouldn’t have to live with constant anxiety.

And yet I take the abuse. Being talked down to like I am a child. Berating me and my decisions.

It is a life sentence of constantly having to hear about how bad of a mom I am because I don’t force my kids to clean baseboards as a punishment.

Because a coat is old and worn and needs replaced, but I just don’t have the money for it right now. I don’t even have a coat.

Or hear about how my one daughters hair was a mess because she didn’t want it pulled up and quite frankly doesn’t give two shits about being perfect all the damn time.

I have to hear about how he gave me everything in the divorce and how he still needs to pay for two households.

I am tired of being beaten down and harassed about everything he doesn’t agree with.

It is abuse.

When my kids are skipping school, not doing homework, running the streets with no clothes, malnourished, doing drugs, stealing, living with no heat or electricity, unclean and unhappy, then he has every right to attack me.

But, that is not the case.

Every day of my life revolves around the lives that I carried in my womb for 9 months. Every sacrifice I make is for them so that I can give them the best that I can give them. I give them my best, always. Doesn’t that count for something?

It doesn’t make me a bad mum.

And yet I am bullied and broken down and because of him, I feel like I am.

I have no leverage to make it stop. He won’t stop and I don’t know what to do. There are no laws or rules that can make it stop.

I just want to live in peace. It has been nearly three years since the separation and I am still being punished. I am still being treated like I am garbage. I am still being made to feel inadequate. I am still being bullied and talked down to.

It makes me sad, it makes me want to cry at times. It makes me angry. It makes my anxiety shoot through the roof. It makes me second guess myself and feel like I am not good enough.

I received a life sentence of being treated like shit from a narcissist. An angry bully who feels superior.

All because I wanted a divorce.


When adults can’t seem to “grow up”…

In the beginning, emotions are raging. Life exploded, but yet came to a standstill all at the same time. 

That sensory overload is extremely disruptive, and there are a lot of pieces to pick up. A lot of questions. A lot of confusion. A lot of everything. 

People make mistakes. People sometimes do stupid things. 

The problem is when people can not move past the disruptive phase. 

I am definitely in a new phase of life. 

One that I belong in.

Life has changed so much over the past almost 2 years. Not just for me, but for everyone. 

I have been through so much chaos along the way. But, no matter how down I get about things, somehow I keep moving forward. Proving to myself that even though I aspire for more, I am worthwhile, and successful in my own way. 

I no longer have time for regret, or to hold grudges or retaliation. 

I am almost 37 years old. I have a baby on the way. I have an ailing father in the hospital. I have three small beings that depend on me. I have way too much going on to hold on to the past.

Some people can’t seem to do this. 

Why? I wish I knew. I wish it would stop. 

I live an honest life. I have nothing to hide. I do the best I can and more almost every day. I try to be selfless and giving where I can. 

Why do I need to keep defending my honor when I know it is true and real? 

Nobody is perfect. You are not better or worse than me. We are equal, but we are different. 

That is all. 

You are not destroying my life or knocking me down. Your childish attacks are only giving me more courage and fight. 

More knowledge, more power. 

So, to you…you do whatever you think you need to do to feel better about yourself. 

I know who I am. 


Todd and I were talking about working the retail life. 

I have been a mere associate, and I have been more. 

I am going to speak from the level of management. It is a much more expansive picture to paint. 

So ya, we run registers. Nowadays we don’t have to worry about counting back change. More often than not, the customer is swiping or inserting a card instead. (I will not even get into my disgust for chip readers). 

But, as a retail store manager there is so much more. 

We pretty much run the entire operation of the store. 

We hire and fire. 

We order, receive and unpack. 

We train and teach our employees. 

We scold and reprimand employees when need be. 

We work up all the numbers each day and are held accountable when numbers are not correct and where they are expected. 

We manage all the transactions, cash, charges, returns. 

We order supplies to make sure we can continue to be operational each day. 

We set sales, reorganize, set up, tear down, change, decorate or promote our products on a daily basis. 

We often skip our lunch breaks because getting the new floor set done is more important. 

We have to get talked down to from higher ups that don’t want to hear any of your excuses. 

Dealing with insubordinate employees, lying, or stealing. 

I had an employee one Christmas that took a 15 min break, and came back drolling and slurring and acting crazy. He ended up shooting heroin on his little break. 

And just like the associates below us, we still have to have a smile on our faces for our customers. 

We have to help and serve them and help them with their needs, because they are the people who ultimately keep our paychecks coming. 

For a measly $400 a week, I was expected to do it all. 
I had people blame me for everything, fight and argue. I have had people who I grew to know very well that appreciated what I did. 

People trying to shoplift. Fighting on the weekends. Ignorant teenagers that were obviously not raised well. 

It was one of the most stressful jobs I have ever had. But, I had a purpose. It felt good that somebody believed in me enough to hand me keys to the store and say, here ya go, you got this. 

So, just remember that as the holidays approach. Although I am not in the business anymore, I know what it is like to get paid shit, treated like shit and yet have so much responsibility. 

Just be respectful. Be human. Be real.