Christmas Aftermath

For years after my parents divorced, I struggled through my birthday and Christmas. We (a general we, not just me and my system) are brought up with Hollywood's idea of the Christmas/Birthday miracle. You know the one where the main character struggles through some horrible problem - death, abuse, homelessness, hunger, poverty, etc.  - but on the birthday or on Christmas day, the miracle happens and the problem is overcome.  Abusive parents become humble and loving. Alcoholic parents or caretakers finally see the light and love the child enough to change. Unemployed parents find the golden job that will change the lives of the entire family. The homeless parent will find a story book home in a story book neighborhood, and all will be well. I approached each birthday and Christmas with hope springing eternal, only to have that hope slapped down good and proper by the end of the day.

On each birthday, I longed for my father to call and say, "Happy Birthday." Of course if he had remembered to call, he would have called me unspeakable names and forgotten it was actually my birthday, but at least he would have called. I could have pretended that some part of his sub-conscious mind knew it was indeed my day. But he never called, and by the time I was 12, I hated my birthday with a passion.

The year I turned 13, I thought for sure he would call. I was now a teenager, he had to remember. Right? The day wore on and no call came. I had friends over, and we went to the high school to play Dare Base. By the time we began walking home, I was in tears. Why couldn't he remember my birthday? I was so sad. My friends asked me what was wrong, but I couldn't put it into words for them. I was just sad, so we sang, "It's My Party and I'll Cry if I want to," all the way home - which helped. :)

Christmas came a few months later with all those same feelings. Certainly Dad would grow up this year. He would see how much he loved us. We would matter, and he would clean up his act and come see us. But Christmas came without any sign of a decent father - or even any sign of my indecent one. :) This went on year after year until one year I met a man who healed my birthday and Christmas issues.

Although I didn't end up marrying this man, he was sent to help in my healing process. When my birthday rolled around, he wanted to make a big deal of it. I told him, "No, I don't like my birthday." I went to class that night, so that he couldn't do anything for my birthday. If I didn’t have any expectations, I couldn't be disappointed. Halfway through class, he showed up with a double layer full sheet cake ablaze with 100 candles. Oh my word, I could hardly believe it. When I told him I was not 100, he said, "Yes, but didn't it look so cool with all those candles?" He showed me how to enjoy the moment with little things like 100 flaming birthday candles. Plus, I knew what he did, he did for me. He made me feel like I mattered.

He did the same type of things for Christmas, and I made a decision right then and there that from now on, I was reclaiming my birthday and Christmas. I would enjoy the small joys of each day and no longer allow my father to ruin them. I can say that for the last 14 years, I have enjoyed both days.

Christmas this year was peaceful and joyful. I am thankful for the people that Heavenly Father brings into my life to help with my healing process. I pray that all of you who read my blog had a very Merry Christmas!

Scrapbooking – the Key to Unlocking Emotions and Memories

Yesterday as I was scrapbooking, I came across a picture of two of my sisters and I that was taken at my aunt’s house. Christmas is depicted by a tree dressed in red and silver balls and an assortment of other ornaments. A Santa lounges either near or on the tree, his white beard in sharp contrast to his red suit. On the hearth of the fireplace rest poinsettias and two large red dolls that could be angels or carolers. My sisters and my cousins sit with me on the hearth – with me in smack dab in the middle. I have a cousin on each side me and one of my sisters sit beside them.

Five girls who all look happy, well fed, well groomed (which for us didn’t happen often), and well dressed. I am between the ages of eight and ten. Our little sisters were not with us on this visit. They may not have been deemed worthy to keep the truth from our aunt. Perhaps Mom was worried they would tell about a new or impending baby.

I remember the conflict of emotions I felt when we visited our aunt. I loved her house; it seemed regal in cleanliness and décor, but at the same time, I felt anxious that I wouldn’t fit in there – that I wouldn’t be clean enough to be there, or maybe my hair wouldn’t be styled appropriately for Aunt’s house. I knew we were outclassed with every breath of my tattered esteem.

Of course we were warned before we left our home to keep the secrets of the cult. I spent the majority of the visit in a state of anxiety, worried I may slip and say something that would land us in a dreaded foster home. Foster homes were a constant threat. Horrible things happened to children in foster homes (or so we were told). The outside world couldn’t understand the cult. We were so far above the outside world living our higher laws that they couldn’t possibly understand – instead they would judge us and our mother would end up in jail. We had to keep the secrets of the cult.

I looked for proof of what my mother had told us about our aunt during our visit. The nice furniture was surely a sign that she loved money more than children. The fact that she only had two children was proof that she was selfish and cared more about parties and fun than being with her children. When we told Mom about Aunt’s nice car, we were told, “Which one of your sisters or brothers would you give up to have a car like that? Aren’t your siblings worth more than a car?” Of course this made me feel incredibly selfish and self-centered. I certainly didn’t want to be the kind of person who cared more about material things than spiritual things. All of this led to an emotional distance from my aunt. During our visit, although she was always kind and loving, I didn’t trust her because I truly believed she was selfish.

After our visit, during the ride home, I would run everything that happened though my head. “Did I say too much? Did I say anything that would hurt the cult? Am I going to cause something bad to happen to someone I love because of anything I said?” The other things that worried me were, “Did she notice my shoes were scratched up? Did she see the stain on my shirt? I should have worn the nicer underwear to Aunt’s house.” Not that she could see my underwear, but I worried that she could just sense when everything wasn’t perfect.

This picture makes me angry because it reminds me of the dysfunction of our life. We were made to distrust a perfectly good, kind woman. We were taught that she was shallow and selfish. We didn’t see her devotion to her children and husband because we rarely saw them. We were led to believe that having a nice home and possessions was despised by God and that somehow our polygamist lifestyle full of want and need was far better than her lifestyle of security, cleanliness, and safety.

Instead of distancing me from my aunt, Mom succeeded in causing a chasm in my relationship with her. I don’t trust my mother. I don’t trust her to be honest with me or to protect me. There are many things I am thankful for about my mom, but the chasm is there. I don’t know if she can feel it, but I feel it every day. I wish it wasn’t there, but the damage was done - damage that happened in order to protect a cult that I despise.

I am close to my aunt now and have been for many, many years. I am thankful for her positive example of how to parent and take care of a home. I am thankful for her example of what a strong woman looks like. I am saddened that the little girls in the picture were denied a close relationship with their cousins and family who lived outside of the cult. We needed them.

As I scrap this picture, I am torn with what I should title it - what should I say in the journaling? Do I make it a happy layout and vent here on my blog, or do I write the truth on the layout? I think I will make it a happy layout, print out this blog entry, and put it behind the layout. I can have it all. :)