Why do we love the transformation story? because- so many of us Amraricans have been brought up on this bedtime story. A wayward son- reconciled with the father, a ugly woman made beautiful by love. A coward ultimately deciding to be brave. I admit- I crave this type of narrative. In my classes, I can not bear a sad- Woe- unto me,” story of neglect and appealing abuse. Something inside me shuts down, when I read abuse stories, the wartime stories of domestic violence and abuse fall flat on me. Is it because so many embellish and therefore take advantage, or is it a deep, internal flaw I can never carve out of my soul o matter how much spiritual searching I do. I believe people write and tell their stories in such graphic detail- primarily because they are: deeply lonely and angry, and somehow wanting to provoke.
I only say this= because this is the only reason I would speak about my fierce anger, and crippling loneliness. Its never to get sympathy, (which I would hate you for.) or to show off how horrible a person I really am. or how out of sync I am with the modern Christian world, with all their “Small-group, meetings, and how the modern Church has not changed at all in the recent centuries and that it does not give a flying FUCK about family life.- By the Way…. I only use serious profanity when I am so overcome with emotion – I know no other way to convey the sense of deep resentment, loss, and anger towards someone or something, and therefore result to the baseness of profanity. here is the truth:
- I hate church life and all its “churchiness.” never could get the hang of it.
- I loved hymns and gospel music as a child, would weep and agonize over my sins and shortcomings as a child. And yet- the more I confessed and repented, the more I screwed up and feared.
- I was a fearful child. Anyone who know me from way back then,” can trace my various reactions or emotional outbursts to fear. Deep Deep Fear. The kind that goes down to the marrow. Whenever I gathered the courage and bravado up to ask a church leader or sunday school teacher about my fear of dying or unworthiness…. I was met with this, ” Well, There must be something wrong with your spiritual life.” I would agonize and fret over this. As a Child (elementary age)- I often cried out of fear of dying or being bad. My parents struggled (In their own way) with this same concept.
- now-days- I hate Sunday School with a Passion. So ridiculous and fake. Too Superficial for me to get myself all precise and my two babies dressed, diapered, feed, and happy- only to sit in an aluminum chair for an hour, (feeling like the chump I am)- bored, and pretending, like everyone else in the room to be happy and saintly.
- So- I don’t go. Stupid. Here is the thing though…. When I was a child and into my teenage years- I had a sensitivity towards spirituality. I would mop the kitchen extra clean, as a way to make extra points in someone’s tally book.
- I would read scripture over and over, and would hope I would become more loving towards people. Especially stupid people: like my girlfriends who were going out with douche-bag guys and then crying to me on Monday about how they were treated. It became even more difficult when my ow brother was the douche-ass hole. Treating the girls like objects and less than human.
- I hated them for their weakness, and I hated myself for the same reason. I loved this brother completely- and he epitomizes my worst fears.
- So.. that makes me hypocrite #1.
– I don’t go to church- if truth be told. This past week- the local church– the one I am supposed to be attending, had a marriage… service? Program? what would you call it, I wonder? A popular Christian Couple- who has written numerous, numerous, numerous books on the subject of marriage and how to do it… FOREVER- talked about nonsense for 2 hours and all I have to show for it- is 2 sick children (nursery germs) and a headache. The kind of headache you get from Pretending to believe what you have heard is profound for the sake of show- when in reality you are bored as hell and all you have heard is what your mama and grandma have told you ti e and time again.
Basically, EVEN IN 2015: here is the deal.: Communicate. Communicate your shit, his shit. and I do NOT mean – high school loves or crazy college nights…. I mean communicate to him- that when he walks in the door after being on the deer stand for the last 31/2 hours, and he is all refreshed and revived from the great out-doors.. in the mean time… you have picked up kids from daycare- after your own day job, waded through waters of tired- toddler- tsunamis and started supper, folded laundry, answered emails, defussed fights over a toy, given out gold fish snacks, pacifiers, bottles, baths, and wiped numerous butts- there is NOT a charitable bone in your body towards Anyone…. much less a man coming home- all happy and smiling and looking like the breeze itself- from his reprieve on the deer stand.. or whatever it may be-
What you are feeling – COMMUNICATE TO HIM…. whatever it is you are feeling. Perhaps, you are congratulating yourself on feeling: ultra- tenderhearted, the equivalent of a sexy Marilyn Monroe, and sainthood of Mother Theresa- if you feel this way 50% of the time, then this post is not for you, and we will never be friends. This post is for those “OTHER” women.
Compromise. Walk into marriage knowing it is NOT a Cinderella fairy tale- you MUST compromise. Compromise means More than the guy wanting to do his own thing, or wanting to “do” things yall may have done once.. drunk… on a beach…. 7 years ago… No, No, No- COMPROMISE – means – tit for tat. ” I will do this, if you do that.” Sorry, pretties: but this is the truth of the matter.
Because so many husband live in a visual and shallow world… – to be attractive after… say baby number 2 or 3 or whatever your number may be… you have to go on a diet. Sorry- it is the truth. Women are pressured to go back on the never-ending diet and stay on a diet until they look like a skinny enough. As if your life can not get anymore….. not depressing (ehem…)… different? Also- compromise.
In Marriage and Motherhood: I am beginning to wonder if “compromise,” is a dirty, foul word, only meant to scare our daughters from teen pregnancy, and young married life.
So often- these days, I wonder: what is going on with me? Knowing that if I were to peep a word to any particular person- any and all amounts of judgements would be heaped up and pilled on me, all hurtful and never helpful. Motherhood and Wife…ness (?) is a lonely place.