1. Yesterday was my daughter’s 4th birthday. It was also the one year anniversary of the day my ex served me with court orders and temporarily took her away from me, an event that caused the last year of my life to be fraught with stress, pain, and tens of thousands of dollars in lawyer’s bills. The relief from these dark days came just a few weeks ago, when we finally drafted a parenting plan that is being filed with the court. Despite the ringer that my family has been put through, and the rippling effect of the forementioned financial and emotional upheaval that spread across all areas of our daily activities, we are on pretty much the same schedule that we have been sharing for the last couple of years (after Rian turned two we started splitting time nearly 50/50). It is with a touch of bitterness that I can say that the main difference now and a year ago is a neatly bound pile of of paperwork and a lingering panic that I suspect will remain with me long after the specific events have faded from memory. I really thought that I’d be able to walk up the stairs of his house (the same house where I was served with a restraining order against my daughter and told that I could not have her back unsupervised until our case was seen in court weeks later) walk through the door (into the observation tank formed by a wall of bodies comprised of his family and friends) and sit through several hours of my daughter’s birthday party in order to put the past at rest. After our own small celebration at my house in the morning, and the mounting panic I felt building in me as the hours ticked closer to noon, the best I was able to do was to drop her off inside his home with a kiss goodbye and a strangled explanation on the front porch before I fled. I have come a long way in the last year, and made huge steps towards smoothing the glaring imperfections in my formerly volatile, nomadic life. These small personal victories were only achieved, however, after giving up priviledges which I once held for granted: feeling safe in my right to parent my child, several of my closest and oldest friendships (a case of abandoning the sinking ship I think), and a general optimism about life that my internal defense system no longer affords me. As much as I have to celebrate about the last year, I think that my mental state right now is that of the walking wounded. I can do most things. Get through day by day. I can even move forward in my relationship with Rian’s father, grow the fledgling trust between us with small, cautious steps. I think the problem that pushed it’s ugly head into today is one born of the forced bravado I had to exhibit when I was left by myself, with no friends, no close family, a broken relationship, in a state of financial destitution, and with the looming possibility of losing my child hanging over my head. What I could not admit one year ago yesterday is what I have to be able to admit to be able to move forward now: I am still effected by the past. I am still healing. And part of that process is going to have to be taking some time now and then to be by myself, in a dark room, with the sound of my own breathing the only marker of time as it passes under the tidal wave of memories. “I know myself now; and I feel within me, a peace above all earthly dignities, a still and quiet conscience…”-William Shakespeare

    Yesterday was my daughter’s 4th birthday. It was also the one year anniversary of the day my ex served me with court orders and temporarily took her away from me, an event that caused the last year of my life to be fraught with stress, pain, and tens of thousands of dollars in lawyer’s bills. The relief from these dark days came just a few weeks ago, when we finally drafted a parenting plan that is being filed with the court. Despite the ringer that my family has been put through, and the rippling effect of the forementioned financial and emotional upheaval that spread across all areas of our daily activities, we are on pretty much the same schedule that we have been sharing for the last couple of years (after Rian turned two we started splitting time nearly 50/50). It is with a touch of bitterness that I can say that the main difference now and a year ago is a neatly bound pile of of paperwork and a lingering panic that I suspect will remain with me long after the specific events have faded from memory.

    I really thought that I’d be able to walk up the stairs of his house (the same house where I was served with a restraining order against my daughter and told that I could not have her back unsupervised until our case was seen in court weeks later) walk through the door (into the observation tank formed by a wall of bodies comprised of his family and friends) and sit through several hours of my daughter’s birthday party in order to put the past at rest. After our own small celebration at my house in the morning, and the mounting panic I felt building in me as the hours ticked closer to noon, the best I was able to do was to drop her off inside his home with a kiss goodbye and a strangled explanation on the front porch before I fled.

    I have come a long way in the last year, and made huge steps towards smoothing the glaring imperfections in my formerly volatile, nomadic life. These small personal victories were only achieved, however, after giving up priviledges which I once held for granted: feeling safe in my right to parent my child, several of my closest and oldest friendships (a case of abandoning the sinking ship I think), and a general optimism about life that my internal defense system no longer affords me. As much as I have to celebrate about the last year, I think that my mental state right now is that of the walking wounded.

    I can do most things. Get through day by day. I can even move forward in my relationship with Rian’s father, grow the fledgling trust between us with small, cautious steps. I think the problem that pushed it’s ugly head into today is one born of the forced bravado I had to exhibit when I was left by myself, with no friends, no close family, a broken relationship, in a state of financial destitution, and with the looming possibility of losing my child hanging over my head.

    What I could not admit one year ago yesterday is what I have to be able to admit to be able to move forward now: I am still effected by the past. I am still healing. And part of that process is going to have to be taking some time now and then to be by myself, in a dark room, with the sound of my own breathing the only marker of time as it passes under the tidal wave of memories.

    “I know myself now; and I feel within me, a peace above all earthly dignities, a still and quiet conscience…”
    -William Shakespeare

Notes