Who am I?

 I am a 34 year old mother of three children. Aged 12, 8 and 4. I have been married twice, divorced once. My first two children came from my first marriage. 

Once upon a time I wanted to save the whole world. The truth is that I was broken and I thought that if I could save everyone else, maybe I could save myself.

I was born to two very emotionally immature individuals, one of whom was diagnosed when I was a child with Borderline Personality Disorder. My father never told me. I was left without guidance on how to handle it and my mother never sought treatment. Then there was his own issues that I had to handle as well. There's not really a word for his issues. It's not some diagnosable disorder that I know of. Just emotionally and mentally immature.

I never had any insight into why I was the way I was. So as a child I had this deep seated feeling that I was flawed, broken, like perhaps God had made a mistake in making me.

From a young age I was inquisitive. I wanted to know how things worked. I loved digging in the dirt, climbing trees, playing with bugs. I guess you could say I was a bit of a tom-boy but I loved barbies and dolls too. I loved makeup and hair and nails. We'll go with multi-facetted and well rounded in hobbies and interests, now. 

I remember being embarrassed by my mother in public, but not for the usual reasons that kids are, well those too. I remember how she talked to people. I became extremely aware of how she spoke to others and how she spoke to me. I developed hyper vigilance to the tiniest clues that could cue me into what might be coming next so that I could brace for cover.

I remember that I knew deep down that something wasn't right. I just blamed myself instead of anyone else for the reasons. My mothers love would go from hot to cold. She blamed me, she told me how difficult it was to be a mother. She would drone on about what a difficult baby I was. Then she would coo about what a great, smart girl I was to others. It was like jekyll and hyde. What my mother thought of me from day to day changed based on how she felt. 

 I rebelled as a teenager and having my fathers genes for alcoholism, I made one hell of a bad girl. If my parents were going to think of me as bad I might as well fit the part right? 

The truth was that I didn't want to be bad. I liked my edge, but I didn't want to hurt anyone. I just couldn't figure out how to stop hurting inside, myself. So I searched for anything to kill the pain, and I created a rock hard exterior to protect all that was soft and mushy on the inside.

I knew someday I wanted to be a mother. I swore I wouldn't be like my own. I would respect my children's boundaries, I would listen to them, really listen. Not just listen so that I could turn the conversation to myself. Or try to show how much I knew about the subject matter. I would offer them grace as humans and show them I loved them no matter what. And when I said "everything is going to be okay" they would know I meant it, because my word meant something.

I met my ex husband when I was 18. I had managed to "escape" my family home and was couch surfing in another state. I made friends quickly, so I always had a place to lay my head. I was in a military town too, so it wasn't really that weird for people to be unsettled, coming from all over the place. I was young and liked to party. So I was welcomed by birds of a feather.

The ex was in the military. He was dating a girl that I was hanging out with regularly. The girl and I ended up getting a little rental house together for a short time with others before I quickly moved in with the guy.

We hit it off extremely fast. There was magic and chaos, passion and fun. All of those things, I equated to love. Truth is, in hindsight I know I had no clue what love was.

We had a several years long whirlwind romance. It should have been over long before it was, but we both held on for dear life, not knowing what to do with our co-dependent selves, one without the other. 

We were broken up. I was getting ready to move back home after four years when I fell pregnant. It was my third pregnancy at only 20 years old. Yeah, I know. Did we not cover the part where I was a wreck? Catch up. Okay, so I wasn't willing to abort. Deep down I wanted a baby. I thought a baby would give me the motivation to be a better person. I wasn't enough for me to change, but in my mind, maybe a baby would be. I wasn't wrong. Just misguided; or unguided, really. So when he told me to abort, I refused. 

I moved back home to the only place I had left. I had a job, but I didn't make enough to support myself and a baby on my own and even though I had friends, I didn't have the kind of friends who would help me raise a baby. No, I had to go back to my own mother.

Our relationship waxed and wained over the years. The distance helped make the relationship a bit more tolerable. She was excited to be a grandmother and said I could stay with her as long as I needed. 

While I lived with her, I had stopped drinking and smoking cigarettes as I wanted the best outcome for my unborn baby. I was so afraid of miscarrying, like the last two times that I did everything I could for a good outcome. I read the books, I was already a nursing assistant and was planning on going to school to become a nurse. Health was important to me. So I did everything right.

I gave birth to a healthy, beautiful 8lb 6oz baby girl. She was my world. I would do anything and everything to protect her and to create a good life for her. So when I thought that I could go out and drink like a normal person and found out that I couldn't due to that pesky alcoholism I had inherited... I got sober just after my 22nd birthday. I found God and I got my life together.

The ex boyfriend and father of my daughter came back into the picture and we settled down in suburbia to create a life together as a family.

If I stopped the story there, you'd have yourself a happy ending. But life doesn't work that way. I was sober, he had a good job, the bills were paid and I started going to school part time for my pre-requisites for nursing school and stayed home with the little one. 

Despite all of the good, I had depression and anxiety and due to a traumatic event that happened three days after my daughter was born I had PTSD. I was doing all the "right things" but I was still a mess. Having a decent looking life and getting rid of booze really didn't do anything except create a foundation for fixing what was under the surface. I had a lot of work to do. I was still young and inexperienced and untrained. Everything I had learned about doing life had come from my immature parents and television, movies and a couple of decent role models along the way who probably didn't even know they were role models. 

The thing about me though was that I didn't give up. I was still built in such a way that I wanted to know what made things tick. Me, other people. I wanted to figure out HOW I could be the best version of myself for my husband, my daughter and even myself. So I dug. I researched everything. I read self-help books. I went to AA meetings. I read psychology articles on the internet and self-help/mental health articles. I went to therapy. I pushed my husband to go to marriage counseling. I read up on healthy parenting. I went to church.

I did it all, I read it all. I refused to be a product of my upbringing. I refused to be a victim. I wanted to conquer everything that tried to hold me back, to hold me down.

And I did.

It just didn't look how I thought it might look and it didn't happen in the time frame I hoped it would happen in. Yet, no matter what. I never gave up and I still never do. 

My ex-husband and I's relationship was toxic to keep it simple. He does have traits of a narcissist, but he's definitely not the worst of them. I keep low contact with him unless there is something that really needs to be addressed concerning our daughters. He still presents difficulties to me and I don't always agree with the way he parents our kids, but I deal and they're okay, all things considered.

My husband now is a wonderful man and we have a son together. He stepped up beautifully to the role of step-father and I am beyond grateful for him every day. As well as the three beautiful children that this life has blessed me with.

I did finish my nursing degree and worked as an RN for a while. (Another story for another day)

Throughout my journey, I have learned to heal. I have learned to accept and give love. I have learned to love myself. I have learned to let go of things that don't serve me or a higher purpose. I have loved and lost, triumphed and failed. I have battled and beat depression, anxiety, PTSD and addiction.

I still have my struggles, but where I came from vs where I am now are night and day and the day is only getting brighter. 

I once thought I wanted to save the world. I can't. But I learned to save myself and my goal is to carry the torch into the darkness from whence I came to the mothers who are and will be where I once was. To tell them that they are not the only ones and that although I cannot save them, I can hold the light while they do the work to save themselves.

Healing is possible. Health is possible. Loving yourself is possible. Being a good mother when you had no point of reference but your own soul is possible. Perfect, no, but good, yes. No matter where you have been, it does not get to dictate where you go. You can decide.

I hope to share my journey with others. So that those moms who are researching the why, the how and the what's next can hopefully garner some hope, inspiration and tools from my stories on their own journeys.

I will be keeping my identity anonymous for the foreseeable future due to the fact that I will be sharing personal information that has to do with my own family as well as my children's father and I do not want the attention on them.

My story is my own and it is mine to share, but there's no need to drag anyone into the light just because I have decided to talk about it all.

I have forgiven and have a decent understanding of the nuances that creep between the lines of the relationships that have caused me pain. I do not just blame others. That's part of the healing process, which is taking responsibility for what is mine.

My motto is "you're not responsible for what has been done to you. You are responsible for what you do with it and where you let it take you." 

So that is the short version of who I am. I don't fit into a box. I am a free spirit who does not negotiate my peace of mind. Things still try to take my peace, sometimes they succeed. That's life. I always take it back though and refuse to play ball with anyone who doesn't respect my boundaries.

Kids are a different ball game. They're still learning what boundaries are. As difficult as life has been, I am glad that I took the journey I did, because I have a lot to give them that I didn't get. Every day I strive to be better than the day before and I set the example to them that that's just what you do. 

My kids have their difficulties, but they are champions and they've got a lot of love in their lives and a mom who respects their boundaries, gives them boundaries, listens to them, teaches them, fiercely protects them, mind, body and soul and sets an example every day on how to be unapologetically true to ones heart and values while choosing to rise above anything that might try to bring them down. So I know they're going to be okay.

I used to blame myself for everything. I had the lowest self-esteem and the highest tower of things to take responsibility for. 

I still make mistakes. I still operate from trauma responses sometimes. When I make mistakes, I say I'm sorry and I work to change my behavior (that's the most important part). When I am triggered by trauma I have a toolbox to reach into and pull something useful out of to help myself so I don't go spreading that stuff all over the place.

I have learned to differentiate what is mine and what is other peoples, though.

I am The Guiltless Mom.