Grievie Grievie, Nunnery Scene Peevey (Hamlet in the house!)

To grieve, or not to grieve, that is the question.

Whether ‘to nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and, by opposing, end them.

 

Psssst…  if you are a Mommy*, you don’t take the time to ponder these things.  You get up.  You do the things which need doing.  You go to sleep.  Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

 

You grieve in your own way in your own time.

 

None of it makes you courageous or brave or really, anything, other than alive and a mom.

 

I cannot pinpoint the time where I made the definitive decision to no longer suffer the slings and arrows.  If I could pinpoint the time where the decision was made, I can assure you that I did not consciously decide to take up arms against a sea of troubles.  I can also assure you that by opposing the slings and arrows, I did not end them.

 

I can definitively tell you the exact time that I experienced the final straw for tolerating threats and abuse in my home.  Truthfully, honestly, though, I had no idea of the snowball I had put into play by taking a stand for my child and myself.

I am a teeny tiny minority of those who have taken a stand against domestic violence, and have come out the other side of divorce (as a result of domestic violence), alive and with full sole legal and physical custody of our child.

 But, I still grieve.

 I grieve for all of us.

 Some days are so hard. 

 

On the days which turn out to be most difficult, I doubt my entire existence (not purpose, of course, because, being a mom does not provide for that).  What I mean is that I question the appropriateness of me, as specifically “me.”

Some have described me as “brave,” “courageous,” “compassionate,” “strong.”

The truth is that I am none of these things.

Those are words describing the actions of someone who had no idea what was/is coming, on somedays, hour to hour.  There is no planning in response to constant crisis.  There is no intention of bravery or strength.  There is only survival and the responsibility of being someone’s mom, mommy, momma.  When your vulnerable child is desperately looking to you to keep their world from spinning into nonsensical chaos, and you are the mom, you have no choice.

No choice does not equal courageousness. 

No choice is reactiveness survivalism.

 

When I am grieving, please be patient with me.

 

Please remember that I feel none of those positive words you are ascribing to me.

 

Please remember that I cannot see that “everything happens for a reason” (primarily because I think this is bs).

 

Please remember that I am desperately trying to “hear and understand the messages the universe is sending” to me so that I may learn from them, so that the awful things stop happening (even though this too is bs, and makes no sense when it comes to real personal trauma).

 

When Mr. Shakespeare was writing “To be, or not to be…” it is clear he believes that opposing wrongness is a choice we all wax and wane on, fully aware of definitive consequences.  If that were true, I think that my grief would be much more productive with a defined end.

Which would be much more neat and tidy for everyone, of course.

However, that is not how my decision to leave a domestic violence situation was made.

Also, it is not the process of my grief.

I do expect that I will be better prepared to respond to my intense moments of grief, as we continue to move from just being acquainted, to intimate mates (is this ageing or…?).

My grief seems to always demand that first I am accepting of “to be” just me, without the option of “not.”

Love, Ms. Herisme

*or any fit (defined by humanity, not legally) parent or guardian