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Background: http://www.dailystrength.org/c/Post-Traumatic_Stress_Disorder/forum/21431619-road-trip
Of course the road trip was completely derailed by the current family drama. The Significant Other is long gone and the whole affair has been reduced to a Fuck Buddy break-up drama. FB ex cliche? Whatever. . . Gone is gone.
Eldest son (36) is still mostly incognito. Prayers in progress. I am not doing well in forgiving the two broken windshields, et al, however much eldest son believes Toxic Mothers deserve the punishment.
Hubs, youngest son (32, father of 2) and I seem to be making some hopeful progress. Maybe? Small steps, big faith and lots of prayer.
When I retired from construction in 1995 to take charge of out-of-control adolescents, my very first task was to attend a series of court-ordered psych workshops with youngest son. He was 11 years old and had been popped for curfew, a beer and marijuana. First offense. He and I have been pro-actively pulling the tools we learned in those workshops out of the moth-balls and working them to the max. Hubs has been listening and even singing harmonies. The harmonies are not competing with the Motown sound, but it just might be something we can work with.
Within that body of yaddah blahs is a theory that the S.O. and I planning a road trip is what triggered the current cycle. Hubs and youngest son are sounding like fellows who just might let my road trips graduate from housewife spa trips to field research. Maybe. Time will tell.
It feels surreal that the road trip planning was only a bit more than a month ago.
Of course the road trip was completely derailed by the current family drama. The Significant Other is long gone and the whole affair has been reduced to a Fuck Buddy break-up drama. FB ex cliche? Whatever. . . Gone is gone.
Eldest son (36) is still mostly incognito. Prayers in progress. I am not doing well in forgiving the two broken windshields, et al, however much eldest son believes Toxic Mothers deserve the punishment.
Hubs, youngest son (32, father of 2) and I seem to be making some hopeful progress. Maybe? Small steps, big faith and lots of prayer.
When I retired from construction in 1995 to take charge of out-of-control adolescents, my very first task was to attend a series of court-ordered psych workshops with youngest son. He was 11 years old and had been popped for curfew, a beer and marijuana. First offense. He and I have been pro-actively pulling the tools we learned in those workshops out of the moth-balls and working them to the max. Hubs has been listening and even singing harmonies. The harmonies are not competing with the Motown sound, but it just might be something we can work with.
Within that body of yaddah blahs is a theory that the S.O. and I planning a road trip is what triggered the current cycle. Hubs and youngest son are sounding like fellows who just might let my road trips graduate from housewife spa trips to field research. Maybe. Time will tell.
It feels surreal that the road trip planning was only a bit more than a month ago.
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I don't really know how to label this but I having a rough week and I can't say it's one thing.... I have a lot on my plate which is nothing new and I try to cope in many positive ways and do but I still have my moments.My kids more so my daughters talk to me about everything which I know it's cause of comfort and we are close.... however I really struggle with the venting about their dad which...
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I did the dumbest thing today. I charged my earbuds, unplugged the block and put the block in my little bag instead of the earbuds. I wasn't happy about that when I got to the gym. What a dummy!
Let the dream motivate, let reality dictate.
The dream: getting back to the wandering life I was raised in and am still remarkably well adapted to. North America's mid-continental hydrology still calls me continually. It is an amazing system of watersheds.
Current reality: I want my family. Losing my birth family hurt (still hurts) bad enough. I am not sure I can handle losing another family. They are townies. Sure is hard for townies to understand the wandering ways. They keep mistaking it for housewife spa trips and two week vacations.
Or. . . Maybe my delusional psychosis is rearing its ugly head again. . .
Still sorting. . .