February 5, 2015
According to my adult friends, I’m not very good at keeping secrets. I had my first and only extra marital affair in my 15th year or marriage and apparently needed to tell all my friends. Was I proud of the affair? Why couldn’t I keep this to myself? I guess I was in love (not really) and needed to shout it from the rooftops? Seriously, you idiot? Infidelity 101….Shut the fuck up! So I failed at cheating and I failed at keeping a secret. But why? Why wasn’t I so ashamed? Clearly, I am able to keep secrets at I told no one of my childhood indiscretion (ummm…I mean….his indiscretion–sorry– tasteless joke…). I didn’t realize how I kept that deep inside me from all my childhood friends until this blog came out. So many of them emailed and texted and wanted to come to my rescue. Had they known. Wonder what could have been had they known?
Do you know what it’s like to be somebody’s dirty little secret? Why do I continue to pick men who are ashamed to tell their loved ones that I’m the woman in their life? Oh the stories I have of the men I have picked. Epically failed at picking the wrong ones. Sneaking in at all hours for a sexual encounter. Shhhh….Be quiet…We don’t want anyone to hear. All I can say is at least, I’m consistent. Oh God…what a mess…
Let me digress for a moment. I’m an amazing woman. I have accomplished a lot in my 45 years. I have raised over 7 figures for my children’s public elementary school. Yes, I have children. 4 of them. All well adjusted, athletic, funny, gregarious, smart little human beings with a sense of humor that keeps us all wondering, “Where did that come from?”. I have built tens of millions in houses and condos. I play ice hockey every week and I do yoga several times a week. I have given food and blankets to hundreds of homeless people. I have volunteered coach in the YMCA for the past 10 years. You name it. I have coached and sometimes two at the same time. My girls are a year apart and what I did for one, I did for the other. Volleyball. Check. Basketball. Check. Softball. Check. Track. Check. Soccer. Check. Even if it took all of my energy. I have given countless hours of my time to many people.
I’m not some druggie on the streets barely making it. I live well. But I am messed up. I am weak emotionally. I am angry. I am confused. I’m always wondering why is that such a smart, capable woman is so fucked up. When will this change? When will I change?
I’ve had many turning points in my life. At one point, Jesus won, and I actually went to church. Baptized all my children there. Even let the molester come to the first one. My mother wasn’t leaving him and I wanted him to have a grandmother for my children so I acquiesced. My husband and I were up in her part of town and decided to stop by when my first was 8 months old. I was pleasant to him but that was it during those times. THIS IS WHEN IT ALL STOPPED. A TON OF BRICKS HIT ME ON THE HEAD THIS DAY. My son had his first haircut and the molester’s comment to me and my husband was, “His haircut is sexy.” I’m sorry. What did you just say? Did you call my 8 month old son’s hair cut sexy? I must be confused. WHAT THE FUCK IS SEXY ABOUT AN 8 MONTH OLD. NOTHING. LET ME REPEAT. NOTHING IS SEXY ABOUT AN 8 MONTH OLD. That was it for me. I vowed from that day forward that man would NEVER and I mean NEVER touch any of my children. He never met my girls nor my 4th. I went a few years without even talking to my mother after that. I still can’t believe that I even tried to have any sort of relationship with her after that incident. But part of me wanted my girls to have a maternal grandmother. I have no idea where any sort of compassion comes from me because I certainly didn’t learn it at home.
All I learned at home was how to keep a really good secret…well…sort of….
Tomorrow, I’ll tell of the 3 year separation from the first time I told my mother to the second time….When she was forced to believe me….