I Hate Sundays

I hate feeling so out of the loop. Never spending time with anyone other than my kids and my immediate family… and every once in a while I get to see E… even more rarely do I get to see other people that I can actually have an honest conversation with about something other than my kids or my immediate family. It’s to the point where I try not to get on social media sites because it makes me so depressed.  Yes, this is a rant… sorry. It needs to get out.  Everyone’s talking about how much fun they had here or what so and so did there and I’m still an observer and a distant one at that. For a while I felt like I was a part of it, at least minimally, but now? I’m watching through binoculars. I’m the kid in the corner crying ‘cause she didn’t get picked, pouting because nobody talks to her, whining because everyone else is in their own little groups and she’s not allowed to join. I get to visit. It’s frustrating and it hurts. It’s no one’s fault, but that doesn’t make it any less difficult. 

I seem to have had this problem wherever I go. I never feel… included, even when I strive to be or even when I try to create a “group” of my own versus joining one. Not at school, not when I was working, not at church… but I feel like I could be, here, but I just… can’t. I can’t make it to community functions, I can’t get online for TRC chats, ACES is a rare and special thing… It’s either a time that I don’t have free, too expensive to go, or it’s just too far away. or all of the above. I hate that I’m sitting here whining about it, but maybe if I get this out I’ll find a way to fix it or get over it. I feel like I’m screaming “poor pitiful me” while I know life could be so much worse… but this just won’t go away.  I wish I knew a solution. Maybe someone else has one.

In this house…

There is no respect for any of my decisions in this house.  Today everyone here has belittled me and/or rebelled against me. My mother has treated me much disregard. My children have ignored my instruction to the point of open defiance, forcing me to discipline them, which eventually brought them to tears, which infuriate my father who actually had the audacity to question if I knew any other method of getting my children to do anything other than spanking them. 

He who spanked me until I was 14. He who broke the paddle on my butt. He who repeatedly used the OH so despised line “This hurts you more than it hurts me.” He who spanked me for voicing my opinion, claiming it was “talking back”. He who took belt, switch, and paddle to me for the tone of my voice or a C in math class. This man DARES to ask me if I know no better way to control my children than to spank them.

I am rebuked for raising my voice to my children, yet he does so both to them and to me. I am preached to about how time outs don’t work time and time again when I choose that method of discipline. He asks me repeatedly if I enjoy hearing my children cry. They’re almost 4 and 5. They’re going to cry some. Over and over again I am made to feel like I am a horrible mother… in THIS house.  And yet, at church I am praised for how I handle my children. E’s mom has humbled me more than once by saying I am a wonderful mother. Even my ex-husband praises my parenting. When I’m out of this house, I can almost believe them, but, when your own parents so disdain you, it makes it difficult to believe. 

Sometimes I feel as if this house is consuming me. Every episode of this evident display of scorn, trapping me a bit more, more firmly ensuring my position here… Sometimes I feel like Cinderella. 

“Do the laundry. Make the dinner, but do it MY way. Sweep the floors. You missed some here. Take out the garbage. Wash my car. It’s streaky; do it again. Beat the rugs. NO, like this. Where’s your dad’s other sock? Dust the furniture. There’s dust on the floor, sweep it up. That couch is too far to the right, move it back. Mop the floors. You put the chair back in the wrong place, fix it. Hang the clothes, no not that way. That shirt’s backwards. These pants are on the wrong hanger. This shirt is wrinkled; did you leave the clothes in the dryer again? YOU HAVE TO DO BETTER.” All still circling in my head. Never good enough.

I still have the time my mother made me scrub the bathroom floor with a toothbrush vivid in my memory… and I’m still waiting for it to happen again. I’m 25 years old and my parents alternately treat me like a troublesome preteen, a lack wit servant, and an utter failure and disappointment. Ever so rare is the shining jewel of a grudging compliment… usually on my food. My mother has even deigned to call me a whore simply because I’m fond of high heels.  

If I decide to pursue school again, I am told that I don’t give it my all and that I should try harder. If I decide to not to pursue school again, then I’m told that I’ll never make it in life. I’m repeatedly told that I’m lazy and selfish and sometimes I just want to evolve into the doormat they attempt to make me, but I know how that ends. 

Six years ago I made a foolish attempt at marriage to escape this, and yet found the same, but worse, in the man that I had chosen to marry. I divorced him so that my children could grow up without seeing their mother put down every day. I divorced him to spare them the anger and the violence in their father’s derision of me. I fled so I could stop being the doormat, and yet here I am again. 

If I leave this house, my parents’ financial support stops. They’ve made that clear. I have no job. No degree. Little in the way of income from child support and I know of no other relatives that would take my children and myself in. My mother has come to recognize that their behavior is affecting my children and has done a bit better, but my dad refuses to admit that he has anger issues. He rejects the idea that there are other ways than his that are affective. 

I don’t know how to alter this situation. Some days are actually nice. Some months are actually pleasant… and then I do something to set things off again… either that or they can no longer ignore my blatant incompetence. I try to keep the kids shielded from it as best I can and they seem to only know that Grampa is angry and shouts a lot. I didn’t want this for them. I didn’t want this for me. Acknowledging that I’ll never make my parents proud is hard enough without my children having to witness their grandparents’ disappointment in me. 

I count the days and the pennies now…  Two years. Just two more years. Please GOD just two more years until we can escape this house, finances right now just won’t allow it… hopefully by the time my son is in kindergarten that won’t be so. 

P.S.: Yes, I know this is a rant, but I had to get this out and just leaving it in a Word document on my computer didn't seem like it was enough.

Exploring My Submission: Journaling Exercise #14

 Does religion have any bearing on your decision to submit? If not, are you familiar with religious based submission and do you view it as similar to other types of submission or dissimilar?

Yes, in its way, my faith does influence my submission. I wouldn’t call my method of submission a ‘biblical submission’ but God’s word does dictate my actions. He is my Master. No other will be addressed as such. I am a Christian. I consider myself nondenominational, but I am a follower of Christ. Does that mean I’m perfect? Absolutely not, whoever came up with the idea that Christians are supposed to be perfect needed a reality check.

I struggle with my submission sometimes. I struggled with living my faith like I was told I was supposed to more. I grew up in and still attend a Baptist church yet I agree with very little that is taught there. However, my pastor preached a sermon recently on the mind of Christ and I was overwhelmed. I thought, FINALLY. This is something worth discussing. His three points were Submission, Service, and Sacrifice. I FELT that sermon as I have felt so few. And yet, the people around me heard the same words and were unaffected, unaltered. Not even a stoic “amen”. I wasn’t expecting a sudden conversion to the more enthusiastic Pentacostal, but seriously? Why is the topic of submission so overlooked?

I am aware that there must be leaders if there are to be followers, but when all try to lead… it becomes a great big mess. Some people are called to it. Others, like myself, are called to submission. I know my place, I cherish it now that I’ve found it. I can feel when I am out of it. I don’t believe that every Christian is called to follow the path of submission, but it is a much overlooked one. The meaning of “submit” has been shoved under the rug and lost in churches such as mine, where it should be cherished just as much as the leaders of the church are.

There can be no true equality in any situation. Yes, we have similar opportunities, but in any relationship, be it friendship, corporate, or evangelical, there will be a situation of the leader and the lead. It may shift. It may not. But it will happen.

I feel that the submissive spirit is frowned upon. Utterly unwelcome. It saddens me to see people cringe when they hear “I am a slave of Christ” oooh slave.. slaves have no choices, we have choices.. let’s use “servant” instead.. yeah.. UGH!!!! Slave. A willing slave.

Maybe it’s my experience as a submissive in the BDSM world that gives me such a unique view of this, but it’s a fierce neglect where I am and it breaks my heart that my efforts to correct it have fallen flat.

Ok… rant over. Anyway. Yes. Obviously my faith/religion/whateveryouchoosetocallit influences my submission. To each their own.