You Didn't Imagine It

  As the seagulls cry, an echo of my children's voices fills my mind and my heart. How many times did we bring them here to the ocean? So many. Too many to count. Over there I can see the shadow of my son's curls, bouncing as he runs in and out of the waves, laughing with abandon. Here I see my daughter drawing names in the sand, remembering the time she wrote our dog's name the summer after our family dog passed. The echo of my oldest son's joyous voice fills the air from my memories as I picture him filling buckets with water to dump on an unsuspecting sibling. And I can still see my youngest's cautious approach to the water, eyeing it warily as he played on the edge.  The years passed while I was busy doing everything else, and today I sit here alone with a book and my notebook to soak in the sun and relax to the sound of the waves. Two of my kids are adults now and the other two are rapidly approaching. Those precious days of family days to the beach, or childre...

Let’s talk about triggers, and manipulation, and guilt. Let’s talk about kneejerk reactions and longstanding safety behaviors. In short, let’s talk about what it’s like to be a survivor of emotional abuse. Let’s talk about me. I have been loudly proclaiming my healing from the trauma I endured for many, many years. And I have healed quite a bit.  But.  In some ways I think I was a bit naïve to think I healed such pervasive abuse fully. And in other ways I think I was fooling myself regarding my ex and his ability to ever be anything other than what he is. To set the stage for you, my ex gets the kids every other weekend. I have them the rest of the time. In the winter, when there’s school and afterschool activities and homework and a myriad of other responsibilities, he never asks for extra time and will often give up his weekends with them, especially if they have an activity somewhere. Once it’s summer, the entire school vacation becomes him trying to take my weekends to “ma...