Play Date

Dude, I have such rejection issues! I signed up through meetup.com for two different mom’s groups. I’m not a shy person by any means, but I was so afraid to go to any of the events that one of the groups ended up kicking me out for not participating. Hubbie couldn’t understand what I was afraid of. Until this morning, neither could I.

Today, the group that I still have membership with had an event scheduled at Way 2 Play Cafe. In the past, I’ve come up with all sorts of excuses why I can’t go. “Christian has a runny nose, he may be coming down with something”, “It’s during Maddie’s naptime”, “We just need some down time”…on and on my stupid list went. Today I couldn’t come up with an excuse that wasn’t an outright lie. So, I got up my nerve and drove out there. The whole way there I was so nervous and felt like I was going to puke. Finally I looked at myself in the mirror and had a heart to heart with myself:

Brain Me: “What the crap! What are you so afraid of?”
Heart Me: “Well, um, what if they sorta, maybe, kinda, don’t care about me?”
Brain Me: “Of course they don’t care about you, they haven’t met you yet. But that doesn’t mean they’re not going to like you when they do meet you.”
Heart Me: “It doesn’t matter. They’ll meet me and then not love me.”
Brain Me: “Huh?”
Heart Me: “Well that’s what mom did”
Brain and Heart: “Oooooh”. (Oprah aha moment).

My birth mom (not the mom that leaves comments on my blog and was mentioned here), pretty much abandoned me when I was little. My dad was awarded custody and my mom had visitation rights every other weekend. Apparently I wasn’t appealing enough for her to find the need to make those visits happen. When they did happen, she would arrive at 1am, drunk, music blaring and the current boyfriend at the wheel. She’d leave the car running and my dad would wake me up from my bed and tell me mom was here. I didn’t have to grab any clothes, because I wasn’t allowed to take my clothes to my moms house. They’d get ruined. So I’d say goodbye to the security of my dad, step mom and sisters, and get into the grungy back of the car with my brothers. The rest of the weekend would be spent locked inside a room with my three brothers. My mom was to high or hungover to take care of us and to assure that we didn’t wander away, she would lock us in a room. For our protection?

I was always so drawn to my mom. Even though we had to call child protective services for various things, several times, I always wanted to go back. She’s my mom. Even though the only time she would show me affection was after she’d beat me, I loved her and craved the moments after the storm. I always felt that if I was worth loving she would change her ways. If I was worth loving, she would get me at 5 in the afternoon instead of 1 in the morning. If I was worth loving, she would want to spend time with me and not lock me in rooms. If I was worth loving, she would get me a Christmas present. If I was worth loving, she wouldn’t yell how much of a mistake I am. If I was worth loving, she would have taken my baby pictures with her when she left him.

I’ve forgiven her for the past. I’ve had quite a past of my own as well. I’ve come to understand her as a woman and have compassion for the brokenness that she was operating out of. Yet, the scars still remain and I operate out of false ways of thinking more than I sometimes realize.

So today, such a little thing like meeting some new women, was a huge deal to me.

When I first got there, they all talked to each other and glanced at me but didn’t say anything. My heart hurt a little bit, but I reminded myself that there could be a reason. I finally introduced myself and the leader said “Oh! We were expecting a brunette! We didn’t realize it was you”…and then everything was fine!

No one else knew how hard it was for me to be there. Inside myself though, I’m proud of realizing where my fear of rejection was coming from and then overcoming it. Who knew going to a play date could be a milestone!

***And mom, if you are reading this. In no way do I mean to slander you. I love you and respect the decisions you are making as of today. But your past is my past and I can’t ignore where some of my behaviors originate from. If you want, we can talk about this.

4 Comments

  1. Vicky
    Posted January 15, 2008 at 1:52 pm | Permalink

    I need a tissue now! You are so worth loving :0) (Cheesy Hallmark moment).
    Carter is not that much younger than Maddie (about 3 mos.) so if you ever want to get them together you just let me know. I mean technically Glendale only feels like the other side of the world right?

  2. Posted January 15, 2008 at 3:06 pm | Permalink

    Awww Mary, I’m so glad you got that out! I’m also so glad you finally went to the play date! I think all stay at home moms need an outlet like that. You may have gathered from my blog that I’m an organizer for a large playgroup through mee.tup as well. We have SO MANY moms that sign up and never come to anything, and we ultimately “kick them out” to prevent lurkers and to maintain security (ie. not having people we’ve never met perusing our site, looking at our pictures, and knowing where we’re going every day). I always wish I could just say, “If you’d come to one event, you’d never question whether you were going to come again”. Good luck with your new group!

  3. Posted January 20, 2008 at 10:28 am | Permalink

    Wow Mary, I am amazed at how honest wih yourself you are. This was a really great post. We can’t change our pasts, but that’s ok, because they made us who we are today. I’m so glad you worked up the courage to go to the play date. I know I would have had similiar inscurity issues (although I still don’t know where they stem from). This was a good milestone! :)

  4. Mom
    Posted January 23, 2008 at 6:18 pm | Permalink

    Mary,

    Wish I was there to give you a BIG hug!! Sometimes our past is like a big onion….layer by layer God allows us to expose the sweetness of the inner portion. Yes, sometimes it stinks and we get lots of tears, but remember the sweetness of his healing touch.

    I love you.

    Mom
    (step mom)

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