Healing the Inner Child

There are two “worst” days in my life. The first was when those words came sliding out of my mouth, “then, just keep going”, and the other was the day my mom passed away when I was thirty three, and had two small kids at home. I had thought I knew what devastation felt like. And I did, I know how much it hurt, but it was nothing compared to losing my mother at fifty nine. This pushed despair to a new level. Drink more, after the kids go to bed, or when their father was home. Whenever I could without being responsible for the kids. Luckily, my spree only lasted five years. I had enough. I wanted to be happy and calm and content, and I had no clue how to go about that.

I had my youngest son in the midst of all this turmoil. When he was three, I sought help. I went to a twelve step program, and learned so much in the simplistic tools one can use to better themselves, their lives, and those around them. I began to understand myself better, regained what little faith I had left, and started an uphill climb. I went to four and a half years of meetings every night, I grew, I healed, I took back my strength my parents had instilled in me.

I separated from my husband, within the same house, since his schedule was now one week on and one week off, and my kids loved their father, so instead of getting divorced, we just cohabitated, and involved ourselves with the kids. We had no equity in our home, so if we divorced, we’d have no money to buy two separate houses. I continued on my journey, trying not to blame others for my demise. Hard to do though, when all they do is demise!

After eight years, I decided I was going to get in touch with my childhood sweetheart. I had never stopped thinking about him, or loving him, and I thought after twenty three years, maybe he was single now. I called him, he was, by three months, and we got back together. He had a son and daughter, and I had two sons and a daughter, oh, and a husband. Thankfully, he had never married. (She was the way I had thought!) We dated back and forth between houses for eight months, and then, when his kids were moving in with friends, and his lease was up, I asked my husband if he could move in with us. He said he didn’t care. That was eight years ago.