This morning I was feeling proud of myself for getting 2 of my kids bathed all by 10-ish in the morning. Then I just end up bawling, like a wimp, on the toilet of all places. It wouldn’t stop until it stopped. No rhyme or reason.
I can never quite predict my random cries. It felt better when I was done, but it’s so random and I can’t quite get over it.
Later, this afternoon my husband completely embarrassed me in front of his oldest daughter. He told her that I was in a crowed of black people, and that I confused a black hair salon for a salon for hair that has black color to it.
Well the story isn’t even correct. I wasn’t around black people, I got confused as I was calling up places for a hair salon in college. But the story, that wasn’t true, was funnier to him. It makes me sound racist and ignorant. My husband doesn’t realize how mean and racist it makes him. But he didn’t care. He didn’t care that it was a lie. He didn’t care that I told him not to tell, etc.
It doesn’t help that my step-daughter won’t accept that I’m half-white and half-arab. She won’t accept it. She says I’m just a white woman. She refuses to accept all of my identity ~ erasing a big part of who I am.
And it’s mind-boggling because she talks about how hard it is for her to be black, even though she has lived a much more privileged and pampered life than I ever have. I’ve had to experience sooooooo much more prejudice being Arab and Muslim. She can NOT even comprehend. Just because I am light-skinned.
Its soooo frustrating.
It’s obvious to me that I can NOT trust my husband. EVERY time I thought that the littlest religious conversation was us bonding and getting closer – haha – oh no.
Not again. I know its going to be hard but I am going to try to not engage him. Not indulge that feeling that we might be getting closer. Nope. Nope. Nope.
From now on I’m going to do my religious, my spiritual, my emotional, my mental and sexual reflections on here. To put it down on cyber paper, it cleanses my heart and my mind. Instead of falling into false hope over and over and over again.
At least a rose with thorns has beauty. This is not that. This is like stepping on prickly thorns with your bare feet. It is not fun. So ……… from now on I think I’ll be posting a lot more often. My reflections on all matter.
But on another not, at least I have Mr.Cuddles. He nurtures the little/middle/ddlg part of me (babygirl). Which really helps because the pain I have in life, hurts my babygirl part even more (for future, I refer to my babygirl self as Little Rose).