A brokenish full heart at the holidays

A divorced family at the holidays....such a cliche, except to the divorced families at the holidays. When kids are involved, every holiday is a real life opposite-of-cliche, sucker-punch-in-the-feels kind of day.

This week felt like a tug-of-war over my kiddo - and not in a spiteful or angry way. It was just desperate attempts by her dad and I to try and fill the dull ache of void that comes with the idea of spending a "family" holiday away from such an integral part of your family. There is bargaining, begging, bitching, breakdowns and brokenness. At the holidays. Stupid. But real.

You think to yourself, "She should be here with me!" knowing that her dad is thinking the same thing. The other night, I read through our custody papers through blurred tears, trying to read the fine print and analyze the syntax of a sentence to figure out if I actually had the "right" to decide something for my girl. The tears were not bitter - the papers are there to help us stay the course when our hearts scream. I don't blame them, or him, or anything really. It's just a baffling reality.

I have accepted the fact that I don’t have all the answers and I don't even know the right things to say sometimes- neither does her dad, neither do her stepparents, nobody can be right all the time.

So we happy it up - we create new traditions and we celebrate the joy she finds in each home. Beau and I cheer her new role as "big sister" at her daddy's house and her aunt sends us pictures of Faithy waving a flag at the Veterans Day parade to say "thank you" to Beau, and we ALL make a big stinking deal over her getting a Terrific Tiger on her behavior chart. But holidays are hard.

When you're feeling zen, you throw up a white flag but sometimes you want to grab it back and hide it under a pile of dirty laundry. When it IS your holiday, you can't help but feel guilty for taking time away from the other person. Because you know what its like to be at a family dinner and watch your siblings love on their babies while you fight off the invisible noose on your heart and pangs of jealousy.

Your emotions do a straight up UFC wrestling match. Because what are you supposed to feel? Allowed to feel? Allowed to ADMIT to feeling? What do you whisper to Jesus and what do you cry hot tears to your husband about? Is it because she’s my only one? If I had another kid, would the ache be minimized? Is that wrong to wonder?

Tomorrow we will eat Thanksgiving dinner with our friends who became family. They are a blended family, they are military, and my sweet friend lost her mom unexpectedly a few years ago. They know pain, they know chaos, and they love our little family fiercely in spite of our own pain and chaos. So we drink Glühwein and fly through our crazy real lives together. I am so thankful for that safe place on the holidays when I am teetering. We just teeter together.

This is when I just sit back and remember everyone is fighting a battle I know nothing about. My story is not unique. So THANK JESUS for friendship and family and partners who are always in your corner. Thank Jesus for second and third and nineteenth chances when your attitude of gratitude is in the toilet and also when it is overflowing (the gratitude, not the toilet. Poor choice in semantics).

I could write all about the things I am thankful for, but tonight I am going to bury them in the deep corners of my heart where I normally stash my dark feelings. Because I am realizing that just like “Inside Out” taught me, sadness and joy can co-exist. And it's a beautiful story when we allow ourselves to feel everything.

So I will mash them all up together (like potatoes...I am getting hungry). I'll make sure that tomorrow I am intentional in my interactions and that I put my phone down and enjoy the realness of relationships. I'll kiss my tiny diva every hour on the hour and pinch my cute husband's booty before he heads to work, and I'll giggle with my friend at how funny we are (despite what our husbands think). I will look at my little Faithy in the chair next to me and breathe a sigh of relief. And then I'll drive her to her dad's house after dinner and cry the whole way home. And that's okay.