turned a corner

I feel really great tonight. I’ve gotten some really sweet messages today. and way more support than I could have imagined. And I just realized that the way I process life’s tough spots is through story time. I have to keep telling my story. Over and over. and the repetition is cathartic. And I find people with similar stories. We hurt together. And everything feels better on the other side.

The world didn’t end last fall when I spent a lot of time in my room with the door closed and my eyes sweaty. I get another crack at this life thing. I’m not subjected to the ups and downs that used to be my day to day. I can stay on level ground. And I think last night’s blog was me turning a corner. Me saying what happened out loud. Me feeling my way back through that pain. And me being fucking proud of myself that I made it through.

I remember this desire I had when I used to hang out with Christians…the desire to be real. I think I’ve written about it before, but there was this one defining moment in bible study, when I dropped some real on the group, and got…crickets. Total silence.

Finally one guy seemingly had the courage to come to my aid only to realize he and I were both getting a lot of frowns instead of grace. So, he instead, said something more like, “but for the grace of God, I’d be in the same boat as matt.” Thanks, dick.

Real wasn’t okay in those days. Safe wasn’t a thing in my married house. But, you better god damn believe we took a sweet Christmas card photo, so that we looked like we had our shit together. That’s how I grew up too. the picture we sent out at Christmas time was nothing like the reality.

And that’s what struck me the other day about what father’s day on facebook is like. Some of it has to be fake, right? We’re a nation full of people with daddy issues and yet every fucking person on earth has “the best daddy ever” or is married to the “best dad to our kids.” I don’t think that’s mathematically accurate.

So, does someone need to invent a version of facebook (or christianity for that matter) where the real is actually the norm, rather than the exception. What if there was a festivus-like version of father's day where dads got put on blast for all the shit they put us through? But, absent that…why do we feel the need to praise them if they were ass holes? And do we feel like less thans when we see our friends happy pictures with their daddies?

I dropped a little real at the end of father’s day, when I ended up worn out and in tears. And it was really sweet to feel the support of all the people who thumbs up’d me as opposed to the fingers the Christians used to point at me. And then last night I got even more real out on this here blog. And it made me think what the fuck have I been doing carrying that shit around with only one other person really knowing the story. My burden is so much lighter today. I’ve got a spring in my step. I had a great day with the kids. so many people care about me and sometimes I forget that.

Last night was me turning a major corner. I read my post back a few times and my voice was a lot stronger than it’s been for the last year or so. What happened wasn’t fucking okay. As one friend put it, “it’s almost criminal to lie about the real.” When we were in the midst of what I thought was our most real moment, she was somewhere else. And only today did I realize that what I wrote about the 100 lies about another guy…that happened while we were back together/trying to get back together. Probably should have clarified that.

And I just wrote out a bunch of shit related to that, but I deleted it because it really doesn’t matter. It’s all so much worse than the picture I painted last night. And I just got stuck again thinking through the realities, but all I can do is be thankful that I’m out of harm’s way. And that the kids are too.

Do I look good in last night’s blog? Fuck no. I look like a god damn sucker. But, that’s the risk I’ll run again looking for real in a relationship. I’m not going to half-ass shit. Or try to impress someone by leaving out parts of my story. I want to be known and know that I’m worth knowing.

I’m just me. I’m broken. And still somehow am positive and fun to be around. I don’t know where that comes from, but I got individual time with both my kids today and the weird thing is…they both just enjoyed hanging out with me and wanted to talk. Blake and I shot baskets and had a mini story time. Riley and I shot footage for her youtube channel and she wanted to tell me all about her new friends.

I’m lucky that my kids still want to talk to me despite my mistakes of starting up with the wrong person and letting her run over me and my feelings for four years while calling all of that “home”. Parenting from the fetal position doesn’t work. I tried it. But, I’m back on my feet and me and the kids can do therapy together some day. The one trait both my kids know I value above all else is the real. We can work through anything. And they know I fuck up a lot. But we can talk it out.

I want to make sure that just because they have a broken home, it doesn’t give them license to be ass holes. Hurting people because you’ve been hurt is so backwards to me. I have a pretty shitty collection of stories that involve me getting hurt by various people in different phases of my life. And all of them have fucked up pasts. so, why the fuck would they pass bull shit on to other people when they know what it feels like to be hurt?

And there…I’m back to all good. Because I could be like that too, but I’ve chosen to flip the script. Yeah. I’ve been hurt. But, my life is making people laugh. Trading stories. Being a good dad. Making fun of myself. Trying to stay on top of my mental health. I can share my pain out loud and in so doing heal from it, instead of using it as an excuse to fuck over other people. I’ve been fucked. So has everyone. So weed out the people who take you for granted/fuck you over and enjoy the company of those who appreciate you and enjoy talking about the real.