tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88811117553744438662024-02-08T12:28:25.463-08:00Divorce Recovery Rxdrneilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276986285901932089noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881111755374443866.post-2602404616455188732021-12-08T19:06:00.001-08:002021-12-08T20:26:12.649-08:00<p> Welcome!</p><p>Thank you for visiting my blog. </p><p>As a licensed psychologist I have a general clinical practice with a specialty in children, adolescents and families. One facet of this specialty is a focus on couples who are attempting to enrich a marriage or salvage a troubled relationship. After an initial evaluation my treatment is integrative, combining psychodynamic, cognitive behavioral and systems approaches. Many of my clients have depression, anxiety, phobia or issues dealing with anger. Help with parenting problems and children and adolescents who have behavior problems or difficulty with school functioning is also provided. I believe in working collaboratively with clients - settings goals, evaluating our progress, and revising our direction when necessary. The treatment is pragmatic, focusing on what works and what is needed for each client. With many people I follow their lead and with others we decide that I will structure the therapy. My advanced postdoctoral training has focused on the treatment of: adults, children and families. I have supervised and trained mental health professionals for many years and have consulted for many community agencies and hospitals. </p><p>Another specialty focus is on families undergoing a divorce. Here, a comprehensive array of services is provided, designed to contain conflict, reduce stress and limit the negative impact on the children. I also have specialized advanced training in divorce mediation, parenting coordination and collaborative divorce.</p>drneilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276986285901932089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881111755374443866.post-42525424978388145542017-08-30T20:16:00.003-07:002021-12-08T19:53:38.694-08:00Wish My Parents Would Stop Fighting <i>Parent’s fighting keeps them from understanding how the divorce affects their children and knowing how to help their children. The fighting usually does not stop when the parents are divorced.</i><br />
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My parents separated/divorced 4 years ago when I was 13 years old but it feels like they have been separated forever. It’s hard for me to remember when they were still together.<br />
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Since I was young it has been a fear in the back of my mind that they would get divorced. I felt like that wouldn’t happen in my family though. I believed my parents really cared for each other. At first they would fight occasionally over stupid things like money or taxes. They would fight the most when there were big events like family vacations. Dad would make charts, tables and lists for what he wanted to do on vacation and when. My mom would flip out about that. For the last two years it seemed like they fought all the time. We had to sleep at a friend’s house some of the time. Things seemed to get better for a year but they still said they were going to get a divorce. They tried marriage counseling and it seemed like they had stopped fighting. We thought they were getting along better but now we think that they just weren’t talking to one another at all.<br />
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Since my parents divorced they don’t fight directly. They use lawyers, courts, legal documents and emails instead. They don’t scream at each other. This type of fighting doesn’t affect me or my siblings as much. I just accept they will fight with each other but it bothers my older brother the most. He is the angriest at mom and dad. He’s angry that the marriage didn’t work, and that mom left and got remarried. He had the closest relationship with mom and had the best relationship with our parents. As the years went on, mom was less able to tolerate anxiety and stress and for example, stopped reading with us.<br />
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After the divorce, dad felt guilty and took a lot of the parenting upon himself. Mom was very angry while dad was very guilty. They are both trying to save the family by fighting with each other. They blame each other for ruining the family in the past and present. If they win this battle of egos they will save the family by defeating the other one. The fighting that they are consumed with though, is what ruined the family in the first place.<br />
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After mom left I only saw her once a week so she wasn’t really there for us. Dad was depressed so he wasn’t really there for us either. They are trying to get it together by fighting. They realize that they didn’t pay a lot of attention to their children. If they really get it together and stop fighting they may be able to help us out.drneilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276986285901932089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881111755374443866.post-39406772687485164822017-07-28T20:15:00.006-07:002021-12-08T19:53:48.609-08:00I Hated when Daddy Move Out <i>A child’s relationship with his/her parents is very special. Sometimes a divorce interferes with this relationship.</i><br />
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Ever since mommy and daddy started to divorce it has been hard. I hated when daddy moved out because I love seeing him. I love spending time with daddy – spending time with him is very special to me. Daddy lets Sam and I fall asleep in his bed and then he moves us to our own bed. Mommy won’t do that. She isn’t as nice as daddy. I love spending time with my daddy and I miss him.<br />
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I wish I could tell him how upset I get when I can’t stay over night when I am supposed to. I can’t tell him because I don’t want to upset him or make him angry.drneilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276986285901932089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881111755374443866.post-40561971067302539022017-06-23T20:15:00.002-07:002021-12-08T19:53:55.856-08:00Divorce is Both Good and Bad <i>This child has a mature perspective on the things that happen when parents divorce and how it affects the children.</i><br />
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Divorce can be good or bad, it depends. Divorce is good for the children because they don’t hear as much fighting from the parents. It can also be good because their parents have a chance at being happier.<br />
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The parents could, though, mess this up and find someone else to fight with. That would be a shame. I sure hope that the next time they find someone they can get along with them.<br />
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Divorce is also good because you can see your parents individually and get to know them a whole lot better. You have a chance at having a good relationship with both of them. You also get to spend time with the other family members on each side. This can be hard, though, when your parents are still angry at each other. When that happens they don’t want you to like the other parent or they don’t want you to have a good relationship with them.<br />
<br />
Divorce can be bad when you can’t spend time with both of your parents on holidays. They also talk badly about the other parent, and you don’t get to see one as much as the other. The parents fight over you – in doing this they put you in situations you don’t want to be in. Their anger spills over on to you.drneilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276986285901932089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881111755374443866.post-54121994155239841952017-05-22T20:14:00.002-07:002021-12-08T19:54:02.675-08:00When I First Learned About the Divorce <i>Children learn about divorce from different sources</i><br />
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I first learned about the divorce when mommy and daddy sat me down and said “we have something important to tell you.” They told us that they were not going to live with each other any more.<br />
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One day I told my best friend, Julia, all about the divorce. She didn’t know what divorce meant. I told her how parents break up sometimes. One lives in one house and the other one lives in a different house. Julia was very sad for me when she heard this.<br />
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Mommy and Daddy are divorcing but they still have plenty to fight about. Now they are fighting about a swing set. Can you imagine grown ups fighting about a swing set?drneilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276986285901932089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881111755374443866.post-64197305400440619182017-04-21T20:07:00.000-07:002017-09-03T09:39:13.539-07:00When I was a child I felt the breath of a monster.When I was a child I felt the breath of a monster. It was a very clever monster. It knew your thoughts. It could feel your mind. It was best for you if you did not have one. A mind that is. Anyway, nothing has been the same since. I have been on lookout. Making sure it won’t sneak-attack. A clever monster it is. I have not seen it for years. But sometimes when the house is very still I hear it echo within the beat of my heart. I avoid mirrors like death.<br />
<br />
I have spent much time considering the monster that was my father when he beat the rag doll that was my mother. I have spent little time considering that rag doll. The one with all the bruises, and burns, and tears that came to be our life.<br />
<br />
It is a horrible thing to see someone you love being beaten . . . to see someone who chases away your nightmares crumpled on the ground. They are humiliation, they are shame, no person is left. Only a will-less thing tossed and pushed and taunted. That was my mother. That was me. I felt shame for her. I became her shame. I held it close to me because she would not.<br />
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That scene plays out in my life. Behind locked doors an unwilling participant with a gentle hand is cast into a role he does not know and cannot play. I am the only one with the script. As I withdraw from disgust and raise a numbing screen of protection he lays there bewildered and dumbfounded.<br />
<br />
The sadness afterward, is the choice I cannot make. To become a woman in love with a kind and gentle man or to stay an orphan searching desperately for a father who does not exist?drneilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276986285901932089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881111755374443866.post-80343563653181769292017-03-29T20:06:00.000-07:002017-09-03T09:38:57.352-07:00We run, we hideWe run, we hide. Stashing pieces of our flesh behind the walls.<br />
<br />
Pots of flesh.<br />
<br />
Little pots of flesh.<br />
<br />
Little pots of flesh burning everywhere. As we run. Run from the boot. The big black boot. It comes down upon us, down from the sky. Run from the wheel. The rolling wheel, the cart with bodies high. The air is black with our ashes. We breathe ourselves in.<br />
into our lungs. Lungs choked with ashes and water and air. The dead are everywhere.drneilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276986285901932089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881111755374443866.post-14060210750782244752017-02-17T20:06:00.000-08:002017-09-03T09:38:40.992-07:00VictimYoung – child – old. Victims. Victim. We are an exclusive club. An elusive club. Prick us, we do not bleed. Kick us, we do not bruise. We give up the holy ghost and sanctify the trembling name of woman.<br />
<br />
I am a victim. My life spins round and round out of control. It is not my life. It is not yours. It belongs to anyone who can grab it and pull it and squeeze it. Everyone is its master. I wait. I wait in silence. Are you kind, are you cruel? What will it be, a slap, or a pet? I never know until it is over.<br />
<br />
I am a victim. I wait. I wait for things to happen. I wait for things to stop. What hand starts the motion, what hand stills it? I wait. I know gravity does not exist, Spring may not come and if we are not careful we will fall from the edge of the world.<br />
<br />
I am a victim, a child. I live close to the floor. Scrambling. Trying to do the right thing. Trying to say the right word. Frantic. Looking for a magic incantation that will make me good enough for him to stop. For this spinning to stop. I watch carefully trying to guess what cannot be guessed. To see what cannot be seen. Close to the floor. There is no way out of this room. No doors, no windows, not a sliver of an opening to squeeze out a hand, a foot. I live close to the floor. Scrambling. And I hate myself for it.<br />
<br />
I am a victim. I fight because he is wrong. I give up because he is right. I fight even when I have forgotten why. Even when I believe what he believes. Even when I have become what he says I am. I fight in small ways. In pathetic ways. It makes me sick. How weak I am. If others could see I would make them sick too. Try to drift far away.<br />
Don’t let him make you cry. Don’t let him see you frightened. I can never keep it up. I always fall apart. I keep trying in small sorrowful ways.<br />
<br />
He is my lifeline, he is my beast. He gives me love and he takes it away. He caresses my face while his boot is on my neck. I never know if I should hate him or be grateful.drneilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276986285901932089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881111755374443866.post-50635674858546016542017-01-27T20:05:00.000-08:002017-09-03T09:38:25.639-07:00There is a place in the well for unfinished stories. Drop them in and stir them up. It is a storage area for emotions too dangerous to feel. The ax falls but I am too frightened to acknowledge that it has dropped, to feel its pain, so I banish it to the well. And it bubbles and it brews and it strengthens over the years. It is poison.<br />
<br />
Is there a place safe enough to reveal the well? To feel the well? It is not easy to feel safe and to trust. The well has been guarded for so long and so vigilantly.<br />
<br />
I am sadness... I want someone else to do it for me. I am anger. I know I am the one who must.<br />
<br />
I’ve used the well.<br />
<br />
I’ve used the well to test men. I set them up and they never fail me. I watch them fall.drneilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276986285901932089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881111755374443866.post-14402743587200693822016-12-14T20:04:00.000-08:002017-09-03T09:38:09.549-07:00There are no men in the worldThere are no men in the world. Only fathers. There are good fathers and bad fathers. There are accepting fathers and rejecting fathers. That is why no matter how superior I may be to a man, in intelligence or capability, I am always potentially wiped out of existence by him.drneilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276986285901932089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881111755374443866.post-40129839042610819362016-11-30T20:04:00.000-08:002017-09-03T09:37:48.066-07:00The windows in my father’s house were so big I could see the skyThe windows in my father’s house were so big I could see the sky. I’d press my face against the glass just to feel alive.<br />
<br />
It was a moment, one sliver of a moment – I could see beyond his house. I could be grass or a tree or rain or wind. I could see people moving through the world. How strange how mysterious. Children – alive. Running and breathing and playing and crying. It happened beyond my father’s window. Beyond my father’s house. That dark house. That gapping wound with wires allowed through it’s flesh. Wires to trap you and pinch you and stick you – when you moved, when you blinked, when you took a breath. A breath a moment – it was not for you – it was not for this house.<br />
<br />
I want to tell you about the rape. It started in my bed, in my fathers house, when I was a little girl. He didn’t touch me but his presence was there on top of me. There in that room in that bed. I wasn’t allowed to move. The blankets were over my face. protection. I was hot, I was suffocating with the heat. My legs ached. But I’m not allowed to move. It’s very dangerous and scary. They are fighting in the next room. Their bedroom. I hope he doesn’t hurt her. I hope he doesn’t hurt me. I’m thinking that I want her to shut up and do whatever he wants her to do, say whatever he wants her to say, think whatever he wants her to think. So we will be safe. So we can make it through the night.<br />
<br />
No one can know how it feels. To be in that much danger. No one knows what it is like not to be able to move in their own bed.<br />
<br />
It’s like not owning yourself. Somewhere I crossed a line and entered a place where I gave myself permission to do anything.<br />
<br />
My father was off of me.drneilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276986285901932089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881111755374443866.post-18043193927429958642016-10-20T20:02:00.000-07:002017-09-03T09:37:26.825-07:00She’s on the floor againShe’s on the floor again. Her arm raised – pathetic defense. I do not know why she is there. Everything is crazy. The room swirls into one color around me. He kicks her and he screams. He raises her body by her shoulders and throws her down. He is in his socks. He makes a ludicrous monster and I hate him for lying to me.<br />
<br />
He pretends he loves us and I believe him. He always betrays me.drneilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276986285901932089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881111755374443866.post-8485025916945058402016-09-23T20:02:00.000-07:002017-09-03T09:37:01.060-07:00If I could see inside myself, what desperate terrainIf I could see inside myself, what desperate terrain. Bits and pieces of smashed bone and teeth, dried blood splattered against a shriveled background. Empty….dust. Scratch it,<br />
scratch and you’ll see. It is the rack. Muscles tearing under it’s pull. See it, see it. It is not so deep. The blood still oozes like a thick black paste. Open it. It is dark. It’s darkness could fill the world.<br />
<br />
A world has been destroyed inside of me. A world is being destroyed inside of me.<br />
It is a massacre, it is an inquisition. It continues. Flames burn skin and hair, thumbscrews crush fingers and blood splatters. Every day, every night. Unspeakable crimes. My personal genocide. Listen, you can hear it. Listen, you can smell it. It is death. It rips at me. It tears at me. My insides are left shredded. My sores never heal.<br />
<br />
Who is this head hanging on my wall? Ripped from it’s body. Hair matted with excrements of torture. It’s mouth gaping and twisted. It’s eyes so resigned to the inevitable pain, the inevitable butchery. I know him. I know him. He is my lover. We dance each night with splintered bones. Each footprint of blood shows our steps. Off, off into dreams, into nightmares that rob us of sleep that rob us of rest. We are married to it.drneilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276986285901932089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881111755374443866.post-15129340976933505892016-08-26T20:01:00.000-07:002017-09-03T09:36:38.164-07:00I would stand in the hall looking in at himI would stand in the hall looking in at him. He was sitting on the edge of their bed. He looked disheveled, very intense. He was staring at the floor and breathing hard. His face was red. I hated going into that room. The air was different in there, everything was different in there. You could hear yourself breath.<br />
<br />
He saw me staring at him. I was bewildered. This was the time of transition when somehow everything that was shattered had to be pieced back together. I could not understand how that was going to happen. It is as if a china cup breaks and you have all these pieces in front of you – how are you going to get them all together. Of course you can’t.<br />
<br />
I do not know what I was thinking. I was just waiting. Waiting for someone to tell me what was going to happen next. Waiting for someone to tell me what I should do. I did not want the craziness to begin again. I wanted my father to love my mother again – even if it was pretense.<br />
<br />
I do not like being in the room with him. I do not like being by the bed. I do not like seeing him like this – breathing hard and shaking. He is coming down. It makes me sick.<br />
I walk towards him. He pulls me close or reaches out to me. I am not sure. I just want him to tell me that he loves my mother and will not leave her. I want him to tell me the fighting is over.<br />
<br />
I am standing between his legs. His arms are around me. He is telling me that he loves my mother very much. He is telling me that the fighting is over and that my mother is a good woman. His face has a lot of pain on it. He is very sorry. My mind is relieved that he is saying these things even if they might not be true. Most of me believes him. I am grateful he is saying this.<br />
<br />
As he speaks I feel very self conscious being near him. I do not want to touch him. I do not like the way it feels. I am very aware of my body from the waist up. I hold my body in a very contained way, close to itself. I know exactly where I end and he begins. My body is very sensitive. I can feel my clothes laying on my skin. I feel the center of my chest caving in and pulling the top of my arms inward and down. I am very aware of the outside of my body and the inside. My stomach muscles are pulled tight and inside my stomach feels empty. My eyes feel like they are crying but I am not sure if they are. I am exhausted. I don’t think there is anything left for me. When he touches my face or hair it hurts. I hate being near him. I don’t want to be near him. I want to leave him. I want quiet. I want silence.<br />
<br />
I wanted to feel him holding me. I wanted to lay my head on his shoulder and feel him holding me. I liked feeling his arms around me – he was warm and I liked the texture and smell of his shirts. I liked feeling safe, feeling that he was strong and that nothing bad could happen to me as long as I was with him. I wanted that feeling back. I guess I still want it back.drneilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276986285901932089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881111755374443866.post-24338311389458439142016-07-22T19:59:00.000-07:002017-09-03T09:36:13.408-07:00I witnessed their danceI witnessed their dance. He leads, she follows. One, two, three. One, two, three. Fast then slow. He spins her round. She falls to the ground. She cries. I scream. One, two,<br />
three. One, two three. He is in command. How handsome he is in his uniform. Blood turns blue and yellow under her skin. Yes, he spins her again. One, two, three. One, two, three. Now, this is the part we all love. He is sorry…He takes her in his arms…<br />
what has he done? He says “I am sorry. I love you.” One, two, three. Courtesy and bow.<br />
We always loved the ending.drneilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276986285901932089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881111755374443866.post-17999799775304331702016-06-29T19:58:00.000-07:002017-09-03T09:35:53.127-07:00I stand in that roomI stand in that room. I am standing on nothing. I am nothing. The only thing that holds me up is fear. It shoots through my body like electricity. Without it I would fall away.<br />
<br />
I see it over and over and over.<br />
<br />
I see something flash…and then it is gone.<br />
<br />
I can’t make it stop. I can’t make them stop. My scream is stuck in my throat. I am frozen. Unspeakable images flash like an atomic camera’s light. They burn into my brain. They blind me. They melt before me. They fade in and out. I chase them but can never catch them. My fingers pass through them. I squint my eyes to try to see the fading negatives.<br />
<br />
I am not sure what you want. I am sure of the fear.<br />
<br />
The terror is with me always. It is a part of me. When I am away from home everything is unreal.<br />
<br />
I stand in the center of my fear. I am lost in it. I cannot tell where it ends and I begin. I breath it in, nothing comes out. I am lost. I cannot believe the others do not see it.<br />
<br />
My world swirls and screams and melts – and all around me everyone continues in the slow motion order of their world. I am not a part of them. No one sees me and no one can help me. I am terror.<br />
<br />
My mother, my sister – we are alone. We live in terror. We live under the boot. It falls on our neck and no one sees. No one can stop it. There is nowhere to go.<br />
<br />
My father is God. He is invincible. He continues because he is power. He continues because the world is indifferent and we are weak.<br />
<br />
spin, and I run, and I hide. The best I can do in this dream is to disappear. Disappear to where nothing is real and no one feels.<br />
<br />
The safest place to be is curled up in a dark corner, or under the bed or in the closet. I love these places. They are places where it is easy to disappear. To float away. Disconnect. I hope this is what death is like.drneilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276986285901932089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881111755374443866.post-57424210713672935142016-05-27T19:56:00.000-07:002017-09-03T09:35:28.901-07:00I am a victim of rapeI am a victim of rape. Really not a victim because I made it happen. I am very bad. Awful. I should not be allowed near children. People say, “Low self-esteem, very bad judgment, naïve, foolish, stupid, slut.” It’s all the same to me.<br />
<br />
I am a victim of an inevitable rape. Like dominos, the events fell one by one through the years – until it happened.<br />
<br />
And this is what you deserve and this is what you need and this is what you get and this is how the world treats you when you are stupid, foolish, naïve, low self esteem, raped. You are social pornography. You are a slut. You know how to treat a slut don’t you? You treat her like she is disposable, your treat her like she is the punch line to some joke, you treat her like a receptacle. You treat her like a jerk off magazine you don’t have to hold up.<br />
<br />
And she knows she is wrong – and she knows you are right – and she wonders if she should hate you…or just take the beating.drneilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276986285901932089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881111755374443866.post-75465308465995075012016-04-28T19:55:00.000-07:002017-09-03T09:33:52.501-07:00Family Violence - Introduction The material on this section of the blog is published anonymously by someone who grew up in a family where domestic violence was common. As you can see by what is written, the presence of spouse abuse can have a profound effect on children. While there is an increased probability that an abuser will also abuse children in the family, this does not necessarily occur. However, as we see the presence of abuse can affect the children even when they are not physically abused.<br />
<br />
Note - I believe it is important to differentiate ongoing domestic violence like the battered spouse syndrome from domestic violence that is mutual (intimate partner violence) and a violent incident that occurs in the heat of a divorce.drneilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276986285901932089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881111755374443866.post-78731545047043785322016-03-06T14:30:00.002-08:002021-12-08T19:53:00.909-08:00Bad Mom – II<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:donotpromoteqf/> <w:lidthemeother>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:lidthemeasian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:lidthemecomplexscript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> 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<i>The residential parent usually gets the worst from the child and may be unappreciated. Sometimes a parent may become so involved (wrapped-up) in their own issues they are less affective as a parent.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You usually think Mom’s have your best interest in their heart. But there are some moms, who are bad, “Bad Moms”. They are selfish and don’t really care about you. It makes you wonder if they are like this all the time, or just with you. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When other people are around its like every thing is OK but when the other people leave its like everything is wrong. When you think about it you wish you had a mom that wasn’t so bad – that you had a mom that didn’t make you sad. Moms are supposed to help you reach for your goals and dreams. Bad moms don’t help unless they can get something out of it for themselves. They are selfish. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When you have a bad mom you feel she is out to get you. You feel uncomfortable about her as if she’s out to get you. With a bad mom you feel like there’s nowhere to go.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b> </b><i>This child likes his mother and is being playful in calling her “Bad Mommy”. Like many other children of divorce, this child is caught in a mixture of feelings that tug at one’s heart strings. We also can get a glimpse of what the child sees the father going through.</i><b><br /></b></div>
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<b>Bad Mommy</b></div>
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Most mommies are nice but my mommy is bad - just bad. I don’t know why my mommy is bad. I think she was born that way. </div>
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My mommy hits me and yells at me and even spanks my butt. I think she likes being mean. Once I had to go in my room <b>all day</b> – can you believe that – making me go in my room all day. My mommy only lets me sleep with my brother on the weekends. Daddy lets me and my brother sleep together in Daddy’s bed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mommy is mean to daddy also. She calls him names and made him leave the house. Now I am going to have a divorce – and she caused it. My daddy is so sad, cause he can’t see us most of the time. </div>
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<b>Nice daddy</b></div>
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Daddy is nice. He lets me and brother stay up late. He takes me to work. He tells me I’m special. He got me an I-pod and he said he would give me a cell phone for my birthday. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes he gets mad at me about the divorce. He’s afraid he won’t see us anymore. Daddy gets sad a lot and this makes me sad. He cries and doesn’t answer me. Daddy gets his tears on me when he cries. I feel mad when he doesn’t answer me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think daddy is jealous of mommy because we live with her. He’s mad that he can’t go in his own house cause mommy won’t let him. He’s mad because he thinks mommy is trying to take us away from him. </div>
drneilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276986285901932089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881111755374443866.post-60197597285669029732016-01-17T14:39:00.001-08:002021-12-08T19:54:33.850-08:00I Wish Mom & Dad Would Remarry<span style="font-style: italic;">Children whose parents are divorced frequently have the fantasy that they will remarry. This child is upset and needs to be comforted.</span><br />
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My mom and dad are divorced. The best thing would be if they remarried. Some days I don’t know if I am suppose to be with mom or dad. If they remarried I could be with both of them and I wouldn’t have to remember who I am supposed to be with.<br />
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When dad and mom were married and I was a baby and had bad dreams, they wouldn’t let me in there bed. I kicked on my bed.<br />
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I had a “stuffy” when I was born and I still have it. Dad says throw it away because I am getting old. I don’t want to throw it away because I always sleep with it. The “stuffy” is getting ripped on his arm and most of his head. Mom says I should put it in a box with a ribbon on it and save it. I want to keep it in my bed forever.drneilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276986285901932089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881111755374443866.post-41649409739860643322016-01-12T06:28:00.001-08:002021-12-08T19:53:14.325-08:00I Have Two Houses<span style="font-style: italic;">Divorce is hard on children. They may wish their parents would remarry, even years later. Most children want to keep their connection to both parents but this can be difficult because they can only be with one at a time. The parenting time schedule can be hard on them and when they are with one parent they may miss and worry about the other parent. </span><br />
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I have two houses. Sometimes I live with mom and sometimes I live with dad. I didn’t like having two houses because I like being at my mom’s house more than my dads. I don’t really like living at dad’s house because he makes me eat vegetables and I don’t like his new wife. What I wish more than anything is that my mom and dad would love each other again and be married again. That would make me happier.<br />
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It’s confusing and hard to live at two houses because it is hard to know what is going on and when I’m going to be with which parent. <br />
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I told my father that living at two houses was hard for me. My parents decided that I could live at my mom’s house and spend time with my dad every other weekend instead. This is great. Now I have one house and know what’s going on. <br />
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There is another problem though. When I am with mom the time goes too fast and I worry that I won’t see her on the weekends that I am with dad. Mom says that I get anxious but I don’t know what that word means. I think it means something like worried. I worry about going to my dad’s house, and I am sad the day before I go to his house. When I get to dad’s house I feel sad but I try to hide this because I don’t want him to be upset. I am afraid he will change the schedule back to when I had two houses. <br />
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I love mom and dad very much and I don’t want either of them to get upset. It is hard for kids to have divorced parents because at first before we changed the schedule, I only saw mom two days of the week. That was only a little bit of time. I missed her. This was when mom and I lived with mom’s parents. We couldn’t find another house to stay at. Later mom got her house back when dad moved out of it.drneilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276986285901932089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881111755374443866.post-72551870399821252662015-12-28T08:09:00.001-08:002021-12-08T19:53:21.111-08:00It Wasn't About the Pencils<span style="font-style: italic;">Anger and hurt in children can come out in many different ways. Sometimes it doesn’t appear to be connected to the original source. These emotions may be displaced onto other situations and other people. Usually there is a thread of connection but we may not be able to see it.</span><br />
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I was so upset. I was yelling and screaming and I didn’t care. Jamie was teasing me by copying everything I did and everything I said. I was so mad. I told Jamie to stop it. And when I told him to stop it, he said, “Stop it.” That made me madder.<br />
Mommy bought six pencils at the school store. Jamie told her he only wanted the rainbow colored pencil and didn’t want the others. When I told mommy I would take the other pencils, Jamie said he wanted them. We couldn’t agree on which color pencils each of us would get. I wanted the pencils he wanted just so he couldn’t have them. And he wanted the pencils I wanted so I couldn’t have them. We were being mean to each other. Mommy tried to work it out, but we wouldn’t let anything work. She made a lot of suggestions. Me and Jamie said, “No” to everything mommy suggested. <br />
Later, mommy and I were talking. I told her I was upset because daddy was only going to take me for one sleep over this week and not two, like he usually does. I love seeing daddy and wish he still lived with us. When I can’t see him I get so upset, sad and angry. Before when I was screaming and yelling, maybe it wasn’t because I wanted the pencils. Maybe, it was because I couldn’t see daddy for two nights this week.drneilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276986285901932089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8881111755374443866.post-36207197039798571252015-12-28T08:06:00.001-08:002021-12-08T19:53:27.129-08:00Introduction to Children's Stories about DivorceWhat do children say when their parents are divorcing? How do they deal with the divorce of their parents? Within this blog are stories that children have told me about divorce. These stories illustrate what happens to children when there is a divorce in their family. They can also help us understand about the psyche of children and different ways that they deal with stressful events in their lives.drneilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03276986285901932089noreply@blogger.com