Growing up in a never ending cycle of chaos, I came to expect it. Of course there was always the calm before the storm but the more pronounced, the more prolonged the calm; the worse the storm was.
I think my father had his ways to keep us guessing. Everything was fine and then someone would commit an offense that had always provoked him in the past. But this time he wouldn't explode. No fists. No belts. No starry shakes of my head. No angry touching.
The artificial calm was almost more than I could take. Predictable chaos is better than uncertain explosions.
It was then my mission to make him angry. I was in control if I could chose the moment of his anger and the consequences. I continued this behavior into my dating and first marriage. We lived the comfort of the vicious cycle. I didn't believe that I deserved to live in anything but an abusive home so that is what I accepted.
In my re-marriage, there have still been times that I have tried to invoke the chaos. Problem is, my husband never bites. He doesn't hit. He doesn't break things. He doesn't do horribly passive/aggressive things either. It doesn't push him away. He never even leaves.
Sometime I wonder what it must feel like to be my daughter. To come home to a clean and peaceful home. To never have to clean up broken glass. To never know the sound of leather hitting skin. To have parents who can disagree and work it out without violence. It must be wonderful.
I am far from the perfect mother. I have issues. And God know that I have hang ups.
But I hope that I will never teach her chaos. I hope instead that I teach her that peaceful is good.
And unlike chaos, there is no need to control peace.
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