Iron Man Part 2

Continued from Iron Man Part 1

The idea of him or his kids specifically was too soon, but something had definitely gotten my attention in terms of being able to process my extremely inflexible red-light list; it had come up before in previous encounters, and I knew if I didn’t try to unravel it head on, it would come up again.

In the beginning, I wasn’t sure what to do about it. I was constantly torn between adoring every minute I got to know Iron Man and simultaneously being haunted by the fact that he clearly violated the firm boundaries I set for myself. I prayed most days for greater understanding and asked that God help me unwind this complex ball of yarn.

I had attended a brutal and physical event two years in a row, and every now and then, I could hear a scratchy voice in my head replaying the words of the guy who led the event. I even heard the slurp of the tobacco spit wad in his right cheek when he said, “Don’t move the fucking goalpost”…

Is that what I was doing? Mostly, I agreed with this. We don’t want to do that which is where the struggle came from. I was curious, however, why these rules existed because I honestly did not know.

———————-

Admittedly, I talk to myself out loud a lot. I even answer myself. I was sitting on my porch wrapped in a blanket one evening when I decided to start asking myself the tough questions.

“OK, Athena. What’s the deal here? Do you have a problem with children or not?”

“This is a dumb question; I have spoken openly about adopting. If this were true, you wouldn’t have considered this option.”

“You’re right. You’re so right *nodding in agreement*. So… What if things work out down the road, I mean with anyone? Are you good with being a stepmom?”

“Hell no. We’re done here; I’m done playing your little game.” I get up from the porch, almost as if I was chasing myself inside.

“Wait a minute, come back here.”

This is the moment when Athena completely shut down.

S-T-E-P-M-O-M.

In my brain, apparently, there was a difference between adopting and being put in a position where I could potentially carry the label of S-T-E-P-M-O-M. It triggered something pretty fierce. I was almost upset at myself that I ever let that word out of my own mouth.

A few hours later, I found myself in front of my bathroom mirror, watching the little pockets on the sides of my eyes fill up with water, and the only thing I thought to tell myself was, “You know you aren’t her, right?”

That was a pretty big revelation that I didn’t know bothered me. As always, I prayed for the strength to work through it. There wasn’t a day when I wasn’t talking to God and asking for clarity.

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As time passed, outside of children and a divorce, Iron Man had other red flags that I certainly was not ignoring. Some of them got so big I simply couldn’t, but I was still invested in continuing my reflection process, whether it made sense to continue getting to know him more or not.

Enter the topic of multiple divorces. Not one, multiple.

My heart sank.

I’m back out on my front porch, wrapped in that blanket, having the same conversation with myself.

“So when you think of multiple divorces, what comes to mind”?

“Train wreck”.

“That’s pretty brutal. Train wreck is how you’d describe that?”

“YEP!”…… I announced loudly. There was no changing my mind at that point.

 

Sometime later that evening, I was walking up my stairwell and stopped at a new grouping of pictures I had hung on my wall over Thanksgiving. They were all of my parents. I paused and stared at the photos. My mother was my dad’s third wife. My dad was my mother’s fourth husband. They have been together for over thirty years now, which is why I have a dad, and my name is different from the one I was born with.

“Are they a train wreck, Athena?”

“No”, I whispered. “But there is such a thing as repeated patterns.”

“When people look at you, have they ever assumed your struggles with weight is a train wreck, too? Losing the same weight repeatedly isn’t a repeated pattern”?

“Screw you and your games again. I’m done playing today”.

——————-

 

I continued to pray daily. Shortly after Christmas, I believe God finally delivered.

One of my to-do tasks was to organize a closet in my dressing room. I started pulling everything out to reorganize and purge whatever I didn’t need and stumbled across a gift bag that was taped shut.

I again, sat on that dressing room chair and opened the bag to find neatly folded baby clothing. It was the little outfit my mom gave me years ago that I wore when I came home from the hospital. When she gave it to me, she said, ‘Now your little one can come home from the hospital in these too!’ My son Aiden never came home from the hospital. He breathed incredible life for 17 minutes, and it was the best 17 minutes of my life. My heart wanted nothing to do with that bag. So it got shoved into a closet.

The dressing room suddenly felt warm, and in an instant, I knew. I knew what I had done.

When I lost my son, it was easier to say I didn’t want children than to have to deal with the pain of his loss or to ever have to explain to a potential partner that I wanted children and that my body was somehow broken. Avoiding men who had previous marriages and children kept me from getting a label I was terrified of having. Avoiding men who wanted children helped me prevent the discussions I would need to have about my little boy. It helped me avoid the excruciating truth that I had wanted children my whole life. But that was the story I went with, to a point where it cemented without me even knowing, and now I had all these rules preventing me from fulfilling something I wanted and secretly yearned for. Wanting children, for me, means a nontraditional path. I never allowed the possibility that someone might come with children that I can love just as easily.

I sobbed like I hadn’t in ten years as God reached down and stuck his fingers into my heart, pulled it right out of my chest, and showed it to my eyes. My capacity to love children not my own was substantially more significant than I gave myself credit. But he also taught me there were still some major puzzles pieces not completely flushed out.

Ironically, there is a mirror in that room. When the tears finally stopped flowing, I looked at myself with a flushed face and puffy eyelids. I laughed and nodded my head.

“Is this what your body was holding on to? You can let it go now, Athena.”

I’ve said this before, but it’s never been a weight loss journey. It is so far from that.

ahhh yes. What about Iron Man? Rest assured that when it comes time to introduce you all to someone, whoever that someone might turn out to be, you will know unequivocally that he has earned a spot here. In the meantime, God continues to teach me. All you really need to do is ask, believe and wait. It’s going to get delivered. Matthew 7:7.

Happy New Year. May 2024 be your most powerful yet.