Climbing the Pyramid

Maslow's, that is.

I have been fighting so hard for the basics for so long - fear over health, employment, losing the house, and the rest, that I have really been struggling.

Last weekend in my yoga retreat, the facilitator of the "dreams workshop" portion of events reminded us, through pictures and exercises and discussions, that it wasn't until we gave ourselves some nurturing that we could live up to our potential, creatively and purposefully.  I've thought about his words quite a bit in the last week or so, and realized that the timing for that workshop could not have been more perfect, because I have just broken free from the "safety and security" level of the pyramid, and shot up towards the top.

No wonder I feel giddy.

I was really prepared to sell my home - and Katherine's sense of home - if I couldn't get the refi.  And I've still not entirely adjusted to my new job and the belief of its security.  It's hard to move from cancer patient to post-cancer-life.  And I've been terrified of all that my life has done to my daughter, and of course there's DIVORCE, and all the rest.

But you know what?  The divorce has turned a corner: we've completed paperwork, and it's fine.  Our daughter is happy and secure.  I spent the Thanksgiving holiday with my inlaws (affectionately refered to as my exlaws), giving and receiving hugs, basting turkey, watching a movie, and feeling quite settled.  Bryan was there too, and the name cards at the table had us seated as a family, with Katherine between us.

And it was fine.  And fun!  I didn't feel angry, I didn't feel bitter, I felt.....fine.  Amazingly fine.  I know that our "family" time is good for our daughter, and I also know that at the end of the night I go home alone, and both of those things are such a huge relief.  I know that his behavior is not a reflection of who I am, and I don't need to cover it up or feel bad about it.  I don't expect him to be thoughtful, and when he's not, it's fine, because I'm not relying on him.

And my beautiful kitchen is just inches away from completion, and I feel so happy about my marble backsplash that I'm sure I've lost my mind, but I don't care.  Gazing at my giant double sink and pretty faucet, I could cry tears of gratitude.  My home isn't moldy, it's lovely, and it feels not only safe, but also pretty.

And my job....my job is going great.  How amazing is that?  Nine years out of the workforce, and I have actually pulled this off, and I love where I work and it pays the bills and I feel incredibly blessed.

So, up the pyramid I go.

*****

I have hired a personal trainer to come to my house once a week for six weeks at five in the morning.  Yes, five.  I know better than anybody how important health is, and I'm ready to seize mine.  I'm height weight proportionate, but I'm squishy and lethargic, and I'm ready for a burst of energy.  The idea is that the trainer will get me moving, and give me homework for the rest of the week.  I'm still frugal (I roped a friend into this with me, so we split the costs, which actually weren't too bad, surprisingly) and I know that spending the money will get me moving the rest of the week, too.

And I signed up for the Breast Cancer 3-Day next summer.  I'm ready to work on changing the world, and this cause means a great deal to me.   (How on earth can I raise $2400?  We will find out!  I've done it before, I can do it again.)  And I'm running the giving tree for my church - Katherine and friends helped me to set up the tree today and cover it with tags, and we hope to get gifts for 150 or more children again this year.

Charity work makes me feel alive.

And I'm committed to writing, and editing.  Still working on it, but I know I can do it.

And I'm still planning on Paris next summer.

And today I took the dog for a walk near the beach, and the sun sparkling on the water just made me gasp with how beautiful it was.

If I can do it, anybody can.  I started from a pretty low place, and I feel so incredibly alive and hopeful right now.  If I can do it, you can.  If you are in an ugly marriage with no hope of improvement, please, do what it takes to save yourself.  I have to tell you, I haven't felt this good in years, and you deserve to feel that way, too.

Need further convincing?

My daughter is doing better than she has in years, too.  No, she's not thrilled at the divorce, and nor do I expect her to be.  But she's doing academically well, getting along great with both parents, and by every definition is well adjusted.  She's in the other room right now making Christmas cards, occassionally calling out "how do you spell.....?" and singing along with Christmas carols on the radio.  At dinner tonight, she was so animated, talking to me of this and that, that her beauty caught in my throat.  She is happy, and she is well.  I never dreamed how she would blossom in the divorce, doing even better than before.

Self actualiztion?  Sure, why not.  It's a good goal.  I'm going to aim high.  And I'm going to lead the way for my daughter, teaching her that living down in the "seeking safety" part of the pyramid is no way to live, and that we both deserve better.

*****

I do not feel like I need a man to be complete.  I feel pretty darned happy.

But I also feel like this new version of myself, the one I'm doing JUST FOR MYSELF, is going to draw the kind of man I'd like to spend time with.

I don't know if my sailboat dreams will come true, but they might.  Right now, I'm working on my life with Katherine, making sure I'm living up to my potential, not relying on a man to furnish my happiness.  I'm very content to be alone right now, because I know it's giving me space to work on myself, and because I'm enjoying that process so immensely, and I don't want to lose my focus before it's entirely internalized.

But I think that handsome, kind, joyful, spiritual, together man, the one I dream of, is out there, and when I meet him I won't be all filled with self-doubts about my own ability to match him, to be worth his love.  I will bring my best self to the table, and he will see it for what it is, and he will love it, and me.

Sounds nice, doesn't it?  Stay tuned.  I think it's getting closer, even though I haven't had a date in months, and those were rather simple and exploratory and disasterous.  :-)  I'll know when the time is right, and I look forward to that.

But now?  Work.  Katherine.  And Christmas.  And climbing the pyramid, excited to see the view from the top.  I don't know how much farther it is to the top, but I know I'll get there.

Giddy

I can't quite explain it, but I'm feeling positively giddy right now.

I'm on that beach, not drowned, and it feels better than I thought possible.  I wake up and do a little check each morning - cancer? no.  drowning in debt? no.  in a terrible relationship? no.  Katherine doing well? yes.  job? fantastic. major crisis? none.

And then my eyes fly open and I pretty much start giggling.  I am overflowing with hope and optimism, and I can hardly believe that I'm in this place right now.

At parent-teacher conferences last week (Bryan and I went together - so glad we can get it together enough for that!) I waited to hear anything of concern, and there was nothing.  It turns out that Katherine is a horrible speller (the subject of an earlier teacher call that induced momentary panic about dyslexia), but that she is doing great with everything else academically.  Hey, if she needs to be a rotten speller, so be it, I can live with that!  And again, we heard how she was kind, social, attententive, a pleasure to have in class.  And those magical words, "She's a really happy kid."  And "You have nothing to worry about."

How could I not be giddy?  Katherine is well!  She's really, truly well!

Last weekend I did a yoga retreat with a workshop about crafting one's life, and it reminded me of who I am and who I wish to be.  I immediately signed up for a personal trainer with a friend, and felt giddy that I could afford it (and wise because she is going to come to my house at 5am once a week; this means that I don't have to leave Katherine alone; the rest of the time I'll work out on my own; the shared costs make it affordable).  And I signed up for the Breast Cancer 3-Day for next year; it's time to move my body more and it's time to end the disease that tried to kill me and might one day go after my daughter.

And I'm leading the giving tree at church - last year we were able to provide toys for a couple hundred foster children, and we also gave a very nice check to the foster child organization, and this year we're doing it again.  This Sunday I'll set up the tree, hang the tags, and try to inspire a couple hundred people to give.

THIS is the life I'm meant to live.  Healthy in body and soul, giving back to the world.  Appreciating my good fortune, enjoying every second of it that I can.  My cozy house, my incredible, beautiful, amazing daughter; my loving dog and my crazy but sweet (and healthy again) cat.  The girlfriends who absolutely get me, who don't mind if I'm a mess and celebrate with me when I'm happy.

And able to pay my bills with a smidge left over.  How is that even possible?  And the fact that I found a job that I enjoy that also provides flexibility - how did that happen?

Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou.  Wow.  Thank you.

The other day on the bus there was a street prophet - a man who appeared homeless and perhaps mentally ill.  He was speaking loudly, but under his matted hair and dirty clothes there wasn't anger, but joy.  He called out to everyone "It's going to be a great year.  Things are looking better!  2013 is going to be wonderful!  It really is!  Things are picking up, and it's going to be great!" 

If he can feel that kind of joy, why can't I?  Well, I can.  And I do.  And he reminded me of how easy my life is, despite how hard it has been sometimes.

There will be hard times again - they come and they go, and they will come again.

But this Thanksgiving, as I sit down at a table with more than a dozen of my soon-to-be-ex relatives, including Bryan, I have a heart full of joy.  I can afford to be kind to him because I am filled with hope for the future, and because in this very minute, I am not drowning, I'm soaking up the sunshine, even though it's raining outside.

Giddy with gratitude.  ThankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouWow.

Surviving versus Thriving

My refinance is complete, and my bank account reflects that.

I can not tell you what a relief this is!  My house repairs will happen, my financial picture is rosier, and I have room to breathe once again.  Maybe I can actually get some real sleep, all the way through the night, from the relief. 

I have been surviving lately, just trying not to drown.  I suppose that this was inevitable for part of the process - nobody ever says "my divorce was so pain free!" and there is good reason for that.  But still, merely surviving is not my style.  I have not worked this hard to be alive only to "survive" - I want to thrive.  I want to suck the marrow from life, I want to kneel in the grass in awe and wonder, and I want to carry the all the joy that life holds with me at all times.

I have high standards, clearly.  And I have had many people tell me that my standards are impossibly high, and then when I'm having a bad day, or week, or month, they tell me that my standards are making me miserable and that I ought to lower them like a normal person.

But I don't want to be normal.

I want an extraordinary life, and I am not settling for mere survival.  I am going to keep fighting to find the joys in my life.  The other day I stopped to smell a rose - a beautiful yellow one with a deep, old fashioned scent - that had not yet had frost, and the old cliche' came to me, and it reminded me that so few people actually stop to inhale fragrance in that way.  For fifteen or twenty seconds, I closed my eyes and breathed in its perfume, and it made me smile deeply, and it made me remember that there is beauty and joy in the world....but that you have to stop to find it.  How many times had I walked by that same rose without truly drinking it in?  How many people will actually stop for it - so beautiful and unexpected in the fall leaves?  I intend to be one of those who stops, and not just once.

The same people who tell me that my standards are too high, that life is full of challenges and that I can't possibly feel the joy I'm seeking, are the same ones who ask me "how do you do it?" and wonder aloud how come I'm so much happier than they are.


Here's the secret, the one they can't get.

I'm happier than they are because I decided to be.

I prioritize joy.  I refuse to give up on it.  When I'm in the dark, black hole of despair - we all get there sometimes - I don't stop seeking joy, even though I sometimes feel like I'm blindfolded in a snowstorm with no sense of home.  I just refuse to stop looking for happiness.....and that means that I find it.  I believe in it, so I just keep going.  It seems clear to me that though we all know that life has no guarantees, it pretty much guarantees that you won't get where you wish to be if you stop, so I keep going.

I can not remove life's obstacles (in case you've forgotten, cancer, divorce, and money woes are all on that list).  But in spite of them, there is joy, and I'm seizing it.

This weekend while my kitchen is being torn apart for my mini-remodel (a functioning dishwasher will cause nirvana-like bliss at this point; this is especially true today because yesterday I threw a trick-or-treating party with a dinner for 15 people and I still have dishpan hands as a result), Katherine and I are taking our dog and heading to the mountains for a night.  We're staying in a cheap hotel, but it's got an indoor pool, and it's in a gorgeous area.  Maybe we'll hike a bit, maybe we'll watch movies in the room, we'll certainly splash in the pool and hot tub.  Life's not perfect, but it doesn't need to be perfect.  I am going to get as much joy from my functioning dishwasher and new sink as any of the $100,000 remodels I've seen on HGTV, and I'm going to enjoy my cheap hotel as much as if it were five stars and world class.

Maybe one day, I'll get a "real" remodel or a five star vacation.  But I'm not waiting for "one day" to be happy.  It seems that the waves have died down a bit, and I can float in them.  Bliss.

Rolling with the waves

Things seem to come in waves.

Right now, I'm dealing with a divorce, refinance, house repair issues (major ones), a dying father in law.  As indicated in the last post, I was starting to feel pretty good about all of that: I have been working hard at managing my business.

So the next wave has arrived: a beloved aunt has early signs of colon cancer, and it appears to be genetic, and linked to breast cancer; she needed copies of my genetic testing and called me with the news.  This prompted calls to my own oncologist, who tells me that I need to get in for a colonoscopy, stat, and that it is of some concern; she also tells me that I need additional genetic testing done for breast cancer.  Having lost both of my breasts as well as my reproductive organs due to breast cancer, I'm probably even less excited than the average person concerned about colon cancer.  And I don't need to mention that I have a daughter who doesn't even HAVE breasts yet, and that new information might mean genetic components to my cancer, which I may have passed along to her.....

And then her school called.  Maybe a bit of testing for dyslexia is in order?  Her comprehension is incredibly high, but her spelling of even sight words is really off, and maybe testing is in order....?  She's performing at grade level but the spelling is below and this can be a sign....?

And my father in law moved to hospice yesterday.

I'm sure that there is humor in here somewhere.  When the waves come, they come hard and fast, and I'm spluttering, turning my head to take a breath only to discover that there is a different wave there, and I take a gasping breath only to inhale water.

It's a good thing I'm a strong swimmer, and that I'm not a quitter.  There is shore out there and I am not stopping until I reach it.

This week, we notorized our decree of dissolution.  Today I sign my house refinance papers, and for the first time, I will have purchased a house all by myself.  My job is going well.  I can use the refi money to do the house repairs (hallelujah) in time for winter.

I do not have colon cancer.  I refuse to have colon cancer, and I refuse to panic.  I will do the testing because it's important, but I will expect good results.

And my daughter doesn't have dyslexia or any problem other than that she's a terrible speller.  She's doing well in math, reading, and science and always performs at grade level (above grade level for reading) in all things except spelling.  I will not freak out about this. I will take necessary precautions, but I believe this is going to work out.  (And I also believe that I need to post about studies of long term stress on children - like having a mom with cancer and then going through a parents' divorce - and how that impacts them.  Stay tuned.)

And I visited my father in law not long ago, and told him I loved him, and last night Katherine and I talked deeply about dying, and then Katherine slept in my bed with me and we were both peaceful.  We are at peace with our relationships with him, and with his death.

This weekend I will spend some quality time in home improvement stores and on the Consumer Reports website, but I will also go to a Halloween Party, and with a little luck, tomorrow I will drink coffee for two hours uninterrupted while Katherine sleeps in, and I will catch my breath.

I am doing the best I can.  I am still swimming.  Sometimes I swallow water and choke, but I am not going to drown.  As a matter of fact, when I reach that sunny shore, I'm going to drink tropical fruit juice and lay on a towel reading a magazine, and then I'm going to build a sand castle with Katherine.

But right now, pardon me, I have to keep swimming.  Back to work.

****

If you are going through hard times, you're not alone.  But we can do this!  We've got this.  See you on the beach!

Relief

My oncologist, whom I adore, emailed me over the weekend.

I don't have cancer.

To say this is a relief would be like saying that to have one's arm torn off by a grizzly might hurt.  There are really no words to describe the sense of elation that comes with believing that I have another shot at life.  Every year, my appointment sends me spinning in this way; I'm just glad that now I only go a little crazy around cancer appointment time, and not all day every day as the first several years went.  (It's hard to forget cancer with scare after scare, surgery after surgery.)

I also got good news - well, I choose to view it as good news.  My thyroid is WAY off, and I'm extremely hypothyroid.  Why is this good news?  Because it explains my fatigue and general sluggishness this past month, and because there is a simple fix.  (I take a synthetic thyroid drug because mine has been "off" for years, and occassionally I need to alter the dosage.  It appears that now I need to alter the dosage immensely, but with that simple alteration I should feel better very quickly.)

I have felt like I am just slogging lately, and the fact that my PollyAnna brain went as crazy as it did on the way to my oncology center is proof that I'm just not myself.

I'm going to be okay.

Hallelujah.

Reveling in the victories

I choose to revel in the victories, big and small.

Today I'm reveling because I had a good day at work.  Because I got up early and did some more chores to prep the house for tomorrow's party.  Because tonight I made a home cooked meal, fresh and simple and inexpensive and tasty.  Because I finally hung curtains across the back wall of the kitchen where the windows are large and the evening sun treats the whole kitchen like a greenhouse.  Because I gave Katherine my full attention when she talked to me this evening.  Because I'm following my tight budget and proud of my decisions (even when that means I'm the only one not buying a coffee).

And because tomorrow a dozen or more friends are coming over, and I'm so glad that I have such good friends, and that they're game for my sage burning bell ringing wine drinking party.

I am not afraid to revel in the small.  It's why I threw a last day of chemo party in the chemo ward, and it's why I found myself staring at a cake with boobs (stripper boobs, if you ask me) on it on the day my reconstruction was finished (with tattoos, by the way....boy do boobs look weird with no aereolas) at my finishing breast reconstruction party.  Katherine and I decided today that we might need to do some kind of summer party together, too - we're thinking Hawaiian themed luau (some kind of pulled pork and pineapple burgers.....potluck style to save money?).

Because life is short, and often painful.....but there is so much to celebrate.  I intend to make more time to celebrate than to mourn, and I don't care if it's big or small.  I was proud of myself for making the time to hang curtains.....in my work clothes, pencil skirt and all no less.  Ha!

I've been separated for less than two weeks, but so far, so good.  That calls for a celebration, don't you think?



What are you celebrating?  No matter how hard things are, what are you feeling proud of, and what small victories can you claim as you work your way towards larger victories?

Happy Tuesday, dear readers.  Be well!

Progress

Mediation went surprisingly well - Bryan gave me more child support than I asked for.

Amazing.

We are early in the process, and things will undoubtedly change, but we are making it clear with one another that we intend to be fair, that will will be Katherine-focused, and that we want what the mediator called a "durable" agreement, one that will look just as good a year or more from now as it does when we sign it.  I'm trying to be really pragmatic about this, non-emotional and thoughtful.

Several friends and family members have noticed that Bryan seems happier than he has in ages.  Though I joked with a friend, "If he starts traveling the world with a hot girlfriend and comes home to a newly remodeled place with a view and I'm struggling as a single mom and my dishwasher is broken, I may not be totally graceful about that...." I really do want him to be happy, and it is a giant relief to see that he might actually be feeling hopeful about his own future.

I never wanted to go down in history as the woman who ruined his life, even if that was only in his own imagination.  On my good days, I hope that our divorce frees each of us to be the person we were intended to be, and that we will both reach our full potential when we are separate in a way that we couldn't do together.  On my good days, I think he will be happy, and I will see his eyes twinkle again, and that feels like a burden lifted from me.

So, rushing around trying to get things ready for the big move.  An extra set of sheets, another broom, a lot of organizing.  Additional chaos at home, but I've taken the next week off work to be with Katherine and to do some serious nesting at home, to get our lives in order.

And I'm obsessively budgeting in Excel.

And I'm trying to plan an amazing road trip with Katherine for August, within that budget, because we need the wind in our hair and we need to explore the world.

I will help with the move on Saturday, and then in the evening I will have a couple very close girlfriends over to help me to either celebrate, cry, or both.  The plan is for wine, cheese, and chocolate.  They will know how to reach me, no matter what I'm feeling, and I take great comfort in knowing that my first night alone will be filled with laughter, even if there will be tears.

This is my new life.  I will make the most of it.  I still feel low energy but I also feel hopeful.  Getting closer!

Almost time

First of all, thank you so much to those of you who reached out to ask me to keep blogging.  I received emails as well as comments, and your words have moved me to tears.  I am so grateful for your support and kindness, and you are appreciated.  I am filled with gratitude.

I will keep blogging.  I will try to be thoughtful in my choices, to be respectful, but also to be truthful, and to share not only my PollyAnna optimism - which is very real, and a deep part of me - but also my fears and struggles, because it would be simplistic to think that I could get through this without them.

My goal is to live my life with integrity and compassion, towards myself as well as others.  I'd like the blog to reflect that, although it is a lofty goal, and one that I may not always reach.

To those of you who have encouraged me in that direction, again, I say thank you.  I am grateful.

*****

This is the week, and I am days away from Bryan moving out.

He has not packed one box.

I have Thursday and Friday off work, and I am prepared to run around getting boxes and packing materials, and filling in my own gaps for the house.  I will be in charge of Katherine, too, and I am fearful that I won't know how to give her what she needs, because I am feeling very self absorbed right now, and very quiet.  My brain is awash in fear - no, not quite fear, more like anxiety.  There is so much going on, and I am fighting for my Zen house, not this house of chaos, but I feel low energy, and anxious, and I really do wish I could go to bed and wake up when it's all done.

I will rent a carpet cleaner for Sunday, and I will spend at least two hours cleaning his bathroom on Sunday.  Yuck.  No wonder I want to fast forward until next week!  Plus, moving is stressful under any circumstances, but this move is so disorganized, and he hasn't asked anyone to help, and I'll be his main person helping, which will likely lead to frayed tempers on both sides.  I have promised myself to be perky and focused on Katherine and to do whatever it takes to get the job done....but I'm so scared of the whole business, because it's so much work and so stressful.

I've been focused on "stuff" this week in a way that surprises me, but today I think I realized that I'm focusing on stuff, not emotions, because it's tangible.  I can't control how this move goes, and if it's a disaster, then it's his disaster, and he is responsible, because I am not in charge of him, the move, or how he handles things.  So, I've transferred some nervous energy into silly things - will there be enough bedside lamps to go around?  What will I use as a bedside table in the guest room?  I need to get Katherine a bookcase!  I must have a toaster!  (Not of the $10,000 variety, either.)  Now, I probably make toast once a month, so obsessing about a toaster is....odd, to say the least.  But somehow I've found myself worrying about little things like that, knowing full well that if Katherine has stacks of books in her room for a few weeks she wouldn't care, and that if we can't make toast it doesn't matter, but I've been focusing on things like that anyway.

Today is Tuesday.  He's supposed to move on Saturday.  It's going to be a long week.

And my body is responding by my face breaking out (seriously?!) and my arm lymphadema flaring up; my arm isn't swollen but it's throbbing, which is the precurser to swelling for me.  Damnit.

I don't have anything wise to say today.  Today is not a day for deep introspection, or for lessons, or for humor, or for wisdom.  Today, and this week, I just want to do what must be done to get through to the other side.  And I want to get out of my own head enough to be a great mom, not merely a sufficient one (which is how I feel right now).

Thank you for your continued thoughts and prayers.

A good divorce?

Two posts in one day, because it's Sunday morning and Katherine is at a sleepover and I woke up early, and so I have time to think, uninterrupted, which is a form of bliss.  Hello again!

I've mentioned Constance Ahrons' book The Good Divorce on this blog before.  If you are contemplating divorce, if you're in the middle of divorce, or if you're already divorced, and you have kids, this is the book to read.  The book outlines ways parents can approach divorce in the least-damaging ways possible for their children.  It's not a divorce law book, it's not a dating guidebook, it's not a justification for divorce book.  This is a book about parenting through divorce, and helping kids, and I think it's thoughtful and wise.



Notice that I said least-damaging, not blissful.  The book doesn't pretend that everything about divorce is wonderful and that the children will come out scott-free.  Instead, Ahrons paves the way for approaches to divorce that make the best out of a bad situation.  The general premise is that parental behavior impacts children as much or more than the divorce itself, and Ahrons suggests ways parents should behave in divorce.

I've taken the philosophies of this book to heart, and I'm doing my utmost to model my divorce on Ahrons' suggestions.  No matter what Bryan does, or how he behaves, I am in control of my own responses, and I am aware that anything that I can do to lower conflict between Bryan and myself will positively impact Katherine.


I bite my tongue a lot.
(Do not Google images of biting your tongue.  Gross.)

I think my tongue is covered in deep welts and scars, actually.  When Bryan told me on Friday night that he was too tired to help Katherine with her bedtime ritual and he was going to bed, I smiled at Katherine and said, "Get in your PJs so we can read stories," instead of snapping at him that he hardly spends any time with his girl and I've had a hard week too....although that is what I deeply wished to say.

And it's paying off.  I can not believe how much, but it's paying off!

Katherine is doing better through all of this than I even dreamed possible.  When she found out that her dad had commited to an apartment, I held my breath, fearful that this new stage of reality would freak her out, but instead, she seemed to experience actual joy.  I stared at her for a moment, I was so surprised by her response, but I think I get it now. 

Katherine is doing okay because Bryan and I have followed through on our commitment to make this work for her. 

The apartment is two blocks away, walking distance for a nine year old, and we've promised that she can go back and forth as she pleases, regardless of whose "day" it is.  When Bryan announced he'd booked it, I immediately said, "Oh, I'm so glad it's so close!" and smiled at Katherine.  Various people have said, "Ugh don't you want more space between you?" and while there is a part of me that feels that way, I mostly feel genuine enthusiasm for its proximity, knowing how nice it will be for her to just pop over to see her dad, or to come back here to get a favorite shirt or toy.

When Katherine was in a little play at church (ironically, about responding to change) last week, it was on "my" weekend, but I made sure that Bryan was invited, and we sat together to cheer her on.  My mom came, too, and afterwards she invited all of us, Bryan included, to lunch.  We all went, and we played nice.

Katherine doesn't say anything about it, but she sees it.  And she MUST notice how the tension is falling around here.  The tension is less than it was when Bryan and I were actively trying to stay married, as a matter of fact.

I'm packing all of Bryan's household stuff; he can't appear to get off his duff to do it, and I'd rather do it an hour here and an hour there than all in one mad rush (I really do dislike chaos).  And I've refrained from badgering him about it, and I've actually been pretty pleasant to him, despite the fact that it's a royal pain, and blatantly unfair (I have my own massive to-do list, and I'm doing his, too).  Katherine sees this, and I think she notices.

The funny thing is, Bryan is noticing too.  He has been much more pleasant to be around lately, and he has snapped at me much less than usual.  The tension is so much less, I actually told my mother "I think I like Bryan more now than I have in five years!"

Make no mistake: this is not a like of the "maybe we can make it work" variety.  Actually, the thing that makes it easiest for me to like Bryan right now is the idea that I no longer have to be married to him.  His problems are no longer my problems: I do not have to care about his mood swings, or his laziness, or the fact that he expects me to pick up his slack.  He has lost most of his ability to hurt me.  When there is some emotional distance, I simply don't care what he does, because it doesn't impact me nearly as much, and I'm not invested in making him be the kind of person I'd want to partner with.  We have little in common, but it doesn't matter any more.  We are not partners any more, and this frees me to like him in a casual way, from a distance.

What Katherine will see is that I will buy him a housewarming present.  She will see that I will help him move.  She will see that I bought him a nice Father's Day card.  She will see that I am not arguing about possessions - I would honestly rather give him every last stick of furniture than fight any more, and fortunately he's not choosing to fight over "stuff," either.  She will see us side by side, cheering for her.

I have coached my friends and family to accept him, too.  I have called them and told them that they have my explicit permission to socialize with him, to call him, to support him, because he's Katherine's dad, and excluding him would exclude her.  I have asked my family to include him in holiday events, because it's good for Katherine.

If we did not have a child, I would try to divorce on a handshake and walk away, possibly never seeing him ever again.  I've got anger and sadness in spades, and I'm not confused by that....I do not always feel Zen about our divorce.  But we do have a child, and that makes us a family, and family is forever.  Our marriage is over, but our family is not.

And it's working.  Katherine is doing better than I could have dreamed.  Her grades are higher than ever, and she's become an amazing reader.  Her counselor has said we can scale back on sessions because she's doing so well.  She's doing well with her friendships.  She's sleeping well - not too much or too little.  With the notable exception of the one giant fit (blogged earlier), her behavior is utterly normal.

My life is complicated, and I struggle daily.  Being a single working mother is exhausting, and the financial ramifications of this make my head hurt.  I have no idea what the future will bring, and while I'm filled with hope, I also have fear.

But maybe I will get my good divorce.  Divorce was not my dream, but as divorces go, maybe I can make this one as good as they come.

Time to revisit "Why I Want a Wife"

I remember the first time I read the essay, "Why I Want a Wife" by Judy Syfers.  It was published in Ms. Magazine before I was old enough to read, and I didn't read it until a high school English class.

(For those who don't wish to click through but haven't read it before, the basic premise of the essay is that if women had someone to care for the children, cook and clean, etc. then they'd be very happy to go to their nice offices and get paid.  It is a classic feminist essay, incredibly humorous and readable.  Oh, don't take my word for it.  If you haven't read it before, you should, so go click on it and then come back and keep reading here.  And if you haven't read it in a while, go re-read it.  It's better than you remember, worth your time.)

I brought home my hazy photocopy to my stay-at-home mother, waving it in the air and practically shouting at her.  "Look at this!  You need a wife!  Isn't this great?"

My mother was not amused.  She, rightly, felt that I was criticizing my father and their relationship together. I was critiquing her choices and judging them severely.

It is surprising to me more than anyone that some twenty-five years later, here I am, just as in need of a wife as my mother was.

Yesterday there was an article on The Huffington Post entitled Alimony for Cohabitators, Still, in 2012.  The article, by Elizabeth Benedict, examines the problem of women who receive alimony, and then use that money to fund their lifestyles with a new partner, whom they do not marry because then the alimony will end.  The article itself is relatively thoughtful: I agree that the problem she's pointing out is real, and that alimony reform makes sense.  But the comments to that post are what are inspiring this response.

The comments to the post contain a great deal of venom towards women, of the variety "She stayed home having fun while I want to work and then she left me, and I'm washing my hands of her, no way should I have to pay one red dime once we're divorced!"

As a former stay at home mother in the middle of a divorce, all of this impacts me....greatly.  We haven't worked out our finances for the settlement yet, but I fret over them every minute of every day, and not because I want to drain my ex dry (I don't), but because I'm struggling to make it work.

In my marriage - which one commenter has pointed out might be an anomoly, and was certainly sexist, and from the 1950s - he went to work, and I stayed home.  That meant that when Katherine was little, I was the only one who got up in the night to care for her, because he needed to be rested for the next day.  It meant that I did the cooking and cleaning, that I ran to the library and the dry cleaner and the grocery store.  It meant that I did all the school volunteering.  It meant that when our daughter was sick, I took her to the doctor, and learned how to clean myself up when she barfed on me, without ever setting her down because she wanted me to hold her.  He came home every day to a clean house, freshly folded laundry, a fridge full of food (his favorites, of course), a hot cooked meal from scratch, a happy child.  This freed up our evenings to hang out, watch TV, read, go for a walk, and have a good time.

Being a stay at home mom has its advantages.  I got to snuggle our daughter more than he did.  I was my own boss, deciding when to do what (but still getting the job done).  I got to push her on the swings, read her more stories, and enjoy her company.  I got to invite other moms and kids over, and laugh with them.  There is a lot of drudgery in being a stay at home mom (my ex didn't clean a toilet for a decade, but I certainly did!), but it also has joys.

The commenters pointed out that fathers are wage-slaves, and they painted a dismal picture of fathers' lives.  I call false (you can use the other word if you want) on that one.  I've been a working person, too, and it has plenty of advantages.  White collar workers who have gone to college, as is the case in my demographic, pick their careers.  They are not breaking rocks, or listening to the whine of a loud factory, they are sitting at desks or around tables, talking to colleagues about a topic that they are highly skilled in.  There are lunches out, conversations at the water cooler, shared jokes and camraderie.  There is praise, and there are raises.  There is intellectual stimulation, and the possibility of advancement.  When a project gets boring, an individual can go out and seek a new project or job.  It's not perfect, and there's lots of churning numbers in spreadsheets or annoying bosses, but it's not all bad.  Parts of it are pretty darned good.

So, in my book, up until now, it's a fair sum game.  Working has its advantages, and staying home has its advantages, and both have their disadvantages.  Together, it makes for a pretty nice home life: good food, more free time for everyone.

And then, where there is divorce, it gets ugly.

While I was at home cooking and cleaning and breastfeeding and then, later, helping with homework (with a lot in between those two!), my husband was slowly earning more money, gaining more experience that made him more valuable in his field.  My own career was backsliding.  I have a handful of college degrees and certifications (all paid for out of my own pocket, not his), and had the same income potential as my husband when I left the workforce to raise our daughter, but this has changed.  Now, nine years later, I am practically having to start from scratch (or so it feels).  Thank goodness for my great education and fabulous network, thank goodness for work experience, even if it's from long ago, because I was actually able to get out there and find a decent job.  But I'm starting from way behind.

When my husband leaves the marriage, he takes his earning potential with him, and over the years, he's gotten ahead.  I am way behind him now.

Now, I could go on and on about how unfair it is that he expected me to cook and clean even on weekends and vacations, and saw no issue with laying on the sofa napping as I ran around caring for our daughter and lives.  I won't talk about the Christmas when we (yes we, both of us) invited his family for the big meal, and he napped for two hours in the morning and two hours in teh afternoon until I woke him up in a panic and said "Come on!  I need help!  There is a lot of work to do for this dinner and you're still napping!" and he said, "But it's Christmas!"....because it never occurred to him that it was Christmas for me, too, and that I had been cooking and caring for our daughter the whole time, even when he was napping.  No, I'll let you read Why I Want a Wife and let that essay make the argument for you.

But even if our marriage hadn't had blatant sexism built into it, even if it hadn't been so unhealthy, when he leaves this marriage, he has more than when he started, and the ability to sustain his own lifestyle.  I work just as hard, for just as many hours, and I earn much less, because of the time I took off.  I'm not fond of the idea of taking his money, because I'm fiercely independent by nature (yes, I know, my marriage doesn't reflect that, but I'm making up for lost time now) and I wish I could do it all on my own.  But unless I remove our daughter from her school, move to a different neighborhood, and uproot HER life, I can't make it without some help.  I don't want alimony, but I need it, and I've earned it.  Our decision to have an at -home parent and a working parent was entirely mutual, and I will not willingly be the only one to bear the cost of that decision.

But aside from alimony, I really do need a wife.

When I come home at the end of the workday, I've had a very different day than his was during our years when I was a stay-at-home mom.  First, I have to get up super early to take care of the dog, the house (throw in a load of laundry, etc.) and get myself ready and looking professional for work, before I wake our daughter up, make her breakfast, prepare both of our lunches, and get both of us out the door.  (My got up leisurely, drank the coffee I made, and left me to manage the rest, caring only for himself in the morning, stopping at his favorite coffee shop to read the paper a bit before heading to the office.)  During the day, I carry my cellphone everywhere, because if the school calls, I need to answer, knowing that I'm the one on duty.  (He went to work knowing that she was taken care of and that I'd handle whatever came up.)  Like him, I spend a day at work, and some days are great, and some aren't.  After work, I go straight to pick her up on the way home, walking in the door with her to immediately clean up the breakfast dishes and make dinner as I get her settled with homework, without a chance to change my own clothes.  (He walked in the door, where our daughter and I were waiting for him, and said 'Hey I need a few minutes to get settled', knowing that I'd manage things.)  I make the dinner, I serve the dinner, I clean the dinner, I fold the laundry, I return the phone calls, I wonder how to get her to the well-child check up without missing work.  (He enjoyed the dinner, then had some down time before bed.)

He has elected - his choice - for limited time with our daughter, seeing her mostly on weekends.  Our daughter is worth all of this work, and I am glad to have her with me as much as I can, but still, my reality is very different than his.

If I had the life my husband had during our marriage, I would jump up and down with gratitude.  The idea of walking in the door to a happy child and a hot meal is almost more than I could bear: the beauty would be blinding.

The good news in all of this?  I'm told that in 2012 there are men who cook, and who know that cleaning a kitchen means that you have to not only put the plates in the dishwasher, but the glasses and silverware too, and that the pots on the stove need to be cleaned as well.  I'm told that there are men who don't mind sharing duties on weekends, and don't expect a woman to do it all even when she's working.  I'm not bashing all men here, I'm sharing my experience with one man, and I look forward to the day when I find myself an entirely different kind of man to share life with.  Household chores aren't the only thing I want in a partner, but they'd be a nice piece of the puzzle, don't you think?  (Hot sex, hand holding, a hiking partner, and a good conversationalist are also on the list, just in case you're wondering.)

I'm PollyAnna, optimist.  One day I will find a partner who doesn't expect me to put more effort in than he is willing to make, and will appreciate me, just as I appreciate him.

But until then?  Man....it sure would be nice to have a wife.

The Summer of Joy

It's pouring rain.

I'm still sad.

But I'm not called PollyAnna for nothing.

This is where I pick myself up, and make a plan to make it better.  I sent out email to my close friends yesterday detailing that Bryan actually did go out and find an apartment, and that Katherine is super excited because it IS in walking distance of our house.  I told my friends that I am feeling intense sadness, but that I intend to find my joy, and that I needed their help.  I told them that I intend to have parties here all summer long - impromptu ones with watermelon and kids in the sprinkler and dancing in the kitchen and drinking wine and grilling food and movie nights.  I told them that I need to fill my house with laughter and people I love, to get rid of this aching sadness.

One dear friend responded, "I'm in!  Sign me up for the summer of joy!"

Have I mentioned yet how much I love my friends?  How good they are to me, how they hold me up when I'm falling?  How when I lose my faith in the world and in myself, their kindnesses restore that faith?  How, when I know I can not take one more step, one of them steps in for me?  It is no surprise that a friend gave me this gift, these kind words that are a declaration of intent.  Summer of joy!

I hereby declare it the summer of joy.  I will reclaim my space, and I will breathe deeply, and I will wear sundresses and dance barefoot in the kitchen.  My problems won't go away, but I will still live in joy.

I have a bit of work to do to get there.  But now I know what I'm aiming for.

Summer of joy, here I come.

PS  In the northwest, summer starts after July 4.  It just is that way.  If you haven't lived here, you might not understand....but if you've lived here, you get it.  I have a couple of weeks to figure this out.

Stages of Grief

This week I started separating out the kitchen items.

I went back into my spreadsheets of finances to update them.

I started making lists of home repairs that I was just going to have to deal with, whether I wanted to or not.

I contacted my friends with a list of items I need for post-split: like most households, we have one blender, one toaster, one vacuum, etc. and we're going to have to figure out how to double these items in the next three weeks.

Work is busier than ever.

Katherine is struggling to accept these new changes.  Except for the one giant fit - transference of every anxiety she has into something small and petty, but perhaps it was good for her to let it all out, even if it hit me where it hurts - she is doing well, but I see the small shadows around her eyes.  She's worried.

And I'm in a new stage of grief: depression.  I think I like this stage least of all.  Denial has its advantages, after all, because I'm pretty good at pretending all is well.  Anger is at least energizing.  I spent most of my marriage in the bargaining stage, so it worked for at least a decade.  I thought I was in acceptance - ah, blissful acceptance - of where I am: I have been thinking it through, planning, imagining a better future....

But right now, I'm just sad.  My family doesn't work.  Our finances are broken.  I'm exhausted.  My daughter hurts.  The word "overwhelmed" feels like it is tattooed on my forehead.

This is to be expected.  How could I divorce without deep sadness?  And now that things are put into piles, his and mine, how could I not grieve the life that might have been? 

I'm trying to live with this sadness.  I grieve for the death of the fantasy of the happy family; I grieve for the hopes that I thought we shared; I grieve for the life I've lost.  I grieve for our daughter.  I grieve for myself.




Readers, how do you manage your grief, sadness, depression over a divorce?  Any suggestions as to how I can both accept that sadness is a part of the process....and move out of sadness?  I learn a great deal from your stories and suggestions, and I welcome both.

Giving it our all

I find it very hard to do anything halfway.  I'm either in, or I'm out.

This is very true for me in divorce, too.  I fought hard for my marriage.  I told myself repeatedly that we could work through our problems, that I could try a little harder, that my husband was a good man and so surely we could make it work.  We had problems, even serious ones, for a decade before I even used the "d" work, even in my own mind.

Reading things on the internet and in the media, I sometimes wonder if I'm an anomoly.  I know I'm not alone, certainly (thank you, dear readers, for sharing your stories with me), but I read something like this:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/series/diary-of-a-separation

...and I am profoundly lost.  I can not relate to the author of this series much at all.

Have you read it?  It's called "Diary of a Separation" and it was a series in The Guardian (UK).  For about a year, a woman chronicled her separation, including telling the children, moving out, adjusting to the new life, dating, and the rest.  I can't read enough about separations and divorces right now - I desperately want to understand, to feel connected - so when I found this series, I read it from top to bottom, beginning to end.

And I don't get it.

The author of the series seems ambivilant.  She seems to want a fantasy life that is interesting and far from mundane, so she leaves her marriage, only to live a life that isn't particularly interesting and has plenty of the mundane (starting with the house she rents, which she describes in such gray, sad language).

The series ends abruptly, and I want to know what happens next.

Did she go back to him?  If she did, would he take her?  (Her life got more cluttered and confusing; she made his seem at first bleaker, but then, possibly, much better than it had been during marriage.)  Did she meet someone new and decide to stop blogging about divorce?  Did she lose interest in the topic?  Did she enter therapy and decide to work it out less publicly?  Speculation won't answer the questions, but I do wonder.

But most of all, I wonder about this: how come she was so uncertain in her posts?  How on earth could anyone go through all of the pain of divorce, the financial hardships, the wear and tear on the children (dear God that is an understatement), if there was no abuse, but also no real, concentrated effort on making it work?  What about therapy?  What about talking to a pastor? What about going to mom and dad or some other older couple and asking about marriage?

Did I miss something here?

I gave it my all, and my all wasn't enough.  I was as "in" to my marriage as I could be, until the writing was on the wall.

Every divorce has its story.  The anonymous poster in The Guardian series has hers, and I have mine.  I found hers interesting, but I just don't get it.  Perhaps I don't get it because it's more Bryan's side of the story than mine....he didn't give it his all, either, and he wouldn't put the work in to try on our marriage.  He showed up to counseling because I dragged him, but that was all.

What is it that makes some give it their all until the bitter end, and others barely participate in their own marriages?  What am I missing here?

If anyone can shed some light on this, I'd love to hear your theories.  And if you don't have answers, read the series that I've linked to, and let me know what you think.  What do you make of it?

Thanks, readers.  Have a great day.  After yesterday's emotional roller coaster, today's post is less personal, because I am still completely, utterly wiped out from from yesterday's heartache.

With rest, hope returns

Last week was, I believe, the hardest I've had since deciding to divorce.

An armed gunman within blocks of my daughter.  I don't have answers for that one, and I'm not sure I can even bear to ask the questions.  There could have been an alternate ending there, too.

No, I won't go there.

But last week was hard because I was tired.  Not "oh I had a restless night" tired, but "it hurts to open my eyes and my thinking is muddled and if I drop something then the effort of having to bend over to pick it up makes me want to cry" tired.

I have followed through on my promise to myself, and I've done precious little this weekend but care for myself.  On Friday I had that dinner with friends, and though I didn't cry (I worried I would), I did crawl onto their sofa and pull a blanket up around myself, and they let me.  They cared for me in a way I needed, more than I can say.

And yesterday I slept in.  I puttered around the house, tidying the things that had been bothering me all week but that I'd been too tired to manage.  I went for a walk with a friend, my dog joyful to put miles under his feet.  This friend's words and wit always act as a balm for me, and being with her was restful, even as we exercised together.  We were in nature, and that helped, too, and I got to see where the great heron feeds.  I turned down invitations to go out with friends, and I curled up alone, first in a hot bath, and then with my laptop and blog, before going to bed at a decent hour.  It's nearly ten in the morning, and though I'm on my third cup of coffee, I'm still in my bathrobe.

Ahhh.  Rest.

With rest, I feel the return of my sanity.  I was losing it last week, and it didn't feel good.  Some of it couldn't be helped (an armed gunman?  really???!), but some of it could have been.

This is where the realist part of me helps the optimist in me.

I let myself believe last week that my life was on a long track to feeling that bad all the time, that being separated/divorced meant that I'd never catch up, that I was going to be wiped out forever.

Ridiculous.  I'm peeved at myself for allowing myself to wallow like that.

The reason that last week was so hard is because I made it harder than it needed to be.  Yes, being a single mom is hard, and yes, events in my community were horrible, but still, I made some mistakes last week, and I'm going to try to learn from them.  It didn't need to be that hard.

I wasn't overwhelmed last week because I was separated, or a single mom, or a working mom.  I was overwhelmed because I didn't manage myself well.  Readers, please, don't think that I'm beating myself up and wearing a hair shirt over this, because I'm not: it is surprisingly liberating to make this realization.  It's not that everything is spiraling out of control, it's that I just need to take control back.  PHEW!  There is hope in that, a great deal of hope.  Identifying the problem allows me to tackle the problem.  What a relief!

Yes, there are still big problems out there that don't have resolution.  Money.  Time.  The car.  (The car deserves its own post.  I'm not ready to go there.)  Loneliness.  Sex.  But I'll get to those, one by one, and keep on going.  Right now, I'm just so unbelievably happy that I don't have to repeat last week's fatigue every week for the rest of my life that I could do a little happy dance, and I'll tackle those other problems later.

So, here it is.  My mistakes, and what I can do to make them better in the future.  Oh, yes, I'll screw up again, but at least if I know what to do, I won't screw up as often.

Mistakes:

1.  I came home too late from my little vacation.  We weren't in bed until after 11, on a night before school and work, and that meant that we had to start the week from behind.  Lesson: ALWAYS home by 8 on a school night.  It makes the next day so much better, and if it's the beginning of the work week, it makes the whole week so much better.  Starting from behind is not a good idea - too much catch up.

2.  One night I couldn't sleep, so I let myself stay up until 1am watching shows on Hulu.  I knew better.  I really need sleep to function (and I have a self imposed bedtime of 10pm), and shortchanging myself this way wasn't good for me.  The short term benefit of veging out and getting some time by myself was in no way compensated for by the way it made me drag for days afterwards.  (Want to read more about happiness and sleep?  Gretchen Rubin's Happiness Project has a great article here.)  Lesson:  In bed by 10pm.

3.  Because I was tired, I didn't get up early to exercise.  Not only did this make the dog sad (I don't belong to a gym, it's usually the dog and I walking/jogging/running/hiking), and make me feel a tad guilty, it actually made me feel worse.  Being out under the sky, moving my body, and getting that early morning alone time to start my day makes me feel alive and good.  Crawling out of bed late, unexercised and rushed, just makes me feel bad.  Also, when I exercise, I sleep better.  Maybe if I'd exercised, item 2 wouldn't have been an issue.  Lesson:  Get up, put on running shoes, grab dog, and go.

4.  I was tired, so I ate like crap.  No home made salads with spinach and avocado for lunch.  Dinners that I barely remember.  Too much cheese.  This made me feel....worse.  Lesson:  Fruits and vegetables.  Lots of them.

5.  I let the house fall apart last week; I was pulling my undies from a laundry basket, not a drawer, and I really, really hate living like that.  I feel peaceful when my home is orderly, and last week, I let it fall apart: the pile of unopened mail, the unvacuumed carpet, the smear of toothpaste in the sink, the tornado that is Katherine's room, and those big baskets of laundry all made me feel "off."  If I'd spent two miserable hours at the beginning of the week dealing with them, I would have felt better for the entire rest of the week.  Lesson: When my house is tidy, my brain feels tidy.  It doesn't have to make sense, it just is, and working with it makes everything better.

6.  I had some big deadlines for work, but I was mentally tackling some of the move-out logistics for Bryan.  I got nothing accomplished by worrying by thinking of the move-out issues, but it weighed on me and made me slower at work, which made me feel worse.  It would have been wiser to set aside time to actually DO something (my new plan: pack a box a day for the rest of the month) than to think about it obsessively while doing nothing, freeing up my head for full focus on work.  Lesson: Obsessing hurts.  Taking action helps.

Live and learn, and here I am.  I am determined to take action to make this week better.  I tried the lazy way - moaning "but I'm just so tired!" - last week, and it ended up being a relatively horrible week, where I felt at the bottom of my own ability to cope. 

This week is a new start.  This is not the most exciting weekend in the world, but it was the one I needed.  I'm not leaping into lakes, or attending gallery openings, or hosting marvelous parties, or taking a class, or changing the world, but I am restoring my soul, and if that allows me to have a better week next week, with its long to-do lists, then so be it.  I'll do those life-affirming things later, too...just not this weekend.



Readers, what do you do that makes your life harder?  I know I'm not the only one who knows better but makes mistakes anyway.  What are your default mistakes when you're feeling worn down?

What do you need to do to make your life run more smoothly?  What do you recommend that I do to make my life run more smoothly?

Do you, like me, find that everything just feels pessimistic and frightening when you're tired?  What do you do when that happens?  How do you manage?

Falling out of love at different times

I know when I fell out of love.  My love withered slowly, and I tried everything I could think of to revive it - watering it with counseling, fertilizing it with sex, shining sunshine on it with a marriage class, pruning it with biting my tongue - but no matter what I did, I watched the flowers turn brown and the leaves drop.  One day, I looked at it again, and saw that it was dead and dry, and there was no hope, and that no amount of care in the world could revive it, and I was done.  Almost immediately afterwards, I asked for a divorce.

But I wonder all the time how it was for my ex to fall out of love with me. 

I'm pretty sure he loved me, as best he could, in the early days.  His marriage proposal was sweet, thoughtful, and romantic, and I thought that the proposal itself spoke of the greatness that would follow in our marriage.  I was sure that any man who proposed like that understood love and romance; I did not understand that it was the last great romantic gesture he would ever give me in our relationship.  I did not understand that it was the end of his making an effort to connect with me, for that matter.

As I was the one to point out that our marriage was dead ("See?  There are no leaves left, even in the summer...."), he knew clearly when I fell out of love, because I told him, using the words, "I'm sorry, but it's over, and I would like a divorce."  When I realized that I was the only one watering, tending, caring (he'd given up on making any effort, following any counselor's suggestions, by then), I made a conscious decision to stop loving, because trying to love him hurt me far too much.

But when did he fall out of love?

I think that maybe he fell out of love with me a decade ago. 

Typing that makes me wince a bit, because the truth hurts, and a decade ago I was singing his praises to anyone who would listen, overriding that little voice inside me that said, "this isn't right....why isn't he responding any more?"  It was more than a decade ago that he showed me the temper that he'd hidden until we were married.  His libido, once matching mine, fell as soon as we were engaged.  He became more distant with each passing year, and my questions of "Hey, do you want to talk about anything?" and "Are you okay?" and "Is there anything I can do to help?" only angered and annoyed him; he'd respond "I'm fine! Leave me alone!"  He was clearly not fine.  And he clearly did want to be left alone.  He didn't want to go out on dates with me.  He didn't want to sit next ot me on the sofa watching a movie together.  I had to drag him out to family excursions.  And he became less and less helpful, more and more resentful of any request I made of him to help with childcare or household tasks or any of his time.  And dreaming for a future?  Forget about it.  We had a hard time making plans for the weekend, let alone for mutual long term goals.

Three different years with three different counselors did not impact things at home.  He made it clear that the counseling itself annoyed him, and he found me disloyal for dragging him to counseling.  He yelled, he argued, he stonewalled, he lied, he avoided, he slept in the guest room.

But here's the thing....

He was hurt when I asked him for a divorce.

I don't think he even KNOWS that he fell out of love with me long before I fell out of love with him; I think he's in deep denial, even now.  I think that his personal truth is that I left him because I'm uncaring and disloyal and selfish - why else would a wife and mother leave her husband?  It's hard for me to sit with that one, because it stings.  I want to protest, knowing that protesting does me no good, so I remain silent.



Can someone fall out of love without noticing?  If he did notice, then what prevented him from taking action on that information?  Why would anyone stick around if they were as miserable as he clearly was in our marriage, and unwilling to work on it?

And why do people fall out of love like that?  I fell out of love because he became unkind to me, and because he clearly didn't want to be with me.  What causes someone to stop loving someone else who loves them?

When did you know that you had fallen out of love?


I'm pretty sure that there are no answers to many of those questions, but I'm asking them anyway.  Readers, I'd love to hear your experiences, even if the answers to my own situation are an eternal mystery, even if there is no certainty.   I look forward to hearing from you.

How I can be an optimist, despite it all

Over on the Daily Plate of Crazy, Big Little Wolf is having a conversation about how our principles and our pragmatism operate when we're at our worst.  I'm starting to see that principles, attitude, and pragmatism all come together in something that I think gets at the essence of who I wish to be.

 In her comments to me on my prior post, BLW wrote:

I say these things only to make this point: a good attitude is extremely useful (very helpful with our kids), but attitude and pragmatism are not mutually exclusive. Understanding that many of us are at our worst during and after divorce, we can prepare for that if necessary. We can also use that knowledge to understand that it's a painful process, with many tentacles, but pain often comes before healing - even if healing takes considerable time.

This is important thinking for a self-proclaimed optimist of the PollyAnna variety.  There are plenty of people who believe that optimism is for fools, and that it can be dangerous for its lack of pragmatism.  (Perhaps I should revisit Barbara Ehrenreich's book on the subject in another post, for she's covered it in great detail.)  But BLW points out, correctly, that pragmatism must be linked to optimism, and this is when it starts to get exciting.

I'm convinced that to dismiss optimism is to miss the whole point of being alive. I think it matters.  And I think that the best optimism comes with pragmatism, and the two operate hand in hand.

A fool disregards the facts, refuses to look, pretends that there is nothing amiss.  If that fool puts a positive spin on things, people call her an optimist, but at heart, I believe that she's more fool than optimist.  The Secret swept through America a few years back, proclaiming that all we had to do was declare our intentions and life would give us what we asked for; this is the ultimate in foolishness if you ask me.  (Don't even talk to me about how angry I got, reading it as a bald, breastless woman.)

A pragmatist, on the other hand, trudges through things, one foot in front of the other, acknowledging that life is difficult and that there are difficult tasks to do.  Pragmatism itself is not about joy, and so sometimes pragmatism is confused with optimism's opposite, surly negativism, but this is no more accurate to me than calling an optimist a fool.  It's tricky business, though, trying to make pragmatism and optimism meet. 

In divorce, optimists might believe that the future is rosy, that there is a new life waiting to be found.  Pragmatists, on the other hand, have a to-do list that is daunting, and they're too busy trying to figure out if they can pay the mortgage AND keep junior enrolled in piano lessons, and they have to cancel book club because they can't get childcare, and, well, who can blame them for being a bit joyless.

But it can come together.

Optimism, Pragmatism, and Principles

When I gave birth to my daughter, I knew that I wanted that baby more than just about anything, ever.  I had visions of our life together, of motherhood, of all I wanted to give her.  I knew I'd go to the ends of the earth for her, and that doing so was part of my deal with my unborn baby.  I wrote her letters before she was born, promising: "I will do whatever I can to keep you safe."

I didn't have to wait long to get tested as to how far I was really willing to go to protect her.

At the end of my delivery, everything went wrong.  My baby's heartrate dropped in panic inducing ways, and my own blood pressure went sky high into dangerous levels.  Two crash carts were called in, and the room filled with a dozen doctors ready to face the worst.  To say that it was frightening doesn't even touch on how I felt - I was in agonizing pain, and suddenly I understood that my life, and my baby's, were at stake.

 My gynecologist looked at me, and raised her voice to me (the only time she ever did so).  Get this baby out NOW, she commanded.  DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?

Yes, ma'am.  I understand.  If I don't get the baby out, both of us are at risk of dying.  I understand.

My principles laid out, I knew what to do. My principle was clear to me from the onset: do anything to protect my baby.

My principles fed my attitude: my baby was worth whatever it took, and whatever I gave her was from love.  I would give her everything I had to save her, because she was worth it to me.  I would give her anything, including my pain, and maybe my life, with love.

And then pragmatism had to do some work.  As people called, "we're losing them" my gynecologist said, "NOW.  I mean it.  Get this baby out NOW!"  I knew something inside me was wrong, that things were scraping, that my body wasn't "right," but the pragmatist said, "We have to do this.  We will push with all of our might, and when we feel tearing, we will not stop.  We will bear down, and we will force this baby out."

When my daughter was born in the next contraction, her hand was above her head, and she scraped my birth canal; it felt like birthing a cheese grater.  When I tore, I knew I was tearing, and I kept pushing anyway, making the tear worse...but delivering the baby.  It was a physical feat, but more, it was a feat of will and desire.

And it was worth it.  So, so worth it.  Delivery complete, both of us left the danger zone we'd been in.  I had lived by my principles and done my best to protect my baby, taking a pragmatic approach (I was under no illusion as to how ugly it was going to be, but I did it anyway), and in doing so, uncovering the greatest joy I've ever known.

Principles + Pragmatism = Joy

I happen to be very, very, very fond of living with joy.  I'll go out of my way to find joy, to identify it, and to keep it.  And I have learned that if I apply my principles with pragmatism, I'll find joy eventually.....and this keeps me optimistic.  Eventually, if I apply my principles with pragmatism, I'll find joy.  There is reason for optimism!

It's not a secret.  It's not The Secret.  But my optimism is founded in the truth that I Know How To Find Joy.  If I live according to my principles (which requires first, knowing what my principles are, and second, taking a pragmatic approach to living by them), then I will locate joy....and that is why I can be an optimist.  It might not work out entirely the way that I want (I still do involuntary Kegals when I think about my stitches after birth), but there is joy in doing what I believe, and this allows me to approach life with optimism.

So how does all of this apply to divorce?

Divorce is it's own kind of ugly - I don't know how many (metaphorical) stitches I'll need by the time this is over.  I can already feel where I will tear, though.  And this leads me back to the inspiration for this post, BLW's words:

I say these things only to make this point: a good attitude is extremely useful (very helpful with our kids), but attitude and pragmatism are not mutually exclusive. Understanding that many of us are at our worst during and after divorce, we can prepare for that if necessary. We can also use that knowledge to understand that it's a painful process, with many tentacles, but pain often comes before healing - even if healing takes considerable time.

I know what my principles are.  They are:
- honesty to self and others
- compassion to self and others
- protect my daughter
- be a great role model for my daughter
- live the best life I can live
- make the world a better place

I already know that divorce is not my best time.  It's been an ugly road to get here, and I'm not okay yet.  I am operating low on Maslow's heirarchy, even as I fantasize about operating at the top.  And my ex is an angry, depressed person who self-sabotages and acts passive-aggressively and it's hard to have a logical conversation with him because he either shuts down or blows up, and I feel judgemental about him and angry that he put us in this position.  I know I'm in the danger zone for acting like this:



I know lots of people who wouldn't blame me (although the "cheater" label doesn't apply....I don't think....).  Sometimes he behaves badly, and I really want to act the way he does in response.  Who could blame me?

But I won't act like that, because then I couldn't look our daughter in the eye.  I won't act like that because it's not who I want to be.  There are days when I think he deserves it, true, but *I* don't deserve it.  I want to live with joy, and for that, I'm going to have to take the high road.

I have a lot of to-do lists.  We're meeting with the mediator soon.  And I've run the numbers more than I can count (thank you, Excel).  I have plan A: he pays what he ought to; and I have plan B: I get nothing.....and I'm determined to make it work even if it's plan B.  I'm working on keeping the house, but I'm talking to a realtor too.  And I know that whether I get plan A, or plan B, I'm going to try to live my values, and that will give me some joy along the way, even when I feel tearing.

And I've got an ace in the hole.

Childbirth introduced me to pain.  I healed from that pain, and marveled at my body's ability to do so.  But it was nothing.

My real pain looks like 15 surgeries related to breast cancer, several of them with more complications than I can list.  My real pain looks like the doctor telling me that it's 50/50 that I only had a few months left to live (yet here I am, healthy again).  My real pain looks like radiation burns that made my skin crack open and ooze unmentionable things....and it looks like caring for my daughter and my husband yelling at me in the middle of it as I was hunched over from that pain.  My real pain looks like riding a bus to chemo while my husband slept at home.

So, I know a thing or two about pain, and I know that it goes away: either you die and so you don't care any more, or you heal.  I have healed, over and over again.  I know how to heal, and I  know what it looks like.  I know that there can be unheard of complications, but still, eventually, I can heal.

So yes, I'm an optimist.  I believe that I can heal, over and over again, no matter how deep the wound, no matter how terrible the odds.  I'm a pragmatist, because I know how to thank the surgeon for her care, right before she cuts off my breast, and because I know that it doesn't matter how much I hurt, if my little girl needs dinner and nobody else is feeding her, then I need to make dinner.  And I know what I believe in, and who I want to be, so I let that guide my decisions.

Forgiveness falls in there somewhere, in the neighborhood of compassion.  All of the intentions in the world can not control every word that comes out of my mouth; I'm not infalliable, and I wonder what my ex would say if he read this post.  But I can say this with certainty: I try my hardest to do my best, and I apologize if I screw up.  Maybe it's optimistic to think so, but I think that is enough.

So, somehow, this is going to work out.  I will make mistakes along the way - oh, I've made many, including along that cancer path - but I believe in my ability to recover from them.  I will lose my optimism some days, and my pragmatism other days, but it's okay, because I won't lose what I believe in. 



I'm alive, and I'm glad to be alive.

No matter how many tentacles reach out to squeeze me.

------------------------------------


How do you hold your sanity when the tentacles of pain grab you?

What tools do you use to live your principles when you're tempted to throw them out?  What's your ace in the hole?

Are you an optimist?  How do you maintain optimism in a world that is often ugly?

I hope to hear from you.

Faith

I've been struggling with faith.

As a little girl, I wanted to be Mary - yes, that Mary, the mother of Jesus.  I knew that she was good and kind, and I wanted to be *that* good.  I felt my faith devoutly, and I wanted to be the best that I heard of Christ: infinitely kind and selfless.  I grew up in a household where the word "christian" was used as an adjective to describe exellent attributes; if we heard of someone doing a good deed, my mother would say, "oh, he's a good christian man."  I never really questioned it until I had a Jewish boyfriend, and my mother said, "He sounds like a good Christian man," and suddenly I realized that she really meant "he sounds like a person with good values" and she had it confused with theology.  It opened a crack, and the crack became a chasm.

So, in my twenties, I became an atheist.  I threw it all out: baby, bathwater, and the whole bit.  I grew disgusted with religion in general, and rolled my eyes at almost the mention of religion.  Opiate of the masses indeed, I decided.  Definitely not for me.  I was above all that.

When I got married, an Elizabeth Barrett Browing poem was read, and the line that caught in my throat in a romantic way was "I love thee with my childhood's faith."  I missed being a person of faith.  (The irony that my faith went away, and my love for my husband also went missing, is not lost on me.)

Having a baby brought some faith back into me.  I felt the little person inside me moving, and knew that it was a holy thing, nothing short of a miracle.  I looked into her eyes, and was certain of a presence larger than myself.  I started to call myself an agnostic.

Then cancer hit, and I started to pray, without premeditating such ideas: I did not decide to pray, I did not decide I believed in God, I simply prayed.  All of my prayers sounded like "pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease" as I begged for my life.  The more coherent prayers sounded like "I want to live, please let me live to see Katherine grow up, please let me live," but mostly they were whole body prayers that made me tremble in the wanting; they were wordless begging.

 

I still call myself an agnostic; I believe that the nature of God/god/gods/goddess is unknowable.  I actually find a great deal of comfort in the unknowability of the divine, because when I try to put it in a box, it never fits for me.

So, I continue to wrestle with my faith, but I find that I do have a kind of faith.  My faith in the divine and my faith in myself are tangled up together; a messy grouping beyond unraveling.  When I have a dark night, as I have lately, it feels that I am completely alone in the universe, and that there is no possibility of recovery, and that none of my dreams will come true.  But then something lets the light in, and that something feels divine, and it whispers to me that I will be able to make my dreams come true, and I feel comfort.

I have taken a huge leap of faith in asking for a divorce.  Faith that my career will revive, that my finances will revive, that my daughter will thrive in our home when it is without conflict.  Faith that I can trust that I really did try everything to save my husband from his depression, faith that I really did my absolute best to save our marriage.  Faith that the voice that tells me that I am more valuable to the universe when I am living my truest self, opening up my possibilities, instead of remaining small in a marriage that hurts my soul, is telling the truth.  Faith that somewhere in this lifetime, there is love waiting for me: romantic love that is tender and fierce, that accepts me as I am and draws out the best in me.

I wrestle with my faith daily, as much as Jacob with his angel...and for longer than a night.  It is wrestling with myself, and with the divine, all at once.  It is wearing, and I am weary.  I don't have a text to guide me the way Christians have The Bible or Muslims have the Qur'an.  I do have their stories, though, and I also have Mark Nepo and The Dalai Lama and Rumi and Mary Oliver, and I have the seasons that freeze and thaw.  I don't know what the result of my wrestling will be, but I continue to wrestle.  And I continue to hold on to the brave hope, faith, that somehow this is all going to work out.

Somehow.

Pulling myself up by my bootstraps

Monday morning - a fresh week, a chance to get it right.

PollyAnna is still missing today but I'm going to power through until she shows up again.  I'm determined to work harder until my life turns out the way I'm hoping it will.  I'm determined to fake it until I make it, and that is what I'm doing today.

I will make my life happen.  One foot in front of the other.....

Loaded holiday

Happy Mother's Day to all of the moms out there...

It has been a hard weekend.  I feel worn out by all that I need to do, a list that includes getting another job, getting Bryan to move out, figuring out my finances, and a million more petty items.

And Katherine just interrupted me for the ten billionth time today and I just need her to sleep so that I can get ten minutes to simply be....because the week ahead looks daunting. 

I am really really missing PollyAnna tonight.

Possibility

I think I'm reverse aging.

Getting divorced is enough to give anyone gray hair, it's true, but it also makes me feel surprisingly young.  I feel an awful lot right now like I did in my early 20s as I was graduating college, trying to establish a career and looking for a mate.  Only now I'm divorcing, trying to establish a career, and looking for a mate (sort of).

Right now, the future is very uncertain, and while that could age me a couple of decades (and on some days it seems to), mostly it makes feel young, in ways good and bad.  I feel like I'm on the edge of a giant precipice, and while I know I could fall and break on the rocks below, I feel certain that I could also fly and see new worlds.  It's terrifying and exhilerating.  I've already taken the leap of faith that good things are ahead: I did that when I asked for a divorce, uncertain as to my own ability to withstand singledom, uncertain as to its effects on Katherine, and utterly lacking in the career department.  So far, two of three have sprouted wings....and the career is happening, albeit slower than I'd wish.

Anything is possible.  And just like when I was 23, it seems that the world is at my feet, and that there are grand adventures possible.  I could learn a foreign language, I could travel the world, I could write a book, I could make pottery, I could meet The One, and I could have the beautiful life I always dreamed of.  At 23, I refused to believe any differently, and I was determined to make my dreams come true.  By 40, it all seemed flat....but not much later, and it all seems possible again.

I'm getting a do-over, and I like it.

It's funny how divorce has changed some of the little things in my life.  When we started to divide up furniture into his and mine, I suddenly realized that I didn't like the straight, heavy lines of the furniture that we had purchased together - it was his style, not mine, and I liked curvy graceful lines.  Suddenly, I am eating vegetarian food three quarters of the time, instead of the meat heavy diet we'd shared due to his preference.  I'm spending more time on my self care like make-up, because he's not saying "what's the point of that?" behind me, or rushing me out of the bathroom.

But little things add up, and little things make big things. I like the way the house looks better than I did.  I like the way I look better than I did.  My body feels healthier.

So all that stuff adds up to reverse aging.  It comes at a high cost - gone is certainty, gone is stability(such as it was!).  But in its place is possibility and hope, and how I have missed living a life so full of possibility and hope!  I literally feel younger than I did, and I like that feeling, even with all of its uncomfortableness.