I have not written about my parents on this blog yet....but today something has come up, and so they receive their debut.
I love my parents, and they love me. But it has been difficult to reach peace in my relationship with them: my childhood was filled with name calling ("moron" and "cretin" were among the most used, and it didn't matter how many As I got in school, whenever I made a mistake the names were trotted out like ugly ponies), slaps, and what I now recognize as inconsistant parenting: the same action on my part could receive very different responses one day to the next, based on my parents' moods. What might merit a laugh one week would merit a slap on the next, and I never quite knew how to judge which it would be.
It wasn't all bad. We had fun together camping and boating and such, and they didn't phyically abuse me (though slapping and spanking is NOT a parenting technique I'd recommend, and I don't hit my daughter, ever). They told me that they had high standards for me because they knew how capable I was. They told me they loved me.
When it was time for college, they informed me that there was no money to give me, and then they took a trip overseas. When it was time for my brother to go to college, they offered to pay his whole way. (Ironically, I worked my way through school, graduating with multiple higher ed degrees and no debt and no help, and my brother never finished community college.) For my 16th birthday, I got a tote bag with a built in umbrella. For my brother's 16th birthday, he got a car. (I could not make this up. I can still picture that ugly tote bag.)
Writing it all down makes my stomach hurt. When I would point out the inequalities my parents would mumble that they loved me very much and tell me not to be so sensitive. When I told them that I hated them calling me names, they told me that I was "persnickety" and that I wasn't happy unless I got my own way and couldn't I take a joke?
Eventually, I proved the persnickety thing right. I spent most of my twenties avoiding my parents. In hindsight, I also spent most of my twenties proving to them that I was smart, capable, and worthy. I got a degree in the subject they respected, and worked in a field that made people say "wow" and "you lucky girl" even though it wasn't really my thing.
I tried to live my life opposite from them - my more-than-I-needed degrees were at least a partial response to the fact that my mother never went to college; waiting until I was almost 30 to get married was a response to the fact that they got married when my mother was still a teenager. (My parents called me an old maid. Seriously.)
I like to believe that I have set aside my anger with my parents for some of their behaviors, for their inability to parent me the way I wanted or needed to be parented. Forgiveness is sweeter than anger, and I have tried to drink sweetness. I thought I had gotten so, so far from those roots that I was no longer influenced by them, and my path had proven that.
Which leads to my latest telephone conversation with my father.
My house is in a state of disrepair, all that deferred maintenance, and my refi money is only going to go so far. My dad called me - a nice phone call, at least at the outset - to check on me and see how I was doing. I said, "Well, sometimes it's a struggle, because I can't do everything I need to do." My dad said, "If there is anything I can do to help you, please ask," and I said, "Have you ever installed a garage door opener? Mine broke and I'd have to pay an installer several hundred dollars to replace it, on top of the cost of the new equipment." My dad said, "Yes, I gave one to your brother and installed it." I said, "Could you help me install mine?" and he said, "You know, I'm pretty busy."
Seriously.
For one of the first times in my adult life, I did not just say "Okay." I said, "Dad, it hurts my feelings when you say you want to help me and then when I ask for help you just repeatedly" (this was not the first time we've had a similar conversation) "shut me down. If you don't want to help me, please don't offer and then say no, just be up front about it and don't offer help when you don't mean to follow through."
He said, "What? When did I ever do that?" and I rattled off a couple of recent times. He said...
....and here's the clincher, folks, so please pay attention....
"Oh! I guess my words and actions don't line up, and I'm sorry for that. My heart is in the right place, you must know that!"
Let's repeat that. "My words and actions don't line up." Yes. That is the definition of my childhood, of the home I grew up in. And as I thought I was running away from my family of origin, choosing a man so different from them in so many ways.....I chose a person whose words and actions did not line up. And then the breezy "My heart is in the right place," as if that makes it all okay, as if it didn't matter what he said or did at all and I should be thankful that he thought about helping me at all even if he had no intention of following through.
A giant, rude, sudden a-ha! moment.
Bryan knew how to say the right thing in a pinch, but then when I asked him to follow through he would get angry and tell me I wasn't being reasonable or that there was no pleasing me. I think that sounds a lot like "persnickety" talk. I would try harder and harder to please him, and he would tell me that he loved me and he wanted our lives to be great, and then he would continue doing whatever he wanted even though we'd agreed on a different path, and then he'd actually be mad at me for pointing out the discrepency, and then I'd feel bad about myself because maybe I was just a persnickety brat after all.
Damn. That is a giant load of baggage right there!
In love, words and actions need to line up. Actually, not just in love, but in life. Integrity means saying what you mean, and acting on it. If you offer help, you mean it sincerely. If you say "I love you" you can't call names or yell. I am very, very clear about this, but I hadn't realized that I was choosing men who didn't live by that credo (Bryan was not the first). I hadn't realized how deeply my family of origin was in my bones, that all my running away hadn't gotten me that far after all.
I had been running around trying to please Bryan, trying to make him love me, the exact same way that I tried to please my parents, being who I thought they wanted me to be. Oh good grief!
It has taken me 43 years to realize that this is my problem, and it's all summed up in that little conversation with my father. I have chosen to be around men whose words and actions did not align, because that is how I was raised.
BUT:
I am not the little girl who was informed I was bright and capable one minute, and belittled the next, so that I never know how to feel...I am a woman who knows her own value much more than that little girl did. I am strong and smart and kind, and I've proven it many times. I do not take my self worth from my father, or from Bryan, and I get to choose who I spend time with. I am allowed to have boundaries.
I feel very, very good about calling my father on it. I wasn't rude, I didn't start a fight, but I said, "No." I will probably have to repeat myself many more times, because I don't think my father is particularly enlightened. But it's not about my dad, it's about me. It's about how I view myself in relationships to others, and it's about making sure that the men I invite in have words and actions that align.
I feel like someone just opened the door to the jail, and I've stepped into a pool of sunlight, blinking.
I choose to be around people whose words and actions align. Period. If they screw up, I'm allowed to say, "That's not okay with me" and stand my ground. I don't have to be rude, I don't have to fight, but I don't have to go along with it either.
And I can't be sure, because the proof is in the living that is to come, but I do believe I've just learned a very good lesson, maybe even THE lesson for me. Free at last!
Monday, November 5, 2012
A quiet place
This weekend Katherine and I went out of town to the mountains. We've desperately needed a little break in the chaos of our lives.
I found a cheap hotel - but it's clean and it's got a pool, and it allows dogs so I didn't need to get a dog sitter (or break the poor dog's heart).
I feel my shoulders coming down; I can catch my breath.
***
My father in law passed away this morning. He left nearly a dozen grandchildren and a handful of great grandchildren. I was on good terms with him despite the divorce, although I'm not sure how much he remembered or understood at the end. Bryan is going to struggle with losing his dad; I think there was unfinished business there.
***
I am grateful today for this quiet place.
(Written on 11/3, didn't post then for some reason.)
I found a cheap hotel - but it's clean and it's got a pool, and it allows dogs so I didn't need to get a dog sitter (or break the poor dog's heart).
I feel my shoulders coming down; I can catch my breath.
***
My father in law passed away this morning. He left nearly a dozen grandchildren and a handful of great grandchildren. I was on good terms with him despite the divorce, although I'm not sure how much he remembered or understood at the end. Bryan is going to struggle with losing his dad; I think there was unfinished business there.
***
I am grateful today for this quiet place.
(Written on 11/3, didn't post then for some reason.)
Thursday, November 1, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, October 29, 2012
Leaps of Faith
My to do list is overwhelming me. This weekend, while working on the do-to list and spending a large amount of time in home improvement stores - not upgrading my home, but keeping it operational - my chest squeezed so tight that it was difficult to breathe, as the zeros on the estimates kept climbing.
I came home feeling glum and overwhelmed.
But...
I'm trying to focus on one thing at a time. One large project (replacing basement carpet) will simply have to wait. I will focus on the kitchen issue instead. The basement will wait a year, and I will not die of a concrete hallway in my house where there ought to be carpet.
*****
I have not given myself time to celebrate, yet celebrating is on order. The refinance went through, which basically means that I just purchased my own house. The loan is in my name only, and when the money is deposited this week, I will write Bryan the biggest check I've ever written, and he will walk away from the house, and it will all be mine. It is extraordinary to me to think that I've been able to make this happen, and it is worthy of celebrating.
A year ago, Bryan was still living in the basement, I didn't have a job, and I didn't know how I was going to make anything work. Now I'm deeply immersed in my job, it's going well, Bryan has moved out, AND I've purchased the house. Not only that, but almost all of the divorce paperwork is done, and I have made that happen.
So, I've made progress. Giant strides, as a matter of fact. A year ago, my current life seemed only like a fantasy, and I could not imagine how to support my daughter and myself or get Bryan moved out....and yet here we are.
So, right now, in the midst of far too many looming problems including major home repairs, a budget that is always too small, and deep fatigue from the day to day of my life mothering and working, I am realizing that I need to take another leap of faith.
When I told Bryan I wanted a divorce, it was a leap of faith (because I didn't know if I could handle my life, or if I could find a job, or if Katherine and I could survive the blow). When I picked his move out date, it was another leap of faith (because I had no idea how we would make it). When I took a job working for a small business, it was another leap of faith (totally out of my comfort zone). Refinancing the house was yet another leap of faith - who on earth would offer a good rate to a woman who had been out of the work force for nine years?! (HomeStreet Bank, that's who. The rates are amazing right now, so check it out.)
But these leaps of faith have brought me a job, my own home, a thriving daughter, independence, and hope for the future.
So, now I take additional leaps of faith.
I will manage my home. I will rule my finances, not letting them rule me. I will help this business to grow. I will love Katherine with all of my might.
I will leap into the life I want. I will have enough money. And I will find love.
I will get the life I am seeking. In the middle of life's storms, it is so easy to forget that I've already accomplished the impossible in my life, so maybe accomplishing even more "impossible" tasks isn't so impossible after all.
I'm still swimming. I'm going to make this happen!
I came home feeling glum and overwhelmed.
But...
I'm trying to focus on one thing at a time. One large project (replacing basement carpet) will simply have to wait. I will focus on the kitchen issue instead. The basement will wait a year, and I will not die of a concrete hallway in my house where there ought to be carpet.
*****
I have not given myself time to celebrate, yet celebrating is on order. The refinance went through, which basically means that I just purchased my own house. The loan is in my name only, and when the money is deposited this week, I will write Bryan the biggest check I've ever written, and he will walk away from the house, and it will all be mine. It is extraordinary to me to think that I've been able to make this happen, and it is worthy of celebrating.
A year ago, Bryan was still living in the basement, I didn't have a job, and I didn't know how I was going to make anything work. Now I'm deeply immersed in my job, it's going well, Bryan has moved out, AND I've purchased the house. Not only that, but almost all of the divorce paperwork is done, and I have made that happen.
So, I've made progress. Giant strides, as a matter of fact. A year ago, my current life seemed only like a fantasy, and I could not imagine how to support my daughter and myself or get Bryan moved out....and yet here we are.
So, right now, in the midst of far too many looming problems including major home repairs, a budget that is always too small, and deep fatigue from the day to day of my life mothering and working, I am realizing that I need to take another leap of faith.
When I told Bryan I wanted a divorce, it was a leap of faith (because I didn't know if I could handle my life, or if I could find a job, or if Katherine and I could survive the blow). When I picked his move out date, it was another leap of faith (because I had no idea how we would make it). When I took a job working for a small business, it was another leap of faith (totally out of my comfort zone). Refinancing the house was yet another leap of faith - who on earth would offer a good rate to a woman who had been out of the work force for nine years?! (HomeStreet Bank, that's who. The rates are amazing right now, so check it out.)
But these leaps of faith have brought me a job, my own home, a thriving daughter, independence, and hope for the future.
So, now I take additional leaps of faith.
I will manage my home. I will rule my finances, not letting them rule me. I will help this business to grow. I will love Katherine with all of my might.
I will leap into the life I want. I will have enough money. And I will find love.
I will get the life I am seeking. In the middle of life's storms, it is so easy to forget that I've already accomplished the impossible in my life, so maybe accomplishing even more "impossible" tasks isn't so impossible after all.
I'm still swimming. I'm going to make this happen!
Friday, October 26, 2012
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!
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!
Monday, October 22, 2012
Oh, optimism, how I have missed you!
It's a fresh week.
It even FEELS fresh.
Maybe it's the rain and gray skies; so many people in my part of the world dread the rain, but to me it feels cleansing. My region was so much drier than usual this year that I was starting to feel dehydrated, wishing for the rain on my skin, and now that it's back I feel like I can breathe fully again, as if the oxygen goes deeper into my lungs when moisture is added to it.
We met with the mediator again, and I feel like I am that much closer to freedom: freedom from a marriage that wasn't good for either of us. Freedom to be who I should be. Anything feels possible, once again.
I'm back on track. Soon, the divorce will be done, and I will be free of its dark cloud.
I still have so much to deal with. If the house refinance does not go through, I'm not sure what I will do.
But you know what? It's all going to work out. All will be well. I've got this. I can do this!
Happy Monday, everyone. May the rain wash away your troubles, too.
It even FEELS fresh.
Maybe it's the rain and gray skies; so many people in my part of the world dread the rain, but to me it feels cleansing. My region was so much drier than usual this year that I was starting to feel dehydrated, wishing for the rain on my skin, and now that it's back I feel like I can breathe fully again, as if the oxygen goes deeper into my lungs when moisture is added to it.
We met with the mediator again, and I feel like I am that much closer to freedom: freedom from a marriage that wasn't good for either of us. Freedom to be who I should be. Anything feels possible, once again.
I'm back on track. Soon, the divorce will be done, and I will be free of its dark cloud.
I still have so much to deal with. If the house refinance does not go through, I'm not sure what I will do.
But you know what? It's all going to work out. All will be well. I've got this. I can do this!
Happy Monday, everyone. May the rain wash away your troubles, too.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
That breathing thing
I clearly forgot everything about breathing for the past two weeks. It was a rough go - too many giant things to deal with, including mediation, filing divorce paperwork, an ailing father in law, an all-nighter helping said father-in-law, a refinance in jeopardy, work, motherhood, financial fears, and oh, just life in general. It's a long list, too much to deal with. Add in a sewage flood in the basement and it was just too much.
So, I did it wrong: I didn't work out, I ate comfort food, and I basically went into a panic.
But I also did it right: I cut myself some slack, I called in my posse (best friends ever!) and asked for help.
But this weekend I've caught my breath again. I actually read my book of guided meditations, we went for a walk in a beautiful location, we went to a pumpkin patch, I spent time with friends. I invited several of Katherine's friends over for a spontaneous sleepover, complete with chocolate chip pancake breakfast. I caught up on chores, filled out yet more divorce paperwork, taught Sunday school at my UU church (a lesson about finding what is good in each of us; the children were so kind to each other and shared such sweet compliments towards each other during the lesson that it restored my faith in humanity....what a gift!), helped Katherine get her Halloween costume ready.
And Katherine and I even did our new (few weeks now) tradition: Sunday roast followed by some fun TV watching. I don't eat a lot of meat in general, but the Sunday roast just screams "happy home" to me and I'm working hard at making sure this home feels like home. And I'm a pretty granola mom, so when I let Katherine watch TV she is pretty blissful - it's really a treat. Our Sunday wind down is a favorite for both of us, now.
The fridge is full, the house tidy. I've had exercise, I've been in nature, I've shared with friends. This week, I am determined, absolutely determined, to keep remembering to breathe. My "to do" list is just as long as ever, and I still don't have flooring in my basement, and I have two mediation sessions this week, hoping to get it all finished and submit for the refinance.
But I feel like I have my feet under me a bit better this week. Breathing in, breathing out. I can do this. I've got this. Let's move forward!
When I breathe in, I breathe in peace; when I breathe out, I breathe out love. Ahhhhh.
(Want to sing along with me? Picture standing hand in hand with people you love, singing only the the part "When I breathe in, I breathe in peace; when I breathe out, I breathe out love," in a round so many times that time and space gets lost and you only feel the words love and peace and your own soft breaths... It can bring me to tears it is so beautiful. Here, take my hand.....let's do this together....)
http://www.sarahdanjones.com/music-1.html
PS Does anyone out there have a version of this song with all of the harmonies? It's not exactly pop music; I couldn't find it on YouTube and the UU Association website only has a little electronic file.
So, I did it wrong: I didn't work out, I ate comfort food, and I basically went into a panic.
But I also did it right: I cut myself some slack, I called in my posse (best friends ever!) and asked for help.
But this weekend I've caught my breath again. I actually read my book of guided meditations, we went for a walk in a beautiful location, we went to a pumpkin patch, I spent time with friends. I invited several of Katherine's friends over for a spontaneous sleepover, complete with chocolate chip pancake breakfast. I caught up on chores, filled out yet more divorce paperwork, taught Sunday school at my UU church (a lesson about finding what is good in each of us; the children were so kind to each other and shared such sweet compliments towards each other during the lesson that it restored my faith in humanity....what a gift!), helped Katherine get her Halloween costume ready.
And Katherine and I even did our new (few weeks now) tradition: Sunday roast followed by some fun TV watching. I don't eat a lot of meat in general, but the Sunday roast just screams "happy home" to me and I'm working hard at making sure this home feels like home. And I'm a pretty granola mom, so when I let Katherine watch TV she is pretty blissful - it's really a treat. Our Sunday wind down is a favorite for both of us, now.
The fridge is full, the house tidy. I've had exercise, I've been in nature, I've shared with friends. This week, I am determined, absolutely determined, to keep remembering to breathe. My "to do" list is just as long as ever, and I still don't have flooring in my basement, and I have two mediation sessions this week, hoping to get it all finished and submit for the refinance.
But I feel like I have my feet under me a bit better this week. Breathing in, breathing out. I can do this. I've got this. Let's move forward!
When I breathe in, I breathe in peace; when I breathe out, I breathe out love. Ahhhhh.
(Want to sing along with me? Picture standing hand in hand with people you love, singing only the the part "When I breathe in, I breathe in peace; when I breathe out, I breathe out love," in a round so many times that time and space gets lost and you only feel the words love and peace and your own soft breaths... It can bring me to tears it is so beautiful. Here, take my hand.....let's do this together....)
http://www.sarahdanjones.com/music-1.html
PS Does anyone out there have a version of this song with all of the harmonies? It's not exactly pop music; I couldn't find it on YouTube and the UU Association website only has a little electronic file.
Friday, October 19, 2012
Doing the Best We Can
Last week at the mediator, I had to confront Bryan about a lie. I found out that he was laid off or fired months ago, and I had not revealed to him that I'd inadvertantly learned this information.
The mediator asked his salary, and he used old numbers. I let it go. The mediator asked him directly about health insurance, costs, employer coverage, etc. and he used the old information, even though I knew with certainty that he was now on COBRA (and that I was too; I'd been panicking about it because as a breast cancer survivor I know how vitally important health insurance is!).
He looked the mediator in the eye and lied.
In that moment, right before I revealed that I knew the truth, I felt so overwhelmingly sad for him. His life is not going well, and he does not seem to have the tools to fix what needs fixing.
I spoke quietly, and my eyes were full of tears when I said, "I really hoped that you would bring this up so that I did not have to, but I know you were laid off a few months ago."
I think he wished that the ground would swallow him up in that moment, and I hated that I had to bring it up. I believe he felt shame, and I was so sorry that I was associated with those feelings of shame....again.
I've said it before, but it bears repeating: Bryan suffers from clinical depression, and he doesn't manage his depression. He is not in therapy, and I don't think he's taking meds any more, and yet he has classic symptoms of depression. If I had to name one reason that our marriage failed, I would say that it was "untreated depression" or "undertreated depression." He is a mere shell of the man I met and married, and bears no resemblance to his former self. His humor, intelligence, and generousity have vanished, and in their place is anger, confusion, and closedness. He went from being a person with many good friends to a person with few contacts; he went from being a great employee to....well, not great. He went from being romantic to being self absorbed. He lost his libido, his sense of self worth, and so much more, and I blame it on the depression.
So, sitting in the mediator's office, I saw all of this with great clarity, saw the pain he was in, and I felt deeply compassionate for him.
With that compassion came a new understanding: he is doing the best that he can right now.
I get so angry that he doesn't spend much time with our daughter, that he does the bare minimum in so many parts of his life, but especially in parenting. I can not count on him to make sure she takes showers, or gets her homework done, or eats anything healthy, or goes to bed on time, or does any chores. I get so angry that he expects me to do it all - every doctor's appointment, every birthday gift, every homework assignment (helping), every new pair of shoes. I was so frustrated when we were living in the same house and he would sleep in every morning so that I would get up, make Katherine's lunch, serve her breakfast, get her backpack re-packed, etc. even though I was the one going to work and he was not. I couldn't believe that he'd watch me flying around, and that when I walked in the door from work he'd watch TV while I cooked dinner and helped our girl with homework. I found it astonishing, and it made me very angry.
But in that mediation, in a flash of insight, I think I saw it for what it is.
He loves his daughter. He is taking less than he might from the house because he wants her to live in the house. He's paying child support even though he's unemployed. But he has nothing else to give right now. He's doing the best he can.
He only has our daughter four four nights a month, and he usually only takes her for two of those nights (sending her to sleepovers the other two). I have been so angry that he has given her so little...but suddenly I see it, he's doing the best he can.
Yes, I'm exhausted. Yes, it takes a toll on me. But I am so incredibly proud of the job parenting I'm doing. I'm setting a good example, I'm raising a kind daughter who has a great work ethic. Katherine and I have fun together (this weekend's agenda: a sleepover at our house with a couple "BFFs", a visit to a pumpkin patch followed by pumpkin carving and hot apple cider, Sunday School where I am her class's teacher, and then our new tradition: a quiet evening dinner followed by a movie every Sunday night), but still get homework done, eat veggies, etc. I am working hard at work. I'm balancing the oh-so-tight budget. I got up at 5am the first fall day of rain to check the gutter in the corner where it causes problems, making sure that the water was draining away from the house.
I'm doing the best I can, and he's doing the best he can. It's not fair, and perhaps I am owed much more, and perhaps Katherine is owed much more, but all anyone can give is their best.
So, I feel more at peace with him than before. I'm so relieved that we are getting divorced - I can not have a partner who refuses to manage his mental health and expects me to deal with that fallout from that decision, and I can not live with lies, and I need to be married to someone I respect - but I see him differently now.
No, it's not fair. However, I got the better end of the deal. I CAN find joy in tiny things, I am proud of who I am, and I love my relationship with my daughter. Yes, I have to work twice as hard, but I have more than double the benefits of that work.
Tonight when I get home from work there will be three girls - Katherine and two of her besties - in my home, giggling and asking me funny questions about boys (they are at an age where they alternate between the idea that boys are weird and that boys are cool), and maybe we'll all dance in the kitchen to Carly Rae Jepson's summer hit "Call Me Maybe." Katherine will roll her eyes at me - "oh Mom you're so embarrassing" - but then she will "accidentally" bump into me and I'll grab her arms and spin her in circles and she'll laugh and her friends will say "do me next!" and by the time the song is over I'll be out of breath and we'll all be laughing. In the morning, her friends will say, "oooooh are you making chocolate chip pancakes?!" and they will be so excited when I say yes, because I have been informed that my house has the best sleepover breakfasts ever.
I know that this is all true, because this is how it always goes. Or maybe we won't dance, but we'll bake together. Or maybe they'll have me look up You-Tube videos on my computer, bands I've never heard of and would never listen to on my own (um, like Carly Rae Jepson) but which appeal to the tween set, and I'll indulge the girls because I love that they still include me on these activities, and because it always comes out who has a crush on who or what happened at school last week. Sometimes they ask my advice about navigating a tricky friendship, or about how to ask their moms something. Sometimes they ask how old I was when I got to do some things, or they'll ask me to tell them a funny story about when I was their age. Then, they'll bounce off into Katherine's room, and I'll hear whispers and laughter, and sometimes they spend three hours without coming up for air, organizing elaborate fantasy worlds with Littlest Pet Shop, and I'll be able to light candles and read a book in the living room with few interruptions.
When it's bedtime, they'll talk longer than they're supposed to, and finally I will say "this is your last warning and so if I have to come in again I'm afraid I'll have to separate you" and they will stop talking because this is about the 100th sleepover for these girls and they know I mean it. They'll say, "Okay" and they won't be upset at all; they'll roll over and go to sleep. In the morning if I sleep longer than they do, they'll bounce onto my bed like a litter of puppies, and I will say "when are you girls going to learn how to make me coffee?" and they'll call out a chorus of "yuccckkkkkk coffee is so gross!" before they wonder if there is any hot cocoa available.
Bryan misses out on all this, and I feel sad for him. He may not be treating me fairly, but still, I'm getting the better deal.
I am grateful for my life. Thank you, Bryan, for giving me perspective.
The mediator asked his salary, and he used old numbers. I let it go. The mediator asked him directly about health insurance, costs, employer coverage, etc. and he used the old information, even though I knew with certainty that he was now on COBRA (and that I was too; I'd been panicking about it because as a breast cancer survivor I know how vitally important health insurance is!).
He looked the mediator in the eye and lied.
In that moment, right before I revealed that I knew the truth, I felt so overwhelmingly sad for him. His life is not going well, and he does not seem to have the tools to fix what needs fixing.
I spoke quietly, and my eyes were full of tears when I said, "I really hoped that you would bring this up so that I did not have to, but I know you were laid off a few months ago."
I think he wished that the ground would swallow him up in that moment, and I hated that I had to bring it up. I believe he felt shame, and I was so sorry that I was associated with those feelings of shame....again.
I've said it before, but it bears repeating: Bryan suffers from clinical depression, and he doesn't manage his depression. He is not in therapy, and I don't think he's taking meds any more, and yet he has classic symptoms of depression. If I had to name one reason that our marriage failed, I would say that it was "untreated depression" or "undertreated depression." He is a mere shell of the man I met and married, and bears no resemblance to his former self. His humor, intelligence, and generousity have vanished, and in their place is anger, confusion, and closedness. He went from being a person with many good friends to a person with few contacts; he went from being a great employee to....well, not great. He went from being romantic to being self absorbed. He lost his libido, his sense of self worth, and so much more, and I blame it on the depression.
So, sitting in the mediator's office, I saw all of this with great clarity, saw the pain he was in, and I felt deeply compassionate for him.
With that compassion came a new understanding: he is doing the best that he can right now.
I get so angry that he doesn't spend much time with our daughter, that he does the bare minimum in so many parts of his life, but especially in parenting. I can not count on him to make sure she takes showers, or gets her homework done, or eats anything healthy, or goes to bed on time, or does any chores. I get so angry that he expects me to do it all - every doctor's appointment, every birthday gift, every homework assignment (helping), every new pair of shoes. I was so frustrated when we were living in the same house and he would sleep in every morning so that I would get up, make Katherine's lunch, serve her breakfast, get her backpack re-packed, etc. even though I was the one going to work and he was not. I couldn't believe that he'd watch me flying around, and that when I walked in the door from work he'd watch TV while I cooked dinner and helped our girl with homework. I found it astonishing, and it made me very angry.
But in that mediation, in a flash of insight, I think I saw it for what it is.
He loves his daughter. He is taking less than he might from the house because he wants her to live in the house. He's paying child support even though he's unemployed. But he has nothing else to give right now. He's doing the best he can.
He only has our daughter four four nights a month, and he usually only takes her for two of those nights (sending her to sleepovers the other two). I have been so angry that he has given her so little...but suddenly I see it, he's doing the best he can.
Yes, I'm exhausted. Yes, it takes a toll on me. But I am so incredibly proud of the job parenting I'm doing. I'm setting a good example, I'm raising a kind daughter who has a great work ethic. Katherine and I have fun together (this weekend's agenda: a sleepover at our house with a couple "BFFs", a visit to a pumpkin patch followed by pumpkin carving and hot apple cider, Sunday School where I am her class's teacher, and then our new tradition: a quiet evening dinner followed by a movie every Sunday night), but still get homework done, eat veggies, etc. I am working hard at work. I'm balancing the oh-so-tight budget. I got up at 5am the first fall day of rain to check the gutter in the corner where it causes problems, making sure that the water was draining away from the house.
I'm doing the best I can, and he's doing the best he can. It's not fair, and perhaps I am owed much more, and perhaps Katherine is owed much more, but all anyone can give is their best.
So, I feel more at peace with him than before. I'm so relieved that we are getting divorced - I can not have a partner who refuses to manage his mental health and expects me to deal with that fallout from that decision, and I can not live with lies, and I need to be married to someone I respect - but I see him differently now.
No, it's not fair. However, I got the better end of the deal. I CAN find joy in tiny things, I am proud of who I am, and I love my relationship with my daughter. Yes, I have to work twice as hard, but I have more than double the benefits of that work.
Tonight when I get home from work there will be three girls - Katherine and two of her besties - in my home, giggling and asking me funny questions about boys (they are at an age where they alternate between the idea that boys are weird and that boys are cool), and maybe we'll all dance in the kitchen to Carly Rae Jepson's summer hit "Call Me Maybe." Katherine will roll her eyes at me - "oh Mom you're so embarrassing" - but then she will "accidentally" bump into me and I'll grab her arms and spin her in circles and she'll laugh and her friends will say "do me next!" and by the time the song is over I'll be out of breath and we'll all be laughing. In the morning, her friends will say, "oooooh are you making chocolate chip pancakes?!" and they will be so excited when I say yes, because I have been informed that my house has the best sleepover breakfasts ever.
I know that this is all true, because this is how it always goes. Or maybe we won't dance, but we'll bake together. Or maybe they'll have me look up You-Tube videos on my computer, bands I've never heard of and would never listen to on my own (um, like Carly Rae Jepson) but which appeal to the tween set, and I'll indulge the girls because I love that they still include me on these activities, and because it always comes out who has a crush on who or what happened at school last week. Sometimes they ask my advice about navigating a tricky friendship, or about how to ask their moms something. Sometimes they ask how old I was when I got to do some things, or they'll ask me to tell them a funny story about when I was their age. Then, they'll bounce off into Katherine's room, and I'll hear whispers and laughter, and sometimes they spend three hours without coming up for air, organizing elaborate fantasy worlds with Littlest Pet Shop, and I'll be able to light candles and read a book in the living room with few interruptions.
When it's bedtime, they'll talk longer than they're supposed to, and finally I will say "this is your last warning and so if I have to come in again I'm afraid I'll have to separate you" and they will stop talking because this is about the 100th sleepover for these girls and they know I mean it. They'll say, "Okay" and they won't be upset at all; they'll roll over and go to sleep. In the morning if I sleep longer than they do, they'll bounce onto my bed like a litter of puppies, and I will say "when are you girls going to learn how to make me coffee?" and they'll call out a chorus of "yuccckkkkkk coffee is so gross!" before they wonder if there is any hot cocoa available.
Bryan misses out on all this, and I feel sad for him. He may not be treating me fairly, but still, I'm getting the better deal.
I am grateful for my life. Thank you, Bryan, for giving me perspective.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
One step closer
I went to the courthouse, and was not turned away, even temporarily. I went through the security, and the woman there smiled at me and told me she loved my dress and that my boots were fabulous.
That helped. Of course, I took her words to mean that I was smokin' hot with a great sense of fashion and that men for miles around would be craving my company in the near future. Because if I didn't have some small fantasy to get me through I think I would have run screaming from the building.
I spent a couple hours waiting in this line then that line, and I was done. I have filed for dissolution of marriage (I don't believe that the word "divorce" was on a single piece of paper - why is that?), and on January 16th I will stand in front of a judge and say "yes" or something, and then I will be divorced.
Oh, after I attend a half hour parenting class, and a half hour family law class, and visit the mediator two more times to finish paperwork. But that seems smaller now that the papers are filed.
First of all:
That sucked. No fantasy could erase that I was there to officially declare my marriage dead. It wasn't a good marriage, I can't benefit from it any longer....but I mourn its death anyway. Of course I do.
Second of all:
What crazy fool believes that a half hour parenting class makes any difference whatsoever? Seriously? For me, I'm pretty sure it's a major waste of time (I have a fair number of parenting classes much more than a half hour in duration under my belt, and I've read every parenting book I can get my hands on, I've been to lectures, I participate in a mom-group, I used to be a teacher and I have a masters in education....need I say more?!), but for those people who really need it, who haven't had access to resources like parenting classes or don't come from a background where it's common to read a zillion parenting books (and I've graduated to parenting books about children of divorce), well, what on earth is going to happen in that half hour class that does much good? I expect that I will hear that I should not belittle my daughter's father, that I should encourage their relationship, that I should set aside my feelings about the marriage and put my daughter's needs first. I expect that they'll suggest that I do not make her act as a go-between, that I look for mood swings and other indicators of anxiety or distress. I suspect that they'll make suggestions about introducing dates only after they're serious relationships. I'll bet we get a list of parenting websites and books.
I guess I'll find out.
Anyway, now my divorce - ahem, sorry, "dissolution" - has a number, and that makes it official.
How appropriate that as in marriage, it is in divorce. I'm running around like a fool, and I deliver it to him on a silver platter.
I had a minor panic attack. I hid it from the world - I'm good at that - but it hurt. Literally. Like my rib cage was two sizes too small.
I'm laying low tonight. I just need to catch my breath.
One step closer.
That helped. Of course, I took her words to mean that I was smokin' hot with a great sense of fashion and that men for miles around would be craving my company in the near future. Because if I didn't have some small fantasy to get me through I think I would have run screaming from the building.
I spent a couple hours waiting in this line then that line, and I was done. I have filed for dissolution of marriage (I don't believe that the word "divorce" was on a single piece of paper - why is that?), and on January 16th I will stand in front of a judge and say "yes" or something, and then I will be divorced.
Oh, after I attend a half hour parenting class, and a half hour family law class, and visit the mediator two more times to finish paperwork. But that seems smaller now that the papers are filed.
First of all:
That sucked. No fantasy could erase that I was there to officially declare my marriage dead. It wasn't a good marriage, I can't benefit from it any longer....but I mourn its death anyway. Of course I do.
Second of all:
What crazy fool believes that a half hour parenting class makes any difference whatsoever? Seriously? For me, I'm pretty sure it's a major waste of time (I have a fair number of parenting classes much more than a half hour in duration under my belt, and I've read every parenting book I can get my hands on, I've been to lectures, I participate in a mom-group, I used to be a teacher and I have a masters in education....need I say more?!), but for those people who really need it, who haven't had access to resources like parenting classes or don't come from a background where it's common to read a zillion parenting books (and I've graduated to parenting books about children of divorce), well, what on earth is going to happen in that half hour class that does much good? I expect that I will hear that I should not belittle my daughter's father, that I should encourage their relationship, that I should set aside my feelings about the marriage and put my daughter's needs first. I expect that they'll suggest that I do not make her act as a go-between, that I look for mood swings and other indicators of anxiety or distress. I suspect that they'll make suggestions about introducing dates only after they're serious relationships. I'll bet we get a list of parenting websites and books.
I guess I'll find out.
Anyway, now my divorce - ahem, sorry, "dissolution" - has a number, and that makes it official.
How appropriate that as in marriage, it is in divorce. I'm running around like a fool, and I deliver it to him on a silver platter.
I had a minor panic attack. I hid it from the world - I'm good at that - but it hurt. Literally. Like my rib cage was two sizes too small.
I'm laying low tonight. I just need to catch my breath.
One step closer.
Making it official
In a few moments, I will take things to the courthouse and officially, legally notify the world that our marriage is over. Ninety days later, as long as we take the parenting classes on time etc., we will be divorced.
I'm not sure how to mark the occassion. It seems only fitting somehow that I ended up being in charge of the divorce, just as much as I was the marriage. It doesn't matter that Bryan is unemployed (that is the great secret that he's been holding for months, that I accidently discovered a while back, that he lied about in mediation and I had to confront him with.....sigh.....) and that I am supposed to be at work and not the courthouse; these things have always fallen to me and nothing has changed.
I remember going to the courthouse to get our marriage license. We were turned away because each of us had small pocket knives on our keychains, so we didn't get through security. Undaunted, we went back to the car, ditched the little knives (more appropriate for cutting tiny apples than causing any actual damage), and went back to get the license. It was probably a sign, like many others; like the other signs, we ignored it.
So today I will leave my tiny pocketknife behind, and hopefully I will not be turned away from my divorce.
I am mentally and physically feeling a bit better today than I was in the last couple of days. Lack of sleep is a terrible thing, and I've made sure to get decent rest the past couple of nights. I sent out the cry for help (a request for emotional support) to my closest friends, and two instantly responded by bringing me dinners (one is coming tonight, the other is coming tomorrow) to help me get through. They symbol is just as helpful as the food itself: I am not alone, I am loved, I have support to get through the hard times.
I am trying to break down my tasks into smaller pieces. I can not be at work and the courthouse simultaneously, so I'm not going to think about work this morning. One foot in front of the other, one thing at a time. I am not going to fret about the refi: I've done what I can, and if it works, that's great, and if it doesn't, that's fine. I'll figure it out. If I have to sell this big old house, Katherine will be sad, but she would be fine in the end. And if I get to keep it, that's great too. Whatever happens will work out.
I think I forgot to breathe for a couple of days. I was worried that I would - lack of sleep does that to me. But I'm breathing again.
And I sent out email to those girlfriends - 90 days from now we need to have a party.
Peace and love.
I'm not sure how to mark the occassion. It seems only fitting somehow that I ended up being in charge of the divorce, just as much as I was the marriage. It doesn't matter that Bryan is unemployed (that is the great secret that he's been holding for months, that I accidently discovered a while back, that he lied about in mediation and I had to confront him with.....sigh.....) and that I am supposed to be at work and not the courthouse; these things have always fallen to me and nothing has changed.
I remember going to the courthouse to get our marriage license. We were turned away because each of us had small pocket knives on our keychains, so we didn't get through security. Undaunted, we went back to the car, ditched the little knives (more appropriate for cutting tiny apples than causing any actual damage), and went back to get the license. It was probably a sign, like many others; like the other signs, we ignored it.
So today I will leave my tiny pocketknife behind, and hopefully I will not be turned away from my divorce.
I am mentally and physically feeling a bit better today than I was in the last couple of days. Lack of sleep is a terrible thing, and I've made sure to get decent rest the past couple of nights. I sent out the cry for help (a request for emotional support) to my closest friends, and two instantly responded by bringing me dinners (one is coming tonight, the other is coming tomorrow) to help me get through. They symbol is just as helpful as the food itself: I am not alone, I am loved, I have support to get through the hard times.
I am trying to break down my tasks into smaller pieces. I can not be at work and the courthouse simultaneously, so I'm not going to think about work this morning. One foot in front of the other, one thing at a time. I am not going to fret about the refi: I've done what I can, and if it works, that's great, and if it doesn't, that's fine. I'll figure it out. If I have to sell this big old house, Katherine will be sad, but she would be fine in the end. And if I get to keep it, that's great too. Whatever happens will work out.
I think I forgot to breathe for a couple of days. I was worried that I would - lack of sleep does that to me. But I'm breathing again.
And I sent out email to those girlfriends - 90 days from now we need to have a party.
Peace and love.
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