A Week Out

I've been doing mostly OK since the divorce. I have felt wistful at times, even a little anxious, but not nearly what I was prepared for - I (and others) fully expected a full nervous breakdown. My doctor even asked if it was necessary if I attend the actual court proceedings.

I spent the 45 minutes before the hearing wondering if my husband would show up, and if I really wanted him to, and what the hell would I say to him if he DID show, wishing he would because I really needed him there - and ultimately - he didn't. I don't know why. I could guess, but - honestly - I have been guessing and second-guessing his behavior for years, and I am too tired now to mess with it.

I do feel sad about it. We never really talked about why he left - other than he was miserable... miserable how? Miserable in what way? Miserable-how-the-hell-can-I-do-anything-about-the-problem-if-you-won't-talk-to-me? We never really talked about him moving out. He announced he was doing it and *poof* he was gone. We never really talked about his affair. He said he was having an emotional affair with her the day he moved out. That he needed space and time to work on things. We never talked about that deception. We never talked about anything really.

I guess, ultimately, I'm not really surprised he didn't show up for the divorce.

And I was pretty much OK until tonight. Tonight, I came home and the apartment dumpster was empty. I thought, "Oh! Now would be a good time to dump the mattress! It would be on the bottom, and wouldn't take up a lot of room that way!" I even went so far as to thinking about how silly it would look to have a friend and her son help us get it into the dumpster. This mattress set is old - and neither I nor ex-Mr are small people. My folks are giving me a spare set from their place to replace it, so this really seemed like a good idea.

And then all hell broke loose - a figurative emotional hell. Not quite histrionics, but definitely in the snotting on the shirt because Kleenexes just aren't going to cut it category.

I realized I'm not ready to give my bed up. It is my marriage bed. It is my bed. It was our bed. My husband held me in that bed. He loved me - as best as he was able - in that bed. I slept beside him and felt safe in that bed. Our dog chewed a hole in the mattress and bled on it when he tried to go through the bedroom window after the postman. We tickled our kids in that bed. It still holds the depression of his body. He read to me in that space. I grieved for him, and for our marriage, in that space. I still wake up reaching for him in the night expecting him to be there - and he isn't.

I understand the sacredness of that space is lost on him. I know (now) that he was sleeping with her whilst he was sleeping with me in that bed. I wonder, sometimes, if he was thinking of her while he was sleeping with me. There were times I knew something was wrong - but I couldn't figure it out. So, on one hand, my marriage bed has been violated and must go! On the other hand, it is the last real part of my marriage and all the hopes I had for it. It is the last bit of him I have.

In another time, in another space, I think I would have been OK burning the bed - cleansing by flame with water and wine and bread and salt - healing, purification, closure. I don't want to return it to him - because I'm really not OK with sharing our bed with other people. But, throwing it in the garbage seems so .... sacrilegious? Ungrateful? Sad. Mostly sad - incredibly, heartbreaking, damnthisreallyishurtingtonight kinds of sad.

I could never bring anyone else into that bed. Right now, that isn't a big deal. I can't imagine taking anyone else to bed - this bed, or any bed. I'm sure that will change as I heal, but I don't think I am there yet. Just another something missing in our society. No one in our society would question a widow wanting to keep her bed. She would receive understanding and compassion, and support. In our society, a divorcee is expected to toss the mattress or have as many people in it as possible.

I honestly don't know what to do. I don't regret divorcing ex-Mr. That was a healthy and necessary choice. That was the right thing to do, for me, for my son, and ultimately - for ex-Mr. I hate the choice I made, but I would make the same choice again without hesitation. THAT part, I'm OK with. It is sorting through the detritus of my marriage that is hurting tonight - the unhooking, the shredding remnants of something precious to me, the biding farewell to wishes and hopes and dreams, the letting myself just feel and grieve.

This is a process (so sayth the Therapist). There will be fits and starts and some days will be better than others. Grief isn't a one-direction trip. Healing doesn't happen in a straight line. I am going to handle this in my own way and in my own time and I will be stronger and healthier at the end of it all.

Yeah. If I repeat that often enough, I might believe it one day.

Right now, I just wish it done.

Still.

I wish I could burn it.

June, Wakes, and Zombies

June has been a time of transition for the last several years. I'm not sure why everything seems to happen during this month. End of the school year? As good a time as any to turn lives upside down?

This June is no exception.

This Thursday, I will be divorcing my husband. 

I feel like I should have a wake or some such, and punted the idea to some friends. They aren't Irish, so the main idea of wakes that they have includes large amounts of alcohol. That isn't exactly what I needed. I need a wake. 

I needed to tell the story of the good times in our marriage. Right now, they are hard to recall. There is a lot of pain in the way. In order to heal and to grieve, I have to remember that there was more than pain and betrayal in my marriage.

 I remember going for car rides in the snow. The stillness of the whole Earth as he drove through the night - just watching the flakes fall in the headlights of the car. Sharing stories while the kids slept in the back seat. I remember the very well meaning application of capsaicin creme on a damaged knee... and the resulting screaming when I had a bad reaction to it (that sounds like a "bad" thing - but he was very contrite, and had no way to know I was sensitive to it.. *I* didn't know - now - ten years later, it is funny. Then, not so much.) I remember him taking me to see Beauty and the Beast at a local dinner theater, and his compassion when some of the scenes were a little too close to personal. 

I remember sitting on the front porch wrapped in a blanket watching it storm. I remember running the laptop's power cord through the window so we could sit outside and watch the IT Crowd and Gordon Ramsey after the kids had gone to bed. I remember the blue of the sky through the open windows of the chapel at our church on our wedding day. I remember my mother saying that I looked genuinely happy. I remember him staying with me during my knee surgery, and feeling terrified. He said that I didn't have to stay, and that I could leave, and he would take me home, but that my knee would still hurt, and it wouldn't get any better - ultimately though, it was my decision. I remember sitting in the dark watching the Christmas tree lights. 

I remember sleeping with the balcony door open and camping in the living room. I remember listening to him lector at our parish, and how special it was to receive communion when he was the LEM. I remember driving around after Mass and listening to NPR and watching the leaves change color. I remember how he saved Kiddo's life by coming to get him when I found out the child had swiped my mother's ring and broke it - and instead of bringing the parts home, he threw away a platinum and sapphire ring... and the husband called my folks to talk me off the crazy cliff. I remember his hunting down a local yarn store - and going in - to get me a present. I remember him introducing me as his wife. 

I remember him plastering the ceiling of my office because I couldn't reach it. If you only knew how much he hated home improvements or projects like that, you would understand the depth of his sacrifice. I remember him trying to teach me to drive on the snow. I remember him stopping in a random gas station and picking up a sheep magnet for me - because I might enjoy it. I remember him taking me back to the store to get the puppy I had cried over - and he is right - we really should have named the dog Lunchbox. I remember watching Buffy and Angel - back to back episodes in a marathon of awesome. I remember the shared fear we have of a root cellar in our basement. In nine years, we have opened that door maybe three times. I remember getting lost while house hunting, and finding our home by accident. It wasn't on the list that the realtor had given us - but we knew at first sight that it was perfect. 

I remember the diamond tennis bracelet he bought me for graduation. I had always resented my dad buying one for a cousin who graduated high school. The husband remembered, and bought me one when I graduated college. I remember how he went out the way to buy me books for Christmas. I remember getting for real mail from him. 

Much like a wake, this also brings to mind the sadder things.. like how I knew something was going on with our marriage when the mail stopped. Or how hurt I was when there weren't any books this year. 

Sometimes, I think it would be easier if my husband had died. Then I could remember him as he was in my head. I would be able to cling to my delusions, and grant him hero status. I wouldn't have to face reality. I wouldn't have to wonder how much of what we had was real, if any of it was real. I wouldn't have to wonder how long my marriage had been dead before I clued in. I wouldn't have to hear about the horrible things he has said about me to people we know - because people won't speak ill of the dead, and they sure wouldn't tell his grieving widow of his faults. 

In a divorce, I don't have the same social protection as a widow, but my loss, and the damage done to our family is just as great. Maybe that's why we don't have wakes for a divorce. Everyone seems to be glad I "have come to my senses" and am "finally divorcing the SOB." No one seems to understand (care?) that this decision is killing me. 

At a wake, folks sit with the body of their loved one - letting the soul out, keeping watch, guarding the body until the physical remains can be returned to the Earth. They share stories. They keep the memory of their kin and friends alive through the sharing, through community. They remember. It hurts - hence the whiskey. Laughter cauterizes the wounds of death. There isn't anyone that will stand watch with me, not in the way that I need. That - perhaps - is the hardest part of this divorce. The person who would have watched with me, who would have poured the whiskey and handed me the salt - is the person I am divorcing. 

My marriage is dead. It has been dead for a really long time. Like the widow at the wake, I've been clinging to the coffin and refusing to let them take it to the church yard. Keening my grief, denying reality, demanding accounting from God. What is inside the coffin no longer resembles my love, my marriage, or my husband - it is rank with decay, and soiled with betrayal. I understand that on Thursday, I am not killing anything, as the marriage is already dead. I am just letting them bury the body. 

I just wish - like any widow - that my husband would be here to hold my hand, to comfort me, to share my grief.  My husband is dead, and has been. The person walking around in his skin is not my husband.

Fuck - I read too many books. I seriously just wondered if that was what was going on - if STBX was a changeling, or a doppleganger, or a zombie.... and my copy of The Zombie Survival Guide is at home. 

Wednesday, my friends and I will drink the last of the mead made for my wedding. My mother will go with me to the court house. My doctor has given me medication to help me cope. And I will rebuild my life without my best friend. 

And never again will I sit a wake sober. This is awful. Just saying.

Reading List - Summer

I have been reading - a lot - lately. All terribly practical stuff that relates to the thesis. All as yummy as congealed, unsweetened oatmeal.

So, I polled my friends and compiled a list of summer reading:

Burroughs, Augusten (2012). This is How: Proven Aid in Overcoming Shyness, Molestation, Fatness, Spinsterhood, Grief, Disease, Lushery, Decrepitude, & More. For Young and Old Alike. St. Martin Press: New York, NY.

Duhigg, Charles (2012). The Power of Habit: Why We Do What We Do in Life and in Business. Random House: New York, NY.

Gaiman, Neil (2001). American Gods (have this scheduled as an audiobook for the road trip on Monday) 

Gladwell, Malcom (2005). Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking. New York: Little, Brown. 

Hobb, Robin (2012). City of Dragons: Vol. 3 of The Rain Wilds Chronicles. Harper Voyager: New York, NY. 

Lackey, Mercedes (2012) Redoubt: Book Four of the Collegium Chronicles. DAW --- yes --- I KNOW it isn't due out until October 2... but there is seriously that much anticipation... Did I mention I am a Mercedes Lackey fangirl?? So totally.  

McCaffrey, Anne and Todd McCaffrey (2012). Sky Dragons: Dragonriders of Pern. Del Rey - Due out June 26!!!! Kiddo and I have made it a summer tradition to listen to Pern stories in the evening instead of TV. He colors or builds with Legos, and I knit while listening to someone read us a story :) This is joy. 

Tan, Amy (2011). Rules for Virgins. Byliner: San Francisco, CA. 

Tolle, Eckhart (1999). The Power of Now: A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment. Namaste Publishing: Vancouver, BC. 

Rubin, Gretchen (2009). The Happiness Project. HarperCollins: New York, NY. (Not really suggested, but a friend is reading it, and it is about time to revisit it.)

Pretty solid mix... I'm pleased with it. Mom got a Nook for Christmas, so I'm pretty sure her stash of trashy romance paperbacks have about disappeared. That is a bit sad, but if I get through this list, maybe I can borrow her Nook :)

Rule #1: Be Me - this means I need to do the things that bring me joy - voracious reading, knitting, building home with Kiddo, being present to the joy in our lives.

Perspective on Memorial Day

On Memorial Day, we are called to remember those who loved their country more than selves - to set an empty place at table for the service men and women who will never come home again. To remember their families left behind to pick up the parts and pieces of their lives - and carry on.

Mrs. Cathey sleeping next to her husband the night before his funeral.
Todd Heisler/Rocky Mountain News - 2005

In her recent New York Times article, Burana describes this image as only a military wife can - and it is the stuff of nightmares. I was one of the lucky military wives. I soldiered through deployments and through non-accompanied tours. I never had to send my husband off to war. Even as a child, when my dad left for war, I don't think I really understood that he could die "over there" - just that my dad was gone.

As an adult - even with all the issues and heartache of my marriage - I can thank God I was never in the position of Mrs. Cathey and her unborn child. For sparing me and my family, thank you to all the soldiers who faced this ultimate sacrifice and were willing to die to protect my country and my family. Thank you, Mrs. Cathey and all the families who are carrying the cost of that sacrifice.

The empty place at my table tonight is only symbolic. I remember your sacrifice. I am grateful for your sacrifice. You are remembered.

Peace be with you and yours this night.

Employment?

So - I interview for a new job Monday week.

I'm feeling pretty darn conflicted. On one hand - It is work. It will feed my child. It will offer health insurance. It will pay my bills. It doesn't involve fast food, wearing a blue vest or shouting "Gimme a Squiggly!" and shaking my arse like an idiot in public (How I shake my arse in private is none of your business - needless to say, it is just as frightening, there are just fewer witnesses).

On the other hand - it is very far away from my friends and from Kiddo's friends/school/extracurricular activities - you know - everything important to a teenager.

It is closer to my parents. I have lived away from them - like hours and hours - for nearly 20 years, and when mom had a heart attack last year, I was horrified that she might die, and I would be too far away to get there in time to say goodbye. And I felt guilty that I hadn't been to see her more. Do keep in mind, one of the reasons the STBX agreed to cell phones was the realization that you don't have long distance charges on cells - and I talk to my mom for about 45 minutes a day on the phone. Yeah - being closer to my mom is a good thing.

It is also very far away from everything that I consider "civilization." It is not where I want to end up. I really do just want a flat above a shop somewhere that I can walk or ride the train to work. Where I can walk to the shops. You know - some place that has a population of liberal folks greater than 2.5 ... yes... you read that right... 2.5 people. That half - well - that guy got lynched O_o I would make person #3.

The job sounds incredibly interesting. It would still be in my current line of work, but dealing with the public more. There would be more diversification in the stakeholders. I would be able to leave at the end of the day, and leave my work there. I would have time for volunteer work at the Women's Shelter. I would even still have time to teach a class or so at the local community college.

The area is NOT known for its religious diversity though, nor for its acceptance of minorities of any variety.

But - they are the only people who have called me back for an interview. I'm not seeing where there is much choice in the situation. I could stay here and live out of a cardboard box, or I could go stay with my parents. I could stay here and live paycheck to paycheck, until I don't get them any more, and live each term with the knowledge I may not have a job in 10 weeks. Or I can go somewhere where I know how much I'll get paid each month, and know that I will get paid.

There is a university in the area that offers a PhD in a field closely related to mine. After a year, I would have established residency, and could go back to school to get my PhD. That would be a positive. I would be finished about the same time Kiddo graduates high school. Then I could go teach in Europe somewhere. See the world. Have a little flat in Paris.

So - I have been setting myself up to rock this interview. I have professional clothes, a decent haircut, and even had my eyebrows done. (I am no longer an older than dirt eyebrow virgin. The idea of getting them professionally done scared me to death! The cost to pay someone to rip out my hair!! But my salonist only charged $10, and she convinced me that it wouldn't kill me. It wasn't AWFUL... but it is on the same "fun" list as getting a pap smear.) I have practiced interviewing with the university's career services. I have relevant questions ready. I am prepared to rock this interview - because when it comes right down to it - my kid eating is more important than what I want to do or where I want to live.

I appreciate any positive energy you can send my way. I need this job. Or - if this job isn't what the universe has in store for me, could someone please tell the universe I don't do well with subtlety.

Thanks!

Faulkner and Gratitude

Today is one of those days where you wonder if the Internet gods are trying out their version of prophecy, or an oracle, or divine intervention.

As a general rule, I detest lists. I'm not a "list-y" sort of person. It is a throw back to elementary school and feeling like I lacked autonomy.  That said, I am also grownup enough to know that lists are the way my social world works, and if I want to survive in it, I might need to consider making my peace with them.

One of the "list" blogs I read is Marc and Angel Hack Life. It is a blog of lists containing the essential elements of the sort of life I want for myself. They read all the books I want to read, but don't have time for yet - to be fair, I have read some of the books they recommend, and the others are on request from the library or on Amazon's Wish List. The short end of that is: I hate lists but I like their lists. I find their lists useful, and not repressive. Although, I have to admit, I have struggled with some of the ideas they have shared over the years. I wasn't ready to hear them.

Today's leading photo is of a woman standing in front of a mirror. Her pose is reminiscent of Rosie the Riveter. On her hand and arm is the phrase, "Thanks. You've made me believe in personal power again."

My last post was a letter of gratitude to my STBX. I was asked if that was a true letter of gratitude, or if it was - in the Faulkner-ian sense of Southern gentility - really just bashing the STBX and couching it in terms of gratitude. And honestly, the idea had never occurred to me. I have spent the last chunk of time trying to suss out the reality of my emotions and motivations. Was I writing from a position of gratitude, or was I trying to bash?

This is important to me because I do want to be honest - one of the founding premises of this blog is about being honest and genuine, even if it is ugly. And I didn't really THINK I was being sarcastic, ugly, or manipulative - but I do want to be SURE because the person I think I am, the person I want to cultivate is an honest person.

Today's Marc and Angel post is about the 14 Rules for being YOU. Since I thought I was being honest and ME, I think that evaluating my previous post in light of these rules might be useful - I also reserve the right to be absolutely wrong.

1. Get Your Priorities Straight - In twenty years I will be older than dirt. In twenty years, I want to be able to say I loved truly and honestly, with my whole heart, with compassion, and with forgiveness. I also want to be able to say that I did learn my lessons (eventually), and that I was able to teach my son how to love. I stayed married long after I should have left. I believed in that whole "better or worse, sickness and in health" thing. I believed in the sacredness of a promise made to my partner, in front of my family, my children, and my friends. I honestly thought it couldn't get any worse. I really thought that if I gave him the time he asked for, he would heal. I thought that if I worked on my own issues, that everything would be OK. I learned my lessons (see below). Am I still sad and hurt and disappointed? Yes. But I also learned from this experience, and that is what ultimately matters. With time and grace, perhaps it won't hurt as much.
2. Take Full Responsibility for Your Goals: My goal in this life is to have a peaceful life. Limited drama. To have a life filled with friends and loved ones and to have a home where people want to come to share a meal and conversation. THAT is my idea of a good time. I dream of friends scattered by the miles and by the years gathered around my dinner table. I dream of laughter. To do that, I have to be comfortable in my own skin, and in my own home. I have to make choices out of genuine desire, not out of fear or to avoid conflict. In order to be in a position where I can do that without anxiety, I have to:
3. Know Your Worth: For years I scrabbled for scraps of time and affection from my STBX. I was grateful for moments of time doled out to a peasant petitioner. I was treated like an option, an after thought - and I knew it. I didn't know how to say anything about it in a way that would get my needs met, or stop the behavior, or even how walk out of the situation. I reacted badly, and the hurt and loneliness and confusion all came out sideways. "When someone treats you like you’re just one of many options, help them narrow their choice by removing yourself from the equation." 
4. Choose the Right Perspective: This is about where I started gaining clarity with my original pondering. I could be angry and bitter with the STBX. I could list out all the ways he has harmed me and post them all on the Internet for the world to see. He, in fact, invited me to do so - even suggested that I call him out by name. I have every right to do so. My attorney was rather stunned that I insisted on a 'no-fault' divorce. There were enough pictures, testimony, and evidence to file for four out of the ten grounds for 'fault' divorce in our state. There is a lot of room for revenge - and our society would not even bat an eye if I were to pursue any of it. In fact, I get a hell of a lot of grief for NOT being vengeful. But, it all comes down to perspective.  I understand that adultery is a symptom of greater issues in a relationship - which is why I was/am willing to forgive it. Fix the bigger issues, and adultery isn't an issue any more. I could blast the STBX from now until the cows come home - publicly - and it still wouldn't change anything. I am hurt. I am sad. I am disappointed. I feel betrayed - I was betrayed. He isn't willing to work on our issues, to fix our problems, or even talk to me about them. So, I could look for the positives in this incredibly horrible situation, and learn from it - or - I could poison myself. I chose A. I'm done with B.
5. Don't Let Your Old Problems Punish Your Dreams: Another thing I detest is direct quotations - just getting that out there - especially since this will make two direct quotations in one post: "Learn to let go of things you can’t control. The next time you’re tempted to rant about a situation that you think ended unfairly, remind yourself of this: You’ll never kill off your anger by beating the story to death. So close your mouth, unclench your fists, and redirect your thoughts.When left untended, the anger will slowly wither, and you’ll be left to live in peace as you grow toward a better future." Um... yeah.. that pretty much nailed that gratitude v. bash coffin shut. 
6. Choose Things that Truly Matter: It is true that filing for a divorce left me in a position of financial hardship. I am basically broke, and will be jobless, homeless, and husbandless for the first time in 16 years in about two weeks. It was incredibly hard to realize I am ::ahem:: almost as old as dirt, and I am going to have to move in with my mother to support my son until I can find work. It is scary as hell to be without health insurance. I am terrified to be without my STBX. (Please remember, gentle readers, despite our differences, I do love the SOB. He was my best friend and I still catch myself wanting to share things with him. I have to keep reminding myself that we don't have that kind of relationship anymore and I *miss* him.) ::straightening spine:: What matters is being treated like I matter, like I have worth, like I am a human being. By staying in that situation, I was teaching my son it was OK to let other people treat him like dirt - and that to grovel for someone's love was normal. I was teaching my son it was OK to stay with someone who disrespected him. I was teaching my son that comfort and security could be bought. I was teaching my son that raging was an appropriate way of silencing opposition, and that fear was an OK way to manage relationships. That makes my asshole pucker. I AM terrified. I am scared to death. I have to choose what really matters though.
7. Love YOU: This one I struggle with. Period. I am learning though.
8. Accept your Strengths and Weaknesses: I spent years comparing myself to the porn on my STBX's desk, with the pictures he would share with me, with the women he would point out. (Admittedly, I thought they were hot too - I just took the next step and thought - well, shit. I don't look like that. If he finds them hot, who is he thinking about when we make love?) I spent years comparing myself to socially constructed ideas of "good mothers" and "good wives" and "good people." Hell, I even went through several months of comparing myself to the STBX's mistress. Fuck that. I have above average smarts. I can knit a freaking sweater and socks. I read like a boss. I teach. I can cook circles around most people I know. I have survived child abuse, domestic violence, emotional abuse, chronic neglect, abandonment, adultery, gossip, and hate. Fuck all y'all. I'm fabulous, bitch! 
9. Stand up for You: Three direct quotations in a post really makes me want to vomit... "Don’t judge me until you know me, don’t underestimate me until you challenge me, and don’t talk about me until you’ve talked to me." Yeah. That really is enough said. One of the things that hurts the most about the collapse of my marriage is that my STBX would talk to his mistress about me, and not to me about me. She doesn't know me from Adam's house cat - well, slightly more than that - she was one of my instructors in college. But, really what can you know of someone from some business letter writing samples? He didn't take the time to know me either. The me that he thinks/thought I was/am - was all in his head - a self-recursive feedback loop fueled and supported by someone equally as clueless. That makes it all imaginary. I was tried, convicted, and sentenced based on faulty thinking and imagination. O_o  Yeah.... just realized that one. 
10. Learn From Others and Move on When you Must and
11. Be Honest in your Relationships are very similar: I stayed until I couldn't. Giving up on my marriage was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Giving up on him is awful. I understand it is healthy - but I still feel guilty and horrible. I told the Grandmother I wouldn't. I shouldn't have made a promise like that to her. I could have stayed another few months until he filed - but for all the reasons I outlined in the other post - I couldn't. It wouldn't have been honest. I love his family (with one notable exception...) and the thought of not seeing them again is so incredibly sad for me. I think that is the second meanest thing about his choices. The first was leading me on, and promising false hope. So, ultimately, I couldn't stay.
12. Get Comfortable with Being Uncomfortable: Throughout this whole experience, I have had the support of some amazing people who supported me in my decision to stay and fight for my marriage when that was my choice, and the same people supported me in my decision to leave. One of them, after a particularly difficult day, sent me the text of J.K. Rowling's Commencement Address to the 2008 Graduating Class at Harvard. Yeah - Jobless, homeless, husbandless - pretty much rock bottom. But, I have friends who love me, and family that will support me until I can put my life back together. The only place to go once you hit bedrock, is back up. Still terrified. Still not sure how I am going to do this. But - my greatest fears have been realized, and I am still alive. 
13. Be Who You Were Born to Be: I was born to be loved and to love myself. I was born to celebrate life in all the quirky ways that I enjoy life. I was born because two people loved each other. I was wanted. I am someone's little girl. I understand that not all people can say that. And I cherish knowing that I was wanted and loved. I think that my STBX loved me in the best way he could love me. It doesn't excuse his behavior. It doesn't justify a single one of his hurtful choices. It doesn't make any of it OK. It also doesn't define who I am. I sacrificed my values for a while. I sacrificed myself. I was not being who I was born to be. Done with that.
14. Never Give up on You: A friend told me today that she thought I was brave. She has every confidence I will be able to come through this experience with the flames of a Phoenix rising from the ashes. I told her I was scared, and that I am reluctant to share that with other people because I am also scared they will use it against me to hurt me. She quoted Nelson Mandela to me (Four!!! AGH!! FOUR!!) "I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph of fear over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear." I am scared. And I am still doing what I know is the right thing to do. I am not where I want to be in life. I still hurt, and I'm not in a place where I can let go of that yet. I still miss him, and one day - I won't anymore. I will get to a point where I am OK with all of this. I will get to a point where I can trust other people again. I may not have another partner in this life - the wound is that deep, but I do have friends and companions. I won't be alone.

So - my assessment is - I was being honest. I really am grateful for the lessons I have learned. I do regret that I had to learn them the way I did. I would much rather have learned them AND not been hurt so badly by STBX. I would have rather not exposed my son to this experience, but I hope that he learned from it too. I will be OK. I will be sad for a while. My husband is dead. I don't know who STBX is... I don't know that person at all. I will grieve. I will heal. And me and my son will be just fine - we have lived through our Faulkner period. We survived. We will write our own story now.

Writing to Heal

I did a writing exercise this week. The assignment was to write a letter to my soon-to-be-ex-husband (STBX) thanking him for the things I have learned from this experience.

That was a challenging bit of writing. It would be easier to rant and rave and blame and dissolve into self-pity. After all, when you take a critical look at the last ten years, if any one deserves a nervous breakdown, it is me. And I'm not... well, not yet. I have one scheduled for next month when I am homeless and jobless and husbandless and doing the single-mom thing full time.

Dear STBX,
Thank you for the last ten years of my life. This time has not been wasted nor in vain. I have learned several valuable lessons from this experience, and I would like to share with you my gratitude.

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to finally learn the difference between self-esteem and self-compassion. I had no self-esteem during and after my relationship with you. It showed in my lack of self-respect and unhealthful boundaries. I kept giving and accommodating in the hope that if I just sacrificed a little bit more of myself, I would be worth your notice, your time, your affection. I died inside when you would disagree with me and instead of talking about it, you would use silence to hurt me. I blamed myself for your rage and screaming and belittling behavior, because you said I left you no choice and I believed you. Self-compassion has taught me that I can only do what I can do when I can do it, and that I have to love myself first, and respect myself. This gives me the strength of character to finally tell you what you are doing is wrong, and that I will no longer sacrifice my values and character to help you feel comfortable with your choices. My self-compassion is not affected by your infidelity, your lies, or your cruelty. It is the one thing you cannot take away from me. It it my right as a Child of God to be treated with dignity and respect, and by all that is holy, I will fight for that right and demand it from all and sundry - because I deserve it.

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to truly understand there is a difference between what people perceive of an experience and my lived reality. One of the things you throw in my face every time we fight is that I have not finished my Master's degree yet, and you have. And that you started after I did. You present this as evidence of some personal flaw that reflects a defect in my character. I took your barbs and accusations as truth until lately. I thought you were right to continually tear me down. And then my mother helped me understand the truth: I have been working two adjunct faculty positions with an average of 18 to 20 hours a term for the last five years. I have adjusted to having my life ripped apart by infidelity, lies, and abuse. I have kept my house clean, my child fed, functioning, and thriving. I have worked on my thesis, but admittedly it was not a priority. Survival was. I have been patient with your affair(s?), believing you when you said you needed time and space, and living every day with the expectation that I would be handed divorce papers if I didn't do what you wanted, or I would be kicked out of my home, or there would be another argument that would leave me suicidal for weeks on end.

You may feel entitled to pass whatever judgment you wish on my completing or not completing my thesis. It is not my concern. I know the reality of my life, and it doesn't match with your perception. My thesis wasn't finished on your time schedule because I had to focus on other things to survive. I did not have the luxury of a supportive partner, or someone who was willing to take over 90% of my childcare responsibilities. I did the best I could do with what I could do, and looking back, I still don't see where I could - realistically - make choices different than the ones I made.

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to explore the depth of my character. I cheated on my first husband with you. I could (and did) justify my behavior by saying my marriage was over, that I just needed to pay for the divorce. It doesn't change the fact that the behavior was wrong. I hated how my behavior made me feel. I went to Confession. I confessed to and apologized to my ex-husband. And then I made damn sure the situation could never happen again. I couldn't really put into words my experience until last week when one of my students spoke on character. She said, "People are stupid. They make mistakes and poor choices. It is part of being human. That isn't someone's character. People's character is revealed after they mess up." I made sure that I never put myself in a situation where my fidelity could be questioned. You were that important to me. Even when meeting a male friend for the first time in twenty years, I made damn sure we stayed in the overcrowded food court at the convention center. I even cancelled a feis trip because I realized there might be even a hint of impropriety. I wasn't willing to risk our relationship on even the perception of infidelity. That is the truth of my character.

I would like to thank you for showing me what true disrespect looks like so I can avoid it in the future. Having me house sit while you take your mistress out of town to a convention is disrespectful. Having your mistress there when I drop our son off for visitation, is disrespectful. Taking your mistress to a holiday party where I have also been invited is disrespectful. Planning to bring your mistress to your son's performance while I am there is disrespectful. Bringing your mistress to my house is disrespectful. Telling me of the horrible names you call me, your tendency to bad mouth me, and that you allow your mistress to badmouth me, is disrespectful. Having unprotected sex with me while having an affair with her is disrespectful. And just so you know - yes, I did finally figure out that you were hitting me up for sex after spending the weekend with her last month.

Mostly, I want to thank you for teaching me self-respect and self-love. I filed for divorce because you were very clear there was nothing to discuss. You did not give marital counseling an honest try, because you were already seeing your mistress. You didn't see the point of divorce counseling. You played Russian roulette with my life by having unprotected sex with me and exposing me to whatever you and your mistress have been exposed to AND dismissed your behavior as being appropriate because of your gender. I could choose to stay married to you until you decided to file - the whole time with the threat of divorce over my head if I didn't behave and do what you wanted. I chose to stop the insanity. I could choose to stay married to you for health insurance, but the stress of trying to second-guess your behavior was killing me. I chose to stop playing the game. I could stay and continue to subject myself to periodic interrogations about how I spent money or managed my finances. I chose to walk away. I could stay - knowing you were posting pictures of your affair on Facebook, openly taking her around town, and introducing her to our friends, or I could stop the humiliation of my husband openly having an affair. I chose me over you. I chose my self-respect and dignity over you.

Most of all, I want to thank you for teaching me that I do have the capacity for love. Real love. Real commitment. Real happiness. I know how to work on myself, and love myself, and be ok with myself. I hurt right now. I feel angry and betrayed and I grieve over the things that might have been - because I did love you, and love like that isn't something that is found every day. I still don't want a divorce. I know a divorce is the most healthful choice for me and for my son, and ultimately for you. I know that a divorce is the right choice to make. I still miss my husband - or at least the idea of him. I miss the security of trusting someone completely. I miss my home - my cat is buried in the yard, and our kids planted the tree in the front yard. I miss our rituals - I am still not sure how I am going to watch Dr. Who this season. Hell, some days I miss your habit of picking your toenails on the couch - only very occasionally though. It grossed me the hell out, and that is when I know I am having a pretty rough day, and need to be exceptionally gentle with myself.

Thank you for teaching me how to forgive. I have learned that forgiveness isn't a 'once and done' sort of thing. Sometimes I have to forgive you multiple times a minute. But I have also learned that forgiveness has exactly zero to do with you. It is about me, and not letting the weight of your choices and character weigh me down. I was serious when I said I could forgive the infidelity, the screaming and abuse (as long as you agreed to therapy), and the deception. You would have to ask. And I don't even know how to begin trusting you again. But I can and do forgive you.

Ultimately, thank you for giving me the opportunity to be tested by fire. I think I am a better person because of this experience. I have more patience for the things that need patience, and less tolerance for bull shit and disrespect. I have developed the capacity for love and forgiveness and compassion. I also know that your infidelity was your choice. A choice that had nothing to do with me. It is not my fault, and not my responsibility.

Thank you for the circumstances that made me learn to be a grownup. I look forward to spending the rest of my life figuring out who this grownup is. I sincerely wish you the best. May your bedside nurse never be named Bertha.

Your loving, soon-to-be-ex-wife.

NPC

A while back a friend posted something about not being an NPC in their own life... and of course, now I can't find it to give credit.

It is something that has been bouncing around in my head for a couple of weeks.

First, an NPC is a non-player character in role playing games. It is someone that the game master usually controls and only exists to move the plot along for the "real" characters - those played by humans. And I realized that it described my life... and I vomited.

And then I picked myself up, and decided to kick the fucking door in. <-- another gaming reference.

I had to take responsibility for my life. Make choices. Move forward. Live by what I know to be right.

I didn't take 10 to check for traps. I didn't consult with the game master. I checked the player's handbook, conferred with my copy of the GM handbook, and kicked. the. door. in.

Since then, I've been dealing with anxiety and panic attacks. It is scary being the first person through the door, especially when you know you are in the dungeon alone. Mostly though - I'm ok.

Seriously. Panic aside... I really think I am ok. I am responsible for my choices, and I am ok with that. I have a plan - or at least a general direction in which I am headed.  I'll work out the details when I get to  the next fork in the path (always go to the left, btw).

I refuse to be an NPC in my own life - ever. again.

Spring

The Earth wakes from Winter sleep in
Fits and starts, fickle promises of heat and light
Reminiscent of a lover's half-whispered promises.

Half-way between Imbloc and Beltine,
Christians mark miracles of life over death, rebirth,
Reawakening of the Spirit after a desert's journey.

New life comes with birthing pain
Blood and water flow from sides and between thighs
Hearts rupture with pain and are made whole.

Blessings of this season of renewal to you and yours.

Decisions

Spending time in silence to think about choices and decisions is ... challenging... especially when the person you have spent the last ten years discussing problems with is the topic of contemplation.

So many people offer advice in times of crisis: how folks should feel, what they would do, what would be 'best'.

I think that the most relevant piece of advice I have received lately, wasn't even addressed to me. It was a friend's FaceBook status: Don't be an NPC in your own life.

Still not sure what I am going to do with that information, nor what I will do with my situation, but not being an NPC resonates with me.

I have felt invisible, unheard, unwanted for so very long, and - of this I am sure - I am done with that.

Heck. I even have some dice and a blank character sheet.

Rock Bottom

"Simply because failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me. Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one arena I believed I truly belonged. I was set free, because my greatest fear had been realised, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life (Rowling, 2008)."

So. Um. My marriage is a failure. I've known this for a while, and have held out hope that somehow, all the work, and prayer, and sheer cussedness would win out, and I would have my happy ending. And a friend posted part of this quotation on my Facebook wall. And it is truth.

My greatest fear has been realized. My husband is happier with another woman.
I am still alive. Haven't eaten anything in three days, and haven't slept in two. But I took care of my kid, went to work, and still managed to look like a functioning adult to the rest of the world.

I still have a child I adore - even when his behavior is that of a jackass on crack.

I have a functioning computer.

I have a degree (in something only slightly more useful than the Classics... not much though.)

I don't have a big idea.  I have a thesis, and classes to teach, and a dance costume to sew, and an apartment to pack up, and a job to find... I think that the big idea can stew for a little while.

I am at rock bottom. And I am still alive.

Veneers

I read an article tonight on suicide (No. I'm not suicidal. It was related to a student's paper. And besides, after reading the article, you may not be suicidal either - ever. O_o...) One of the things the author discusses is that suicide is considered murder, and therefore a sin, not because of self-inflicted harm, but due to the harm caused to the person's family and friends. Most importantly, suicide only hurts the people who care about you. The people who don't care, won't give a fuck if you are dead or not. 

Last night was a night of trying to decide how much of a fuck I give.

It was a night of honesty, long over due. A time where I stopped being scared of "what might be" long enough to face reality. I gave my wedding rings back to my husband. It was a moment of rashness, but I don't think I could have stopped wearing them, and I wouldn't have known what to do with them. They meant so much to me. My marriage meant so much to me.

I also realized I was really the only person who was married.

Ever since I was old enough to really think, I wanted to be a wife and mother. I wanted to have a partner to share life with. I wanted someone who, no matter what was going on in the outside world, I could be confident because I had someone at home who had my back. I wanted the security that came with knowing someone loved you. I wanted to be married. I wanted a storybook story, with a happy ending.

I ended up with a Ben Fold's song. Except, I don't have any where to fly too, and no one waiting for me when I get there. Ten years of social isolation will do that for you. Panic inducing to say the least.

It was also a night of sweetness, long over due. I hugged my husband for the last time (first time?). I might hug that man again, but last night I said goodbye to my husband. I don't regret it. I got to say goodbye on my terms. I was able to tell him that he was loved, and I wished him well.

He apologized for treating me badly, and I realized I had been waiting for that apology for ten years. I had been waiting for honesty with my husband for ten years. I had been craving **that** hug for ten years.

And I think I am dying today.

I have to violate who I am to give him what he wants. I am old-fashioned enough to think that I am failing him by giving up. I can taste my marriage vows on my tongue tonight, and they taste like ash. I really don't know how I am going to look at myself in the mirror, for the rest of my life, knowing that I broke my promises to him. I have resisted this divorce because it feels like I am betraying him. I have resisted this divorce because, in my heart of hearts, I know it is wrong. I just wanted him to stop treating me badly. I didn't know how to get my needs met, and I acted badly trying to get them met, but I never betrayed him or my marriage vows. Now he is asking me to do just that, and I hate being put in a position where I have to do something I know is wrong - is evil - is violating **me** - is violating my kid, my family, his family, our family, and him. I have to participate in murdering our marriage.

I think that this divorce is hurting the people he is leaving behind, the people who care about him. I don't want any part of that. I don't want to be responsible for hurting him, or anyone else. He said that my wanting our marriage wasn't fair, because it would involve more than me. I can't help but think that a divorce does the same thing - it involves more than him. I understand there isn't a right answer to this. And ultimately, I don't have a choice. I will sign the divorce papers.

I think I might hate him, just a little, for putting me in this position. Everything else, I can handle - even the adultery - this? This feels like he is raping my soul and I have to spread my legs and take it with a smiling veneer of politeness on my face and pretend that I liked it when he is done.

Learning to Play

When I was a kid, I didn't play... or at least I don't remember playing a lot.
I remember spending a lot of time in my room reading - pretty much anything really.

I do remember pulling my cousin's front teeth out while playing "fishing" and I do remember crawling under our trailer and hiding my Little People on the bracing so I wouldn't have to share with my sibs. I remember playing school with my sibs. I was the teacher, and I would get upset when they wouldn't mind.

I did like playing on the swing, but we never really lived close enough to play on one. I never did well on roller skates or bikes - no sense of balance, and a perpetual fear of falling kind of forced me to keep my feet on the ground.

So, learning to play has been a real challenge for me.

I used to think that "play" would be something like watching TV and knitting. That is enjoyable, but it isn't really play. I play video games with my kid, but that is... challenging... at the best of times. He likes fast action shoot'em ups, and I get motion sick. I like puzzle games, and he gets frustrated. So, we compromise with board games, and that is OK... but I can feel that inner-six-year-old's frustration. I know she wants to PLAY... she wants to play and laugh like my kid used to when he was little... that slightly maniacal laughter that always tipped the grownups off that something was usually going to go badly in about 2.5 seconds.

So, tonight I made peanut butter play dough... and made faces on my dining room table... and ate them *nom nom nom* ^_^!!

Not quite maniacal laughter inducing, but was pretty close when the cat got it in his fur.

This term coming up promises to be challenging. Defending a thesis that just doesn't seem to be coming together. Graduating. Trying to find a job. Divorce. Teaching. Moving. Yeah... that about covers it. I'm not sure how to schedule time to play into that mess. The Artist's Way and The Happiness Project both recommend scheduling it into your week by making a date with yourself. I haven't been on very many dates, so that in itself is a challenge for me, but I think I will try to use my Wednesday evenings to schedule something new. It doesn't have to be fun, just... new. On my current budget, it will also have to be free LOL! That is OK though. Builds character and self reliance that way!

Gotta go! Grading waits for no one!!

An Apology

Tonight I was an extreme ass.

I was angry and hurt and sad, and I felt like I wasn't being heard - again.  I didn't understand someone's point of view, and I reacted without compassion.

I felt like my need for respect wasn't being met. I didn't want to participate in a situation where I had to sacrifice my values or self-respect in order for someone else to feel comfortable. I didn't want to participate in a situation where I felt invisible, as if my needs/feelings/desires were unimportant. I thought that if I just blindly agreed to what was being demanded of me, then I wouldn't be OK. I would feel uncomfortable. I would feel walked on.

What was being asked wasn't a request. It was a demand. It was very much a "do it my way, or don't do it at all" situation. There really are only two responses to a demand: resist or submit. I have to admit, that when it comes to this person, submitting is really incredibly hard for me to do right now. I feel really uncomfortable submitting to this person. I feel scared that this person isn't willing to "take care" of me when I do. I feel like this person takes it for granted that I will submit, and when I don't - it is a personal attack on them.

Ultimately, I felt accused. I felt like I was being treated like I had done something wrong when I hadn't. I was reacting to the inner six-year-old hollering "It's not fair!!"

Then I reflected on the times where I had accused others (particularly this person) of doing wrong, and doing harmful things without proof - real, hard, empirical proof. Sure, there were times where they let perceptions stand. There were admissions of compromising situations. There were times where our relationship was neglected and taken for granted. There were times where this person did some pretty mean and cold things - but the hard evidence wasn't there - and I didn't trust them to behave in an honorable way.

And I sat there staring at my marker, feeling like a total douche.

I had not taken the time to get my thoughts straight in my head. I was not acting like the grown up I want to be. I really was a screaming six-year-old that thought she was being picked on. I think that both of us were coming at the same situation, and we weren't really hearing each other. This person was probably worried that unless thing were written down, I might accuse them of acting dishonorably later. I didn't see the connection between this person's demand, and my own behavior. They were doing the best they could to get their needs met. I wasn't clear on what my needs were. It was a perfect storm. Like I said, I was a total ass.

Yes. I did apologize... to their voice mail. Understandably, they weren't answering their phone. I will repeat the apology in person when we talk on Saturday. And I will work harder on writing down empirical observations, trying to understand another person's perspective, and being responsible for my own behavior.

Revolution

‎"The most revolutionary thing a woman can do is share her experience as if it matters." - Mona Eltahaway

Humility and Gratitude

I experienced something beautiful this week.

My instructor made me and The Boy dinner.

She said that she knew about the divorce and that I was teaching 17 hours and that I was working on my thesis, and she could tell I was stretched thin.

She saw me. She heard me - and I wasn't even speaking. It was one of those moments of sheer compassion.

I'm used to being invisible, and thinking that I don't deserve the kindness of others. To receive the kind of simple goodness that that so freely given - was humbling.

I felt uncomfortable accepting her generosity. She is my instructor after all.

But then I had to realize that perhaps this was the universe sending me help, and that I needed to shut my mouth and accept it. I told her that I was struggling with my pride, and do you know what she said? She said that I needed to be kinder to myself. That no one wants to be a burden to others, but we sometimes have to give others the opportunity to be kind.

I want to be like her when I grow up. Strong, and confident, and generous, and healthy, and beautiful - really truly beautiful.

Thank you for teaching me humility and compassion by showing me what it looks like.
Because of your generosity, I have a new appreciation for the generosity of my friends. Thank you to the friend who saw me mention king cakes in a random post on Facebook, and sent me one :) Thank you to the friend who knew I had to work on my thesis, and loaned me a power converter so I could work in my car. Thank you to the friend who is so very sympatico - who can (rather creepily) read my mind across the miles. Thank you to the friend who is willing to tell me when I'm out of line, and that I need to step up my game. Thank you to the friend who is teaching me how to play.

I am not alone. I am not doing this alone. I have friends who love me. I have complete strangers who care. I am a human being, and I deserve the kindness of others.

Today is beautiful. Thank you for sharing it with me.

Why Would Anyone DO This?

A friend who reads this blog asked me a question a few weeks ago, "Why would anyone want to read this? It is pain. It is a total downer, and no one needs this!"

Which is why I haven't posted for a while. I had to think about what they said. Was I really wasting my time? Was I engaging in emotional exhibitionism?

And then I had to take a domestic violence class this weekend. It really was a horrible class - on multiple levels.

(1) This was a professional development class. I knew the topic going in the door. I knew that there was the possibility of trauma triggers, but it was "professional" - um. no. Somehow the prof didn't get that memo. Random readings from a DV textbook + Lifetime movies = NOT professional.... ended up with my sweater over my head, fingers in my ears, humming "The Sound of Music" to keep out the sound of screaming from the screen.

(2) The class was filled with "professionals" and pre-professionals in the social work and criminal justice fields, and their heads were being filled with ideas like, "women are the victims" and "you can tell who a victim is just by looking at them" and that "once a DV victim - always a DV victim." My horror was waging with my desire for privacy. Whilst I am willing to be open and honest here. I'm not so much willing to spread my business in public - where I have to look at these people again.

So - yes. I do need to share this. The good, the bad, the ugly - and the painful.

Mostly because people (not just women) who are experiencing domestic violence or abuse or molestation often feel alone. In the depths of my depression and isolation, I **knew** that I was the only person in the world experiencing that kind of pain. I couldn't share with other people, because no one believed me. The reflection I was seeing of myself was that I was so broken and worthless, that I deserved the pain.

When someone goes looking for some connection to the rest of humanity - for some sign that what they are experiencing is real - and that there is hope, I hope they find this. Yes. It is painful. So is being abused. Yes, it is unpleasant. So are the lies we tell ourselves to make it through each day.

More importantly - the resources available on the internet and on the inside of bathroom doors all focus on the "getting away" decision. And there just aren't support stories for after. The times where doubt and fear and loneliness and shame have you standing at the door ready to beg to come back. They don't address the times in the middle of the night when you wake crying, desperate to reach out for someone in the night.

Lots of "happy ever after" stories, but nothing for those walking the path. Nothing for those of us learning how to walk. This is for those folks. A fragile thread that connects the human experience for people who are barely hanging on themselves.

Dear People Learning to be Professionals,
          Domestic violence is experienced by folks of all sexes and all genders and all ages from all walks of life. You cannot tell who suffers just by looking at them. Domestic violence is more than hitting. Wounds from words, from silence, from distance, from financial manipulation are still wounds. Our legal system has only recognized domestic violence (battering) as a crime in the last 40 years. This is not enough time for the social values represented by those laws to fully become social norms in society. This means that folks who experience domestic violence need support before, during, and after leaving the situation. This also means that people experiencing domestic violence may not even understand that is what is happening to them, and that they may blame themselves for the violence in their lives.
          Please, these folks - **I** - don't need your patronizing rescue fantasies.  We need support. We need to hear that we can learn different ways of talking to ourselves. We need to hear that we need to take care of ourselves first, and that we aren't being selfish by taking care of ourselves. We are strong people. By standing in front of you - by surviving - we are the strongest people you will ever meet. We need to learn to treat ourselves with respect and dignity and compassion. Don't write us off because we get scared and go back. We are humans, and we are terrified. Don't judge us until you have walked in our shoes, until you have felt our pain, and cried our tears. You do not have that right.

Learn compassion before judgement.

Thank you.
A.

Hate is a dangerous word

When my kids were little, they would get mad and scream, "I hate you!" We - and that is an inclusive we - would tell them, "You can only hate someone if you truly love them, and it is impossible to hate someone you love."


Ok -the logic was very circular, but they were 9 and 5, what did they know?


So, I ran across this quotation last night on Pintrest:

No one falls in love by choice, it is by chance.

No one stays in love by chance, it is by work.

No one falls out of love by chance, it is by choice.

I would really like to hate my partner. I would really like to feel apathy (because that is the true opposite of love). I would like to NOT think about my partner.

And then, I realize I don't want to be the kind of person who is capable of hate. I don't want to ever look on another human being and feel apathy. But I would really also like to stop hurting - any day now would be good.

I did fall in love.

I didn't always know how to work on my relationship, and sometimes I did my work badly. And The Therapist took great pains to try and convince me I had done everything I could to make my relationship work. (And My Monster voice just popped up and said, "Obviously not, he still left, decided not to work on our relationship, and didn't come back." Hush a minute - I'm working.)

I have to accept that he fell out of love by choice - and that is incredibly painful. Unconsciously/consciously - for whatever reason, he did make that choice. 

I wish I knew how to make the same choice. But then, I come back to the circular argument of - I don't want to be the sort of person who can do that. 

Ugh. 

Courage

Pintrest is my not-so-secret obsession. I take great delight in "scrapboooking" clever ideas and witty sayings in one spot. I especially enjoy not having to clean up those awful paper "splits" after a scrapbooking session.

On Pintrest the other day, I came across this quotation:

"The greatest battle is not physical but psychological. 

The demons telling us to give up when we push ourselves 

to the limit can never be silenced for good. 

They must always be answered by the quiet, 

the steady dignity that simply refuses to give in.

Courage.

We all suffer.

Keep going."

-- Graeme Fife

This has been tumbling around in my head ever since. 

One of the things I struggle with is feeling alone on this planet. I have my folks, my friends, and my kid. At one point I had my partner, but I have never really been heard. To be fair, it is mostly because I didn't know how to speak, and thought I didn't have the right to speak. Kinda limits the ability of others to hear when all you say is silence.

I felt like I deserved to be left alone in my marriage, that I didn't deserve my partner in the first place, and that as soon as he found someone else, he would get rid of me. I thought a "good" mother sacrificed all for her children. I thought a "good" wife sacrificed all for her partner. I know I am fat, and worried that if I spoke my pain, my partner would leave for someone more interesting/slim/better in bed than I - and I constantly edited what I said and did to avoid conflict.

I didn't do this well. I have a naturally loud mouth, and the brake between my brain and mouth is faulty, especially when I'm stressed or upset. So my silence would erupt like an emotional pustule; infection, pus, detritus, spewing across my marital landscape.  

To be absolutely clear, the battle I experience with the decision to leave my marriage is psychological. My partner has never hit me physically, and I think that he never started out to hurt me emotionally. I am absolutely convinced he loved me to the best of his ability. He has his own story, and its telling is not my place. 

To leave my marriage, I am fighting the demons that scream at me that I will never be good enough for anyone to share their life with. I feel the demons breathing in my hair that tell me I am a bad mother for even considering moving away from this situation, because children need their fathers. The demons of despair with their clawed fingers dig their weight into my shoulders, and poison me with tension and anxiety when I think about giving up and walking away. These demons are fed with fear - fear of abandonment, fear of being alone, fear of rage when I don't comply with someone else's desires. My demons aren't telling me to give up, in fact, they are demanding that I stay - but they are screaming so loudly that I can barely hear the voice of reason saying, "Courage. We all suffer. Keep going."

I might spend the rest of my life alone. The voice of quiet, steady dignity tells me that is a better alternative than being in a relationship where there was never time for me and never time for us in our relationship. When your partner makes standing social engagements for friends, and leaves work early to get coffee with other women, but doesn't make time for "Date Night" for just you and your partner, there isn't room in their life anyway. I did try to say, "Hey, this isn't fair!" But I didn't know how to say it in a way that could be heard. Even now, it sounds like whining to my own ears. 

I do deserve better than second-hand time, and second-hand attention. The voice of quiet, steady dignity tells me that all human beings deserve relationships where they feel valued and wanted, that what I want in life isn't unreasonable, and that many people on this planet DO have relationships that are built on mutual respect and dignity.

I just wish I knew how to make that voice of quiet, steady dignity resonate deeper than the screaming panic demons. 

I Hate Valentine's Day

I always have.

I was the kid who was always "forgotten" when we traded cards at school, or I got the torn ones, or the ones that were stupid... the ones that are left over after you've addressed all the cool ones to your friends.

I thought that when I got involved with my current partner, that would all go away, and that my partner's attention would help erase all those years of hurt.

And he did. For years. Nothing ever overly romantic - but he sent a card, sometimes two - and I have them all.

This year is different.

This year we are getting divorced.

And I'm terrified that I am going to spend the rest of my life alone.

I am even more terrified that I might be willing to settle for a relationship that is abusive, or not real, or something awful to avoid living the rest of my life alone.

I do love my husband, and I have assurances from The Therapist, The Greek Chorus, and my priest (Yes, I'm Catholic. Yes, my priest recommended divorce.) that divorcing is the healthiest thing that I can do - that really my husband has already moved on, and I'm the only person still in this marriage.

So, as we near Valentine's Day, I have been trying to come to grips with the reality of my situation. I've been trying to treat myself with extra kindness and compassion. I've been trying to be honest with my partner. And the other day, I was in a pit of despair and reading blogs to go to sleep relax. Marc and Angel Hack Life really is one of my favorites. I don't always agree with their perspective, so I'm not willing to endorse them as internet gurus/charismatic folk healers, but more often than not, their posts speak to me.

This week's 12 Relationship Truths We Often Forget was one of those posts.

1. All successful relationships require work - and if I'm the only one working, then what exactly am I doing? Making myself a better partner for my next relationship? Probably. That is what I am telling myself.
2. Most of the time, you get what you put in - but, if the other person isn't interested, what are ya gonna do? Shove it down their throat? Who needs that shit? That said, I do recognize where I need to learn to love/take care of/appreciate myself. If I can do those things for myself, I won't need to look for them in other people. Very unfair if you stop to think about it.
3. You shouldn't have to fight for a spot in someone's life - This is a message I wish I had heard when I was little. 
4. There is a purpose for everyone you meet - In my relationship, I did experience trust for the first time. Real, blind trust, and the security that came with it. I also learned what complete violation feels like. I learned the importance of honesty - even in the face of conflict, and that sometimes, the best thing I can do for the people I love, is to walk away. I did learn a lot from my relationship, and most of it is positive things, they just hurt right now.
5. We all change, and that's OK - I changed. I grew up. Growing pains suck. They hurt. I'm still in a lot of pain most of the time, but I think I am a stronger person, more of the sort of person I would like to be friends with, than I was. This is a good thing.
6. You are in full control of your own happiness - This is another message I wish I had heard growing up. I had unrealistic expectations of what my partner could provide in my life. I didn't know any better, but it doesn't change my behavior, nor excuse it. I was looking for a Knight in Shining armor, and my partner certainly fit the bill. He was far too clever by half, provided for his family, and had a brilliant sense of humor. I WANTED to be his wife, and brag to the world, I was Mrs. So-and-So. I didn't know how to be myself AND So-and-So's Wife. I didn't even know who Myself really was.
7. Forgiving others helps YOU - [Most of this post has been edited to protect the privacy of the other parties involved.] I still hurt. The Priest says that betrayal is one of the hardest things to truly forgive, and that if I wasn't hurt and angry that he would be worried about me. He also said that anger is normal and natural and desired, because it helps us learn when something isn't OK, and to do something about it. He did say that what we DID with our anger was sometimes problematic. Raging, screaming, violence - those are sins against each other and against G_d. So - he suggested blogging. That perhaps others could share this experience, in our common humanity. He also said that forgiveness isn't a "once and done" sort of thing - that sometimes, especially right now, forgiveness has to happen moment by moment, and to be kind to myself during this process.
8. You can't change people, they can only change themselves - Truth. And I'm the only person who can change me, and it has taken me [ahem] a fair number of years to get here... it will take me a bit longer to get where I want to be.
9. Heated arguments are a waste of time - Again. Truth. And a bigger truth is that I didn't have the skills to disagree or to advocate for my needs any other way for a very long time. This is something I still need to work on. 
10. You are better off without some people - This is something else I struggle with. For the longest time, I really thought that what I had was what I deserved, and that I should be grateful for it. I didn't know what self- respect was, and I certainly didn't have any. Working on it. 
11. Small gestures of kindness go a long way - There is something I miss from my relationship. I miss the random cards and emails where he would just say, "Hi. Thinking about you." There were a lot of issues (honestly, more than any relationship should EVER have to deal with) in our life, but those cards, and notes, and emails really got me through the worst of times. I'm learning to do these small gestures for myself now. Probably healthy - still miss the mail.
12. Even the best relationships do not last forever - Sigh. I looked forward to growing old with this person. "Just because something doesn't last forever, doesn't mean that it wasn't worth your while." 

Dearest Valentine,

I have learned so much from our life together. Thank you for the joy and the pain. I haven't had much joy in my life, and I can honestly say that some of the happiest times of my life were with you. I wouldn't trade those experiences for the world. The pain sucks ass. I wouldn't have volunteered for it, because I don't swing like that - but pain lets the body know something is wrong. And standing where I am today, I wouldn't trade those experiences for the world, either.

I really wish things could have worked out differently. I hate giving up on us. I hate giving up on "things that might have been." I sincerely wish you the best, and pray you find what you are looking for. 

You were totally worth my while. 

Recovery

Hi. My name is A----. I over commit myself on a regular basis. I try to please other people, and feel insecure in the face of censure and criticism. I made poor choices in the past that make my life more difficult now. I try to avoid conflict because I'm scared of people leaving me. I have problems being honest when I'm scared. I would rather deny my own needs than have someone angry with me.

The difference now is - I know this about my self.

So tonight, when I was completely honest with someone for the first time - ever - I had to catch myself and bite my tongue. The desire to cave and appease was so incredibly strong. I just wanted everything to be OK.  I wanted to be loved and reassured and comforted, and I had to not take that path - on purpose - and it was so incredibly hard.

And I am still breathing. And the world didn't end. And relationships change. And I don't have to like it, I just have to let it be what it is.

Still.... while part of me feels strong and in control and true to me, there is a part of me that would really like a hug right now. There is still fear/panic that my honesty, my vulnerability will be used against me. Being genuine is scary. Being an adult is scary. There isn't anyone here to hold your hand or to let you know that you are doing the right thing.

My friend has quotations from Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Gandhi around her desk, and whilst looking for one of her quotations, I found this, "Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about the things that matter." I learned a long time ago that there was safety in silence. That if I was silent and still enough, that people wouldn't see me. If they couldn't see me, they couldn't hurt me.

Unfortunately, in my current situation, it made things worse.

I wish I had had the voice to say, "No, Stop. What you are doing is wrong."
I wish I had had the presence of self to say, "Fuck you. I'm done. I'm out."
I wish I had had the words to say, "I feel taken for granted. I feel over-whelmed. I don't know what to do, and I need help."
I wish I had had the courage to say, "Kiss my ass."

But I didn't.

I CAN speak now though. I'm a different person now than I was then. And that is a good thing. The person I am now wouldn't last a minute in that relationship.

So, I apologized to the person I care about for being a brat. I apologized for not knowing how to take care of my own needs. I apologized for not being honest. I apologized for not taking care of myself.

I don't know if the person was in a place where they could hear me. Not so much for me, but so that they know that THEY were heard. Doesn't excuse their behavior and choices. Doesn't make poor behavior OK. But I hurt someone, out of fear, out of anxiety, in silence, but I still hurt them. And I regret that more than anything.

Still Not Procrastinating... Honest

That said, I just dropped in to let the exactly zero people world who read my blog, that I haven't fallen off the wagon.  I am, admittedly, hanging on with fingernails.

I am getting back on track with grading, got some of my thesis actually written (!), and have met with my committee to revise and readjust scope.

I have also resorted to bribing The Boy to help me clean the house (a copy of Minecraft + $20) and rearrange the furniture. I also adjusted the budget so that I will be eating oatmeal and peanut butter for the rest of the month, but I washed all my clothes and bedclothes at the laundromat, and sent my shirts to the cleaners so they could be ironed.

I **DO** have a more regular (free!) laundry arrangement, but the amount of laundry I had today would have been taking advantage of that particular situation. Since I will NEED that situation for the rest of the month, I had no desire to wear out my welcome.

As for the shirts... COULD I have ironed them? Yes. Could I have done it for a heck of a lot less than I am paying? Absolutely. I am trying to free up time in my life though so I can spend time on this dang thesis, and I am not having any luck with the "not sleeping" thing.

I even resorted to ordering the cat's wet food and his kitty litter from Amazon. I can't decide if that is shameful or practical as heck. I'm going to argue that at this point in my life, it doesn't freaking matter.

On top of the usual "no time to breathe", I managed to go in for a dental cleaning, and came out with an emergency root canal, antibiotics, pain pills, and not a whole lot accomplished this week. I did sleep. Like. A. Log. But didn't get a whole lot done otherwise.

That said, the dentist gave me a Novocaine injection, and the nearly constant pain that I've had going on - went away! It was total magic... so magic I was going to sleep in the dental chair, during a root canal. Exhaustion + pain relief = Sleep.

So, I am caught up with online grading, stats grading, and have at least a lesson plan in place for tomorrow. Still need to get up in the morning and write a lecture. This whole teaching thing was easier when I didn't use PowerPoints - sigh. Yes. I caved to student pressure to produce them. At least now, I will have them in place for next term.

That's good, right?

Honesty Sucks Toe-Jam Crusted Socks

Over the past week, during my many moments of spare time, I have revisited several authors' works on emotion. I even called my therapist up and had a phone session with her.

This idea that rage is a natural response to anger or frustration has really been bothering me.

This lead to a lot of questioning about "acceptable" and "should" and "natural", and the general consensus has been that feeling angry is healthy. It tells you something is WRONG, and that you need to stop, figure out what it is, and do something about it. There is even some agreement that rage could be a response to anger. However, everyone (books, therapist, friends who are willing to debate these things with me without taking the conversation as a personal attack) resoundingly agrees that while someone can choose to respond to feelings of anger with rage, I don't have to stand around and be part of it, and that being honest with myself - and others - means that I need to be clear that I will not tolerate rage.

Which beg the question: Why do I keep letting myself get caught in other people's shit storms of rage?

As part of my wonderings (wanderings??), I revisited Alasko's book, Emotional Bullshit. I've read and reread this  book a number of times over the last year or so. This time, I think I was in a place where I could think about the principles Alasko outlines.

For example, I am currently in a whole world of shit.

I am over-committed at work. I am teaching 17 hours this term.
I am over-committed at school. I need to write a thesis and I'm taking six hours (because that way financial aid will pay for my classes).
I am over-committed at home. The Boy has a list of activities. I am trying to maintain my home.
And I have no real budget that plans for long-term expenses.

I lived in denial for a really long time that the situation is as messed up as it is. I was surviving - well, to be honest, I wasn't dead, and grades were being turned in. The Boy was fed, and no one could call the health department on the state of my house.

I lived in a world where I thought if I just ran faster, I could get everything done, and people would stop yelling at me. This is all important because as I read through Alasko's book this time, I finally understood one of the scenarios he uses to explain his philosophy - *I* was the person who kept saying, "Yes" in a desperate attempt to be accepted. *I* kept agreeing to do things that I really had no capability to complete, because agreement (and then failure) was easier than the potential for conflict I associated with telling someone, "No."

Being honest with myself and others means I am going to have to tell them, "No" sometimes, and that scares me. "No. I don't have time to come visit today." "No, I really can't take on another class." "No, I really can't commit to serving on your committee." "No, I can't meet you except for during office hours." "No, I can't have this conversation with you right now."

Right now, I find myself in the rather uncomfortable situation of knowing I am over-committed for this term, and not being able to change my commitments. I have to work. I have to finish the thesis. I have to take care of my kid and myself. And, I don't know where to start.

That isn't true. I know what I have to get done between now and tomorrow, because I have classes that are tomorrow, and papers that have to be returned. I need to grade about 100 papers, write two lectures, and pack food. Tomorrow is my long day. I get up at 4:30 and I don't stop until 11 at night. I will drive about 110 miles tomorrow. So, what it looks like I need to do is stop writing here (no matter how good it feels to think these things through with no one but the universe listening), and get busy.

Peace.

When People Show You Who They Are...

I had a falling out this week with a friend.

She was angry. Her anger was justified. The story behind it all isn't mine to tell.

She said something during the argument that has left me thinking.

She said, "Yelling is a natural response to anger." And then went on to imply that I was being overly sensitive to the act of yelling during an angry outburst.

Since this isn't the first time someone has said something like that to me (almost in those same words), I think that since I am the common denominator, I need to do some thinking about the whole idea.

I do not respond well to someone yelling at me. There is a visceral "fight or flight" reaction. For some people the trigger is stronger than others. Males seem to illicit a flat out panic attack. My friend's behavior triggered the same reaction.

Here is what I know:

• They are reactions - and that means I can learn to control the reactions
• I haven't learned to control the reactions yet.
• There are only specific triggers that illicit the response. My kid yelling at me doesn't do the same thing.
• I can't control other people's behavior.

Here is what I am wondering:

• Is yelling a natural response to anger?
• Am I being overly sensitive to normal expressions of emotions?

What I think:

I think that yelling when angry is a cultural norm. That means it isn't "natural" but something learned. And that people can learn another response to the emotion of angry. I think there is a lot of energy that is tied up with the feeling of angry, and that energy needs to be let out. I think it is an act of violence to let that energy out at other people. It hurts them, so why do it? Especially, when it is someone we care about?

Thinking back to the last two times (because they were recent) that I experienced this response, the other person really did have other crap wrapped up in their anger that went beyond what was being thrown at me. Anger over past choices they made, anger over past things that other people had done to them, sadness, hurt - all this really painful stuff (again, not my story to share). The anger was venomous. It was meant to hurt me. It wasn't about solving the problem. It wasn't even about expressing their own feelings of hurt/disappointment/sadness.

I'm thinking mostly about the book The Law of the Garbage Truck. I think that I need to revisit it. I can recognize that what is happening in these situations isn't about me. I do think the other people involved blame me for their circumstances. I also recognize there is a part of me that still desperately wants to "make it better" for both of these people - and I can't. I can't change the past for either of them. I can't wave a wand and fix the situation and their hurt.

What do I need to do to Take Care of Me:

• One of the people (person A) I am experiencing conflict with, I can't walk away from (lots of reasons, just accept they are a permanent feature in my life). This person has gotten better at not yelling, but still dumps. I think I will revisit the Garbage Truck book and work on regulating my responses more.
• The other person - I'm not sure about. I care about this person. Even though person A engaged in dumping more regularly, and over a longer period of time, I feel like person B violated my trust in a way that I am not certain CAN be repaired. Person B knew about my issues before this incident, and had experienced similar events in the past in their own history. I would like to not make a judgement about their behavior, but I also think that perhaps that relationship needs to be put aside for a while. Person B's anger was justifiable, but their violence towards me in their anger was not. I don't want to live in fear that I might do something to trigger their anger in the future, and experience this again. I worry that since this happened once, it might happen again. And since my child is often involved in my relationship with person B, that he might become a target for such an attack. 

I hate that. I really do. I do care about person B. I understand this person is under a lot of stress right now, personally, financially, and that this incident was really about past disappointments and hurt. I think I need some time/space/??? I don't like eliminating people from my life, but I can't help but think this is in my best interest.

Fuck.

Sociological Autobiography

So - I am one of those teachers who prefers to lead by example.
Usually, I am enthusiastic about that philosophy.

Right now, I'm mostly wishing I was one of those teachers that just issued a standardized test twice a term and called it a day.

I have asked my students to create a writing portfolio, and they will have a scaffolded assignment that begins with looking at their own story through a sociological lens, and progresses through the academic writing process (annotated bibliography, culture studies, family interviews) culminating in a teaching activity where they teach the class about a particular culture group as they have experienced it. Sounds really awesome - on paper - right up until a student says, "But, I don't have any understanding of what a sociological autobiography looks like. Can you show me an example?" And you realize, there aren't any examples lying about on the internet... and you have to write one for your students.

This gets particularly uncomfortable when you realize you made a commitment to your students to be honest with them. So. Yeah.... fuck.

I did limit the first assignment to 1000 to 1500 words. I wrote, and edited, and wrote, and cried a little, and edited. And I think I ended up with something that is honest, sociological, and appropriate for sharing with students... ok... I probably should have edited the profanity out of it, but I justify leaving it in because it is honestly me.

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

The first thing I remember is my mother. She was sitting on the floor painting cartoon animals on the wall. She was pregnant. She had a cigarette in her mouth, in a way I now recognize as the exact same way her mother held a cigarette in her mouth. She had a paintbrush in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other, and she was laughing. I don’t know what she was laughing about, I just remember feeling warm, and safe, and loved.

My mother grew up in what sociologists call absolute poverty. She knew dirt floors, homemade clothes, and work – hard work. She was one of six children. Her father was blinded in a coal mine accident and her mother was responsible for supporting their family. This is important because her experiences shaped how she raised me. My mother taught herself how to read when she was teaching me. My mother insisted I attend college. My mother made sure I could also clean house, raise babies, and live frugally. I learned some of her lessons better than others.

My parents were from the part of Appalachia where the only occupations available to them were farming, the coal mines, or joining the military. My dad joined the military. He volunteered to serve in the Vietnam war. He eventually made a career out of the military, and to a little kid – all this means is that daddy isn’t home - a lot. My dad celebrated my birthday with me twice. Once was during a move across country. They forgot to get me a birthday present, so they stopped at a Kmart and bought me a blue school satchel with silver clasps and some pencils. As a grown up, I understand the craziness that happens with a move from Virginia to California with a limited budget and four kids in tow. As a little kid – I felt forgotten. This is important because I often felt forgotten or not wanted.

When I was little, my older cousins molested me. I remember them saying what they were doing was OK, “because this is what grownups do when they love each other.” I believed them. I believed that I had to do what they wanted, if I wanted them to love me. This is important because it shaped all my relationships with men. I would often put up with abuse or neglect or shame, because I was scared of not being loved if I objected. I was scared of being abandoned if I said, “No. Stop. What you are doing is not OK.”

About a year after the molestations started, they stopped. I had learned to stuff my feelings down with food. I had started getting fat. My cousins didn’t want sex with fat girls, so they left me alone. Unfortunately, I had already learned that fat girls are invisible in our society. No one sees them, and no one notices them, and they are generally left alone – except for the bouts of teasing. For me, the bouts of teasing, and the crushing loneliness were better than being noticed by men. I had learned to hide in my burqa of fat. This is important because my self-compassion was crushed, and I thought I deserved to be treated with abuse. This impacted my health care decisions, my mate selections, and even how I parented my child.

My son is the most important thing to ever happen in my life. He lifted the veil on my burqa. My son was born to a 14-year old girl addicted to street drugs. I was told he would never walk or talk, and that I should put him in an institution – that he was only going to cause me pain. I remember coming home from the doctor’s office and really REALLY wishing I had told the patronizing asshole of a doctor to fuck off. I have spent the time since then proving the fucker wrong. This is important because for the first time in my life, I had someone other than myself to fight for. I learned compassion and empathy, because my son needed it more than other kids. I learned that rocking the social boat was necessary, because my son needed unconventional accommodations. I learned to educate myself, because I had to educate others. I learned to get angry and say, “No. What you are doing is not OK, and you will NOT treat my son like that.”  

Because of the lessons I learned from my son, I was able to start applying those lessons to my own life. I am learning to treat myself with compassion. This is important because our society does not treat fat women with compassion. We are treated as if we are lazy or stupid, as if fat sucks our brains out of our heads and hides it with the jelly doughnuts around our stomachs. I know I am fat. I wake up every day and see that I am fat. I know I am fat every time I get a dirty look from a woman eating lettuce with carrot juice while I eat something that tastes like real food. I know I am fat every time I walk around the block, and hear people laugh. Thanks, I’ve figured out I’m fat. Fuck off now and let me get on with living.

I have learned that consent – real consent – might piss people off, and they might leave, and that really is OK – because I really am better off without them. This is important because in our society we don’t have honest conversations about what consent is and what consent is not. I have learned that if I think my choices are (a) have sex or (b) my partner will have sex with someone else, then my choice needs to be (b) – besides, my mother always said I should share my outgrown toys with the less fortunate.

I have learned that anger sometimes is a responsible, and adult choice. I have also learned what I do with my anger is more important than feeling anger. This is important because in our society, women have been taught, historically, to be silent, and that an angry woman is probably just hysterical. I can feel angry, and still not pull a scene reminiscent of Jerry Springer. I can feel angry, and still communicate effectively and get my needs met. This is one of those lessons I’m not learning as well as some of the others. There are still people who I let push my buttons, and I turn into a raging lunatic. I’m also having compassion for where I am in my journey, and forgiving myself – after I apologize, of course.

 I have learned that other people have their own shit to deal with, and 98% of the time, their shit has nothing to do with me. It is their own anger/shame/hurt coming out sideways to dump on the easiest target (read that: person most likely to take the shit and not complain too much) available. This is important because it takes a lot of courage for me to say, “Do you mean to sound like an asshat?” This is important because conflict, particularly conflict coming from women is interpreted as bitchiness in our society. The message I internalized was that either I could let people treat me as a doormat or I would be ostracized for being a bitch. Loneliness always scared me more than pain, so I let people walk all over me. I wasn’t honest with them, or with myself about my needs and wants and desires in life.

Looking back, I am a long way away from that little girl who watched her mom paint cartoons on the wall. I do remember what it feels like to feel safe and loved and whole. That is more than what some people have. Those feelings of security and love were pretty rare for me for a very long time, and I tried to fill the hole where they were supposed to be with a lot of different things – mostly sex and carbohydrates. I didn’t know I could fill that hole myself, that I didn’t need other people (or cupcakes) to fill it for me. Right now, I can look at the statuses I have in my life: mother, partner, teacher, student, daughter, friend – and feel mostly OK about them. The changes I need to make in them will come in their own time and in their own way, and I am OK with the journey.