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.