I was out for a walk tonight on this glorious late summer evening: the early sunset light on the leafy green trees reminded me that fall is sneaking in quickly and it won't be long until winter is upon us. In Minnesota, the cold can set in as early as Halloween, and nearly always does by Thanksgiving. It hit me that we have a maximum of eight more weeks of good weather before it's parkas and boots.
Eight weeks. But winter seems to far away - the leaves haven't even begun to change.
Eight weeks. But just eight weeks ago, summer was in full bloom.
Eight weeks ago, my former fiance was still alive. I took his presence on this earth for granted because only now I know the emptiness of a world without Scott. The grief, the guilt, the sorrow that I've felt every.single.day since he died is unrelenting. Some days, I rejoice in our memories. Other days, I cry.
Six weeks ago, my brother was living life like he always does: working, playing guitar, spending time with his partner. And then all of a sudden he wasn't: an infection entered his heart, devoured his pulmonary valve, and filled his lungs.
Three weeks ago, emergency open heart surgery saved his life.
Two weeks ago, I was in San Francisco with my family while my brother was recovering in the hospital. Hours turned into days of holding his hand as he lied in the intensive care unit largely unconscious. I was in a staring contest with the machines and monitors, willing them to blink with good news. After eight full days, they finally did. My brother is a hell of a fighter.
Just eight weeks.
These are terrible things to have to go through - the images in my mind of Scott's death, his memorial service, his children's grief are seared in my memory. The sound of the ventilator keeping my brother's breath going echos in my eardrums. The scent of the magnolias, honeysuckle, and jasmine flowers that line the sidewalks of San Francisco will forever trigger me to remember the miles I walked to and from the hospital.
But I will also be reminded of the extraordinary amount of love I witnessed and felt. The outpouring of kind messages from people I had never met but who found me via social media after Scott died was deeply touching. The grace of my coworkers who gathered to support me through the last eight weeks is a kindness that I will never be able to repay. My gratitude for my boss and my team is larger than words can possibly encompass. My whole family was out in San Francisco with my brother for six days, and I've never felt closer to them in all of my 37 years; this terrible illness tried to take us down, but instead it brought us together.
Most of all, though, I saw the love between my brother and his partner. They've shared twelve years together but because they live in California, I didn't know much about their relationship. For the entire eight days after surgery when he was heavily sedated and medicated, she was there. I mean, our whole family was *there* - but she was there in a way that only a partner can be. When she would take his hand, kiss his forehead, murmur in his ear, I could actually see his heart rate slow down on the monitor--often it would drop below 100, which was a big deal for someone as sick as he was. He knew she was there, he could feel her, and it gave him great comfort while his body was in so much pain. That is the power of love.
When I got home from California, I was exhausted - and yet life had to keep going. I had my kids, they had sports, and I had to get back to work. There was nothing in my fridge to eat since I'd been gone for two weeks. There was even less in my emotional tank to keep me going, especially since my boyfriend and I had just broken up as well.
I was dragging ass, deflated and tired as I trudged up the stairs to my apartment two days after I'd been back in Minnie. I opened my door and was completely surprised to find my two closest girlfriends had let themselves in, brought me flowers, and were making me dinner! If I had had any tears left to cry, I surely would've spilled them all over T's gnocchi dish. Champagne, homemade ice cream, and leftovers all filled my fridge...and their love and support filled my heart. That is the power of friendship.
Eight weeks. Of loss. Of sorrow. Of sadness. Of family. Of friendship. Of love.
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
Thursday, September 8, 2016
Monday, July 25, 2016
Having the Right to Grieve
Dear Scott,
Two weeks ago today, you left us behind. All of us: your daughters, your family, your friends, your co-workers, even us, your ex-fiance and my kids. It supersedes reason and it makes no sense and we're all here wondering what the fuck.
For days after I found out, I was in a daze of shock and sadness. Those two feelings curled up inside of me and nested way deep inside of me, making me vulnerable to tearful outbursts at the slightest provocation. Like how you loved flowers and I cried at the store when I saw the cheerful bouquets of daisies and roses--oh, how the roses were your favorite. You loved to go for long bike rides wearing that god-awful neon green/yellow sleeveless shirt, so when I saw a guy biking the other day in a similar get-up, I laughed before I sobbed. Last Monday, I went to that Bonfire Grill by your house and talked with the bartender, just like we used to. But the emotions hit me like a ton of bricks and even though I tried desperately to hide my tears, Todd the Bartender gave me a glass of red, on the house. You'd remember Todd if you saw him - we'd had him before as a server. And PS - it was a really good glass of cab.
A week of this went on - these painful memories pecking away at my beat-up old heart - and I decided I had to Get.It.Together. Set the jaw, get to work, and make life move forward. For next week, I busted my ass at work and put in long days, pulling together projects and people and pieces of paper like a goddamn champ. The more I worked, the more normal I started to feel. I know I used to bitch about how much you worked, but maybe now I understand it a little better: how work can be such a tool to avoid real life and how burying your face in your computer is far preferable to facing life.
And now, somehow despite the set jaw and the hard work, I'm right back to where I was the first week: emotional, rundown, grieving. Only this time, I'm both sad and angry. I'm angry at me and I'm angry at you and I'm angry at God (ya hear me, dude?!). Your friends keep messaging me on Facebook - bless them for reaching out, for searching for something that makes sense, for offering condolences and prayers. Friends of yours that I had never met are finding me somehow and it's both touching and agonizing. I didn't know how many people in your life even knew my name.
Grieving has got to be one of the loneliest processes for humans to go through. No one wants to talk about my deceased ex-fiance - this guy that I once loved and shared a home and a family with, broke up with, and who now is no longer here. I mean, that's awkward on 101 levels, and I get it. There aren't too many people in my life now that know what we went through, that know your beautiful daughters and how much I love them, that know how hard we worked to build a family in spite of some pretty big obstacles. And no one at all really knows how we sorta succeeded and, if we're being honest, also how we mostly failed. I know I said it then, but it bears repeating that I'm sorry for my part in all of it.
Since you left, a tangled ball of emotion lives in my chest. My therapist calls it anxiety, but that sounds too narrow right now. It's anxiety, but it's also anger, hurt, disgust, sadness, worry, guilt, and sorrow. This tangled ball accompanies me to Starbucks each morning, hangs out while I'm in meetings at work, pokes me when I'm out for a long walk in the evening. Its weight grows more heavy as the day wears on until I fall, exhausted, into bed...and then we start over in the morning.
I'm trying hard to let the sun shine on our good times and dim the lights on the rough times as much as I can, but I don't know if that's even the right response or not? Remember when you taught me to garden and how I was most thrilled when the pea pods and six-foot tall sunflowers grew? So cool that they actually grew from seeds - I mean, SEEDS! - oh and how you teased me for being a city girl. How we binge-watched Dexter in the first few months we were dating--we ate pizza on the living room floor so that we didn't miss a single minute of a single episode. I think about these moments and smile...and then my mind inevitably turns to the darker moments of arguments and sleeping on the far edge of the bed, avoiding each other even in our slumber. Did I try hard enough? Is there anything I should've done differently? I lay awake and second-guess myself now.
I'm trying to be tough on the outside, but I can feel myself withdrawing on the inside. It's a lot of fake smiles these days (yeah, you would TOTALLY be calling me out on that!) because my thoughts race sometimes about all of this and more stuff that I can't write about here. I feel guilty about being so sad because we broke up, right? I feel guilty about being so upset because your girls and your family must be feeling it 10x worse. I feel guilty about the sorrow because I don't feel like I have a right to it. And I can't expect anyone to listen to me about it...except the therapist who makes $150/hour to listen, so I guess he kinda has to.
You're missing the Republican and Democratic Party Conventions now- I know you'd be following them closely and ready to argue with me over the dinner table. I'm trying to ready myself for moments like this - things that you would've loved that will sneak up on me as memories. It's going to take time to build up that sort of fortitude.
At the end of the day, you were a guy who wore his heart on his military-pressed sleeve and who had stories to tell but no words with which to share them. Things between us ended terribly and I carry that weight in my heart now.
I'll keep an eye on your girls as much as I can; they are your legacy in this world and their successes, even at these young ages, are a testament to you. Rest now.
Leah
Two weeks ago today, you left us behind. All of us: your daughters, your family, your friends, your co-workers, even us, your ex-fiance and my kids. It supersedes reason and it makes no sense and we're all here wondering what the fuck.
For days after I found out, I was in a daze of shock and sadness. Those two feelings curled up inside of me and nested way deep inside of me, making me vulnerable to tearful outbursts at the slightest provocation. Like how you loved flowers and I cried at the store when I saw the cheerful bouquets of daisies and roses--oh, how the roses were your favorite. You loved to go for long bike rides wearing that god-awful neon green/yellow sleeveless shirt, so when I saw a guy biking the other day in a similar get-up, I laughed before I sobbed. Last Monday, I went to that Bonfire Grill by your house and talked with the bartender, just like we used to. But the emotions hit me like a ton of bricks and even though I tried desperately to hide my tears, Todd the Bartender gave me a glass of red, on the house. You'd remember Todd if you saw him - we'd had him before as a server. And PS - it was a really good glass of cab.
A week of this went on - these painful memories pecking away at my beat-up old heart - and I decided I had to Get.It.Together. Set the jaw, get to work, and make life move forward. For next week, I busted my ass at work and put in long days, pulling together projects and people and pieces of paper like a goddamn champ. The more I worked, the more normal I started to feel. I know I used to bitch about how much you worked, but maybe now I understand it a little better: how work can be such a tool to avoid real life and how burying your face in your computer is far preferable to facing life.
And now, somehow despite the set jaw and the hard work, I'm right back to where I was the first week: emotional, rundown, grieving. Only this time, I'm both sad and angry. I'm angry at me and I'm angry at you and I'm angry at God (ya hear me, dude?!). Your friends keep messaging me on Facebook - bless them for reaching out, for searching for something that makes sense, for offering condolences and prayers. Friends of yours that I had never met are finding me somehow and it's both touching and agonizing. I didn't know how many people in your life even knew my name.
Grieving has got to be one of the loneliest processes for humans to go through. No one wants to talk about my deceased ex-fiance - this guy that I once loved and shared a home and a family with, broke up with, and who now is no longer here. I mean, that's awkward on 101 levels, and I get it. There aren't too many people in my life now that know what we went through, that know your beautiful daughters and how much I love them, that know how hard we worked to build a family in spite of some pretty big obstacles. And no one at all really knows how we sorta succeeded and, if we're being honest, also how we mostly failed. I know I said it then, but it bears repeating that I'm sorry for my part in all of it.
Since you left, a tangled ball of emotion lives in my chest. My therapist calls it anxiety, but that sounds too narrow right now. It's anxiety, but it's also anger, hurt, disgust, sadness, worry, guilt, and sorrow. This tangled ball accompanies me to Starbucks each morning, hangs out while I'm in meetings at work, pokes me when I'm out for a long walk in the evening. Its weight grows more heavy as the day wears on until I fall, exhausted, into bed...and then we start over in the morning.
I'm trying hard to let the sun shine on our good times and dim the lights on the rough times as much as I can, but I don't know if that's even the right response or not? Remember when you taught me to garden and how I was most thrilled when the pea pods and six-foot tall sunflowers grew? So cool that they actually grew from seeds - I mean, SEEDS! - oh and how you teased me for being a city girl. How we binge-watched Dexter in the first few months we were dating--we ate pizza on the living room floor so that we didn't miss a single minute of a single episode. I think about these moments and smile...and then my mind inevitably turns to the darker moments of arguments and sleeping on the far edge of the bed, avoiding each other even in our slumber. Did I try hard enough? Is there anything I should've done differently? I lay awake and second-guess myself now.
I'm trying to be tough on the outside, but I can feel myself withdrawing on the inside. It's a lot of fake smiles these days (yeah, you would TOTALLY be calling me out on that!) because my thoughts race sometimes about all of this and more stuff that I can't write about here. I feel guilty about being so sad because we broke up, right? I feel guilty about being so upset because your girls and your family must be feeling it 10x worse. I feel guilty about the sorrow because I don't feel like I have a right to it. And I can't expect anyone to listen to me about it...except the therapist who makes $150/hour to listen, so I guess he kinda has to.
You're missing the Republican and Democratic Party Conventions now- I know you'd be following them closely and ready to argue with me over the dinner table. I'm trying to ready myself for moments like this - things that you would've loved that will sneak up on me as memories. It's going to take time to build up that sort of fortitude.
At the end of the day, you were a guy who wore his heart on his military-pressed sleeve and who had stories to tell but no words with which to share them. Things between us ended terribly and I carry that weight in my heart now.
I'll keep an eye on your girls as much as I can; they are your legacy in this world and their successes, even at these young ages, are a testament to you. Rest now.
Leah
Saturday, April 30, 2016
Do You Believe in Magic?
Once upon a time, I went on a date. (I actually prefer to call these first meetings with Men From the Internet "meet-n-greets" because, to be honest, "date" is a heavy word in this application.)
Literally from the first moment, it was sparks and fireworks and chemical reactions. He was cute, funny, smart, sensitive, and even a tiny bit romantic--the kind of guy who seemed to wear a little bit of his heart on his sleeve.
We sat at a bar in St. Paul for hours, laughing and getting to know one another. We easily moved from topic to topic, from work and tattoos to politics and parenting. When he reached out and touched my hand from across the heavy oak table, electricity flowed between us. He shyly smiled and I let my guard down enough to allow my eyes sparkle back. When it was time to go, he slipped his arm around my waist and guided me out the door. I was floating.
He walked me to my car, which was parked on the now-quiet downtown street. It had rained all evening, and the pavement shone with the soft glow from the street light. We said our goodbyes, our eyes locked, each of us not ready to leave. He pulled me in for a kiss and suddenly it was like a Ryan Gosling movie. His hands were in my hair, my arms were wrapped tightly around his broad shoulders. When I finally opened my eyes, everything just seemed a little bit more magical.
Alas, there isn't a lot of actual magic in this world.
Fast forward a little bit...we had, you know, relations, and I instinctively knew something was off right away. He grew distant and when I asked him if he was okay, he said he was overwhelmed because I was so pretty. Instead of letting my inner alarm sound in caution (because really - who says that?!), I smiled and nestled down inside what seemed to be a compliment. The next day was even more quiet which was so unusual compared to how he had previously been--texting, sending silly photos, chatting about his day. By the following day, it was grossly apparent that things had gone pear-shaped. I finally brought it up since he wasn't forthcoming, and the bomb dropped--the list of reasons why things likely wouldn't work out (opposite sides of the Cities, kids, schedules). Read: I had a good time and take care.
The main takeaway from this painful experience could be this: don't believe in magic. Leave it to Harry Potter or Cinderella and keep your own feet firmly in this real world. Life doesn't take place on the set of a Ryan Gosling movie. The streets don't glow and sparks don't fly. To let your guard down is to go to battle without body armor.
But as much as I want to be this jaded - and believe me, I do! - I fight to quiet my inner skeptic. As much as this interaction seemed to rip into me so painfully at the time, in the long run it's nothing but a bee sting. So, okay, I made an error in judgment and got a little burned, but to let this incident color my view of dating or men or even the world is to let his carelessness infect me - and he doesn't get to have that power. I want to let the streets glow after a long rain and allow my eyes to sparkle. Because whether I choose cynicism or optimism, life is going to march on. And the days are happier with a little tiny bit of magic.
Literally from the first moment, it was sparks and fireworks and chemical reactions. He was cute, funny, smart, sensitive, and even a tiny bit romantic--the kind of guy who seemed to wear a little bit of his heart on his sleeve.
We sat at a bar in St. Paul for hours, laughing and getting to know one another. We easily moved from topic to topic, from work and tattoos to politics and parenting. When he reached out and touched my hand from across the heavy oak table, electricity flowed between us. He shyly smiled and I let my guard down enough to allow my eyes sparkle back. When it was time to go, he slipped his arm around my waist and guided me out the door. I was floating.
He walked me to my car, which was parked on the now-quiet downtown street. It had rained all evening, and the pavement shone with the soft glow from the street light. We said our goodbyes, our eyes locked, each of us not ready to leave. He pulled me in for a kiss and suddenly it was like a Ryan Gosling movie. His hands were in my hair, my arms were wrapped tightly around his broad shoulders. When I finally opened my eyes, everything just seemed a little bit more magical.
Alas, there isn't a lot of actual magic in this world.
Fast forward a little bit...we had, you know, relations, and I instinctively knew something was off right away. He grew distant and when I asked him if he was okay, he said he was overwhelmed because I was so pretty. Instead of letting my inner alarm sound in caution (because really - who says that?!), I smiled and nestled down inside what seemed to be a compliment. The next day was even more quiet which was so unusual compared to how he had previously been--texting, sending silly photos, chatting about his day. By the following day, it was grossly apparent that things had gone pear-shaped. I finally brought it up since he wasn't forthcoming, and the bomb dropped--the list of reasons why things likely wouldn't work out (opposite sides of the Cities, kids, schedules). Read: I had a good time and take care.
The main takeaway from this painful experience could be this: don't believe in magic. Leave it to Harry Potter or Cinderella and keep your own feet firmly in this real world. Life doesn't take place on the set of a Ryan Gosling movie. The streets don't glow and sparks don't fly. To let your guard down is to go to battle without body armor.
But as much as I want to be this jaded - and believe me, I do! - I fight to quiet my inner skeptic. As much as this interaction seemed to rip into me so painfully at the time, in the long run it's nothing but a bee sting. So, okay, I made an error in judgment and got a little burned, but to let this incident color my view of dating or men or even the world is to let his carelessness infect me - and he doesn't get to have that power. I want to let the streets glow after a long rain and allow my eyes to sparkle. Because whether I choose cynicism or optimism, life is going to march on. And the days are happier with a little tiny bit of magic.
Wednesday, April 13, 2016
The Good Ones that Make Us Better
The day started out like any other: alarm, shower, coffee...let's go. I was looking forward to a little field trip from the office to run out to a client's home to pick up some paperwork. The morning was sunny and the sky was a brilliant shade of blue. Windows down, music up - that kind of day.
Puttering along on the interstate, an apartment building caught my eye and a memory jolted my brain like a lightning bolt. Years ago, I dated a guy who lived there and I suddenly remembered him as if he was standing in front of me. He was tall, broad-shouldered, muscled, tattooed - totally my type. I remembered the night I met him and his pick up line and our first date. I remembered how he was a decorated Iraq war veteran, physically stateside now but still battling PTSD in his mind. I pictured the times he made me ahi tuna, shrimp boil, or waffles...and remembered how he made me laugh and think. We didn't work out and now, years later, he's married. He's one of the good guys and I hope they're very happy.
The experience on the freeway that morning has had me thinking about all the people I've met throughout this adventure called dating. Sometimes in this blog, I fear that I write too much about the bad ones and don't spend enough time on the good ones...because hey - let's take a moment to realize that there are a lot of good ones out there, even if the dating thing doesn't work out. Maybe it's the sociologist in me that sees these encounters as more than a date - it's a chance to get to know another person, to gather their thoughts and opinions and viewpoints, and to treasure those things as gifts.
So I put my mind to work to think about some of the good ones and the moments we shared: the Sundays spent on a motorcycle on back Wisconsin roads with a man who had the most gentle heart; watching war movies with the dog trainer whose German shepherds were as sweet as kittens; the afternoon runs along the Mississippi with a man who was part farmer, part urban cowboy.
I treasure those that I've remained friends with, even as the relationship attempt failed. I wish I could name them here because they are such wonderful guys and the world should know, but I will honor their right to anonymity...and instead just express my gratitude. Thank you to the guy with the Audi who showed me the downtown lights and the light inside of me; thank you to the kind-hearted one who always "has my back" (to steal his phrase); thank you to the man with the easy smile and shining eyes who made such a positive impression on my son.
These men, and others not mentioned here, are part of a great story that all too often looks more dreary than it actually is. These moments in time make me smile because these guys shared themselves with me; they let me see behind the curtain and peek at their humanity. I'm grateful to them for that honesty and humanity.
This is part of my life story and it impacts where I've been, who I am, and what I'll become. Thinking about this, I'm reminded to keep an open heart no matter how long this dating journey lasts. The bad guys will undoubtedly leave scars, but the good guys can heal those scars and replenish the lost hope, even without being The One.
So to all: thank you for the gifts.
Puttering along on the interstate, an apartment building caught my eye and a memory jolted my brain like a lightning bolt. Years ago, I dated a guy who lived there and I suddenly remembered him as if he was standing in front of me. He was tall, broad-shouldered, muscled, tattooed - totally my type. I remembered the night I met him and his pick up line and our first date. I remembered how he was a decorated Iraq war veteran, physically stateside now but still battling PTSD in his mind. I pictured the times he made me ahi tuna, shrimp boil, or waffles...and remembered how he made me laugh and think. We didn't work out and now, years later, he's married. He's one of the good guys and I hope they're very happy.
The experience on the freeway that morning has had me thinking about all the people I've met throughout this adventure called dating. Sometimes in this blog, I fear that I write too much about the bad ones and don't spend enough time on the good ones...because hey - let's take a moment to realize that there are a lot of good ones out there, even if the dating thing doesn't work out. Maybe it's the sociologist in me that sees these encounters as more than a date - it's a chance to get to know another person, to gather their thoughts and opinions and viewpoints, and to treasure those things as gifts.
So I put my mind to work to think about some of the good ones and the moments we shared: the Sundays spent on a motorcycle on back Wisconsin roads with a man who had the most gentle heart; watching war movies with the dog trainer whose German shepherds were as sweet as kittens; the afternoon runs along the Mississippi with a man who was part farmer, part urban cowboy.
I treasure those that I've remained friends with, even as the relationship attempt failed. I wish I could name them here because they are such wonderful guys and the world should know, but I will honor their right to anonymity...and instead just express my gratitude. Thank you to the guy with the Audi who showed me the downtown lights and the light inside of me; thank you to the kind-hearted one who always "has my back" (to steal his phrase); thank you to the man with the easy smile and shining eyes who made such a positive impression on my son.
These men, and others not mentioned here, are part of a great story that all too often looks more dreary than it actually is. These moments in time make me smile because these guys shared themselves with me; they let me see behind the curtain and peek at their humanity. I'm grateful to them for that honesty and humanity.
This is part of my life story and it impacts where I've been, who I am, and what I'll become. Thinking about this, I'm reminded to keep an open heart no matter how long this dating journey lasts. The bad guys will undoubtedly leave scars, but the good guys can heal those scars and replenish the lost hope, even without being The One.
So to all: thank you for the gifts.
Sunday, April 3, 2016
Chasing Unicorns
I looked at my ideal: is he out there? Is my dream guy a mythical creature leaping through a rainbow-colored ether, never to be found by humans? It's been six years post-divorce, so I weighed the question carefully. Plenty of my friends have gotten married or even remarried in the time I've spent dating. But having been burned by divorce, I also think that doing my due diligence in dating is time well spent. There's a lot more at stake than when I was in my early 20s, not the least of which is because now I have my children and they deserve nothing short of the best. My oldest is 12 and his sister is 10; in these years, we've formed a pattern of functioning in this household. The three of us pile into my bed to watch movies, we talk politics at the dinner table, we have inside jokes. Adding a boyfriend is going to be complicated, and I need to make sure that I've chosen someone who is going to complement us.
The other thing is this: elsewhere in life, we're encouraged to develop a dream or a goal and then strive to attain it. "What do you want to be when you grow up?" is probably one of the most common questions in the world. We're prompted from a young age to decide what we want--that's a key word here. So I think we should be applying the same logic to finding a mate--what do I want, who do I want? Unfortunately, women are often told to be grateful for what we have. "He's good to you" or "He's got money...he'll take care of you" or "He's a provider." True - these are all wonderful traits, much to be desired, and a partner should definitely be those things. But he should also be a match in so many other ways: common dreams, a shared sense of life direction, similar parenting styles, a good conversationalist.....the list goes on.
Through these years of the trial-and-error game called dating, I've learned this: it's okay to decide on what you want and then pursue it. Chase that dream, just as you chased other dreams in life. It's no less important.
So what am I really looking for? In a non-election year, I'd say George Clooney, but this year he's supporting Hillary and I already caucused for Bernie...so that's a no-go....(hahaha!)
Truly, though, it's a challenging but fair question. Honestly, I'd probably have an easier time ticking off what historically hasn't work, rather than shaping an ideal of what I'm looking for. The world is filled with "relationship extremists"--the crazies that are armed with lies meant to blow up your life. On one end, there's the Sociopath: the guy who says anything to get laid. He'll say he's divorced or that he loves kittens--whatever it is that you need to hear. He'll read you like a book but he'll lack empathy. On the other end, there's the Klingons: those guys that wear their hearts on their sleeves and invade your space bubble. They're the ones saying the "L" word by the third date. Be wary of each, for both are perilous to your autonomy.
My unicorn lies somewhere in the middle between these landmines that dot the landscape. I don't know what he looks like, or where he is, but I'm optimistic enough to believe in him. My person--the yin to my yang, the peanut butter to my jelly, my emergency contact, my first phone call, my cuddle buddy and my in-house challenger-in-chief--is out there in the messiness called life. And that's why I date.
Saturday, March 26, 2016
Going Home
I just returned home from having traveled back home. Let that sink in for a second....and I'll explain:
While I might brand myself as a "Minnie" (-sotan or -apolitan...either works), I'm actually a Southern Missouri girl in my heart and soul...and DNA. My folks met at Tulsa University in Oklahoma and settled in my father's hometown of Joplin, MO after they got married. They bought a house, had a baby (my brother), bought a new house, and had another baby (me). We moved to Minnesota when I was not quite three years old and for a long time I didn't understand where I came from or who my relatives were. My parents' divorce complicated the relationships with my dad's side of the family; I don't remember seeing my nana more than one or two times before she was laid to rest in 1998. My dad had a sister, Elizabeth, who I also saw little of but, as my only aunt, I adored from afar. (My own daughter is named after my auntie.)
Growing up, I understood my aunt and her husband, my Uncle Ken, to be exotic, enchanting people for reasons I didn't quite grasp as a kid. In 1986, they moved to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, to take teaching positions at an international school for Westerners living in that country. They were musicians: my aunt was an exceptional violinist and my uncle played any and all brass instruments. They traveled the globe, they drank wine, they loved good food, they were cultured and they had experienced more life than anyone I knew. They returned to the States in 1998 and settled back home in Joplin--proof that no matter how far you go, you can always come home.
I saw my aunt and uncle irregularly in the intervening decades, but each visit was a joy. I have often wondered how much stronger our relationship might have been if we were not separated by 500 miles and three states.
Fast forward....sadly, a week ago the news came that my aunt had passed away following a long illness. And so I, too, went back home.
My aunt's funeral was beautiful: she was surrounded by dozens and dozens of yellow roses and other arrangements. A fellow violinist played a haunting and provocative piece called, "The Lark Ascending" by Ralph Vaughn Williams. The music will stick with me forever because it captured the essence of life--measures of happiness met with measures of sadness, punctuated with dissonant notes. But what really struck me most of all was my uncle seated in the row in front of me, his thin shoulders shaking as he quietly cried for his wife.
How does a love like this evolve? How can there be such mutual devotion, commitment, and adoration? My uncle did not leave my aunt's side the entire time her health was declining. When she became too ill to leave their bedroom, he brought everything to her. When the time came for hospice, he made arrangements. And when she passed from this earth, it was under the umbrella of his love and care.
He shared a story today that makes me cry as I type it here: not long ago, Elizabeth awoke from a nap where she dreamt that her parents were waiting for her in heaven. But she wept as she relayed to him that she suddenly understood how her death would mean that they would have to be apart. I have no doubt that he likely cried as well, and I can perfectly picture him holding her small hand, smoothing her soft gray curls, and reassuring her that they will find each other once again when the time comes.
To have loved someone as wholly as he loved Elizabeth is not a common thing, and us Palmers should know: all of us have been divorced, including Elizabeth--Uncle Ken was actually her second husband. But seemingly against all odds, this marriage not only survived, it thrived for 45 years. What was the secret?? In part, at least, I've come to understand this: they fully understood each other because they shared the same passion. Music was their lifeblood: creating it, teaching it, sharing it. They could build a life together because they both wanted the same thing. It's not enough just to have some stuff in common--as in, "well, we both like the Olive Garden." Sure, yes, that's nice...but greatness is not built on a sandy foundation. The commonalities have to be bigger, they have to be more central to your identity. You have to feel the things your partner feels because you've always felt them, just as he has always felt them. Your dreams are his dreams because you each had the same dream before you even met.
Elizabeth and Ken were able to build this relationship because the concrete foundation was made out of a shared passion. They each had a dream to share music with the world; doing so together made sense and was only natural. This was their secret, I think. I don't know if I'll ever be so blessed as to find a love like this...but it sure as hell is worth looking for.
While I might brand myself as a "Minnie" (-sotan or -apolitan...either works), I'm actually a Southern Missouri girl in my heart and soul...and DNA. My folks met at Tulsa University in Oklahoma and settled in my father's hometown of Joplin, MO after they got married. They bought a house, had a baby (my brother), bought a new house, and had another baby (me). We moved to Minnesota when I was not quite three years old and for a long time I didn't understand where I came from or who my relatives were. My parents' divorce complicated the relationships with my dad's side of the family; I don't remember seeing my nana more than one or two times before she was laid to rest in 1998. My dad had a sister, Elizabeth, who I also saw little of but, as my only aunt, I adored from afar. (My own daughter is named after my auntie.)
Growing up, I understood my aunt and her husband, my Uncle Ken, to be exotic, enchanting people for reasons I didn't quite grasp as a kid. In 1986, they moved to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, to take teaching positions at an international school for Westerners living in that country. They were musicians: my aunt was an exceptional violinist and my uncle played any and all brass instruments. They traveled the globe, they drank wine, they loved good food, they were cultured and they had experienced more life than anyone I knew. They returned to the States in 1998 and settled back home in Joplin--proof that no matter how far you go, you can always come home.
I saw my aunt and uncle irregularly in the intervening decades, but each visit was a joy. I have often wondered how much stronger our relationship might have been if we were not separated by 500 miles and three states.
Fast forward....sadly, a week ago the news came that my aunt had passed away following a long illness. And so I, too, went back home.
My aunt's funeral was beautiful: she was surrounded by dozens and dozens of yellow roses and other arrangements. A fellow violinist played a haunting and provocative piece called, "The Lark Ascending" by Ralph Vaughn Williams. The music will stick with me forever because it captured the essence of life--measures of happiness met with measures of sadness, punctuated with dissonant notes. But what really struck me most of all was my uncle seated in the row in front of me, his thin shoulders shaking as he quietly cried for his wife.
How does a love like this evolve? How can there be such mutual devotion, commitment, and adoration? My uncle did not leave my aunt's side the entire time her health was declining. When she became too ill to leave their bedroom, he brought everything to her. When the time came for hospice, he made arrangements. And when she passed from this earth, it was under the umbrella of his love and care.
He shared a story today that makes me cry as I type it here: not long ago, Elizabeth awoke from a nap where she dreamt that her parents were waiting for her in heaven. But she wept as she relayed to him that she suddenly understood how her death would mean that they would have to be apart. I have no doubt that he likely cried as well, and I can perfectly picture him holding her small hand, smoothing her soft gray curls, and reassuring her that they will find each other once again when the time comes.
To have loved someone as wholly as he loved Elizabeth is not a common thing, and us Palmers should know: all of us have been divorced, including Elizabeth--Uncle Ken was actually her second husband. But seemingly against all odds, this marriage not only survived, it thrived for 45 years. What was the secret?? In part, at least, I've come to understand this: they fully understood each other because they shared the same passion. Music was their lifeblood: creating it, teaching it, sharing it. They could build a life together because they both wanted the same thing. It's not enough just to have some stuff in common--as in, "well, we both like the Olive Garden." Sure, yes, that's nice...but greatness is not built on a sandy foundation. The commonalities have to be bigger, they have to be more central to your identity. You have to feel the things your partner feels because you've always felt them, just as he has always felt them. Your dreams are his dreams because you each had the same dream before you even met.
Elizabeth and Ken were able to build this relationship because the concrete foundation was made out of a shared passion. They each had a dream to share music with the world; doing so together made sense and was only natural. This was their secret, I think. I don't know if I'll ever be so blessed as to find a love like this...but it sure as hell is worth looking for.
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
A Divided Nation is a Divided Bedroom
What happens when you combine romantic love and the divisive politics of 2016? Well, let's talk about that. Buckle yer seatbelts...this one's gonna take you for a bumpy ride!
A friend once told me that my politics are "just left of Castro." While not true in the least, it gave me a good laugh just the same! I'm a Democrat, folks. Let's just get that out right away.
I come by my brand of politics honestly: I was raised by a single mother who taught me to stand up to injustice and prejudice. She led by example: in 1968, she turned in her sorority pin and quit because her best friend (who was black) was not allowed to join the all-white group. As a young girl, I watched her campaign and door-knock for Paul Wellstone, Bill Clinton, and Al Gore because those candidates fought for the underdog. She taught me to value the common good and showed me that when people are united they can achieve so much more than they can alone. To that end, the late Senator Paul Wellstone said it best: "When we all do better, we all do better."
If you know me in real life or on Facebook (same diff?!), you know in an instant that I am incredibly passionate about governance and politics. Over the years, I've gained friends and I've lost friends because of my political persuasions. I still don't know quite how to feel about all that - there are some people whose friendship I truly miss and others whose absence is hardly felt. I maintain many online friendships with people who are truly 180 degrees politically different than I am and I generally enjoy our debates.
But what about when you've fallen in love with someone from The Other Side? This is where it gets tricky...
My last boyfriend is a dyed-in-the-wool Libertarian. I'm not going to debate the merits of libertarianism but the important takeaway here is that, since there's no viable Libertarian Party candidate for most races, he typically ends up voting conservative. In the past, he has campaigned hard for the uber-conservative Congressman John Kline (MN-R) and always voted Republican in the electoral events that happened while we were dating. His philosophy, like so many others that I talk to, is that of a social moderate/fiscal conservative. My philosophy: there's no such thing because money talks. (That's another topic for another time...)
Let's go back to the idea of voting Republican while being a social moderate. In my relationship with this boyfriend, I was always floored by the notion that he could vote Republican while claiming to support women's rights--especially with regard to reproductive health. How can a person be pro-choice and yet vote for the very guys (and yes, they're mostly men) who repeatedly try to limit a woman's right to healthcare? This boyfriend has three daughters and yet campaigned for Congressman Kline who, among other things, supported legislation to defund Planned Parenthood. Kline's bandwagon support is in line with his previous votes on abortion-related legislation, including voting for so-called "personhood" bills.
The fight for access to women's health clinics and, yes--abortion, is very real and no longer abstract. Republican-led efforts across this nation have resulted in some very frightening results:
Given all of this work done at the hands of Republican legislators, and much of it signed into law by Republican governors, how can a Republican like my then-boyfriend call himself pro-women?
The cognitive dissonance is astounding to me - and proved to be at least the partial cause of the end of our relationship. I simply could not - and still cannot - understand how his Republican voting record meshes with his belief in women's rights. To vote is to speak. All other political issues aside, how am I to love a man whose vote is speech against my well-being? The boyfriend and I went round and round about this: for him, it's no big thing. For me, it's a deal-breaker.
I see it in such black-and-white terms: I'm a woman and I want access to healthcare and equal pay. Elected Republicans evidently don't see that as valuable, and by extension, it's logical to assume that their electorate doesn't as well: Republican voters either don't care or else actively support these positions...and I can't be in an intimate relationship with someone who falls into either of those categories. It just doesn't align with how I was taught to stand up for injustice and prejudice.
The fine print here: I can be friends with Republicans! Friendships are, obviously, a different animal than relationships. Since the majority of tactics in the Republican War on Women (and yes, there is one!) are based on reproductive health rights...why would I invite a Republican into my bedroom?
Since our breakup, this has continued to be an issue for me when it comes to dating. As in...what's your name, where are you from, and how do you vote? Pretty much in that order. My belief in women's equality has driven away at least three guys in the last two months, and probably countless others who don't view feminism as a value-add when it's listed on my dating profile. *shrug*
What are your thoughts? Are there people out there who are in these "mixed" relationships of Dems/GOPers? I'd love to hear your experience and find out how it works for you.
A friend once told me that my politics are "just left of Castro." While not true in the least, it gave me a good laugh just the same! I'm a Democrat, folks. Let's just get that out right away.
I come by my brand of politics honestly: I was raised by a single mother who taught me to stand up to injustice and prejudice. She led by example: in 1968, she turned in her sorority pin and quit because her best friend (who was black) was not allowed to join the all-white group. As a young girl, I watched her campaign and door-knock for Paul Wellstone, Bill Clinton, and Al Gore because those candidates fought for the underdog. She taught me to value the common good and showed me that when people are united they can achieve so much more than they can alone. To that end, the late Senator Paul Wellstone said it best: "When we all do better, we all do better."
If you know me in real life or on Facebook (same diff?!), you know in an instant that I am incredibly passionate about governance and politics. Over the years, I've gained friends and I've lost friends because of my political persuasions. I still don't know quite how to feel about all that - there are some people whose friendship I truly miss and others whose absence is hardly felt. I maintain many online friendships with people who are truly 180 degrees politically different than I am and I generally enjoy our debates.
But what about when you've fallen in love with someone from The Other Side? This is where it gets tricky...
My last boyfriend is a dyed-in-the-wool Libertarian. I'm not going to debate the merits of libertarianism but the important takeaway here is that, since there's no viable Libertarian Party candidate for most races, he typically ends up voting conservative. In the past, he has campaigned hard for the uber-conservative Congressman John Kline (MN-R) and always voted Republican in the electoral events that happened while we were dating. His philosophy, like so many others that I talk to, is that of a social moderate/fiscal conservative. My philosophy: there's no such thing because money talks. (That's another topic for another time...)
Let's go back to the idea of voting Republican while being a social moderate. In my relationship with this boyfriend, I was always floored by the notion that he could vote Republican while claiming to support women's rights--especially with regard to reproductive health. How can a person be pro-choice and yet vote for the very guys (and yes, they're mostly men) who repeatedly try to limit a woman's right to healthcare? This boyfriend has three daughters and yet campaigned for Congressman Kline who, among other things, supported legislation to defund Planned Parenthood. Kline's bandwagon support is in line with his previous votes on abortion-related legislation, including voting for so-called "personhood" bills.
The fight for access to women's health clinics and, yes--abortion, is very real and no longer abstract. Republican-led efforts across this nation have resulted in some very frightening results:
- Nearly 400 bills in 46 states were introduced that sought to limit abortion in 2015 alone - just that one single year!
- At least 10 states require women to have an ultrasound before they can have an abortion--a clear attempt to intimidate women into changing their minds. A major study has revealed that this expensive and unnecessary practice has little to no effect on her decision to go through with the abortion.
- 27 states have mandatory waiting periods for women seeking abortions (Minnesota is one of them). The amount of time can range from 24 to 72 hours. Because abortion clinics have become scarce in many states, this can put quite a burden on women who have to travel hundreds of miles to get the healthcare they need.
- 53 abortion clinics were forced to close their doors to women in need during 2015 - about one per week. This anti-choice website crows about their success in cutting off women's access to health care.
- Perhaps most hideously, Indiana just passed a law that requires women to pay for funeral or cremation costs following an abortion. At eight weeks, the embryonic tissue is about the size of a kidney bean. I leave it to you to make the logical conclusion on this.
- Only one male Republican Senator voted for the Equal Pay Act in 2009.
- In February 2016, presidential candidate John Kasich took a moment to thank women who "left their kitchens" to help get him elected as governor. No, really. He said that. This year.
- Nebraska State Senator Mark Christensen introduced a bill in 2011 that would've provided legal justification for the murder of abortion providers - "justifiable homicide" under the color of his version of law. It didn't pass, but it had twin sister bills in two other states.
- And Donald Trump. The guy is winning despite his open misogyny.
Given all of this work done at the hands of Republican legislators, and much of it signed into law by Republican governors, how can a Republican like my then-boyfriend call himself pro-women?
The cognitive dissonance is astounding to me - and proved to be at least the partial cause of the end of our relationship. I simply could not - and still cannot - understand how his Republican voting record meshes with his belief in women's rights. To vote is to speak. All other political issues aside, how am I to love a man whose vote is speech against my well-being? The boyfriend and I went round and round about this: for him, it's no big thing. For me, it's a deal-breaker.
I see it in such black-and-white terms: I'm a woman and I want access to healthcare and equal pay. Elected Republicans evidently don't see that as valuable, and by extension, it's logical to assume that their electorate doesn't as well: Republican voters either don't care or else actively support these positions...and I can't be in an intimate relationship with someone who falls into either of those categories. It just doesn't align with how I was taught to stand up for injustice and prejudice.
The fine print here: I can be friends with Republicans! Friendships are, obviously, a different animal than relationships. Since the majority of tactics in the Republican War on Women (and yes, there is one!) are based on reproductive health rights...why would I invite a Republican into my bedroom?
Since our breakup, this has continued to be an issue for me when it comes to dating. As in...what's your name, where are you from, and how do you vote? Pretty much in that order. My belief in women's equality has driven away at least three guys in the last two months, and probably countless others who don't view feminism as a value-add when it's listed on my dating profile. *shrug*
What are your thoughts? Are there people out there who are in these "mixed" relationships of Dems/GOPers? I'd love to hear your experience and find out how it works for you.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Risks and Rewards: Vulnerability
I inwardly sighed to myself. Another Internet date? I wondered if I had the energy to endure any more freaks, geeks, crazies, or otherwise nice-but-no-spark guys. I looked at his picture again. I liked the way his eyes shone, slightly mischievousness and totally fun. I went back to his message and typed, "Sure, let's meet." I put my phone down and closed my eyes, offering a prayer to the God of Dating: Let this one be normal. And cute. But mostly normal.
[FOOTNOTE: Anyone who has been in this mysterious world of dating knows that these sorts of meet-and-greets generally only last an hour or so. It's a brief encounter designed to feel the other person out, to determine if more time should be spent on him/her. Sure, let's meet for a drink so we can both decide if the other is a whacko or not. It really goes without saying.]
A few hours later, I found myself walking into the bar where we agreed to meet. I had pre-conditioned myself to have low standards and not to expect too much from what I was sure to be another thanks-but-no-thanks date. Walking in, I spotted him instantly: lounging casually, beer in hand, smiling as if he knew me already. He was wearing a black dress shirt and a black sport coat that set off his salt-and-pepper hair perfectly. Those sparkling blue eyes dared me to join him for a drink. I smiled broadly despite myself and whispered my thanks to the dating gods.
I sat down at the bar next to him and bravely met that mischievous look, hoping my own green eyes didn't belie my nervousness and that he didn't notice the goosebumps on my arms.
"Hi!" I managed to say, trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach. He was so handsome, self-assured, confident. Normally, that's me: confident, daring, and maybe even edgy. It was disarming to meet myself.
"You're a lot prettier than your pictures," he offered. The butterflies flapped their wings in my tummy, and my heart skipped. I blushed.
Five hours later and three rounds of drinks, the bar was closing and we had to call it a night. As his lips touched mine for a goodnight kiss, I felt my soul stir and the butterflies calm themselves. It was as if we were long-lost lovers, souls parted for years but now rejoining. It was easy, effortless, warm.
I will never forget his hand on the small of my back leading me out the door, the feel of his goodnight kiss, and his promise to take me out on a first date. Six weeks later, writing this post, I can feel the same goosebumps rising on my arms and the same silly, happy smile spreading across my face. I love the sound of his soft voice, the mannish smell of his skin, the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, and the way he kisses me. But more than that, I love the way my heart feels in his strong, capable hands: protected and secure. I'm not a woman prone to trusting men easily, but the heart knows when it is free from danger, so I find myself allowing this vulnerability.
Somehow, I don't feel vulnerable at all.
[FOOTNOTE: Anyone who has been in this mysterious world of dating knows that these sorts of meet-and-greets generally only last an hour or so. It's a brief encounter designed to feel the other person out, to determine if more time should be spent on him/her. Sure, let's meet for a drink so we can both decide if the other is a whacko or not. It really goes without saying.]
I sat down at the bar next to him and bravely met that mischievous look, hoping my own green eyes didn't belie my nervousness and that he didn't notice the goosebumps on my arms.
"Hi!" I managed to say, trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach. He was so handsome, self-assured, confident. Normally, that's me: confident, daring, and maybe even edgy. It was disarming to meet myself.
"You're a lot prettier than your pictures," he offered. The butterflies flapped their wings in my tummy, and my heart skipped. I blushed.
Five hours later and three rounds of drinks, the bar was closing and we had to call it a night. As his lips touched mine for a goodnight kiss, I felt my soul stir and the butterflies calm themselves. It was as if we were long-lost lovers, souls parted for years but now rejoining. It was easy, effortless, warm.
I will never forget his hand on the small of my back leading me out the door, the feel of his goodnight kiss, and his promise to take me out on a first date. Six weeks later, writing this post, I can feel the same goosebumps rising on my arms and the same silly, happy smile spreading across my face. I love the sound of his soft voice, the mannish smell of his skin, the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, and the way he kisses me. But more than that, I love the way my heart feels in his strong, capable hands: protected and secure. I'm not a woman prone to trusting men easily, but the heart knows when it is free from danger, so I find myself allowing this vulnerability.
Somehow, I don't feel vulnerable at all.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Ghost stories
The latest heartbreak was one that I never saw coming - never expected his arrival, and surely didn't expect his retreat. I didn't even want to write about this one, but my fingers are typing and I'm thinking...and sometimes I don't even know what I think until I see it here on the screen in front of me. So bear with this cathartic post, and maybe you'll even find a bit of your own life in it.
When we met, it was purely for professional reasons: I had been put in contact with him as someone that I should network with. But in the course of that first informational interview, we found ourselves connecting beyond public policy issues. As I watched him leave an hour later, I felt like my life had just changed for the better.
Our second meeting - a "follow-up" networking meeting - was even less professional. We talked and giggled and joked and I couldn't help but notice how his eyes shone brightly and how his smile made my heart beat faster.
A few hours later, my phone chirped and when I saw his text message asking me to dinner on Friday night, I felt elated. That dinner, and the ensuing four weeks, were incredible. I fell hard and fast for him. We spent countless hours talking about our lives: children, divorces, shared interests and passions. We covered law and politics, teased each other with vocabulary known only to policy wonks like us, and then laughed at our own nerd-ishness. It wasn't uncommon for time to get away from us and to notice that it was after 1:00 am on a work night or that we had been on the phone for over an hour.
But what we didn't talk about was the important stuff--how our past relationships and attendant vulnerabilities would affect a future relationship. Like all divorcees, we both had raw, scraped-up hearts and when the Ghosts of Relationships Past floated up to create a wedge between us, we didn't know how to handle it. In the end, the failure to talk about what really mattered was our undoing.
So for the past few weeks, I've been walking around in a daze - things remind me of him and the wound breaks open again. It's hard to believe that I could miss someone like this when the relationship was so brief, but there it is. There is so much I wish I could go back and change and undo - and that is the worst part of all. I rarely carry around regret; I find the word itself to be ugly and the emotion to be not worth its weight. But this time, I am full of regret for words left unsaid, words said in haste, words borne of past hurt. When I find the courage to meet my own eyes in the mirror, I hate that they are full of remorse and sorrow.
Maggie Rose, a relative newcomer to the country music scene, just released a song called "Better." The melody is so-so, but the lyrics are heart-wrenching.
I just want to feel good, feel alright
Feel anything but what I feel tonight.
I just want to feel better
Music has the power to change us. I wasn't sure I wanted to even download the song because it hit me so profoundly, but since the song was already in my heart, I gave up the fight and forked over $1.29 to iTunes.
I just want to feel better. Lift the heaviness from my chest, stop the flow of tears that randomly escape at inopportune moments. Feel anything but what I feel tonight. Why can't there be a medication that could make it all go away?
But the bad feelings are what make us human, make us alive and maybe even make us appreciate the good moments. Pain has a purpose - it signals that something is wrong and needs attention. Heartache is no different. I have the hardest work of all to do: heal my heart so that the Ghosts of Relationships Past can no longer haunt me.
"The challenge is to learn from the past without giving up our innocence." --Tammie Carino
"The challenge is to learn from the past without giving up our innocence." --Tammie Carino
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Girlfriends, boyfriends, and what lies between them
Don't you just love those first few months of a relationship when everything is all sparkly and shiny? You spend your days walking on air and the whole world seems a little softer around the edges. You crave time with that special person and turn to texting, talking, Facebooking, and tweeting to fill the gaps between dates. You crow to anyone that will listen about how great (s)he is: how perfect, how charming, how funny! (giggle!)
But pretty soon, your friends grow tired of hearing about your budding romance. They want to talk about other things - after all, the world has continued to spin on its axis in spite of your blissful unawareness. If you don't tune in and miss their cues, you risk alienating your allies...the very friends you just may need if (when!) you fall from this man-made heaven.
As I was researching material for this post, I searched the internet for the phrase "balance boyfriend and friends." Google presented me with the usual ga-jillion hits, only the first ten of which I perused. Seventeen magazine summed it up perfectly: "When you're going out with a guy, it can be hard to find time for both your BF and your BFFs." In teen-speak, that seemed succinct, if not also slightly vapid and vaguely juvenile for this audience.
I tried again, searching "balance friends and relationship" - this turned up a far more diverse offering of online self-help. Evidently this problem is not unique to any particular demographic:
But pretty soon, your friends grow tired of hearing about your budding romance. They want to talk about other things - after all, the world has continued to spin on its axis in spite of your blissful unawareness. If you don't tune in and miss their cues, you risk alienating your allies...the very friends you just may need if (when!) you fall from this man-made heaven.As I was researching material for this post, I searched the internet for the phrase "balance boyfriend and friends." Google presented me with the usual ga-jillion hits, only the first ten of which I perused. Seventeen magazine summed it up perfectly: "When you're going out with a guy, it can be hard to find time for both your BF and your BFFs." In teen-speak, that seemed succinct, if not also slightly vapid and vaguely juvenile for this audience.
I tried again, searching "balance friends and relationship" - this turned up a far more diverse offering of online self-help. Evidently this problem is not unique to any particular demographic:
- The Root, a leading African-American publication, headlined their piece:
Ask Demetria: If time spent with a new boo is alienating your homies, try to find a happy medium.
- Ask Men, an online men's magazine, proffered this tidbit on its page:
Don't Let Your Girlfriend
Sabotage Your Friendships
- Psychology Today took a somewhat sexist turn on things:
Once a dating relationship grows and deepens in intimacy, a man is faced with the temptation to isolate from his friends and family and devote all his time and energy to his committed lover. As many women already know, if you want to keep your life in balance, you must must keep same sex friendships a priority.
Clearly, this topic touches a nerve with us. And it does with me, too, on a personal level. A friend of mine has recently lost herself in her boyfriend, surfacing only when he is otherwise engaged at work or with family. Her behavior is incredibly hurtful--simultaneously both demoralizing and angering in a "why am I not enough?"-kind of way.
When I took a step back from my emotions, I came to two important realizations, though. The first is that she is very vulnerable in this relationship with her boyfriend, for reasons I will not detail here. As a way to counteract that, she is spending all available time with him to try to feel connected and establish that crucial bond. It is not my place to pass judgment on that. The second point is that I've done it, too...and I am in no place to get upset at anyone else. I remember that after I was newly married, I lost touch with a great many friends because I wanted to spend all my time with my husband. Eventually, we became estranged from others and were quite lonely both as individuals and as a couple. It was a serious lesson to me not to lose sight of that balance. It's not easy, but it's completely necessary to the health of yourself and your relationship.
WebMD posted a very interesting piece on why friends are actually good for our health. Forming solid connections through friendships with people has been strongly correlated with good health and longevity. Dr. Tasha R. Howe, a psychology professor at Humboldt State University in California, says that "people with social support have fewer cardiovascular problems and immune problems, and lower levels of cortisol -- a stress hormone." The logic is based in evolution: we are social animals, having formed groups out of sheer survival need. When we have friends, our bodies are less stressed out because they are not fighting natural instinct. Dr. Julianne Holt-Lunstad, of Brigham Young University, says the evidence is clear: "One thing research shows is that as one's social network gets smaller, one's risk for mortality increases."
Having a support network of friends is clearly beneficial. That's why it is so important for us to make new friends and keep the old--including adding new boy/girlfriends, while maintaining our previous close friendships.
- Psychology Today took a somewhat sexist turn on things:
Once a dating relationship grows and deepens in intimacy, a man is faced with the temptation to isolate from his friends and family and devote all his time and energy to his committed lover. As many women already know, if you want to keep your life in balance, you must must keep same sex friendships a priority.
Clearly, this topic touches a nerve with us. And it does with me, too, on a personal level. A friend of mine has recently lost herself in her boyfriend, surfacing only when he is otherwise engaged at work or with family. Her behavior is incredibly hurtful--simultaneously both demoralizing and angering in a "why am I not enough?"-kind of way.
When I took a step back from my emotions, I came to two important realizations, though. The first is that she is very vulnerable in this relationship with her boyfriend, for reasons I will not detail here. As a way to counteract that, she is spending all available time with him to try to feel connected and establish that crucial bond. It is not my place to pass judgment on that. The second point is that I've done it, too...and I am in no place to get upset at anyone else. I remember that after I was newly married, I lost touch with a great many friends because I wanted to spend all my time with my husband. Eventually, we became estranged from others and were quite lonely both as individuals and as a couple. It was a serious lesson to me not to lose sight of that balance. It's not easy, but it's completely necessary to the health of yourself and your relationship.
WebMD posted a very interesting piece on why friends are actually good for our health. Forming solid connections through friendships with people has been strongly correlated with good health and longevity. Dr. Tasha R. Howe, a psychology professor at Humboldt State University in California, says that "people with social support have fewer cardiovascular problems and immune problems, and lower levels of cortisol -- a stress hormone." The logic is based in evolution: we are social animals, having formed groups out of sheer survival need. When we have friends, our bodies are less stressed out because they are not fighting natural instinct. Dr. Julianne Holt-Lunstad, of Brigham Young University, says the evidence is clear: "One thing research shows is that as one's social network gets smaller, one's risk for mortality increases."
Saturday, August 10, 2013
In his words...
Normally, I am all about creating my own art. My own words. I enjoy sharing my thoughts on this stuff which you guys are courageous enough to read and share and argue back with. I love that. And thank you.
Today, however, I stumbled across this gem on the Internet, and knew immediately that what he said was better than anything I had to say. The post below is from David Mikus, posted in a public note on Facebook, and so I am forwarding it on. Don't get caught up in his use of pronouns - I think these sage words apply across the board, to women and men, in any and all kinds of relationships.
Most of all, I love #7 on this list, and this quote specifically:
I hope you enjoy this as much as I did. Lots of wisdom in here.
Peace and love,
leah
****************************************
Obviously, I’m not a relationship expert. But there’s something about my divorce being finalized this week that gives me perspective of things I wish I would have done different… After losing a woman that I loved, and a marriage of almost 37 years, here’s the advice I wish I would have had
1) Never stop courting. Never stop dating. NEVER EVER take that woman for granted. When you asked her to marry you, you promised to be that man that would OWN HER HEART and to fiercely protect it. This is the most important and sacred treasure you will ever be entrusted with. SHE CHOSE YOU. Never forget that, and NEVER GET LAZY in your love.
2) PROTECT YOUR OWN HEART. Just as you committed to being the protector of her heart, you must guard your own with the same vigilance. Love yourself fully, love the world openly, but there is a special place in your heart where no one must enter except for your wife. Keep that space always ready to receive her and invite her in, and refuse to let anyone or anything else enter there.
3) FALL IN LOVE OVER and OVER and OVER again. You will constantly change. You’re not the same people you were when you got married, and in five years you will not be the same person you are today. Change will come, and in that you have to re-choose each other everyday. SHE DOESN’T HAVE TO STAY WITH YOU, and if you don’t take care of her heart, she may give that heart to someone else or seal you out completely, and you may never be able to get it back. Always fight to win her love just as you did when you were courting her.
4) ALWAYS SEE THE BEST in her. Focus only on what you love. What you focus on will expand. If you focus on what bugs you, all you will see is reasons to be bugged. If you focus on what you love, you can’t help but be consumed by love. Focus to the point where you can no longer see anything but love, and you know without a doubt that you are the luckiest man on earth to be have this woman as your wife.
5) IT’S NOT YOUR JOB TO CHANGE OR FIX HER… your job is to love her as she is with no expectation of her ever changing. And if she changes, love what she becomes, whether it’s what you wanted or not.
6) TAKE FULL ACCOUNTABILITY for your own emotions: It’s not your wife’s job to make you happy, and she CAN’T make you sad. You are responsible for finding your own happiness, and through that your joy will spill over into your relationship and your love.
7) NEVER BLAME your wife If YOU get frustrated or angry at her, it is only because it is triggering something inside of YOU. They are YOUR emotions, and your responsibility. When you feel those feelings take time to get present and to look within and understand what it is inside of YOU that is asking to be healed. You were attracted to this woman because she was the person best suited to trigger all of your childhood wounds in the most painful way so that you could heal them… when you heal yourself, you will no longer be triggered by her, and you will wonder why you ever were.
Allow your woman to JUST BE. When she’s sad or upset, it’s not your job to fix it, it’s your job to HOLD HER and let her know it’s ok. Let her know that you hear her, and that she’s important and that you are that pillar on which she can always lean. The feminine spirit is about change and emotion and like a storm her emotions will roll in and out, and as you remain strong and unjudging she will trust you and open her soul to you… DON’T RUN-AWAY WHEN SHE’S UPSET. Stand present and strong and let her know you aren’t going anywhere. Listen to what she is really saying behind the words and emotion.
9) BE SILLY… don’t take yourself so damn seriously. Laugh. And make her laugh. Laughter makes everything else easier.
10) FILL HER SOUL EVERYDAY… learn her love languages and the specific ways that she feels important and validated and CHERISHED. Ask her to create a list of 10 THINGS that make her feel loved and memorize those things and make it a priority everyday to make her feel like a queen.
11) BE PRESENT. Give her not only your time, but your focus, your attention and your soul. Do whatever it takes to clear your head so that when you are with her you are fully WITH HER. Treat her as you would your most valuable client. She is.
12) BE WILLING TO TAKE HER SEXUALLY, to carry her away in the power of your masculine presence, to consume her and devour her with your strength, and to penetrate her to the deepest levels of her soul. Let her melt into her feminine softness as she knows she can trust you fully.
13) DON’T BE AN IDIOT…. And don’t be afraid of being one either. You will make mistakes and so will she. Try not to make too big of mistakes, and learn from the ones you do make. You’re not supposed to be perfect, just try to not be too stupid.
14) GIVE HER SPACE… The woman is so good at giving and giving, and sometimes she will need to be reminded to take time to nurture herself. Sometimes she will need to fly from your branches to go and find what feeds her soul, and if you give her that space she will come back with new songs to sing…. (okay, getting a little too poetic here, but you get the point. Tell her to take time for herself, ESPECIALLY after you have kids. She needs that space to renew and get re-centered, and to find herself after she gets lost in serving you, the kids and the world.)
15) BE VULNERABLE… you don’t have to have it all together. Be willing to share your fears and feelings, and quick to acknowledge your mistakes.
16) BE FULLY TRANSPARENT. If you want to have trust you must be willing to share EVERYTHING… Especially those things you don’t want to share. It takes courage to fully love, to fully open your heart and let her in when you don't know i she will like what she finds... Part of that courage is allowing her to love you completely, your darkness as well as your light. DROP THE MASK… If you feel like you need to wear a mask around her, and show up perfect all the time, you will never experience the full dimension of what love can be.
17) NEVER STOP GROWING TOGETHER… The stagnant pond breeds malaria, the flowing stream is always fresh and cool. Atrophy is the natural process when you stop working a muscle, just as it is if you stop working on your relationship. Find common goals, dreams and visions to work towards.
18) DON’T WORRY ABOUT MONEY. Money is a game, find ways to work together as a team to win it. It never helps when teammates fight. Figure out ways to leverage both persons strength to win.
19) FORGIVE IMMEDIATELY and focus on the future rather than carrying weight from the past. Don’t let your history hold you hostage. Holding onto past mistakes that either you or she makes, is like a heavy anchor to your marriage and will hold you back. FORGIVENESS IS FREEDOM. Cut the anchor loose and always choose love.
20) ALWAYS CHOOSE LOVE. ALWAYS CHOOSE LOVE. ALWAYS CHOOSE LOVE. In the end, this is the only advice you need. If this is the guiding principle through which all your choices is governed, there is nothing that will threaten the happiness of your marriage. Love will always endure.
In the end MARRIAGE isn’t about Happily ever after. It’s about work. And a commitment to grow together and a willingness to continually invest in creating something that can endure eternity. Through that work, the happiness will come.
Marriage is life, and it will bring ups and downs. Embracing all of the cycles and learning to learn from and love each experience will bring the strength and perspective to keep building, one brick at a time.
These are lessons I learned the hard way. These are lessons I learned too late.
But these are lessons I am learning and committed in carrying forward. Truth is, I LOVED being married, and in time, I will get married again, and when I do, I will build it with a foundation that will endure any storm and any amount of time.
If you are reading this and find wisdom in my pain, share it those those young husbands whose hearts are still full of hope, and with those couples you may know who may have forgotten how to love. One of those men may be like I was, and in these hard earned lessons perhaps something will awaken in him and he will learn to be the man his lady has been waiting for.
The woman that told him 'I do', and trusted her life with him, has been waiting for this man to step up.
If you are reading this and your marriage isn’t what you want it to be, take 100% responsibility for YOUR PART in marriage, regardless of where your spouse is at, and commit to applying these lessons while there is time.
MEN- THIS IS YOUR CHARGE : Commit to being an EPIC LOVER. There is no greater challenge, and no greater prize. Your woman deserves that from
Be the type of husband your wife can’t help but brag about.
Today, however, I stumbled across this gem on the Internet, and knew immediately that what he said was better than anything I had to say. The post below is from David Mikus, posted in a public note on Facebook, and so I am forwarding it on. Don't get caught up in his use of pronouns - I think these sage words apply across the board, to women and men, in any and all kinds of relationships.
Most of all, I love #7 on this list, and this quote specifically:
The feminine spirit is about change and emotion and like a storm her emotions will roll in and out, and as you remain strong and unjudging she will trust you and open her soul to you… DON’T RUN-AWAY WHEN SHE’S UPSET. Stand present and strong and let her know you aren’t going anywhere. Listen to what she is really saying behind the words and emotion.
I hope you enjoy this as much as I did. Lots of wisdom in here.
Peace and love,
leah
****************************************
Obviously, I’m not a relationship expert. But there’s something about my divorce being finalized this week that gives me perspective of things I wish I would have done different… After losing a woman that I loved, and a marriage of almost 37 years, here’s the advice I wish I would have had
1) Never stop courting. Never stop dating. NEVER EVER take that woman for granted. When you asked her to marry you, you promised to be that man that would OWN HER HEART and to fiercely protect it. This is the most important and sacred treasure you will ever be entrusted with. SHE CHOSE YOU. Never forget that, and NEVER GET LAZY in your love.
2) PROTECT YOUR OWN HEART. Just as you committed to being the protector of her heart, you must guard your own with the same vigilance. Love yourself fully, love the world openly, but there is a special place in your heart where no one must enter except for your wife. Keep that space always ready to receive her and invite her in, and refuse to let anyone or anything else enter there.
3) FALL IN LOVE OVER and OVER and OVER again. You will constantly change. You’re not the same people you were when you got married, and in five years you will not be the same person you are today. Change will come, and in that you have to re-choose each other everyday. SHE DOESN’T HAVE TO STAY WITH YOU, and if you don’t take care of her heart, she may give that heart to someone else or seal you out completely, and you may never be able to get it back. Always fight to win her love just as you did when you were courting her.
4) ALWAYS SEE THE BEST in her. Focus only on what you love. What you focus on will expand. If you focus on what bugs you, all you will see is reasons to be bugged. If you focus on what you love, you can’t help but be consumed by love. Focus to the point where you can no longer see anything but love, and you know without a doubt that you are the luckiest man on earth to be have this woman as your wife.
5) IT’S NOT YOUR JOB TO CHANGE OR FIX HER… your job is to love her as she is with no expectation of her ever changing. And if she changes, love what she becomes, whether it’s what you wanted or not.
6) TAKE FULL ACCOUNTABILITY for your own emotions: It’s not your wife’s job to make you happy, and she CAN’T make you sad. You are responsible for finding your own happiness, and through that your joy will spill over into your relationship and your love.
7) NEVER BLAME your wife If YOU get frustrated or angry at her, it is only because it is triggering something inside of YOU. They are YOUR emotions, and your responsibility. When you feel those feelings take time to get present and to look within and understand what it is inside of YOU that is asking to be healed. You were attracted to this woman because she was the person best suited to trigger all of your childhood wounds in the most painful way so that you could heal them… when you heal yourself, you will no longer be triggered by her, and you will wonder why you ever were.
Allow your woman to JUST BE. When she’s sad or upset, it’s not your job to fix it, it’s your job to HOLD HER and let her know it’s ok. Let her know that you hear her, and that she’s important and that you are that pillar on which she can always lean. The feminine spirit is about change and emotion and like a storm her emotions will roll in and out, and as you remain strong and unjudging she will trust you and open her soul to you… DON’T RUN-AWAY WHEN SHE’S UPSET. Stand present and strong and let her know you aren’t going anywhere. Listen to what she is really saying behind the words and emotion.
9) BE SILLY… don’t take yourself so damn seriously. Laugh. And make her laugh. Laughter makes everything else easier.
10) FILL HER SOUL EVERYDAY… learn her love languages and the specific ways that she feels important and validated and CHERISHED. Ask her to create a list of 10 THINGS that make her feel loved and memorize those things and make it a priority everyday to make her feel like a queen.
11) BE PRESENT. Give her not only your time, but your focus, your attention and your soul. Do whatever it takes to clear your head so that when you are with her you are fully WITH HER. Treat her as you would your most valuable client. She is.
12) BE WILLING TO TAKE HER SEXUALLY, to carry her away in the power of your masculine presence, to consume her and devour her with your strength, and to penetrate her to the deepest levels of her soul. Let her melt into her feminine softness as she knows she can trust you fully.
13) DON’T BE AN IDIOT…. And don’t be afraid of being one either. You will make mistakes and so will she. Try not to make too big of mistakes, and learn from the ones you do make. You’re not supposed to be perfect, just try to not be too stupid.
14) GIVE HER SPACE… The woman is so good at giving and giving, and sometimes she will need to be reminded to take time to nurture herself. Sometimes she will need to fly from your branches to go and find what feeds her soul, and if you give her that space she will come back with new songs to sing…. (okay, getting a little too poetic here, but you get the point. Tell her to take time for herself, ESPECIALLY after you have kids. She needs that space to renew and get re-centered, and to find herself after she gets lost in serving you, the kids and the world.)
15) BE VULNERABLE… you don’t have to have it all together. Be willing to share your fears and feelings, and quick to acknowledge your mistakes.
16) BE FULLY TRANSPARENT. If you want to have trust you must be willing to share EVERYTHING… Especially those things you don’t want to share. It takes courage to fully love, to fully open your heart and let her in when you don't know i she will like what she finds... Part of that courage is allowing her to love you completely, your darkness as well as your light. DROP THE MASK… If you feel like you need to wear a mask around her, and show up perfect all the time, you will never experience the full dimension of what love can be.
17) NEVER STOP GROWING TOGETHER… The stagnant pond breeds malaria, the flowing stream is always fresh and cool. Atrophy is the natural process when you stop working a muscle, just as it is if you stop working on your relationship. Find common goals, dreams and visions to work towards.
18) DON’T WORRY ABOUT MONEY. Money is a game, find ways to work together as a team to win it. It never helps when teammates fight. Figure out ways to leverage both persons strength to win.
19) FORGIVE IMMEDIATELY and focus on the future rather than carrying weight from the past. Don’t let your history hold you hostage. Holding onto past mistakes that either you or she makes, is like a heavy anchor to your marriage and will hold you back. FORGIVENESS IS FREEDOM. Cut the anchor loose and always choose love.
20) ALWAYS CHOOSE LOVE. ALWAYS CHOOSE LOVE. ALWAYS CHOOSE LOVE. In the end, this is the only advice you need. If this is the guiding principle through which all your choices is governed, there is nothing that will threaten the happiness of your marriage. Love will always endure.
In the end MARRIAGE isn’t about Happily ever after. It’s about work. And a commitment to grow together and a willingness to continually invest in creating something that can endure eternity. Through that work, the happiness will come.
Marriage is life, and it will bring ups and downs. Embracing all of the cycles and learning to learn from and love each experience will bring the strength and perspective to keep building, one brick at a time.
These are lessons I learned the hard way. These are lessons I learned too late.
But these are lessons I am learning and committed in carrying forward. Truth is, I LOVED being married, and in time, I will get married again, and when I do, I will build it with a foundation that will endure any storm and any amount of time.
If you are reading this and find wisdom in my pain, share it those those young husbands whose hearts are still full of hope, and with those couples you may know who may have forgotten how to love. One of those men may be like I was, and in these hard earned lessons perhaps something will awaken in him and he will learn to be the man his lady has been waiting for.
The woman that told him 'I do', and trusted her life with him, has been waiting for this man to step up.
If you are reading this and your marriage isn’t what you want it to be, take 100% responsibility for YOUR PART in marriage, regardless of where your spouse is at, and commit to applying these lessons while there is time.
MEN- THIS IS YOUR CHARGE : Commit to being an EPIC LOVER. There is no greater challenge, and no greater prize. Your woman deserves that from
Be the type of husband your wife can’t help but brag about.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Wanted: Instructions for navigating life
There should be a manual for the post-divorce life. Everyone offers all sorts of advice on divorce while you're trudging through the slop of the process, but I've found that the after-life has been as difficult as the process itself, but without the glut of advisers.
The first gut punch came when my ex-husband moved in with his girlfriend last fall. It was a reality check: he's really moved on. As much as I had moved on too, there was a small part of me--however ridiculous--that was hurt that he was over me. Call it foolish pride.
In the ensuing months, there have been other difficult moments: my kids talking about their "new" grandparents (the girlfriend's parents), the call that came from the girlfriend that my daughter had to have stitches, my ex-husband coaching her son's basketball team. All small matters, but weighty despite their size.
Yesterday, when I picked up my seven-year-old daughter from her dad's house, she was bursting with news.
"Guess what!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining. "Terri got engaged! To Dad!"
I blinked hard, not quite sure I had heard her right. "Dad asked Terri to marry him?" I asked incredulously.
"Yep! And Dad says we could call Terri 'Mom' now," she reported importantly.
"No. Absolutely not," I tartly responded, more harshly than I had intended. I tried again: "I don't think that's appropriate, honey. You have a mom; Terri's more like a bonus caring adult in your life." We attempted to talk this through, but the moment was wrong--and so was my attitude.
Because what wasn't being said, what I couldn't tell my young daughter, was that I was sad. But I couldn't wrap my mind around why. I swallowed hard over the unpleasant emotional bile, changed the topic of conversation, and drove on to her softball game.
Later that night, as I settled into bed, my mind returned to my ex and his girlfriend. Fiancee, I corrected myself. Why did that feel so uncomfortable? Why was my mouth twisted into a grimace at the thought? Even now, a day later, my face is still contorted as I sit here writing.
I finally realized that I am resentful because he has achieved success....and I am struggling. Since our separation over three years ago, I have lost my job, moved three times, and floundered in relationships. He has kept his job, moved up in housing conditions, and found a steady love. While I don't aspire for the things he does--a house in the suburbs, teeming with children (hers and ours)--I do have goals that have yet to be realized, and I'm frustrated. His success underscores my own failures.
Navigating change is tricky. Accepting change is even harder. There is no book on how to interact with your ex-spouse, or at least none that I'm aware of. All of us have different relationships with our exes--even among my circle of girlfriends. Some of my friends' relationships are highly antagonistic, some are superficially polite, and still others have maintained a friendship of sorts. But the thread of commonality is that change has occurred--a divorce--and a new set of circumstances has arisen, one that requires us to be emotionally adaptable.
I know I shouldn't compare my life to anyone else's, but when the chips are down, it's hard not to look around and covet what I see. The last few years haven't been for naught: I am almost done with a Master's degree and I have been a part of my children's lives in ways that I couldn't be if I was working full-time. Still, I'm ready for the next phase of my life--ready for the challenges and the joys of a career, a love, and a home.
The first gut punch came when my ex-husband moved in with his girlfriend last fall. It was a reality check: he's really moved on. As much as I had moved on too, there was a small part of me--however ridiculous--that was hurt that he was over me. Call it foolish pride.
In the ensuing months, there have been other difficult moments: my kids talking about their "new" grandparents (the girlfriend's parents), the call that came from the girlfriend that my daughter had to have stitches, my ex-husband coaching her son's basketball team. All small matters, but weighty despite their size.
Yesterday, when I picked up my seven-year-old daughter from her dad's house, she was bursting with news.
"Guess what!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining. "Terri got engaged! To Dad!"
I blinked hard, not quite sure I had heard her right. "Dad asked Terri to marry him?" I asked incredulously.
"Yep! And Dad says we could call Terri 'Mom' now," she reported importantly.
"No. Absolutely not," I tartly responded, more harshly than I had intended. I tried again: "I don't think that's appropriate, honey. You have a mom; Terri's more like a bonus caring adult in your life." We attempted to talk this through, but the moment was wrong--and so was my attitude.
Because what wasn't being said, what I couldn't tell my young daughter, was that I was sad. But I couldn't wrap my mind around why. I swallowed hard over the unpleasant emotional bile, changed the topic of conversation, and drove on to her softball game.
Later that night, as I settled into bed, my mind returned to my ex and his girlfriend. Fiancee, I corrected myself. Why did that feel so uncomfortable? Why was my mouth twisted into a grimace at the thought? Even now, a day later, my face is still contorted as I sit here writing.
I finally realized that I am resentful because he has achieved success....and I am struggling. Since our separation over three years ago, I have lost my job, moved three times, and floundered in relationships. He has kept his job, moved up in housing conditions, and found a steady love. While I don't aspire for the things he does--a house in the suburbs, teeming with children (hers and ours)--I do have goals that have yet to be realized, and I'm frustrated. His success underscores my own failures.
Navigating change is tricky. Accepting change is even harder. There is no book on how to interact with your ex-spouse, or at least none that I'm aware of. All of us have different relationships with our exes--even among my circle of girlfriends. Some of my friends' relationships are highly antagonistic, some are superficially polite, and still others have maintained a friendship of sorts. But the thread of commonality is that change has occurred--a divorce--and a new set of circumstances has arisen, one that requires us to be emotionally adaptable.
I know I shouldn't compare my life to anyone else's, but when the chips are down, it's hard not to look around and covet what I see. The last few years haven't been for naught: I am almost done with a Master's degree and I have been a part of my children's lives in ways that I couldn't be if I was working full-time. Still, I'm ready for the next phase of my life--ready for the challenges and the joys of a career, a love, and a home.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Invasive Species
Last night was ladies' night out. You know the kind: we get all dolled up in too much makeup and too high of heels to head out on the town to taunt men, with the rule being that we all leave the bar together. Always a good time...unless you're a guy trying to break into that circle....sorry, guys...
Around midnight, we descended on a St. Paul hot spot called Wild Onion. As the girls headed out to the dance floor, I hung back to survey the crowd. Within two minutes, the Creepazoid was at my side.
"Hi! I'm Eric." (Or is it Erik? Or Erick? Erich? I didn't ask.)
I stared blankly at him. Who was this creature? Was I in a 1996 time-warp? He wore a plain blue v-neck t-shirt that was two sizes too small, a heavy silver chain necklace, and gel-spiked hair.
"I love Spice Girls! Let's go dance!" he yelled in my ear. What guy says that?! For that matter, what girl in a post-Y2K world would say that?! It should also be noted that he was quick to tell me that he was sober--doesn't drink--and that he was there alone. Red flag! Red flag!
Before I knew it, I was on the dance floor, trying mightily to keep a healthy distance between me and the Creepazoid. I quickly located my gal pals and gave them the pleading "help-me-out-here" eyes. They laughed at my misfortune and we tried to make our escape from the him.
Unfortunately, it wasn't that easy. When we found a table to sit at, he squeezed right in next to me in the booth. He was not to be deterred by our girl talk or blatant texting to each other about his obnoxious behavior. To quote Vince Vaughn's character in "Wedding Crashers"...we had a Stage Five Clinger. As other guys came up to try to talk to us, he brushed them off and whispered to me that they were "number two" to him. To say I was horrified is to put it mildly.
Anyone who knows me at all knows that I HATE being a possession. Being owned. Being caged. It makes my innards queasy. And it made me think: what is the right amount of "possession" in a relationship? Where do we draw the line between "we" and "I"?
Earlier in the day yesterday, I had coffee with a dear friend who is in the beginning stages of divorce. As we talked about our failed marriages, we found that we had both struggled with how much of ourselves to turn over to our partners. At the beginning my marriage, I neglected my friends and my personal needs in order to be with him, (wrongly) thinking that doing so would make our relationship stronger. But instead, I lost sight of who I was and what I needed, which was a contributing factor to the failure of the marriage.
An article in Psychology Today discusses this very issue, and urges partners to find ways to communicate regarding personal space needs. Failure to communicate the needs can foster a breeding ground for "negative feelings: rejection, insecurity, jealousy, mistrust, and resentment." When one partner moves away without telling the other what (s)he's up to, even when the motives are pure, it can cause a rift in the relationship. Talking about space needs before it becomes an issue can head off a potential storm.
"Space" is a multi-faceted thing--it comes in many forms. There's emotional space, physical space, and even spiritual space. A failure to provide enough room in one of these areas will likely result in the partner taking space in another form. Dr Vondie Lozano, a California marriage and family therapist, stated in a Wall Street Journal piece on relationships that "if you don't give them their physical space, they will take emotional space."
But when we do give our partners what they need, our relationship is much more likely to thrive. In romantic relationships, we seek to give comfort and increase happiness for the person that we're with. That may come in the form of a good meal, a sweet note, or a thoughtful gift. What if the best gift you can give your partner is the gift of personal space?
Around midnight, we descended on a St. Paul hot spot called Wild Onion. As the girls headed out to the dance floor, I hung back to survey the crowd. Within two minutes, the Creepazoid was at my side.
"Hi! I'm Eric." (Or is it Erik? Or Erick? Erich? I didn't ask.)
I stared blankly at him. Who was this creature? Was I in a 1996 time-warp? He wore a plain blue v-neck t-shirt that was two sizes too small, a heavy silver chain necklace, and gel-spiked hair.
"I love Spice Girls! Let's go dance!" he yelled in my ear. What guy says that?! For that matter, what girl in a post-Y2K world would say that?! It should also be noted that he was quick to tell me that he was sober--doesn't drink--and that he was there alone. Red flag! Red flag!
Before I knew it, I was on the dance floor, trying mightily to keep a healthy distance between me and the Creepazoid. I quickly located my gal pals and gave them the pleading "help-me-out-here" eyes. They laughed at my misfortune and we tried to make our escape from the him.Unfortunately, it wasn't that easy. When we found a table to sit at, he squeezed right in next to me in the booth. He was not to be deterred by our girl talk or blatant texting to each other about his obnoxious behavior. To quote Vince Vaughn's character in "Wedding Crashers"...we had a Stage Five Clinger. As other guys came up to try to talk to us, he brushed them off and whispered to me that they were "number two" to him. To say I was horrified is to put it mildly.
Anyone who knows me at all knows that I HATE being a possession. Being owned. Being caged. It makes my innards queasy. And it made me think: what is the right amount of "possession" in a relationship? Where do we draw the line between "we" and "I"?
Earlier in the day yesterday, I had coffee with a dear friend who is in the beginning stages of divorce. As we talked about our failed marriages, we found that we had both struggled with how much of ourselves to turn over to our partners. At the beginning my marriage, I neglected my friends and my personal needs in order to be with him, (wrongly) thinking that doing so would make our relationship stronger. But instead, I lost sight of who I was and what I needed, which was a contributing factor to the failure of the marriage.
An article in Psychology Today discusses this very issue, and urges partners to find ways to communicate regarding personal space needs. Failure to communicate the needs can foster a breeding ground for "negative feelings: rejection, insecurity, jealousy, mistrust, and resentment." When one partner moves away without telling the other what (s)he's up to, even when the motives are pure, it can cause a rift in the relationship. Talking about space needs before it becomes an issue can head off a potential storm.
"Space" is a multi-faceted thing--it comes in many forms. There's emotional space, physical space, and even spiritual space. A failure to provide enough room in one of these areas will likely result in the partner taking space in another form. Dr Vondie Lozano, a California marriage and family therapist, stated in a Wall Street Journal piece on relationships that "if you don't give them their physical space, they will take emotional space."
But when we do give our partners what they need, our relationship is much more likely to thrive. In romantic relationships, we seek to give comfort and increase happiness for the person that we're with. That may come in the form of a good meal, a sweet note, or a thoughtful gift. What if the best gift you can give your partner is the gift of personal space?
Don't make your partner resort to this:
As always...feedback welcome!
leahc168@gmail.com
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Spring Clean Your Heart
Spring has sprung!! .....Or so I'm told, from people who have been to warmer parts of the United States. Here in the Midwest, it's been lingering at a bone-chilling 40 degrees, although I will say that the sun is stronger and stays out longer. Still, I'm ready for green grass and daffodils.
There are lots of reasons to love springtime, not the least of which is that glorious day of the year when you can pack up the parkas, clean the house, and throw the window open to let clean, fresh air in. As we transition from dark winter to bright summer, we look at all aspects of our lives to ready ourselves for the new season. Diets clean up as we get ourselves beach-body ready, calendars lighten up as we make time for gardening and lawn care, and we reconnect with neighbors not seen since before the first snowfall.
As I was cleaning out my kids' room today, I got to thinking that this ritualistic seasonal activity should apply to more than just our diets, calendars, and closets. What about our hearts? What are we doing to prep the field so that love can grow?
As I was cleaning out my kids' room today, I got to thinking that this ritualistic seasonal activity should apply to more than just our diets, calendars, and closets. What about our hearts? What are we doing to prep the field so that love can grow?
I spent my 20's living in a small town in western Wisconsin. Every spring, I saw the farm fields that surrounded our community turn from dusty, dry brown to rich, dark black after the farmers turned the soil to prepare for planting. The seeds, laid in neat rows for miles on end, held so much hope for the future. The right summertime conditions of warmth, rain, and nourishment yielded a bountiful fall harvest. If the soil was bad or the rain didn't come, the seeds were stunted or perhaps failed to sprout at all.
Like those acres and acres of Wisconsin farmland, our hearts are the fertile soil in which we must sow seeds of love. If the space in our heart is tainted with fear, hurt, sorrow, or impatience, the seeds have no chance of growing. They will die without ever having seen sunlight. But if we offer our hearts a bit of peace and provide room for knowledge and growth, our seeds have a much better chance of realizing themselves.
As there were varieties of crops on those vast Wisconsin fields, there are varieties of love as well. If we plant romantic love and have not seeds of self-love already in the ground, romantic love will surely result in failure. Promises made to a partner are meaningless if we fail to know what lies within our souls. Discovering the habits of our hearts are the very key to unlocking our ability to fully experience love. If we don't know ourselves, we will never have the capacity to understand another person.
So ask yourself a few questions as you ready your heart to find love, keep love, or expand the love you already have. Turn these thoughts over in your head, as a farmer turns his fields:
Like those acres and acres of Wisconsin farmland, our hearts are the fertile soil in which we must sow seeds of love. If the space in our heart is tainted with fear, hurt, sorrow, or impatience, the seeds have no chance of growing. They will die without ever having seen sunlight. But if we offer our hearts a bit of peace and provide room for knowledge and growth, our seeds have a much better chance of realizing themselves.
As there were varieties of crops on those vast Wisconsin fields, there are varieties of love as well. If we plant romantic love and have not seeds of self-love already in the ground, romantic love will surely result in failure. Promises made to a partner are meaningless if we fail to know what lies within our souls. Discovering the habits of our hearts are the very key to unlocking our ability to fully experience love. If we don't know ourselves, we will never have the capacity to understand another person.
So ask yourself a few questions as you ready your heart to find love, keep love, or expand the love you already have. Turn these thoughts over in your head, as a farmer turns his fields:
- What circumstances do I need in order to be happy?
- In what activities do I find joy?
- What can I offer to my partner?
- Am I communicating effectively? Does my partner know these things about me?
Answering these questions will be like pouring sunlight on your heart.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Consequences
Three years ago, when my then-husband and I made the decision to get divorced, I knew there would be tough moments in my future. Heading into a split like that, you try to prepare yourself as much as possible for difficult times: the holidays alone or the nights when you don't get to play Santa or Tooth Fairy. Today, I had another one of those lonely moments.
The kids and their dad are on their way this morning to spend the next ten days in Florida with his family. It is going to be a fantastic experience for my children: nearly a week and a half in the warmth of a strong southern sun, spending time with extended family--including their only cousin. It is a true blessing that their father is able to take them on this trip.
At the same time that I am so happy for them, I can't help but feel a twinge of sadness. Times like these always make me reflect back on why I got divorced, and whether or not I made the right choice. As I talked to the kids on the phone this morning, I could picture them at the airport, their eyes alive with excitement and their small bodies wiggling happily in their seats. I tried to picture myself there with them and their father, but the image wouldn't come. I felt entirely separated and distant from this man who at one time was my life partner.
Eight years earlier, we had stood side by side and tied the knot in front of our pastor. Now, it took two lawyers, a judge, and a court clerk to finally untangle the knotty mess. I remember sitting in the courtroom during our final divorce proceeding, my heart pounding out of chest, and looking past both our lawyers to get a glimpse of my soon-to-be ex-husband. Dressed in a button down shirt and the khaki pants that I had bought him years earlier, he appeared stoic with zero expression on his face. I had tears streaming down my cheeks--tears of fear, of anxiety, of sadness. As the judge pronounced our marriage "irretrievably broken," I felt a small part of me die...and another small part of me reawaken.
Divorce is not without consequences, of course...but to assume the word "consequence" is purely negative is to make a poor conclusion. When the storm of divorce was over, I dared to raise my head to survey the damage. What I found was that the rain and wind had stripped away anything weak, leaving a bare landscape ready for new life. While I had been trying to make things fit and work in our marriage for years, I was filled with anxiety and frustration. Once we made the difficult decision to call it over, I felt released and ready to become someone new.
Or...maybe just someone I had always been.
The kids and their dad are on their way this morning to spend the next ten days in Florida with his family. It is going to be a fantastic experience for my children: nearly a week and a half in the warmth of a strong southern sun, spending time with extended family--including their only cousin. It is a true blessing that their father is able to take them on this trip.
At the same time that I am so happy for them, I can't help but feel a twinge of sadness. Times like these always make me reflect back on why I got divorced, and whether or not I made the right choice. As I talked to the kids on the phone this morning, I could picture them at the airport, their eyes alive with excitement and their small bodies wiggling happily in their seats. I tried to picture myself there with them and their father, but the image wouldn't come. I felt entirely separated and distant from this man who at one time was my life partner.
Eight years earlier, we had stood side by side and tied the knot in front of our pastor. Now, it took two lawyers, a judge, and a court clerk to finally untangle the knotty mess. I remember sitting in the courtroom during our final divorce proceeding, my heart pounding out of chest, and looking past both our lawyers to get a glimpse of my soon-to-be ex-husband. Dressed in a button down shirt and the khaki pants that I had bought him years earlier, he appeared stoic with zero expression on his face. I had tears streaming down my cheeks--tears of fear, of anxiety, of sadness. As the judge pronounced our marriage "irretrievably broken," I felt a small part of me die...and another small part of me reawaken.
Divorce is not without consequences, of course...but to assume the word "consequence" is purely negative is to make a poor conclusion. When the storm of divorce was over, I dared to raise my head to survey the damage. What I found was that the rain and wind had stripped away anything weak, leaving a bare landscape ready for new life. While I had been trying to make things fit and work in our marriage for years, I was filled with anxiety and frustration. Once we made the difficult decision to call it over, I felt released and ready to become someone new.
Or...maybe just someone I had always been.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
A Bear Named....
My daughter's seventh birthday was last week--her GOLDEN birthday, as she's quick to point out to just about everyone, including the hot guy at Lululemon. (I guess he's not into single moms, since he declined to ask for my phone number. His loss.) Anyway...oh, to be that excited about birthdays again! As part of her celebration, we went to the Build-A-Bear Workshop: a childhood fan favorite. Pick an unstuffed teddy bear, stuff it, fluff it, clothe it, name it, and VOILA! a best friend for life is born.
It got me thinking...what if we could just design partner that easily!?
At Build-A-Bear, they do a cute little ritual: pick a small stuffed heart to put inside your bear before he's stuffed. But before you haphazardly toss that little gem in there, you have to:
Oh, to dream....
Instead, I built myself a green, clover-themed stuffy. I gave him a Harley-Davidson bandana and named him Lucky Fat Boy.
I guess that will have to suffice until science catches up.... :)
It got me thinking...what if we could just design partner that easily!?
At Build-A-Bear, they do a cute little ritual: pick a small stuffed heart to put inside your bear before he's stuffed. But before you haphazardly toss that little gem in there, you have to:
- Kiss the heart, so the bear knows he's loved
- Rub it on your forehead, so he's smart
- Touch it to your funny bone, so he has a sense of humor
- Tap it to your ear, so that he's a good listener
- Pat it on your tummy so he's never hungry
Oh, to dream....
Instead, I built myself a green, clover-themed stuffy. I gave him a Harley-Davidson bandana and named him Lucky Fat Boy.
I guess that will have to suffice until science catches up.... :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)