THE END OF THE WORLD

SINGING FEELS GOOD TO ME. I think it ignites several parts of my brain at once. On one hand, it puts me on automatic pilot. If I'm doing some kind of chore that I don't need to think about, like hanging laundry or chopping vegetables, and if I know the song, I can just sing it without thinking. Then, of course, I've got the melody going, but also the verbal part of my brain going. So even though singing is sort of mindless, (or, maybe mindful in the best way) I can't sing and think thoughts at the same time. And too often, my thoughts are what get me into trouble.

Singing is helpful when I am troubled, probably because it just keeps my mind from taking a nosedive into negativity. At least for the space of the song. Also, it gets my blood going, regulates my breathing, and gives me a positive sensory experience. When you sing, you get to listen even as you participate, too. Somehow, all of this always helps me feel better, even when I think I have reason to be miserable.

When J first left I got great comfort from singing "The End of the World." It's got a dramatic melody, perfect for belting out at the top of your voice. And the lyrics are so over the top that if you sing it enough, you kind of get it, don't you? That, in fact, the world has no intention of ending, so you can either get over it or not. Here are the lyrics:

Why does the sun go on shining?
Why does the sea rush to shore?
Don't they know
It's the end of the world
Cause you don't love me 
anymore?

Why do the birds go on singing?
Why do the stars glow above?
Don't they know
It's the end of the world?
It ended when I lost your love.

I wake up in the morning and I wonder
Why everything is the same as it was.
And I can't understand.
No, I can't understand.
Why life goes on the way it does.

Why does my heart go on beating?
Why do these eyes of mine cry?
Don't they know
It's the end of the world?
It ended when you said goodbye.

But really the song puts the whole thing in perspective for me. On one hand, it lets me belt out my sorrow and sadness, but also recognizes that the rhythms of the universe don't stop just because of my little heartbreak. Singing it lets me get my drama queen out, but also calls her on her drama.

What's your favorite song to sing when you're down?

LET THERE BE SPACES IN YOUR TOGETHERNESS

well, it's been a long time since I've posted or even looked in on this blog. I'll be married again in less than a month, and I'm thinking that I need a check in on that idea of singularity. Can I keep it and still be married? One reading we'll have at our wedding is the section on marriage from The Prophet. "Let there be spaces in your togetherness." 

I think that's what I mean by "singularity." I didn't get it right away just because J left. Singularity awakened slowly and it took a while before I recognized it and understood it as a precious gift. And on the eve of our reunion, I don't want to give it up. I don't even want to give it up in the raw, mundane things, like our finances. I think I will just keep my own checking account and budget now. We can share, sure, but I want to make sure that I keep my autonomy, too. 

I'm sleepy now, but for future entries I want to explore forgiveness and reconcilliation.

SINGULARITY

This week I was with friends for the evening. One of our circle is walking her own divorce. I don't know her well yet, but already I recognize how her process is so similar to mine. She's a young mother with a lot more poise and sense of self than I had at her age. She's been sharing in our group how she's working through the issues that come her way, and the I've noted how even as each of our relationships is individual, patterns can emerge. After betraying her and leaving suddenly, her former husband now seems to be making overtures--almost as if he's having second thoughts. She told me a few weeks ago about how he seems to want to hang out at her house after visiting with the kids, asking about her dinner plans. "Isn't that interesting?" I ask her and she laughs and nods.

When I saw her again the other night she reported feeling for the first time little bits of satisfaction in being single. She gave an example of being shed of some minor irritations that she had in living with him over the years. Now that he's not there, her mornings are free of that jarring, little bump. I was so glad to hear that she is finding the gifts of her divorce. Her face was shining as she told us, and I remembered that same satisfaction. "I am finding some good things in my singleness," she said. "I don't know. Maybe singleness isn't the right word." "Can we say, singularity?" I asked.

It strikes me now that if J had been making moves toward reconciliation before I discovered my singularity, I might not have found it at all. I don't know if she is harboring those kinds of hopes or wishes, but if she is, she is a stronger woman that I was. As she spoke I did a mental check. Now that J has come home, have I lost touch with my singularity?  I find myself still keeping spaces in my life and in my home to nurture my own individual self. When J was gone, I would often sleep up in the little guest bed in the attic, especially in the winter. Our bed is in the cold part of the house, and without the extra body heat of another person, the sheets were like ice. The attic became my little grotto and the single bed up there was cozy and welcoming, with no memories to haunt me, no grief. Now, when I can't sleep, I take a book upstairs and climb into that bed, stretch out, and revel in my own skin. Sometimes it feels like my spirit stretches out and fills that little room with the slanted ceiling, shining into the darkness. I don't think I've lost my singularity, but I must remember to check in once in a while. It's one of the most valuable gifts of my divorce, and I don't want to lose it.

TREATING MYSELF LIKE GOLD

This idea for this list came from a friend, and felt like a gift. She told me her husband was trying too hard to win the love of her kids. He is not their bio dad. He came into their life kind of late. He would shower them with presents and go to all their sporting events, spend more time with the kids than he did with his wife. She told me, "He's got the wrong idea. If he wants to win over the kids, he should be treating ME like gold." He wasn't treating her badly, just maybe a little bit too focused on winning the kids, maybe because they were pulling away, and she was feeling a little neglected. "But," she said, "if he's not going to treat me like gold, I'm going to have to treat myself like gold." And that's what she did. When he wasn't into going on vacation, she took the kids on a nice camping trip. She bought herself little presents, took herself out to coffee, out for a glass of wine, out for a movie night with friends.

I decided that I would do that too, and I made a list of ways I could treat myself like gold. Here it is:

• Making my bed in the morning.
• Doing exercises every day.
• Eating healthy foods.
• Treating those around me with love and respect.
• Paying the bills and making sure my life is running smoothly.
• Keeping in touch with my kids.
• Getting enough rest.
• Saying no when I need to.
• Making choices about what I'll share with whom.
• Making a nice dinner, sometimes with dessert.
• Making sure I have health care.
• Asking for support when I need it.
• Indulging in time alone.
• Maintaining my home.
• Enjoying my family.
• Picking flowers for the table.
• Giving myself credit for all I do.
• Turning all these outward to the people surrounding me.

"IF YOU'RE HAPPY, I'M HAPPY"

If you're happy, I'm happy.

That's what they say when they mean

• "I'm skeptical."
• "I can't believe you'd take him back."
• "What are you, some kind of idiot?!"

Do I sound bitter? I actually love the people who said this to me. Well, most of them. And it's not like I don't understand their concerns. I do. I might have the same concerns, say the same words, to you in a similar situation.

I mean, it's no accident that I haven't posted in almost a year. I hadn't even finished processing my divorce when I started dating again. And for an even bigger cliché, I'm dating my ex, for crying out loud. I had a nice plan for my life, for my blog posts where I therapeutically explored each aspect of my marriage and divorce and transformed it into something healing. So, the joke's on me, right?

But also, I'm getting a little annoyed at having to defend my choice for round two of this relationship. I got a call from an old friend the other day. I had already told her via email that I was seeing J again. That was several months ago, and she was calling to check on me. I told her we were still together and things were going well, and she said she was happy. 
But. 
She really wasn't. 

She was worried about me. She even said as much, and wants to call me again later so we can talk more freely (J was right there when she called). 

It's not like I haven't heard the same worries from most of my friends and some of my family. It's not like I wouldn't have the same worries. But I realized after I hung up that I'm tired of calming everybody down about this. People can either trust that I can handle my own life, or not. I'm no longer interested in defending the wisdom of my choice.

On the other hand, now that I've broken the ice about getting back together with J, maybe I can get on with my blog, because I still think an in depth exploration of my divorce would be beneficial. Our reconciliation is really just one part of that.

Yes, everyone. I'm happy. So happy you're happy too!

My Imaginary Boyfriend

I STOLE THE IMAGINARY BOYFRIEND IDEA from Amy Sedaris. But I added a twist of Oprah.  Amy is wonderful, but I don't really want what she has with Ricky. The Oprah part comes in because I heard from a friend of a friend, that although she didn't find what she was looking for on those dating sites, signing up and filling out her "wish list" helped her to figure out what she was looking for in a relationship. Then she married someone she met somewhere else. Isn't that the way those stories always go? And happily ever after and good for her. Really.

So what am I looking for? L's new boyfriend doesn't have to be perfect, but he does have to at least aspire to all of these qualities:

• Communication: He has to at least believe that communication is primary in a relationship. He doesn't have to be the best communicator all the time, but he needs to recognize when he is in danger of shutting down, and rectify the situation. He needs to be willing to listen and share with courage and respect, even when the news is difficult.
• Maintenance: You don't just put gas in a car and drive it. You change the oil; you rotate the tires; you check the fluids. My new boyfriend needs to understand the importance (and the fun!) of maintaining relationships. I'm not saying that date night has to be stiffly regulated--that can be a trap in itself. But he can't skimp on time together: talking and being silent; laughing and sharing sadness; being alone with me and being with friends together.
• Well, I have more to add, but just now need to attend to some other things, and think about this a bit more. This is my list, and subject to change without notice. What's on your list? Do you have ideas to share?

THE UMBRELLA AND THE ROSE

The divorce has been final for about a month. It was hard, but it finally felt good to have it behind me. But now J has been suddenly more communicative, starting slowly right after the divorce with little things, and building ever since. He actually texted me and asked me to have coffee with him yesterday. I said yes, but I felt cautious. My hopes and fears bounced wildly back and forth. Was he going to make a big pronouncement--some terrible news about his health--or was he having a change of heart? The divorce was a terrible mistake? But it was just...coffee. We chatted. We had awkward silences. I'm not sure how I feel about it. I don't know if it was a fluke, but he called me again today to tell me about his job. In two years he has never called me unless he absolutely has to.

Here's my take on it. I'm not going to worry about it, but if he is thinking he's had a change of heart, he needs to understand that although the job for L's Boyfriend is open right now, the job has become professionalized and the qualifications are much higher than they ever were before. Plus the competition is stiff. He has to compete with my imaginary boyfriend (He's wonderful. His only fault is that he's imaginary, but I quite enjoy our coffee dates.) and all the guys out there that might answer my ad on whatever dating service I will try as soon as I can stomach a dating service, or can afford to join one. My new boyfriend will have to meet very strict conditions, starting with openness and date night and being comfortable in my community. My new boyfriend will dance with me. Who knows? My new boyfriend might even be a girl.

I'm at the library coffee shop, and a couple is getting their engagement pictures done outside my window, here in front of the flower boxes. It's a rainy day, which will make an interesting photo. That's another condition. My new boyfriend will want to be photographed with me, like it's a privilege for him to have his image next to mine. Am I starting to sound full of myself? I kind of hope so.

The flower boxes are full of pink and white begonias. The dark green leaves are lush, and behind the flowers are tall hedges which will form a green backdrop for the photos. A blue and white awning protects the stone porch of the library, and rain drips elegantly from the awning. I imagine it will look like strands of silver beads in the pictures. The couple is very young and hopeful. The girl is a little plump and taller than the boy. The boy has tattoos and a close clipped goatee. The photographer, a woman in her early forties, is suggesting various poses--seated at the wrought iron tables, holding hands and looking at each other, leaning against the stone railing of the porch. She pulls out props for them, a silk rose and a black and white floral print umbrella, so maybe the rain was part of the plan all along.

A year ago, or even six months ago, my mind would have raced ahead, jumping to conclusions about J and his intentions. I would maybe try to coax him back prematurely. Now? I kind of just want to wait and see. I don't even know what I would say if he told me he's had a change of heart. My own heart feels kind of like wood.

The first few poses were kind of stiff, but now the young people loosen up, begin to grin at each other. The photographer says something and they all laugh. They are so hopeful and so beautiful. I remember a boy and a girl who ran up the stairs to the roof together in a thunderstorm, dancing naked in the midnight downpour. I want to tap on the window and tell the girl to run out into the rain. Let it soak through her clothes and drip off of her long hair. The boy might run after her. Then again, he might not. But, Sweetie? Don't let that stop you.

One Day--A Poem by Patricia Jabbeh Wesley

ONE DAY
by Patricia Jabbeh Wesley

Love Song for the Newly Divorced


One day, you will awake from your covering
and that heart of yours will be totally mended,
and there will be no more burning within.
The owl, calling in the setting of the sun
and the deer path, all erased.
And there will be no more need for love
or lovers or fears of losing lovers
and there will be no more burning timbers
with which to light a new fire,
and there will be no more husbands or people
related to husbands, and there will be no more
tears or reason to shed your tears.
You will be as mended as the  bridge
the working crew has just reopened.
The thick air will be vanquished with the tide
and the river that was corrupted by lies
will be cleansed and totally free.
And the rooster will call in the setting sun
and the sun will beckon homeward,
hiding behind your one tree that was not felled.

A REALLY EMPTY NEST

I find myself alone with time on my hands. J has taken the kids on vacation. They'll be back next week. It struck me earlier today that this will be the shape of my life after everyone goes off to college, so I'd better get used to it, or nudge my life into a different shape if I don't like it.


I generally do like my solitude and independence, and I've never in my life been bored. I'm much more likely to be stressed and overextended than find myself drifting around with nothing to do. But since the divorce I've felt like I'm waiting for something to happen. Waiting for something to be different. Then I watch myself waiting, and watch myself watching.... and I get rather sick of it.


I'm starting to tell people. I ran into a colleague today--someone I like but don't know well. He asked how my summer has been and I could feel myself hedging. "It's been interesting," I told him. I wanted to tell him and I didn't want to. Of course he wanted to know what I meant, and asked a few more times until I spilled it. What did I think he would do? You can't just give a loaded answer like that and expect people to not press forward. But I can't seem to give the light and breezy answer, either. "Oh, my summer was great. Everything's fine. If you don't count my broken heart." (See, that always sneaks in, even if I don't really say it.) He was kind about it when I told him, and I think I saw tears welling in his eyes, but I'm not sure. I liked him better for those tears, and wondered about them, too. Maybe he knows what a broken heart is. Or maybe it was just sympathy, or knowing how much his own divorce might hurt.


Another friend told me she wanted to celebrate her divorce. Every marriage is different. I was glad to hear her story, too. It helped me realize that I can make my life into what I want it to be.


Here are my challenges: I hear myself telling friends that I need to figure out how to make my life work again. Maybe I need to begin to visualize a new life. What do I want it to look like? Maybe I should write a recipe.

• family (which is mostly my kids and my sister, now)
• meaningful work (I sort of have that)
• living within my means (working on that one)
• close friends with lots of visiting (I've been low on that lately. my fault for hunkering down.)
• social network
• regular rhythm
• good health
• fitness
• nature

I'll have to tinker with the portions of each ingredient. I'll let you know when I figure it out.

D-Day

I have been in limbo for so long that it began to feel normal. I've been waiting for the court date, waiting to feel human again, waiting for the heat wave to pass, waiting for the rain that's not even in the forecast yet. It's been almost two years since J moved out, a year and a half since he asked for this divorce. I vaguely understood that life would be somehow better on the other side of the court date, and now here I am.


How do I feel? Numb, still, but yes. Better. I feel not so stuck. I feel lonely and kind of old. Still waiting for the rain.


Getting divorced in a small county is probably different from doing it in a large county. The courtroom was empty--only ours was scheduled for that morning. I risked running into family and friends, which I didn't particularly want to do, at least until after it was over. I thought about wearing movie star sunglasses and a floppy hat to guard my face.


I had already planned to ask S to come with me for support. I had plenty of people I could have asked, but she is a relatively new friend, and had never met J. I felt like that was better. When I told another friend about the court date he suggested that I would need someone to be my eyes and ears, because I would not be able to remember anything. It turned out to be good advice.


It was eerily like another traumatic experience I had years ago, where all these professionals were just doing their job like they do it every day, making small talk about the weather, and I was just trying to keep myself from falling apart.


I put on a nice dress, a blue and white print cotton summer dress. It was kind of like a blue willow pattern, probably too festive for the occasion, but I wanted to look nice, and to feel cool, and crisp. I passed through the metal detector and stopped. I didn't know where to go, and I wasn't about to ask Harry, the sheriff's deputy who guards the door, where I had to go to get divorced. Usually, I do ask him. "How are you doing, Harry? Where do I go to pay my land tax?" Not today. I just stood for a moment considering the staircase up to the courtrooms, and then I saw my attorney's legs, then the rest of her, coming down the stairs. She told me everyone was up in the library, and S and I followed her up the heavy staircase.  J was seated with his lawyer, wearing a blue shirt and silk tie. He looked nice, but uncomfortable. He said hello, and I introduced him to S. We sat down, and that's when the nervous small talk began and I just sat there blinking. J didn't look at me anymore, and my lawyer gave me a stack of papers to sign. I didn't read anything, just started signing copies and copies. J's signature was already there. I usually take pride in my signature. These days I write longhand so seldom that when I do, it feels artistic. In the courthouse library I just scribbled my name so it was barely legible on all the copies of the dreaded document. I thought about how that messy signature would be in the courthouse for generations, how my grandkids might look it up someday if they want to study their genealogy, and that messy signature made me sad. But they might correctly read my sadness into that scribble.


Finally I finished signing and we were in the courtroom, rising for the judge. The judge was the same one who married my sister ten years ago, and that felt like a nice symmetry. I know the court reporter a little, and she waited until the end of the hearing to give me a small wave. I appreciated her waiting, and appreciated the wave. I waved back. Nobody asked me to testify, and when J did, he was crying a little. I appreciated that too. He is not a crier. In 25 years I would only need one hand to count the times I've seen him cry. It was a simple ceremony, and took about 20 minutes. The judge had some questions about the arrangements, and then rubber-stamped our split. We stood up again as he left the room.


We were done. It was over. Twenty five years of marriage. And now on to something else.


Some things have obviously changed, but some things will be the same. I had a few things in my car to give J. Just some things he left at the house last week. He said, "I'm really sorry." And I said, "I'm sorry too." I said, "J, we should be friends," and he said, "Of course." He drove me to my car so I could return his things.


We said more to each other after he drove me to my car, and I treasure those things. I asked for a hug and he gave me one. This has been a very amicable divorce. Even amiable if such a thing is possible. Does that make me feel better or worse? Better, I'm sure, in the long run. I wouldn't pull bitterness down on us or our family, though it might make it easier if I could hate him.


Afterwards I felt utterly drained, washed out and rinsed. All I could think to do was sleep, and I'd already been doing that for days.


Where do I go from here? I'll need to recover my strength and vitality. A broken heart sure takes a lot out of you. But I know it's better to have this finally behind me.

What Can I Control?

Anger was a big problem in my marriage--my anger, his anger, and our different and incompatible ways of dealing (or not dealing) with it. And guess what: even though the marriage is over, I still trip over this problem. Sometimes the wrinkle in the rug is my anger; sometimes it's someone else's. Here is a quote I found a while back. I keep returning to it to let the same lesson settle in. It's from Harriet Goldhor Lerner's The Dance of Anger. "Most of us want the impossible. We want to control not only our own decisions and choices but also the other person's reactions to them. We not only want to make a change; we want the other person to like the change that we make. We want to move ahead to a higher level of assertiveness and clarity and then receive praise and reinforcement from those very people who have chosen us for our own familiar ways" (Lerner, page 35 italics in original).

This quote intersects perfectly with what I hope I'm learning about control. That is, the only thing I can hope to control is my own behavior, my own attitude. I can't even always do that. Or maybe I could, if I were very careful and very clear. I certainly can't control what other people think or feel or do or write or gossip about any more than I can control the weather. If I tried I will probably exhaust myself and frustrate myself. And come to think of it, controlling my behavior and attitude is a big enough job for the rest of my life.

On one hand, I could get frustrated that I can't control what someone says or does or feels. Instead, I'm choosing to feel relief that I can stop trying.

A Hopeful Practice

I've been spending some time with a new friend. Not a romantic friend, but I've been enjoying his company quite a bit. I think I was supposed to meet him because among many things we have in common, he is also recently divorced after a long marriage. He is a few years ahead of me on this journey, and has some good advice and guidance. Talking with him helps me process. Just hearing his story and sharing mine is therapeutic. Both the similarities and the differences are helpful. He is actually at the point that I'd like to arrive at soon. He is happily dating someone. I'm envious, but I also appreciate his warm presence in my life. In a way, I feel like I'm using him for practice. I'm not dating him, but I do sit with him in coffee shops and share ideas, stories, hopes and fears. It's good practice to converse with an attractive guy in a public place. I try not to think too much about where I'm going to find a nice guy who enjoys my company, one I'm attracted to enough to climb out on this new limb. I haven't told him yet, that I'm practicing on him. :)


I have many questions for him about his journey, his process. And I hope that sharing mine will be helpful to him, too.

Clarity, Guidance, and Grace

I haven't written in awhile. I go along and things feel okay--pretty good in fact. But once in a while I hit a patch of panic, and I wonder if feeling okay means I'm really just in denial. Suddenly I see my future yawning before me without J or anyone else to love me or touch me ever again.


When J first left, about eighteen months ago my sister told me to pray for Clarity and Guidance. I'm not a real church-y type, and what I do is more meditation than prayer, but I added Grace to the list and wrote it on a heart shaped post it note. It kept falling off my computer monitor where I stuck it, and now it floats to the top of the mess on my desk periodically. Here it is now: Clarity, Guidance, Grace. And I think about those three gifts.

Clarity--I think in order to understand how I arrived here, I need to let the chaos of feelings settle. That takes time. I think of a muddy pool that's been stirred up by a storm. Only with stillness will the particles settle to the bottom and the water clarify. In some ways eighteen months seems like such a long time, but only recently have I begun to feel like I'm going to someday understand.


Guidance--I am just now learning where to look for guidance. I've come to ignore much well-meaning, but sometimes painful advice. I've found a few trusted sources, and stick with them for support, keeping most things to myself. Mostly I'm learning to trust my own instinct about what's helpful and healing.


Grace--the slipperiest one of all. Once in awhile I think I see it out of the corner of my eye. It is what comes to me when I'm running and first so wrapped up in my troubles that I forget to pay attention to my breathing. Only later I realized that the strict rhythm I have always tried to force myself to achieve--four paces breathing in, four paces breathing out--is exactly what causes the stitch in my side and the ragged pain in my chest. Only when I forget about the breathing because I'm attending to my troubles, do I run like I'm in a dream. Only when I suddenly realize I've gone twice as far as I meant to and still nothing hurts do I forget to attend to my troubles. It's circular, and now it's just slipped away from me again. Can anyone tell me what Grace means?

New Definitions--Gifts of the Marriage

We didn't have the traditional marriage--I didn't take my husband's name, didn't have a big blowout wedding--or even a small family gathering. We got married in a campground without any family present. We sort of eloped. Now I don't want the traditional divorce either.We're both trying very hard not to drag our kids through a bitter firestorm, and I think we're doing a dang fine job.


I keep looking for positives amidst the pain. Here's one golden nugget that a friend gave me. She said that her Taikwando instructor defines a successful marriage like this: A marriage is successful, regardless of duration, if each person has been enriched by the marriage. I can say without a doubt, that living with J for 25 years enriched my life in myriad ways. Here are a few:

• We raised beautiful children together.
• I went places I never would have gone on my own.
• I learned a little about sailing.
• I learned to love seafood.
• I gained confidence and finished my degree.
• I learned to think of myself as a professional.
• I learned to take care of the car.
• I got in the habit of flossing.
• I learned to run.

I feel confident that living with me enriched his life, too--but that's a list for his own blog.

The Number Seven

Want to know what I've figured out? It doesn't help to complain. This is actually the second time J has left me. The first time was fifteen years ago. He was gone for 6 months, and then he came home. That first time I was devastated, and the only way I could figure out how to get through the day was to talk about it to anyone and everyone who would listen. It was an addiction. I would spend hours on the phone or hold whispered and constantly interrupted conferences with my friend in the kitchen where we both waited tables. Between picking up orders I would dish out the latest outrage--and she would eat it up. If I was deprived of a confidant, I was merely treading water, waiting for the next time I could rehash the whole story. And it didn't help at all. Not one bit.


I think complaining can help if we don't realize what we're angry about. It can help us figure it out through vocalizing--but then shut up and move on--or do something about it. I think complaining might help if we complain respectfully to the person who can do something about it--and then ask for change--as long as we recognize that it's out of our hands now, and move on.

This time I'm much more careful about what I share and who I share it with. I'm much more protective of my time, my heart, the history of my marriage. Complaining helped me feel righteous, even when I wasn't right. Complaining stopped me from confronting my own problems.

Here is a blog post I stumbled upon: Count Backwards. This actually describes my method for fighting insomnia. I thought I invented it--sevens and all. I never thought of using sevens to fight my complaint addiction. What is it about the number seven?

Dancing with Anger

I'm reading a book my therapist recommended when I told her that one of the biggest disconnects in my marriage with J was our differing experiences of familial anger. I grew up in a chaotic household where anger seeped out of the holes punched in the cheap drywall and hung around our heads like the clouds of cigarette smoke we breathed in with it. Too dramatic? The writing, maybe, but trust me; it is a faithful rendering. In childhood, I never questioned the reasons for the anger, and I'm just now figuring them out. My father's anger was more apparent, because of the drama. The holes in the wall were mostly his. We had a constant parade of cheap coffee tables in the living room, not because of any kind of decorating disorder, but because the new one we just got would be new for a short time before my father put his fist through it. When we were small, we'd pick dandelions from the yard for my mother, and stuff them into these spherical candle holders made of glass. Glass candle holders? I know, but these were solid, like pool balls or giant marbles. You could throw them across the room, and they would never even chip. Anyway, I can see them, clear with aqua blue swirls inside the glass, our dandelions stuffed into the hole for the candle. The flowers would immediately begin to close and turn brownly limp, and we'd set these on the press-board coffee table next to the new fist-crater. I remember being annoyed that I couldn't put the flowers in the center anymore.

My mother's anger was less dramatic--just a silence colored with dissatisfaction at all the broken promises she thought someone had made to her about what her life would be like. She held anger in her teeth.

J, on the other hand, grew up in a house where anger was taboo. He told me once, he never saw his parents yell at each other--only kiss. Having come to know his family, I can believe it. They are nice people, and so are my people, but none of them has the first idea about anger.

But back to the book. It is The Dance of Anger, by Harriet Goldhor Lerner, PhD. I've just started it, but already gleaned some nuggets of wisdom to help focus my sifting through my childhood for guidance. J and I each thought the way we had learned to deal with anger was normal. I think I even remember summing up my philosophy in discussions with J: "It's better to let your anger out, or it will fester inside and cause problems." But good old Harriet calls me out on this count. On page 4 she says, "There is, however, another side of the coin: If feeling angry signals a problem, venting anger does not solve it. Venting anger may serve to maintain, or even rigidify, the old rules and patterns in a relationship, thus ensuring that change does not occur. When emotional intensity is high, many of us engage in nonproductive efforts to change the other person, and in so doing, fail to exercise our powers to clarify and change our own selves."

I grew up thinking that as long as I was right (and from my perspective, was I ever wrong?) my anger was righteous. I didn't get angry often, but when I did, it was explosive, even in public. This was, of course, terrifying for J. Just as his passive-aggressive silences were terrifying for me.

I'm grateful, I guess, to be figuring this all out now, but also so very sad that I didn't learn it in time to save my marriage. I just have to plow forward in faith that it will somehow help me or my family or somebody now.

Slip Sliding Away--Please Don't Feed the Mice

I thought I was doing well. Most of the time my life is very satisfying, and most of the time I'm aware of that and feeling lucky in that fact and that awareness. Then, yesterday my lawyer's assistant called. She had some questions about details, and said that my lawyer will send me an email soon about the next steps.

I know I have been pretending. Since our last meeting when I turned in my second round of paperwork, the divorce has been living in comfortable vagueness somewhere over my head. I sort of knew it was up there, hiding in a cloud that would someday explode in a torrential downpour, but whenever I checked, the sky was clear, or the clouds were only of the fluffy variety. "Not today," I could say, and go along with my business. After all, the ball was in her court. Even J urged me not to call her, when he was asking me for a progress report a few weeks ago. "She'll just charge you more if you call her," he said "Just wait until she calls you." So I was off the hook for a while longer. But she has lobbed the ball back to my court. It's a high, slow lob, and now we are playing doubles. I'm just not sure about the teams. Sometimes it seems like it's me and my lawyer against J and his. Sometimes it's seems like it's J and me against the lawyers.

Anyway, with that call I've regressed. Not just back to sadness and insomnia. Also my house has collapsed into disorganization, and I'm having trouble concentrating. I got dinner together by 8:30. I decided on the simplest thing--pouring canned tomato sauce over stuffed shells and stuffing them in the microwave--and it still took me an hour and a half to do it. I'm not even sure what I did with my time when I wasn't opening the jar, pouring, ripping open the plastic bag, putting it in the recycling, pulling the bag out again to check the cooking time, and pushing buttons. I didn't even make a vegetable. Not a salad. Not frozen peas.

My 14 year old, E, didn't mind eating late, or eating only one thing. He was just chatting with girls on facebook. Afterwards I didn't clean up. Barely put the food away. This is a bad idea. It's best not to feed the mice. They come in with cold weather, and the cat just caught one yesterday, so I know they're seeking warmth. I watched myself piling the dishes in the sink. Warned myself that I was feeding the mice. Scolded myself as I opened a can of cat food and sat on the floor so I could pet the cat while she ate. Then I just went looking for comfort: hot shower, trashy book, bed. It was only about 9:15.

This morning the kitchen is still a mess. I find that I left the cat food out on the counter. The mice have had a feast. I have work to do--including a meeting that is going to be so useless that it inspires hatred at the person who thinks it is nothing for me to drive to town for a fifteen minute useless meeting once a week--normally I work from home on Thursdays, saving a quarter tank of gas and an hour's drive. But back to the messy kitchen. E informed me this morning that the girl he was chatting with last night wants to come over today. I could tell him no, he can't have her come, but she is coming to take away his old Nintendo and possibly a kitten, so I want her to come. Plus I want to meet her. It almost kind of feels good to know I will blow off work and try to clean the kitchen before my stupid meeting.

I try to trace my way back out of this fog. It does feel like a fog. I can't find my focus or my direction. I once drove home in the thickest fog I've ever seen before or since. Most of the time I couldn't tell where I was. I was driving about 15 miles an hour through the country. It took me an hour to get from my friend's house. I was driving by feel, and keeping my eyes on the only thing I could see--the edge of the road. That afternoon on another road a woman was killed in that fog when a stupid truck driver tried to pass someone who was trying to make it home alive. His truck hit this woman's car head on. I was lucky to make it home that day. Now, I try to trace my way out of my emotional fog. My body is not obeying my mind. I spent 45 minutes this morning telling myself to get out of bed. The alarm went of every five minutes nine times before I obeyed myself. I can't even write a paragraph that isn't a mess. See? Focus! Anyway, the point is: I can trace that fog back past the phone call, but then I'd have to trace back to the problems in the marriage, and then to the problems from my childhood. It feels so overwhelming. At this point. Doing the dishes and creating order in the kitchen feels like a good plan, even if I have to work late into the night to make up for it. Maybe cleaning the dishes will help the fog lift.

Things Fall Apart; The Centre Cannot Hold

A while ago I passed the stage of feeling steeped in sadness. Friends ask how I feel about this arrangement of J being more present in my home, but not being my husband. I hear myself telling them, "I feel like I'm made of wood. I don't really care. It's fine." And it really does feel "fine" for him to be here. He comes on the weekend for visitation and stays over in the spare bedroom. I'm enjoying his brief company much more than I did at the end of our marriage. He seems comfortable enough. We talk a little. The things he does around here are helpful. For now, he is not the source of my stress.

On the other hand I do feel stressed. I know I am juggling too much. Too much work, too many little part-time jobs, too many projects, too many things breaking down in my life. This morning I am opting out of a monthly commitment, because all last week, every time I thought about what I was supposed to do Saturday morning, I felt stressed. I have yet to tell the folks I made the commitment to, but I think they will understand. I hope I can make it next month. I decided to spend a little time this morning thinking about what I need to let go, or put on hold in order to get back to my center.

.....actually, this morning I can't think beyond the disorder of my house. It has dissolved into chaos--another issue from my childhood--dishes forgotten and strewn around, clothes on the floor in my bedroom, a tangle of yarn making a spiderweb between chairs in the living room where the kitten found my knitting several days ago. I think I need to spend the morning listening to the radio, doing dishes. Maybe by creating a clean, clear center in my home, I can create one in my mind.

• First, create a clear center.
• Then, think.

• Is disorder adding to your stress? Can you create a tiny center of order right now, that may expand like ripples on a clear pond? I'm going to go try it this morning.

Strange Peace

J has been gone for more than a year, and I still don't understand why. But I am beginning to feel at peace about it, and to realize just how much my parents' divorce damaged my spirit and of course that had to have something to do with his leaving. J and I have reached an easy tranquility with each other. It's a very strange relationship. He comes on weekends to visit with the kids and work on the house. It is part of his child support arrangement--my idea. He needed money; I needed repairs. Anyway, he visits and works on the house, then often cooks dinner for us. He began spending the night in the spare bedroom (after I finally learned to stop inviting him.) Yesterday we were alone in the kitchen and I found myself saying, in a breathless rush: "I'm beginning to realize how much my dad's philandering affected our marriage, and I'm sorry." He seemed slightly uncomfortable, and said, "Well, and my childhood affected me, too." And I said, "I guess we all have our stuff," and he agreed.

It seems important, somehow, to not only figure all this stuff out for myself, but air it out. I think that's why I want to detail it here, and maybe even share it with J. But I get so exhausted, so I dribble it out in bits. It's not yet 7:30, but I'm ready for bed. More soon, I hope.

Re-Envisioning

My vision for this blog was that I'd post regularly, working my way gently through my issues. I'd come out the other side wiser, more centered, having carved a pathway for myself to independence--or maybe in finding myself I'd become so stunningly terrific that J and I would get back together having learned so much about life and love and how to be in a marriage.

Well, it's been a busy, stressful summer, and I feel like I'm backsliding in a big way. I'm feeling so scattered that my mind flits from topic to topic. The most I can come up with tonight is to list issues I want to visit:

• My anger at my father for his philandering ways. For a full two months this summer I was convinced that if he weren't a serial cheater, I wouldn't be getting divorced. (Yeah, I know this is self-destructive and unfair, but there it is.) I do think the history of my parents' marriage is important--even if just so I can see that I am not my mother and J is not my father.
• Whining about how the fabric of my life is falling apart, both figuratively and literally. I know money can't buy love or happiness, but it could buy a lawnmower that works.
• I've got to get myself back to the garden. In the beginning I was resolutely focused on the positive lessons. Now I've lost track of my path to joy and my gold list. I hope that sharing them here will remind me to focus.

Now here's a flower to help me remember....