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!

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.

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.

THE ROOT OF THE MATTER

I want to be honest, not only about the trouble, but about the good times. I think the problems are deep, and hope that by digging, I can air them out and let the sunshine disinfect them.

I am a child of divorce. This will always be a big part of who I am. I have been through a lot of perspectives about this: anger, denial, surrender to what I thought must be my ugly fate. In many ways I have talked it to death with my sisters and friends, even J. Now I'd like to work through it again, but this time with an eye for cultivating it like a garden, picking out the garbage,--shards of glass and plastic--to discard, spreading a layer of fertile mulch, and planting seeds of vegetables and flowers that will take root to nurture my soul and the souls of my family. With this blog let me cultivate new roots.

MONDAY, MONDAY--CAN'T HELP THAT DAY

Yesterday I dropped off the last of the paperwork at my lawyer's office. Gathering my financial life into an excel file was surprisingly difficult. Emotionally, I mean. Of course I put it off, wouldn't you? For one, the financial news wasn't good, and for two, turning in that paperwork meant I was pushing forward a process that I don't want to support in any way. But once I got the summons, continuing the procrastination would be like standing on the tracks and just letting the train run you over. The train you want to be on has left the station.


Paperwork in general ranks pretty low on my list of fun things to do with a Saturday afternoon. Financial paperwork pushes it down a few notches. Factor in that it's about a divorce, my divorce, and it sinks to the very bottom. In the end I took off pretty much two full days of work, but I got it done. And when I did, I felt surprisingly relieved. Something about seeing all those numbers neatly printed on a clean page made this whole thing (the divorce, my financial life, my broken heart) feel almost manageable. I stacked up the pages, his and hers credit reports, wage stubs, budgets, my check for the hefty retainer, and clamped it. It felt weighty.


After my classes I drove across town in the rain to deliver my package to my lawyer. She has a lovely office, elegant with big windows and high ceilings, fresh flowers and polished tables. I wish I could retain her under different circumstances. She is a pretty positive person, and seems to have a holistic view of divorce. My initial consultation was not just about paperwork, but about how I'm going to go on from here. We drank tea and talked about various parts of my life, so that I found myself forgetting for moments at a time, the purpose for my visit. I told J later how helpful it was to talk with her. "Careful," he cautioned. "That's a pretty expensive counseling session."


Usually when I go in, an aide comes out to greet me. Yesterday, my attorney seemed to be alone in the office, writing at a table. I handed her my stack of papers. "Good," she said, more business-like than I had seen her. "We'll file Monday." I had to get back to campus, so I just went back to the truck without really feeling that. I mean, Monday already? Some part of me still hopes for the eleventh hour pardon, but each paper stamped "FILED" squelches that hope.