Well here we are...the first dreaded holiday season as a single lady. My fingers briefly contemplate writing the word alone. But I don't feel very alone. I am celebrating thanksgiving with friends, rather than family, in a city I have grown to love visiting. I am on vacation; I have no responsibilities. And while I do have someone on my mind, it is not my ex, and it is not a desperate longing I am feeling. Am I lonely? I suppose a little. I have woken up early, in someone else's house, and I am slightly at a loss for what to do. A small part of me wishes I was home, not in my mom's house, but in my own, in my bed, knowing what to do first and where to get a cup of coffee. But I would feel this way even in my mom's home, where I have spent many a Thanksgiving. I have come to associate this sense of disjointedness with the holiday. Familiarity is comforting. And soon my friend will rise, we will begin preparing the turkey and other crucial elements of our feast, we will laugh, I will find my coffee and perhaps a bagel too, perhaps even a mimosa, and I will be happy, if not contented. Probably happier than I ever was as someone's wife. This is the honest truth. And that is plenty to be thankful for. Here are some other things for which I am thankful:
-I do not need to make an obligatory side dish that no one except myself and my husband will eat, because it was not made by an Italian and does not resemble an Italian dish.
-There will be no blaring shoot 'em up movie, blaring over the Christmas music, blaring over children screaming.
-No floating between the masses, trying to help where I am unneeded and unwanted, no being pushed away or being made to feel guilty when I am not trying to help by the one I love. No awkward not-belonging.
-No subjecting myself to "we tease because we love." No feelings of rejection.
-No inlaws. Period. No expectations.
And finally:
-New gloves with finger holes in them and and mitten covers! Yay!
-New traditions (like mimosas while preparing a stuffed full of love and borsin cheese turkey!)
-Good company: New and old friends
-Alcohol! No judgment about drinking mimosas at 10 am. What can beat that?
-The warmth of family you have chosen and made your own.
I think I'm going to like this type of thanksgiving. I think I could get used to this. In my mind I am already planning my visit next year. I am not sad; I am not lonely; I am not missing him. I am grateful for what I have. I am satisfied with what I don't have, and I know at the end of the day, I am one of the lucky ones. I have a lot to be thankful for.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Balance
Why does it seem like life is so difficult to balance?
I'm a single 30-year-old woman. I have no kids, and a job that affords me more freedom than most. Yet lately I seem to barely find time to do the things I want to do or live my life the way I'd like to live. This realization has led me to wonder how I will ever find the time I desire for myself again while in a relationship (knowing full well that this was a critical element missing from my former relationships.) I wonder, how did my mother do it? Did she do it? How do healthy, fully-developed women manage households, husbands, children, and careers all at the same time and not go insane? The answer is that most of them don't. Or more likely, they are not the 'healthy' 'fully-developed' 'emotionally satisfied with their lives' women I imagine them to be. Perhaps all women are just a little bit insane. Most men I know would agree. Could they argue, however, against their role in the cause? I am certain they wouldn't have a leg to stand on.
We've heard before that this problem of balance, particularly for women, is symptomatic of the society we live in: a society that demands more for less and always now. In an age where both time and products are consumable commodities, how do we take time for ourselves, take time for the people around us, and be the children, wives, mothers, friends, teachers, and homemakers that we are expected to be? How do we not just survive but strive to be better human beings? How can I take time for myself without taking it away from every thing and every one else in my life that demands it? (Surely this is not an unreasonable thing to desire out of life but, as most of us secretly fear, is the desire for a more fulfilling life at the expense of others somehow selfish??) And (should I venture to formulate goals for my own personal growth) how in the world do I prioritize and manage to find the time for them? And can I really afford to??
Though they are not particularly new questions and I offer no new solutions, these questions linger on the outskirts of my mind these days, and the only consolation I have to offer is this: the very act of making the time to think about this and write about it is a tiny gift I can give to myself. I have become very good at giving gifts to other people. I'd like to think I have a bit of a knack for picking out just the right gift for the individual. However, I have not yet mastered the skill of gift giving to myself, at least not on a regular basis. Oh I do it in spurts: the random pedicure/glass (bottle) of wine/brownie/pair of shoes I consume because 'I had a bad day' and 'I deserve it.' I operate in rewards bouts, or as they might better be called, relief bouts, as in: 'I've worked really hard on X, Y, and Z and this cookie is the only reason I'm not offing me or someone else right now.' It's not that there's anything really wrong with relief bouts. It's just that in this feast or famine type reality, these kind of rewards are short term in the relief they offer, and don't come from a place of positivity. They are often self-destructive in the long term (binging, whether on alcohol, food, or money, is never healthy.) So why is it so difficult for me to consistently reward myself for a job well done, for making good choices, or just being the kind of person I want to be? One answer might be that I have difficulty committing (time, energy, money) to myself. My sex and my profession dictate that I should put others before me. It seems selfish to do anything else. But here's my newly-discovered secret: Every time I give the gift of time, energy, or money to me (by spending it to take a yoga class, make a nutritious dinner, or see a play) as a reward for just being me, I create more of the type of me I want to be. I am kinder, more thoughtful, more generous, more organized and together than when I completely throw myself into being that someone I need to be momentarily. Spending time literally creates time. Because when I spend 30 minutes reading, writing, running, or whatever it is my soul wants to do, I don't spend two hours vaguely surfing the internet and checking status updates or drinking three glasses of wine because I need to numb my brain. I have more energy, better focus, and more drive to continue my pattern of healthy, productive choices. Of course I still run out of time. But I feel as though I am living my life, and not the other way around. And I remember that I have a choices in my life, that the way I live my life is my choice. No, I don't have time for every thing or every one and some things will be lost in the shuffle. This week I may decide to be the teacher I've always wanted to be, and next week I may be the socialite. But you know what? That's OK. Both goals are valid.
I think it takes a pretty well-developed person to be a 'whole' in a relationship. I am discovering that there are so many things about me I have yet to discover. I have learned to greedily consume this knowledge, to satiate this long-abandoned need, and because of this my goals are sometimes too broad, too vague, and too numerous: I want to be a runner, a yogi, to live a 'more healthy' lifestyle (both physically, mentally and spiritually), to build and maintain better friendships, to find that special someone. Even more frustrating is how conflicting these goals can be. When I fulfill my social goals by filling my social calendar, I am take away from my healthy living goals (social events nearly always involve alcohol. Sorry mom, that's just the way it is these days.) Both my health and my social goals take away from my lesser prioritized 'savings and debt pay off' goals, and as much as I know that in order to be successful in any of the areas I must write down (and thereby commit to) small, measurable objectives and track my achievement, the most difficult part about all of this seems to be to find the time to make a commitment to make a commitment. After all, I should probably be running/reading/writing/on a date/calling a friend or cooking myself a nutritious meal right now.
Part of achieving any goal is recognizing the obstacles you have to overcome. Time and money are obvious ones. But avoidance lingers there too. I can accept the idea of 'gift giving' to myself, but I have to admit that I have a real problem with the commitment/tracking part of it. Why? Probably because I am not truly committed to the idea of committing to myself. I'm not 100% on board. Letting go of who you have become (even to become someone better and stronger) is not easy. It requires admitting there were problems with the old you. It requires facing the fear of failing in becoming the new you. This is especially difficult because (happy or not) the old you wasn't so bad. You did ok with the old you. You were getting by.
I would like to think that committing to a program of self-betterment is a little like committing to a religion. It takes a lot of belief in something intangible. It takes trust. It requires you to accept the idea that your ultimate reward, your salvation, will be there at the end, waiting for you, even if you are not exactly sure what you are waiting for. It requires you to hold your breath and take a leap, despite your fear of falling.
I won't sit here and say it's worth it. No one can really, and frankly, I haven't committed to the idea completely yet. What I will say is this: The real question I have to ask myself, when it's all said and done, the only question there is really, is this:
What do I really have to lose?
The answer, of course, is me.
I'm a single 30-year-old woman. I have no kids, and a job that affords me more freedom than most. Yet lately I seem to barely find time to do the things I want to do or live my life the way I'd like to live. This realization has led me to wonder how I will ever find the time I desire for myself again while in a relationship (knowing full well that this was a critical element missing from my former relationships.) I wonder, how did my mother do it? Did she do it? How do healthy, fully-developed women manage households, husbands, children, and careers all at the same time and not go insane? The answer is that most of them don't. Or more likely, they are not the 'healthy' 'fully-developed' 'emotionally satisfied with their lives' women I imagine them to be. Perhaps all women are just a little bit insane. Most men I know would agree. Could they argue, however, against their role in the cause? I am certain they wouldn't have a leg to stand on.
We've heard before that this problem of balance, particularly for women, is symptomatic of the society we live in: a society that demands more for less and always now. In an age where both time and products are consumable commodities, how do we take time for ourselves, take time for the people around us, and be the children, wives, mothers, friends, teachers, and homemakers that we are expected to be? How do we not just survive but strive to be better human beings? How can I take time for myself without taking it away from every thing and every one else in my life that demands it? (Surely this is not an unreasonable thing to desire out of life but, as most of us secretly fear, is the desire for a more fulfilling life at the expense of others somehow selfish??) And (should I venture to formulate goals for my own personal growth) how in the world do I prioritize and manage to find the time for them? And can I really afford to??
Though they are not particularly new questions and I offer no new solutions, these questions linger on the outskirts of my mind these days, and the only consolation I have to offer is this: the very act of making the time to think about this and write about it is a tiny gift I can give to myself. I have become very good at giving gifts to other people. I'd like to think I have a bit of a knack for picking out just the right gift for the individual. However, I have not yet mastered the skill of gift giving to myself, at least not on a regular basis. Oh I do it in spurts: the random pedicure/glass (bottle) of wine/brownie/pair of shoes I consume because 'I had a bad day' and 'I deserve it.' I operate in rewards bouts, or as they might better be called, relief bouts, as in: 'I've worked really hard on X, Y, and Z and this cookie is the only reason I'm not offing me or someone else right now.' It's not that there's anything really wrong with relief bouts. It's just that in this feast or famine type reality, these kind of rewards are short term in the relief they offer, and don't come from a place of positivity. They are often self-destructive in the long term (binging, whether on alcohol, food, or money, is never healthy.) So why is it so difficult for me to consistently reward myself for a job well done, for making good choices, or just being the kind of person I want to be? One answer might be that I have difficulty committing (time, energy, money) to myself. My sex and my profession dictate that I should put others before me. It seems selfish to do anything else. But here's my newly-discovered secret: Every time I give the gift of time, energy, or money to me (by spending it to take a yoga class, make a nutritious dinner, or see a play) as a reward for just being me, I create more of the type of me I want to be. I am kinder, more thoughtful, more generous, more organized and together than when I completely throw myself into being that someone I need to be momentarily. Spending time literally creates time. Because when I spend 30 minutes reading, writing, running, or whatever it is my soul wants to do, I don't spend two hours vaguely surfing the internet and checking status updates or drinking three glasses of wine because I need to numb my brain. I have more energy, better focus, and more drive to continue my pattern of healthy, productive choices. Of course I still run out of time. But I feel as though I am living my life, and not the other way around. And I remember that I have a choices in my life, that the way I live my life is my choice. No, I don't have time for every thing or every one and some things will be lost in the shuffle. This week I may decide to be the teacher I've always wanted to be, and next week I may be the socialite. But you know what? That's OK. Both goals are valid.
I think it takes a pretty well-developed person to be a 'whole' in a relationship. I am discovering that there are so many things about me I have yet to discover. I have learned to greedily consume this knowledge, to satiate this long-abandoned need, and because of this my goals are sometimes too broad, too vague, and too numerous: I want to be a runner, a yogi, to live a 'more healthy' lifestyle (both physically, mentally and spiritually), to build and maintain better friendships, to find that special someone. Even more frustrating is how conflicting these goals can be. When I fulfill my social goals by filling my social calendar, I am take away from my healthy living goals (social events nearly always involve alcohol. Sorry mom, that's just the way it is these days.) Both my health and my social goals take away from my lesser prioritized 'savings and debt pay off' goals, and as much as I know that in order to be successful in any of the areas I must write down (and thereby commit to) small, measurable objectives and track my achievement, the most difficult part about all of this seems to be to find the time to make a commitment to make a commitment. After all, I should probably be running/reading/writing/on a date/calling a friend or cooking myself a nutritious meal right now.
Part of achieving any goal is recognizing the obstacles you have to overcome. Time and money are obvious ones. But avoidance lingers there too. I can accept the idea of 'gift giving' to myself, but I have to admit that I have a real problem with the commitment/tracking part of it. Why? Probably because I am not truly committed to the idea of committing to myself. I'm not 100% on board. Letting go of who you have become (even to become someone better and stronger) is not easy. It requires admitting there were problems with the old you. It requires facing the fear of failing in becoming the new you. This is especially difficult because (happy or not) the old you wasn't so bad. You did ok with the old you. You were getting by.
I would like to think that committing to a program of self-betterment is a little like committing to a religion. It takes a lot of belief in something intangible. It takes trust. It requires you to accept the idea that your ultimate reward, your salvation, will be there at the end, waiting for you, even if you are not exactly sure what you are waiting for. It requires you to hold your breath and take a leap, despite your fear of falling.
I won't sit here and say it's worth it. No one can really, and frankly, I haven't committed to the idea completely yet. What I will say is this: The real question I have to ask myself, when it's all said and done, the only question there is really, is this:
What do I really have to lose?
The answer, of course, is me.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Fall is here
hear the yell,
back to school, ring the bell
brand new shoes, walking blues
climb the fence, books and pens,
I can tell that we are gonna be friends.
The summer ends. The air is getting cooler, the trees begin to die.
And I am just beginning.
Your autumn is my spring,
my awakening.
My Rebirth.
It is slower to occur than I would wish it to be. Baby birds are timid to break from their shells, and slower yet to leave their homes. But they must learn to fly, or they will not survive. It is not a world for baby birds.
What came to pass in the past is only the past.
I am learning to accept this, to embrace it, even as it creeps in under my door.
The present is overwhelming enough.
Loneliness strikes, mostly in the morning, when I wake and you are not there. But I am getting used to loneliness. I'm not sure if I will ever get used to you not being there.
Homesickness (it begs to wonder how one with no home can be so afflicted?)
And that old familiar sadness, the bittersweet feeling of starting again...without you.
But let's not forget the fear. Omnipresent.
I still miss you. But it passes. Day by Day, I am happy.
If not, consumed.
So enough, the acceleration will begin again. Passing time will remain the enemy, but for new reasons. I may even miss the endlessly empty days, rolling passed like lazy summer clouds. How soon we forget...
And just like that, you will be gone.
Or perhaps not.
Perhaps this is just a fantasy I have, some days, out of fear that you may live forever, my eternal prison guard.
But I cannot allow myself to think this, and the fear is quickly swept away, into dirty corners of my mind, so great the superstition that thinking it will make it true.
If not a prison guard, are you then a ghost? Haunting my days and certainly my nights, the undead? Your resemblance is uncanny, it is true.
Or are you are the proverbial angel sitting on my shoulder? The sole reason I cannot control the impulse to think: WWMD with every minutia of decision? It's you, isn't it?
But what sort of angel are you?
On which shoulder do you sit, and which message do you whisper in my ear?
Or do you only live still in the pages of my mind? And do you only live here still because I continue to allow you to do so? Perhaps it is time for you to go now. You have squatted here long enough.
Go.
You are not welcome here, do you understand? Get out! And don't ever come back to this place! I never want to see you again, or ever hear your voice. Go find a new home!
But please don't forget to write.
back to school, ring the bell
brand new shoes, walking blues
climb the fence, books and pens,
I can tell that we are gonna be friends.
The summer ends. The air is getting cooler, the trees begin to die.
And I am just beginning.
Your autumn is my spring,
my awakening.
My Rebirth.
It is slower to occur than I would wish it to be. Baby birds are timid to break from their shells, and slower yet to leave their homes. But they must learn to fly, or they will not survive. It is not a world for baby birds.
What came to pass in the past is only the past.
I am learning to accept this, to embrace it, even as it creeps in under my door.
The present is overwhelming enough.
Loneliness strikes, mostly in the morning, when I wake and you are not there. But I am getting used to loneliness. I'm not sure if I will ever get used to you not being there.
Homesickness (it begs to wonder how one with no home can be so afflicted?)
And that old familiar sadness, the bittersweet feeling of starting again...without you.
But let's not forget the fear. Omnipresent.
I still miss you. But it passes. Day by Day, I am happy.
If not, consumed.
So enough, the acceleration will begin again. Passing time will remain the enemy, but for new reasons. I may even miss the endlessly empty days, rolling passed like lazy summer clouds. How soon we forget...
And just like that, you will be gone.
Or perhaps not.
Perhaps this is just a fantasy I have, some days, out of fear that you may live forever, my eternal prison guard.
But I cannot allow myself to think this, and the fear is quickly swept away, into dirty corners of my mind, so great the superstition that thinking it will make it true.
If not a prison guard, are you then a ghost? Haunting my days and certainly my nights, the undead? Your resemblance is uncanny, it is true.
Or are you are the proverbial angel sitting on my shoulder? The sole reason I cannot control the impulse to think: WWMD with every minutia of decision? It's you, isn't it?
But what sort of angel are you?
On which shoulder do you sit, and which message do you whisper in my ear?
Or do you only live still in the pages of my mind? And do you only live here still because I continue to allow you to do so? Perhaps it is time for you to go now. You have squatted here long enough.
Go.
You are not welcome here, do you understand? Get out! And don't ever come back to this place! I never want to see you again, or ever hear your voice. Go find a new home!
But please don't forget to write.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
An Open Letter to You on This Final Annivesary
Dear Matt,
I wish I hadn't lost you.
I often wonder how long it will take before I no longer love you, and this hurt hurts no more. I know that I lost you long before I went away. We held on for a long time; a lot of tears were shed in that time. I still believe what you said when you told me I'd never love anyone else the way I'd loved you. And I still believe what I said-that my hope, my dream, is that I will find someone who can love me in the way that I loved you. My heart regrets not coming home when you asked me back. But my head knows that things were already too far gone at that point-and that you weren't offering a new life for us, only an old life of unhappiness again. As unhappy as I was alone, my heart knew I was better off choosing that life for myself-I had to take that chance. How could I have known that being truly alone would be so very lonely?
It is difficult now in this sea of sadness to remember the reasons I left. It was not for the sake of not loving you-though I admit I had begun to feel that way-but this was only a forced protection of my own heart. It was because you didn't love me, not really, not in the way I needed to be loved. I know that you thought you loved me. Like me, you thought we'd be together forever. I was your best friend, and you were mine. But this isn't love, not really, not the kind of love we needed to survive, and living with you had become next to impossible. When I look back I wonder how much of it was a phase you'd entered, a deep depression you hadn't admitted to, and it makes me sad that I didn't stick it out to be with you, that I couldn't help you. But then other times I wonder if this is just who you had become-5 years is a long time to wait-and what did I really know of you before? A carefree school boy? Well you could never be that again. None of us can.
Depression, anger, destructiveness of yourself and those around you, and bitterness had seeped into your life-and was destroying mine. How could you expect me to go on living like that? How could I have expected it of myself? Certainly I tried to honor our vows.
Someday I will learn to forgive myself for leaving you, even though I still loved you. It was the most painful decision I've ever had to make.
Forever Yours in Love,
your best friend,
Katy
I wish I hadn't lost you.
I often wonder how long it will take before I no longer love you, and this hurt hurts no more. I know that I lost you long before I went away. We held on for a long time; a lot of tears were shed in that time. I still believe what you said when you told me I'd never love anyone else the way I'd loved you. And I still believe what I said-that my hope, my dream, is that I will find someone who can love me in the way that I loved you. My heart regrets not coming home when you asked me back. But my head knows that things were already too far gone at that point-and that you weren't offering a new life for us, only an old life of unhappiness again. As unhappy as I was alone, my heart knew I was better off choosing that life for myself-I had to take that chance. How could I have known that being truly alone would be so very lonely?
It is difficult now in this sea of sadness to remember the reasons I left. It was not for the sake of not loving you-though I admit I had begun to feel that way-but this was only a forced protection of my own heart. It was because you didn't love me, not really, not in the way I needed to be loved. I know that you thought you loved me. Like me, you thought we'd be together forever. I was your best friend, and you were mine. But this isn't love, not really, not the kind of love we needed to survive, and living with you had become next to impossible. When I look back I wonder how much of it was a phase you'd entered, a deep depression you hadn't admitted to, and it makes me sad that I didn't stick it out to be with you, that I couldn't help you. But then other times I wonder if this is just who you had become-5 years is a long time to wait-and what did I really know of you before? A carefree school boy? Well you could never be that again. None of us can.
Depression, anger, destructiveness of yourself and those around you, and bitterness had seeped into your life-and was destroying mine. How could you expect me to go on living like that? How could I have expected it of myself? Certainly I tried to honor our vows.
Someday I will learn to forgive myself for leaving you, even though I still loved you. It was the most painful decision I've ever had to make.
Forever Yours in Love,
your best friend,
Katy
Thursday, July 29, 2010
I have a few things to say
It's been a long time since I have written. A lot has been happening. The changes I have gone through emotionally have been too frequent to write about (I'd think 'I need to write about this' but two minutes later I'd feel differently), and to be perfectly honest, the process has been too personal even to share here. It is not what I intended to do, but I have found healing to be an incredible and at times overwhelming thing that happens to both the human body and soul. Sometimes it is all you can do to step back and let it take place. I feel that what I have been through in the last few weeks is so personal, so individual, so dark at times, and so filled with potential at others that it can only be uniquely mine. So I apologize if that is not what I promised or what you expected, but it is the process and I am learning to go with the flow. Today I'd like to share with you the experiences of one day, and some of the insights I have come to recently. It is a story of healing, that took place a week or so ago in Michigan. Michigan is my home, and a place where Matt and I spent many happy days and nights on the shore of lake Huron. Here is a journal entry I wrote one afternoon.
July 24, 2010
Rain. Said goodbye to Matt today in the rain. Sitting on the rocks, staring into the lake, I heard sounds I've never heard before and felt things I've never felt, though I have been here many times. Did you know that you can hear a storm coming before it gets close to you? Whistling through the tress, banging on tin roofs, pounding the ocean, breeding its own kind of anticipation. Did you know that you can watch a storm lifting, see the line of sky where the clouds shift, fading from calm to black, hear it rustle through the branches as it leaves a line in the sun, light in its wake, did you know? How warm you can feel as the rain pours down on you, feels good on your skin as it slowly drenches you, like the feeling of relief, so I protect my mug of tea but not my head, drink it slowly, earl grey, how ironic, tastes like rain water, let it fill up again with tears. I cried. I cry and it feels good. I watch one self of mine going back into the house, warm with love, and chopping every vegetable imaginable to make a huge kettle of soup, watch myself drinking it down. There is therapy in chopping, there is comfort in a soup made by two mothers. but I do not do this and then the rain comes again and I cry again, let myself be washed over by these rains like spring, and I am warm again, and I cannot tell what are tears and what are rain drops, it seems my whole body is saying goodbye. Goodbye. You are only a memory now. You no longer exist. Oh you were good, and I will miss you, I know. It is ok to miss. Goodbye old friend. You were good. I loved you wholly. Goodbye. Goodbye old friend. It was fun, wasn't it? Those memories are happy ones, but you are gone now. Goodbye. Goodbye old friend, I say to the sky alone, goodbye. Rain down on me. Drench me. Goodbye old friend. I see a ship in the distance, a sailboat with no sail washed by choppy waters. Goodbye my friend. I see it also in my mind, and there it is packed with things, the labors of a love. It is packed with him, with the memories, with the pain and the love he carries, the things he will need with him. Goodbye old friend. I kiss him goodbye. I have prepared you with everything you need for your journey through life. I have given you everything I had to give. We have prepared each other for this moment. Goodbye old friend, I say to you as I push you off and watch you as you float away, waving goodbye frantically from the shore, I watch you slowly disappear. Goodbye...
I sit on the rocky shoreline a little while longer, watching the empty space on the horizon where you once were, letting the tears run down my face again. yes, I will miss you. You were a good friend.
Goodbye.
Though it is still raining, I leave the shoreline, make my way back up the path towards the house, every ounce of my body hanging heavy with rain. I do not know how long I have been gone, maybe 20 minutes, maybe an hour, maybe more? My steps are heavy. I am weighed down with water but my soul is light. I have said goodbye. I am not quite at the doorway when my two mothers rush to my side, each carrying towels; they dry me and drape me. Thank god it wasn't snow, one says. They put their arms around me, hold me close, they understand; they send me to a steaming hot shower, no questions are asked. When I come out again, time has passed away again. My mothers are humming in the kitchen, chopping and chatting, every vegetable imaginable. I am in need of greens. This is home, I know.
Somewhere in all of this I have come to realize the importance of accepting the process of healing, a process I was resistant to without even knowing it. Oh I know, all the books tell you to accept the process. But how can you do this when it hurts so badly? What does it even mean? In michigan I became very sick. I'll spare you the details but suffice it to say I was in some ways as sick as I have ever been. My body was purging an illness. A disease had crept into my veins and was in need of exterminating. The body acts in strange ways. We must trust the process. Our bodies know the right way. The illness in my body is gone now, and the injury in my heart is subsiding. I feel better. I am stronger. I am healing. I have supporters, but I am my own champion. I am so lucky to have me.
I will say just one last thing, one final realization from this process for tonight.
I have come to see that leaving you was an act of self-love. Yes, it was painful. More painful than I could imagine. It was full of self-doubt, self-hatred, and guilt. It was a wound that cut so deep, to my most secret self. But it was life saving. Leaving you saved my life. I can see that now.
July 24, 2010
Rain. Said goodbye to Matt today in the rain. Sitting on the rocks, staring into the lake, I heard sounds I've never heard before and felt things I've never felt, though I have been here many times. Did you know that you can hear a storm coming before it gets close to you? Whistling through the tress, banging on tin roofs, pounding the ocean, breeding its own kind of anticipation. Did you know that you can watch a storm lifting, see the line of sky where the clouds shift, fading from calm to black, hear it rustle through the branches as it leaves a line in the sun, light in its wake, did you know? How warm you can feel as the rain pours down on you, feels good on your skin as it slowly drenches you, like the feeling of relief, so I protect my mug of tea but not my head, drink it slowly, earl grey, how ironic, tastes like rain water, let it fill up again with tears. I cried. I cry and it feels good. I watch one self of mine going back into the house, warm with love, and chopping every vegetable imaginable to make a huge kettle of soup, watch myself drinking it down. There is therapy in chopping, there is comfort in a soup made by two mothers. but I do not do this and then the rain comes again and I cry again, let myself be washed over by these rains like spring, and I am warm again, and I cannot tell what are tears and what are rain drops, it seems my whole body is saying goodbye. Goodbye. You are only a memory now. You no longer exist. Oh you were good, and I will miss you, I know. It is ok to miss. Goodbye old friend. You were good. I loved you wholly. Goodbye. Goodbye old friend. It was fun, wasn't it? Those memories are happy ones, but you are gone now. Goodbye. Goodbye old friend, I say to the sky alone, goodbye. Rain down on me. Drench me. Goodbye old friend. I see a ship in the distance, a sailboat with no sail washed by choppy waters. Goodbye my friend. I see it also in my mind, and there it is packed with things, the labors of a love. It is packed with him, with the memories, with the pain and the love he carries, the things he will need with him. Goodbye old friend. I kiss him goodbye. I have prepared you with everything you need for your journey through life. I have given you everything I had to give. We have prepared each other for this moment. Goodbye old friend, I say to you as I push you off and watch you as you float away, waving goodbye frantically from the shore, I watch you slowly disappear. Goodbye...
I sit on the rocky shoreline a little while longer, watching the empty space on the horizon where you once were, letting the tears run down my face again. yes, I will miss you. You were a good friend.
Goodbye.
Though it is still raining, I leave the shoreline, make my way back up the path towards the house, every ounce of my body hanging heavy with rain. I do not know how long I have been gone, maybe 20 minutes, maybe an hour, maybe more? My steps are heavy. I am weighed down with water but my soul is light. I have said goodbye. I am not quite at the doorway when my two mothers rush to my side, each carrying towels; they dry me and drape me. Thank god it wasn't snow, one says. They put their arms around me, hold me close, they understand; they send me to a steaming hot shower, no questions are asked. When I come out again, time has passed away again. My mothers are humming in the kitchen, chopping and chatting, every vegetable imaginable. I am in need of greens. This is home, I know.
...
Somewhere in all of this I have come to realize the importance of accepting the process of healing, a process I was resistant to without even knowing it. Oh I know, all the books tell you to accept the process. But how can you do this when it hurts so badly? What does it even mean? In michigan I became very sick. I'll spare you the details but suffice it to say I was in some ways as sick as I have ever been. My body was purging an illness. A disease had crept into my veins and was in need of exterminating. The body acts in strange ways. We must trust the process. Our bodies know the right way. The illness in my body is gone now, and the injury in my heart is subsiding. I feel better. I am stronger. I am healing. I have supporters, but I am my own champion. I am so lucky to have me.
I will say just one last thing, one final realization from this process for tonight.
I have come to see that leaving you was an act of self-love. Yes, it was painful. More painful than I could imagine. It was full of self-doubt, self-hatred, and guilt. It was a wound that cut so deep, to my most secret self. But it was life saving. Leaving you saved my life. I can see that now.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
For the record.
As long as you want to state a few things "for the record" I have a few things to say myself.
It's a horrible thing, being lonely. It's probably the worst feeling in the world. I should know. It's the way I spend most of the time these days. Of course, I know that my happiness should be motivated by internal forces, that happiness comes from within. But you know what? Mine's not. My happiness rises and falls like the chest of a runner, who has just finished a marathon. It collides like a car crash, explodes like a rocket ship, and then derails like a roller coaster. Not pretty, as you can imagine. My happiness has always depended on external factors. Like you.
I know, I'm working on it.
In a far away place I lie alone. In my room, a puddle on the floor, there is no wrong or right, there is no future, and only empty emotions fill the past. There is only this moment. And I am alone.
There is a song that I love. It is perhaps a lesser known song by the band Third Eye Blind, but any real alternative junkie should know it. It's called Motorcycle Driveby. Unlike How's it gonna be?, which perfectly captures the indecision and fear of regret when a relationship is ending, Motorcycle Driveby's message is one of hope, even as his relationship is ending. He sings: "I've never been so alone...but I've never been so alive."
My oldest friend and I relish this song. We know its secret, its power. We have been prone to singing it at the top of our lungs, radio blasting, with the windows opens, wind blowing in our hair, cigarettes in hand. We even sang it (perhaps indirectly) as we drove across Canada once, to dump a man's favorite possession on the empty highway of the great Canadian Shield. Vindictive bitches? Perhaps, but in that moment we believed in the power of Motorcycle Driveby. We believed it could set us free. But you know what? We are lying to ourselves. Who really feels that way? Vindicated by the loss of a love? Not I, I'll admit. No matter how you slice it, it still hurts. I only wish I felt that way.
My emotional quality is better captured by the old standby; the Simon and Garfunkel classic I am a Rock, of course. A song that will at any time or place find me belting out lyrics, or curled up in fetal position, or both, so desperate but oh so truthful. That song has always managed to express exactly what I am feeling when I am most alone. And frankly, we are all alone most of the time.
This is not to say there have not been improvements. Lately I can say his name, or talk about the little things. Seeing a happy couple doesn't make me want to cry. I don't get choked up when I see something he gave me, something we created together. I simply move on, let it pass through my fingers and through my subconscious. The emotion is a little less raw now. Instead, a dull, lingering sadness has set in. Everything seems a little less bright today. The days linger on. The sleepless nights are longer. And then they are gone just like they began.
I suppose this is progress; this is what it means to let go. And I wonder what it would feel like to completely let go. To let myself fall. Fall away from all this sadness; fall through the haze of emptiness, fall out of love, fall into another man's arms, fall into circumstance, fall for you. How would that feel? To completely let go? I think Jeff Bridges said it best in his portrayl of a washed up country music star in the Musical-drama Crazy Heart, when he sang the line, "Sometimes falling feels like flying."
for a little while.
It's a horrible thing, being lonely. It's probably the worst feeling in the world. I should know. It's the way I spend most of the time these days. Of course, I know that my happiness should be motivated by internal forces, that happiness comes from within. But you know what? Mine's not. My happiness rises and falls like the chest of a runner, who has just finished a marathon. It collides like a car crash, explodes like a rocket ship, and then derails like a roller coaster. Not pretty, as you can imagine. My happiness has always depended on external factors. Like you.
I know, I'm working on it.
In a far away place I lie alone. In my room, a puddle on the floor, there is no wrong or right, there is no future, and only empty emotions fill the past. There is only this moment. And I am alone.
There is a song that I love. It is perhaps a lesser known song by the band Third Eye Blind, but any real alternative junkie should know it. It's called Motorcycle Driveby. Unlike How's it gonna be?, which perfectly captures the indecision and fear of regret when a relationship is ending, Motorcycle Driveby's message is one of hope, even as his relationship is ending. He sings: "I've never been so alone...but I've never been so alive."
My oldest friend and I relish this song. We know its secret, its power. We have been prone to singing it at the top of our lungs, radio blasting, with the windows opens, wind blowing in our hair, cigarettes in hand. We even sang it (perhaps indirectly) as we drove across Canada once, to dump a man's favorite possession on the empty highway of the great Canadian Shield. Vindictive bitches? Perhaps, but in that moment we believed in the power of Motorcycle Driveby. We believed it could set us free. But you know what? We are lying to ourselves. Who really feels that way? Vindicated by the loss of a love? Not I, I'll admit. No matter how you slice it, it still hurts. I only wish I felt that way.
My emotional quality is better captured by the old standby; the Simon and Garfunkel classic I am a Rock, of course. A song that will at any time or place find me belting out lyrics, or curled up in fetal position, or both, so desperate but oh so truthful. That song has always managed to express exactly what I am feeling when I am most alone. And frankly, we are all alone most of the time.
This is not to say there have not been improvements. Lately I can say his name, or talk about the little things. Seeing a happy couple doesn't make me want to cry. I don't get choked up when I see something he gave me, something we created together. I simply move on, let it pass through my fingers and through my subconscious. The emotion is a little less raw now. Instead, a dull, lingering sadness has set in. Everything seems a little less bright today. The days linger on. The sleepless nights are longer. And then they are gone just like they began.
I suppose this is progress; this is what it means to let go. And I wonder what it would feel like to completely let go. To let myself fall. Fall away from all this sadness; fall through the haze of emptiness, fall out of love, fall into another man's arms, fall into circumstance, fall for you. How would that feel? To completely let go? I think Jeff Bridges said it best in his portrayl of a washed up country music star in the Musical-drama Crazy Heart, when he sang the line, "Sometimes falling feels like flying."
for a little while.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
reliving every footstep
This weekend I went to a surprise 30th birthday party down the shore with all my hoboken friends. The party itself was lovely...they rented a beautiful beach house right on the ocean. The house slept at least 20. The roof deck was particularly stunning. The grills burned on, the alcohol flowed freely, and someone's ipod kept the tunes coming despite someone else's oversight on the sound system. Good friends were all around and the moon was a rare shade of blood orange with black clouds swept across it. The air was warm and there was a cool breeze.
And then there was my husband, constantly on my mind. and his family, just blocks away, celebrating a new beginning, the coming of a new birth. The baby shower I wasn't invited to.
As soon as I exited 195 and began to drive that old familiar road, the memories swarmed back to me. Like the first day I ever made that drive, the first summer of matt, 11 years ago when he picked me up from Newark International Airport after a whirlwind European trip and I entered the strange land of New Jersey. I remember he told me how to remember the way was that you went through two traffic circles but you just kept going straight. Only now there was only one traffic circle. I remember how we stopped along the way to make out. I remember he told me I smelled like 'his.' I remember we got lost.
I remember when I first met his mother, she hugged me. So much relief in that hug, so much innocence, so fresh. I wonder what happened to that, and then I wonder if feeling like an outsider was all only in my head like he always said it was. Maybe they were really kind to me, surely they were. Didn't they feed me, clothe me, shelter me? Yes, they did all that. Moreover, his sisters were friends to me, most of the time. Maybe I fucked that all up. And I begin to get scared, and I begin to cry. Wail really. Because just now I can't remember why I was so unhappy. I remember it as a logical fact, yes, but I can't remember the details of it, can't remember all the pain. All I can think of is how much this hurts right now. And I don't know why I have done it, but I know it can't be undone. My friends say maybe our paths will cross paths again. Maybe things will work out after all, you never know. But I know. Just like I know he never cheated on me, in the secret place of my heart, I know the truth that no one else can know. We will never be together again. We will probably never speak again after all this is said and done. Because this is a man I know better than anyone else. And I know this is true.
And I feel so bad. Bad for the family I have hurt and left behind, bad for the memories I am losing, bad that my friends cannot fill the void I need filled right now. Bad for needing the void filled so desperately. I second guess myself again. Maybe it is me who is fucked up. Maybe my expectations of them are too high. Are you not perpetually disappointed in other people? Shit. Maybe you fucked all of this up. Maybe your expectations were just too high.
What I miss most is my best friend. I feel as though my best friend has died, and my childhood with him. But my memories are still so alive. As awful as he may have been, he was mine, and he got me, and I got him, in a way no one else could. The little jokes, the plays on words, the quirky things that only he would get. I notice them still but now there is no one to share that moment with, or I say something and realize that person doesn't get it, doesn't know the reference. What do you do with a lifetime of those little things? Do you tuck them away too, like the photographs, like the memories? Do you share them with new people and pretend they aren't connected to him? It would take a lifetime to remake all those little somethings again.
And I feel like a jerk. Why did I have to be the one to give up on him? Why did I go searching for comfort, for companionship elsewhere? Was there a chance left for us? He would have me believe this now. He wants me to know I wrecked any chance there might have been. I am feeling guilty. What have I done? My logic fails me.
My friends look at this as the beginning of a new opportunity. It is hard for me to see things that way. They must see me as very strong for having instigated the leaving. I am not. I am scared. I am injured. I never wanted this. Because it was him I wanted. It was always him. It was just the him I believed him to be, the one I still believe he is capable of being, if he only wanted me badly enough. Won't we do anything to save something we love?? And then I realize I must have been very lonely, even if I don't remember just what drove me away right now.
When two people split up there is never one single person who is at fault. This is the truth. The truth is also that only time can heal these wounds. The truth is I need to look at myself and find out what is wrong before I can heal the deeper wound. But that sounds like it will take such an awful long time.
I cannot imagine my life without him. I cannot imagine a decade full of memories that don't include him. I know I cannot rebuild my childhood without him. But I don't know where to put all this pain. I don't even know where to begin. So I make my friends remind me that I was so very sad then. I let them tell me it will be alright. I try to tell myself it will be alright, even though I hate hearing it. And I will time to pass so I can feel better again.
And then there was my husband, constantly on my mind. and his family, just blocks away, celebrating a new beginning, the coming of a new birth. The baby shower I wasn't invited to.
As soon as I exited 195 and began to drive that old familiar road, the memories swarmed back to me. Like the first day I ever made that drive, the first summer of matt, 11 years ago when he picked me up from Newark International Airport after a whirlwind European trip and I entered the strange land of New Jersey. I remember he told me how to remember the way was that you went through two traffic circles but you just kept going straight. Only now there was only one traffic circle. I remember how we stopped along the way to make out. I remember he told me I smelled like 'his.' I remember we got lost.
I remember when I first met his mother, she hugged me. So much relief in that hug, so much innocence, so fresh. I wonder what happened to that, and then I wonder if feeling like an outsider was all only in my head like he always said it was. Maybe they were really kind to me, surely they were. Didn't they feed me, clothe me, shelter me? Yes, they did all that. Moreover, his sisters were friends to me, most of the time. Maybe I fucked that all up. And I begin to get scared, and I begin to cry. Wail really. Because just now I can't remember why I was so unhappy. I remember it as a logical fact, yes, but I can't remember the details of it, can't remember all the pain. All I can think of is how much this hurts right now. And I don't know why I have done it, but I know it can't be undone. My friends say maybe our paths will cross paths again. Maybe things will work out after all, you never know. But I know. Just like I know he never cheated on me, in the secret place of my heart, I know the truth that no one else can know. We will never be together again. We will probably never speak again after all this is said and done. Because this is a man I know better than anyone else. And I know this is true.
And I feel so bad. Bad for the family I have hurt and left behind, bad for the memories I am losing, bad that my friends cannot fill the void I need filled right now. Bad for needing the void filled so desperately. I second guess myself again. Maybe it is me who is fucked up. Maybe my expectations of them are too high. Are you not perpetually disappointed in other people? Shit. Maybe you fucked all of this up. Maybe your expectations were just too high.
What I miss most is my best friend. I feel as though my best friend has died, and my childhood with him. But my memories are still so alive. As awful as he may have been, he was mine, and he got me, and I got him, in a way no one else could. The little jokes, the plays on words, the quirky things that only he would get. I notice them still but now there is no one to share that moment with, or I say something and realize that person doesn't get it, doesn't know the reference. What do you do with a lifetime of those little things? Do you tuck them away too, like the photographs, like the memories? Do you share them with new people and pretend they aren't connected to him? It would take a lifetime to remake all those little somethings again.
And I feel like a jerk. Why did I have to be the one to give up on him? Why did I go searching for comfort, for companionship elsewhere? Was there a chance left for us? He would have me believe this now. He wants me to know I wrecked any chance there might have been. I am feeling guilty. What have I done? My logic fails me.
My friends look at this as the beginning of a new opportunity. It is hard for me to see things that way. They must see me as very strong for having instigated the leaving. I am not. I am scared. I am injured. I never wanted this. Because it was him I wanted. It was always him. It was just the him I believed him to be, the one I still believe he is capable of being, if he only wanted me badly enough. Won't we do anything to save something we love?? And then I realize I must have been very lonely, even if I don't remember just what drove me away right now.
When two people split up there is never one single person who is at fault. This is the truth. The truth is also that only time can heal these wounds. The truth is I need to look at myself and find out what is wrong before I can heal the deeper wound. But that sounds like it will take such an awful long time.
I cannot imagine my life without him. I cannot imagine a decade full of memories that don't include him. I know I cannot rebuild my childhood without him. But I don't know where to put all this pain. I don't even know where to begin. So I make my friends remind me that I was so very sad then. I let them tell me it will be alright. I try to tell myself it will be alright, even though I hate hearing it. And I will time to pass so I can feel better again.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Family Gatherings
Is it wrong for me to feel just a little bit snubbed?
Yesterday laying poolside with some mutual friends. I am asked a strange question: Are you going to the baby shower?
The Baby Shower.
As in my sister-in-law's baby shower, the one who's having twins in October. The baby shower which was apparently planned and scheduled without my knowledge. The baby shower which I did not receive an invitation to.
Oh, that baby shower.
It ever so briefly crosses my mind that perhaps the invitation has not yet arrived. Of course I am merely blocks from my own apartment, and this virtual neighbor has received her invitation. Inevitably, I realize, "lost in the mail" is not really an option.
So I brace myself, do my best to remain steely, and answer what I mean to be the truth: "I don't know."
Well sort of the truth. It seems to me that it is clear that I am not, in fact, going to The Baby Shower. And I marvel momentarily at the discussions that must have taken place about my attendance, whispers between sister and mother over what to do, the drama of it all. Perhaps they have even asked the husband's opinion, to which he had undoubtedly replied that I should not be invited. Just one more stab in the back. Would he not know how hurt I would be by this rejection?
And what about them? Were they conscious of their exclusion in not inviting me to participate in the planning? Did they imagine I would not want to be a part of this production, for the sister-in-law who stood as maid of honor at my wedding, who bought me cosmos and dinner and advised my about her brother when I first moved to the city? Who I cooked with and did my best to befriend? Did they knowingly exclude me, or just not bother to seek out my advice? Is this just one more check I can add to the column of injustices, the slightest of slights, the cookies and cakes and appetizers that go untouched year after year at the communal holiday feast, the empty feeling of being 'just outside the inner circle.' Have they loved me 'like family'? I can't say. Certainly outwardly they have. In turn they have invited me into their home time and time again, for short and long periods of time, fed me and bestowed gifts upon me. That should be enough perhaps.
But then there were the countless family dinners where I was made the butt of the family jokes, where the underlying current was that a girl from Michigan who teaches school is just not good enough, will never be good enough for their prodigal son. The message that I 'just didn't get it,' the times I was put in a corner, left clinging to a branch, hung out to dry by "my family" and never rescued by my husband. Where, in the fog of drinking too much wine because there is never a bit of useful information I can bring to the table, I am forced to choose: fight or flight.
I have tried both. Neither work. Your dreams will not be supported. Your views will never be respected. What you did to help him, or what you may have sacrificed will be ignored. Because "When this family loves you they tease you," or "You've got to be less sensitive, Katy." When everyone else is good at something, everyone else is given accolades, and it gets so it drives you crazy, and YES I AM SENSITIVE DAMN IT, but I wasn't always that way. Or the biggest hurt of all...that he doesn't protect you. That his family will always be more "his family" than your little family ever will be.
Somewhere along the line I lost my own sense of self-respect. Because when you couldn't value me for what I brought to the table, I began to question myself. It seemed whatever I tried went unnoticed. It seems you began to string the red tape across the door before I could ever step foot across the threshold. Oh I don't think you didn't love me, at times. I know your hugs were genuine; I know you cared in your own way. But my fate was predetermined. I never really had a chance. At least not as me. I couldn't be me, and still be a part of you.
I had wondered what would become of my relationships with these family members. The children I am leaving behind, what would you say when they asked about me? They have known me all their lives. And what about us? Would we be like those girls I see sometimes, dining together, sister and ex sister-in-law who remain friends? We have shared a lot in our times. Good wine. Bad husbands. The fear and the loneliness, the depression. Surely you would understand where I am coming from, surely you can't blame me for choosing my own happiness, can you?
But perhaps not. Because of course in the end you made a different choice. Your lives were sewn together too long ago now, all there is left to do is drink wine and stack up your losses. You took the high road, you might say. You stuck it out, you might think. But does your heart agree with me, even just a little? Does your heart know what you have sacrificed to choose this life? Do you envy me at all? Maybe some day you will tip your glasses to me, you will remember my struggles. They were not so different from your own.
Yesterday laying poolside with some mutual friends. I am asked a strange question: Are you going to the baby shower?
The Baby Shower.
As in my sister-in-law's baby shower, the one who's having twins in October. The baby shower which was apparently planned and scheduled without my knowledge. The baby shower which I did not receive an invitation to.
Oh, that baby shower.
It ever so briefly crosses my mind that perhaps the invitation has not yet arrived. Of course I am merely blocks from my own apartment, and this virtual neighbor has received her invitation. Inevitably, I realize, "lost in the mail" is not really an option.
So I brace myself, do my best to remain steely, and answer what I mean to be the truth: "I don't know."
Well sort of the truth. It seems to me that it is clear that I am not, in fact, going to The Baby Shower. And I marvel momentarily at the discussions that must have taken place about my attendance, whispers between sister and mother over what to do, the drama of it all. Perhaps they have even asked the husband's opinion, to which he had undoubtedly replied that I should not be invited. Just one more stab in the back. Would he not know how hurt I would be by this rejection?
And what about them? Were they conscious of their exclusion in not inviting me to participate in the planning? Did they imagine I would not want to be a part of this production, for the sister-in-law who stood as maid of honor at my wedding, who bought me cosmos and dinner and advised my about her brother when I first moved to the city? Who I cooked with and did my best to befriend? Did they knowingly exclude me, or just not bother to seek out my advice? Is this just one more check I can add to the column of injustices, the slightest of slights, the cookies and cakes and appetizers that go untouched year after year at the communal holiday feast, the empty feeling of being 'just outside the inner circle.' Have they loved me 'like family'? I can't say. Certainly outwardly they have. In turn they have invited me into their home time and time again, for short and long periods of time, fed me and bestowed gifts upon me. That should be enough perhaps.
But then there were the countless family dinners where I was made the butt of the family jokes, where the underlying current was that a girl from Michigan who teaches school is just not good enough, will never be good enough for their prodigal son. The message that I 'just didn't get it,' the times I was put in a corner, left clinging to a branch, hung out to dry by "my family" and never rescued by my husband. Where, in the fog of drinking too much wine because there is never a bit of useful information I can bring to the table, I am forced to choose: fight or flight.
I have tried both. Neither work. Your dreams will not be supported. Your views will never be respected. What you did to help him, or what you may have sacrificed will be ignored. Because "When this family loves you they tease you," or "You've got to be less sensitive, Katy." When everyone else is good at something, everyone else is given accolades, and it gets so it drives you crazy, and YES I AM SENSITIVE DAMN IT, but I wasn't always that way. Or the biggest hurt of all...that he doesn't protect you. That his family will always be more "his family" than your little family ever will be.
Somewhere along the line I lost my own sense of self-respect. Because when you couldn't value me for what I brought to the table, I began to question myself. It seemed whatever I tried went unnoticed. It seems you began to string the red tape across the door before I could ever step foot across the threshold. Oh I don't think you didn't love me, at times. I know your hugs were genuine; I know you cared in your own way. But my fate was predetermined. I never really had a chance. At least not as me. I couldn't be me, and still be a part of you.
I had wondered what would become of my relationships with these family members. The children I am leaving behind, what would you say when they asked about me? They have known me all their lives. And what about us? Would we be like those girls I see sometimes, dining together, sister and ex sister-in-law who remain friends? We have shared a lot in our times. Good wine. Bad husbands. The fear and the loneliness, the depression. Surely you would understand where I am coming from, surely you can't blame me for choosing my own happiness, can you?
But perhaps not. Because of course in the end you made a different choice. Your lives were sewn together too long ago now, all there is left to do is drink wine and stack up your losses. You took the high road, you might say. You stuck it out, you might think. But does your heart agree with me, even just a little? Does your heart know what you have sacrificed to choose this life? Do you envy me at all? Maybe some day you will tip your glasses to me, you will remember my struggles. They were not so different from your own.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
It ain't me, babe.
I think I'm going to throw up.
After an afternoon of epic tears, talks, and heavy petting in hoboken, Matt and I have found ourselves exactly where we started: knowing that breaking up is the right thing to do, but finding it too heartbreaking to commit to. How do you put a cap on 11 years of your life? Good or bad, it was a journey of love and commitment, the one basket in which I put all my eggs. And as hurtful as he can be, he still knows how to make me laugh, even through the tears. Its times like this I can hardly remember why I wanted to break up in the first place, and yet here I am, putting down a security deposit on an apartment. I know it's the right thing to do. So why do I feel so sick?
Is it because in one fell swoop I have committed to something new, when I have spent so much of my time being committed to him? Is it because I am agreeing to make my life harder, moving to a tiny room barely big enough for a suitcase, let alone me and my two cats, taking on an hour plus commute (each way), living with a stranger? Being self-sufficient? Is this suppose to be exciting? Because it's not.
And in all those talks with him, the one thing I couldn't say was I think we should end this. Why in the world is this so hard if I have been so unhappy?
In our conversations I am slightly contented when he tells me that he understands what I am asking for from him, that he has in fact been listening, he knows what I need. It is good to know that afterall this maybe he has been listening. And yet here is the wall we have come up against time and time again. My need vs. what I want to preceive as his willingness. Time and again I ask, why can't you just be that person I need you to be? Why can't you give me what I need if it is so clear to you? What the hell is wrong with you that 'being you' prevents you from being a loving husband? Especially when I know you love me, when you tell me I have been so good to you, I am perfect in so many ways, I will make someone very happy someday. Why the hell can't it be you? Because you're the one I want to make happy. You're it, you're the only one. You're the one I married. So why not you? The answer is simple. It's just not. And I can't lie. You have always been crystal clear with me about that. I can remember you saying to me years ago, it ain't me, babe. Why couldn't I have believed you then? And why did I have to fall in love with someone incapable of loving me back in the same way? And why do I continue to be charmed by you even still? Even now I don't want to cut the cord, even now I hope you will come around to my point of view, be the person I need you to be.
It's hard to say goodbye to someone you still love. You have to trick yourself. Can't say it to his face, can't admit it out loud. So you rent a little apartment, commit yourself to something new. Write the check. Sign the paperwork. just keep going. Try not to be sick. Try to imagine that this will get easier.
After an afternoon of epic tears, talks, and heavy petting in hoboken, Matt and I have found ourselves exactly where we started: knowing that breaking up is the right thing to do, but finding it too heartbreaking to commit to. How do you put a cap on 11 years of your life? Good or bad, it was a journey of love and commitment, the one basket in which I put all my eggs. And as hurtful as he can be, he still knows how to make me laugh, even through the tears. Its times like this I can hardly remember why I wanted to break up in the first place, and yet here I am, putting down a security deposit on an apartment. I know it's the right thing to do. So why do I feel so sick?
Is it because in one fell swoop I have committed to something new, when I have spent so much of my time being committed to him? Is it because I am agreeing to make my life harder, moving to a tiny room barely big enough for a suitcase, let alone me and my two cats, taking on an hour plus commute (each way), living with a stranger? Being self-sufficient? Is this suppose to be exciting? Because it's not.
And in all those talks with him, the one thing I couldn't say was I think we should end this. Why in the world is this so hard if I have been so unhappy?
In our conversations I am slightly contented when he tells me that he understands what I am asking for from him, that he has in fact been listening, he knows what I need. It is good to know that afterall this maybe he has been listening. And yet here is the wall we have come up against time and time again. My need vs. what I want to preceive as his willingness. Time and again I ask, why can't you just be that person I need you to be? Why can't you give me what I need if it is so clear to you? What the hell is wrong with you that 'being you' prevents you from being a loving husband? Especially when I know you love me, when you tell me I have been so good to you, I am perfect in so many ways, I will make someone very happy someday. Why the hell can't it be you? Because you're the one I want to make happy. You're it, you're the only one. You're the one I married. So why not you? The answer is simple. It's just not. And I can't lie. You have always been crystal clear with me about that. I can remember you saying to me years ago, it ain't me, babe. Why couldn't I have believed you then? And why did I have to fall in love with someone incapable of loving me back in the same way? And why do I continue to be charmed by you even still? Even now I don't want to cut the cord, even now I hope you will come around to my point of view, be the person I need you to be.
It's hard to say goodbye to someone you still love. You have to trick yourself. Can't say it to his face, can't admit it out loud. So you rent a little apartment, commit yourself to something new. Write the check. Sign the paperwork. just keep going. Try not to be sick. Try to imagine that this will get easier.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Heroes and Heroines
Recently my husband said something that I just haven't been able to get out of my head. It was during one of those painfully honest, tear you to pieces conversations we were long overdue for...
On days like today, it occurs to me that I am amazed that any marriages ever survive at all. The element of attraction is crucial, and yet I find myself weak in the knees for a person who is capable of, and routinely is, utterly cruel to me. And that's just attraction. And I don't just mean the 'damn he looks good' type of attraction, I'm talking about that certain lure that 'makes me ache to be with you' kind of attraction. The thing that allows me to see past the man that is utterly cruel to the one that I love. But here's my dirty little secret: I believe that each of us truly believes in two innate fallacies about relationships:
First, we believe that the person we love perceives the world in the same way we do. That the events in our life, their meanings, and our needs are mutually understood, or at least that our partner is capable of understanding them. But this is not true. The truth is, we cannot imagine it any other way; our reality is so real to us. But what you know to be the truth is really only your view of the truth. And there are a million others out there, some just like yours and some drastically different. You just can't see them, let alone understand them. And most of us are not thinking about this when our knees are weak from just being near someone.
Second, we truly, in that secret place in our hearts, believe that our partner will eventually change their view of the world, come around to our truth, see things as they are. This is not nearly as malicious as it sounds. We simply can't help but believe it. But it also is not true.
My husband has come to the conclusion that he married me for the wrong reasons, that he did so because it was what he thought he was supposed to do; because he knew he needed to marry me to keep me. And because he knew that no one else would ever love him the way that I loved him. And it never occurred to him how unfair that was to me, how self-serving this might be. And I truly (and naively) believed that his love for me would mature, that he would mature, and of course, change.
We have come to this conclusion while diagnosing the breakdown of our marriage, after admitting that we just don't love each other enough to compromise anymore. And it's come down to a simple thing: where we are going to live. Where we are going to live is going to end our marriage. It's one of those tragic moments of realization I can't move past. And then it comes, that phrase, which was actually quite inspired, that I can't get out of my head:
"I think I just need to be somebody's hero."
Again.
He didn't say the second part, but of course he was referring to the time not so long ago when he could do no wrong in my eyes; when I loved him more than anyone else ever would.
And it only occurred to me later, my inherent truth; which is this: so do I. I need to be somebody's hero too! And that's the missing piece, the constant disappointment. I want to be somebody's hero too. I want you to look at me the way I've always looked at you. Because I adored you unconditionally for so long that my heart aches for someone to look at me that way. Because I'm tired of you always being the star, because I want to shine too. I have always known this secret about you, how special you are. But now I know that I'm special too, that I, too, have extraordinary qualities to offer the world. But I had to move out of our home and live apart from you to realize it. And my heart knows that there is something very wrong with that, even if my knees don't.
I think I just need to be somebody's hero. But maybe, just for a little while, I will have to learn to be my own.
On days like today, it occurs to me that I am amazed that any marriages ever survive at all. The element of attraction is crucial, and yet I find myself weak in the knees for a person who is capable of, and routinely is, utterly cruel to me. And that's just attraction. And I don't just mean the 'damn he looks good' type of attraction, I'm talking about that certain lure that 'makes me ache to be with you' kind of attraction. The thing that allows me to see past the man that is utterly cruel to the one that I love. But here's my dirty little secret: I believe that each of us truly believes in two innate fallacies about relationships:
First, we believe that the person we love perceives the world in the same way we do. That the events in our life, their meanings, and our needs are mutually understood, or at least that our partner is capable of understanding them. But this is not true. The truth is, we cannot imagine it any other way; our reality is so real to us. But what you know to be the truth is really only your view of the truth. And there are a million others out there, some just like yours and some drastically different. You just can't see them, let alone understand them. And most of us are not thinking about this when our knees are weak from just being near someone.
Second, we truly, in that secret place in our hearts, believe that our partner will eventually change their view of the world, come around to our truth, see things as they are. This is not nearly as malicious as it sounds. We simply can't help but believe it. But it also is not true.
My husband has come to the conclusion that he married me for the wrong reasons, that he did so because it was what he thought he was supposed to do; because he knew he needed to marry me to keep me. And because he knew that no one else would ever love him the way that I loved him. And it never occurred to him how unfair that was to me, how self-serving this might be. And I truly (and naively) believed that his love for me would mature, that he would mature, and of course, change.
We have come to this conclusion while diagnosing the breakdown of our marriage, after admitting that we just don't love each other enough to compromise anymore. And it's come down to a simple thing: where we are going to live. Where we are going to live is going to end our marriage. It's one of those tragic moments of realization I can't move past. And then it comes, that phrase, which was actually quite inspired, that I can't get out of my head:
"I think I just need to be somebody's hero."
Again.
He didn't say the second part, but of course he was referring to the time not so long ago when he could do no wrong in my eyes; when I loved him more than anyone else ever would.
And it only occurred to me later, my inherent truth; which is this: so do I. I need to be somebody's hero too! And that's the missing piece, the constant disappointment. I want to be somebody's hero too. I want you to look at me the way I've always looked at you. Because I adored you unconditionally for so long that my heart aches for someone to look at me that way. Because I'm tired of you always being the star, because I want to shine too. I have always known this secret about you, how special you are. But now I know that I'm special too, that I, too, have extraordinary qualities to offer the world. But I had to move out of our home and live apart from you to realize it. And my heart knows that there is something very wrong with that, even if my knees don't.
I think I just need to be somebody's hero. But maybe, just for a little while, I will have to learn to be my own.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
I'm the hero of this story, I don't need to be saved.
Sometimes you have to be willing to close one door in order to open another one....
Today my husband told me (over text) that I should seriously consider finding someone new. Yesterday I got fired from my summer job-for a bullshit reason. The first reminds me of how slowly life changes sometimes. The second reminds me of how quickly.
I am thinking of ways to spend my new found freedom (without spending the money I will no longer be making). I want to be inspired again. It's my drug of choice. I feel on top of the world when I have it. I can conquer anything, ideas flow through me like rainwater. I'm magic.
Without it I lie in my pajamas on the living room floor. The air doesn't move. Sweat begins to pool. Not even the cats' tails twitch. I collect an enormous effort and check my facebook page. One new post. I wallow. I can't read, nor think. Music is boring. Movies are boring. Outside is boring. My brain is boring...
Anything to avoid this feeling.
I want to be happy again, to recover myself. But I can't remember being happy or ever owning myself. I am perpetually defined by the other. The mother I should be, the child, the sister, the friend, the wife. It's not me you see but a shell of who you think I should be. I am tired of being someone else. Being someone else's wife. I want to be married to myself!
I am taken aback by the statement that I do not know what it means to sacrifice. What about this I say? What about being here, away from my home, my family. What about the cities we lived in, the jobs I left for you? It was over text, so I didn't go on, but I could have. What about the time I lost? The nights I stayed up with you when you were too sick from too much drinking. What about the hours I spent caring for you, caring for our home? The miles I drove, the minutes I waited, the meals I cooked? What were those? The response: These are not sacrifices. The response: I'm self-absorbed and delusional. The response: His Family, His Friends, and He feel Used by me. The response: More Deflection.
The Question: Seriously??
I have been used up and spit out. I have sacrificed myself.
Why Can't I Close this Door?
On my very best days, I am an artist of EVERYTHING. But lately, I have become lost in the spaces in between words and faces.
I am hoping you can help me get found again.
Today my husband told me (over text) that I should seriously consider finding someone new. Yesterday I got fired from my summer job-for a bullshit reason. The first reminds me of how slowly life changes sometimes. The second reminds me of how quickly.
I am thinking of ways to spend my new found freedom (without spending the money I will no longer be making). I want to be inspired again. It's my drug of choice. I feel on top of the world when I have it. I can conquer anything, ideas flow through me like rainwater. I'm magic.
Without it I lie in my pajamas on the living room floor. The air doesn't move. Sweat begins to pool. Not even the cats' tails twitch. I collect an enormous effort and check my facebook page. One new post. I wallow. I can't read, nor think. Music is boring. Movies are boring. Outside is boring. My brain is boring...
Anything to avoid this feeling.
I want to be happy again, to recover myself. But I can't remember being happy or ever owning myself. I am perpetually defined by the other. The mother I should be, the child, the sister, the friend, the wife. It's not me you see but a shell of who you think I should be. I am tired of being someone else. Being someone else's wife. I want to be married to myself!
I am taken aback by the statement that I do not know what it means to sacrifice. What about this I say? What about being here, away from my home, my family. What about the cities we lived in, the jobs I left for you? It was over text, so I didn't go on, but I could have. What about the time I lost? The nights I stayed up with you when you were too sick from too much drinking. What about the hours I spent caring for you, caring for our home? The miles I drove, the minutes I waited, the meals I cooked? What were those? The response: These are not sacrifices. The response: I'm self-absorbed and delusional. The response: His Family, His Friends, and He feel Used by me. The response: More Deflection.
The Question: Seriously??
I have been used up and spit out. I have sacrificed myself.
Why Can't I Close this Door?
On my very best days, I am an artist of EVERYTHING. But lately, I have become lost in the spaces in between words and faces.
I am hoping you can help me get found again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)