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.

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.

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.

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.