Signs in the Rearview Mirror

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Rear View Mirror

How could I be with someone for 16 years and not realize he was leading a double life?  I have asked myself that question more times than I want to admit.  It dominated my thoughts for a long time; how could I be so blind?  So foolish? So naive?

My marriage was a familiar road, a path well-traveled.  I knew every curve, every bump, every blind drive.  It wasn’t always that way.  In the early years, I thoroughly invested each novel feature of the road.  But, over time, I learned to trust in its characteristics.  I never had reason not to.  My husband had proven himself trustworthy time and time again.  It took me several years, but I eventually placed my total and utter confidence in him.

We had a good marriage right up until the end.  We were affectionate, intimate, spent time together, and talked about (what seemed like) everything.  That never changed.  He held me tenderly and kissed me passionately when he dropped me off at the airport to see family.  He left while I was still on that trip.  Hours before the text that ended the marriage, I received one that said, “Love you. Have a good night:).” Those words and acts were consistent with the man I knew.  Or the man I thought I knew.

He never appeared to be hiding anything.  He would leave his smart phone laying about and even encouraged me to use it.  His computer was open access.  He never got defensive if I asked him a question.  He never withdrew. I had no reason to look for signs.  No reason to doubt him.  I know now that he was frantically covering any signs along our shared road with camouflage netting, ensuring they stay invisible.  A task he was very skilled at.

There are some signs that are only visible in the rearview mirror.  I can now look back and see how some pieces of the puzzle fit together.  He had severe hypertension, to the point where he would lose consciousness, those last few months.  I realize now that it must have been from the stress he was under.  But, I certainly didn’t think then that he might be stressed from planning a wedding.  He took the jacket he wore on our wedding day to the cleaners.  How was I supposed to know it would have a starring role in another wedding within the week?  Those signs meant nothing because there was no precedent for what was being concealed.  I could not have even imagined what was going on under the cover of the brush alongside our marriage.

Ultimately, I will never know what happened.  I could drive myself crazy analyzing every encounter, every word, looking for clues I could have spotted.  Perhaps should have spotted.  That seems pointless to me, however.  I choose to live my life looking forward through the windshield rather than keeping an eye in the rearview mirror.

 

 

Ten Lessons I am Still Learning

Posted on by stilllearning2b
Boston - Boston Common: Parkman Plaza - Learning
Boston - Boston Common: Parkman Plaza - Learning (Photo credit: wallyg)

One of the things I love most about my partner is that he sees himself as a perpetual student; he is always willing and eager to learn something new, even in an area where he is considered an expert.

Last year, we were out at dinner with a group of friends.  One of our friend’s 8 year son opened the conversation with my boyfriend.

“Do you have a black belt?” the boy asked eagerly.

“I do,” came the reply.

“Actually, he has several,” interjected the boy’s dad.

“Wow!  Does that mean you know everything?”

“Actually, a black belt means that you are ready to begin learning.”

I loved that response.  It serves as a reminder to me to always be open to learning more, especially in those areas where I already have knowledge.

In that spirit, here are ten lessons that I am still learning:

1) Life doesn’t just have two speeds – on and off.  It is not only possible to go slowly, but sometimes it is preferable.

2) It is okay not to be the first one at work; stuff still manages to get done even if I arrive after the custodians.

3) I’m working on learning to sleep past 6:00 am and considering the possibility of mastering the power nap.

4)  A messy kitchen does not mean a chaotic life.  It just means that people actually live in our house.

5) Sometimes it is okay for the play to come before the work.  (I got this one from my dog)

6) I am still working on going downhill on wheels (bikes, skates, etc.).  I just don’t  trust those things!

7) Stretching is worthwhile exercise even if is doesn’t work up a sweat.

8) It is okay to relax.

9) Money will be there; I don’t need to get too stressed about it.

10) Always take time to appreciate what you have and remember to express your gratitude.  Especially when the kitchen is messy.

Reaction

Posted on by stilllearning2b

It has been tough reading some of the responses on the Huffington Post piece.  Many people are supportive, lots have questions, and others seem resolved to point fingers and assign blame.  I knew that this would be a result of choosing to make my story public; I chose to share intimate details of my life and divorce knowing the mudslinging would come.  What disheartens me is that others in similar situations face the same vitriol even though they choose to keep their stories out of the public eye.

Divorce is devastating to anyone who crosses its path.  It is equally damaging to men as to women.  It is agonizing to the divorcer and the divorcee.  It is hard without children and even harder with them.  It is a torturous loss of what was and what could be.  None of us is immune to its touch, regardless of the stories we like to believe.  It may never happen to you (and I hope that you are able to escape its singular pain), but it may touch a parent, a child, a sibling, a friend.  At some time, in some way, one that you love and care for will be facing the devastation of divorce.  It is so tempting to reduce the end of a relationship to simplistic terms, but that is never an accurate portrayal.  People are complicated and multi-layered and relationships even more so.  The only way that any of us can learn from tragedy is from approaching everything with an open mind and open heart.  Listen to each other.  You just might learn something.

I Was Lucky

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I was lucky. I never spent time in a decaying marriage. The lies that destroyed the relationship protected me for its duration, keeping me cloaked in relative comfort.

I was lucky. I never had to wrestle with the question of should I stay or should I leave? That decision was made for me.

I was lucky. I never had the pain of hoping for or trying for reconciliation. You cannot reconcile with someone who has become a ghost in his own life.

I was lucky. We did not have children. I did not have to see the pain on their faces, nor engage in a battle for them through the courts.

I was lucky. I had a clean, sudden amputation of my life, my marriage. The trauma was near-fatal, but I was left with a clean cut.

I know not all of you are so lucky. You may be deciding if your marriage can be saved. You may be hoping that it can still work out, alternating between hope and despair. You may be subject to painful contact with your ex. You may have to tuck your kids in, wishing you could take their pain away.

Even if your marriage did not end in a sterile amputation, you still have some control over how it heals. Take care to keep the wound clean and expose it to fresh air. Tight bandages may hide the damage for a time, but the wound will only fester when it is kept in the dark. Do not worry at the healing skin. Leave the scabs until they fall off of their own accord; they provide needed protection. Be gentle with the new skin, the new growth, for it is still fragile with its pink-tinged hope. Sooth the wound with the balm of your friends and family, your pets, your passions. And know that the scars only serve to make you even more beautiful.

Why I Became a Tough Mudder

Posted on by stilllearning2b

When I told my family last year that I had signed up (and paid good money) for an 11 mile obstacle run, I think their first response was to shuffle through their contacts looking for the psychiatrist I saw in the early months of the divorce.  “You’re doing WHAT?  Why?,” I heard repeatedly, usually followed with a resigned head shake, “You’re crazy.”  Crazy I may be, but I felt compelled to do the event and I am so glad that I did.  Tough Mudder was more to me than a run.

A few months after the July disaster of my marriage, I signed up for my very first race ever: a half marathon.  This was a bit preemptive, since not only had I never competed, I still was weak and skinny.  I went into that race only having completed the distance once before.  That was the worst race of my life (cold, rain, illness), but I endured and made it through.  It was exactly the confidence boost I needed at that point.

Over the next several months, I ran more races, but none of them required me to dig all that deep into myself.  None of them gave me the sense of triumph over adversity that I was seeking.

Then came Mudder.  My boyfriend was the one who actually found this race and he proposed that we enter together.  I loved the idea immediately. With a shared purpose, we hit the gym with renewed vigor and not a little trepidation.

The event itself was unbelievable.  It turned out that it was slated to be held in a dry county, so the money that normally went towards beer instead paid for a longer track – almost 15 miles up and down (did I mention up?) a motocross track.  The temperature was cold, and the water obstacles were colder, as volunteers emptied flats of ice into the streams.

It was an amazing challenge for my boyfriend and I to tackle together.  It gave a true sense of working together and overcoming adversity.  My other races had been alone; it was beautiful to have someone to share this with.  It helped me learn to trust him, learn that he was not going to abandon me when the going got tough.  We pushed each other, encouraged each other, lifted each other, and even shared some muddy, sweaty kisses.  It was amazing.

I think everyone, especially those re-centering after trauma, should do their own version of Tough Mudder. Something that pushes you further than you comfortably want to go.  Something to show you what you can accomplish.  Something to show you that discomfort is temporary.  Something to show you that the support of friends can help get you through when you want to quit.  When the big picture of what you have to overcome is too big, it helps to have a little Mudder to think back on and realize, “I can do this.”

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