101 Completely Normal Thoughts to Have During Divorce

divorce normal
  1. My life is over.
  2. So this is what feeling gutted feels like.
  3. The bed feels so empty. Cold.
  4. There’s nobody to complain about crumbs in the bed. Cookies!
  5. Ugh. Now I’m bloated and still sad.
  6. Am I going to be alone forever?
  7. I could sell everything and leave the country. Start over on some beach somewhere.
  8. But that’s too much work. It’s hard enough just to get the weekly groceries.
  9. Besides, that was the dream we had together.
  10. Jerk.
  11. I want to kill my ex.
  12. I want my ex back.
  13. No, scratch that. I want my ex to want me back so that I can tell them to screw off.
  14. What am I going to tell people?
  15. I wish I had a publicity agent like Jolie and Pitt to handle that.
  16. But then I’d have cameras in my face during all of this.
  17. Ugh. My face is all puffy and pale.
  18. Can I hibernate until this is over? Pretty please?
  19. Or maybe I’ll wake up and discover that all of this was just a nightmare.
  20. Is it normal to feel this way?
  21. When am I going to feel better? I’m so tired of this.
  22. What if that’s it? What if that was the best I’ll ever have and it’s all downhill from here?
  23. God, I’m such a cliché.
  24. Nobody understands what I’m feeling.
  25. At least my lawyer is looking out for me.
  26. What!?! $850 for an email response and a single phone call.
  27. My lawyer is evil.
  28. I could sell all of the evidence of our married life on eBay to help pay for all this.
  29. It’s all sh*t.
  30. Where did all these happily coupled people come from???
  31. No really, it’s like they’re extras hired from some movie set brought in specifically to torture me.
  32. Love sucks.
  33. I’m going to be single and strong and independent forever. Screw this love thing.
  34. I’m lonely.
  35. When did the nights get so long?
  36. I am so tired.
  37. I need to make more of an effort.
  38. Am I too old to wear this now?
  39. Hmmm… my butt still looks pretty good.
  40. You know, I’m going to get to have sex with a new person.
  41. Sh*t! I’m going to have to have sex with a new person.
  42. I better start exercising.
  43. Tomorrow.
  44. Why have my friends distanced themselves?
  45. It’s like they think divorce is contagious.
  46. Wait, that one couple friend of our broke up last year.
  47. Maybe it is catching.
  48. I certainly feel like I’m in quarantine.
  49. I don’t need those friends anyway. Their lives are so boring.
  50. I can now completely reinvent myself.
  51. Maybe I’ll quit my job. Go all bohemian.
  52. Bucket list! Here I come!!!
  53. I miss my old life.
  54. Why does it take something this big to provide perspective?
  55. God, I’m so dumb.
  56. I wonder if I’m even capable of being in a working relationship?
  57. And now I have baggage. A scarlet “Damaged” sign.
  58. Ugh.
  59. Look! The sun’s out today!
  60. Oh, I guess it’s been out. I just noticed it. I need to get better about that.
  61. Tomorrow.
  62. So this is why self-help is so popular.
  63. I guess I’m not the only to feel this way.
  64. Good to know.
  65. Still sucks, though.
  66. I’m tired of people telling me it will be okay.
  67. My okay is being legally dissolved at a rate of $350 per hour.
  68. Why didn’t I become a lawyer?
  69. What do I do now?
  70. No, really. Somebody please tell me what to do.
  71. Wait! Am I being checked out?
  72. That feels good.
  73. Oh no. They’re walking over. I’m not ready for this.
  74. Woah. I haven’t felt that rush since prom.
  75. But this feels wrong. Like I’m cheating.
  76. I miss my ex.
  77. I wonder if my ex is thinking about me?
  78. Oh sh*t! What if someone is checking them out???
  79. I should check their Facebook.
  80. Why did I do that?
  81. How are they so happy?
  82. It’s not fair.
  83. I’m going to show them!
  84. This smile feels fake. I wonder if there’s a filter that will make it look real in the picture?
  85. I just want this to be over.
  86. But what does that even mean???
  87. I’m such a mess.
  88. I’m starting to get used to all of the extra space in the bed and not having to share the covers.
  89. If I ever marry again, I’ll have to have my own bed.
  90. Or not. I miss feeling a warm arm around me.
  91. Well, that’s that. The papers are signed. I’m officially unknotted.
  92. Why am I sad? I’ve been waiting for this day.
  93. Now what do I focus on?
  94. I shouldn’t have checked their Facebook page again.
  95. But it didn’t sting quite as badly this time.
  96. Looking at it now it’s a little blurry. A little distant.
  97. I guess that’s good.
  98. So why do I still feel sad?
  99. Still, look at all I’ve managed to get through.
  100. I’m pretty bada$$.
  101. I think I’m going to be okay.

Is Love Worth the Risk?

This piece – Will I Ever Trust Again? – is making the Facebook rounds. The responses to the question? “Nope.” “Never.” “Unfortunately, no.” The comments garnered share a common theme, that the potential benefits of trusting again are not worth the inevitable risk.

And trusting again after betrayal is a risk. Loving again after loss invites insecurity. You can approach it like an actuary, performing calculations of risk assessment to determine the prudent course of action.

I completely understand that urge. In fact, it’s my natural tendency to analyze these things and behave in a way to mitigate risk (case in point – I struggle to even play a nickel slot machine).

But when it comes to trust, to love, I’ve made the decision to approach it in a manner contrary to my inclination.

And it’s all because of watching one woman who loves without limits or qualifiers.

My friend, Sarah, was the one who took me in after my marriage imploded. She and her husband had just brought home an adopted baby – sick and premature – and yet there was no hesitation to let me in.

And I’m watching her in complete admiration now, almost 8 years later, as she navigates the adoption process again.

The baby this time is even more premature than her first, living in a NICU an entire state away. Nothing is certain right now. The adoption process is not finalized and his health, as with most NICU babies, is a rollercoaster of stats and emotions.

But none of that enters into Sarah’s calculations. In the pictures she sends me of this tiny and fragile body nestled against her chest, you can see the unbridled love in her face. This is her child. She is in love. No limits. No walls.

Yes, it’s a risk. Yet in her mind, it’s also not a choice. She understands that love is not something that can be analyzed and controlled. You either submit to it or you don’t experience it.

She didn’t know it, but she was mentor in this that year I lived with her. She had taken a similar risk with her first child, now a happy and healthy 7-year-old. Hell, she took a risk with me, allowing someone in crisis to enter her home and her family and such a critical time.

And during those months, when all I wanted was for the pain to go away and to seal the doors against any possibility of it returning, I watched her. And I began to understand that I had a choice to make.

I could refuse to take that risk. To never again place my faith in someone else. To never again allow someone unfettered access to my heart. It would certainly prevent that pain from ever visiting again.

And then I would see Sarah with her daughter. The rewards that come from taking that risk.

And I knew that I wanted to take that risk again.

I don’t know that I won’t be betrayed again. Gutted again.

But I do know that if I didn’t take the risk, that I would have never felt love again.

And in this case,  I’d rather take a risk than a guarantee.

 

 

 

Why “Too Good” Isn’t Actually Good For Us

I live in a safe, suburban area. Runners don’t hesitate to fill the streets in the predawn dark and teenagers walk to their friend’s homes at night. Cars often remain unlocked and garage doors stay open for much of the day. When unclaimed dogs are found roaming, they are swiftly rescued, usually followed swiftly by a happy homecoming.

It’s good. Maybe too good.

I am a member of the local NextDoor app (super cool – check it out!). It’s handy for finding someone to repair drywall or to help locate the owner of those roaming dogs.

And it’s also useful for sounding the alarm when it’s needed.

As recently seemed to be the case. A story was posted about a man in a van (sounds like some twisted Dr. Seuss book, doesn’t it?) that was trying to grab children on their way home from school. People panicked. Kids were kept indoors. The school sent home a flyer. Neighbors patrolled the streets looking for this van.

And then came a somewhat timid post from a person who had contacted the local police station to find out the status of the investigation.

Only to find out that there was no investigation. Because there was no police report. And most likely, there was no man in a van with a nefarious plan.

I get the reaction. I get the caution. I am a full believer in better safe than sorry.

But I also am a firm believer (although not always a full participator) in being realistic about threats. And I know that when things are good, the smallest spec can easily become magnified from a combination of a lack of perspective and a surplus of mental energy.

And that overreaction can become a bigger threat than the original menace ever was.

At some point after my early childhood, parents (with the ever-present help from the product marketers) became increasingly concerned with their child’s exposure to germs. The chicken pox parties of my youth were replaced with the mom doling out squirts of Purell before allowing the birthday cake to be eaten. Pillows were carefully wrapped in hypoallergenic covers and food labels were diligently scanned for possible allergens.

And the kids got sicker. Allergies, including the life-threatening ones, increased. Asthma reached record numbers and the presence of auto-immune disorders climbed with it.

It turns out there is such a thing as an environment that is too clean. Surroundings that don’t sufficiently challenge the immune system on a consistent basis, allowing it to become incrementally stronger and more adept.

And instead lead to overreaction.

Too good isn’t good for us.

We need a little dirt. We need to experience (and be aware of) some actual risk. We thrive when we’re challenged. We flourish when we’re muddied and bloodied.  It’s only in falling that we learn how to rise.

So for today, instead of feeling discontent with whatever prevents your current world from being good enough, try embracing that which soils its surface. Because too good isn’t good for you, but learning to find peace in good enough is beyond compare.

 

What Punctuation Mark Ended Your Marriage?

Marriages end in all kind of ways and on all kind of timetables.

Mine ended with a text out of the blue. It was an ending puncuated with ?!?!, overwhelming me with surpise and teeming with unanswered questions. It was delivered silently yet elicted loud sobs of strong emotion followed by unanswered pleas for explanations. A one-sided dialog. It was an incomplete ending to a story.

What puncuation mark ended your marriage?

When the Only Way Forward Is to Go Backward

“How are your legs doing?’ another friend asks, knowing that my (knock on wood) final procedures have now been completed.

I find it difficult to answer. The increase in pain and swelling that follows the procedures has now faded, but I am still months away from any improvement.

Because the only way to move the functioning of my legs forward is first to take a step (or several) backward.

The medical term for my diagnosis is venous insufficiency, which basically means that the veins that are responsible for carrying blood back to the heart from my legs aren’t doing their job. Veins rely on a series of valves which close tightly to prevent blood from flowing back down. My valves, instead of being secure doors slamming shut are slack and droopy curtains that do nothing to aid my blood in its battle against gravity to return to the heart. The result? Swollen, painful and tired legs.

The current pathways are faulty and cannot be repaired. There is no amount of exercise or lifestyle change that will provoke my veins to function as they should. The only solution is to remove the malfunctioning vessels and then to allow the body to grow new and healthy routes.

In the short-term, the problem is made worse. After all, minimally functioning veins are better than no veins at all. The swelling is more prominent, the pain and fatigue more pronounced. But in time, improvement is slowly found and optimal functioning is reached.

Backwards to go forwards.


Sometimes relationships develop their own faulty pathways. A suboptimal way of interacting or relating that is laid down out of habit or inattention. As a result, flow is interrupted and there is a backlog of negativity, leading to pain and the swelling of critical feelings.

And sometimes no amount of attention and exercises can modify those malfunctioning patterns. And the best thing to do is to strip them away and to start fresh, relaying new and ideally, healthier, connections.

Backwards to go forwards.

It seems a bit counterintuitive, doesn’t it? But then again, how much of our suffering in life comes not from our situations, but from our resistance to them? Maybe instead of fighting against an obstacle, we can be better served by finding an alternate course.

Much like a zipper whose teeth are misaligned has to be backed up before it can continue on, a relationship on the wrong path has to be reversed and straightened before continuing. To attempt forward progress without proper alignment only serves to jam the zipper. Perhaps causing irreversible damage.

Instead, a deliberate and careful reversal of course along with careful attention can change the outcome, bringing the two halves together. And in alignment.

Backwards to go forwards.

Going backwards feels unnatural. Often it can be painful. We grow accustomed to the pathways we have developed and even malfunctioning connections feel better than the temporary absence of attachments.

It’s easy to panic, to lose faith in the intention and the process. To think that a step back is permanent and doomed to become an unstoppable landslide.

Which is why is so important to hold a long view. To accept some discomfort today in the belief that it will lead to a better tomorrow. To focus more on the rebuilding than on the dismantling. To trust that new pathways can be forged and with them, more understanding and compassion.

To believe that sometimes the only way forward is to go backward.

And to be grateful for the opportunity to try again.