Coloring Inside the Lines

Modern life has few boundaries.

The mountains and oceans that used to hem us in through their pure geographic monstrosity can now be crossed with a few hundred dollars and a few hours to spare. Friendships and even romances can be cultivated around the world through Skype and Google Translate. A burgeoning author no longer needs connections or a kiss from fate when Amazon is ready to publish the book for nothing more than a promise of a share of the riches. College courses stream through our phones, bringing advanced knowledge to anyone who is willing to put forth the effort. The “glass ceiling” may still exist, but so do plenty of ways to break through. A lack of funds is no longer reason to avoid chasing your dreams; simply create a Kickstarter campaign and let the public fund you.

There are few firm limits imposed upon us. We live in a world that is overflowing with possibilities. It’s the life equivalent of a mile-long cereal aisle at the grocery store, overwhelming us with the available options that surpass our known interests. It can be paralyzing, because selecting one means eschewing all others. Ironically, too much choice often leads to no choice at all because we are paralyzed by possibility.

Boundaries create comfort.

I spend my days with teenagers, a group that is constantly fighting against the boundaries placed upon them. In my first year of teaching, I found opportunities to give them tasks with no boundaries. Almost without fail, the lessons failed. Presented with no limits, rather than exploring, they simply froze, their pencils held high above their blank white pages. Through trial and error, I learned how to craft assignments with enclosures large enough to allow some freedom yet small enough to provide some constraint. I constructed boundaries that were firm, yet flexible for those that needed more freedom. And they responded by taking pencil to paper, the guidelines urging them forward.

One of the reasons that life after divorce is so overwhelming is that the boundaries have been removed. Your life has gone from a coloring page where you were filling in the existing shapes to the petrifying possibilities of a clean sheet of white paper.

Start by setting your boundaries, sketching out the guidelines that you want to operate within. Make them firm small enough to push you forward, yet flexible enough to allow you to change course. The more overwhelmed you are, the more rules you need. It’s comfortable to color inside the lines. And then, once you have found your footing once again, let the color fill your life. Lines be damned.

Why I Refuse to Call My Ex Husband a Covert Narcissist

covert narcissist

 

If anyone has the right to call her ex a covert narcissist, it’s me. While on the surface, he was a giving and caring man everyone loved, the man behind the curtain was another story entirely. He crafted false financial documents and insurance forms to support his lies as he bled our accounts dry. He wooed women, eventually wedding one without attending to the detail of obtaining a divorce from me first. He neglected the requirements of the criminal court system, earning a felony warrant. Even the judge in the divorce case asked my ex’s attorney if his client was “psycho.”

And maybe he is. Not a psycho necessarily, but a narcissist.

But, despite all of the evidence, I intentionally choose to not label my ex as a narcissist.

It seems like “narcissist ex” is the gluten-free of the relationship world – all of a sudden, it’s everywhere. But is it really that pervasive or are we just using the label too recklessly?

Just over 6% of the population has Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD) based upon the criteria set forth in the DSM-5: seeking approval from others, viewing oneself as exceptional, blaming setbacks on others, inability to identify with others’ needs and/or feelings and superficial relationships based upon manipulation.

Even though my former husband’s actions seem to check every box, I am bucking the “my ex is a narcissist” trend. Here’s why:

 

If He’s the “Attacker,” Then I’m the Victim

This was certainly my mindset early on – I viewed him as some Machiavellian perpetrator, deviously plotting ways to hurt me from his basement lair, cleverly disguised as an innocent office. In some ways, it was a comforting mindset as it pardoned me from any culpability. But it was also limiting.

Because if I was a victim, I was powerless.

In order to claim responsibility for my own well-being and create a sense of possibility for the future, I disarmed his memory. He’s no longer my attacker; he’s just the man I used to love who traveled down a dark path.

Preservation of Memory

By the time he sent the text that ended the marriage, my ex and I had spent sixteen years together. It was a lot to lose. If I accepted the proposal offered forth by many who dealt with him in the months to come that he was, in fact, a narcissist, it essentially would discount the thousands of positive memories I had of our time together.

From what I knew, we did have a good marriage with so many happy memories. I decided that those moments were real enough to me at the time and I chose to allow them to remain (as much as possible) unsullied by the idea that they were all orchestrated for some great plot.

It Ignores the Unknowns

 Even the DSM-5 offers the disclaimer that a personality disorder cannot be diagnosed in the presence of addiction or physical illness, as both can mimic the mental condition. My ex admitted to a drinking problem after he left and he was suffering from some pretty substantial medical complaints for the last year or so of the marriage.

It is impossible for anyone, especially a layperson, to diagnose someone with a personality disorder without all of the information (much less the presence of the actual individual in question). Just because a person exhibits certain behaviors does mean that they automatically deserve a diagnosis.

We Are All More Than a Label

Calling someone a narcissist is reductionistic; it distills them down into a list of traits and ignores the complete person. Yes, my ex-husband lied, cheated and stole. But he also showed me (and others) great kindness and tenderness. He was the man that cried at our wedding and nursed our dogs back to health.

By not assigning him a label, I am able to remember the whole man – from loving husband to cruel persecutor and everything in between.

Peace is More Important Than a Reason

In the beginning, I struggled to understand why my husband acted that way and how he could be so cold and calculating. I assumed that once I had a reason, I would be able to move on. I tested out many possible labels (narcissist among them), but none managed to make the pain okay.

Finally, I decided to view him as lost. Hurting. Desperate and in pain. And with that shift, I found compassion, which led to being able to release the anger that held me back. So rather than see him as the evil antagonist in some twisted plot, I try to see him as human. Imperfect rather than malevolent. Not for his benefit, but for mine.

Labels, such as narcissist, have their place in public discourse. They help to provide a framework for understanding and a shared language to discuss important issues. It’s shorthand for a list of common experiences and emotions. I know when I read posts from people that use the term “narcissistic ex,” I will relate to stories of manipulation, gas lighting and projection. I can expect to see similarities between their stories and mine. In fact, I found books about narcissists and sociopaths helpful during the healing journey to provide information and perspective that helped me make sense of my own situation.

Labels are like Cliff Notes. We use them as shortcuts as we develop our own understanding or to help someone else develop theirs. Just like Cliff Notes, they are not the entire story, full of detail and nuance. If we stop at labels, we are limiting ourselves and others. We may be blinded by assumptions as we fill in the gaps in our knowledge automatically.

So your ex may be a narcissist, but that’s not the entire story. Don’t let the label limit you; it’s just the beginning.

Why I Refuse to Call My Ex Husband a Narcissist

covert narcissist

If anyone has the right to call her ex a narcissist, it’s me. While on the surface, he was a giving and caring man everyone loved, the man behind the curtain was another story entirely. He crafted false financial documents and insurance forms to support his lies as he bled our accounts dry. He wooed women, eventually wedding one without attending to the detail of obtaining a divorce from me first. He neglected the requirements of the criminal court system, earning a felony warrant. Even the judge in the divorce case asked my ex’s attorney if his client was “psycho.”

And maybe he is. Not a psycho necessarily, but a narcissist.

But, despite all of the evidence, I intentionally choose to not label my ex as a narcissist.

It seems like “narcissist ex” is the gluten-free of the relationship world – all of a sudden, it’s everywhere. But is it really that pervasive or are we just using the label too recklessly?

Just over 6% of the population has Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD) based upon the criteria set forth in the DSM-5: seeking approval from others, viewing oneself as exceptional, blaming setbacks on others, inability to identify with others’ needs and/or feelings and superficial relationships based upon manipulation.

Even though my former husband’s actions seem to check every box, I am bucking the “my ex is a narcissist” trend. Here’s why:

 

If He’s the “Attacker,” Then I’m the Victim

This was certainly my mindset early on – I viewed him as some Machiavellian perpetrator, deviously plotting ways to hurt me from his basement lair, cleverly disguised as an innocent office. In some ways, it was a comforting mindset as it pardoned me from any culpability. But it was also limiting.

Because if I was a victim, I was powerless.

In order to claim responsibility for my own well-being and create a sense of possibility for the future, I disarmed his memory. He’s no longer my attacker; he’s just the man I used to love who traveled down a dark path.

Preservation of Memory

By the time he sent the text that ended the marriage, my ex and I had spent sixteen years together. It was a lot to lose. If I accepted the proposal offered forth by many who dealt with him in the months to come that he was, in fact, a narcissist, it essentially would discount the thousands of positive memories I had of our time together.

From what I knew, we did have a good marriage with so many happy memories. I decided that those moments were real enough to me at the time and I chose to allow them to remain (as much as possible) unsullied by the idea that they were all orchestrated for some great plot.

It Ignores the Unknowns

 

Even the DSM-5 offers the disclaimer that a personality disorder cannot be diagnosed in the presence of addiction or physical illness, as both can mimic the mental condition. My ex admitted to a drinking problem after he left and he was suffering from some pretty substantial medical complaints for the last year or so of the marriage.

It is impossible for anyone, especially a layperson, to diagnose someone with a personality disorder without all of the information (much less the presence of the actual individual in question). Just because a person exhibits certain behaviors does mean that they automatically deserve a diagnosis.

We Are All More Than a Label

 

Calling someone a narcissist is reductionistic; it distills them down into a list of traits and ignores the complete person. Yes, my ex-husband lied, cheated and stole. But he also showed me (and others) great kindness and tenderness. He was the man that cried at our wedding and nursed our dogs back to health.

By not assigning him a label, I am able to remember the whole man – from loving husband to cruel persecutor and everything in between.

Peace is More Important Than a Reason

In the beginning, I struggled to understand why my husband acted that way and how he could be so cold and calculating. I assumed that once I had a reason, I would be able to move on. I tested out many possible labels (narcissist among them), but none managed to make the pain okay.

Finally, I decided to view him as lost. Hurting. Desperate and in pain. And with that shift, I found compassion, which led to being able to release the anger that held me back. So rather than see him as the evil antagonist in some twisted plot, I try to see him as human. Imperfect rather than malevolent. Not for his benefit, but for mine.

Labels, such as narcissist, have their place in public discourse. They help to provide a framework for understanding and a shared language to discuss important issues. It’s shorthand for a list of common experiences and emotions. I know when I read posts from people that use the term “narcissistic ex,” I will relate to stories of manipulation, gas lighting and projection. I can expect to see similarities between their stories and mine. In fact, I found books about narcissists and sociopaths helpful during the healing journey to provide information and perspective that helped me make sense of my own situation.

Labels are like Cliff Notes. We use them as shortcuts as we develop our own understanding or to help someone else develop theirs. Just like Cliff Notes, they are not the entire story, full of detail and nuance. If we stop at labels, we are limiting ourselves and others. We may be blinded by assumptions as we fill in the gaps in our knowledge automatically.

So your ex may be a narcissist, but that’s not the entire story. Don’t let the label limit you; it’s just the beginning.

Leap Year

I spent the first part of my spring break visiting family in San Antonio. It’s always strange revisiting the city and home of my childhood, only this time as an adult. It’s interesting to note the changes, both in the environment and in how I perceive the surroundings.

We went straight from the airport to a lovely gluten-free restaurant and bakery, where I had my first Belgian waffles in over 8 years. Other patrons commented on and related to the ecstasy I was experiencing with my meal; once something has been taken away, it will never again be taken for granted.

photo 1-1The next stop was the zoo, where my mom and I got to experience a first for both of us – a front row seat to some lion hanky panky. You know that rumbling roar that you heard on Saturday afternoon? Well, I saw its origin. Yikes. Let’s just say, I’m glad I’m not a lioness.

I’ll spare you the pictures of the carnal shenanigans (what? you know you would have clicked too), and share some of the other big cats we saw instead. The facility has replaced parts of the enclosures with glass, which makes for an amazingly up-close and intimate experience.

photo 4photo 3-1It’s funny, even though we are largely visual creatures, smells have a way of activating memory like no image ever can. When I encountered the overripe candle scent of the mold-o-rama animal machine, I was instantly 6 again, tugging on my dad’s hand while stating the reasons I needed a five inch wax gorilla in order to survive. I prevailed. The gorilla, however, did not. It turns out soft plastic toys are not particularly suited to the climate of South Texas.

photo 1-2The zoo’s new (to me, at least) Africa exhibit allows a great view of an okapi, which I described as, “A giraffe and a zebra walk into a bar…” These quiet creatures were undiscovered until the late 19th century and early reports were met with skepticism. Sometimes truth really is stranger than fiction.

photo 5The zoo memories were all safe ones; although my ex and I went together several times, it was more a place from early childhood. The next day’s outing was the potentially dangerous one.

My ex worked at Sea World for almost two years in our late teens/early twenties. He would come home from his jack-of-all trades position in the scenic department with his polyester uniform stiff with dried sweat and imbued with a tenacious odor of fish to regal me with stories of mischievous animals and demanding bosses. During those years, I often went to the park with him, using the free pass to gain access to Great White, a short but oh-so-sweet hanging roller coaster. I had not been to the park since he quit that position, almost 18 years ago.

photo 2-2

It turns out that 18 years is a long time. The park has changed and morphed so much, that not only did it hold few memories (except for Great White, whose every twist and turn I could still recall), but I even found myself getting lost on the winding paths. And with all of the renovations over the years, every set that his hands had touched had long since been relegated to the garbage. Seemed appropriate.

My mom and I are on our way to becoming professional patio hoppers.

photo 5-1

We toured the patios of the Texas Hill country and ended up stopping at Luckenbach, a “city” that when I was teenager was described as “having a population of two, but one died.” The city has become famous through Willie Nelson, as its post office has now turned into a gift shop surrounded by a bar, outdoor music venue and dance hall that is frequented by country and folk musicians. Although it has grown, the vibe has remained the same. It felt like coming home again.

photo 4-1You can take the girl out of Texas, but you can’t take the Texas out of the girl…

photo-4While I was gone, spring continued to proceed in Atlanta (if there was a pause button, I would have pushed it). My husband sent me some pictures of the party our azaleas were throwing. I was worried about my new plantings, still tender and unsure with shallow roots and delicate leaves. Much like us, they need some nurturing during times of change and stress.

And when they receive the care they need, they respond with growth.

flowersAs I examined the emergent growth, I was reminded of the common saying in the gardening world:

The first year, they sleep. The second year, they creep. And the third year, they leap.

And I thought back to my own growth process after divorce. The slow, almost undetectable changes of the first year. The gradual improvements of the second. And the radical changes in year three as the behind the scenes work paid off.

Provide nurture in your sleep year. Surround yourself with support. Feed your hope and your soul. Be gentle and kind to your displaced heart.

Be patient in your creep year. Remove any weeds that invade your life. Continue to seek out supplemental support, yet also learn to trust that you can survive periods of harshness.

Celebrate your leap year. Don’t hesitate to show your true colors and live out loud. Know that your early work has built a strong foundation that will withstand even the most savage storms.

Live the Life You Have, Not the Life You Lost

live the life

Live the life you have, not the life you lost.

I recently re-watched the movie Stand By Me for the first time in many years. As with every exposure to one of Stephen King’s masterpieces, I was again struck by the particular insight the author has into the expanding and mysterious world of a child. As with all of my previous encounters with the story (either in book or movie form), I was drawn to the character of Gordie. He is the quieter, more introspective one of the group. He observes. He analyzes. He is both in the moment and aware of the bigger picture.

And he is also invisible.

We learn that his older brother, one of those “shining” boys that attracts the adoration of all, was killed the previous year in a car accident. The grocer doesn’t see Gordie, he only sees the brother of the one who was taken too soon. Even his parents barely acknowledge their surviving child, protecting the older brother’s shrine of a room over the needs of Gordie. We see them going through the motions of life without purpose. Nurturing the one who is gone while neglecting the one who is left.

They are living the life they lost, not the life they have.

It’s easy to do. When the loss is acute, it demands attention. It insists that it be the primary focus of every day and every breath. And in healthy grieving, the loss never fades completely, yet it no longer occupies the front seat, displacing everything else.

But sometimes grief becomes stuck. And the loss remains the number one, relegating the ones who remain to a place of invisibility and inattention.

Nurturing what was instead of what is.

It’s hard to change the future. But it’s even harder to change the past.

Live the life you have, not the life you lost.