This is Where the Magic Happens

Posted on by stilllearning2b

My now-husband is a complete and total badass. Last weekend, after fourteen years of blood, sweat, humility and stubbornness, he received his black belt in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. This is his fifth black belt, but by far, the most difficult one to achieve.

In BJJ, belts are awarded by surprise at the conclusion of a seminar. I was given notice that he would be receiving his black belt so that I could sneak in at the start of the belt ceremony. He was unaware of my presence behind him as he stood in the line, expecting to witness only the award of a few blue belts.

In many ways, I was an interloper. The mat is my husband’s world, not mine. Even though the faces in the room were familiar, I felt like a stranger peeking into a family’s window at dinnertime.

His teacher began to talk about the incredible dedication and commitment my husband has shown, even when facing injuries and an upcoming surgery. He detailed the perseverance and willingness to learn that my husband has demonstrated over the years.

Standing there, listening to these words and watching the emotion build in my husband as the realization began to settle in, I was filled with immense pride for his accomplishment.

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It was only later, after an evening of celebration, when I realized that I had never been proud of my ex-husband in the same way. Sure, he had done some good things, reached some goals and had some successes. But he never exhibited the sort of consistent hard work in the face of countless obstacles nor the humility needed to be receptive to the lessons offered.

A mutual friend asked me recently what it was in my now-husband’s Match profile that attracted me. He assumed that I had a thing for martial artists and was expecting me to confirm that.

I thought for a moment. “It wasn’t the martial arts,” I replied. “It’s what the martial arts said about him. I knew that he wasn’t afraid to ’embrace the suck’ and didn’t give up when things became difficult. I liked that he had something in his life that he was passionate about. I admired his dedication, his work ethic and how he created his own marital arts family. That’s what attracted me.”

There are times when it has been challenging being married to somebody so dedicated. BJJ videos fill the house with sounds of struggle and dirty gis fill the air with the odor of sweat. I hear about injuries and nagging pains on an ongoing basis and have to be a voice of reason when they become too severe to ignore.

But I also get to hear about the successes. The landmark submissions or the mastery of a new skill. I hear the awe – and fear – in the voices of the mutual friends that meet him on the mat. And even when I’m missing him as he attends another class, I’m happy to be with a man who sets and stays with his goals.

And isn’t that where the magic happens in relationships? When each person is given the freedom to explore their own passions and yet the frustrations and celebrations occur in the shared space.

 

 

 

 

Like Mind, Like Body

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Bracing for Impact

I went to the physical therapist with a complaint about my right hip. The deep, nagging pain had become prone to snapping, abruptly biting at me with sharp intensity. I wanted help training it to relax, whispering it into submission.

The therapist had me stand, back to him, with my arms by my sides. His trained eyes scanned my body, looking for any hints of the underlying dysfunction. Quickly, his gaze settled on my lower left side. “The tension is in your abdomen,” he stated, gesturing me towards the table.

Biomechanically, it made sense. Tightness in the lower left side of my abdomen was causing me to curl in, a subconscious plea to release the strain. In doing so, my right hip and periformis were being constantly tugged on. After being patient for so long, they had finely resorted to screaming for help.

As he patiently worked to convince the pulling muscles to let go, I wondered about the source of this adhesion and tension. I debated if it was a symptom of my endometriosis, uterine tissue driven by wanderlust to settle under my left hipbone.

But then I had another thought.

What if this wasn’t initiated by a physical cause at all.

What if I, nine years after the tsunami, was still bracing for impact?

 

Yin Hips

Yin is a type of yoga where each pose is held for several minutes. It’s designed to slowly soften the fascia- the tough, fibrous tissue that wraps over our muscles and binds us as we age.

A yin hips practice is surprising emotional. Rage sweeps the mind like a flame at an all-you-can-eat oxygen buffet even as your body is gently supported by bolsters and blankets. Tears slide down the cheeks until a small pool of sadness puddles below your peaceful reclined face. Giggles abruptly surface, startlingly loud in a quiet room.

The body and mind pull against each other, the mind encouraging a strategy of flee while  the body tenses in response to the stimulation and argues for a posture of “fight.” And caught in the middle of this struggle is you, folding into yourself, feeling trapped in the center of the discord. Unable to move your body, your brain goes into overdrive.

Yin hips can’t be rushed. I know, I’ve tried, even going as far to do the videos and 1 ½ speed. It doesn’t work. You assume the shapes. The body participates. But the mind is still on the floor, throwing a record-setting tantrum.

It takes time to learn to let go. We grow into our stories, become anchored in our bodies. We form habits. We fear release. We hold on as though the act of holding on is the only power we wield.

Until that moment of surrender. Of breathing into the discomfort. Turning in instead of tuning out.

As soon as the mind relaxes,

The body follows suit.

 

What’s Your Superpower?

Posted on by stilllearning2b

The summer movie blockbuster season is definitely upon us. And with it, comes the inundation of superheroes, each with their own strength and approach.

When I was growing up, I remember the heroes and villains were often presented as uni-dimensional, all-good or all-bad. They were fun, but they were far-from realistic.

Superheroes are instead like us – a blend of good and bad – only their traits are exaggerated for our entertainment.

In a meeting this summer, my principal challenged each of the teachers present to name their superpower. Some didn’t surprise me – the counselor who is good at building relationships, the coach who excels at motivating others, the creative teacher who is good at encouraging others to try new things.

But some were eye-opening. In some ways, I learned more about my coworkers through that brief exercise than I had in two years worth of meetings and trainings.

I noticed something else, too. As each person named and described their superpower, they grew a little taller in their chair. They were no longer passive recipients in a summer meeting; they had become agents of change and growth in the organization.

Right now, on the evening of my fourth day back with kids, I’m feeling anything but powerful. I’m beyond exhausted. I’m sure there’s a word for that, but even the thesaurus is too much for tonight. Yet, when I sat down at my home computer to respond to messages, I saw this title sitting in my drafts, waiting to be written. I remembered that day, several weeks ago, when I described my own superpower. And I suddenly felt a little less drained and a little more motivated to use my superpowers with the kids again tomorrow (after some couch time and some sleep!).

We’re all so good at the negative self-talk. We never hesitate to tell ourselves where we’re lacking or berate ourselves for our weaknesses.

When was the last time you named, much less celebrated, your superpower?

How about starting now?

What is YOUR superpower?

 

The Life You Had is Gone

Posted on by stilllearning2b
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“The life you had is gone.”

I would tell myself as a lament and in an attempt to force acceptance.

“You now have the opportunity to create a new life.”

I would continue, in a hope that optimism also operated on the “fake it until you make it” principle.

“You can now build a life you want. A better life.”

I was desperately trying to see the good in the devastation that had become my existence.

“But I don’t want a new life! I want my old life. With my husband. I want our imagined and planned-for future. I want what I had!”

The pain of loss and the fear of starting over challenged my resolution to move forward with the energy of an obstinate child.

I didn’t want anything new. Anything else. Anything different.

I wanted what I had. Or at least, what I thought I had.

When I tried to picture a new life, a life without him, my brain responded with the muscle memory of a comic artist who has drawn only a single character. All I could picture was him. I would see myself older and he, changed as well by the years, would be by my side. Like watching a silent movie, I envisioned the life experiences we would daydream about on long car rides or late nights on the deck. I saw things changing around me – new jobs, new homes, new friends. But always, he was the constant.

Even as I reminded myself that it was gone, I resisted letting go. I wanted what was known. Comfortable. I railed against the unfairness of it. The theft of my dreams among the obliteration of his promises.

“But it’s gone,” I reminded myself throughout these visions. “You’re wasting your energy. Throwing good money after bad.” I became my own drill sergeant. “Move on! Drop it! Let it go!”

“But if I let it go, I have nothing,” I whispered back at myself.

I tried to force a new identity on the man in my life vision, but it was like trying to fit a child’s mask on a grown man – it couldn’t block it all. I tried to blur his face in my mind, to smudge him enough that he could be anyone. If my inner voice and I had been female characters in a movie, we would have surely failed the Bechdel Test because all we talked about was a man.

“It’s gone. It’s gone. It’s gone,” became the words that punctuated my footfalls as I ran countless miles in an attempt to purge him from my body. At night, I filled the pages of my journal with both memories and pleas.

I held no love for the man I battled in court. He was a stranger. A monster. I wept for the man that I thought I wed. I cried for the loss of an illusion. But damn, it sure felt real.

But illusions rarely stand the test of time. Like most apparitions, it began to lose it opacity with time. I started to accept the delusions inherent in the former life I pined for. The old existence with its new blemishes no longer held the familiar appeal.

“I can’t build anything new until I release the old,” I was mouthing as I woke up from a dream. A dream where I was alone. Alone and happy.

“The life you had is gone.”

I reminded myself again. Only this time the words had lost their dreadful weight and were infused with a sense of curiosity.

“The life you had is gone.”

“And I wonder what will come next.”

These Are the Dogs of Our Lives

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I put up a request on my Facebook page last week for people to share pictures of the pets that supported them through divorce. The submissions were equal parts heartwarming and heartbreaking and throughout, it was extremely clear how important our pets are to our mental health. My favorite pictures were the ones that demonstrated the bond between human and animal; some were powerful images that truly captured the connection. It’s amazing how much joy and comfort these dogs, cats, guinea pigs and even a turtle have brought to the darkest days.

Some shared sad stories about losing their pets in the process of divorce. Those were hard to read because that is still the biggest pain I hold from my own spilt.

Nine years ago, my then-husband left the home while I was on a trip. He didn’t send the text that he was leaving (I guess he needs a lesson on verb tenses) until one to two days later. In the meantime, the three dogs and one cat that we had were locked in the basement with insufficient food and water.

If he hadn’t sent that text, I probably would have returned home from my trip to find them deceased. Thankfully, the notice allowed a local – and priceless – friend to check on the animals and ensure they were taken care of until I arrived back home half a day later.

It was a bittersweet reunion with my pack. I loved them so much and yet, as the reality of my precarious situation made itself clear over the next few days, I also knew that I was no longer able to care for them. Damn. Just writing that still brings the tears. I still feel guilt over my inability to fulfill my promises to them. I still turn over the facts in my mind wondering if there was a way that I could have found a space where I could have lived with them and found a way to pay for their needs. The reality of that time was that I was barely able to care for myself (emotionally, physically or financially). It would have been a disaster for all involved if I assumed the responsibility for the well-being of others at that point.

With the tireless help of friends and family, the three dogs found new homes. Good homes. The cat stayed with me in the priceless friend’s guest room. We were refugees together. When she died from complications of old age a few years ago, it was as though a part of me went too.

My canine savior came in later, just after the divorce was finalized. His name was Tiger, a spirited, strong and wise soul tucked inside one hundred pounds of beautiful pit bull. When we met, I was still struggling. I was so scared. Not of him, but of loving and losing again. I was still unable to trust my perceptions and my instincts after years of gaslighting and so I doubted my ability to handle him in public.

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He knew all of this, in the way that dogs do. But he didn’t judge me for it or tell me to get over it. He just stayed by my side, teaching me that he could be trusted. Showing me that I was capable of more than I thought. And giving me unconditional love in a time when I still felt unlovable. He rescued me.

We lost Tiger suddenly and traumatically last fall. It was too soon. Isn’t it always? It was such a hard day, but I’m glad that I could be there for him at the end. It helped with some of the residual guilt from before.

Kazh came into our lives a short time later. It’s been fascinating to see how different I am with him because I’m in such a better place. Tiger was my teacher. Kazh is getting the benefit of those lessons.

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And that’s how it is with our pets. For their brief times, they live beside us through it all. They see the truth behind the picket fences yet withhold judgment, they offer affection when the whole world turns its back and they display a loyalty and fidelity that few humans can match.

They are the dogs (and cats and guinea pigs and turtles) of our lives. Making the good times a little sweeter and helping to guide us through the hard times.

If you have an animal in your life that has helped you through, give them a little kiss of gratitude today. If you’ve lost one, pause for a moment and say, “thank you” for sharing your time with me.