A Message to Those in Pain From Divorce
My Story – Part 3
So, I realized after I filmed this that I neglected to go into much detail about the time immediately following the suicide attempt (like the text conversation my husband had with my mom – yeah, weird) and what happened with the other wife at that time. All that is detailed in the book along with much more of the humor around the court craziness. It just gets too detailed to try to explain verbally and, truth be told, I wanted to get on to the better stuff:) Hopefully, I won’t make anybody cry with this one!
Before you watch Part 3, please make sure you’ve seen Part 1 and Part 2.
The Evolution of Suffering
In the beginning, I embodied the pain.
It was thick, viscous. Its foulness touching every part of my being until I no longer knew where I ended and the suffering began. I could no more escape its malevolent embrace than I could pull peanut butter from a child’s hair. We were one, the suffering and I. My anguish kept it fed and in return, it kept me company. I may not have had my marriage but I had the suffering that was left behind.
But slowly, ever so slowly, the anguish started to fade. The loss grew more distant and hope grew ever closer. Starved of its preferred sustenance, the suffering started to wither. Its suffocating heft grew to more manageable dimensions and its once viscous nature grew thinner. Weaker.
I felt the pain.
I would have moments, even days, where the suffering was unseen. But its absence was always short-lived and my brain had a trigger-finger that would herald its return at the slightest provocation. My body held the memories like the discs in a juke-box, ready to play with the touch of a button. As long as I didn’t approach, I was okay. But as soon as I recounted the tale, my voice would tremble and the pain would come rushing back as though it had been lying in wait.
And so I kept telling the story. And with each retelling, the heartache faded a little more. And the suffering grew weaker. My once constant companion became like a distant friend – we may keep in touch on Facebook, but we have no real need for face to face.
I remembered the pain.
And yet I kept living. I would revisit earlier writings or conversations and marvel at the emotions I carried. I would reflect back on those endless nights and my emaciated and shaking frame. I could speak of the suffering, but only in the past tense, for it no longer touched my soul.
Unencumbered, I learned how to trust again. How to love again. How to be vulnerable again. I learned to tell the story without emotion. Because it didn’t happen to the Lisa of today. It happened to the Lisa of yesterday. And I no longer recognize her.
I appreciated the pain.
Not for the suffering it provided, but for the lessons hidden within. It is a path I would have never chosen, yet it has led to more glorious pastures than I could have ever envisioned.
If you carry it too long, suffering will weigh you down and seek to asphyxiate you with its heft. But carry it long enough, and that weight makes you stronger. Lighter. Better for the experience.
Everything changes.
Even suffering.
6 Reasons You’re Struggling to Move On After Divorce
You say that you want to move on, putting the divorce behind you and getting on with your life. You claim that you want to feel better, to stop crying and start living. Perhaps you even pronounce that you’re over your ex and that you’re ready to start looking for someone new.
Yet that desired progress isn’t happening.
The life you envision isn’t unfolding and instead, you find yourself stuck. Anchored in the muck and mire of the divorce. Not a member of your old life, yet not yet fully living in your new one.
It’s easy to make excuses for why you can’t seem to move on. You’re angry, and rightfully so, that your life plan turned out to written in disappearing ink. Maybe your ex cheated, stealing your ability to trust along with your imagined future. Perhaps your bank account is anemic and all of your energy has to go to replenishing its stores. You might have endured horrible court battles that wounded you and your children. You may be adjusting to life as a single parent or a sole breadwinner.
But those are all excuses, bindings that keep you lashed to the past. After all, it’s easier to say, “I can’t move on because of (insert favorite excuse here)” rather than shouldering the responsibility of moving on by yourself.
So, here is your metaphorical slap across the face. This is the advice you’ve needed to hear, but your friends and family are too nice to say it. But I’m not your friend. I’m someone who has been there, done that and now makes the T-shirts. I am okay with making you a little angry if it helps to make you better.
I’m also not going to tell you to “get over it.” I find that phrase insulting and shortsighted, only uttered by people who have never felt a certain depth of pain or who prefer to bury it rather than address it. But even though there are some things you don’t just “get over,” you don’t have to let them hold you back.
If you’re having trouble moving on, you’re probably doing at least one of these things wrong.
Forgiveness
My response to people encouraging me to forgive was one of indignation. How could I be expected to forgive? He deserved all of the wrath I could send his way and then some. How dare someone tell me I should let that go?
But they were right. By refusing to forgive, I wasn’t hurting him. I was hurting me. I was allowing myself to be a prisoner to his actions and allowing them to dictate my feelings. Forgiving him was a gift of peace to myself.
Forgiveness isn’t a pardon. It acknowledges the wrongs and then wraps them in compassion and acceptance. Forgiveness is an inside job, quietly accepting the apology you never received.
Forgiveness is a difficult road. But you’re worth it.
Grasping
When we lose everything, it is human nature to grasp onto whatever remains. And, often in the case of divorce, what is left is the pain. And so we hold onto that pain, claim it. Own it. Defend it. Even feed it.
That pain can become our identity. I remember how I would receive care and kindness when I was hurting, yet would be comparatively ignored when I was not. It’s tempting to stay in pain, to allow others to continuously nurture our wounded hearts.
But is that really what you want? To be the hurt one? The weak one? To be so determined to lay claim to your pain that you do allow anything or anyone else in? Releasing that pain is strangely scary. It’s willingly loosening your grip on your past and trusting that you’ll land safely.
Let go. It’s worth it.
Associations
Do you have triggers that are like a time warp to the past, pulling you back to moments of agony and anxiety? I do. In fact, I would say this has been my greatest challenge — learning to respond from the present and not from the past.
Even though some healing is passive, slowly softening with the passage of time, triggers are often more resistant. They take repeated attention and deliberate action to remediate. Triggers and associations are not inevitable; you can retrain your brain.
It takes work. But you’re worth it.
Continue to read the rest.
The Types of Friends You Need During Divorce
It is normal for your marriage to be at the center of your social life. You have a built-in activity partner. You share friends. The “plus one” is expected when you receive an invitation.
And then the marriage dies.
Your go-to is gone. The mutual friends may be divvied up like a bag of Skittles, or they may simply scatter as though the bag of candy was dropped to the floor.
It is tempting to hide. To hibernate. You may want to pull the covers over your head and not come out until the debris field has been cleared. It’s tempting, but it won’t help you heal. Think of the skin under a bandage that has been left on too long. Is that what you want your heart to look like? Click here to read the rest.
Lessons From the End of a Marriage 