Important Lessons You Learn From Living Alone

Posted on by stilllearning2b
living alone

Nothing had changed.

It was the strangest sensation.

I left the apartment just before 6:00 am for work and when I returned that night, nothing  had changed in the intervening hours. The coffee cup was still by the side of the sink with its cold contents beginning to separate. The selected – and then rejected – outfit was still spread out over the surface of the bed. The blinds hadn’t moved, no new footprints were visible in the thick and dense carpet and the single throw pillow remained on the floor where it had fallen the night before.

Nothing had changed.

And yet, everything was different.

After more than a decade living with my husband followed by the better part of a year strung with my friend’s family while I navigated the divorce, I was now living alone.

And, I quickly realized, I still had a lot to learn:

 

Surrounded by Silence

Largely due to financial constraints, I had no television in my apartment. I did pay for internet coverage so that I would have access to my computer, but the AT&T in my building proved about as reliable as a flight time in a torrential thunderstorm. And thanks to my ex’s thefts, I was down to a $20 stereo and a literal handful of CDs.

I was surrounded by silence.

So the voices of my inner thoughts came through loud and clear.

It was uncomfortable at first, being left with my own thoughts without anything to distract. Scratch that. It was terrifying. Especially at night, when my thoughts seemed to reverberate around the mostly-empty space. I was forced to listen to my fears, questioning my decision to stay in Atlanta and wondering if I could actually alone.

But in time, my inner thoughts became more like friends. I began to relish the quiet that would settle in around me once I closed my door against the rest of the world. I began to recognize their cries of panic for the wolf cries that they were. And, surprisingly, I found that the worries faded after they were given the floor. Perhaps the only reason they were speaking so loudly before is that they had to scream to heard above the distractions that surrounded me before I lived alone.

Living alone provides the opportunity for you to become comfortable with yourself without distractions.

 

Taking Care of Business

I almost didn’t get approved for my apartment. The mandatory background check revealed outstanding utility charges that had my name attached, courtesy of my ex who had been awarded the house. I had to scrape together the funds to cover the unexpected expense and collect more court documents to show that my ex was the one responsible for accruing – and ignoring – the debt.

It was petrifying. Not only was my future independence called into question, I was having to take care of this on my own. And I had serious doubts that I could do it.

By transferring items that I intended to buy from the “need immediately” column to the “need soon” list, I was able to cover the past-due utility bills (with only a moderate amount of cursing about the unfairness of it all) and since the divorce paperwork was still easily accessible, it was easy to locate the papers that assigned this responsibility to my ex.

The apartment was mine.

I felt accomplished. In many ways, even more than when my ex and I managed to buy – and remodel – a house at the ages of 22 and 23. Because this time, I did it completely on my own.

It’s daunting to be the only own responsible for everything, but there is a sense of accomplishment and pride that can only come from taking care of business all by yourself.

 

Unearthed Preferences

Over the sixteen years with my ex, I had inadvertently allowed my husband’s preferences to become my own. Sometimes to a scary degree. 

Since I left my former life with only my clothes and my computer, I had to purchase everything from a bath towel to a bed for my new space. It was strange, as I was pursuing the IKEA catalog, I was initially discouraged because none of the pieces fit my ex (either literally, as he was a tall man, or stylistically). I had to remind myself, this was MY space. I could furnish it like I wanted without any consideration for anyone else. (Although, in retrospect, maybe I should have considered my then-boyfriend and his dog when I selected a white slipcover!)

For the first time in almost two decades, my opinion mattered not at 50% (or less), but at 100%. As long as I could pay for it and could wrangle it up three flights of stairs, I could have it.

When we live with others, especially if we have a tendency to people-please, we can subvert our own preferences in an attempt to keep the peace or appear laid back. Living alone provides an opportunity for you to really learn what you like without the fear of someone else’s preferences taking priority.

 

Self-Soothing

My ex-husband was quite skilled at calming me down. Whenever I would enter the house after a challenging day at work, he knew exactly what to say or do to bring down my anxiety and stress. Then, once he was the cause of the stress, the friend I lived with never failed to lend a patient ear or compassionate look.

I’ll never forget my first emotional breakdown in my apartment. It was triggered by a letter from a debt-collection agency. I had been trying unsuccessfully to track down the current owner of the $30,000 credit card debt that my ex accumulated in my name (that included painful items like part of his honeymoon with his other wife). This letter confirmed the ownership and meant that I was soon going to have to begin the literal paying for my ex’s other life.

My body was wracked with painful sobs that echoed off the walls. Part of me was embarrassed at the thought that my neighbors might hear me.

And part of me secretly hoped that they would hear me and that someone would come to check on me.

Nobody did.

I was alone.

And it was up to me to take care of myself.

Once the sobs receded enough that I could stand, I put my running clothes and hit the pavement despite the rain. I ran hard and I ran long, first down the road in from of my apartment then across a bridge where I could access a 6-mile trail along the river. Once I returned, I could barely make it up the steps to my apartment, my legs were spent with the effort. Luckily, my brain was too.

I drew a warm bath and collected a pile of library books for company. Later, in bed, I piled my winter coat on top of me for extra weight and tucked the throw pillows from the living room around me like a quilted hug.

I was still scared and I was still feeling pretty hopeless, but I was also feeling good that I had managed to make a dent in my emotional reaction.

When you’re living alone, you have to learn how to take responsibility for your own stuff.

 

Common Challenges in Post-Divorce Relationships

Posted on by stilllearning2b
relationships dating divorce

Post-divorce relationships are often where the fears of experiencing heartbreak again collide with the hope and heady infatuation of early attachment. These opposing emotional forces, along with any lingering unresolved divorce issues, present certain common challenges in relationships entered into after one or both parties experienced divorce.

 

You meet the right person at the wrong time.

Finding a good match is as much about the timing as it is the person. You may encounter somebody who radiates potential, but if either one of you is not yet ready for a relationship, that potential has to be put on hold. It can be tempting to try to push it; to discount the warning signs that there is still healing work to be done. It’s scary and disheartening to release the possibility of a connection when you have been feeling alone and afraid of finding somebody. Yet sometimes, accepting that the timing isn’t right is exactly what is needed so that you’re not pouring energy into a relationship that is built on unstable ground.

 

You carry over blame or suspicion meant for your ex to your new partner.

If your ex behaved badly, you may be primed to assume that your new partner is also up to something whenever your back is turned. Instead of coming from a place of innocent until proven guilty, you may be operating from a place of assumed guilt where you’re looking for evidence to support your beliefs. This is easy to do. If you’ve been fooled once by a liar or a cheater, you don’t want to ever experience that humiliation and betrayal again. However, there is a big difference between staying alert for bad behavior and assuming that bad behavior is occurring.

 

A fear of further heartbreak or relationship failure hinders – or prematurely ends – the relationship.

The pain that comes from the end of a relationship is brutal and it’s only natural that we act to avoid experiencing similar heartbreak again. A healthy approach to this is to address the factors that led to the divorce and to learn to accept that sometimes relationships serve their purpose and come to an end. Yet, more commonly, the fear of further pain prompts a person to leave before they’re left, making an exit before the attachment – and the predicted pain – becomes too strong.

 

You expect the new relationship to be as intimate and fulfilling as a marriage from the very beginning.

After divorce, the loneliness and isolation are gutting. So when you meet someone and feel those initial sparks fly, you become hopeful that the loneliness is over and that you again have someone that will truly see and appreciate you. Yet, this neglects to acknowledge that building a relationship and a shared history takes time. It’s not fair to expect that level of a connection in the beginning; you have to provide it with the opportunity to grow.

 

You are expecting the new relationship to heal you and to fill in the gaping void you’ve felt since divorce.

If you believe Hollywood, all you need is the right person to come into your life when you’re down and everything will be better. There’s a reason that these stories are presented as fiction; it doesn’t happen that way. There are certain post-divorce wounds that can only be healed within the context of a relationship (not necessarily a romantic one), but the work is still yours to do.

 

You are afraid of being open and vulnerable again, so you only let them in so much before the walls come up.

When we’re afraid, sometimes we fight, sometimes we flee, and sometimes we simply freeze. The latter is what happens when you feel too exposed in a new relationship and so you tuck yourself away behind carefully constructed barricades, built in an attempt to protect the heart from further assault. Although this strategy does limit risk, it also inhibits growth and fulfillment. It’s much like an attempt to learn to swim while refusing to get out of the shallow end of the pool.

 

You mistake the intensity of early attraction as the sign that you’ve found the “right one.”

In a long marriage, the intensity of the initial attraction inevitably fades over time. And so when you experience that jolt of biochemical desire again, it sends a powerful message. It’s easy to interpret this common biological response as a sign that this is the right person for you. By all means, enjoy the surge of passion and excitement, yet refrain from making any major decisions until you’ve given your body chemistry time to normalize.

 

You overreact to benign situations because it triggers memories from your marriage.

There will be times when you and your new partner are reading from different scripts. They may think that you’re arguing over something in the present while you’re whisked backwards in time and replaying a role from your marriage. These moments are challenging in a new relationship because the person who is triggered is flooded with emotion and if that continues unaddressed, it threatens to drown the new partnership as well.

 

You grasp onto a relationship that isn’t working because you want to avoid another ending.

Sometimes, we fall prey to the belief that someone is better than no-one. We will grasp onto a relationship not because we love the person, but because we fear being without a person. This is one of the main reasons for the advice to spend some time single before you enter into a new relationship. If you know that you’re okay alone, you’re much less likely to stay with somebody just for the sake of being coupled.

 

You attribute everything that was wrong in your marriage to your ex and expect everything to be instantly better with a new person.

Choosing the right person is certainly important. But it’s not everything. No matter what went wrong in your marriage, it is your responsibility to identify and address areas where you can do better. If you don’t, you may find that similar patterns continue to play out in future relationships, no matter who you choose to partner with.

 

Jealousy of former partners or relationships poisons the new connection.

It can be strange entering into a relationship with somebody that had an entirely other life – and love(s) – before you. It can be threatening to see evidence of this former life. Depending upon the situation, ex-spouses may even be a part of the new relationship. It takes a certain amount of maturity to recognize and accept that these early loves can coexist with your new one.

 

You compare your new partner to your ex.

It’s only natural to compare two different people who fill a similar role in your life. Yet comparison can be damaging if it impedes on your new partner’s ability to be accepted as their own person with their own inherent strengths and weaknesses. They will not be the same as your ex. In some facets, they will be a dramatic improvement and in others, they may be lacking. It’s up to you to select someone who has the characteristics that you deem critical and it’s up to you to not expect them to meet all of the positive traits that your ex possessed.

 

You experience an increased complexity in joining established lives.

If you married young, commingling two lives was probably relatively simple. That’s not the case in post-divorce relationships, with their higher bank accounts and debts, increased responsibilities and commitments and maybe even children or an ex that is still in the picture because of shared responsibilities. These external demands and restrictions are very real and can add a significant amount of challenge to a post-divorce relationship.

 

Common relationship challenges and transition points cause panic that the end is nearing.

Especially if the end of your marriage came as a surprise, you may find yourself panicking anytime your new relationship hits a rocky patch. This is tricky, because you want to take these signs seriously, yet if you overreact, you may end up sabotaging what you’re trying to save. It may take some practice to approach these issues with the right amount of energy and attention.

 

None of these common post-divorce challenges are insurmountable. Love after divorce is not only possible, you may even find that it’s better than before.

 

 

 

 

 

Growing Apart in Marriage

Posted on by stilllearning2b
growing apart

We were inseparable for the better part of ten years.

We met at the age of four at a Mother’s Day Out group at our church. I remember being drawn to her pigtails, her white-blond cornsilk hair reminded me of one of my dolls and stood in contrast to my much wilder and darker mane. By the time we were in first grade, we had graduated to official “best friend” status, proudly advertised on our silver James Avery half-heart charms worn on matching chains around our necks.

We did everything together. Completed each other’s sentences and knew the other’s every wish. The other kids seemed to understand that we were a package deal – make one friend and get another one free. Our friendship navigated the transition to middle school where afternoons spent catching toads were replaced with evenings endlessly dissecting interactions with the boys. Even as we took our first shaky steps into relationships with the opposite sex, we would always return to each other to seek advice and approval.

But then high school happened and those small differences that has always existed between us were suddenly magnified. My preference for Metallica drew me towards an older crowd and her love of the stage pulled her into theater. Our classes, which had rarely ever been together, were suddenly on opposite halls and our lockers were assigned in different buildings. Over the span of a semester, we went from being inseparable to being casual friends who largely moved in separate circles.

There was some sadness. I would see her under the lights on stage, those cornsilk pigtails now released into a shining wave down her back, and remember how familiar she once was to me. There were moments when I would see her name in its first-place position on my speed dial and would mourn for the connection that we shared.

Yet even with the pinch of grief that would tag along with my memories, I understood that this transition was natural.

We had simply grown apart.

Our interests, our goals and eventually, our experiences, meant that we no longer occupied the same space. And even though it was sad, it was okay. We each had our own path to take and we could remember with fondness those years when our paths converged.

Why is it that we treat marriage so differently than other relationships? We acknowledge that friendships grow and recede, changing over time, yet we fear our marriages being anything but static, constant. When we sense that our partners are growing away from us and we catch a glimpse of diverging paths, we respond with panic or a quiet denial instead of acceptance.

We accuse them of no longer being the person that we married, beg them to stay the same as they were. We project our own discomfort with change onto their shoulders, penalizing them for wanting to change direction.

It’s sad when two people who were once so compatible begin to grow in opposite directions. It’s painful to be presented with the choice of following your heart and moving in a new direction or silencing your heart in order to preserve a relationship. You may secretly crave a reason to end the relationship, struggling to acknowledge that it has outlived its usefulness when there is nothing identifiably wrong with it.

You fear breaking hearts, yet your heart is breaking every time you feel like you have to make a choice between your partner and your purpose.

There are no easy choices when a couple has grown apart. Choose to stay and you and your partner risk feeling diminished and stifled. Attempt to renegotiate the marriage and you may find that the terms are not agreeable or that they are not sufficient to mitigate the growing distance. Walk away and you invite loneliness and regret even as you move towards your light.

This is not to say that marriage should be discarded as easily as a shirt once fashion changes. There is a commitment. A promise. Ideally, core values and goals are still in alignment and individual growth can occur within the supportive structure of the marriage.

But that is not always possible. The couple that met through faith and always held religion as the cornerstone of their union will be rocked if one partner disavows their church. Or, if two people came together with the express wish of starting a family and one later decides to remain childless, the bedrock has been fractured. You can fight the situation, but your protests will only go so far.

I often learn about acceptance through nature. My backyard is comprised of a small oval of grass surrounded by trees and shrubs. Most of them happily grow together towards the sun, leaning against each other for support and generously sharing the sunnier spaces. Or, they renegotiate, sharing the same soil yet bending their stems in different directions in order to both have their needs met.

Some become bullies, so concerned about their own needs that they shade out those around them. Others allow themselves to be shaded, giving up their own potential for growth with barely a whimper. I rarely intervene, but when I see a plant failing to reach its potential because of its location, I feel obligated to step in and either move the limbs that are blocking the light or replant the stifled one in a more favorable location. I don’t brand this intervention as “failure,” it doesn’t indicate a problem with the individual plantings. It’s simply something that needs to happen for growth to continue.

Yet marriage is more important than a bunch of flowers looking for their own stream of sunlight. We build lives together, share dreams and fears as we layer years of shared experiences. There is a vision of a shared future, moving forward along the same trajectory that was envisioned from the beginning.

And yet…

Change is inevitable. And sometimes endings are as well. There are times when the kindest action is to honor when your paths converged and allow them to continue along their own course.

 

The (Unspoken) Truth About Marriage

Posted on by stilllearning2b

When asked about the state of their union, people often feel like they have to defer to one of two responses:

“It’s all good,” or, “It’s over.”

Yet the reality is that most marriages spend much of their time between these two extremes. Where some things are good, some areas are taut with tension and loving thoughts are interspersed with feelings of frustration or even disengagement. And by neglecting to talk about the reality of marriage, we leave those in completely-normal-and-not-always-ideal marriages feeling unsure and isolated.

 

Even the best marriages have bad days.

Or weeks. Even months. Whether from external pressures or changes prompted by internal struggles, there will be times when things are not good. There may be spans of silence, a lingering sense of tension in the air after a difficult conversation or nights spent lonely in separate beds.

When these bad days occur, it can be easy to catastrophize. To assume that a bad day indicates a bad marriage and that this is a sign that the end is near. One partner may be more prone towards panicking, attempting to grasp on in a desperate attempt to stop the imagined slide downhill. This often has the opposite effect, as the one who is latched upon feels increasingly trapped and becomes desperate for escape.

Some bad days pass on their own, especially if their cause is largely centered outside the marriage. Others are a cry for help, a sign that the marriage needs some attention and perhaps modification. And others are just part of the natural ebb and flow of life, expansion followed by contraction. This is one of the reasons that the first year of marriage is often deemed to be one of the most challenging – it follows after the excitement of wedding planning and establishing the relationship. The day-to-day of normal marriage simply can’t live up to that level of expectation.

 

Even the closest couples need time apart.

In the beginning of a relationship, the excitement and novelty leave you counting the minutes until you can be with your newfound love again. It seems impossible that there will ever be a day where you look forward to a trip that takes them out of the home for a few days. But it will happen.

I hear whispered confessions from friends, deeming me a safe receptacle for their secrets, admit to feeling guilty when they let out a little cheer when their spouse pulls out the driveway for a few days of absence. “That’s totally normal,” I reassure them and the relief is palpable.

Too much of anything – or anyone – can easily become too much. With overexposure, appreciation is easily replaced by irritation and small problems begin to accumulate. I like to relate it to ice cream. The stuff is amazing. You maybe even want some every day. But if you have a gallon of it in one sitting, your body is going to rebel. That doesn’t mean that there is anything wrong with you or the refreshing treat; it simply means that you need a break before you can enjoy it again.

 

Even the most compatible couples can struggle to find connection.

When my now-husband and I were first dating, we lived across town from each other. And in the Atlanta metro area, that’s quite the commute. Since we couldn’t see each other more than once or twice a week, we would spend evenings on the phone, chattering on about anything and everything.

It was easy to find things to talk about – not only did we live our days in largely separate worlds, we were still in the process of learning about the other person. Now, eight years later and sharing the same bedroom on most nights, we can go days without a meaningful conversation. The reasons are multifold. Our lives are more overlapping so there is less to share about the day-to-day. At this point, we’ve divulged and discussed our pasts, our passions and our perspectives and since we’re not yet old enough to be forgetful, there simply isn’t a need to cover the same material again. And we’re busy. The activities that were pushed to the side in those early months of the relationship have again found their place, leaving us with little time to connect during an average week.

As a result, there are times when we can feel disconnected. Like we’re crawling in bed with a virtual stranger, who both knows everything about us and yet we have nothing to talk about. And then, we carve out some time to do something new together, even if it’s as simple as dinner at an untried restaurant. The new environment inevitably sends a current through the relationship, reigniting the spark of connection.

 

Even the most agreeable people will have differences of opinion. 

I love my husband, but there are times I think he must be a visitor from another planet. After all, surely no reasonable adult human could actually think that??? In my first marriage, I let those differences of opinion bother me. I would either take it personally (seeing an attack on my viewpoint as an attack on me), allow my mind to be changed or feel threatened by the disparate stances.

It no longer bothers me so much (Unless it’s about school; I get pretty sensitive when people who are not in the academic sphere try to tell me about modern-day school issues.) when we have opposing viewpoints. In fact, I’m more likely to find it interesting (Why do you think that way?) or humorous than threatening. I have learned that it is possible to both love and support someone even while disagreeing with them.

There are some things that are so important that dissent is a sign of trouble, but for most everything else, a difference of opinion is simply a sign that you are two different people. And that’s a good thing.

 

Even the strongest marriages have periods of renegotiation and transition.

There is an immense about of negotiation and compromise that occurs when a relationship first becomes serious. The amount of togetherness is determined, acceptable interactions with the opposite sex are established and relationship patterns are initiated. That period is widely accepted as a precarious one. Some relationships emerge on the other side, stronger and established, while others fail to effectively negotiate a path.

What is less discussed are the inevitable transitions that occur throughout a marriage. As children come and go, job responsibilities shift and health crises seemingly come out of nowhere, the established roles and routines may longer be appropriate. And because we’re creatures of habit and we universally fear loss, these renegotiations are often even more difficult than the initial shift into commitment.

These times of transition are stressful and we often struggle to find the words to describe them adequately. We are uncomfortable with change and with making space for the unknown, especially when our most intimate relationship is threatened. Yet those same uncertain times that scare us also provide us with the most opportunity for growth.

 

Even the most reasonable parters will sometime respond irrationally. 

I am normally a very rational, even analytical, woman. Unless I’m poised at the top of a hill. At which point, I turn into a blubbering child. My husband knows this about me, and so he lovingly becomes extra-patient with me in those moments. My thoughts on a hilltop are not rational, but they are real. At least to me and in that moment.

Most people aren’t as afraid of downhills as I am (thank goodness, or whole industries would be wiped out), but we all have our particular triggers that cause us to behave irrationally and emotionally. And when you’re married to that overreacting person, it’s hard to suppress the urge to declare, “Just what in the hell is wrong with you?” and to respond instead with a combination of compassion and encouragement.

And here’s the hard part – unless we share the same emotional triggers as someone else, it is difficult (if not impossible) to understand where that person is coming from. And when that person is your spouse, that is a frustrating pill to swallow.

 

Even the most loving unions will have times where love is dormant. 

Love is more about action than feeling. There will be times when you don’t feel an overwhelming sense of love or affection for your partner. Some days, irritation and annoyance speak so loudly that they drown out the soft utterances of fondness. The love isn’t gone, but it’s quiet.

It’s important how couples respond to each other in these difficult times. There can be respect even without understanding. Kindness even in the absence of fondness. Tolerance when cooperation is lacking. And above all, a willingness to listen for the sleeping love and the patience to wait for it to stir once again.

 

Related:

Why I Don’t Want a Perfect Marriage

A Growth Mindset in Marriage

A Facebook Marriage: Keep the Smile On Or Else

 

 

 

How We Act When We’re Afraid of Losing Someone

Posted on by stilllearning2b
fear of losing

I remember that day vividly.

My then-husband was in Brazil, supposedly on a work trip. I was at home and unable to reach him when he failed to return to Atlanta at the anticipated time. As the panic rose, I alternated between frantically looking for information on the internet (Was there a plane crash? A tourist attacked in San Paulo? A car crash leaving the Atlanta airport?) and uselessly pacing the upstairs hallway.

I called his employer and received a non-answer. It was only later that I learned that they thought he was still in Atlanta since he wasn’t dispatched on a job.

I saved the number for U.S. Embassy in Brazil, telling myself to hold off until the next day before I made that call.

I contemplated driving to the airport, where at least I would be little closer to any news.

At some point, the anxiety and powerlessness reached untenable levels and I set out for a run, the brick of my flip phone clutched in my hand. I uttered desperate pleas for information as I hit the pavement, the movement a poor substitute for meaningful action.

He came home the next day.

He left for good three months later.

That wasn’t the first time that I was afraid of losing him. In fact, from the moment I “had” him, I worried about the loss of him. 

There was the time when we first started dating that he showed interest in another girl and I pretended that it wasn’t happening until the situation resolved itself. Then, there was the 1969 Ford truck whose headlights had a propensity to cut out while he driving the back roads in the Texas Hill Country. I pleaded with him not to drive that vehicle, convincing myself that he was safe as long as he operated another car. There was a cross-country move while I still remained in Texas for the semester with the unknowns inherent in a long-distance relationship. I compensated that time by planning for our upcoming wedding; surely talk of our futures would keep the plan on track. That was followed by a car accident where his small car ended up underneath an eighteen wheeler. Up until that moment, that was the closest that I had knowingly come to losing him. I responded by breaking down in the living room of my apartment, our pug nervously burrowing into my neck which was wet with tears. Interestingly enough, the fears I should have heeded never even crossed my mind.

Over the course of our sixteen years together, I carried a fear of losing him. And in so many ways, that fear kept me from actually seeing him. I allowed fear to be my chauffeur.

That’s the thing when we’re afraid of losing someone – we take a rational fear (after all, death and divorce are a part of life) and we respond to it in irrational ways – 

 

Fear of losing someone can present as: Denial

Apparently this was my favored approach during my first marriage (although I would have denied it vehemently at the time). Even while my general sense of anxiety built, I refused to examine the little inconsistencies that hinted at something going on behind my back. I was worried about losing him to death (especially as his hypertension continued to worsen); I never imaged that he would leave.

We all have a propensity to shove the unthinkable out of our minds as though if we don’t allow it mental space, it cannot manifest into existence. “It is impossible,” we declare. “They would never…” we insist. “It just can’t happen,” we recite, until we believe it to be true.

I’ve learned since to look more closely whenever I have strong feelings of dismissal arise. It may be that there is something hiding behind those feelings.

 

Fear of losing someone can present as: Bargaining

We know of bargaining as one of the “stages” of grief. What we don’t often consider is that the bargaining begins well before the loss. This often takes the form of, “If you stay, I’ll change.”

Bargaining can feel like a rational approach with its exchange of services. Yet underneath the transaction is an overwhelming aversion to loss, which means the promises made may be too big to deliver and the promises looked for in exchange may not be kept.

 

Fear of losing someone can present as: Control

Sometimes, the attempt at control is overt – the partner that keeps tabs on their spouses whereabouts in an attempt to prevent them from straying. Others are more subtle, operating with a clinginess that limits movement. “I love yous” turned into bindings.

Rarely does this method work. Not only are many things outside of our control, but there is no surer way to push someone away than to tell them they’re not allowed to go.

 

Fear of losing someone can present as: Indulging

I see this one sometimes as a teacher. When I encounter children that are overindulged and encouraged to remain needy, I often learn about a history of miscarriages or infertility or even the death of an older child. The parents, understandably so, are so afraid of losing this child that they hold them in a childlike state even as they grow.

A variation of this presents in adult relationships. The one who is afraid of loss tries to fulfill every need of the other in an attempt to make themselves invaluable. “If you need me, you can’t leave me,” the inner voice insists as they continue to turn themselves inside out to carry out even the unspoken requests.

I found myself starting to do this towards the end of my marriage. It was a subconscious, yet desperate attempt, to keep him with me.

 

Fear of losing someone can present as: Begging

“Please don’t do this this way,” my initial email to my absent husband begged. I still had the fantasy that if only I could talk to him, I could somehow change his mind (this was before I knew the extent of the betrayals).

I felt increasing powerless as my pleas were ignored. The reality is that I had no hope of changing his decision. As an independent creature, he had every right and ability to act as he saw fit.

Begging is the brain’s way of delaying the inevitable. It’s a stall tactic, and nothing more.

 

Fear of losing someone can present as: Panic

This is the most irrational of them all and also the most powerful. This is the death grip on the rope, the worst of the “what ifs” manifested all at once. Sometimes this can be triggered by an event and sometimes it can arise solely from internal worries. Once we’re in this state, it’s difficult to return to reality.

Tiger, the world’s best pit bull, taught me so many things. Not the least of which was how to say goodbye without fear. We loved that dog and were devastated to learn suddenly that he had a fatal bleed from a tumor on his heart. He was only eight.

As the day progressed after the initial veterinary appointment, the news grew worse. We accepted the truth – the end was imminent. My husband and I took him home for a few hours of loving attention before we laid him down on the floor at the vet’s and surrounded him with our bodies.

We weren’t ready to say goodbye. But it was his time to go. Any attempt to keep him with us would have not only been ineffective, it would have cruel and selfish. All we could do is thank him for the time we shared.

Loss is an inevitable part of life. Fearing it does not stop it. Resisting it only serves to make the release that much harder. We rarely get to decide when the end comes. We’re not often offered a choice in the nature or circumstances of the loss.

But what we can alter is how we live between losses.

We can lead with fear, anticipating the end well before it comes.

Or we can lead with love, finding gratitude for what we have.