Life at the Intersection of Divorced and Engaged

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I currently live at the intersection of divorced and engaged. It’s a temporary home, one which I will only occupy for a little more than a year. I am never sure how to answer when people inquire about my relationship status. If I reply that I am divorced, they look at the ring on my finger with puzzlement. If I answer with, “Engaged,” I begin to receive advice appropriate to someone who has only had experience with singlehood. I am divorced and engaged, both states equally as true. My divorce has formed me into who I am and the engagement describes where I am going. But in this fleeting moment, I am described by both my past and my future.

Read the rest on The Huffington Post.

Life Assurance Policy

Posted on by stilllearning2b

life is not a waiting room

My parents are of an age where their friends and acquaintances are dying in ever-increasing numbers. Some of them are felled before they make it to retirement, some of them have been there awhile and others have found that elusive balance between work and play for much of their lives.

I’m of age where retirement feels eons away and I find it easy to assume that I have many tomorrows to fill with my dreams. I file plans for retirement as easily as I put money into my pension.

Of course, I know there are no guarantees in life. I may not make it until retirement. The carefully saved money could disappear. The health I’m blessed with could be taken with one illness or a single accident. The people I want to spend time with may no longer be around. I’ve already faced the loss of one dream with the collapse of my marriage; others may still follow.

The other day, I learned from my father about another death. A man who had been looking forward to having time to pursue his passion. A passion which is now to be carried out by those who loved him. The conversation gave me pause. We so often delay our passions due to necessity – the bills that need to be paid, the house that needs upkeep and the tasks that accompany life. It’s so easy to forget those things which make us truly alive while we tend to those minutiae which keep us alive.

Immediately following that conversation, Brock called from his business trip. He had some information that was making him think about his future, causing him to question the retirement he was planning. We had an interesting talk, weighing the “now” versus the “maybes” in the future, trying to extrapolate the potential repercussions down the road of various choices. We arrived at no answers, only a sense of clarity and of shared purpose in our goals. For now, that’s enough.

I used to think that if I kept quiet, played by the rules, that everything would be okay. That was my life assurance policy. Unfortunately, the premium on the policy was way too high – causing me to pay with procrastination of passion, keeping me in a waiting room of life. And then, when those promises of a secure future for a faithful wife and hard worker failed to materialize, it turned out that the policy didn’t pay.

That experience was like one of near-death. I live in a way I didn’t before now that I truly comprehend how much of an illusion security can be.

I’ve now written my own life assurance policy. It’s more a list of promises to myself than anything. A list that reminds me to live for today. The premium only requires that I remind myself of my promises and stay true to my own beliefs. It requires no forms and no salesmen. It’s fully transferable and never expires. And that’s a life assurance policy I can feel good about.

Lisa’s Life Assurance Policy

-Remember your passions. Find a way to incorporate them into daily (or at least weekly) life. Ignore the excuses the brain kicks up – that’s only fear talking.

-Don’t spend more time/money/energy on tomorrow than you do for today. Every day and every interaction is worth it.

-Be smart about planning for tomorrow but don’t waste time worrying about tomorrow. There is too much you cannot foresee and cannot control.

-Become at peace with change. It’s not going anywhere; you might as well get used to it.

Missing

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I woke up this morning with that dull ache that comes from missing someone. I wasn’t surprised to feel that void – Brock is out of town, I don’t see family much and most of my local friends have a different spring break this year. But the ache wasn’t for any of those people. It was for my ex mother in law.

I got to know my mother in law well over the 16 years I was with her son. She and I even lived together for a couple weeks while the men were away at work. She was a good woman with a giving heart. I always felt a little sorry for her, however. She was always a bit timid. A bit weak. Uncomfortable in her own skin. Almost missing in her own life.

She had a great relationship with her father yet allowed her adult life to be limited by her complicated relationships with her mother and siblings. She was afraid. Of driving. Of crowds. Of new experiences. Of being alone. That last one is probably what kept her in the relationship with her husband, even as his drinking grew out of control and his personality became more abrasive.

She was a caring parent, yet a distant one. She wanted the best for her son, an only child, yet wasn’t always equipped to help him achieve it. She didn’t want to pass her insecurities on to him and she worked hard to avoid that.

My ex had a complicated relationship with his parents as we moved into adulthood. He went long periods without contact, even though they moved to Atlanta along with us and ended up settling two streets over. His tough love approach seemed to work; they stopped drinking at some point. Even then, he didn’t always maintain contact. I’m not sure why, but I always let him be the one to decide how much contact he wanted. After all, they were his parents.

The last time I spoke to his mom was on the phone a couple weeks after he left. He had been arrested for the bigamy and spent a day in jail until his father posted his bail. He was alone that night. He had been caught. His other wife, upon learning the truth, had left him and his computers and car were impounded. He had nothing. He tried to end it all that day, taking an overdose of sleeping pills. Through a very unlikely series of events (serendipity?), my parents and I ended up saving his life.

The next day, I learned from the police that his parents were coming up from Atlanta to pick him up from the hospital. I called them, wanting to reach out and give them any information that I thought might help their son. I wanted them to understand how much help he really needed. I talked to his mom for over an hour. She was in shock. Like with everyone else in our lives, the reality of his double identity stunned her. They just wanted to get their boy home and figure out what to do from there.

We hung up when they arrived at the hospital. She said she would call me back. She never did.

I can’t even fathom the terror and pain of a parent upon discovering that their child is in crisis and a criminal all with one phone call. I worried about her. I still do. At the courthouse, 8 months later, his father was there, stoic and silent, but his mother was noticeably absent. I hope she missing only because she was afraid to face the court, a fear I can easily relate to, but I don’t know.

His parents took him in for a time after the suicide attempt. I don’t know what he told them or what he did, but I’m afraid that they were a victim of his cons as well. I know of one defaulted credit card with a very high balance that had her name on it as well, as it was taken out before he was 18.  I hope they were able to protect themselves even as they tried to help him.

This morning, I missed her. I thought about when we sat on her living room floor, looking through his baby pictures. I thought of her trying out Puerto Rican bread pudding recipes, trying to nail down her father’s favorite childhood dish. I remember her coming in to my first “regular” job at a pet store and immediately falling in love with a young Papillon. I placed the dogs in her arms to handle a customer; she always blamed me for her decision to purchase the puppy:)  I remembered her stories of her early married life in California and the stories of her parent’s courtship. I remembered when she sewed a liner into the white bikini I had foolishly purchased and when she emergency-hemmed my wedding dress in the back of the restaurant where we had our reception dinner.

I miss her. I just hope she isn’t missing from her own life.

I’m Blaming the Aliens

Posted on by stilllearning2b

 

I woke up this morning, on my last official day of spring break, to more cold rain and an empty Kindle battery. I was feeling lazy and wanted to enjoy my coffee, so I clicked on the TV. Surprisingly, there is a dearth of programming at 5:00 a.m. on a Friday morning. As I scrolled through my options, I found myself drawn to Super Nanny, a show where struggling parents call on a professional nanny for help and advice.

In this particular episode, a newly divorced mom was having a very difficult time with her six (!!!) children. Her face radiated pain and fear as she revealed the events of the past 18 months: divorce, the death of the family nanny and the loss of the home to foreclosure. I felt tears start to slide down my face as I watched.

I’ve never been much of a crier (well, since I outgrew my temper tantrum stage). I’m not a sucker for sappy movies nor am I drawn to “chick lit.” I’m not hormonal and I don’t have a biological clock ticking (I knew from my late teens that I didn’t want kids and I’ve never wavered in that decision).

So, why the tears? Although I could not relate to the challenges of raising six kids as a single parent (much respect!), I could relate to the series of losses that the family faced. But understanding and empathy is one thing and tears in my coffee is another.

The truth is that, since my divorce, tears come easily. I have become the person that cries from commercials or greeting cards. I am now that woman whose eyes well up when watching a family at the park or a passage in a book.

I’m sure it has something to do with my acceptance of my vulnerability and my willingness to let go of the strong facade I wear so well.

But I’m blaming the aliens.

First Responder Mode

Posted on by stilllearning2b

 

Wounded arriving at triage station, Suippes, F...
Wounded arriving at triage station, Suippes, France from sanitary train. Selected by Scott. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I had dinner last night with a friend who recently experienced a significant break up. This also happened to coincide with her completion of an education program and the start of a new job.

 

She’s in first responder mode as she works to triage her life. The pain and heartbreak have to be pushed aside for the moment as she tends to exams and the demands of a new job.

 

It’s a state I identify with – the adrenaline fueled days and sleepless nights. The pressing demands overriding any fear or emotion. The tunnel vision that develops so that you can attend to one crisis at a time. The weird excitement that courses through the body, even in the face of loss.

 

I went into first responder mode when my husband left. I was facing overwhelming change – loss of a husband, home, dogs and health. Nothing was the same. I had never ending legal obligations between the divorce and the criminal trial. I had the same job, but the start of the school year was fast approaching and that is always a time of increased stress and adjustment.

 

I triaged my life. I set priorities and worked to accomplish them. There wasn’t room to feel sad. I let my focus narrow and I allowed anger to be my fuel. In an emergency, you have to be able to ignore all non-essentials to address the matters of life and death. You need to be able to act rather than feel. You don’t have time to worry about non life threatening issues or to attend to the bigger picture. It’s all about doing what needs to be done so that life continues for another breath.

 

Eventually, the emergencies pass and the first responder mode is not appropriate any longer. I remember my struggle to let go of my first responder and to allow a more holistic self-caregiver to take her place. Here is the advice I gave my friend last night based on my own experiences:

 

– It’s okay to not feel right now. You have to do what needs to be done to make sure your basic needs are met. It doesn’t mean there is anything wrong with you.

 

– Just like the reality of a medical emergency hits after the danger has passed, expect the reality of this to hit you once the initial crisis have been navigated. Don’t be surprised.

 

– Allow yourself to feel; don’t stay too distracted for too long. You’ve compartmentalized for the moment so that you can function. Those walls won’t hold forever. When you are ready, slow down. The fear of the pain is usually worse than the pain itself.

 

– Again, when you are ready, look for what you can learn from the relationship. When those nuggets come up right now, file them away for later when you are better able to analyze them.

 

– I know you want to be okay. But don’t let that desire cause you to pretend to be okay before you really are. There is no timeline, but if you don’t heal, it will eventually fester.

– It’s okay to ask for help. First responders rarely work alone.

 

– Be careful of the adrenaline; it can become addictive. Unless you want to live your life jumping from one emergency to another, you have to learn to let it go when it is no longer needed.

 

I know my friend will be okay. She’s strong and capable. In time, her emergency will resolve and she can leave her first responder mode behind.