The Grass Isn’t Greener

Posted on by stilllearning2b
grass isn't greener

greener

For some reason I have been receiving quite a few messages lately from people who are looking for my validation of their decision to a) have an affair, b) continue an affair, c) abandon their unsuspecting spouse or d) all of the above.

Umm…do they realize who they’re messaging? Do they honestly expect that I’m going to give them a stamp of approval and send them on their merry, marriage-detroying ways? I mean, yes, I’m in a better place than I’ve ever been after facing my husband’s infidelity and abandonment, but that doesn’t mean I endorse that as a life-affirming event. Honestly, I would have preferred a cruise.

I usually take a little time to breathe before composing my responses. Ultimately, I want to ensure that I’m not coming from a place of my personal experience or reacting defensively. After all, even though these folks are looking for approval, they may also be asking for help. And there’s a chance that what I say may register.

There are some common themes in all of the messages I receive in this category. Many all tell me that their spouse would be better off without them. They all speak of interest in another man or woman. And perhaps most telling, they all seem hesitant to speak to their spouse.

And most of all, the attention is focused outside of the marriage.

Well, then, it’s no wonder the marriage is floundering. How can you expect a marriage to flourish when your efforts are spent elsewhere? Before you diagnose your marriage with a fatal case of failure to thrive, feed it. Nurture it. Give your marriage the attention you’re giving your escape plans.

Your intentions drive your attentions. If you’re committed to leaving, your focus will be on your exit.

So, before you call it quits, make staying your intention. At least for a while.

Now, attention is no Miracle Grow. Your marriage may have fatal defects or may have been starved for too long to ever thrive. But, at least give it a try before you leave it for dead.

One person asked me if he owed it to his wife to stay.

No. That’s just a breeding ground for resentment and contempt.

But he does owe it to his wife to at least try to nurture the marriage before making the decision. He does owe it to his wife to end things in a kind and mature manner, if it comes to that. And, he does owe it to his wife to not use her for excuse or blame.

The grass isn’t greener on the other side. It’s greener where you water it.

So, stop blaming your spouse, stop pretending that you’re doing this to help him or her and pick up the damn watering can and water your marriage.

Okay, public service announcement over. Now back to our regularly scheduled program:)

Displacement

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I was enjoying a bath the other day. The hot water filling the tub to the brim, my body submerged except for my hands holding a book and my face peeking out from the suds. I was relaxed. Content.

I heard Tiger begin to dance on the wood floors below as the garage door rumbled open.

That was soon followed by Brock’s voice, “Where’s mama?” he asked Tiger as both man and dog bounded up the steps.

“That looks good,” he said, slipping off his clothes and sliding behind me in the tub. For the next few minutes, we talked about our days  with the sound of the water draining through the overflow in the background. Eventually, the sound of the escaping water stopped as equilibrium was reached once again. The volume of the water replaced with an equal volume of Brock.

We stayed that way for some time, enjoying the company and the warm water.

He exited the tub before me, stepping out while simultaneously grabbing a towel.

The change in the bath was shocking. The water that had once covered my entire body now didn’t even make it around my hips. The once-full bath had been reduced to a few inches of tepid water. Unwilling to end my soak on that note, I turned the faucet on once again, allowing the hot water to fill the void left by Brock’s absence.

We are all aware of the effects of physical displacement in our lives. We are careful not to fill a pot to the brim before adding the potatoes. We know that a full tub will overflow when splashing kids are added. We ask for room in our coffee so that the cream can added without creating a mess. We are not surprised when water levels appear to plummet when objects are removed.

Yet we are often not as aware of the effects of emotional displacement. Of what happens when people are added to or subtracted from our lives.

In the beginning of a relationship, it is like being joined in the tub by another. Other relationships and commitments shift out of the way to allow room for the new company. It can be an uncomfortable change, friendships and activities and habits all vying for attention. Trying to decide what stays and what goes. Figuring out just how much to let the new presence in and how much will have to go to allow it to settle in.

And then, you get comfortable. Your life is full and has reached equilibrium. There may be less of the metaphorical water, but the volume of the relationship makes up the difference.

As long as your partner is there with you, the water level is fine. But as soon as he or she stands up to leave, the loss is shocking. Your body, once buoyant in the support of the water, feels heavy and collapsed on the cold surface beneath. You can stay there, cold and heavy, nerves raw to the whispers of the incoming air.

Or you can turn on the tap, filling your life again with warmth and support. Finding ways to replace the removed volume with new friends and old. Revisiting former passions and finding new ones. Enjoying the buoyancy that comes from a full life.

The tub may still feel empty, but at least you’re not needlessly suffering. Bonus points if you add a rubber ducky:)

Do As I Say

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Do as I say.

Not as I do.

I talk about how whatever we nurture, grows. I discuss starting with the end in mind yet still starting at the beginning. I believe in the power of intention to drive our attention and, ultimately, our outcomes.

I say these things.

But in one area of my life, I haven’t been doing them.

One of the more difficult aspects of the divorce was the loss of the financial security I thought I had. Not only did I experience a dramatic drop in income between changes in teaching and tutoring, I also had to foot the bill for many of his actions.

In the beginning, my main attitude towards money was anger, as I paid and paid and paid for his transgressions. My pound of flesh had already been taken and now I was just scraping bone. So I found ways to address the anger. I wrapped the debt in gratitude, initiating a habit of writing something I’m thankful for every time I make a payment. When my mind wanders back to the hemorrhage of funds during the divorce that the courts were never able to recover, I turn my thoughts 180 degrees and focus on what I love in my life now. Things that money can’t buy.

The anger was eventually replaced with fear. That may have been good for the blood pressure, but it still didn’t help me sleep at night. I was scared of not having the needed funds to live. I was afraid of further nefarious action, bleeding the money even as it trickled in. The fear is still there, yet I have tempered it with reminders of the people that have my back in an emergency or with a brainstorming session of ways that I could earn money, if needed. It helps. But it hasn’t completely silenced the fear.

But that’s not really what I talking about. It’s a part, sure, but it’s a part I’ve been aware of and intentionally corralling.

This other thing?

I’ve been feeding.

For the last five years, a common utterance from me, both to myself and others, has been, “I don’t have money.”

It has become my unintentional mantra.

A guiding intention.

Whatever we nurture, grows.

Damn.

My all-too-easily rational brain has been excusing this habit as merely a statement of fact. After all, this is an area where some realism is called for. If I walked out of the mall laden with designer-heavy shopping bags, well…let’s just say there would be consequences. Like no gas in the car.

I need to be realistic about what I have to work with.

But I don’t need to allow my current situation become my intention.

Because the truth is, I’ve been busting butt to pay down my hand-me-down debt and to generate new ways of earning income. Right now, I may not have money. But tomorrow? Maybe I will.

I need to get out of my own damned way.

And nurture what I want to grow.

I WILL have the financial freedom to live the life I want.

I WILL be debt free.

And, here’s what’s probably at the root of it all – I DO deserve to be paid. I’m worthy of it.

I’ve recorded the mantras above over the old one on my mental cassette tape. The old intention may bleed through at times, but I’m not allowing it to continue to play.

Hopefully soon, I can say,

Do as I do.

 

After Divorce: From Surviving to Thriving

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Days after my tsunami divorce, my mom turned to me and told me I would survive.

I actually got angry and responded rather strongly, “No, I will not survive. I will thrive. To do anything less is to remain his victim.”

I saw surviving as the bare minimum, the mere intake of breath and food in order to go through the motions of life. I refused to settle for that. I wanted more. It felt insurmountable, yet the vision and hope remained intact.

Inspired by Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, these goals can serve to help you navigate the challenging path after divorce and take you from merely surviving to thriving.

Survive

The first tier of goals are about your literal survival. In the beginning, it is enough to simply focus on your next breath. And then the one after that. The goal is to keep you alive and functioning. These physical needs must be addressed first before any further progress can be made. Read the rest here to learn how to go from merely surviving to beautifully thriving!

Chutes and Ladders

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Do you remember the game Chutes and Ladders?

The slow, steady climb to the top of the board?

The delighted squeal that would escape your lips when luck granted you a ladder, bypassing multiple rows in a single move?

The utter helplessness and defeat when that same luck turned and landed you on a chute, plummeting you back to the beginning?

After the divorce, I felt like I was trapped in some twisted version of the game, the final square holding the peace and healing I so desperately desired. For long periods of time, I would trudge slowly through the levels. Not making great progress, but progress nonetheless. Sometimes, I would be blessed with a ladder, a sudden jolt of insight or a pleasing outcome that would elevate my healing to new levels.

And then there were the chutes. The triggers. The memories.

Inevitably, they seemed to appear just when I was feeling confident. Comfortable. As though they fed on optimism.

I would find myself disoriented within their slippery embraces. Only to realize that I was back to the beginning once I regained my senses. Peace once again a far off dream.

 

Chutes and Ladders is based on an ancient Indian game that was designed to teach Hindu children about karma. The final square symbolized nirvana, the ladders represented virtues and the snakes, the original version of the chutes, were vices. There were fewer ladders than snakes, showing that it is often more difficult to climb than it is to fall. At the end of the game, salvation was granted to the one who made it to the final square while the rest of the players faced rebirth at a lower rung.

 

Although intended to teach about choice and consequence, the game itself is based entirely upon chance. Fate.

Which makes it easy. But also frustrating.

Because in life, we always have choice.

In life, we can learn from our mistakes.

In life, we can accept where we are in the moment yet always strive to do better.

In life, we can slow the slide and even climb out of the chute.

In life, we can roll the dice but we can also build the ladder.

In life, we become better at climbing the more we do it.

In life, success comes not from watching others fall, but in helping to lift them up.

In life, nirvana is not only the end goal, but is a presence to be found along the journey.

In life, we cannot control every play of the game but we can learn to steer its outcome.

 

It’s so easy to feel helpless and powerless after divorce, subject to the whims of the dice that may send us back to square one on any given day.

It’s so easy to feel defeated. Tired of the climb when every ladder towards healing seems to be paired with a chute greased with pain.

It’s so easy to fixate on your small patch of real estate on the game board, that you fail to see the bigger picture.

The fact that you are making progress. Maybe not steady. And certainly not linear. But progress.

Peace is possible.

Keep climbing.