Turn Away

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I frequently come across posts or emails written by people in the early aftermath of infidelity. The writings are often angry. Powerfully so, the words slashing across the screen like a serrated blade. You can feel the power, the fury. Each sentence an explosion of outrage towards the unfaithful partner, the affair partner and even circumstances in general.

When I encounter these posts, I want to turn my head in horror.

Not because of the writer.

But because of myself.

I recognize myself in those outbursts, those paragraphs of wrath-tinged keening.

I recollect responding in that same manner. With that same rage blinding my sight and deafening my ears.

I identify with the deep upswell of anger formed by betrayal and a sense of unfairness.

And I want to turn away.

I don’t want to remember that part of myself.

I don’t want to perhaps catch a glimpse of residual fury tucked away.

I don’t want to admit the power that anger held over me.

I see those posts and I remember my early journals, the pen digging deep trenches into the paper, pretending it was gouging flesh from his face. All I wanted to do was to lash out, to make him experience just a fraction of the pain he had inflicted upon me. It was ugly. And it made me ugly.

And I don’t like to face that, to remember the vileness of the anger, any potential for compassion forced out by blind indignation. I don’t like admitting that I wanted to respond to my pain by creating pain in someone else.

And so I want to turn my head. To deny that I once felt that same way.

But that’s becoming what I promised I wouldn’t – someone who writes about divorce only from the scrubbed and polished perspective of the other side.

I want to turn my head in horror.

 

But that’s not honest.

The horror is real.

The anger is real.

And facing it is the only way to lessen its grip.

So I read. And I remember. And I try to reach out.

Because anger is simply pain screaming to be heard.

Nothing More to Say

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I was catching up with an old friend the other day when she asked the inevitable question about my ex.

“Do you think you’ll ever see him again?”

“Well, actually, I have,” I replied and proceeded to give her a brief synopsis of the encounter this past April.

“I would have yelled in his face,” she shared, her tone and body language suggesting residual anger. “How did you resist?”

I thought about it for a moment. On that day, I had no desire to approach him, much less confront him. All I wanted was for him to go away. But it’s more complex than that, as a particular post starting brewing soon after. Apparently, I didn’t want to talk to him there but I still had more to say.

One of the most painful aspects of a tsunami divorce is that its abruptness takes away any opportunity for discourse. I remember feeling so angry and so impotent at my voice being stolen.

In my early attempts at reaching him, I still believed that I would receive a response. Fear and anger fought for top billing in my mind. The following email was sent less than 24 hours after I received the text:

I’ve been mentally composing this for hours to try to not make it sound too angry. Coming home to a “dear John” letter and finding that you had cleared out while I was away fueled my fire again. I just keep thinking that your last employer got a sit down meeting when you quit while I got a text. You have been telling me, through words and actions, that it was okay & then this? You say you want to be supportive, but I can’t see that right now. I can’t think of a more painful way to do this. I can’t believe you stranded me across the country with this news, with no money, and the responsibility of the dogs. I may well bounce back, but this has shattered me to the core. I gave you time & opportunity before – why do it like this? I would like to think that your love & respect for me would override your cowardice. Please show me that respect now by talking to me – it is time to stop hiding.

You will need to come back soon from wherever you are so that we can disentangle our lives. As much as you may want to shirk responsibilities, we have a house, etc. that we need to make decisions about and I guess we need to file paperwork. I don’t know my plans yet, but can’t stay in the home we built together.

Days passed. Phone calls and emails were not returned. I was starting to understand that they never would. As the depths of the betrayals became clear, my anger grew. I entertained fantasies of tying him down and screaming at him; I wanted to force him to face the pain he created. I sent another email, copying what I thought was his girlfriend.

Uganda is an interesting choice.

You were right about two things: you are a coward and you certainly did let me down.

You can never run away from who you are or the knowledge of what you have done. Even Africa is not far enough.

I wonder how long it will take Amanda to see you for what you are?

You have taken away 16 years of my life, my dogs (true innocents whose lives are now completely changed), my home, my financial security, and what I thought was a wonderful marriage. You stole my youth, my innocence, my love. You hurt me in the ways in which you knew I was the most vulnerable. I refuse to let you have any more.

At least I can be at peace with who I am and the decisions that I have made.

I will not attempt to contact you again unless I find out this week that I have contracted an STD from you. That would be one more thing to weigh on your conscience.

Your betrayal and lies have pierced me to the core. I have never felt such pain, such sadness, such anger. The one I trusted and adored deceived and abandoned me.

I held back in that message. I expressed a sanitized version of my pain and anger. It wasn’t enough. The words I needed to say still ate away at me. Awake at 3:00 a.m., I composed another message, part of which is included below.

You were right.

You were right. I will never understand. I will never understand how you could be so cruel to someone you once loved. How you could repeatedly lie, even to direct questions for many months and years. How you could say goodbye at the airport, knowing it was for good, yet telling me that the week would go quickly and we would see each other soon. How you could continue to act like everything was okay (making plans for the future, sending loving texts, saying you missed me, having sex, even putting your $#&^%^@ dirty clothes in the basket before you left town), all the while knowing what you had done, were doing, and were planning to do. How you could betray my trust: financially, sexually, and in every other way. How you could make me feel sorry for you (sick in Brazil?) while you were *^$#*%@  your girlfriend all the while and spending thousands of dollars from OUR account? How you could continue to lie in your text (talk to you in a few days) and letter (I didn’t drain the account) to string me along as long as possible. Every piece I find out is a knife right through the gut (and trust me, I have found out quite a lot)…. You not only stole my present, you robbed me of my past: I can no longer look back on any of our relationship with any degree of fondness. Was any of it real? I don’t want to understand what you have done because in order to understand I would have to be deceitful and despicable too. I could never do the things you did.

…You are wrong to think that you can run away from your past – the house of cards has collapsed and it will follow you. You are wrong to think that this will make you happy. You were wrong thinking that I would continue to fall for your lies. You are wrong thinking that you can block out what you have done – it takes more than shutting me out of your e-mail. You were wrong to block out your feelings that led to this. You were wrong to think that you could handle this on your own. You were wrong to abandon our dogs in the basement and me across the country with no money to return. You were wrong to destroy 16 years with a *%#@($#  text message. You were wrong to steal money from our accounts – I guess fraud alert doesn’t work when it is from within the home. You were wrong to ask me not to contact your work; I certainly don’t owe you any favors. You were wrong to have sex with me, exposing me to unknown risks. You were wrong to seek my sympathy. You were wrong to pretend, to lie, to hide. You were wrong to do this to me.

I feel raped. Violated. Dirty. You have shamed me with your lies and your deeds. I was living with and loving an illusion, carefully crafted to take advantage of my trust. What did I do to deserve this treatment? Love too much, trust too much? The level of cruelty you have shown is astounding. The only word for it is “mindf***” – from kindness to cruelty, protection to persecution, connection to abandonment. There are no words that adequately describe the vileness of your actions. Everything you have touched is poisoned.

You know what’s sad? I still find myself wanting to share things with you.

We were such a good team, a good partnership. Unfortunately, a marriage takes two to make it work and only one to destroy it. You certainly destroyed it, and in the process, destroyed part of me. I will never be able to love or trust as innocently again. You stole that from me.

You cannot rest easy. Your creditors will find you. The IRS will find you. From what I have seen, the law may even find you. You cannot run from your health issues – did you even get your lab results? You won’t have health insurance soon. How long will your employers put up with your deceptions? They won’t like creditors, lawyers, law enforcement calling them. You better hope Amanda stays put – it seems as though you are going to be rather dependent upon her soon. I wonder what lies you have told her? You have no one else to support you – you have pushed them all away and betrayed their trust. You are alone.

Are you still interested in the devil and angel tattoo? Make sure to leave off the angel – we know who you’ve been listening to.

I felt somewhat better after sending it. I was able to express my anger and pain, but the problem was that I didn’t know if he ever read it. As the court cases (bigamy and divorce) approached, I held on to the thought that I would get a chance to take the stand and speak to him as a captive audience. When neither case allowed that to happen, I felt cheated again. Perhaps that was one of the core reasons why I chose to write and share my story. Even if he wouldn’t listen, others would.

By the time I was finishing the book, I was ready to write to him again, this time from a place of more compassion born from time and perspective.  Since I did not have an email address (nor did I actually want to attempt to contact him directly ever again), I included the letter in the book.

…I still have such a difficult time reconciling what happened to the man I loved. I wish you would have gotten help years ago. I would have joined the fight with you. Instead, I’ve been forced to fight against you. I wish I would have noticed how far you had strayed. I wish I had managed my anxiety better. I wish we could have worked together on our marriage the way we worked together on everything else. The results have been so tragic.

None of that matters now. We’re here. Wishes won’t change that.

You have brought me the greatest joys and the greatest sorrows in life, but I am not dependent upon you for either. I am responsible for my own happiness in life; I choose to make my life meaningful and joyful, regardless of the hell you dragged me through. I refuse to be defined by or limited by your choices; I am only limited by myself. July was my rebirth. But it was a terrible delivery.

I really hope that, wherever you are, you’re okay. I hope that you are making choices that do not harm you or anyone else around you. I hope that you are taking responsibility for the harm you’ve done. I hope that you are shedding whatever demons overshadowed you and that your true self is able to see the sun again.

…Your actions shocked and hurt me more than you can probably imagine. I’ve changed. Possibly so much that you wouldn’t even know me now. Your choices pruned me back to the core, but I have been able to grow new branches from the wounds. Life is beautiful.

I hope that you have been able to find beauty in your life and that you can help bring it to others.

With that letter, I thought I was done. Until I saw him this past spring. WIth my upcoming nuptials on the horizon,  I realized that I still had more to say. I wrote the controversial post, A Letter to My Ex On the Eve of My Wedding for the Huffington Post.

And then I was done. That last letter was the final catharsis, releasing him from me. I no longer feel as though my voice has been stolen. I no longer feel the need to be heard by him. I have said what I needed to say and I no longer care if it has been received. I am at peace now.

I have nothing more to say.

 

Forgiveness 101

Posted on by stilllearning2b
Forgiveness Mandala by Wayne Stratz
Forgiveness Mandala by Wayne Stratz (Photo credit: Nutmeg Designs)

Forgiveness. That word is often tossed about in hushed and almost reverent tones. It is the holy grail of one betrayed. Have you forgiven yet? We feel pushed to reach that nirvana, yet we are unsure how to navigate the labyrinthine path that leads us there. Nor are we even sure that we would recognize our destination once we have arrived. The trouble is that forgiveness will take on a different facade for every seeker and the path will vary depending upon who is stepping upon it. Even though forgiveness is an individual journey, there are some universal guideposts that can help you navigate your own way.

Understand What it is Not

Someone has wronged you. I get it. I’m not trying to take that away from you. Forgiveness is not a pardon. It is not excusing actions that are immoral or illegal. It is possible to accept the past, acknowledge the wrongs, but not be help prisoner by the actions of the object of your anger.

Blur

Forgiveness has always reminded me of one of those optical pictures where you have to relax your eyes and unfocus in order to see the image hidden in the pattern. If you look too hard and focus too much on absolution, it will remain hidden. Think of forgiveness like a shy kitten. If you lunge towards it and try to grab on, it will run away every time. Relax and soften and let it come to you.

Time

Forgiveness takes time. You can’t schedule it like an event upon a calendar (trust me, I tried).  The time needed to forgive will differ for everyone. It doesn’t mean there is something wrong with you if it takes you longer than it did your friend. Be patient and allow it to unfold on its own schedule. I know, it is easier said than done, but that is the nature of this elusive beast.

Keep Living

Luckily, while you’re waiting for the forgiveness fairy, you can keep living. Don’t put your life on hold. Move forward and move on. Surround yourself with people that bring you joy. Play. Laugh. That ember that still burns inside does not weigh so much that you cannot move despite it. Live as though you have forgiven.

Gratitude

Gratitude and anger are mutually exclusive. Be mindful of what you have and (brace yourself, this is the hard part) what you gained from the person that you need to forgive. I know, your hackles went up. “That ^#%^&? How can I be grateful??  He/She did _______ to me!!” True. I’m not trying to take that away from you. You have a right to be angry. But you also have a right to see the good. Look for it.

Remove the Ego

We all find humor in the self-centered world of the 5 year old, yet we really haven’t evolved that much from kindergarten. When things happen around us, we have a tendency to believe that they happened to us. For example, your child comes home and immediately is defiant and argumentative. Your defences go up and you perceive your progeny’s behaviors as an attack. If you take a moment and breathe and remove yourself from the equation, you most likely realize that the instigation for the behavior is probably something that happened at school minutes or hours before. Spouses are no different. Perhaps you weren’t really a target after all, just collateral damage.

Humanize

We are familiar with the concept of putting someone on a pedestal when we idolize them. We essentially do the same when we demonize a person. It can be easy at those extremes to see a person as two-dimensional, flat. We conveniently remove those characteristics that do not fit our perception. The truth is that we are all human in our messy and sometimes contradictory three dimensionality. Allow yourself to see the human side of the object of your anger. Let your own humanness peek out as well.

Start With Yourself

It is amazing as you take the journey of forgiveness how much changes as your perspective moves. You may be surprised that the target, the object of your wrath has shifted to yourself. We don’t like to be angry at ourselves; it feels traitorous, so we often project it on another. Like with everything, you have to begin with yourself. Soften to your mistakes. We all make them. Be gentle with yourself yet firm in your intentions. Let it go. It’s okay.

How will you know when you have reached your destination? There is no placard that says, “You are here.” No one stands at the gate and hands you a medal. Perhaps forgiveness is best described as peace. I hope you can find your own nirvana. Please leave breadcrumbs for those who follow behind.

You can read about my own journey to forgiveness in Lessons From the End of a Marriage.

Those Who Can

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I never planned on becoming a teacher. My initial goal was architecture, but I veered away from that field as fewer and fewer opportunities were available within the profession.  My next choice was physical therapy – it offered the blend of science and social interaction I desired plus I was drawn to the idea of helping others (I had therapists after the surgery on my hand that were very influential ). While still living in Texas, I earned over 120 hours of college credit, both through AP exams and coursework. I was in the process of applying to a program that would allow me to complete my degree in physical therapy.

And then I moved to Georgia and lost all my hours.

My ex never went to college. He was a brilliant guy, yet he didn’t “do” school very well. He started off doing manual work, mainly carpentry related. He wasn’t content to stay in low wage jobs that didn’t stimulate him. He always wanted to learn and grow. Unfortunately, San Antonio was not exactly a hotbed of opportunities for him. As long as we stayed in our childhood city, his income would be low and he would be bored. He found a job in Atlanta and moved in October of 1998. I stayed behind until June, finishing out the lease and my year of school.

I never hesitated to move. Being with him was more important than a program in school or a dot on the map. At the time it was a no-brainer. I packed up my life, said goodbye to friends and family and drove 24 hours in a Ryder truck with a pug on my lap and a sedated kitten by my feet.

I had decided to take the fall semester off school to give me time to locate a new job and to get an idea of the city and its universities. During my second week here, I ventured out onto the interstates to tour Georgia State, located smack in the middle of downtown. By the time I pulled into a parking spot in the garage, I was in tears, shaking from the overwhelming traffic and confusing road signs. Over the next few months, I grew comfortable with the traffic and started to learn the city.

I fell in love with the campus at Oglethorpe on my first visit. It’s gothic architecture captivated me and I had romantic images of studying in its grand spaces. The grant they offered me for my academic record secured the deal. That semester was great and terrible. I was newly married. We had purchased a home. I loved being back in school and I enjoyed the classes. I was volunteering at a physical therapy clinic to learn the craft and complete the required hours for admission into a program. But then my ex’s company folded and I learned that all my credits had transferred as electives, leaving me with a seemingly endless program until I would have me degree.

I had to make a decision. Physical therapy requires a master’s degree. With my credits disappearing  like bubbles in the wind, that would take another 6 years. Six years where I would only be able to pull in minimal wages at some part time job. I made a decision to change my major, to sacrifice my dream for the financial well being of the marriage. I needed a program that I could complete at night and online, freeing up more hours for employment. I needed something that only required a bachelor’s degree. I needed a career that was stable to balance my ex’s career path, which tended towards ups and downs.

I became a teacher.

This was my choice. I was never forced. I was not coerced. I made the decision for us, for the marriage.

It turned out that I was a good teacher. I was the youngest ever recipient of the Teacher of the Year award at my former school. I quickly gained leadership roles and was considered a mentor teacher. I obtained my master’s degree in education, mainly to help bring my paycheck up to more reasonable levels. I loved creating creative and varied lessons that were engaging. I basked in the rewards of thank you notes and visits from former students. It was always a hard job, but I never questioned it.

He was always very supportive of me and helped lessen the load of my job. He would assist in the packing and unpacking that bookends every school year. He would carry in flats of water and snacks for me after Costco runs. He would prepare dinner and rub my feet after long days. He showed up at science fairs and PTA meetings. He listened to “teacher talk” when we were out with friends and sympathized with our trials. He helped to make a hard job easier.

And then he left.

And I grew angry.

It wasn’t fair. I felt trapped in a career that I had chosen for us. I made decisions that were the best for the marriage and he chose to throw the marriage away. I started to regret my choices from long ago that started me on this path. It became easier to focus on the negative aspects of teaching and fail to recognize the blessings.

I looked at options, looking to see if I could make a change. It was hard to accept that, in many ways, it was too late. My science classes were too old to count. I would have to become a fulltime student again for many years to complete the required courses. I simply couldn’t leave the known paycheck of teaching, especially while facing the debt he left me with, in order to make that kind of schooling happen.

I grew angrier.

I wanted recognition for my sacrifice. I wanted him to thank me for putting the marriage first. I wanted sympathy for the position in which he left me.

That wasn’t going to happen.

Although he was supportive during the marriage, that support stopped when he walked out the door.

As time moved on, my life began to fill with new friends and a new partner. None of them are teachers or have much experience with schooling apart from their own.  I bristled at the comments about how lucky I was to have summers off or how teachers have it easy, getting off before 5:00 pm. When someone mentioned a lunch hour, I would snap.

I began to be resentful of my days with little to no breaks, 15 minute lunches in a room with 300 teenagers and endless hours on my feet.  I wanted to be understood. I wanted to be recognized.

But not by them, the friends which were speaking from lack of knowledge.  By my ex.

I still struggle with this, especially as the demands on educators increase and the compensation decreases. I find the resentment creeping in when I come home to Brock napping on the couch. I feel it when I open my paycheck to find yet another furlough. It rears its ugly head when I am tired and overwhelmed.

I don’t want to be this way. I made the choice to be teacher and I need to stop blaming him for that decision. It has been a very rewarding career in so many ways. I have been successful and, more importantly, have influenced thousands of lives. I don’t want to be angry about it. I don’t want to feel stuck. I don’t want to get frustrated when I don’t feel understood. And I don’t want to have to find external validation and affirmation for the challenges.

I’ve addressed the feeling of being stuck by pursuing other avenues – wellness coaching and writing. Although these do not bring in enough income to replace teaching, they give me an outlet and help to pad my paycheck.

I’m better on the anger. I made the best decisions I could have in those moments. I would make those same decisions again. I need to remember the husband who was supportive and understanding, not the one who spent my paycheck on a wedding ring for the other wife.

Now, I need to address the frustration. The need for validation and commiseration. Yeah, it’s a tough job. Lots of jobs are. I’d love it if it would pay more. But I’m nowhere near alone in that complaint. I tire of the bell that drives my life, but most jobs have deadline of some sort (mine just happens to come every 55 minutes!). The days are long and the breaks are short.

But the rewards are wonderful. Every year, I get to know over a hundred teenagers at the brink of adulthood. I get to hear their stories and shape their lives. Although I am not a mother, I now have well over a thousand “kids” that write me and visit me, sharing the successes of their lives. I get to help people overcome their fear of math, often turning it into a favorite subject. I get to wear jeans on Fridays and drink coffee from an endless selection of gifted mugs. I can act silly and stupid with no fear.  In fact, the sillier I am, the more they learn. I can help new teachers learn the craft and I can share my lessons with others (I was recently filmed by the Department of Education for a database of exemplary teaching!). I can use my skills to help improve the status of teachers in our society, bringing professionalism to a job that is frequently underappreciated.

I am choosing to let go of the anger and frustration. I am choosing to be thankful for a career that has allowed me to grow as a person and help others grow as well. I am choosing to not seek what I want from ex from the others around me; that’s not their burden to carry.

It is often said that those who can’t, teach. I disagree.

Well, I can. And I choose to teach.

But I’ll still take a foot rub if one is offered:)

Attitude

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I’m often complemented on my positive attitude about everything that happened to me.

It hasn’t always been that way.

I was angry. Furious that the person I trusted most in this world betrayed me in the most horrific ways, causing me to lose everything I held sacred. I cursed him. I dreamed violent dreams. I wanted to cause him pain. I lived in a perpetual state of fury with all flames directed at him.

I was bitter. Resentful that I made choices about my schooling and career based on him and then he abandoned me. I focused on the unfairness of the sacrifices I had made for the marriage and for him that he spit upon with his actions.

I was jealous. Envious of others whose spouses stayed faithful or at least stayed around long enough to talk. I compared my situation to others’ and bemoaned my particular tale.

I was ashamed. Embarrassed that his deceptions went on for years and I did not see them.  I questioned myself endlessly and doubted myself constantly.

I was victimized. I saw myself as hapless prey caught in his crosshairs. I focused on what was done to me, keeping myself at the center of his choices.

My attitude couldn’t do anything to change the past. Being angry wouldn’t make him apologize. Being bitter wouldn’t open up new careers. Being jealous wouldn’t make my ex suddenly faithful and honest. Being ashamed wouldn’t make me pick up on the lies any earlier. And being a victim wouldn’t help me learn how to thrive.

I had no control over the past. No way to change what happened. But I could change how I responded to it.

So, slowly, ever so slowly, I did.

I let go of the negativity that was still holding me hostage. It was not an easy road. It took hundreds of miles running on the trails and hundreds of hours on the yoga mat. It took writing a book and writing a blog. It took therapy and friends. It took a new dog and a new love. And, most importantly, it took time.

The truth is that I still feel those negative emotions towards him and what happened. Some days more than others. The difference is that now I don’t allow them to move in. They visit and go on, leaving room for laughter again.

Look at all that teenage attitude!
Look at all that teenage attitude!

It never ceases to amaze me how much of a difference attitude can make. I recently found myself complaining about my Sunday chore of cooking for the week. I was feeling bogged down and tired of the weekly planning, shopping and cooking that takes up a sizable portion of my weekend. I realized that I was viewing this as part of my work week; I was allowing it to steal several hours of my weekend. Then, I decided that was not okay.

I can’t change my need to cook. It is a necessity for my health, my job schedule and my budget.

So I changed my attitude. For the last few weeks, I have approached my weekly cooking task as though I was making preparations for a dinner party. It makes menu planning more interesting and keeps me in a good place while shopping. As for the cooking? Well, that’s now the best part. I first take some time to prepare some veggies, cracker and hummus and arrange them on a plate where I can nibble while I work. Then, I crank up the tunes – they vary according to the mood of the day and can run from bagpipes to death metal. Finally, I pour a glass of Cabernet to sip on while I chop up the endless pile of veggies.

Sunday cooking has gone from a chore to something I actually look forward to.

And all because I changed my attitude.