Bonded

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Last night I went to a holiday gathering. The only thing we all had in common is that we had taught (or, in some cases, still teach) at a particular middle school. But that single bond is a strong one. Some of the attendees  have been absent from those halls for several years (I am one of them), yet we return to this particular gathering every year like well-trained homing pigeons.

It’s unusual for a group of coworkers to form this kind of bond. But that’s because the conditions were unusual as well. It was an amazing school, yet, in many ways, it was the trenches. Our clientele needed so much from us that we were all full-time caregivers as well as teachers. Many of them came from violence and it was the only language that they spoke. It meant that we were also full-time law enforcement. We endured many changes of the guard with ever-changing rules and expectations. Some administrators were wonderful. Others, abusive. We became full-time counselors to our coworkers as well as our students. We had many tragedies stroke our students and our staff. We became family.

We bonded because we survived together.

We bonded because we all had a shared understanding.

We bonded because, on many days, that bond was the only thing keeping us sane.

Our relationships formed under great pressure and at great depths.

And that’s how diamonds are made.

And, as we all know,

Diamonds are forever.

 

In many ways, I feel the same way about you guys, my online community.

We have all survived.

We all speak a common language of love and loss.

We have all helped each other.

We have all been through the depths and the pressure.

And yet we won’t let the darkness quiet our voices or our spirits.

I like to think we shine like those diamonds, offering a beacon of hope.

 

As we enter in to the final days of the year, I am reflecting back on 2013. And feeling grateful for this community.  You offered me support when I saw my ex for the first time in years. You helped me process  my thinking when I was debating about leaving writing behind. You pumped me up with my latest endeavor. You celebrated with me when I married again. I had the pleasure of meeting some of you in the flesh, revealing the faces behind the stories. And, even more importantly, you supported each other, through comments and shares, offering hope and reassurance.

You guys are awesome.

I wish all of you the best as we close out the year. I hope you can celebrate the way you want – whether it be in a house full of people or tucked under the covers with a good book.

And, remember that you’re not alone.

We’re bonded.

 

 

 

Of Horses and Zebras

Posted on by stilllearning2b

There is a common saying in medicine:

When you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras.

In other words, look for and rule out the common causes of symptoms before you turn to the exotic. That headache is much more likely to be caused from the tension of the day than a malignancy spreading alongside your cortex.

Doctors in training (as well as the layperson who spends too much time on WebMD) are famous for seeing zebra illusions. They hear of these rare and unusual diseases and are convinced that this time, it is the correct diagnosis. For the young doctors, they learn over time that they may see thousands of horses for every one zebra. Their high alert tones down.

But there are problems with the horse philosophy. It is possible to become so focused on believing that every hoofbeat is a horse that you fail to see the zebra in their midst. Famously, until very recently, this often happened with women attack victims. The symptoms mirrored other, more common complaints and they were dismissed before further consideration.

Doctors usually have a systematic way of diagnosing illness. They start with the most common causes of the symptoms at hand, perform tests and ask questions to eliminate some illnesses and include others. Each piece of data is added to the puzzle until the particular horse is named.

Unless it’s a zebra.

The problem with zebras is that once you have seen one, you cannot unsee it. Rationally, you know that just because this hoofbeat was made by a rarity, the next one is still more likely to be the common equine.

You know this. Yet those hoofbeats will never be the same.

Because once they heralded the arrival of a zebra.

We all experience hoofbeats in our relationships, data points of indication. Most of these are benign, evidence of a stressful day or wandering mind, the equivalent of the common tension headache. But sometimes these impressions are an indication of a malignancy within the relationship.

Some people always look for zebras. These are the ones that are always on red alert, searching through emails, calling insistently. They are convinced that the zebra is there, they just have to find it. Some of them go so far as to paint stripes on the common horse. They are as hypochondriac in their marriages as some are with their health.

Others don’t believe in the zebra. They let the sound of hoofbeats wash over them, secure in the knowledge that they come from the harmless pony. They believe that if ever presented with the zebra, that the beast would be so evident as to be impossible to miss. But zebras hide. They blend in with the everyday hoofbeats. You have to watch carefully and look for their distinctive patterns.

Those two approaches, although at odds, originate from the same place.

Fear.

The zebra-spotters are so afraid of the striped one that they are on the hunt. They refuse to be surprised, intent on heading it off before damage is done. Of course, life on the hunt is exhausting when you’re convinced that everything is an attack.

The zebra-blind are also afraid. But instead of going on the offensive, they hide, believing that the zebra cannot find them. But living on the defense is limiting when you’re trying to avoid every potential attack.

There is a place in the middle. A place where hoofbeats are heard. Data is collected. Hypotheses made and tested and either accepted or discarded. A place where the existence of the zebra is acknowledged but not hunted. A place where you trust your ability to spot a zebra among its brethren and you trust that you can survive its approach.

I was once one of the zebra-blind. I trusted that my ex would never introduce zebras into our lives. So I didn’t see them. Of course, it didn’t help that he also knew the powers of disguise, hiding their stripes with plausible stories and Photoshopped documents. When he left, my tears washed the brown paint off the surrounding creatures and I discovered I was living in a world overrun with the striped beasts.

I was trampled.

But alive.

And changed.

Once you’ve seen a zebra, hoofbeats are never the same again.

I hear them.

And I look, without assumptions.

Knowing that they are most likely horses but also realizing that may not be benign.

But also believing that just because I met a zebra once, does not mean that every sound is a sign of impending attack.

When I hear hoofbeats, I think horses, not zebras. But I still look for stripes.

 

 

 

Anniversaries That Aren’t

Posted on by stilllearning2b

This one passed with barely any recognition. It was just another day. I only became aware of its familiar form as I was signing passes for students. Yesterday marked what would have been (note: NOT what should have been) the 14th anniversary of my first marriage. And there were no ghosts. No whimpers from the past. No nothing.

It was a day unmarred by bygones and what-ifs.

But it hasn’t always been that way.

Here’s my post from last year’s anniversaries that aren’t:

 

Today would have been my thirteenth wedding anniversary. Thirteen years ago today, I married my high school sweetheart on an empty beach in Florida. The photos from that day capture the love we had. The youth. The innocence. The promise.

wedding pic

What would have been our tenth anniversary was the hardest. He has left five months prior and we were still legally married. I used a psychiatrist’s appointment as an excuse for a sick day off work (the last day before winter break and a planned trip to San Antonio). After the morning appointment, I took a Xanax (one of three I took during the whole experience) and spent the day in my bed in my friend’s guest room. I distinctly remember not wanting to be alone and feeling reassured that her husband and then her father were going to be there throughout the day. I couldn’t muster up the energy to be social. I don’t think I ever made it down stairs, but I remember listening to the sounds coming in my door. I spent the day in a fugue state – not awake and not asleep. I tried to read, but couldn’t. I tried to sleep, but that eluded me too. I cried. A lot. I wrote. I cried some more. I could not face that anniversary that wasn’t.

By the would-have-been eleventh anniversary, I was in a much better place. I was situated in my own apartment and in the early stages of a new relationship. It was still a very difficult day. A sad day. I went to work. I functioned. But I also broke down and cried a few times. I was afraid to be alone that evening and spent the night at Brock’s. I still mourned what had been lost, but I also saw hope for the future.

Last year, on would be anniversary number twelve, I felt okay. I didn’t feel like I was a damn holding back a wall of sadness that was waiting to crush me. I felt okay. But I didn’t trust it. I remember tiptoeing through the day, as if I might release the pain if I tread too hard. The pain didn’t come. I spent a normal (as normal as a middle school can be) day at work and spent a quiet evening on the couch with Brock.

And today? On lucky number thirteen? I’m alone at the moment and I okay. No, I’m more than okay. I’ve been aware of the date but it hasn’t hurt. I left a note for Brock this morning as this same date is a difficult anniversary for him for different reasons) and I received an image with the following quote from him on my Facebook:

Good relationships don’t just happen. They take time, patience, and people who truly want to be together.

That definitely helps keep any demons at bay:) I came home to Brock and his friend, who just had knee surgery, on the couch laughing and playing Call of Duty. It was a scene that made me smile – two friends helping each other and laughing while doing it. By the time I got back from the gym, Brock was at ju jitsu, where he will be until after I’m asleep (I’m pitiful in the evening). I’m alone on December 18, but I’m not alone. I’ve let people into my heart and they are with me even now. Oh, and Tiger and Maddy too:) It’s hard to feel alone when you have a 90 lb pit bull on your lap!

photo-181

Anniversaries that aren’t are strange things. They are meaningless and yet we mark them. It’s a time when we used to reflect upon the past years of the relationship. Now that the relationship is over, we find ourselves playing a game of “what if?,” wondering what this day might have looked like otherwise. These anniversaries are so piercing at first, the loss overwhelming and threatening to undo a year’s worth of work. But they don’t have to stay that way. We can let them soften, let them become mere curiosities on the calendar. I see it like a number line. I used to count the positive numbers away from my wedding day. Now, I am on the other side of zero, counting away from my divorce date. I can see today as would-have-been thirteen or I can celebrate it as it-is-three. I bet you can guess which view I choose:)

So, I am wishing myself a happy anniversary. And I am celebrating three years of loving and laughing and learning. That’s an anniversary I can celebrate every year!

 

 

And today, yet another year out, I am still celebrating. And wishing all of you happy anniversaries that aren’t.

Announcement

 

Revisionist

Posted on by stilllearning2b

When I was in the early days after the text, I found Viki Stark’s blog, Runaway Husbands. I had mixed feelings about the discovery. On the one hand, it felt good to know that I wasn’t alone. On the other, especially as she was collecting stories for her book, it was filled with wives adding their own, often anger-filled, stories of how he left. I spent a few weeks there and even added my own tale. But then I moved on, knowing that reading about the beginnings every day would keep me in the beginning. I cared about how he left but I was more concerned about how I was going to live.

If you have experienced a tsunami divorce, I recommend reading Viki Stark’s work. She distills thousands of cases into facts and patterns, which bring some comfort and depersonalization to the betrayed. Although her work is with abandoned wives, it fits just as well with the husbands I have encountered that have also experienced sudden abandonment.

In her recent piece in Psychology Today, My Husband Was Abducted By Aliens, she explores the way that the deserting spouse rewrites history and reality to match his/her own needs. I remember how crazy-making this was when my ex spewed lies in his suicide letter to my mom and other wife (spoiler – he survived). In time, I came to realize that he could not live with the cognitive dissonance created by his actions. So he rewrote my reality to match his.

One of the pieces of advice I give to someone in this situation is to have a reality anchor. There are days that feel like an acid trip through Alice’s Nightmareland, where you no longer know what is a fabrication and what is real. Have something that reminds you of the truth that can bring you back. I held a copy of his mugshot in my purse for months. It was my reminder that he was a criminal.  And criminals lie.

The most important advice I can give to someone who has been abandoned is to learn how to not take it personally. Sounds crazy, I know. Read this.

Regardless of what your exiting spouse says, it’s your story. Write your happy ending. Aliens be damned.

 

Rewrapping Divorce As a Gift

Posted on by stilllearning2b

This piece from two years ago is still one of my most popular and shared and has garnered some of the more interesting responses. It seemed appropriate to share it again.

I was asked to write this piece by an editor at The Huffington Post. I knew they wanted the salacious details. I also knew that I wanted to show that no matter how bad things are, you can can use them as a springboard to something better.

 

As we continue in the holiday season and many of you continue on in your divorce journeys, remember that we cannot always change our circumstances, but we can always change our attitude. And that may be the best gift you can give yourself.

Rewrapping Divorce As a Gift

My divorce certainly did not present itself as a gift, trussed up with a big red bow like a Lexus in a Christmas commercial. Instead, it was a big ugly box, filled to the brim with explosives. It was a present I never anticipated and one I never desired. But, as it came with a “no return” policy, I was determined to make the best of it.

I was with my husband for 16 years. Sixteen good years. Little did I know a tsunami was forming beneath the placid surface of our marriage. A tsunami that reached land one afternoon when I received the following text message:

“I am sorry to be such a coward leaving you this way but I am leaving you and leaving the state.”

The warning sirens never sounded.

Click here to read the rest.