divorce

There’s No Shame in Asking for Help

Posted on April 19, 2012May 2, 2012 by stilllearning2b

I have always been very independent. As a very young (and short) child, I would use household objects as tool in order to reach the light switches so that I would not have to depend upon anyone else. Overall, I believe that this trait has served me well. Until I got divorced, that is. Those first few weeks were hell on my body. I could not eat, causing my already slim frame to waste away to nothing. My ribs stood out in relief along my back. My body was racked with tremors, the anxiety too much for mere flesh and bones to contain. I did not sleep; my body refused to rest.

Those around me encouraged me to try medication. I resisted. I was determined to do this alone, without the aid of a pharmacy. Eventually, my body made the decision for me as days moved into weeks and I saw no improvement. I ended up with some substantial medication to help me eat and sleep (300 mg Trazadone, if you’re keeping count…and I could still push through that on many nights). I found peace with my decision to accept pharmaceutical assistance. Those pills allowed my body to function for the first 8 months. I let them go when I was able to go solo again.

There is no shame is asking for help. We accept the fact that those at the at the end of life and those at the beginning of life require assistance, yet we somehow believe that adults should be able to be independent. Divorce is the death of one life and the infancy of another. You will need help.

Here are three sources of help you may find you need:

1) Therapy

Depending upon your situation, your prior coping skills, and your support system, you may be in need of therapy. That is not a sign of weakness or a sign that you are crazy. You are going through one of the most stressful events that one can endure and you may not be prepared to handle it on your own. A therapist can be your guide down the road to healing. Don’t be afraid to try different approaches and different people until you find what works for you.

2) Medication

I had to face the difficult lesson that sometimes you can’t fix your body through sheer will. Medication may need to be investigated if you are unable to sleep or eat for a significant period or if sadness or anxiety are completely overwhelming. I know I was afraid of triggering dependency, as I felt that I was in a very vulnerable place. I discussed this with my doctor and so medications were chosen that were not considered high risk for abuse.

3) Time

Divorce is exhausting. Adding to that, you have to adapt to your new responsibilities, navigate the court system, and somehow find time to process the whole mess. This is a time when taking some leave from work is acceptable; your self-work needs to take priority for a while. If you are parent, ask someone to watch the kids so that you can have some time alone.

It is far better to temporarily suffer the embarrassment and discomfort of asking for help than to permanently suffer in silence. Ask for a hand, and let it guide you through.

Dulling the Knife’s Edge

Posted on April 19, 2012 by stilllearning2b

When I first felt the raw, unwashed trauma of my divorce, I would direct anger and indignation towards anyone who blithely told me that time heals all wounds. How foolish they must be, I thought. They must have never been through any challenges. How could the mere rotation of a clock hand soften the shock and pain of being utterly betrayed from the inside out? I scoffed at the notion.

Luckily for me, time continued on, ignorant of my harsh view of it.

The changes were so subtle at first, I did not notice them. The improvement from one hour to the next too small to be measured. But it was there nonetheless.

A clock made in Revolutionary France, showing ... — A clock made in Revolutionary France, showing the 10-hour metric clock. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

As time continued its relentless linear path, my pain followed suit in an inverse relationship, although in a much more randomized pattern. I became accustomed to the things causing my discomfort, and so I was not as aware of them. The pain, once so alien, became familiar and no longer needed attention. Anniversaries came and went and I survived. I layered memories, replacing painful ones with fresher happier ones. The hardest times occurred with diminishing frequency and lessening intensity.

I still dismiss the notion that time will heal all wounds; time is no surgeon, ready to excise the malignant past. However, time does dull the knife’s edge of past traumas, lessening their ability to cause that searing pain, that sharp intake of breath when the blade pierces your heart. The pain becomes duller, more distant, more manageable. It’s as though its initial razor edge is dulled by time dragging it through the rocks lining the river of life, new experiences whittling away the once-sharp edge.

While waiting for the blade of your trauma to dull, carry lots of bandages and always be wary of the edge.

Is It Better to Have Loved and Lost? Yes, Yes, It Is! | Psychology Today

Posted on April 19, 2012 by stilllearning2b

This article deals with death. But then, divorce is a type of death, isn’t it? I think we can all use this reminder sometimes.

Is It Better to Have Loved and Lost? Yes, Yes, It Is! | Psychology Today.

The Day the Marriage Died

Posted on April 17, 2012February 25, 2018 by stilllearning2b

Up until now, everything I have posted has been recently written, almost 3 years since the end of my marriage. I recently went back and visited some of my earlier writings, drafted in the weeks and months after he left. I’ve decided to share some of that, to expose the raw underbelly of divorce. Please be aware that this writing has a different tone. The emotions and language are harsh as they capture my reaction on the day the marriage died.

Wellness is not measured by the amount of broccoli you eat or the number of miles you can run. It is not found in the number of punches on your yoga membership card or the double digits of your sit-up count. Wellness is not indicated by the reading of the blood pressure cuff or the size indicated on the label of your jeans.

I used to think I was well; I had all of the above mastered. My lean, muscled body spoke of the intense workouts it was subjected to along with the strict vegetarian diet that was used to fuel the exercise sessions. I awoke before dawn to ensure that I could fit a workout into my hectic schedule as a middle school teacher. I fit long runs in on open evenings or on the weekends. I watched everything I ate, avoiding meat and keeping a careful eye on the amount of fat consumed. My favorite way to spend the weekends was working in my extensive garden or going on long hikes in the nearby North Georgia mountains.

I used to think I was well. But, I wasn’t. All it took to strip away all of physical manifestations of health was a few short sentences. A text, sent across the country on a sunny Saturday afternoon, arriving unexpectedly on my phone.

July 11, 2009 12:38 p.m.

I’m sorry to be such a coward leaving you this way. I am leaving. Please reach out to someone let the dogs out as I am leaving the state. The code for the garage is 5914. I’m truly sorry but I can’t do this anymore. Please give me some time to come to terms with my decision. I will call you in a few days. I am sorry that I have failed you.

Lesson One

When two become ones, you are able to see yourself clearly.

Fear gripped. Legs collapsed. Brain stuttered. Lungs heaved. Gut clenched. Body trembled. World shattered. Visceral. Violent.

My father’s arms engulfed me as I lay shaking on the floor, my body and brain rebelling from my new reality.

“What can I do for you? Do you want me to call mom?” my dad offered, seeking for a way to comfort his only child.

“Yes, please,” I responded, forcing the words out through my locked lungs.

He reluctantly left me in a heap on the hallway floor in my aunt and uncle’s house as he moved to the dining room to make the call to my mother in Texas, whom he had divorced decades earlier.

My brain barely registered his soft, yet strained voice in conversation several feet away from me. My hands gripped my phone with urgency, willing it to send another message. Wanting this to be a mistake. A joke. Anything but real. A little anger pushed through the initial shock, enough for me to summon the courage to flip open the phone, using muscle memory trained over years to scroll down twelve names to Mr. T, the nickname he used to put himself in the phone he bought for me years before.

“Hello. You’ve reached T of MMS. I cannot come to the phone right now, but please leave a message and I will get back to you as soon as possible.”

I took a deep breath and left a message, almost unintelligible through my tears, my shaking, and my heaving chest.

“T. I don’t understand. What is this? A text message? Sixteen years and a text message? Please don’t do this. Not like this. Call me. Please.”

I closed the phone, severing the connection.

It sat there silent. Taunting me. I opened it again, this time to send a text message.

What about the dogs? Are the dogs okay? Call me.

It remained silent, the screen dark.

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5 Things Which Require More Flexibility Than Yoga

Posted on April 16, 2012April 21, 2012 by stilllearning2b

Divorce certainly takes flexibility, mental contortions. Your life partner has become an enemy, stranger, platonic friend, or some combination of the three. You have to go from seeing yourself as half of a package deal to solo, ties to no other. You may be negotiating how to parent children when the parents no longer share a home. You may be deconstructing the destruction, examining the known from unknown angles. It is so easy to blame, yourself and others, for the way things are. Everything that has been assumed is no longer. The old lines of mental travel, though well-worn, will not serve you here. It is time to be more flexible, more accepting of what is. Wherever you are today is where you are meant to be. Let go, breathe, and you will deepen.

5 Things Which Require More Flexibility Than Yoga.

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