healing

What Words Were Spoken?

Posted on May 4, 2012March 6, 2024 by stilllearning2b

I stumbled across this article this morning and found familiar words. My husband left me a letter than contained many of the same excuses. I think it can be helpful to realize that these words are often not meant to be taken personally, rather they are the platitudes spoken to try to excuse the behavior and pass along the shame and guilt. These are not words to internalize and let fester, rather, these are words to let slide through and let go.

What Cheating Men Really Mean When They Say They’re Leaving | First Wives World.

Men – I would love to hear from you. Are these words similar to those spoken by cheating wives?

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.

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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You Are Not Your Divorce

Posted on March 3, 2012March 3, 2012 by stilllearning2b

Our traumas help to form us, but we do have to let them define us. You are not what happened to you. You are not your suffering. The first step in healing is taking ownership of your reactions and choosing to respond in a manner which will help you let go of the past.

You will always see the event as a delineation in your memories; there is a “you” before and a different “you” after that has been changed by the trauma. When you become stuck, you view the repercussions of the event as malevolent and place the responsibility for the changed self on the event.

It happened. It hurt. It changed you. By letting it define you, you simply give it more power. You have the ability to create beauty out of the pain.

One of the most powerful images I held in my mind during my divorce was that of how I handled a fallen tree in my garden. I had a large tree come down in an area where I had cultivated a beautiful woodland garden. Those delicate plants were now exposed to the harsh midday sun and would not survive. I mourned the loss of the area for a day or so and then I went to work. I dug up and moved all of the shade-lovers and replanted them in new areas that would still give them the shelter they needed. I then loaded up my car with sun-loving plants from the nursery (yes, this was the fun part!) that I never had space for before. I was able to create a new, different, but even more beautiful garden where the tree had fallen.

Are you letting your divorce define you? Do you give it (or your ex) the power to control your life now? This is a choice and you can change your mind.

Consciously Choosing to Move Forward.