Missing

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I woke up this morning with that dull ache that comes from missing someone. I wasn’t surprised to feel that void – Brock is out of town, I don’t see family much and most of my local friends have a different spring break this year. But the ache wasn’t for any of those people. It was for my ex mother in law.

I got to know my mother in law well over the 16 years I was with her son. She and I even lived together for a couple weeks while the men were away at work. She was a good woman with a giving heart. I always felt a little sorry for her, however. She was always a bit timid. A bit weak. Uncomfortable in her own skin. Almost missing in her own life.

She had a great relationship with her father yet allowed her adult life to be limited by her complicated relationships with her mother and siblings. She was afraid. Of driving. Of crowds. Of new experiences. Of being alone. That last one is probably what kept her in the relationship with her husband, even as his drinking grew out of control and his personality became more abrasive.

She was a caring parent, yet a distant one. She wanted the best for her son, an only child, yet wasn’t always equipped to help him achieve it. She didn’t want to pass her insecurities on to him and she worked hard to avoid that.

My ex had a complicated relationship with his parents as we moved into adulthood. He went long periods without contact, even though they moved to Atlanta along with us and ended up settling two streets over. His tough love approach seemed to work; they stopped drinking at some point. Even then, he didn’t always maintain contact. I’m not sure why, but I always let him be the one to decide how much contact he wanted. After all, they were his parents.

The last time I spoke to his mom was on the phone a couple weeks after he left. He had been arrested for the bigamy and spent a day in jail until his father posted his bail. He was alone that night. He had been caught. His other wife, upon learning the truth, had left him and his computers and car were impounded. He had nothing. He tried to end it all that day, taking an overdose of sleeping pills. Through a very unlikely series of events (serendipity?), my parents and I ended up saving his life.

The next day, I learned from the police that his parents were coming up from Atlanta to pick him up from the hospital. I called them, wanting to reach out and give them any information that I thought might help their son. I wanted them to understand how much help he really needed. I talked to his mom for over an hour. She was in shock. Like with everyone else in our lives, the reality of his double identity stunned her. They just wanted to get their boy home and figure out what to do from there.

We hung up when they arrived at the hospital. She said she would call me back. She never did.

I can’t even fathom the terror and pain of a parent upon discovering that their child is in crisis and a criminal all with one phone call. I worried about her. I still do. At the courthouse, 8 months later, his father was there, stoic and silent, but his mother was noticeably absent. I hope she missing only because she was afraid to face the court, a fear I can easily relate to, but I don’t know.

His parents took him in for a time after the suicide attempt. I don’t know what he told them or what he did, but I’m afraid that they were a victim of his cons as well. I know of one defaulted credit card with a very high balance that had her name on it as well, as it was taken out before he was 18.  I hope they were able to protect themselves even as they tried to help him.

This morning, I missed her. I thought about when we sat on her living room floor, looking through his baby pictures. I thought of her trying out Puerto Rican bread pudding recipes, trying to nail down her father’s favorite childhood dish. I remember her coming in to my first “regular” job at a pet store and immediately falling in love with a young Papillon. I placed the dogs in her arms to handle a customer; she always blamed me for her decision to purchase the puppy:)  I remembered her stories of her early married life in California and the stories of her parent’s courtship. I remembered when she sewed a liner into the white bikini I had foolishly purchased and when she emergency-hemmed my wedding dress in the back of the restaurant where we had our reception dinner.

I miss her. I just hope she isn’t missing from her own life.

Of Teddy Bears and Security Systems

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Teddy Bear

For most of my married life, I felt secure. I had a husband that I trusted. I owned a home and had been at the same job for many years. I felt comfortable in my life; I trusted that change, if desired, would come from intention. It was predictable and I liked that. If you had asked me where I would have been five years down the road, I would have answered without hesitation.

That feeling of security and blind trust is what allowed me to become complacent. Too comfortable. I was petrified of losing that feeling of security. I was very conservative in my decisions, choosing to avoid risk whenever possible.

I lost all semblance of security when he left. Everything was in question; nothing was sure. I didn’t have time to let it scare me. I simply had to survive. I was operating at the base level of Maslow’s hierarchy: eating, sleeping and breathing were my priorities.

I started tiptoeing back into life. I branched out but much was still unknown. I could not even imagine where I would be five years hence. And I was okay with that.

At some point I realized that the security that I had held so dear was an illusion, the equivalent of a child clutching a stuffed bear to ward off the dangers in the night.

I had outgrown the need for the illusion of security. I realized that the house, the job, the marriage could disappear.  There were no guarantees in mortgages and marriage certificates. They could be pulled from my hands just as easily as that stuffed bear, leaving me to face the night alone.

I had an experience that highlighted my changing views of security during my Match Madness phase. I dated one man for several weeks. He had money. I mean, real money. After only a few weeks, he mentioned the idea of me moving in, leaving my job and becoming basically a kept woman. I was repulsed by the idea but fascinated by my response. At that point, I had put in my resignation at my job and had no idea where I was going to live or how I was going to make money. I was facing the very real debts from my ex and had not yet received innocent spouse relief from the IRS. In other words, being kept should have been a temptation.

But it wasn’t. It felt like a prison.

I realized that the illusion of security works to hold us in, using our fears as restraints. I would have been bound to him by the fear of being penniless, not out of mutual respect and love. It went both ways. He was accustomed to using his bank account to hold women; he never had to work on relationship skills since he assumed that his wallet would do it for him. He was scared by the thought of a relationship without that hold.

Security looks different for me now. I don’t look for it externally, rather my security comes from trusting myself and knowing that I can make it through regardless of what happens. By next year, I will again have a marriage certificate, a mortgage and a secure job. But now I won’t be looking at them for comfort and assurance; that will come from within. I no longer clutch onto the metaphorical stuffed bears, but nor do I refuse to hold them.

Blame – Continuing the Conversation

Posted on by stilllearning2b

So why do we play the blame game at the end of a marriage, assigning guilt like we’re tallying points in a shuffleboard match? Why does it have to turn into a bride vs. groom match with everyone taking sides?

The blame frequently starts within the dissolving union. One partner often holds the other responsible for the destruction of the marriage. They can be quick to list the faults and transgressions of their ex, pointing fingers at another as a way of avoiding having to look at themselves. This is frequently performed behind a shield of righteousness, painting the blaming spouse into a victim role where they have no responsibility for their own actions and their own happiness.

Not all blame comes from within. Some of the most painful and damaging blame comes from those outside the marriage who feel the need to pass judgment on its demise. Read the rest on The Huffington Post.

 

Three Years Ago Today

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Three years ago today, I sat in a courtroom with the man I had spent half of my life with.

Three years ago today, I looked at his face for any sign of the man I had loved.  I saw none.

Three years ago today, I sat alone in a hallway waiting for the attorneys to decide his fate and mine.

Three years ago today, I cried and shook with the realization that is was all over.

Three years ago today, I felt a heaviness lift as I cut the dead weight of him from my burden.

Three years ago today, I took my first steps as a single woman.

And now, three years on, I could not not be happier with where I am.

And, I could not be where I am without three years ago today.

Where Are Your Guard Towers?

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Torreta de vigilancia

I had an extensive collection of guard towers in my marriage. They stood side by side, almost forming an impenetrable wall that encircled the union. Each one was fully staffed and stocked with binoculars and communication devices so that no surprise attacks could occur.

There was a fatal error made in their construction, however.

They all pointed outwards, watching for external attacks.

I went into marriage a realist. Sort of. I knew that fairy tales weren’t real and I had seen firsthand the ugliness that life can deliver. I say ‘sort of’ because I would never have thought that my husband was capable of delivering that ugliness. I had a realistic view of marriage but I didn’t have a realistic view of him.

I set out from the beginning to protect my marriage. I was afraid of external threats. I always had a deep fear that I would lose him, but I assumed that it would be to death. That fear was not unfounded since I has lost 13 friends that way in the preceding years. So I erected those guard towers to alert me to any incoming hazards.

When years passed with no alarms, I grew complacent. Fat (figuratively speaking) and happy within the protected enclave of the union.

And that’s when the attack occurred.

From within.

There were no alarms because my attention was focused in the wrong direction. Much like a pickpocket or a magician, my husband performed his tricks while ensuring my focus was elsewhere. And it worked.

My guard towers gave me a false sense of security. They were focused only on outside threats and, even worse, they were built so densely that they kept others out even when they offered no threat.

My towers are different now. I have pruned their numbers, limiting them to a few so as not to obstruct the view of the greater world. I make sure that they are on alert for hazards inside the relationship as well as those coming in from the outside. I ask them to be selectively permeable, much like a cell membrane, allowing benign bodies to pass.

I do have to be careful, as my guard towers are now prone to false alarms. When I hear sirens, I have to learn that the threat may be a ghost from the past and not a real menace.

I am happy within their borders. I trust their ability to alert me to danger. But I am not complacent. And that’s the best guard tower of all.