I’ve Fallen – But I Can Get Up!

The latest in designer ski ware. Or not:)
The latest in designer ski wear. Or not:)

I’ve just returned from my first ever – Gulp! – ski trip.

Experienced skiers – prepare to chuckle.

I was nervous yet excited for the trip. I was looking forward to time in the mountains (always a favorite of mine) and some quality time with my man. The nerves? Those were because I knew that I would have to face my nemesis – downhills.

Sugar Mountain on a clear day.
Sugar Mountain on a clear day.

As we drove the last few miles to Sugar Mountain in Banner Elk, North Carolina, winter suddenly appeared. The temperature plummeted as our elevation climbed and clear skies were replaced by a steady snowfall. The slopes were obscured by the snow and haze. This was probably a good thing since I was unable to see the full extent of the hills!

View from the top. Brock took this one!
View from the top. Brock took this one!

Loaded down with gear, I made my way over to the ski school while my fiance went off on his own to tackle the blue slopes. There were 15 of us in the lesson, lined up like dominoes along the gentle slopes of the school area. After learning the basics of the equipment, we were instructed to slide down the hill, one at a time, to practice the “pizza” pose (they’re used to teaching kids!) used to slow down your descent. I was the fifth one in line. Each time the instructor skied back up to the top of the line, I clarified a piece of his directions. I wanted to make sure that I understood what to do. Of course, knowledge is only the beginning – I then had to apply it. When it was my turn, I scooted out of the line and pointed my skis down the hill. With a slight push of the poles, I was off and moving. I was so focused on the placement of my feet, I neglected to be aware of my center of gravity. I overcompensated and started to fall backwards as my feet kept moving forwards. The instructor grabbed my hands and I slid between his legs. If this was a swing dancing lesson, I would have earned a gold star!

It was comforting to be in the presence of other beginners. We were all (way) out of our comfort zones. We were all scared of the skis on the slick snow. We all tried to control our speed and trajectory, some with more success than others. Some gave up. Others were cautious yet continued. And some threw themselves down the hill with reckless abandon. As for me? I’ll let you guess:)

A nervous smile:)
A nervous smile and a comforting hand:)

I only had three opportunities to slide down the hill under the watchful eye of the instructor. Each time, I required his help. At the conclusion of the one hour lesson, I was exhausted. Not physically, but mentally. I kept my fears in check and relaxed into the experience but this took more out of me than I could have imagined. After a brief reunion with Brock, I elected to rest for awhile and then return to the school area to practice some by myself. I was very cautious while I was practicing. There were new skiers and young children everywhere. I didn’t trust my ability to avoid them, so I spent much of my time patiently waiting for a clear path. I did discover a strength of mine during that session – I may stink at going down the hills, but I was the best in the bunch at walking uphill in skis:) New sport, maybe?

At our next meeting, Brock encouraged me to tackle the green slope with him. Now, at this point, I had done maybe ten “runs” down very mild hills that were each about ten yards long. Not exactly a lot of practice! I was hesitant. I am way more cautious than he is and I was concerned that he was trying to push me further than I was ready to go. But I trusted him and it turned out he was right.

Now, this green slope in question is a real run. It takes several minutes on a lift to get the top. Surprisingly, I was okay on that first trip to the top. I was slightly nervous, but okay. Brock was coaching me on the way, telling me what to expect and giving me encouragement. Even with the coaching, I still slid into a crumbled mess as I left the lift.

A newborn giraffe struggling to take its first steps? Nope - me on my first real slope!
A newborn giraffe struggling to take its first steps? Nope – me on my first real slope!

That was my first real fall with no swing dancing moves to keep me off the snow. Much to my surprise, I was overtaken with laughter. It turns out that falling is fun. It’s just the getting up that sucks!

After much shifting and pushing and pulling, I managed to stand upright on the level surface at the top of the slope. I took a deep breath, pointed my skis down the hill, and took off. I made it about twenty feet before I fell again, a pile of Lisa shaking with laughter. That first trip down took forever. Sometimes I fell and sometimes I panicked due to speed or the proximity of others and I bailed by sitting down. But I made it and I never panicked. And, I had LOTS of practice in learning how to stand up again!

"My" slope.
“My” slope.

As I sat in the snow at the base of the run, I realized that I had carried expectations into this trip. I thought I would be in the “classroom” the entire time. I didn’t think I would be able to complete a “real” run. I thought I would freeze in fear. It felt so good to prove myself wrong.

The next day, I tackled that same run three more times. The first one of the day held a surprise. We were on the lift, about halfway to the top, when I started to violently shake, panic moving through my body. Why was this happening? I knew the course now and I knew I could make it. I guess I had enough experience to be scared but not enough to be comfortable yet. Brock helped me refocus and breathe and the moment my skis (okay, butt – I fell immediately again!) hit the snow, I was fine.

The view from "my" slope.
Can’t beat those views!

Each run was better than the last. By the end, I didn’t fall at all and I only bailed twice – once soon after the lift and again midway down the steepest slope. Brock followed behind me shouting, “My baby’s a skier!”

And, I guess I am.

I love those experiences that cause me to revise my view of myself. I always said that I could not go down hills, run a race, cook a meal or write a book. I used to say I could not live without my husband. I like proving myself wrong.

It felt so amazing fully submitting to the experience, letting go and leaning forward into the ride. I found freedom in the downhills which once only held fear. Brock’s support and encouragement added to my trust fund for him. But even more importantly, I learned how to to trust in myself and in my abilities. And, I learned that I when I fall, I can get up again.

A skier!
A skier!

Thanks to my new friend, Paulette, author of The Persecution of Mildred Dunlap, I am up and running (okay, maybe walking:) ) on Goodreads. I’m doing a giveaway to celebrate. If you’re interested in winning a free copy of Lessons From the End of a Marriage, visit my book page!

 

Them’s the Rules – A Blogging Year in Review

I am a rule follower in most areas of my life. But not in the blogging world. I don’t proofread (and I make lots of typos!:) ). I fail to spend time formatting pictures. And I’ll post multiple times in a day. Furthermore, I am absolutely horrendous at following the guidelines for awards (although I am eternally grateful to those of you who have graciously sent them my way). However,  there is one blogging tradition that I feel like I just have to honor – the year in recap, especially since the one year anniversary of my blog coincides with the conclusion of 2012.

So, here goes – a look back at Lessons From the End of a Marriage 2012. I apologize in advance if I get this wrong. Again, I don’t follow the blogging rules so well:)

The Beginning

Last December, I spent some time with my friend Christian. I showed him the outline of the book which I had started two years prior and had just committed to finishing. He recommended that I start a blog as a way of pre-marketing the book. I knew nothing about blogging, so I downloaded two Kindle books on the subject – one free and one $.99 – and I set up my WordPress site that afternoon. I set a goal of posting at least three times a week, but I was intimidated by the thought of coming up with that many ideas.

I didn’t need to worry. The ideas just began to flow and I found myself posting daily. I found a rhythm of writing in the mornings and jotting down ideas throughout the day in a small spiral notebook I kept in my purse (no iPhone yet:) ). I started following other blogs and found myself pleasantly surprised at the supportive WordPress community. I was still working on the book and the blog was a great place to explore ideas and solidify the themes.

I experimented with Facebook and Twitter and tweaked my blog settings. I never really knew what I was doing; I simply did what felt right in the moment. Looking back, some of the posts makes me giggle and some make me cringe. But I’ll leave them – they are part of the history.

I learned the humor inherent in seeing how people found my site. My favorite search terms?

  • lisa arends bigamy (This one always makes me giggle. I’m not the bigamist! 🙂 )
  • monkey lifting weights (because of this post)
  • shaved monkey (that would be this one – I guess my monkey mind titles are a little strange:))
  • how to get away with bigamy (please – just say no!)
  • happy birthday to my car (I felt weird when I wrote that title, but I guess I’m not the only one)
  • goddess flexibility pics (uhmm…thanks but I’m no goddess and I’m not very flexible)
  • math show sole (????)
  • squish bikini (eww! there is a pic on here of me in a bikini, but I don’t consider myself to be super squishy)
  • crying is okay here (yes it is)
  • the joy of outdoor showering (I know I love it)
  • who did mrs wayne dyer marry (I would hope Mr. Wayne Dyer)

I went into blogging with the idea of promoting a book. I had no idea that it (and writing) would become an inherent part of my life.

Key posts:

How it Began

When is a Phone More Than a Phone?

Softness Isn’t Just for Selling Tissues

The Garden

Wanted: The Ronald McDonald House for the Recently Seperated

10 Things My Vibrams Taught Me About Relationships

The Importance of Love Mentors

The Blame Game

Rebooting: Are You in Safe Mode?

Taming the Monkey Mind

Goal Post

I Was Lucky

Two Years Ago Today

You Make Me Happy

What Set Theory Can Teach Us About Marriage

The Big Time

As I made my way into the blogging world, I found myself commenting on sites all over the net. Huffington Post was a frequent visit of mine and I often found that the articles in their “divorce” section spurred my own ideas, which I frequently left on their page. Then, in April, much to my surprise, I was asked to write a piece for them sharing my story.

And, oh what a ride that was. The piece went viral, sending over 20,000 visitors to my site in two days. It was cross-posted around the world in a variety of languages. The comments poured in. Most were shocked. Many were supportive. And some were hateful.

It was a strange feeling. Until that point, I had a relatively small and insular group of readers. I had kept my name hidden (thus stilllearning2b). My readers were supportive and understanding. The readers of Huff Post? Not so much. This was a crossroads for me – I had to decide if I wanted to pull back or go full force with my story, not knowing what the repercussions would be and having to thicken my skin in the process.

I think my choice is evident. I remembered my motivation to share in the first place – I didn’t want anyone to feel alone in their journey as I once did. I kept writing, adding more Huffington pieces and adding MindBodyGreen and others to the list.

Key Posts:

Check Out My Article in the Huffington Post!

Signs in the Rearview Mirror

Reaction

Strange Place to Be

Tsunami Divorce

8 Ways Yoga Supported Me Through Divorce

Have You Taken Out Your Mental Garbage?

The Long Con

Getting Away With Bigamy

The Book

By the end of July, the book was finally finished and ready to be published. I wondered if I would still feel the compulsion to write now that the project was complete. Again, I had nothing to worry about.

This period was when I really began to identify as a writer. I decided to be transparent in the process and share my story of self-publishing and writing for Huffington Post. The completion of the book also put me in a different place emotionally, and my posts began to focus more on present day rather than with wrestling demons from the past.

Key Posts:

When Can I Call Myself a Writer?

Adventures in Publishing

Adventures in Publishing, Part II

From Victim to Victory

How to Become a Huffington Post Blogger

Welcoming the End of an Era

Write Yourself Through Divorce

Beyond Belief

Things exploded in the early fall. Another Huffington article went viral and I began to be contacted almost daily by producers. Most offers fell flat for one reason or another, but The Jeff Probst Show became a reality in September. It. Was. Surreal.

I had already exposed my identity to the internet, but now my “teacher persona” and “blogger persona” met for the first time. My coworkers read my book and approached me in the halls, giving me sympathetic hugs. My student’s parents sent me encouraging emails and engaged in whispered conversations at school events.

My little blog project wasn’t so little any more and it had grown well beyond what I could control. There was some anxiety associated with being so “out there.” It’s not always easy to have strangers comment on your life, your feelings and your actions.

Key Posts:

Time Travel

If You Missed the Show

My Motivation

Who Is He?

Lisa Arends on The Moffett Message

Marital Fraud: Questions Answered

The Blessings

I keep coming back to this. Every time I ponder pulling back, I receive an email or comment that helps me recommit to sharing. I have been so touched, so humbled and so inspired by the messages I receive or the posts I read from others who are surviving their own tsunamis. Additionally, I have found that writing reminds me of what I have in my life; it makes me grateful for what is rather than bitter for what was lost. I no longer feel alone. I am amazed at the supportive community that is all around us if we are willing to be vulnerable and show our pain. You guys are awesome:)

Key Posts:

Extend a Hand

Marathon Recap: I Won

Forgiveness 101

Quitting vs Letting Go

This is a Test of the Emergency Rant System

Practicing What I Preach

Love After Divorce: A Reflection on a Journey

I am a planner by nature. It is somewhat uncomfortable for me to accept that I don’t know what 2013 will bring. So here’s to letting go of expectations, staying in the moment, practicing gratitude and sharing the love:) I wish all of you the happiest of new years!

Dulling the Knife’s Edge

This was one of my first posts on this site (back when I had all of 4 followers, I think). I put it on Facebook today and it’s been generating some interesting feedback so I thought I would repost it again here. Enjoy:)

 

 

knives serious

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.

River Rocks and Clouds Reflected

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

Home on the Range

UNDER THE TEXAS SKY

I grew up in Texas.

The trucks in my high school’s parking lot were adorned with gun racks. Animal control had to be called to our neighborhood to capture baby wild boars that our neighbor had housed in his garage when he accidentally shot their mother. It turns out that wooden doors are no match even for a young boar. Venison was a common addition to the lunch boxes in the school cafeteria. Gun cabinets were viewed as essential furniture, their importance falling in place somewhere between a sofa and a table.

I grew up in Texas but I guess you could say Texas didn’t grow up in me.

My parents were more hippie than cowboy. I was raised in a peace-loving anti-gun household. I developed a wariness of guns. I stayed far away from them and felt anxious if one was in sight.  This was a problem since it was Texas. Most of those gun cabinets in my friend’s homes? Yeah, glass fronts to show off the weaponry. I wasn’t fearful of all weapons. After all, I did become a fencer. But guns triggered (sorry, couldn’t resist) a fear in me that I chose not to confront.

Hippies Use Side Door
Yup. We had one of these but ours was blue.

And then I met Brock. My fiance is ex-army. He grew comfortable with shooting during his service. Since then, he has taken several gun  courses to improve his tactical training and to supplement what he practices/teaches with sticks and knives. He is good with a gun – he can send the target to the back of the range and when it returns, it will have a tight circle of holes in an intended area. He never pushed me, but he wanted me to become more comfortable around firearms. I agreed. I knew that my fear stemmed from ignorance. I also was in the early stages of confronting my fears, and this seemed like a natural step.

If my mom has read up to this point, she is probably shaking her head and wondering where I went wrong. Sorry, mom:) You may not want to read the rest…

Shooting Range

For the first year we were together, my exposure therapy was simply watching him clean his weapon after returning from the range and handling an unloaded gun. Last year, I took my first trip to the range. I was nervous, but mainly curious, as I stood in the lobby/viewing area watching the shooters behind the layers of bullet proof glass. I was okay while I slipped on my hearing protection and safety glasses. I was fine until I opened that second door that led into the range and my body reverberated with the sound of a shot. It was visceral. My body startled and shook with every blast. It elicited a primal fear in me. I wanted to exit that door and never look back.

But I stayed. My whole life, I have been wound tight, jumping at noises and physically reacting to stressors. When I experienced so much loss from deaths in high school and trauma from the divorce, this tendency was heightened. I realized that the range was a huge desensitization opportunity – a time for me to be exposed to a sound and feeling that scared me yet carried no negative repercussions. I just stood there against the back wall for a time, watching and listening, still jumping at every discharge. And then Brock motioned me up to the booth.

He showed me how to tell that the weapon was unloaded and had me dry fire a few times to get used to the grip. He then helped me load it and coached me on how to breathe and fire. My mind emptied as I pulled the trigger for the first time. The recoil, although I knew it was coming, still surprised me. I reset and slowly shot the remaining 7 rounds. I don’t think I ever even made the paper target dance, but that was okay.

Yesterday was my third trip to the range, this time with a gun that is sized more for me. The sounds of the range barely bother me now, but I still struggle with relaxing while I shoot. I have a tendency to pull the barrel up as I depress the trigger. Interestingly, this only happens when the weapon is loaded.

I am reacting out of anticipation rather than reality. Yup. Still learning that one.

By the end of the session, I was starting to find the balance between a secure grip and an overly tight one. I was learning how to hold on and relax at the same time. I am still no sharpshooter, but at least more of my rounds hit my target rather than the ones next to me. I am still not comfortable with guns but they no longer have power over me in the same way. By facing my fear, I have gained some control over my reactions. I’ll never be a marksman and I’ll never have a gun rack in my car, but I also feel like I don’t have to avoid guns altogether. Not everything has to be all or none.

So, I guess now that the girl has moved out of Texas, a little bit of Texas has moved into the girl. You probably still won’t want to call on me in the event of a zombie apocalypse, however. I’ll leave that one to those who can actually hit the target:)

TARGET: ZOMBIE!

A quick note on gun control:

There are some who feel that the solution to society’s ills is to arm everybody. Others believe that the answer is found in disarming everyone. The reality? Neither option is a panacea and both are reactions born of fear. We want to control the bad things that happen. But the reality is that we cannot. And that is often scarier than any gun could ever be. There are no easy answers and there are no quick fixes. But I think we can all benefit from recognizing and confronting our fears rather than allowing them to speak for us.

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