The Big Three

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I had dinner with some friends the other evening. This couple was in my life prior to the divorce tsunami (in fact, my then-husband spoke of me in glowing terms to the wife just weeks before he left), provided support during the year of tear-stained cheeks and building a life from scratch and now they have welcomed my new husband into the fold. I call those BDA friends – before, during and after.

As we were walking back from dinner, the wife half of the couple posed a question,

So I know you have learned so many things from of all of this, but what are your top three?

Challenge accepted. Although it did take much of the walk back from dinner to sort through the myriad lessons learned to arrive at the top three.

Walls are a prison, not a fortress.

I had several friends die while I was in high school. Several as in eleven. One after the other in a series of unrelated accidents and attacks. It left me raw, but I was functioning fine as I left town for college. Fine, that was, until I called a high school friend that fall and learned of two more deaths. My response was to narrow my world, limiting its inhabitants so that those damned statistical deaths would have a harder time reaching me. My then-boyfriend now-infamous-ex was the sole inhabitant within that inner world, all others relegated outside the walls built to protect my heart and my sanity.

I am sure that over the years, that approach protected me from loving and losing a variety of friends. But not because the strategy somehow prevented loss; it prevented love.

After facing the biggest loss of all, I welcomed everyone in to the inner circle; I even actively sought out inhabitants. And, have I lost some of them? Yes, although thankfully none to death at this point. But I am no longer so afraid of loss that I’ll let it hold me prisoner.

Autopilot never takes you anywhere worth going.

It’s scary how easy it is to let inertia take the pilot’s seat of your life. At least, that’s what I found. I made plans, set them in action and then just let it happen. Not only was I not as aware of life passing me by, I also ended up with behaviors and habits that no longer served their original purpose. For example, I went into “grit my teeth and get it done” phase when I was simultaneously working on my master’s degree, taking a gifted certification class and teaching a new grade level. After that year was over, I should have downshifted.

But autopilot was on.

Now, I make a concerted effort to always survey and reevaluate my course. And I’m not afraid to make corrections.

Place more emphasis on being rather than doing.

I used to love being described as a hard worker; it was the best compliment I could receive. And I was a hard worker, the one you would always want on your team. Unfortunately, that drive also carried with it an anxiety about getting everything done and a sense of self-worth tied to my accomplishments rather than my character.

I’m still a hard worker, but I now know how to push the pause button. I am okay with task-free moments and even (occasionally) entire days. There’s a balance now. A sense of peace.

So those are my top three lessons. The rollerblading outing prior to dinner demonstrated that I am still learning to go downhill. So, there are still lessons left to learn!

Meet Where You Are

Posted on by stilllearning2b

This post originally appeared on the site Eat live life, which is dedicated to empowering people with knowledge so that they can maximize their own wellness. Check out the site; there’s some great information for everyone!

 

Meet Where You Are

When I walked into my first yoga class after my divorce, I had no idea what I was about to encounter. I signed up simply looking for some relief for my tense muscles and maybe some balm for my anxious mind. I had hopes of the class providing structure for my unraveling life and maybe even a dash of eye candy thrown in as a bonus. What I found instead was wisdom that really had nothing to do with yoga.

Upon signing in, I warned the instructor that I was a runner and about as supple as a lead pipe. I didn’t mention the recent divorce, but the fact that my shoulders had taken up permanent residence by my ears hinted to some sort of life stress. The teacher laughed, and said, “You’ll need these then,” as she handed me two dense foam blocks. “In yoga, you meet the body where it is.”

I smiled politely back at her after uttering a “Thanks,” having no idea what she meant by her declaration; it sounded more like new age mumbo jumbo than anything that would actually help. After all, even those this was my first bona fide class, I had been down dogging from DVDs (or even VHS) for years and, as far as I knew, I had never “met” my body.

I was fine through the first few poses; none of them placed any demands on my perpetually shortened hamstrings. As I stood strong in warrior, I started to gain confidence in my body and my strength. That confidence quickly faded as we were instructed to straighten our front leg and fold over towards the floor. I was engaged in a battle of wills with my hamstring and I was determined to win.

I strained my body down as I forced the leg back. Beads of sweat flowed down my face mixed with tears born of frustration. I was accustomed to using my strength to see me through, to lowering my head and fighting through the pain.

Just as I re-intensified my efforts, I felt a gentle hand on my lower back. “In yoga, we meet the body where it is,” the instructor reminded, placing two blocks under my hands. Immediately, my brain stopped sending its panic signals. My hamstrings relaxed and opened as the gripping faded in both mind and body. I started to tease the boundary of discomfort, finding that there was a place where I could push without panic. As my breath flowed back into my body, I realized that I had been holding it.

Not just during the class.

But during the last few months.

I had been approaching my divorce much like I started that yoga class – head strong and patience weak. I hardened in the face of the pain, the situations that caused me to stretch beyond my current abilities. I gripped in both mind and breath and tensed for the next wave of suffering.

In life, we can meet ourselves where we are.
We can accept help.

We can make adjustments.

We can approach change as we’re able, slowly stretching into the discomfort.

We can limit suffering, not by pretending it doesn’t exist, but by letting the breath cushion its impact.

When I walked out of that yoga class that day, my hamstrings were more pliable. But even more importantly, my mind had softened.

 

8 Things I Wish I Had Known During Divorce

Posted on by stilllearning2b
wish I had known

Experience is quite a teacher, isn’t she? No matter how many books we read or how many pieces of advice we receive, there are certain matters you only truly understand after you have lived through them.

And, for roughly half of us, that life experience includes divorce.

The following are the lessons from divorce that I wish I had known before living it:

1) There is nothing that the courts can do to make it okay.

During the legal proceedings, I was obsessed with finding justice. I wanted consequences for his actions and validation of my innocence. I spent countless hours and even more countless dollars assembling a case. It worked. On paper, at least. But the reality was disappointing. The ordered payments never came and the impact of the words on the decree lessened every day. Family courts are just not set up to punish individual misdeeds; they punish the entire class. Justice doesn’t come from the gavel. It comes from proceeding with integrity and living the best life you can. It’s not up to courts to make it okay. It’s up to you.

Read the other 7 lessons I wish I had known during divorce. 

When You Remove a Negative

Posted on by stilllearning2b

One of the more difficult concepts for middle school students to master is integers. Specifically, adding and subtracting integers. Even when the concept is introduced with concrete and tangible examples, the students still struggle with the often counterintuitive nature of negative numbers.

You see, in elementary school, they are taught that addition always results in more and subtraction, less. But once those numbers become negative, the results are often reversed.

One of the ways I help them remember the rules for adding and subtracting integers in by relating it to relationships:

When a good person comes into your life, it improves the value.

When a good person leaves your life, it reduces the value.

When a bad person comes into your life, it reduces the value.

And the one they have the hardest time understanding…

When a bad person leaves your life, it increases the value.

photo-22

Gravity

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Like many other kids, I entertained the notion of becoming an astronaut. On family camping trips, I would gaze up at the stars and imagine what it would be like to travel between them. I thrilled in the images of astronauts unbound by the limits of gravity, every small action becoming a dance through space. The life of a star-walker seemed so free. So captivating. So inviting.

But I didn’t see the big picture yet.

Like many other kids of the 80s, my school went positively hog-wild for the Challenger expedition. We wrote letters to Christa McAuliffe. We carefully selected payloads and supplies from lists, balancing needs against weights, preparing on paper for a trip we hoped we would one day make. We watched videos of the crew aimed at schoolchildren and we learned lessons recommended by NASA. The inflatable planetarium paid a visit and we were taught rudimentary celestial navigation. Our school even built a mock-up of the cockpit of the shuttle out of cardboard and foil where we would take turns running pretend missions.

By the time the actual launch date arrived, there was a thrum of energy vibrating through the school. All of our pseudo-preparations led  us to feel like we were a part of that mission, an integral as the commander. That morning was endless as we waited for the lunch-time launch. TVs were located and rabbit ears adjusted to tune-in to the launch. Regular programming, both on TV and in the school, was suspended for the mission.

I remember the gasp more than the explosion. My teacher’s sharp intake of breath followed shortly by the news anchor’s wail. The kids needed another moment to reach understanding and then our cries began. For most of us, this was the first tragedy on a grand scale that we had ever experienced.

Interestingly, the disaster itself did not dull the allure of space for me. Instead, it drove me to understand more. As I sought out my own information, I realized that the videos and lessons presented to us were sanitized for our protection. We weren’t taught the realities of space travel; we were presented with the shiny happy Disney version.

One picture in one book rendered me speechless. It was an image of the command capsule from a pre-shuttle program splashdown. One astronaut was already on board the rescue boat, collapsed under his own weight. Another was being hauled from the hatch, his muscles unable to provide much assistance. On the next page, was the image that was always presented to the public – the entire crew standing together after the mission with smiles on their faces and hands waving in the air.

Just to take that picture, that little piece of fiction, in the days after landing would have exhausted the crew. Despite their healthy appearances, they could hardly walk. In the absence of gravity, their muscles atrophied. They became weak and unable to meet the demands of their own world.

 

A life of little resistance seems so tempting. The thought of floating through without struggle and being untethered to any ballast is appealing.

But the reality is not so attractive.

We need resistance to grow sturdy.

We need struggle to become strong.

 

During my divorce, I felt like I was trying to walk on Jupiter, my 120 lbs magnified by the gaseous giant to a staggering 283 lbs. Every action required immense effort as I struggled to complete even the most arbitrary tasks against the pull of the pain.

But each day, I grew a little stronger. More adapted to my new environment. I became less aware of the increased resistance as I became tougher.

And when it was time for my return to earth, I felt like I was floating.

The strength built for struggle filled normal life with ease.

Star walking on earth.