Transforming Fear
Why I Never Want to Get REmarried
Remarriage
I recently met a fellow divorcee and runner over breakfast in a hotel lobby. We bonded over talk about our respective divorces and our motivations to run the race we had both completed the previous morning. Eventually, she asked the inevitable question: “Do you want to get remarried?”
I bristled. Read the rest on the Huffington Post.
Love After Divorce: Reflection on a Journey, Part 2
Love After Divorce: Reflection on a Journey, Part 1
Brock and I had only been dating exclusively for a few weeks when I moved into an apartment 0.8 miles from his house. I know that seems crazy and impulsive, but hear me out:) I had been living in my friend’s spare bedroom for a year (in the same community as my old house) and it was time to go. I was ready for my independence, I no longer worked at the school nearby, and I needed to get out of the area where I spent the entirety of my married life. Brock lived 3o minutes away in an area that was not contaminated with too many marital memories. It was a young, active community with less focus on children than where I had been. I loved the access to the river and parks and, in particular, his tree-lined street brought back positive childhood memories of my grandparent’s house on Washington Island in Wisconsin. I decided to move to that street since it was an area I liked, regardless of what happened with the nascent relationship. I made sure to communicate this to Brock; I didn’t want him thinking I was trying to push things. Luckily, he understood.
That year was a period for really getting to know each other. We met the other’s friends and family. We made it through trips, illnesses, and snowstorms. We had quiet evenings on the couch and wild adventures (Tough Mudder!). We both became comfortable with being paired (yup, that took me longer) and started to operate as a team.
It turned out that eight tenths of a mile was perfect. I enjoyed my space. I had never really lived alone before. In college, I started out living in a co-op and then my ex and I moved in together. I did have 7 months on my own in my twenties when my ex first moved to Atlanta and I stayed behind to complete the semester. But this was different. After living with a busy family with a young baby, I enjoyed the quiet and the solitude. And it was a nice respite at times from Brock’s place with its energy from the dog, martial arts, and a television (I didn’t own one).
We ended up moving in together in stages, which was perfect. For much of that year, I would spend three nights a week at his place. It was easy, as I could always drive (or walk!) the short distance back to my place to eat or get ready for work. Having two places kept the pressure off and gave us each our space but the proximity made it easy to spend blocks of time together. Considering that we both have different styles of living, this period was critical to working out some issues in stages.
I like things neat and organized. I abhor clutter and I love to institute systems to make things run more efficiently. My ex was similar. In fact, in our 15 years living together, we never once had any friction regarding the house or chores. We didn’t have assigned jobs; we just saw something needed doing and we did it. Brock? Yeah, not so much. He can leave an impressive trail of clutter in his wake. He somehow doesn’t see the scum in the shower or the spill on the counter. And chores? Let’s just say he could never fall back on a career as a launderer. This has been our greatest source of friction. On my part, I have had to learn to let go of perfection (Perfection in a Chipped Plate) and to not let my environment dictate my mental state. Brock has had to learn that his actions impact me and that he may have to do more than he wants to keep things running smoothly. Oh, and we also decided jointly that if we ever lived together, we would hire a cleaning service.
The friction between us may have come from the physical space, but we both still had emotional baggage we were working through. His previous relationship had been drama filled and cycled from very good to very bad. Any sign of a repeat of that pattern with would cause him to panic. My marriage had been the opposite; we rarely had conflict. Of course, that was because my husband had been a con man. I was not used to heated disagreements, so any sign of discord also caused me to panic. I mean, if my ex walked out with no signs of disagreement, what would Brock do? Yeah, we were quite a pair. Luckily, we don’t disagree much, but we are now both much more comfortable when it does happen. I’ve learned that it doesn’t mean he is about to disappear and he has learned it doesn’t mean our lives are filled with drama. I’m becoming more comfortable with voicing my needs and he is getting better at listening.
It’s interesting. My ex was very good at saying the right things. When I was upset, he would pull my body against his, flesh to flesh, knowing that the proximity lowered my anxiety. He would then say exactly the right things to calm me down. Brock isn’t as good at that. But I’m glad. I don’t think I can ever trust a smooth talker again. Brock isn’t nearly as demonstrative with his affections, but when it comes, I know it is authentic.He frequently sends me messages of love from Tiger, letting the dog filter his emotions for him. He may have trouble putting his feelings in words, but I get the sweetest notes and drawings on a frequent basis. I trust his kisses and his notes; they leave no room for doubt in how he feels.
Most of our troubles were not with each other, but with our pasts. I never pined for my ex; I fell out of love with with immediately upon receiving the text. However, I still carried a lot of anger and it would flare every time I took another financial hit because of the con man, and those seemed to come every couple of months. I also needed to work through my fears of abandonment. The thought didn’t petrify me like it did in my marriage (I knew now that I could survive), but I was living waiting for the other shoe to drop, expecting to be left again. Of course, if I expect Brock to do that, eventually he probably would. There was no magic moment when I fully trusted he was in it for the long haul. Instead, every day we made a choice to be together. Eventually, I relaxed. I still have my moments of doubt. It’s not him; it’s the ghosts of the past whispering in my ears. I’ve learned to discount them. They are operating out of a place of fear and I don’t live there any more. Although our pasts are different and have left different scars, we both have always been determined not to be defined by our pasts.
Brock and I are both passionate about learning and growing. For him, much of that centers around martial arts. I am not nearly as consistent in my endeavors, but I always have projects. We have learned how to find the balance between fueling our passions and fueling the relationship. We each have a respect for the others time and interests. And, I’ve learned to ask for more time when I feel like the relationship needs it.
One passion we share is for fitness. We bonded through walks, hikes, runs, and races. I love having someone that understands my need to move and will share that movement with me. We have learned that difficult conversations are best had on the trail and that the trails also are wonderful for speculating and dreaming about the future.
At one point that year, while I was reading in my clean and organized apartment living room, I received a text.
“Do you want to move in together when your lease is up? Tiger”
My response?
“I don’t think your crate is big enough for both of us.”
But I did move in at the end of that year:)
Love After Divorce: A Reflection on a Journey, Part 1
I was on Terri Trespicio’s radio show, How to Click?, last week. Her questions had me reflecting on the journey that has taken me from married to single to dating to engaged over the past few years. Yes, that’s right, I said engaged:) But, more on that later! I am always asked how I managed to go from a huddled heap on the floor in the moments after the text that ended my life as I knew it to a new, healthy relationship where I can love and trust and be vulnerable again. I’ve realized I’ve shared much about the divorce and even the dating but not much about what got me to this place. So, here goes!
I signed up for Match.com the winter after my July disaster. I truly had no expectations of finding anyone. In fact, I kept myself safely tucked behind the twin shields of my story and my planned upcoming move across the country (and the spreadsheets). I was dating for practice; I had never done it as an adult. I saw it as fun, informative, and a distraction from the pain. I went on many dates, usually 6-7 a week. Many were first dates, but I did see some guys on a repeated basis. One guy, we’ll call him John, managed to slip through some of the defenses I had erected. I slowly starting seeing him and not committing to as many dates with others.
I was drawn to the fact that John had a confident way about him that made me feel taken care of and he was not afraid to challenge me. He quickly spotted my analytical shield and worked to lower it by always greeting me with, “How do you feel?” And, he wouldn’t take my wishy-washy answers. I liked that challenge, especially because my ex never really pushed me outside of my comfort zone. What’s interesting, is that the confidence and smooth capability I was drawn to also scared me. It kept me from ever trusting him. It soon became clear that his idea of relationship perfection was for me to be a kept woman, staying at home while he supported us, which he was very capable of doing. This idea turned my stomach, however. Not only do I never want to be without my own source of income, I also can’t handle the thought of being held to another because of the need for financial security. Those were his fears coming out – a way for him to make sure that he was never abandoned. My unwillingness to be bought eventually caused him to do a disappearing act. That doesn’t go over too well with a woman whose husband did the same less than a year earlier.
Rewind to the beginning of Match Madness. One of my early dates was at a coffee shop (after a night spent in Athens. GA with John – I told you it was crazy!) with a man named Brock. There was an attraction between us immediately, yet we both had turn-offs about the other. He thought I was too conservative and too closed off. I thought he was self-centered, bordering on rude. Luckily, we both recognized that there was more there and that, in both cases, the offensive behaviors were coming out of fear and self-protection. We shared stories, talked about geeky science stuff, and talked about crazy dating experiences (he had way more stories than me at that point!). I may have written him off except that when he talked about his dog, a German shepherd he had to put down the prior year, he teared up. Tears fell down his face in a public venue with a new woman and he let them fall unapologetically. I was intrigued.
Brock and I fell into the habit of evening phone calls on the nights I wasn’t out with someone else. I remember lying on the green flannel sheets in the spare bedroom I occupied at my friend’s house, sounds of baby and kitchen life coming up the stairs, while Brock and I talked about everything and nothing. Through those conversations, he learned I was not nearly as conservative as he initially thought and I started to open up more. I learned that his ADD nature was what led to the behavior that I initially interpreted as rude and that he was the rare person who was confident (in most areas and willing to admit when he wasn’t) and that the bravado was not hiding deeper insecurities. We eventually met for a second date at his friend’s Superbowl party. We had a good evening, but not much quality time between the game and all of the other people. When he walked me to my car at the end of the evening, he tried to kiss me. I turned away, leaving his lips on my cheek as I stayed in the embrace. I know, I know. He still doesn’t let me live that down!
Why did I turn away? This was at a time where John had established himself at the top of the Match pack. But still, I never committed exclusivity to anyone. I used my discomfort about John being in the picture as my excuse, but I wonder if I was aware that more was brewing with Brock and I was afraid of what that would bring?
Weeks later, John pulled his disappearing act. Brock happened to call on the night I realized what had occurred. He could tell I was upset and inquired as to the reason. I told him he didn’t want to know since it dealt with another guy. Well, not only did he say he wanted to know, he stayed on the phone with me for hours as I dealt with the emotions of anger and abandonment triggered by another disappearance. That was an important night for us – he saw me vulnerable and I got to see his character.
He cemented the deal soon after when he emailed me a picture of the puppy he had recently adopted. Smart man. He knew I couldn’t resist the dog. Just before my spring break, we went on our first “real” date. I met him at his house and after plenty of Tiger love, we went to dinner in downtown Roswell. We had both softened by that point, no longer operating behind our shields. When he moved to kiss me in the town park after dinner, I happily reciprocated.
I left soon after to go to Seattle with a friend over my school break. Brock and I stayed in contact. He made the first of many moves that week that eventually gained my trust (not an easy task after my experiences). He divulged some information that he could have kept hidden and I may have never known. However, he could not let things go further without telling me everything. The information didn’t bother me; it was outshined by the fact that he wasn’t prone to concealing things I may not want to hear (as my ex was apparently wont to do). Gold star for that one!
The second step on the path to trust came soon after. He was out of town for the day and asked me if I would stop by his house and take care of Tiger. Here I was, alone in the house with all of its papers and computers, only weeks into the relationship. I mentioned before that I’ve never been a snooper, but the fact that he trusted me around his stuff (and his dog) and didn’t feel like he had anything to hide made me comfortable. I’ve also talked about how Tiger helped me trust – dogs can’t lie and their temperament reveals much about their owner.
I was still dating others; he made it exclusive before I was ready to. He was patient with me. He knew that I had not had much dating experience and that I needed to end Match on my own terms. It wasn’t always comfortable with him but he never made me feel like I needed to hide or do things differently.
We had a huge crossroads looming on the horizon – I was planning on moving to Seattle at the end of the school year. Here’s how crazy this was. We really didn’t start to date until April. School ends in May. I had already put in notice at my current school. I made the decision to apply for some local jobs and, assuming I got one, commit to staying in Atlanta for a year so that we could give the relationship a chance to develop beyond its infancy. I secured employment and moved from my friend’s house into an apartment down the street from Brock all in a three week span. That was scary. We didn’t want to push things, didn’t want to move quickly, but those first few steps came fast and furious out of necessity.
We became exclusive early that summer. I had no problem leaving Match behind; I no longer was interested in anyone else. We moved slowly as far as emotional intimacy is concerned. I was still having some bad days and the anger was very near the surface.He helped me during the rough patches (I remember a night where he gave me a quick boxing lesson and then left me to attempt to decimate his heavy bag as I dealt with the anger from more financial unfairness from the ex), but he didn’t coddle me. He made it clear that he was uneasy with the healing I still had ahead of me and that I wasn’t nearly as far along on that journey as I claimed to be.
He was also scarred from a past relationship and had never really been in a healthy partnership. I think it worked because we were both patient with the other and honest the entire time. I worked on moving through my pain and anger and he worked on being a partner. We never pushed. He told me he loved me one evening while we were in the car just before we pulled out of the garage to go to dinner. I responded by folding into him. He said, “I know you’re not ready to say it yet. It’s okay.”
I wasn’t ready that night, but eventually I was.
Gulp!
So, last night I made a committment. I made a nonrefundable payment towards a ski trip in North Carolina over the winter holiday. I know what you’re thinking, “That sounds lovely.” It does, but it also sounds scary.
You see, I’m not afraid of snakes. Or clowns. Or heights. Or public speaking. I am; however, afraid of land that slopes away from me. Perhaps it’s because I was born in the flatlands of Florida and raised on the unvarying topography of south Texas. Maybe I had some hill trauma as a young child that has since been repressed (are there any therapists that specialize in hill trauma?). Who knows? I just know that the thought of standing at the top of a snowy icy (it is man-made stuff there) hill while standing on long, thin strips makes me panic. Just a little.
I have never been skiing before. I have learned to appreciate the winter sports of sledding and tobogganing, both of which are executed a safe distance from the ground (read: under an inch). Knowing me, my first attempt at skiing will probably have me in a full squat with my butt just barely clearing the land below. Go ahead and laugh – the image makes me giggle too.
I am signing up for lessons for the two days we will be there (otherwise I would probably never move from the top of the runt bunny slope). Since I know nothing about skiing, I considered reading up on techniques prior to the trip. But then I changed my mind. You see, the reason that hills scare me is that I over think them. I want to be in control every step (or slide) of the way down. But that just isn’t possible. You have to plan at the beginning, set up your path and let go. And trust. Why is it that I can do that in my life but not on a hill?
So, I am going to try to not use my brain on this trip. I am going to work on feeling the instruction rather than memorizing and analyzing it. I am going to learn to trust in myself and my ability to get down the mountain hill relatively unscathed. Maybe I should picture myself giving a speech to a bevy of evil clowns holding snakes…that might help to keep me calm:)
So, until the trip, I am going to work on making the rest of the reservations and locating all of the gear needed, but I am not going to plan how to ski. For that, I am just going to trust my gut.
Gulp!
Lessons From the End of a Marriage 