After Divorce: From Surviving to Thriving

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Days after my tsunami divorce, my mom turned to me and told me I would survive.

I actually got angry and responded rather strongly, “No, I will not survive. I will thrive. To do anything less is to remain his victim.”

I saw surviving as the bare minimum, the mere intake of breath and food in order to go through the motions of life. I refused to settle for that. I wanted more. It felt insurmountable, yet the vision and hope remained intact.

Inspired by Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, these goals can serve to help you navigate the challenging path after divorce and take you from merely surviving to thriving.

Survive

The first tier of goals are about your literal survival. In the beginning, it is enough to simply focus on your next breath. And then the one after that. The goal is to keep you alive and functioning. These physical needs must be addressed first before any further progress can be made. Read the rest here to learn how to go from merely surviving to beautifully thriving!

Memory Slammed

Posted on by stilllearning2b

This morning, I traveled across town to meet a friend. I ended up with a few minutes to spare, so I stopped in to a Home Depot near her house to peek at the stock in the nursery (starting to get excited about planting again!).

I was over in the area where I used to live and now only visit infrequently. For years, I dreaded traveling back there as every landmark was full of memories like an overripe fruit, sweet bordering on putrid.

But the last couple years, it’s been okay. I can drive the road by my old house and not tense up. I can enter stores and restaurants and not be pulled back to the past.

So today, I walked into Home Depot with no thoughts of the past and no fear or anticipation of memories.

Which perhaps is why it hit me so hard.

I was memory slammed when my back was turned.

I entered in through the nursery, greeted the few shrubs on display, and then crossed the store to visit the restroom. It was as though the bathroom stall was a time machine. As I exited the room and rounded the corner of the hall, I was immediately pulled back to a time about 6 years ago when I left that same bathroom to join my then-husband in line at the register. For a few dozen steps, I was in the past. I was fully expecting to walk up on my then-husband, perhaps slip an arm around his hips, and talk through our plans for the afternoon. It was only when an employee asked if I needed assistance, that I snapped back into the present moment.

It wasn’t painful. It wasn’t like a trigger, initiating an avalanche of memories. It was just odd, jarring, like that transition from one temperature extreme to another that takes your breath away as you adjust.  The memory faded as quickly as it came, leaving me more bemused than upset. After all, it’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s just a memory.

And now I’m off to a different Home Depot with my now-husband to pick up supplies to put the finishing touches on the theater. And I’ll be happy to slip my arm around him while we wait in line. No time machine needed.

 

Chutes and Ladders

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Do you remember the game Chutes and Ladders?

The slow, steady climb to the top of the board?

The delighted squeal that would escape your lips when luck granted you a ladder, bypassing multiple rows in a single move?

The utter helplessness and defeat when that same luck turned and landed you on a chute, plummeting you back to the beginning?

After the divorce, I felt like I was trapped in some twisted version of the game, the final square holding the peace and healing I so desperately desired. For long periods of time, I would trudge slowly through the levels. Not making great progress, but progress nonetheless. Sometimes, I would be blessed with a ladder, a sudden jolt of insight or a pleasing outcome that would elevate my healing to new levels.

And then there were the chutes. The triggers. The memories.

Inevitably, they seemed to appear just when I was feeling confident. Comfortable. As though they fed on optimism.

I would find myself disoriented within their slippery embraces. Only to realize that I was back to the beginning once I regained my senses. Peace once again a far off dream.

 

Chutes and Ladders is based on an ancient Indian game that was designed to teach Hindu children about karma. The final square symbolized nirvana, the ladders represented virtues and the snakes, the original version of the chutes, were vices. There were fewer ladders than snakes, showing that it is often more difficult to climb than it is to fall. At the end of the game, salvation was granted to the one who made it to the final square while the rest of the players faced rebirth at a lower rung.

 

Although intended to teach about choice and consequence, the game itself is based entirely upon chance. Fate.

Which makes it easy. But also frustrating.

Because in life, we always have choice.

In life, we can learn from our mistakes.

In life, we can accept where we are in the moment yet always strive to do better.

In life, we can slow the slide and even climb out of the chute.

In life, we can roll the dice but we can also build the ladder.

In life, we become better at climbing the more we do it.

In life, success comes not from watching others fall, but in helping to lift them up.

In life, nirvana is not only the end goal, but is a presence to be found along the journey.

In life, we cannot control every play of the game but we can learn to steer its outcome.

 

It’s so easy to feel helpless and powerless after divorce, subject to the whims of the dice that may send us back to square one on any given day.

It’s so easy to feel defeated. Tired of the climb when every ladder towards healing seems to be paired with a chute greased with pain.

It’s so easy to fixate on your small patch of real estate on the game board, that you fail to see the bigger picture.

The fact that you are making progress. Maybe not steady. And certainly not linear. But progress.

Peace is possible.

Keep climbing.

So the Wind Blows

Posted on by stilllearning2b

The storm pummeling Atlanta today has been described already as “historic.” I’m not sure if that will be the case but the howling wind and pelting ice outside my window certainly sound as though they are harbingers of the winter apocalypse.

I keep having flashbacks to the only other major ice storm I’ve been through. It was in 2000, 6 months after I’d moved to Atlanta and just over a month after I got married. My husband had just had a vasectomy the day before the storm hit. At least he was able to enjoy his Playstation and ice his wound for a day before we lost power! We ended up spending 3 days without power in an all-electric 3rd floor apartment without a working fireplace. We played board games in the living room during the day and slept (with the dog and cat) in the only interior room – the bathroom. I remember clearly the gunshot cracks of the 80 foot tall pine trees as they snapped one by one under the weight of the ice. Within two days, the surrounding woods looked as though a picky tornado had thinned them.

So here I am again, a newlywed awaiting the ice storm. I’m glad that this time I have lower floors to occupy, gas water heater and a working fireplace with plenty of wood ready to go. Oh, and a husband who didn’t just have surgery:) One way I’m less prepared? Books. I don’t have many really ones anymore and Kindle batteries don’t last forever. I may end up reading the backs of everything in the pantry:)

I couldn’t sleep last night. I do that when I’m concerned about something. I don’t know why. It’s not as if I can keep the trees standing simply by being awake. I gave up a little while ago and decided to enjoy coffee and a real breakfast, not knowing what the future may hold (have a feeling it may be a diet of protein bars and faked coffee – thank goodness for camping supplies).

Since I may be out of commission for a while, I pulled three pieces from the vault for you. See if any of them tickle your fancy.

While you’re reading, I’m going to enjoy a hot bath and a good (non-Kindle) book and pretend that the creaking trees are the masts of wooden boat sailing the Caribbean.

Pardon Me, Ego. I Need to Get Through

Ego:

the “I” or self of any person; a person as thinking, feeling, and willing, and distinguishing itself from the selves of others and from objects of its thought. (from dictionary.com)
Ever since we first begin to see ourselves as separate, sentient beings in childhood, our egos define how we interpret the world around us.  That sense of self may actually be holding you back from healing from your divorce.  Do you see yourself in any of the following patterns?
It’s All About Me
When I first realized the extent of my husband’s betrayals, I kept asking, “How could he do this to me? To the one he was supposed to love?”  I saw his actions directed towards me as an arrow towards a target.  I assumed he was thinking about me as he made these decisions.  He lied to me.  He cheated on me.  He stole from me. That pattern kept me fully anchored in a victim state, the recipient of all the pain and deceptions.
Slowly, I realized that it wasn’t all about me.  He lied and cheated and stole, yes.  But he did those things because of whatever demons had him in their grasp.  He didn’t do those things because of me.  He most likely wasn’t even thinking of me while they occurred.  He did them and I was in the way.
I shifted my thinking. When he hurt me, he was acting to protect his own sense of self rather than trying to wound mine.  I began to let the anger go.
It is not easy to remove the ego from interpreting the actions of one so intimate to you. Try looking at the situation with an open mind, letting go of your own ego, and see how your perspective shifts.

Of Teddy Bears and Security Systems

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.

Read the rest of Of Teddy Bears and Security Systems.

 

Trigger Points

As a runner and weight lifter, I am very familiar with trigger points – painful balls of muscle or fascia caused by acute or repeated trauma. They are  hyperirritable, overresponding to even the slightest pressure or pull. They cause intense pain at their source and can often lead to referred pain in a distant area, frequently occurring along predictable pathways.

As a survivor of a traumatic divorce, I am also very familiar with emotional trigger points – painful memories and associated responses caused by repeated or acute trauma. They are areas of hyperirritability where the response far outweighs the preceding factors. They cause intense pain at the time of their trigger and can cause referred pains in seemingly unrelated areas.

I am consistently amazed at the magnitude and quantity of my emotional triggers. A snippet of a song last night brought me to tears as it reminded me of one of the dogs in my other life. Nothing is safe – smells, sights, words, movies, a date on the calendar. Sixteen years is a long time and it doesn’t leave much untouched. Triggers are like a black hole through space-time, pulling me back to a place of fear and pain.

Read the rest of Trigger Points.

Authentic Cubic Zirconia

Posted on by stilllearning2b

He drops to his knee.

Reaches in his pocket and pulls out a small box.

As it opens, you catch the unmistakable sparkle of a diamond.

Or is it?

Perhaps it is merely the suggestion of a diamond, manufactured crystal crafted to resemble the real thing.

So answer this –

Which would you rather receive – a fake diamond or authentic cubic zirconia?

In the first, the ring is presented as authentic, the hard stone born from eons under pressure.

In the latter, the ring is presented as what it is. Somewhat less than ideal, but entirely real.

 

In my first marriage, I chose the fake diamond of a relationship. On its surface, it was perfect. And I didn’t want to know the truth, the production that made it so beautiful. He told me it was real. Staged elaborate demonstrations to prove it was real. And I bought it, hook line and sinker.

And then, it was as though I went to sell the ring of the marriage in desperate need of money, only to find that it was worth merely pennies.

And now?

Now I proudly have a marriage of authentic cubic zirconia. It’s real, not perfect. It took intention and effort to form rather than the accidental and incidental creation of a diamond.

It’s beautiful, reflecting light into the dark corners. No illusion is needed to amplify its sheen.

There is no need to pretend it is more than it is. No need for the dance of words to create perceived value. No need for endless productions to convince others of its authenticity.

What it is is enough.

Imperfections and all.

After all, life is more beautiful with imperfections intact.

When we reveal and even embrace our humanness and accept it in others.

When we work to create beauty rather than illusions.

 

So, I ask you again. What would you prefer?

A fake diamond

or

Authentic cubic zirconia?