Lightbulb Moment: Why I Now See My Husband Differently

“I’m going to get this done for you today,” my husband said after asking me to mix the epoxy that would soon coat the garage floor.

“What do you mean, ‘for me?’ I really don’t care much at all about the garage or the shed, so it confuses me when you say you’re doing them for me. Those are the things that you care about.”

He thought a moment before responding.

“I want you to have a house you love. That you feel proud of. Everything I do around here is ultimately for us. For you. It’s like planting is for you. You do it because you enjoy the process and the result, but you also do it to make this home better for both of us.”

I thought back to my efforts to paint the living room before he returned home, my search for the “perfect” end tables to complement the new sofa and my carefully arranged and found frames on the new picture ledges. In each of those cases, I was thinking of what he would like. Because even though none of those details are ones that are particularly important to Brock, he enjoys and benefits from me tackling those areas that he would likely ignore if left to his own devices.

Yet, when he was engaged in similar projects, I tended towards annoyance at being interrupted for help (his projects always seem to happen when I’m in the midst of my own thing) and an utter lack of comprehension at his motivation.

Lightbulb moment.

What I sometimes perceive as a self-serving undertaking is often initiated as an act of service.

And now every time I pull my car over that newly epoxied garage floor, I whisper a quiet, “Thank you.”

 

 

Is It Love? The False Dawn of a Rebound Relationship

rebound relationship

I remember the first time I felt alive again after my husband left-

I was giddy that night, retelling the tale of the improbable day to my friend, my heart standing at attention like a new recruit. My mind was swarming with the possibilities. My body tingled with the memory of touch and trembled at the thought of more. I felt alive, awakened. For twelve amazing hours, I could forget about the pain and the misery and pretend to be healed.

Pretend being the operative word.

Like many people recently out of a serious relationship, I clung to that feeling. It was such a relief after months of drowning in anguish and anger. I wanted more. It was like a drug, damping the pain. That spark awakened my body after the slumber of trauma and survival. I feared my body had forgotten how to feel pleasure much like it had forgotten how to eat. I was relieved to discover that some lessons are not easily forgotten. I relaxed into the respite from my daily struggle with the legal system, as I was still in the gory midst of a malignant divorce. But most of all, I felt hope, optimism that I would be able to trust again. To love again.

I wanted that spark to be real, to be fanned into a full-fledged flame that would continue to burn. But the truth was that I was nowhere near ready. I still relied on medication to get me through the endless nights and to trick my body into eating. I still became overwhelmed by the tears that seemed to sneak up on me. I still responded physically to telling my story and I avoided known triggers like they were land mines ready to explode. I was still learning how to be single; I certainly didn’t yet know how to be partnered again.

I was ready for the idea, but not the reality. I was prepared for the fantasies but not the work. I wanted so desperately to be healed and that spark let me believe, at least for a moment, that I was. But the truth is that the spark was real, but the promises of an easy escape were simply a mirage, glittering temptingly on the horizon.

For several reasons, that spark of attraction never developed into anything resembling a relationship. It was there and then it was gone, gifting me with the desire and confidence to enter the dating scene.

Yet often that’s not the case.

Sometimes that spark is nurtured into flame, lighting up the sky with the false dawn of a rebound relationship.

It can be a beautiful sunrise, warming your soul and becoming a ray of light to guide you out of the darkness of divorce.

And like a sunrise, it’s usually fleeting.

How do you know if it’s love or a rebound?

Follow on the Heels of the End

Rebound relationships follow closely behind the end of another relationship. I’m not a fan of absolutes when it comes to the time needed to heal and process the end of a marriage – it’s too individual and dependent on too many factors. Before you’re ready for love again, you need time to exhale the sadness from your divorce. You need enough distance to gain perspective. And perhaps most importantly, you need to be in a place where you’re not grasping or running away, as neither is a good way to start a healthy relationship.

There’s wisdom in the saying that you have to be okay alone before you can be okay in a relationship. And it takes some time to learn to be okay alone.

Ignite Quickly

These relationships tend to burn hot – an intense attraction that feels overwhelming to your previously deadened self. They can make you feel animated. Exhilarated. Intoxicated. It can create a sense of, “THIS is what I’ve been missing.”

Sometimes real love can ignite quickly. But at some point, it has to settle into a smolder if it’s going to last.

Seems to Solve All Your Problems

Maybe your ex didn’t make you feel appreciated and this new person expresses gratitude for your every breath. Perhaps you felt disconnected and alienated from your former spouse and the new crush makes you feel attached and understood. A rebound relationship often seems to solve all of our problems by replacing one person (who obviously wasn’t a good fit) with one that seems custom-made.

It would be nice if creating a strong relationship was all about finding the “right” person. But that’s only the first step. In order to build and maintain love, you also have to address your own issues and fears and judgments that led you to this place. Nobody is going to save you other than you.

Ignore Inconvenient Truths

If somebody appears to be perfect, they’re either hiding something or you’re ignoring something. Rebound relationships often exist in the world of make believe, built on hopes and dreams. And that’s a weak foundation because at some point, reality will intervene.

Love, on the other hand, sees those flaws and accepts them.

Possess False Intimacy

A couple in a rebound relationship can appear to be very close, extremely connected and intimate. Yet it’s often a false intimacy because neither partner is willing or able to become completely vulnerable. If one person is in a savior role, they are using their position to refrain from feeling emotionally exposed. If one (or both) possess a victim mindset, they are leaving parts of themselves protected.

Love takes intimacy. Intimacy takes vulnerability. And vulnerability takes trust, self-awareness and time.

Creates Disproportionate Pain Upon Ending

Sometimes rebound relationships mature into love. And often they end within a relatively short period of time. And the pain of that ending is frequently disproportionately large to the duration of the relationship. I often have people tell me that the end of the rebound is more painful than the end of the marriage. That happens for several reasons – a loss of hope, a realization that a different and infinitely more difficult path is required and the allowance of the brunt of the pain of the divorce (that was delayed due to the rebound).

—–

Some people advise to avoid rebound relationships. Not bad advice, but often impossible to follow since it’s difficult to see a rebound while you’re surrounded by it.

Instead of striving for complete avoidance, I counsel restraint – don’t rush into any major decisions in a relationship that ignites soon after your divorce. There’s no hurry.

Be honest, with yourself and with your partner, about where you are in the healing process.

Pay attention to your motivations – are you running away from an uncomfortable truth or grasping on to keep from drowning?

Besides, rebound relationships have value – They give you a moment of respite and hope. They highlight want you want in a relationship and what you need to address in yourself before you’re ready. And rebound relationships give you the belief that you’re not broken beyond repair and that you can love and be loved again.

Why I’m Attracted to People With a Difficult Past

It happens to me all the time.

A knowing look between virtual strangers. Words left unsaid yet with full meaning comprehended. A nod to the side, understood to reference “all that”in the midst of casual conversation.

It says, “I see you. And I see that you have suffered. And even though I don’t know your story, I know that we are kin.”

People that have a past, that have been through stuff, have a way of finding each other. It’s a club none of signed up for, yet we now all know the secret handshakes and code words used to identify other members.

If I inventoried the people most important to me, their combined tragedies would fill a country music album. There are motherless children, those who have been abused and abandoned, people who are enduring long and painful and scary medical ordeals and others who have suffered great losses.

But suffering isn’t the only thing they have in common.

They also have the overcoming (or at least the first steps) of it.

—–

One of the reasons I was attracted to my first husband was that he had a maturity and perspective that comes from going through difficult experiences. It made him stand out from the largely affluent and untouched kids at my high school. As my own life experiences – a sense of abandonment by my dad, a health crisis and the unexpected deaths of several friends – compounded, I no longer felt as though I had anything in common with the average 16 year old.

Then I met him.

And we had that unspoken conversation. That handshake of pain. A meeting of eyes that had seen more than they should.

We didn’t feel as though we belonged in the worlds we inhabited. But we felt as though we belonged together.

It was an hysterical bonding of sorts. A grasping. A union born from suffering.

Of course, I didn’t see any of that at the time. I just knew that I felt understood. That he could relate to facing challenges greater than deciding what to wear the next day or what to do when you hadn’t studies for a test.

Little did I know that he would later become the source of my greatest life lesson to date.

—–

It’s completely natural for people that have difficult pasts to gravitate towards one another. After all, we often bond over shared experiences and beliefs. And we look for people that can relate to and empathize with our own situations.

That attraction isn’t always healthy; however, sometimes bonds formed from suffering become mired in suffering. The pain simply is transferred from one to another, keeping it nurtured and alive. Sometimes one person takes on a victim role and the other, needing to be needed, plays the savior. The past can become the seed that holds the relationship together and a reticence to release it (and possibly the bond) develops.

I see these unhealthy relationships like two weak swimmers trying to save the other from drowning. The combined efforts only seek to weight them both down.

—–

When I started dating again after divorce, I intentionally looked for men that didn’t have pasts. They were surprisingly common, those guys that had made through 30, 35 even 40 years of life relative unscathed.

They intrigued me.

But they didn’t attract me.

Sure, they weren’t as superficial and two-dimensional as a gaggle of sheltered teenagers.

They were perfectly nice and nothing was glaringly wrong.

But they also didn’t get it.

They had never had to face a loss that made every breath feel as though oxygen had been replaced with concrete. They had never been forced to dig so deep within themselves that they feared they would get lost before they got out. They had an easy assurance that everything was going to be okay. Because for them, it always had been.

I felt separate from them. Different.

And I also felt a strange need to protect them. To let them be in their unaffected worldview for as long as fate allowed.

They seemed fragile to me. Untoughened. Untested.

I was equally uninterested in men who still lived in their pasts and showed no signs of wanting to move on or those who tried to pretend that it wasn’t a big deal. I knew what happened when suffering was damped down and pushed aside – my ex taught me that one. And I had no desire to live someone else’s past.

I found myself attracted to men who had been through the lows of life and had climbed out, one difficult step at a time. Someone who also knew how bad it could be and yet hadn’t given up. Someone who developed strength with every step and wisdom from every glance back. Someone who wouldn’t pull me down or carry me along, but who would walk with me.

We’re often dismissive of difficult pasts as being unwanted baggage.

Yet often the people with the most to carry have the greatest spirits.

—–

When I look around at the amazing people I choose to have in my life, I’m blown away by their resilience and attitudes. I surround myself with them because they understand and also because they inspire.

 

I’m Determined to Make Marriage Work: Valuable Lessons From Divorce

second marriage

“A second marriage is the triumph of hope over experience.” Oscar Wilde

“This is it, though.” I said to my then-boyfriend when he brought up the idea of marriage. “I want to be married again but this is it. I’m not going through another divorce.”

And with that vow, I decided to do some things differently in my second marriage. Because even though there is no such thing as divorce-proof, I can still make sure that I do everything I can to inoculate my second marriage from dissolution.

Choosing Differently

I based my choice of my first husband largely upon how he treated me. I chose my second husband more because of how he treated people other than me. It’s easy to treat somebody well when you’re in the sunshine-and-roses stage of a new relationship. That’s more a sign of hormones than character. But how somebody treats people in general? That’s telling.

I also looked for concrete signs in my second husband that he wasn’t afraid of imperfection and that he had a proclivity to repair rather than replace. My ex was concerned about appearances. How he was perceived. Weakness and flaws were to be feared and concealed. In contrast, my second husband sees cracks as an opportunity for creative problem-solving and reworking. I’m still learning from him on that one.

Awareness That Sustainability is Not Inevitable

I assumed that my first husband would always be there because he always had been there. I expected that marriage to last because I wanted it to. I thought that since we had been okay, that we would continue to be okay.

It was a naive view of marriage – seeing it like a Rube Goldberg design with it’s upfront work followed by effortless activity. I see more like a garden now. Yes, much of the work is concentrated in the beginning. But it takes constant monitoring and consistent attention to ensure its continuation. If it’s neglected for too long, the flowers will fall to weeds.

Never Take Anything For Granted (And Never Fail to Share Appreciation)

My ex husband was good to me. But I wasn’t always good to him. I transferred my work stress onto his shoulders, lessening my load but also burdening him. I would thank him for some kind deed, but then negate it with criticism about some detail. I expected him to help and grew accustomed to his willingness to do so.

Now, I allow myself to be surprised at every gesture of kindness or every offer of help. Not because it’s rare, but because I appreciate it every time. And I more generous with sharing that appreciation and keeping any disappointment in the details to myself. To say, “Thank you,” rather than “Thank you, but…”

Allow My Husband to Feel Like a Man

Perhaps because my first husband didn’t fit neatly into society’s stereotypes about being “a man,” or maybe because I went through my formative dating years without my dad around, I didn’t have an awareness of the importance of certain conditions and their impact on a man’s self-worth.

From my now-husband, I’ve learned about the importance of feeling like a man. Of feeling in control over his domain. Of being recognized for his contributions. Of feeling a need to protect his family. Of feeling a need to appear the strongest when at the most vulnerable. And of the shame and emptiness that can come from not feeling like a man.

Do My Own Thing (And Encourage Him to Do His)

My ex and I used to do most everything together. We enjoyed each other’s company and we enjoyed many of the same experiences. We even shared many of the same friends. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it meant that we grew to depend upon each other for much of our social, intellectual and entertainment needs. And that’s a lot to ask of one person.

Although I may sometimes grumble that I’m a Ju Jitsu widow, I’m glad that my now-husband has passions apart from me. And I make sure to engage in mine as well. Our separate interests keep us interesting to each other. It means that we get some of our needs met elsewhere, placing less demand on the marriage. I miss him sometimes, yet that also means that I’m always happy to see him.

Prioritize Self-Care and Extinguish Martyrdom

I can have an ugly tendency to do it all and expect empathy or recognition for my efforts. In my first marriage, I sacrificed my well-being for the financial health of the family, taking on every additional school and tutoring assignment that I could. Rather than doing it from a place of generosity, I often did it from a place of martyrdom – look how much I’m working for us.

Needless to say, that’s not a healthy approach. I now strive to recognize when I’m slipping into that mindset and when it’s noticed, I either shift to a place of giving or I switch to a period of self-care. I also work to be careful of my decisions. Rather than claiming I’m doing something because of someone else, I recognize that I’m choosing to do (or not so) that thing. The other person may be a factor, but they are not the causal factor.

Manage My State of Arousal and Anxiety

I can get pretty worked up. My emotions and anxieties can build until they feel like soda bubbles beneath my skin. In my first marriage, my ex became the expert at talking me down. All he had to do was wrap me in his arms, skin to skin, and my heart rate would quickly slide back down to normal. I grew dependent upon that power. And he abused that power.

When my anxiety is spiking, I can’t reason well. I can’t engage meaningfully and fairly in a difficult conversation. And I can’t listen fully because the fears are screaming too loudly. I’ve spent the past almost seven years (wow – has it actually been that long?!?) learning to recognize and tame my anxiety. I’m not always successful. But I’m always working to be better. And it’s my responsibility.

Have Patience With Problems and Openness With Solutions

I’m impatient when it comes to…well, just about anything. And problems (or perceived problems) in my marriage are not exempt. When I used to be upset at my ex for something, I would bring it up right away and expect an immediate solution. That led to a lot of bandaids, I figure, hiding the bleeding fatal wounds beneath.

I’m now more patient (sometimes too patient – always learning!) with bringing up issues. And I try to pose them as questions to be answered, not as problems with solutions I’ve already devised (which, let’s face it, usually consists of the other person needing to change). I try to be open to solutions that I haven’t thought of and be accepting of the fact that they may take time to work out. Curiosity and a sense a teamwork go a long way in negotiating life with another.

Be Willing to Confront and Challenge

When my ex was laid off yet again and had trouble locating a new company in his limited field, he elected to go solo. I supported him completely, surrounding him with pep talks and agreeing with all his decisions. But underneath, I had doubts. Both in his business model and in his justifications of money spent on equipment and software. Instead of just nodding along, I should have challenged his decisions. But I was afraid to.

When I have concerns now, I voice them. Not in an effort to shoot my husband down, but with the goal of helping him – and helping us – make better and more informed decisions. I’m not afraid to stand up to him, even if it means my toes get stepped on. A little bruising of the feelings is better than standing back and letting someone veer off course.

Trust But Verify

My avoidance of verification got me into real trouble in my first marriage. I took his word way too easily because it’s what it seemed on the surface and what I wanted it to be deep down. In my second marriage, I trust my husband. But it’s not blind trust.

I am also more aware of the importance of trusting myself. To see what’s there and to be okay even if I don’t like what I find. I’m better at checking in with my intuition and making sure it agrees with what I’m being told.

—–

It’s sad how many of us don’t really learn how to do marriage until we’ve buried one. I guess it’s one of those areas where we have to experience it to really learn it. I’m just determined to not need a repeat of the lessons. Because that’s a class no one ever wants to take again!

 

 

 

 

 

Will I Be Alone Forever?

alone

“It’s too late for me.”

“I’m too damaged.”

“I won’t be able to love again. To trust again.”

“Nobody will want me with all this baggage.”

“I’m going to be alone forever.”

Those were all thoughts that cycled stubbornly through my reeling mind after I was abandoned by my first husband. I was afraid that I would never again experience that greatest feeling in the world of returning to the sanctuary of loving arms after a bad day. I grew convinced that nobody else would ever whisper, “Love you,” as he slid my glasses off of my sleeping face. My mind’s eye alternated between playing slideshows of the happy moments of my now-defunct marriage and scenes from an imagined future where I grew ever-older and ever-lonelier.

It seems almost laughable to me now as I look back at that early end-of-the-world mindset that turned out not to have any prophetic powers.

It was anything but laughable at the time.

Those fears, sensing a new and fragile void, rushed in and filled every crevice with doubt about hope and conviction about despair. And I was a captive listener.

Understanding and Addressing Loneliness After Divorce

—–

There are five lies that those fears are telling you. Falsehoods that feed on vulnerabilities and insecurities at a time when our defenses are down and we crave some certainty in our torn and tattered lives.

When you start to recognize those lies, it helps to silence the fear:

Fear Tells Us Now is Always

At the end of a marriage, all you feel is loss. An ever-aching wound after a tooth has been pulled from its anchor. And when you’re feeling loss, it’s practically impossible to imagine joy. And it’s easy to fall into the trap of believing that the way it is now – hurting, lonely, scared – is the way it will always be.

Yet the one certainty in life is change. Today, whether good or bad, always morphs into tomorrow, often bringing with it unexpected visitors. Right now, you feel alone. Right now, you feel unloved. Right now, you hurt. Tomorrow? Who knows?

I was so proud of one of my students the other day. She confided, “I don’t like my life right now.” There’s wisdom for all of us in her last two words. The life you have now will not be the life you have tomorrow.

And fear possesses no special powers. It holds no crystal ball. It doesn’t try to predict the future, it simply projects the worst.

Now is not always. And now will always change.

9 Reasons You’re Struggling to Find Love Again

Fear Tells Us It’s Too Late

I was weeks shy of 32 when I was unceremoniously dumped via text message. And I thought it was too late for me to find love again. It was an absurd thought for me to have – my parents remarried after that age, I had plenty of friends who had found love well beyond their early 30s and I knew many people who were actively dating in my age range.

But none of that mattered.

Because here’s the thing with age –

The oldest you’ve ever been is the age you are at. this. moment.

You’ve experienced every age below you. And everything yet to come is merely a guess. And that fear of being alone loves to convince you that it’s all going downhill from here.

And so we remember love at our younger selves and we imagine being alone with our older self.

I have many love mentors in my life that I have looked to in times when I have been in need of hope. One couple, now happily married in their seventies, met in their sixties.

The truth is that the only time it’s too late is when you believe it’s too late.

And not a moment sooner.

My Husband Walked Into a Bar…And This is What I Learned

Fear Tells Us We’ve Lost the One

In the beginning, I wanted to date men like my former husband because all I could imagine loving was my former husband. If I couldn’t have the one, at least I could try to find a reasonable facsimile.

As you can imagine, that didn’t work out too well.

Much like the only ages we know are the ones we’ve lived, the only loves we know are the ones we’ve had.

So it’s easy to believe that the one slipped through the cracks beyond hope of retrieve.

I eventually realized that I didn’t want an ex-shaped new love. I had changed. I no longer wanted the same person. I opened up to the possibility of something new. Unknown.

Very few of us will move through our lives with only a single romantic love. Yet no matter how many we’ve experienced, it’s always difficult to imagine one more.

It reminds me of something I heard a pregnant friend say while rubbing her belly- “I just can’t imagine loving this one as much as I do the others.” Her three children played nearby. Even though she had felt and surpassed these doubts twice before, fear was still planting seeds in her mind. And no surprise, fear was wrong. She loved baby number four just as much as the others.

You may have lost one. You haven’t lost the only one.

How a Belief in a Soul Mate Is Holding You Back

Fear Tells Us We Are Doomed to Repeat the Past

Just as I was starting to get my dating sea legs under me, I was ghosted. Again. This time by a man that was speaking of a possible future and trying to convince me to stay in Atlanta instead of continuing with my planned escape out of the region.

Here’s how I saw it – Once was a fluke. Twice was a pattern.

I was doomed to be dumped.

As with many lies fear tells, this one has some basis in reality. If I continued to attach anxiously, I would cause the past to stutter and repeat.

But if I changed, the pattern would change as well.

We are not merely toy boats upon the stream, subject to the whims of the currents and the waves. Although we cannot control the stream, we can improve our vessel and learn how to better steer around obstacles.

It’s important to study the past. Not so that we know what to expect, but so that we can make better decisions going forward.

You’re only doomed to repeat the past if you’re stuck in the past.

11 Traps That Hold You Back After Divorce

Fear Tells Us It Is Reality

Fear is well-practiced at slipping on the disguises of concern and pragmatism, when really it is distracting us from rational thought. It pretends that it is telling us the harsh truths we need to hear to make us better while holding us back with ties of fiction. Fear pretends to whisper the future when it is actually keeping us prisoner of the past.

—–

Fear makes for a poor life coach.

Time to fire your fear of being alone.

Learn to embrace this pause. This moment between. This period when you’re unmoored and unattached.

And be open to tomorrow. Be open to possibilities. Be open to love.