A Woman I Used to Know

Posted on by stilllearning2b

The student pulled a clipboard from the bin.

“Who’s Mrs. —?” he inquired, reading my old married name off the back of the clipboard.

I smiled, “Oh, just a woman I used to know a long time ago.”

Ain’t that the truth.

 

Many of the items in my classroom are labeled with my old name. When students ask who she is, I’m vague. Most have concluded that she is a retired teacher who gifted many of her classroom items to me.

In a way, they’re right.

She’s certainly retired. Not from teaching, but the old Mrs. — is no longer around. There are those who remember her and tell stories of those days, but they are behind us now.

Mrs. — has been replaced.

No, that’s not quite right.

She’s been transformed.

 

One of the more difficult aspects of a major life renovation such as divorce is that we struggle to imagine ourselves any way other than we are in that moment. If you asked the old Mrs. — who she was, she would speak of her role as teacher and tutor, she would talk lovingly about her husband, she would tell stories of her dogs and you would be cautioned from getting her on the subject of plants.

In those days when all was washed away, I remember feeling homeless in my soul. I didn’t know who I was anymore. Who I would become. I knew I would never be the same yet I couldn’t imagine anything but what I was.

And that was a scary place to be. Not the old me anymore and yet not the new one either. A limbo of self.

Scary and yet empowering. Because when you’re rebuilding your life and your identity from the ground up, you have the power of choice and the wisdom of experience. And that’s a powerful pair.

And the main choice I made was to be happy. Not happy because of the tsunami divorce. Happy in spite of it.

Everything else was secondary.

 

And now, here I am. Mrs. again. Dog momma again. About to plant again.

On the surface, much may be the same.

But beneath?

Everything has changed.

Because you can’t go back.

But you can always move on.

 

The old Mrs.— has retired. And now she’s just a woman I used to know.

And if you happen to see her, please tell her thanks for clipboards.

 

 

The Grass Isn’t Greener

Posted on by stilllearning2b
grass isn't greener

greener

For some reason I have been receiving quite a few messages lately from people who are looking for my validation of their decision to a) have an affair, b) continue an affair, c) abandon their unsuspecting spouse or d) all of the above.

Umm…do they realize who they’re messaging? Do they honestly expect that I’m going to give them a stamp of approval and send them on their merry, marriage-detroying ways? I mean, yes, I’m in a better place than I’ve ever been after facing my husband’s infidelity and abandonment, but that doesn’t mean I endorse that as a life-affirming event. Honestly, I would have preferred a cruise.

I usually take a little time to breathe before composing my responses. Ultimately, I want to ensure that I’m not coming from a place of my personal experience or reacting defensively. After all, even though these folks are looking for approval, they may also be asking for help. And there’s a chance that what I say may register.

There are some common themes in all of the messages I receive in this category. Many all tell me that their spouse would be better off without them. They all speak of interest in another man or woman. And perhaps most telling, they all seem hesitant to speak to their spouse.

And most of all, the attention is focused outside of the marriage.

Well, then, it’s no wonder the marriage is floundering. How can you expect a marriage to flourish when your efforts are spent elsewhere? Before you diagnose your marriage with a fatal case of failure to thrive, feed it. Nurture it. Give your marriage the attention you’re giving your escape plans.

Your intentions drive your attentions. If you’re committed to leaving, your focus will be on your exit.

So, before you call it quits, make staying your intention. At least for a while.

Now, attention is no Miracle Grow. Your marriage may have fatal defects or may have been starved for too long to ever thrive. But, at least give it a try before you leave it for dead.

One person asked me if he owed it to his wife to stay.

No. That’s just a breeding ground for resentment and contempt.

But he does owe it to his wife to at least try to nurture the marriage before making the decision. He does owe it to his wife to end things in a kind and mature manner, if it comes to that. And, he does owe it to his wife to not use her for excuse or blame.

The grass isn’t greener on the other side. It’s greener where you water it.

So, stop blaming your spouse, stop pretending that you’re doing this to help him or her and pick up the damn watering can and water your marriage.

Okay, public service announcement over. Now back to our regularly scheduled program:)

The Mourning After

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I realized something the other day.

I no longer remember my ex husband.

Not in any real way.

For a long time, when people asked me what I had loved about him, I could tap into the old feelings and describe the relationship we had (at least from my perspective). With the retelling came the feelings. I felt the love again, not towards him now, but towards who he used to be to me.

Now?

I could recite a list of what I had loved, sure.

But it would really be a list. Memorized lines, any emotion borrowed or manufactured.

When I try to remember loving him,  I draw a blank. I can recall moments together, picture the scene, even tell you what was said,  but I can’t occupy myself in those playbacks. I am always an objective observer. A omniscient narrator with the knowledge of what was happening in the bigger picture.

I see us in the last embrace, standing before the prohibited items sign at the security line at Hartsfield Jackson airport. I can feel his breath on my ear as he whispered, “You’ll be back before you know it.” I can still remember the kiss, no  kisses, that morning that ranged from sweet to passionate. I remember that I used to feel secure in his arms and that my respiration would immediately slow.

I can picture that scene perfectly. Yet now when I try to slide into the me of then, feel what she was feeling – anxiety and excitement about seeing my dad again, an ache about leaving my husband, all while trying to mentally rehearse the security procedures, I get stuck. My brain, or maybe it’s my heart, stutters.

Because when he held me that day, he must have been performing some mental rehearsal of his own. He had only a few short days to pack up his life and slip out through the back door. When he held me that day, reassuring me that we would be reunited soon, he knew that he would never see me again. When he held me that day, he really was saying goodbye.

And that damned narrator tags along with any recollection of the past, always reinterpreting and explaining the action occurring off screen, not allowing me to simply feel the moment.

My memory files are corrupt, damaged by the way the marriage ended and the time spent processing its end.

Some may say that’s a good thing, a sign of moving on.

Maybe it is.

But I don’t like it.

I want those sixteen years of life to be able to exist for me. Not in some sterile slideshow way, as they do now, but in a way where I can remember, really remember the times I felt love and loved. I want to remember that woman I used to be, not only the one who was blindly trusting. I used to love him so acutely and now I don’t even know what that felt like. I can remember the pain, but not the pleasure.

It’s like a second loss.

The mourning after.

I mourned the loss of the marriage long ago.

And now I mourn the loss of the memory of the marriage.

Those years truly buried.

And left for dead.

 

And now I’m enjoying my afterlife.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Snipe Hunt

Posted on by stilllearning2b

It was a snipe hunt.

I didn’t realize it at the time.

In fact, I didn’t even realize he was searching for something.

I just saw them as simple transactions.

$40 for a shirt here.

$200 for a new phone there.

But he wasn’t looking for a new wardrobe or a new phone.

Not really.

What he was looking for didn’t exist, at least not in material form.

But he didn’t realize that either.

He was on a snipe hunt for happiness.

 

I’m often questioned about my assertion that they were not obvious signs of my ex husband’s deceptions. There weren’t in the moment. But time has a way of revealing connections and indications, of washing away the clutter and revealing the patterns beneath.

And this is one of those cases.

My ex never expressed discontentment. He never claimed unhappiness or a lack of self-worth. Yet, when I look back, I can see that his patterns slowly changed over time. There was an insatiability that developed, an ever-growing need to fill a void. An endless search, each purchase seeming to send a message of position and power. It was subtle, at least until the end, but there was an energy to it. A drive. A need to be filled.

It was a snipe hunt for happiness. He was looking outside for something that can only come from within. He was distracted by the mythical beast he sought, ignoring the calls for help from within.  He gathered possessions like a magpie enamoured of shiny objects, as though the gilded gadgets would reflect light back into his soul.

And that was a sign. Not only of his unhappiness, but also of his approach. He was a man who looked for the easy road. He would rather move houses to gain a greener pasture than water the one where he stood. He would rather discard a wife and a life where he made mistakes than to work to correct his errors and omissions. He was a man afraid of looking inward, preferring instead to focus on an imaginary hunt. He believed that solutions could be found if he only searched hard enough.

 

It was a sign. His snipe hunt for happiness.

And, like all snipe hunts, it was all pretend.

In this case, an act of a man desperate to find peace.

And he looked everywhere but where it could actually be found.

Within.

 

We can learn from him.

We all have a tendency to engage in snipe hunts for happiness – material goods, dating to distraction, food and alcohol. Learn your patterns. What are the early signs of your own snipe hunt for contentment? For peace? Recognize that you are searching for something that cannot be found in the outside world.

And look within.

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.