Igniting the Conversation

Posted on by stilllearning2b

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Relationship trauma will do strange things to you. With my ex, I was never timid about initiating a conversation about a potentially difficult topic. I would even wake him up so that we could talk before I went off to work if I didn’t want to carry the burden and fear of the issue all day. Of course, it was easy to “talk” with him about difficult things; he would lay on the affection and soothe me with his words. Yeah, he sure knew how to rock me back to sleep.

Now, post divorce, my communication style has changed. I am more tentative; I tend to hold things in too long, rolling them around in my mind (and often letting them gain steam) before letting them out. Brock’s communication style has contributed to this tendency. He generally starts off by talking at, not with, and then settles into a place where he is receptive and able to listen. I’ve seen this enough to know to ignore the first minute or two, but it doesn’t make it any easier for me to take the plunge.

Enter the talking candles.

After one conversation that I initiated well after I should have, Brock came up with an idea. He pulled two candles – one white and one blue – from the living room and set them on a small table in the dining room.

“These are the talking candles,” he began. “When you need to talk about something, set the white candle on the kitchen island. I’ll do the same with the blue.” He demonstrated this as he talked.

“When we see the other’s candle, we must make that conversation a priority.”

It was brilliant.

We haven’t used the candles much, but they have certainly helped to change the communication dynamics between us for the better. By setting out the candle, it gives the sign that a conversation needs to happen. The other person then has notice and can approach with the right frame of mind. We are less likely to talk while one or both of us is still decompressing from the day and the start-up is much more gentle. I am more willing to be assertive and not as defensive. He is more likely to listen from the beginning and to be more empathetic.

When we are aware of patterns, we can begin to change them. And that is a conversation worth igniting.

 

Of Teddy Bears and Security Systems

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Teddy Bear

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.

At some point I realized that the security that I had held so dear was an illusion, the equivalent of a child clutching a stuffed bear to ward off the dangers in the night.

I had outgrown the need for the illusion of security. I realized that the house, the job, the marriage could disappear.  There were no guarantees in mortgages and marriage certificates. They could be pulled from my hands just as easily as that stuffed bear, leaving me to face the night alone.

I had an experience that highlighted my changing views of security during my Match Madness phase. I dated one man for several weeks. He had money. I mean, real money. After only a few weeks, he mentioned the idea of me moving in, leaving my job and becoming basically a kept woman. I was repulsed by the idea but fascinated by my response. At that point, I had put in my resignation at my job and had no idea where I was going to live or how I was going to make money. I was facing the very real debts from my ex and had not yet received innocent spouse relief from the IRS. In other words, being kept should have been a temptation.

But it wasn’t. It felt like a prison.

I realized that the illusion of security works to hold us in, using our fears as restraints. I would have been bound to him by the fear of being penniless, not out of mutual respect and love. It went both ways. He was accustomed to using his bank account to hold women; he never had to work on relationship skills since he assumed that his wallet would do it for him. He was scared by the thought of a relationship without that hold.

Security looks different for me now. I don’t look for it externally, rather my security comes from trusting myself and knowing that I can make it through regardless of what happens. By next year, I will again have a marriage certificate, a mortgage and a secure job. But now I won’t be looking at them for comfort and assurance; that will come from within. I no longer clutch onto the metaphorical stuffed bears, but nor do I refuse to hold them.

A(void)

Posted on by stilllearning2b

He had lost himself.  Somewhere along the way, he no longer knew who he was.  Did the depression come first, leading him astray?  Or did the depression tag along, following the self out the door?  Regardless  of the order, he was left a shell.  Rather than face the void and explore its dark depths, he chose to avoid by creating a facade of a man.  It must have been exhausting, balancing on that edge, trying not to fall while maintaining the illusion that he was nowhere near the cliff.  He was a master at that delicate act for years.  Even when he left, he thought he could continue to pull a Copperfield on those around him, using mirrors of  deception  to hide the enormous truth.  The fall was  inevitable.  For a brief period after his arrest, he seemed to see the precipice, the darkness surrounding him just beyond the lights he used to distract and blind.  Yet still, he was unable to face the pain, and he chose to continue being a master of illusion. By denying the void, he allowed it to grow.

avoid

I also avoided the truth in those years, not consciously, but on some deep level. I didn’t give any credence to the physical symptoms of anxiety that coursed through my body in the final few months; I wrote them off as work stress combined with my Type A personality. It’s hard accepting that I didn’t see the truth. I feel bad for me, but even more so, I feel like I failed him. One of the few regrets I have is that I didn’t know that he needed help before it was too late.

I expected to face my own void when he left.  I loved  that man, adored  him.  He had been the driving force in my existence for half my life.  How could I lose him and not face a gaping wound?  The initial loss was too raw, too overwhelming to feel any sense of  loss.  As I settled in to my new state of being, I surprisingly realized I didn’t feel as much emptiness as I expected.  It was more like the void left after a tooth has been pulled: slightly sore with the occasional shocky bit, but mainly just strange and alien.  Like one does with the tongue after losing a tooth, I explored the hole, drawn to its strangeness.  At first, it consumed all my waking thoughts, but as time elapsed, it grew less prominent.  I became accustomed to his absence faster than I ever anticipated, consciously filling that void with friends, activities, anything I could get my hands on.  I survived not by teetering on the edge, but by filling in the hole.  I am still aware of the place where he was, but accept that he was the tooth that needed to pulled for healing to occur.

I hope that he is not still trying to walk along that cliff or survive the darkness beyond.  I wish that he, too, can find a way to heal the void.

Blame – Continuing the Conversation

Posted on by stilllearning2b

So why do we play the blame game at the end of a marriage, assigning guilt like we’re tallying points in a shuffleboard match? Why does it have to turn into a bride vs. groom match with everyone taking sides?

The blame frequently starts within the dissolving union. One partner often holds the other responsible for the destruction of the marriage. They can be quick to list the faults and transgressions of their ex, pointing fingers at another as a way of avoiding having to look at themselves. This is frequently performed behind a shield of righteousness, painting the blaming spouse into a victim role where they have no responsibility for their own actions and their own happiness.

Not all blame comes from within. Some of the most painful and damaging blame comes from those outside the marriage who feel the need to pass judgment on its demise. Read the rest on The Huffington Post.

 

Three Years Ago Today

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Three years ago today, I sat in a courtroom with the man I had spent half of my life with.

Three years ago today, I looked at his face for any sign of the man I had loved.  I saw none.

Three years ago today, I sat alone in a hallway waiting for the attorneys to decide his fate and mine.

Three years ago today, I cried and shook with the realization that is was all over.

Three years ago today, I felt a heaviness lift as I cut the dead weight of him from my burden.

Three years ago today, I took my first steps as a single woman.

And now, three years on, I could not not be happier with where I am.

And, I could not be where I am without three years ago today.