One of Cesar’s common lessons has to do with affection. He cautions owners not to use affection when their dog is in an unstable mental state (usually anxiety, but also fear or aggression). He explains that by applying affection when the dog is unstable only seeks to reinforce that behavior. It’s completely logical, yet not always easy to do. When we see a distressed dog, our first instinct is to comfort it, to try to suppress its discomfort with love. That reaction backfires once the dog realizes that it can garner your loving attention by entering into an unstable place.
I’ve been thinking and writing quite a bit lately about my own unstable mental states (we all have a propensity towards one or more). For me, I struggle with becoming (and staying) anxious. I’ve worked on managing my anxiety most of my life and, other than the period after the divorce, it really has never interfered too much with my life. I’m not content with that; however, I want to try to figure out where it comes from and how it grew so that I can strive to venture into anxiety even less.
I realized that my ex played an unintentional role in nurturing my anxiety. He didn’t like to see me in distress. When I would get anxious, he would respond by becoming overly affectionate. He would soothe me with words and touch. It was great in the moment. But in the long run? Not so much.
It kept me from having to learn as an adult how to get myself out of that unstable state. But even worse, it rewarded anxiety with affection and loving attention.
Great. Just the association I want to have.
I never realized this connection while I was with him. Why would I? I had my needs met and my nerves soothed. It’s become clearer to me as I’ve gained distance and had to learn how to live first on my own and now with Brock. The first few times Brock didn’t immediately step in to pacify my fears, I was hurt. Upset. Even disgruntled. After all, I saw that as his role.
It’s not.
Slowly, I started to learn the difference between him being supportive when I truly needed it and enabling my disquieted mind. I had to discern the difference between affection coming from love and affection coming from a discomfort with my mental state. I had to learn how to soothe myself. I guess I hadn’t quite mastered that one in infancy:)
Again, I take a lesson from Cesar. He dictates approaching a dog’s behaviors with “exercise, discipline and then affection.” Turns out that sequence works pretty well for this human too. When my mind spins into anxiety, I start by going to gym or heading out for a run. Discipline comes in the form of writing, yoga or meditation. Finally, I’m ready for affection, which at that point, serves to reinforce my calmer state of mind.
Cesar says we don’t get the dog we want; we get the dog we need. In my case, I think I got the man I needed too.
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.
The Reflective Ego Shield
Our egos are vulnerable beings; they often cover themselves in highly reflective shields, deflecting any criticism and shining it back at its source. I used to get very defensive when anyone suggested that I had a hand in my husband’s actions. I would retaliate, lashing out at them as I tightened the stays on the armor protecting my ego. It was a very scary proposition to let some of that armor go and to examine what was shielded underneath. I learned the role that my own insecurities and anxieties played in the end of my marriage. Instead of reflecting all of the responsibility on him, I took my share.
There is a difference between taking responsibility for your own actions and taking the blame for another’s actions. If you are carrying your own reflective shield, try lowering it and examining what lies beneath.
The Hidden Wounds
The ego doesn’t like to show its vulnerabilities. When asked, “How are you doing?,” the ego always answers, “Fine.”
I remember how many times I falsely spoke that word in those early months. Much of that time, I wasn’t “fine,” I was angry, sad, bitter, anxious, sick, and disconnected. But I also didn’t want to reveal those wounds. To let the world see the depth of my pain. I kept it covered with a band-aid of “fine.”
Your wounds cannot heal unless they are exposed to the air. The bandage can remain on to protect your injuries from the world at large, but you remove them when are in a safe place to let the healing begin.
Ego as Strongman
Our egos are a bit like young meatheads in a gym. Flexing in the mirror, wanting to appear strong and capable amongst the others. This means that sometimes we will try to lift more than we can without asking for assistance. And, just like in the weight room, this can only lead to disaster.
Prior to my husband’s David Copperfield act, I was horrible at asking for and receiving assistance. In fact, that was actually one of the points of contentions in my marriage; I always made it clear that I could do it alone. I guess he wanted to prove me right. Regardless, I made things so much more difficult than they ever needed to be by denying offered help and refusing to ask for help when it was needed.
Are you acting like the young man in the gym? Ask for a spotter and you’ll not only gain the respect of those around you, but you will also be able to lift more than you ever thought possible.
Our egos tend to operate below our conscious thought. After all, they are us. And they are often the biggest barriers in our way.
My father is a great man but he has not always been a great father.
Like millions of others of my generation, my parents divorced when I was a kid. As in many cases, their separation also impacted my relationship with my father.
I remember feeling close to my dad when I was quite young. I remember the way he gently combed my long, tangled hair being ever so careful not to pull. I remember him being so patient trying to teach me how to ride a bike. I remember his smell when he returned from a long bike ride or came in from mowing the lawn. I remember going with him to work and riding in his office chair while sucking on watermelon candies from the office snack area. I remember the endless sounds of his recorder echoing down the hallway as he practiced for upcoming performances. I remember all of this so clearly. And then the memories fade.
He was so good at doing the “girly” things with me. He even let me subject him to the My Little Pony 2 hour movie! Now, that’s love:)
The crystal clear memories of him from early childhood are replaced by a fuzzy impression, periodically stamped with flashes of clarity that lasts from the age of 6 or so until around the age of 9. I don’t know if I didn’t see him as much or if it’s just that I don’t remember. Or, maybe I was too busy practicing how to say, “Vanilla, Please.” 🙂
My parent’s split surprised me. I never saw them fight and was not aware that anything was wrong. My dad was the one to break the news to me. It was the first time I ever saw him cry. He moved out days later.
I may stink at bike riding, but at least I could manage 3 wheels:)
For the last couple years of elementary school, I spent Tuesday and Thursday nights at my dad’s apartment and the rest of the time with my mom. I was an only child, so I was alone in this shuffle. I had a routine. I would bake refrigerated biscuits (the kind that come in a tube) in his toaster oven and eat them for dinner with grape jelly and a tall glass of orange juice. (Obviously, I had not yet discovered the joys of kale and tofu.) We would watch a half hour of Headline News and then watch some Nick At Night (Night Court was our favorite) until I fell asleep on my pallet on the living room floor. I had started reading adult books by that age (this was before Harry Potter and the like existed) and my dad’s books (adventure, historical fiction, thrillers) held a much greater appeal than my mom’s (counseling, self help, “Hallmark movie”) and so many nights found me soaking in the bathtub for hours while I was transported by some wonderful tale. On special nights, we would borrow a movie from the apartment company’s selection and settle in for the show. I saw my first ever PG-13 movie in that apartment – Alien – on a night when I came home sick with strep. I thought the monsters were pretty cool.
My dad has always had a special touch with animals.
Even though I saw my dad twice a week, he had started to become a stranger to me over those years. Some of it was the divorce; he and my mom were both trying to recover. Part of it was my age; I was reaching puberty (with hormones galore) and was no longer a little girl. Regardless of the reasons, we no longer really knew how to relate to each other.
Months after my 11th birthday, my dad moved across the country for work. Our twice weekly visits turned into annual trips with only sporadic conversations and letters peppered throughout the school years. I would talk about my friends or boyfriends, but they were strangers to him. I would try to tell him about school but would soon become overwhelmed with the amount of backstory needed to get the narrative through. There were times I was upset and he wasn’t there or wasn’t able to say the right thing. I became used to him not being there. Over time, I began to pull away. It was less painful to be the one who chose to turn away rather than be the one left behind.
I know that some of my drive to always do more and achieve more comes from that time. I wanted him to be proud of me. I wanted him to want me in his life. I felt like I disappointed him by not being good at the things at which he excelled: music, biking and math (okay, so at least I’ve mastered one of those now!). I never doubted that my father loved me yet somehow I didn’t often feel loved. He didn’t know how to express it and I didn’t know how to receive it. We communicated through dog pictures and humor. We shared activities (the tandem recumbent bike was pretty cool!) but not a deep connection. He was never a deadbeat dad, he was just a distant dad.
After a rafting trip in Oregon. I was around 13.
When I started dating in high school, I luckily had enough sense not to seek out the missing male attention from boys. That doesn’t mean that my dad was far from my mind, however. I intentionally sought out guys that were different than him. I wanted someone demonstrative in their affections. I looked for extroverts that didn’t have too much “engineer” in them. When one guy I dated started to remind me of my dad, I ran the other way. When I chose the man who would become my husband, I selected someone who didn’t remind me of my father at all.
My the time I got married, I was no longer angry at him for leaving. I wasn’t disappointed that he wasn’t there. I had reached a place of accepting our relationship for what it was.
And then he surprised me. First, at my wedding reception, he stood up to make a toast. I froze. I was expecting him to make a joke or some silly comment. Instead, he said some very heartfelt words and I saw him tear up for the second time ever. Then, months later, my husband and I lost our earnest money when a house we had under contract fell through due to the seller. I was devastated. That loss meant that we would have to delay purchasing a house for several more months. I’m not sure why, but I chose to call my dad, rather than my mom, for comfort and advice when I hung up with the realtor. Days later, an unexpected check came in the mail from my dad for the exact amount of the lost earnest money. I remember standing in the living room of my apartment, holding the check and the sweet card that came with with it. I had tears pouring down my face that time. I turned to my new husband and said, “I have a father.”
Our patterns still didn’t change much during my marriage. We spoke occasionally and saw each other even less frequently. That continued until his father became ill. I don’t know if it was the harsh reality of mortality facing my dad or that he reflected upon his role as a father, but he started to open up. He came for a visit around that time and it was the first encounter in many years where I felt comfortable around him again. We both teared up when we embraced at the airport at the conclusion of the trip.
We were both still holding back, however. Our stoic natures and analytical minds kept us at a safe distance. I think we were both afraid of being rejected. And we may have stayed that way if it wasn’t for the text. He was there when I received the news that my marriage was over. He held me as I lay collapsed on the floor. He gripped my hand on the flight back to Atlanta. He sat next to me as I discovered the extent of the betrayals. He made the phone calls that I could not. He was exactly the father that I needed him to be. The shock and trauma washed away all hesitation and all of the insecurities we had with each other.
At the end of his week here, my father gave me the best gift ever. At a restaurant, over dinner, he talked. For the first time ever, I heard his story about my parent’s divorce. I learned how he felt above moving. The words just flowed, accompanied by tears. He said he had been wanting to have that conversation with me for twenty years.
It was well worth the wait.
As I’ve said before, I lost a husband but I gained a father. That conversation set the stage for my healing. I softened that day. I knew at that moment that I had a father. Not just that night, but always. I may have been abandoned by my husband, but I knew then that I wasn’t abandoned by my dad. And since that week, he has been there for me at every turn, from horrible calls from the lawyers during the divorce to the news that I was getting married again, and all of the minutiae in between, he has been there.
I started to get to know my dad. We discovered how much we have in common (now I know who to blame for my short femurs!). It was amazing to discover how many topics we had the same opinion on, even though we never discussed them. We both became more comfortable expressing emotions. I’m sure he would still think it was pretty cool if I could actually ride a bike worth a damn or play more than Heart and Soul on the piano, but now I know that he is proud of me regardless.
My dad and Tiger. I think they get along:)
It’s also interesting that when I approached dating again post-divorce that I sought out men that had traits that reminded me of my father. And, this time, when I chose the man who will be my husband, I found one that reminds me of my dad in some ways. Because, it turns out that my dad is a pretty awesome guy:)
I’ve been feeling very vulnerable lately. Why? Who knows, but it doesn’t really matter, does it?
What matters is that I need to learn to be here when my body is screaming for to hide and bury my head beneath the covers and my mind is begging for to re-erect the barriers that once surrounded it.
I’m scared. For the first time in my entire journey, I’m truly scared of being abandoned. Again.
The feeling isn’t based on any reality. But that doesn’t matter. I was blindsided by a text after 16 years. I don’t have much faith in my view of reality.
I know I’m primed for these reactions: my dad moved across the country when I was 11, I had 13 friends die by my freshman year of college, and then there’s my ex-husband. Yeah, I’m no stranger to being left.
Early in my relationship with my fiance, I thought I worked through these issues. Adapted from the book:
It hasn’t been easy to be vulnerable again or to learn how to trust after my faith had been betrayed. It took me many months to open up again and I still find myself erecting a shield at times. My biggest challenge was not giving into to the fear of being abandoned again. This became clear about four months into my new relationship when I saw my boyfriend’s car pull up to the curb outside the airport where he was picking me up after a trip.
Relieved to see him, I reached up to give him a hug, “It’s great to see you.”
Hugging me back, “I missed you,” he replied.
Once inside the car, I admitted, “I halfway expected you not to show.”
He looked shocked, hurt. “Why would you think that?” he said, a hard edge sliding into his voice. “I told you I’d come get you.”
“I know,” I replied softly, feeling ashamed. “It’s just that last year…” I trailed off.
“I’m not him.”
Of course, I knew that on a rational level; I never consciously compared them. It was a matter of memories coursing through my bloodstream, igniting stress hormones that, in turn, sent false signals of impending doom. I also knew that this was dangerous territory; if I expected others to behave like my ex, eventually they would.
The truth? I had only worked through that because I wasn’t fully vulnerable. I don’t expect to be left anymore, but now it scares me. I’ve allowed it to scare me. I’m not holding back anything anymore and I’m only now realizing I still was. I knew that the upcoming marriage had that effect on my fiance. Now I’m realizing that it is having the same effect on me, only a few months later. I am allowing myself to fully feel the love I have for him. And, damn, that’s scary.
I’m realizing that I trust him now but that I might not yet fully trust myself. That’s a strange feeling.
So now here I am. Open and bleeding. No walls, no buried head. I need to learn to be here, to stay vulnerable, without allowing myself to panic and either hide or grasp too tightly. It’s not easy. It doesn’t feel safe.
I want reassurances. Promises. But the truth? That’s only a bandaid. I need to relax and breathe through my fear. I know I’ll be okay, I just need to do a better job of convincing myself. After all, the only true abandonment is when we abandon our true selves. And that’s one I can control.
I am a rule follower in most areas of my life. But not in the blogging world. I don’t proofread (and I make lots of typos!:) ). I fail to spend time formatting pictures. And I’ll post multiple times in a day. Furthermore, I am absolutely horrendous at following the guidelines for awards (although I am eternally grateful to those of you who have graciously sent them my way). However, there is one blogging tradition that I feel like I just have to honor – the year in recap, especially since the one year anniversary of my blog coincides with the conclusion of 2012.
So, here goes – a look back at Lessons From the End of a Marriage 2012. I apologize in advance if I get this wrong. Again, I don’t follow the blogging rules so well:)
The Beginning
Last December, I spent some time with my friend Christian. I showed him the outline of the book which I had started two years prior and had just committed to finishing. He recommended that I start a blog as a way of pre-marketing the book. I knew nothing about blogging, so I downloaded two Kindle books on the subject – one free and one $.99 – and I set up my WordPress site that afternoon. I set a goal of posting at least three times a week, but I was intimidated by the thought of coming up with that many ideas.
I didn’t need to worry. The ideas just began to flow and I found myself posting daily. I found a rhythm of writing in the mornings and jotting down ideas throughout the day in a small spiral notebook I kept in my purse (no iPhone yet:) ). I started following other blogs and found myself pleasantly surprised at the supportive WordPress community. I was still working on the book and the blog was a great place to explore ideas and solidify the themes.
I experimented with Facebook and Twitter and tweaked my blog settings. I never really knew what I was doing; I simply did what felt right in the moment. Looking back, some of the posts makes me giggle and some make me cringe. But I’ll leave them – they are part of the history.
I learned the humor inherent in seeing how people found my site. My favorite search terms?
lisa arends bigamy (This one always makes me giggle. I’m not the bigamist! 🙂 )
As I made my way into the blogging world, I found myself commenting on sites all over the net. Huffington Post was a frequent visit of mine and I often found that the articles in their “divorce” section spurred my own ideas, which I frequently left on their page. Then, in April, much to my surprise, I was asked to write a piece for them sharing my story.
And, oh what a ride that was. The piece went viral, sending over 20,000 visitors to my site in two days. It was cross-posted around the world in a variety of languages. The comments poured in. Most were shocked. Many were supportive. And some were hateful.
It was a strange feeling. Until that point, I had a relatively small and insular group of readers. I had kept my name hidden (thus stilllearning2b). My readers were supportive and understanding. The readers of Huff Post? Not so much. This was a crossroads for me – I had to decide if I wanted to pull back or go full force with my story, not knowing what the repercussions would be and having to thicken my skin in the process.
I think my choice is evident. I remembered my motivation to share in the first place – I didn’t want anyone to feel alone in their journey as I once did. I kept writing, adding more Huffington pieces and adding MindBodyGreen and others to the list.
By the end of July, the book was finally finished and ready to be published. I wondered if I would still feel the compulsion to write now that the project was complete. Again, I had nothing to worry about.
This period was when I really began to identify as a writer. I decided to be transparent in the process and share my story of self-publishing and writing for Huffington Post. The completion of the book also put me in a different place emotionally, and my posts began to focus more on present day rather than with wrestling demons from the past.
Things exploded in the early fall. Another Huffington article went viral and I began to be contacted almost daily by producers. Most offers fell flat for one reason or another, but The Jeff Probst Show became a reality in September. It. Was. Surreal.
I had already exposed my identity to the internet, but now my “teacher persona” and “blogger persona” met for the first time. My coworkers read my book and approached me in the halls, giving me sympathetic hugs. My student’s parents sent me encouraging emails and engaged in whispered conversations at school events.
My little blog project wasn’t so little any more and it had grown well beyond what I could control. There was some anxiety associated with being so “out there.” It’s not always easy to have strangers comment on your life, your feelings and your actions.
I keep coming back to this. Every time I ponder pulling back, I receive an email or comment that helps me recommit to sharing. I have been so touched, so humbled and so inspired by the messages I receive or the posts I read from others who are surviving their own tsunamis. Additionally, I have found that writing reminds me of what I have in my life; it makes me grateful for what is rather than bitter for what was lost. I no longer feel alone. I am amazed at the supportive community that is all around us if we are willing to be vulnerable and show our pain. You guys are awesome:)
I am a planner by nature. It is somewhat uncomfortable for me to accept that I don’t know what 2013 will bring. So here’s to letting go of expectations, staying in the moment, practicing gratitude and sharing the love:) I wish all of you the happiest of new years!
Lessons From the End of a Marriage 