Closed

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I used to be obsessed with finding closure.

I pursued it with the intensity of Tiger chasing a tennis ball, convinced that it contained the peace I so desperately needed. I yearned for it at night and awoke frustrated when it hadn’t been gifted to me in my slumbers. I kept searching for the one thought, the one idea, the one fact that would seal my past away behind an air-tight door. I feared that closure would not be possible within the limitations my circumstances provided. I worried that I was dependent upon him to create that closure. I was concerned that I needed an apology or at least an answer to form that seal against the pain. An answer and apology that I knew I would never receive.

I started to believe that my closure would forever be incomplete, a door ajar allowing the whispers of the past to carry through.

And that thought scared the hell out of me. So I used that fear to drive my search for the elusive closure. I had to be creative since I had few answers and even fewer signs of remorse.

Closure is closely linked with understanding. If we know why something happened, it’s easier to accept its occurrence. But sometimes circumstances don’t allow us to sift out the truth from the past. But you can create your understanding even when you don’t have all the answers.

I started my search for understanding by learning about and systematically affixing labels to him: sociopath, narcissist, addict, etc. None seemed to truly fit, but they allowed an anchor for understanding. Next, I assembled pieces of the past like a giant puzzle, looking for patterns and ideas that fit. Slowly, an image began to emerge of a man that carried a dark passenger, a man that was defeated by his shame and his secrets. My conclusions may be accurate or they may be entirely woven of fiction. But it doesn’t really matter where understanding comes from; it brings relief regardless of its origins.

I had hoped that understanding was enough to bring closure. It was not. It answered the “why” but still did not alleviate the pain. My anguish was still a doorstop propping open the door to the past. So I focused on being thankful, using gratitude to soften the sorrow. Allowing the perspective of the bigger picture to bring purpose to the pain. And it helped. But closure was still hiding. I felt like there was still some unanswered question that kept me from being able to reach a conclusion.

Eventually, I tired of the search. I stopped looking for what I couldn’t seem to find.

I figured closure would remain a dream for me.

But then I drove by my old house last Friday and felt nothing but gratitude. And I realized that I had finally had it. My search for closure is now closed.

Sometimes the best way to find something is to stop looking for it.

Sometimes you have to trust that doors will continue to open before you can close the one you came in through.

And sometimes dreams do come true.

The Most Difficult Part of a Second Marriage

Posted on by stilllearning2b

One of the most difficult aspects of a second marriage is not inviting your first spouse into the union.

Not literally, unless you’re into that sort of thing and you have a California king filling your master bedroom, but emotionally. My ex-husband committed literal bigamy. I have been guilty in my new marriage of practicing emotional bigamy, of listening to the past and allowing its whispers to drive my responses in the present.

Early last fall, my new husband and I purchased a home. From the beginning, he expressed an interest in converting the partial basement to a small home theater. His intention? A space for us to enjoy together and share with friends. My reaction? Complete and utter panic. Rational? Not in the least. But based on experience and rooted in fear. Click here to read the rest.

Death of a Shared Past, or Why Fluid Dynamics Makes Me Smile Alone

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I’m in the midst of pinch-me-I-must-be-dreaming moving and settling in to the new home. Those damned paint chips have been turned into almost a dozen gallons of paint that now cover the walls (marking our territory as Brock would say; Tiger has been busy marking his territory outside the home while his parents handle the inside). The kitchen is largely unpacked and the garage is staged with boxes ready to follow the carpet cleaner’s into the rest of the house. Even the man cave is taking shape and looking smart.

I’m exhausted. The last time I did a wedding/move/remodel at once, I was 22. I sure ain’t no spring chicken anymore, as evidenced by the blisters on my hands and the creaks in my back.

But I’m happy. Even more so than at 22 when I was beginning my first marriage in my first home. I’m more grateful for what I have, knowing how easy it is to lose everything. I’m more at peace, after living through my fears. I’m more focused on the relationships that will be nurtured within the home than on the home itself (the days of waiting to complete a project before inviting friends over is a thing of the past). It feels so good to start to send out roots again. This is settling in the best way possible.

Since my swollen hands and befuddled brain won’t allow me to string together too many cohesive sentences (seriously, how do new parents function with this little sleep every night? mad respect but also a little scared that there are that many new parent zombies shuffling around!), I provide you with a post about the loss of shared memories. It’s a timely post for me now that I’m cultivating a new shared past (and reconnecting with friends from childhood!) which softens the blow of losing the other.

 

Death of a Shared Past, or Why Fluid Dynamics Makes Me Smile Alone

 

Several years ago, my then husband and I were on the interstate heading out to our weekly Costco run. The roads were packed and traffic was doing that infuriating start-stop thing where we averaged about .87 mph. I took that opportunity to share the information from an article I had read that applied the theory of fluid dynamics to traffic congestion (disclaimer for those new to the site: I am a geek). I was excited about the research, animated. I used the cars around us to demonstrate the ideas in the article. He thought I was bit nuts. From that point forward, every time we were stuck in traffic, he would make a joke about “damn fluid dynamics.” It became part of our shared past.

Traffic Congestion

I am an only child and I have lost contact will all of my childhood friends. My ex was the only person in my peer group that spanned across the decades of my life. I do not miss him, but I do miss the shared past. I now have entire mental storerooms of jokes and remembrances and no one to share them with. It’s a strange feeling, memories bubbling to the surface and just sitting, lonely at the forefront of my mind rather than being released through a conjoined history and recollection.  It’s an isolating feeling, a bit like being alone in a foreign country; no one else speaks the language of my marriage.

I am building a new shared past with my current partner, but, by definition, it takes time to build a history,a shared past from which to pull forth shared memories.

But for now, when I am stuck in traffic, I think of fluid dynamics and smile alone.

Serendipity

Posted on by stilllearning2b

1991

Almost 22 years ago, I entered the halls of Clark High School as a new freshman. Like the others, I was excited to leave behind the insular world of middle school. I looked forward to the more challenging and personalized classes. I was thrilled about the additional freedoms. And I was particularly enthusiastic about the boys upperclassman boys.

To that end, one class stood out on my printed schedule, 6th Art I. A class that was not restricted to 9th graders and offered my best chances of meeting some of those older boys I had my eye on (it’s pretty funny, by the end of the year, I dated my way through that class much like I dated my way through the gym after the divorce). As luck would have it, I ended up sitting next to a junior with kid eyes, a quick wit and the cutest dimple. And, most importantly, a car. I was smitten.

Over the next few weeks, we got to know each other over our charcoals and tempera. I loved the particular symmetry of his last name and I frequently wrote it on the back of his paper as we passed them in. I was intrigued by his stories of evenings and weekends out with his friends, drawn to the freedoms that a vehicle provides. Although we flirted in class, I figured that I had no chance. After all, I was barely 14 and he had all the wisdom and opportunities of 16 year old:) I was shocked and thrilled when he asked me out a few weeks into the school year.

I was nervous about asking permission from my mom. Although I dated throughout middle school, this was my first Date where no parental transportation was needed. My mom agreed after she devised a “driving test” for him (he drove her to the repair shop to collect her vehicle) and a “counseling session” where he was drilled in the living room. Luckily, he passed and I got to go on my first “real” date where I learned that short skirts and Texas trucks do not necessarily make a good match (the floorboard of that thing was above my waist! I didn’t realize that jumping hurdles was a prereq for dating in Texas).

We ended up dating through much of the fall. He was a drummer and, along with his friends, introduced me to the music I still today – metal, the heavier, the better. It was the beginning of my enigma-laced persona. I’ll never forget attending a metal show wearing a floral pink shirt, surrounded by tattoos, black and mohawks in the mosh pit. I’ve done away with the pink flowers, but I still carry those contradictions.

We had a good run, but like most things, it came to an end. He some issues with an ex girlfriend and moved to a new school around the same time. I ended up in hospital homebound for a couple months after some complications from surgery. I saw him periodically until I was 16 with a car of my own, but then we drifted apart and he faded into memory.

2013

I have a rule that I only check my personal Facebook page from my phone (this helps me stay focused on work on my computer). As a result, I never see the messages that arrive from people outside my friend network. I had a few minutes yesterday afternoon and I decided to check those messages for the first time on over a year. (Note to self: don’t wait so long next time!). There were several messages from men after seeing me on the Jeff Probst Show, one from an old childhood friend (love this part of social networking!) and one from the boyfriend of the fall of freshman year:

Hi Lisa, I really need to let you know something. First, I am in AA and have been sober for 2 1/2 years. Part of me working through my program of recovery is an amends process. I don’t know if you ever knew, but I grew up in a home where both of my parents were alcoholics and drug addicts. However, that does not give me any excuses for any of my actions in life. I wanted to tell you that how I treated you when we were younger was wrong and I wanted to make amends with you. I am asking nothing of you except one thing; I just need to know what I can do, if anything at all, to make it right? And I am not saying you have to forgive me now or ever. My main objective is to let you know that I know what I did was wrong and I am willing to fix it in any fashion you want. It can be anything from “Don’t ever speak to me again!” or to do something for a charity….etc. The options are endless. Finally, to wrap this up, I had to become very honest with my self and make a decision to go to ANY lengths to remain sober and I am doing that today with the help of God and working this program. If you or someone you know ever has questions about this I will always be willing and ready to help. I hope you have read this and if so thank you very much and I hope to hear from you soon.

There are times when people come into our lives at the right time for the right reason. As some of you on here have gathered, I’ve been at a bit of a crossroads lately. A couple weeks ago, I was ready to throw in the towel and end this site, leaving divorce in my past. I was having trouble figuring out how my past fit into my present and I wasn’t willing to jeopardize my future. A conversation with Brock convinced me to keep writing, but I was still uneasy about my decision. Little did I know that the Facebook message above would lead to some profound understanding about embracing the past and using it as a tool.

I responded to his request,

Oh, wow. It’s great to hear from you and to hear that you are doing well. I’m sorry that it’s taken so long for me to respond – I never check these messages. I knew of your home situation and I’m proud of you for your efforts. I still think of you when I listen to certain songs – I credit you with my to-this-day passion for metal:)

I know how tenuous sobriety can be. I have seen so many people start down that road, only to get lost again along the way. I hoped that I would hear back, if only for confirmation that he was still sober and doing okay.

I had nothing to worry about. He soon responded and we engaged in the usual catching up (he’s married with three cute kiddos and works as an engineer) along with reminiscing about the past. Throughout, he was very forthcoming about his addiction and, even more importantly in my eyes, the emotions associated with it.

Because my ex left with no discussion, I try to gain understanding about him and his possible mindset through conversations with others. I learned after he left that he was struggling with alcohol; I found evidence of hidden drinking and he admitted to a problem in a text conversation with my mom. (Related: The Secret Keepers) I saw an opportunity last night to peek into the mind of an addict to try to understand my ex a little better.

The drug, drink, or action are just symbols of a much more real problem. I always tell people who go to an AA meeting and they know they have to stop using drugs, but they think they can drink. That it never was a problem…I tell them “It’s not the WHAT, it’s the WHY”.

I believe in the thought that my past is not a bad shameful one. I’m not proud of it. It has become my greatest tool and to be of service to others in and out of any program…but sometimes my faith in that belief weakens….then the darkness….so on and so on…but the always I know the big picture is better than that moment.

That line hit me hard. It spoke directly to my recent struggle with trying to figure out where to house the past. Once I explained my recent debate, he responded with an excerpt from the AA book:

If we are painstaking about this phase of our development, we will be amazed before we are half way through. We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness. We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. We will comprehend the word serenity and we will know peace. No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others. That feeling of uselessness and self-pity will disappear. We will lose interest in selfish things and gain interest in our fellows. Self-seeking will slip away. Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change. Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us. We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us. We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.

See your past, is your experience.Your experience helps those suffering relate. And your healing and growth….even for those uncomfortable, will begin to see you are actually a greater person…trust me…that growth and healing is a sufferers hope. I know that feeling and concern…TRUST ME…all the hurt people, my children, my coworkers, I smile and become a living example through my actions. My coworkers like who I have grown to be, and I know and proclaim I am not perfect.

So as fars your ex goes…you have to realize that is he was doing only what he could do with the tools he had.

So, now, you own the past, you can own your feelings

Damn. How did that 16 year old punk get to be so wise? It’s amazing how two very different journeys can share some of the same core ideas, emotions and conclusions.

Last night was serendipity. I now feel more at peace with the place of the past. I am more dedicated than ever to using it to continue to reach out and help others.

HATEBREED says “One Flame can light a million”
You helped me in my recovery today…
And extending a hand to others is what it is all about.
This post was written to the tunes of Dead Horse in honor of my introduction to metal:) If you like thrash with a smile, check them out!

 

Deja Vu Yet New

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Planning a second wedding is quite strange. It’s like walking a familiar road after being absent from a city for decades – you think you know the sites and the layout but nothing is as it was.

I don’t want to think about the first time, endlessly reflecting on how it was done before. But I do, if only to make sure I do it differently now. The basic structure of the wedding is the same: private ceremony followed by celebratory dinner with loved ones. But the details are intentionally altered. My first wedding was on a beach; this one is in the mountains. The first date was in the winter and this one is in the fall. My first dress had straps and my hair was up. Now? Strapless and hair down and loose. A Thai restaurant is replacing the Italian that served the first dinner.

There is an unplanned difference between the celebrations that struck me yesterday as I was working on the guest email list (That’s right, wedding Evites. Don’t tell Ms. Manners). There is a good chance that my dad will be the only guest present at both. As far as my family, we’re small and spread throughout the country. My mom will actually be in Italy at that time (don’t feel guilty mom -go and enjoy yourself!) and I don’t think any other family will travel. I got married the first time only 6 months after moving to Atlanta. So, the friends at our celebration were coworkers that we had at the time since we had not yet developed any meaningful relationships in the new city and our friends from Texas could not make the trip.

This time around, the friend list is long and rich with history and meaning. I have friends that have known me through my entire marriage, supported me through the divorce and have seen me blossom again. I have others that have only known me after. Brock has friends that never thought they would see him marry until they saw us together and said they knew. Even the restaurant has personal ties, as they know us well, saw the evolution of our relationship and have hosted many a gathering for Brock’s martial arts students. We will be surrounded by our community as we celebrate. That feels good.

Having friends around means I also have a shower this time through. Something I’ve never had. The hostess texted me yesterday and asked me to pick a theme: kitchen, wine, bathroom, lingerie or camping. I had to smile at the last one. She is very much a city gal so I knew she threw that in for me even though it pained her:) I chose lingerie since it’s something I never buy for myself and I left all my collection behind in my old life. Plus, sometimes it’s nice not to be practical:)

It’s crazy that, even as I’m about to move on from the past in the biggest way possible, the past still follows behind, tapping me on the shoulder occasionally just to remind me it’s there.  But even though it’s sometimes strange, I’m okay with my awareness of the past. I’m not trying to run away from it or bury it where it can’t be seen. I’m hopeful that now that the planning is done (yippee!), the past will take a polite step back and maybe not follow so closely.

 

Related: Why I’m scared of 22 year old dress consultants – Say Stress to the Dress