Something I’ve Never Admitted (Even to Myself)

Something I’ve never admitted (even to myself) –

 

When my ex left, I was relieved.

Not right away. At first, I felt like I was breaking apart. Each breath singed my open and bleeding heart. I felt like I was gasping for air and grasping for a hold on reality. I was fractured and frightened.

But later? Once the wounds scabbed over a bit and I began to feel confident that I would survive?

I was relieved.

It wasn’t an emotion I expected to feel. In fact, I didn’t even accept as an emotion I did feel. On every conscious level, I loved and trusted that man with every fiber of my being.

But maybe on some deeper level, I was aware I was on a sinking ship.

A craft that I trusted to be whole and intact but instead had developed some fatal breach in its hull, obscured beneath the waters of awareness.

 

I lost everything. Yet in some ways I was relieved to be free of the life I had worked so hard for.

I loved him. Yet in some ways I was relieved he was gone from my life for good.

I faced immense pain and suffering. Yet in some ways I was relieved of the anxiety that had been growing beneath.

 

Maybe the relief was just my brain’s way of trying to wrest some control over the tsunami barreling down at me. Maybe the relief came from facing my biggest fear and still standing after the confrontation. Maybe I was relieved that the worst I could imagine was over and it could only get better from there. Perhaps it was the relief felt upon waking from a nightmare, the sweaty sheets revealing the anguish released during the night. Maybe it was like the relief felt after a good cry, emotions spent and endorphins moving in. Maybe it was the release of tension that I didn’t realize was building. Perhaps the relief came in an acceptance. A letting go after working so long to hold to him. Or maybe it was my intuition, discounted for so long, finally breaking through.

Who knows why I felt a release? I do know that I felt ashamed for feeling relieved. Guilty, as though I was somehow feeling something wrong. 

The truth is that emotions are messy and complicated. What we dismiss as irrational is often anchored in some truth, even if we cannot tease out the connections.

Relief is more than something we feel upon release, it is also a special type of carving that removes the unwanted material to create a dimensional image upon a backdrop.

I think the relief I felt was the removal of the unwanted falsehoods, letting my life and my self stand out yet again.

 

A Geographic

Brock has been busy lately. Very busy. So when he had to drive to the other side of town this morning to drop something off for work, he invited me along for the ride. That’s life – sometimes quality time comes from a romantic evening out and sometimes it comes in the form of an hour plus on the highways of Atlanta (which even have traffic before dawn on a Saturday morning).

It was a quiet ride for the most part. The comfortable companionate silence between two people with nothing to prove who simply enjoy each other’s company. But it was also a journey to the past for me, as we drove from where we live to the area where I spent ten years of my former life.

I make that drive once a month or so to visit with friends or to attend some event. But usually I am either the driver or the sights are hidden beneath a shawl of darkness. This morning was different. The soft morning light had just brightened the sky when we made the turn into my old stomping grounds and, as the passenger, I had endless opportunity to peer between the trees to see what had remained and what had changed.

We drove by the street that was home to my first Georgia apartment where we served breakfast to the family who came into town to celebrate our wedding. We passed by my old library, where I checked out endless decorating books with the intention of turning our house into a home. I saw the biscuit place that my husband loved and the Costco where we went together every Saturday. We pulled through the drive through at the Starbucks where I met dates and sought public solitude after my divorce. And I caught a glimpse of the Gold’s Gym that was my sanctuary where I rebuilt mind and body.

I first heard the term “a geographic” relating to a need to pull up roots and start over somewhere new when I read Stephen King’s Duma Key. At the time I read the book, tucked securely in my other life, I didn’t understand that drive.

A few years later I understood it too well.

Once the reality of the end of my current life had set in, I felt an overwhelming need to escape. To run. To get away from every reminder and every location.

I wanted a geographic.

If I was going to be forced to start over, I wanted it to be fresh. Not built upon the dunghill of my former life.

Necessity kept me local for that first year; my job and my support system were nearby and needed. But that whole year, I felt restless. I no longer belonged. I needed to move. I was planning on a move to the West Coast, as far away as I could get in the continental U.S. But then love happened, and I cut my planned move short by about 2100 miles.

But it was far enough. As our morning drive took us through the streets of my old life, it felt like another world, another lifetime. It was distant yet interesting. I was curious rather than anxious. It held no pain, only far off memories. And it certainly didn’t feel like home.

I am feeling the pull for another kind of geographic right now. This semester has been way too frantic. I’ve felt pulled and prodded, trying to balance too much for too long. I feel the need to get away. To run. Not to another life, but to the woods for some quiet and simplicity. Life pared down to its most basic. Where the morning fire is often the most pressing item on the to-do list.

Peace. Hopefully without frostbite.

Sometimes we need to get away. Maybe for a few days. Or maybe for a lifetime.

Sometimes a geographic can help cure what ails us.

Marital Debt Should Not Convey

I entered my current relationship with plenty of debt – both literal and figurative. When Brock and I first started dating, I was seriously limited by the financial repercussions of the divorce and was still hamstrung by the emotional fallout. It was impossible for those encumbrances to have no effect on my new relationship: I wasn’t able to contribute as much money towards dates and activities as I would have liked and I was still working through the impact of betrayal and abandonment.

Even though it impacted him, at no point did either one of us assign him the liability for the outstanding tab.

Because marital debt should not convey.

Of course, that’s easier said than done.

On the money front, it has been difficult at times when Brock and I have different financial standpoints. Until just two months ago, almost a fifth of every one of my paychecks went to my ex’s debt. And that was on top of everything I had already paid (literally a third of my pre-tax income in the last five years). I would get frustrated sometimes, not that Brock had more leeway with money, but that I was still so limited.

There were times those frustrations would come out, my anger towards my ex mixing with my irritation at not being able to afford something I needed with a dash of fear about my financial future. And he’s always been awesome – giving me money to buy clothes last winter, never making me feel guilty about not paying my full share on trips or dinners (or being able to cosign on the house) and always letting me know that he has my back.

But the reality is that the martial debt was mine to pay. My burden. My responsibility. And now, it’s my job to work to build up my savings and my credit.

Because marital debt should not convey.

In some ways, the financial debt is easier to work with. It’s clear what it is and where it comes from. Whereas the emotional encumbrance? Yeah, not so easy to catch.

I was really careful with one area of emotional debt. I knew I was sensitive to infidelity and lies. It would have been very easy for me to enter in to a new relationship and punish my new partner for the sins of the old – questioning every phone call, peeking at every text, growing suspicious at every night away for business. But all that is going to do is drive away the new partner. My sensitivities and insecurities were my problem to address. Not his.

Other debts were not so clear. I can easily (over)respond because some past situation is triggered. Don’t believe me? Read this. It’s embarrassing to me now after this has been the outcome. At times like those, I have a more difficult time not shifting the debt; I’m flooded and scared and the line between past and present sometimes becomes blurry.

And in those moments, Brock can definitely help. He helps me feel safe while also letting me know that I’m not being fair to him. He can help me heal but ultimately, the work is mine to do.

Because marital debt should not convey.

If you start a new relationship burdened by the debris of the old, you are weighing it down before it ever has a chance to grow. Instead of placing the weight of your former marriage on the shoulders of your new partner, do the work yourself of breaking through the burden until it no longer has to be shouldered by anyone.

Because marital debt should not convey.

Unless of course, you want a repeat of the end of the first marriage.

 

 

The Problem With Arousal

We tend to see arousal in a relationship as a positive attribute.

We correlate it with the abdominal butterflies of the early dates and the heady rush of the first kiss. We enjoy the tunnel vision of young love and the electric nerve endings primed with anticipation. Untold books are written about difficulties with a lack of arousal and how a deficit in excitement can lead to a marital dead bedroom when a partner fails to elicit a response in the other.

That’s a limited view of a complex biological mechanism.

Arousal is a physiological state where the autonomous nervous and endocrine systems are turned on and ready to go. The increased heart rate, blood pressure and alertness makes us ready to fight, flee or, in the case of a potential mate, maybe another “f” word. It’s an evolutionary response that downshifts our brains into basic survival mode, the instinct to protect self and offspring prevailing over all other thoughts.  The vision field literally narrows to limit distractions and focus attention on the task at hand. The body is primed to attack or run as blood flows into the limbs. In a true survival situation, a heightened state of arousal is key.

Most situations are not truly about survival. 

Several years ago, my now-husband and I were walking Tiger on a trail along the river. A car suddenly veered from the road onto the path, dramatically splintering a fence, before coming to a stop mere feet in front of us. I immediately felt my heart accelerate and my body begin to shake. I remember feeling a need to act, to move, yet feeling unsure what to do. I looked over at Brock and was surprised to see him calm and unmoving, visually assessing the situation and making an action plan. Unflustered, he handed me the leash and instructed me to move Tiger out of the way into an adjacent field.

Brock’s years of medic training had taught him how to mitigate his body’s arousal system. Whereas my brain was sent into the panic of high alert, he was able to maintain a lower level of arousal that still allowed him to think rationally, process stimuli and act logically.

Too much arousal is as detrimental to a relationship as too little.

Not every situation is as dramatic as a car crashing through a fence. In fact, sometimes it can be as subtle as a particular phrase or echo of a memory that awakens our survival-brain. Primed for fears of abandonment, whenever Brock used to express displeasure or disappointment with me, my body would respond with an all-out flood of neurotransmitters. Through that heightened lens, every word, every movement was a threat to my survival.

In that state, I could not respond rationally. I could not see the bigger picture. I could not problem solve or make connections. And I could not risk showing any vulnerabilities, as my brain was convinced that everything was a threat. Communication is impossible when one or both partners are flooded with emotion. And if one or both people continually respond in a heightened state? Every discussion becomes a battlefield.

Affection is a dangerous antidote to hyper-arousal.

Cesar Milan often works with dogs that are in the “red zone,” the canine equivalent of fight or flight. He cautions the owners from providing affection when their dog is in that heightened state because it is rewarding the animal for being in the red zone. Instead, he waits until the dogs are relaxed and only then does he try to train or reward them.

Humans are no different. As an introvert (shown to be more sensitive to stimuli) geared towards anxious, I am naturally prone to an excess of arousal. Throughout my first marriage, my then-husband used to respond to my alertness by soothing me, using affection and attention to lower my excitement levels. It worked in the moments, but it also did nothing to discourage those moments from reoccurring.

Your arousal levels are not fixed; you can train your body to respond differently.

Nowhere is the brain’s ability to regulate arousal more apparent than in sniper training. These men and women learn how to lower their heart and respiratory rates to extremely low levels, make complex calculations and perform detailed fine motor movements all while in potentially dangerous situations.

We can outsmart our reptilian brains through mindfulness and practice. We can use the power of our rational minds when we are not in the red zone to change how we respond when faced with a perceived threat. It takes persistence, practice and patience. But you can retrain your brain.

Learning to control your arousal state is critical to relationship success.

The Gottman Institute has studied arousal states in couples and has determined that a lower level of arousal during conflict is positively correlated with marital longevity and happiness.  It makes sense. Learning to take responsibility for your own actions and overreactions is a key in mature and balanced partnerships. When you hold your own fuse, you are able to limit the potential of a conversational conflagration.

In the bedroom, by all means turn it up. But in the rest of your marriage, you may be better served by turning it down.

 

 

At Some Point, It’s No Longer About the Nail

hurt divorce

In the beginning, I made it all about him.

What he did.

Why he did it.

How he did it.

Where he was.

Who he was.

 

It was an escape of a sort. A distraction. If I stayed focused on him, I didn’t have to think about me.

 

What I was going to do now that my life was washed away.

Why this happened to me.

How I was going to survive and rebuild.

Where I was going to live.

And who I was without him.

 

But at some point, I had to decide to make it all about me. To turn my energies towards what I could change rather than curse what I could not.

Because no matter how much attention I turned towards him, it wasn’t going to help me feel any better.

 

When you first step upon a nail, the sharp steel tearing through tender flesh, it is prudent to focus on the nail. First by removing the offending stake and then by examining it for any signs of rust or fragments left behind.

And then at some point, the nail no longer matters.

Only the wound is of consequence. And your attentions must turn to the ministrations of puncture care, ensuring that it heals fully without infection to poison the blood.

 

A difficult divorce is much the same. Once the distressing person has been removed, focus on them only leaves your wounds unattended.

Because at some point, the nail no longer matters.

Only you do.

 

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