Sprained

Posted on by stilllearning2b

If I ever hear one more person say, “Just get over it,” I am going to scream.

Loudly.

I’m warning you now so that you have time to buy earplugs.

I have a little story, an analogy (I know, shocking!), to help the getoverers understand why there are some things you don’t just simply get over. Feel free to share this with anyone who tells you to get over it. And then scream if needed.

Fifteen years ago, during my first winter in Atlanta, I slipped on ice while taking the garbage out to the apartment dumpster and sprained my ankle in the process. Since I’m a Type A personality, it was a Type A sprain, bad enough that the physical therapist I worked for at the time added me to the therapy rotation. Rehab was pretty intense for the first few months. For the next year or so, the injury was always on my mind due to chronic pain and instability. I wore a brace of some sort for most of that time.

As time went by, the injury became less apparent and the brace went into a drawer. But the injury is still there. Every time I take a balance pose in yoga on that side, I have to focus to keep the ankle from collapsing. Whenever my mileage increases with running, I develop biomechanical issues on that side because my hip has to compensate for the wobblyness of the ankle. And, the worst part, is that my ankle is prone to further injury. It’s as though it carries a memory of the trauma in the soft tissue and becomes damaged again with only minor assault.

I haven’t let my ankle slow me down. I wear high heels. I run marathons. I master balance poses in yoga. The vast majority of people in my life don’t even know that the whispers of an old injury lie beneath the scarless skin.

But even though I can still live a full life, I can’t simply get over the injury and pretend it never happened. It’s there. A part of me. I don’t have to give in to it yet I also have to accept that it exists and that it occasionally needs attention or support. The structure of that ankle has been changed. Permanently.

But even though I still limp sometimes, I can still kick ass. And that’s even better than simply getting over it.

Because it shows that I can take a licking and keep on ticking.

It shows that I refuse to turn my traumas into liabilities and limitations.

It shows that accepting weakness is a part of strength.

It shows that even though there are some things you don’t just get over, you don’t have to let them hold you back.

Here are the lessons I’ve learned from my ankle (who’s currently sobbing after a spill on a wet kitchen floor last week) and how they apply to “getting over” divorce:

Rehabilitation  The early and intensive rehabilitation on the ankle was critical and I am so thankful that I had the assistance of an expert. If those interventions had not occurred, it would have been a much slower healing process. In divorce, don’t be too shy or proud to call in the professionals in the beginning. Make taking care of yourself your job. It will pay dividends in the future.

Support At the beginning, my ankle was too weak to go unsupported. If I tried to walk without a brace, it would fold over and re-injure the damaged tissue. Yet I couldn’t cast it forever or it would never grow strong enough to stand on its own. It’s okay to wrap yourself in protective bandages after divorce yet make sure you remove them when ready. Struggle is what makes you strong.

Adaptation Once I realized that my ankle would always be weaker, I worked to strengthen the surrounding muscles. I learned what kind of shoes aggravated the injury and I avoided them. I became more aware of activities that were risky for re-injury and I added support or used caution. After divorce, your circumstances will change. Change with them.

Acceptance I could spend my days cursing my injured ankle. But honestly? I don’t even really think about it. It just is. It doesn’t stop me yet it also doesn’t allow itself to be ignored. But now addressing its needs is second nature. And that’s how divorce is too. It’s there. It doesn’t have to stop you yet it also will need attention at times. And that’s okay.   So next time somebody tells you to just get over it, tell them a little story about the little ankle that could. And then show them that you can still kick ass.

Rock Paper Scissors

Posted on by stilllearning2b

During much of my divorce, I felt like I was playing Rock Paper Scissors against a much more skilled opponent. Whenever I would pull out the scissors, out would come the rock, crushing my hopes and my progress. So I would retire the pointed attack, opting for the pliability of paper, only to face the cutting attack of the blade. Frustration and fear would win out and I’d pull out my own boulder, determined to obliterate the pain and confusion of the split. Often only to find myself defeated again, the paper obscuring the view of the object of my anger. Click here to read the rest.

Divorce Tool Box

Posted on by stilllearning2b

In my second year of college, I took a psychology of grief class. I signed up because I needed another psych credit but also to help me understand my own experiences at that point with grief and loss. One of the first images in the textbook was the Holmes-Rahe Stress Inventory, a scale that quantifies stressful life events with a score of 1-100. I was no stranger to the instrument; my counselor mom had dozens of copies (and versions) in the books that were scattered about the house. But that day, perhaps bored with the dry lecture, I looked at the scale differently. I wondered what experiences listed on the page I would have. I feared the big one, the 100 point Death of a Spouse. In my mind, that was the only item on the list that would destroy me. The others seemed inconceivable or inconsequential.

A brief note here – Some versions of the scale include death of a child, obviously near the top. This particular one did not, a question I raised with my professor on that day.

I noted that divorce was listed as second only to death of a spouse with a score of 73. That didn’t make sense to me. Perhaps because I thought it would never happen to me (I was three years in to the relationship with my now ex husband at that point and I could not fathom one or both of us choosing to end it), but I just couldn’t understand what could be so devastating about divorce.

I guess the universe wanted to show me I was wrong.

Using the scale that was in my textbook that day, I faced:

73 divorce

53 personal illness

44 major behavior change in spouse

39 new family members

38 financial hardship

30 foreclosure

29 in-law problems

29 change in habits

25 housing change

19 change in recreation

16 change in sleep

15 change in eating

15 change in family get togethers

For a grand total of 425 points. The sirens start to go off at 300 points. And, if you add infidelity, most scales place that around an 81, which would raise my total to a lofty 506. I probably should have been escorted into a padded room at that point. I would also add a few more points for a tsunami divorce, which is somewhere between a death and a divorce. I looked, they haven’t studied the impact of bigamy. I hope that they never need to.

What the scale in my textbook didn’t make clear is that there is no life stone unturned when it comes to divorce. It. changes. everything.

And change, especially unwanted and unexpected change, is stressful.

If there’s ever a time in life when you have to use everything you have at your disposal, it’s divorce.

You can inventory your stress and tally up your debits but you can also inventory your personal tool box and count up your implements of healing.

Here’s what I had in my Divorce Tool Box. Maybe yours looks a little different.

The Extra Battery – Fortitude

There’s no way around it. Divorce is draining. It goes on and on. And on. Just when you think the struggle is over, something will pop up and make you go again. A huge part of getting through is simply getting through, having the ability to persist even when the path is tough. So, pack an extra battery. Hell, pack two:)

The Hammer – Determination

It’s easy to fall apart in divorce. You feel beat down and the instinct may be to roll over and play dead. There is certainly time for acceptance, but there is also time for determination. If you want a better life, you have to build it. Pick up that hammer and make it happen. Just look out for your thumb!

The Tape Measure – Attention

There are a ton of details in divorce. Personally, I think everyone who has experiences it should qualify as a paralegal. There will be times when you have to push the grief and anger aside, pull out the tape measure and pay attention to every detail in every document. Remember, measure twice, cut once. Make sure you know what you’re signing.

The Level – Balance

It’s easy for the divorce to overwhelm your life until it becomes your entire life. Needless to say, that’s not healthy (or much fun). The level in your tool box is to remind you to find balance. Or to check to see if that picture you hung where the wedding photo once was is level:)

The Spackle – Humility

You’ll screw up. You’ll create a hole where there wasn’t supposed to be one. You’l inadvertently bang up someone else as you try to aim at your ex. When you reach for the spackle, you admit that you made a mistake and show that you’re trying to repair it. If you can, buy the spackle that starts pink and dries white. That way you know when your mistakes are corrected:)

The Business Card – Assistance

You can’t do it all. When you’re overwhelmed or stuck, reach for that business card with the name and number of an expert. Call them. And then listen to them. Don’t let your ego get in the way of your healing.

The Liquid Nails – Confidence

You will have to make some big decisions. Do it with confidence. Pull out the permanent adhesive and believe in your decision. Deep down, you know what’s best for you. Make it stick.

The Saw – Humor

When it all starts to overwhelm, reach for the saw and cut it down to size. There’s nothing like a little laughter to put everything into perspective.

That’s my tool box. What’s in yours?

Four Years Ago Today

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Four years ago today, I awoke afraid of seeing the man who had abandoned me eight months before. And when he passed me in the courthouse hall, I didn’t even recognize him.

Four years ago today, I was ready for the divorce I never wanted from the man I thought I knew.

Four years ago today, I sat in a courtroom with the man I had spent half of my life with. A man I once considered my best friend. We never made eye contact.

Four years ago today, I looked at his face for any sign of the man I had loved.  I saw none. After sixteen years, he was truly a stranger to me.

Four years ago today, I sat alone in a hallway waiting for the attorneys to decide his fate and mine. Hoping that the judge saw through his lies and would not fall sway to him charms. She didn’t, even asking my husband’s attorney if he was “psycho.” The lawyer could only shrug.

Four years ago today, I cried and shook with the realization that it was all over. It was a relief and yet the finality was jarring.

Four years ago today, I felt a heaviness lift as I cut the dead weight of him from my burden. I believed I couldn’t begin to heal until his malignancy had been removed.

Four years ago today, I laughed when I learned he hadn’t paid his attorney. I had warned the man my husband was a con. Maybe he believed me now.

Four years ago today, I held tightly to that decree, still believing that its declarations had power. I felt relief that he would have to pay back some of what he stole from the marriage. The relief was short lived.

Four years ago today, I took my first steps as a single woman. Steps I never expected to take. The first few were shaky. But I soon started to find my stride.

Four years ago today, I sat around a restaurant table with friends and my mother. A table that had held my husband and I countless times over our marriage. We celebrated the end of the marriage that night. I had celebrated my anniversary there the year before.

Four years ago today, I read my husband’s other wife’s blog for the last time, curious if she would mention anything about the court date. She did not. I erased the URL from my history. It no longer mattered.

Four years ago today, I sealed the piles of paperwork from the divorce and the criminal proceedings into a large plastic tub. As the lid clicked in place, I felt like I was securing all of that anguish in my past.

Four years ago today, I started to wean myself off of the medication that allowed me to sleep and eat through the ordeal. I was thankful it had been there, but I no longer wanted the help.

Four years ago today, I fell asleep dreaming of hope for the future rather than experiencing nightmares of the past.

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

Not because of the divorce.

But because losing everything made me thankful for everything.

Because being blind made me learn how to see.

Because being vulnerable created new friendships and bonds.

Because being destroyed made me defiantly want to succeed.

And because losing love made me determined to find it again.

I am happier than I’ve ever been.

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

Significance

Posted on by stilllearning2b

It’s amazing the significance that can be found in the smallest of things. I found it this past weekend in a can of stain.

In my former life, my husband and I had an amazing deck built about 15 months before he left. This deck had been a dream of ours since we purchased the house nine years prior. I loved that space and spent every available moment on it. When the deck’s one year anniversary came around, we made plans to stain it, as advised. We researched products and purchased a five gallon bucket of stain.

A bucket of stain that still stood unopened in the basement on the day he left.

During those months between the deck’s birthdate and his life’s death date, he made excuses not to undertake the project. He was too busy to pressure wash (his domain) or was worried about the pollen. Or the weather. Or his blood pressure. Or even the cost of tea in China. He always had a reason.

But the real reason was that there was no need to stain a deck to ensure its longevity when your life is on its last breaths.

A few years later, and my new husband and I purchased a house with a new deck. The planks one-year anniversary was this spring and we celebrated by coating it with stain over the weekend. He pressure washed and covered the large expanses of deck while I tackled the nooks and crannies of the railings and steps. It was a simple process yet suffused with meaning.

This deck, this marriage and life are coated to last.