Strength

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Several years ago, I taught eighth grade in the gifted program at a school with a population that qualified our suburban location as “inner city.” I had this one little British boy that year that stood out. John couldn’t have been more than four feet tall, the stack of books in his arms frequently bypassing his eyebrows. He was very quiet and gentle and spoke with coolest accent as he shared his brilliant insights. He was safe on our gifted team; we had many kids who fell outside the norm and this group was very accepting of differences.

But that wasn’t necessarily the case with the rest of the school. I worried for my kids when they were in the halls and the lunchroom with the greater population. I feared they would fall sway to bullies or worse.

But John taught me not to worry.

One day, another student was put in John’s science class for the day as a form of consequence. This student was built like an NFL linebacker and had the temper of a taunted cobra. The science teacher, who had a nature even more gentle than John, sat the punished student at a table in the back of the room.

But the table was already occupied.

A large glass aquarium filled all but a thin, four inch strip of the table. A strip where this student would be completing his work. Inside the aquarium was a large tarantula, that just happened to be crawling on the front wall of the aquarium when the student sat down.

Panicked, he turned to the kid who was closest to him. John.

“Is this thing safe? I hate spiders, man,” his eyes belying the terror just beneath the surface.

“You see those fangs,” said John in a British-tinged whisper, “They use them to pump venom into your body that liquefies your flesh and then they suck out the juices.” This was illustrated with his fingers, just in case the other boy didn’t quite get the picture.

“But don’t worry,” said John with a small smile, “I think the lid will hold.”

And with those words, our little David defeated that Goliath.

For the rest of that year, I saw the bigger boy act in deference to little John in the hallways and in the cafeteria. I’m sure the other students and teachers looked on quizzically, wondering how this diminutive child defeated one of the tougher kids in the school.

What they failed to realize is that strength is not always visible on the surface. That true toughness comes from an ability to reason, use what you have at your disposal and a determination to see the challenge through to the end. And that is something we can all do, even if we can’t see over the load we carry.

 

Courage

Posted on by stilllearning2b

So much of it comes down to courage, doesn’t it?

 

The text from my ex husband read, “I’m sorry to be such a coward leaving you this way.”

That sentence contained the only truth he uttered.

He was a coward, choosing to hide his actions behind lies and then disappear without a conversation.

He was a coward, letting his fears keep him from asking for help or revealing his thoughts.

He was a coward.

But you know what?

So was I.

I never lied.

I never hid my actions.

But I still listened to fear and let it wrap me in its binds.

I was afraid of confrontation. In fact, one of the aspects of my first marriage that I enjoyed is that we rarely ever had confrontation. No wonder. He would lie and I would avoid.

I preferred to avoid anything ugly rather than face it head on. This made me all-too-willing to believe what he told me (Although, in my defense, nobody else knew he was lying either. He was damn good.).

I was so afraid of losing him that I was too cowardly to even consider it becoming a reality.

As though by not looking under the bed, the monster didn’t exist.

Perhaps the greatest gift I received from the end of the marriage was the gift of courage. It wasn’t unlike the journey the lion took to the great wizard of Oz. The cowardly one learned the wizard was an illusion but that courage could be built from within (with a little help from a liquid placebo). And that simply by tackling the journey (with the help of a few friends, of course), he found the bravery he always had and learned that it was characterized by action even in the face of fear.

Courage doesn’t mean you don’t hear fear. It means you don’t listen to everything it was to say.

Courage doesn’t mean that you’re immune to fear. It means it doesn’t paralyze you.

Courage doesn’t mean that you never doubt. It means that you trust yourself enough to make it through.

 

There were obviously many characteristics I considered critical in a second husband.

But one of the most important qualities I looked for was courage.

I needed to know that he would face any potential problems rather than hide.

I needed to know that he would speak the truth even if it was difficult.

And I needed to know that I could do the same.

 

So much comes down to courage.

The courage to see the truth.

The courage to speak the truth.

The courage to trust the truth.

The courage to face the truth.

And to know that it will be okay.

Even if you’re scared.

 

 

 

Turn Away

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I frequently come across posts or emails written by people in the early aftermath of infidelity. The writings are often angry. Powerfully so, the words slashing across the screen like a serrated blade. You can feel the power, the fury. Each sentence an explosion of outrage towards the unfaithful partner, the affair partner and even circumstances in general.

When I encounter these posts, I want to turn my head in horror.

Not because of the writer.

But because of myself.

I recognize myself in those outbursts, those paragraphs of wrath-tinged keening.

I recollect responding in that same manner. With that same rage blinding my sight and deafening my ears.

I identify with the deep upswell of anger formed by betrayal and a sense of unfairness.

And I want to turn away.

I don’t want to remember that part of myself.

I don’t want to perhaps catch a glimpse of residual fury tucked away.

I don’t want to admit the power that anger held over me.

I see those posts and I remember my early journals, the pen digging deep trenches into the paper, pretending it was gouging flesh from his face. All I wanted to do was to lash out, to make him experience just a fraction of the pain he had inflicted upon me. It was ugly. And it made me ugly.

And I don’t like to face that, to remember the vileness of the anger, any potential for compassion forced out by blind indignation. I don’t like admitting that I wanted to respond to my pain by creating pain in someone else.

And so I want to turn my head. To deny that I once felt that same way.

But that’s becoming what I promised I wouldn’t – someone who writes about divorce only from the scrubbed and polished perspective of the other side.

I want to turn my head in horror.

 

But that’s not honest.

The horror is real.

The anger is real.

And facing it is the only way to lessen its grip.

So I read. And I remember. And I try to reach out.

Because anger is simply pain screaming to be heard.

Do As I Say

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Do as I say.

Not as I do.

I talk about how whatever we nurture, grows. I discuss starting with the end in mind yet still starting at the beginning. I believe in the power of intention to drive our attention and, ultimately, our outcomes.

I say these things.

But in one area of my life, I haven’t been doing them.

One of the more difficult aspects of the divorce was the loss of the financial security I thought I had. Not only did I experience a dramatic drop in income between changes in teaching and tutoring, I also had to foot the bill for many of his actions.

In the beginning, my main attitude towards money was anger, as I paid and paid and paid for his transgressions. My pound of flesh had already been taken and now I was just scraping bone. So I found ways to address the anger. I wrapped the debt in gratitude, initiating a habit of writing something I’m thankful for every time I make a payment. When my mind wanders back to the hemorrhage of funds during the divorce that the courts were never able to recover, I turn my thoughts 180 degrees and focus on what I love in my life now. Things that money can’t buy.

The anger was eventually replaced with fear. That may have been good for the blood pressure, but it still didn’t help me sleep at night. I was scared of not having the needed funds to live. I was afraid of further nefarious action, bleeding the money even as it trickled in. The fear is still there, yet I have tempered it with reminders of the people that have my back in an emergency or with a brainstorming session of ways that I could earn money, if needed. It helps. But it hasn’t completely silenced the fear.

But that’s not really what I talking about. It’s a part, sure, but it’s a part I’ve been aware of and intentionally corralling.

This other thing?

I’ve been feeding.

For the last five years, a common utterance from me, both to myself and others, has been, “I don’t have money.”

It has become my unintentional mantra.

A guiding intention.

Whatever we nurture, grows.

Damn.

My all-too-easily rational brain has been excusing this habit as merely a statement of fact. After all, this is an area where some realism is called for. If I walked out of the mall laden with designer-heavy shopping bags, well…let’s just say there would be consequences. Like no gas in the car.

I need to be realistic about what I have to work with.

But I don’t need to allow my current situation become my intention.

Because the truth is, I’ve been busting butt to pay down my hand-me-down debt and to generate new ways of earning income. Right now, I may not have money. But tomorrow? Maybe I will.

I need to get out of my own damned way.

And nurture what I want to grow.

I WILL have the financial freedom to live the life I want.

I WILL be debt free.

And, here’s what’s probably at the root of it all – I DO deserve to be paid. I’m worthy of it.

I’ve recorded the mantras above over the old one on my mental cassette tape. The old intention may bleed through at times, but I’m not allowing it to continue to play.

Hopefully soon, I can say,

Do as I do.

 

After Divorce: From Surviving to Thriving

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Days after my tsunami divorce, my mom turned to me and told me I would survive.

I actually got angry and responded rather strongly, “No, I will not survive. I will thrive. To do anything less is to remain his victim.”

I saw surviving as the bare minimum, the mere intake of breath and food in order to go through the motions of life. I refused to settle for that. I wanted more. It felt insurmountable, yet the vision and hope remained intact.

Inspired by Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, these goals can serve to help you navigate the challenging path after divorce and take you from merely surviving to thriving.

Survive

The first tier of goals are about your literal survival. In the beginning, it is enough to simply focus on your next breath. And then the one after that. The goal is to keep you alive and functioning. These physical needs must be addressed first before any further progress can be made. Read the rest here to learn how to go from merely surviving to beautifully thriving!