I remember well the first time I felt that spark. My husband had left only months before and I was still reeling from the loss. I knew that I wanted to love again, to be in love again, but, at the time, that desire felt like an impossible dream. I was beginning to question whether I still contained the capacity to feel passion. To bond. To trust. My world was filled with pain and pain was the only language I was fluent in.
Read the rest on The Huffington Post.
Somewhere around 2006, when I was working on my master’s degree, my ex husband moved his office from the second floor (across from mine) down to the basement. His reasoning made sense. He was working from home, our undersized AC couldn’t keep up with the strong afternoon sun that beat down on the upstairs location and he needed more desk space than the small bedroom could offer. It wasn’t an easy move; the basement was entirely unfinished and the HVAC wasn’t run to the bottom level. He spent several weeks framing the space, hanging the drywall and building a custom coffered drop ceiling. It was soon filled with his books, computers, a TV and a couch. I thought it was his office. In reality, it became his lair.
The downstairs location offered him the security of uninterrupted privacy. He had the sound of my footsteps on the wood stairs as a warning prior to my arrival. He had space where I rarely ventured to tuck away items he didn’t want found. He could carry out conversations far away from any opportunity of being overheard.
I thought it was his office. In reality, it became the mission control center where he destroyed his life and our marriage.
As a result, the fear I never had of basements as a child materialized as an adult.
It took a while for this distrust to become apparent. For 2 1/2 years, I lived in homes without a basement. And then Brock and I moved into our current rental. With a basement. That, because of the configuration of the home, would house his office.
I had trouble at first as he expressed his desire to upgrade the pretty much unfinished space. Each plan of his spurred flashbacks of the old. It turned out that the house had my back; the basement pushed back with its moisture issues and bad smells, driving Brock to move his office to the dining room before the first year was up.
I didn’t even realize that I still harbored my fear of basements until recently. In the new (hopefully “our” in a couple weeks!) house, both offices will be upstairs but the basement will house Brock’s dream – a “man room” complete with home theater. This may be his dream (I just can’t understand the desire for another TV room when it’s just the two us but, then again, he doesn’t understand my obsession with ferns and hydrangeas), but he has made it very clear that it is “our” space.
And, even more importantly, I have zero reason to think that he is building out the basement for any reasons more sinister than to watch some silly (at least to me) animated movie featuring Superman.
But still my mind throws up flares of panic.
The damn dominos are set in my mind: marriage>basement>bigamy. Yeah, dumb, I know. Otherwise, wives all over the place would be backfilling their basements. But minds aren’t always rational.
Even worse, I wasn’t even aware of my brain’s protestations as I normally am. (I’m blaming this on the sheer amount on my brain at the moment, by the way:) ) Instead, I made comments like, “I’m never going to see you again” as we discussed the plans for the man cave. Sarcastic? Yeah. But still a cry for attention from a panicking brain.
I’ve come a long way from the woman who halfway didn’t expect Brock to pick her up at the airport (could that actually be over three years ago?!?). I know he is not my ex. I trust him.
But apparently I don’t trust basements.
Much like it takes time to layer over triggers, I also need to layer over cause and effects (or correlations) from my past.
It may be a basement, but that doesn’t mean it’s a lair.
After all, I slayed the dragon.
I think this basement is more a bat cave for a wanna-be superhero.
I can live with that:)
I met up with a friend this morning for a run. She’s at a point in her life where she wants to make some changes and she has many options open to her. Sounds good, right? Well, much like research has shown, too many options are simply too much for us to handle.
(Some find too many choices in online dating; personally, I loved the endless streams of men!:) )
My friend has been stationary for the last several months as she carefully weighs the pros and cons of each opportunity presented to her. To make the decision even more challenging, she keeps casting a wider and wider net and finding yet more possibilities.
Her mind is frantic. Yet she remains paralyzed by indecision. She has tentatively explored some of the options, yet is spread too thin to give any one choice her all.
After listening to her new proposals and plan de jour, I suggested that she needs to simply choose one path, invest in that one 100% for a set period of time and hold the other options in reserve if the chosen one ends up being a debacle. I went on to say that by not choosing one path, she was setting herself up for failure with all of the potentials because she couldn’t invest enough time and energy to succeed. Of course, that’s assuming she could even break her paralysis enough to move at all.
After I finished my short recommendation, I glanced over at her. Her stride had picked up, her shoulders settled back and down. She visibly looked lighter.
I remember that paralysis of infinite choices all too well. For a year, I existed with a future full of untethered possibilities. I had given notice at my school and stated my intention to leave my friend’s home. I was dating but, as yet, had not met anyone that I felt particularly pulled to. I was unhappy with my career and exploring the idea of switching tracks. I knew I needed to leave the area where I was living, but apart from a vague desire to relocate to Seattle, had not made any concrete plans.
As the end of the school year drew ever closer, I knew that my endless cyclical thoughts needed to become some sort of reality. I decided to start by deciding to remain in education and set about applying to jobs in the Seattle area. My endless and open choices became targeted resumes and cover letters, organized with my inevitable spreadsheets. Even though the future was still entirely unknown, I felt calmer and somehow more in control once I had a task to tackle.
It’s funny how just the illusion of control can bring some peace. The jobs in Seattle never materialized and the spreadsheet was abandoned soon after I started dating Brock. But it served its purpose. It became a focal point, a light showing me a path when I was busy spinning in the dark. The efforts were not wasted; the decisions and resumes were simply applied in a new arena where they turned into a new job.
As for my friend, I don’t know what our next run will reveal but I hope that she is able to break from the immobilization of too many and too much. I hope that the feeling of being out of control and overwhelmed can be replaced with a feeling of determination and intention.
As for me, I’ve decided to practice what I preach. I was feeling overwhelmed by the sheer number of paint chips I had amassed to pick colors for the new house. I am beginning by limiting my choices and then selecting from that smaller pool. And then I just may decide to take a nap:)
I’m enjoying my first slow cup of coffee since the start of the new school year. My tired feet are enjoying their morning free of heels. My throat, scratchy from overuse, is relishing a day without the need for much in the way of vocalization. This, the first pause of the school year, is when I finally get a chance to get to know my students.
From almost my first year in the classroom, I’ve started the year with the same homework assignment. It’s simply titled Three Things.
Three Things
Please write in complete sentences.
What are three things you like about math?
What are three things you don’t like about math?
What are three things I should know about you?
It seems so simple, doesn’t it? Basic questions that should elicit basic responses. Yet, every year, the papers that turned in tell me more than you can imagine about the person behind the writing.
Of course, I learn the basics. I learn if they follow directions. I can tell if they struggle with communicating in writing. Some never even complete the assignment at all and I certainly learn important information from that! I discover who prefers algebra to geometry and who likes to perform computation (not me!). I find out cool facts about each of them that would not be revealed in class (these kids have some great taste in music and hobbies!).
But it goes way deeper.
I learn about their history, both with schooling and with math. Their attitude towards the subject and themselves is clear upon the page.
Some celebrate the challenge of math and discuss the joy of struggle followed by success. They realize that we all fail. They are not afraid to try and try again. They do see themselves as failures even when they fail.
Others share their frustrations when they do not understand something and they internalize the message, calling themselves “dumb” or “stupid” or “bad.” They see their failure as fixed. They are usually timid in class, afraid to try. Many will hide their discomfort behind behaviors, becoming the class clown or the “bad” kid. They would rather not try than to try and risk failing, adding yet another tally to negative view of themselves. When describing what I should know about them, they often say things like, “I try hard even when it seems like I don’t,” “I get upset when I don’t understand things” or “Even though I can be bad in class, I’m really a good kid.” They want people to know that they are more than their grades. More than their failures.
Those are the kids I focus on from the beginning. Before I ever teach them how to graph a line, I have to reach them. I have to start to change their view of themselves, show them that they are smart and capable. Help them see that everybody struggles with something. Let them experience the pride and accomplishment that comes from hard work and perseverance.
These are the kids that believe that they can’t do math. And the thing is, they’re right. But only because they’re limited by that belief. I have to help them change their beliefs about themselves first. And then I can teach them anything.
It’s amazing to me how ingrained these internal messages can already be in a thirteen year old kid. Just imagine what ours, as adults, must be. What beliefs do you have about yourself that you have been carrying around since childhood? What things do you believe you’re bad at or simply can’t do? Are those beliefs accurate or are they self-fulfilling? Do you ever become the adult version of the class clown or the “bad” kid to hide your own insecurities and feelings of failure? Are you limited by your beliefs?
My homework for you is to complete the adult version of my Three Things assignment.
Please think in honest sentences.
What are three things you value in yourself?
What are three things you believe about yourself?
What are three ways you limit yourself?
Don’t worry; I won’t mark it late if it’s not in by Monday morning:)
Search for “divorce” on Twitter, and you find countless posts like the following:
I don’t believe in divorce….when me and my partner have problems we will sit down, talk and work it out! Commitment for life
As though one can make divorce not real simply by pretending it doesn’t exist. I hate to break it to them, but divorce is kinda like gravity’s impact on an aging body; it exists whether you want to admit it or not.
I didn’t believe in divorce either. I believed in commitment. In working things out. In staying together. However, my husband did not feel the same way.
The problem with the Twitter quote above is that it completely neglects to acknowledge your partner’s view and actions, neither of which are under your jurisdiction.
You may not believe in divorce but if your partner stops believing in the marriage, you’ll change your mind real fast.
I try to remember that these statements are coming from ignorance and a lack of exposure. These are people who have not been touched by divorce. These are people that believe that promises made can never be broken. These are people who think that their wishes are strong enough to ward off any unwanted situations.
I both envy and pity them.
I was them.
I had that certainty, that confidence in my marriage. I believed that divorce couldn’t happen to me because I didn’t want it to. I didn’t realize that my husband had developed a different view. My certainty that it couldn’t happen to me meant that I was blindsided. I was betrayed, not only by my husband, but also by my beliefs.
I worry about those who believe that it can never happen to them. I hope they are right and they never face the pain of lives torn apart. However, I worry that many of them will realize that belief is not enough to hold a marriage together.
The most difficult aspect of any relationship is the acceptance that your partner is an individual with his or her own thoughts and actions. You cannot control them. You cannot change them. All you can do is love them and embrace them while being the best you can be.
Maybe instead of saying, “I don’t believe in divorce,” it should be, “I believe in doing everything possible on my side to ensure that we do not divorce and I hope that you can do the same.”
Now that’s something I can believe in.
Lessons From the End of a Marriage 