The Gift
My Motivation
People keep telling me I’m brave to share my story. I don’t see that. Living through it was the hard part. This is the gravy.
Within days of receiving the text, I got online and searched for answers and support. Most sites offered me nothing. They discussed how to have an amicable divorce (yeah… somehow that didn’t seem too likely in my case), they talked about how to prepare for an upcoming divorce (too late!), and they focused on the legal process, not the life change. I found a few sites that dealt with spousal abandonment, which gave the comfort (and the horrifying realization) that I was not alone. I spent only a short time on these; however, as they mainly focused on people telling their “shock” story over and over. That’s important, but I wanted to get beyond that moment in time. Many of the sites were angry and blaming. Sometimes we need that; I’m not going to pretend that I haven’t raged and cursed and pictured his head on the punching bag. But again, there comes a time to let that go.
I felt so alone, so isolated. People rallied around me yet I had no one that had been through an atypical divorce that could show me the way. I sought guidance from my “love mentors,” but I wondered how my crazy situation would translate. A seed was planted in those early weeks and months. I knew I wanted to thrive and I knew I wanted to somehow create something good from the tsunami. I had no idea how to do it.
Running parallel to my emotional struggles were the legal and physical ones. I spent my days talking to police, lawyers, and doctors. As I shared various portions of the tale, I could see their eyes grow wide with shock and disbelief. “You should write a book,” was an oft heard refrain. So, my personal journal started to become a book. For the first several months, all I did was recount the events and describe my powerful emotions. I envisioned an “ending” where he was in jail and the courts came through in my favor. I didn’t get it yet. I still saw my happiness tied up in his.
The divorce finally happened. He got his slap on the wrist for bigamy. And I found Match.com. I spent the next couple years living. I no longer recounted my story frequently and I stopped writing altogether. Instead, I focused on learning the lessons I talk about here. I knew I still wanted to finish the book. I had the first half written but I had no idea how to finish it since the pictured ending never came. It turned out I had to live it first.
That’s when everything came together. I saw how I could use my story to let others know that they are not alone. I realized that there were lessons I learned that might be able to help others in many situations, not just divorce. I also was acutely aware that I had a great movie-worthy framework (thanks to my ex) from which I could anchor my lessons.
Throughout, my writing has help my own healing. I’ve written about the therapy inherent in the writing process. Sharing has also helped me move forward and release some of the anger as I can start to transform something that was so ugly into a form that can be of benefit.
I’m not brave. I acutely remember those moments when I felt so isolated and lost in the dark during the divorce. I knew there was a path out, yet I could not yet see it and I there were no guides. I hope that by writing and sharing my story, I can at least give you a flashlight to help you find your path. Please leave the light on for those who follow behind you.
Who Is He?
The search engines have been busy the past couple of days answering queries about the identity of my ex-husband. I get it. You’re curious. It’s human nature. You want to scan his face and peer into his eyes looking for clues into his actions. I know, because I have done just that. Perhaps you want to know his name or his image as a warning, the one to stay away from. Unfortunately, this would be a false security, as is he but one person and not the only one that capable of deceit.
I know his name. His face. His birthday. His social security number. His family. Yet I still do not know who he is. However, I can tell you who he was. He was my best friend. My lover. My confidant. He was the man who built a toy chest for our friend’s son’s birthday. He was the man whose scent instantly calmed me and whose arms held me like they were molded from my frame. He was a voracious reader and he devoured science fiction and fantasy novels. His favorite series was The Dark Tower, by Stephen King. He hated tomatoes and loved Sweetwater IPA. He preferred dark clothes and refused to wear V-necks. He wore his watch on his right wrist, the face to the inside of his arm. He was the man who patiently built me an office and then rebuilt it for me when I grew weary of the desk where I spent hours writing papers. He was a quick learner, but a poor student in school. He was a fan of Apple, Banana Republic, and Alice in Chains. He was never athletic due to bad knees, although he started to work out once the pounds encroached with age. He was the man who stayed up all night for a week with our third puppy who came to us with kennel cough. He was so confident that I would win Teacher of the Year, that he ordered flowers before the votes were announced. He was the man I turned to for advice and comfort. He was my everything.
He was all of these things, yet he was also the man who left his wife of ten years with a text message. He was the man who hid debts and stole money from accounts. He was the man who wooed an innocent woman, told her nothing but lies, and married her although he was already wed. He was the man that locked the dogs in the basement and drove off, not knowing that they would survive.
I do not know who he is. I don’t think he knows either. He is a man that has been consumed by whatever demons reside within him.
I have chosen not to reveal his identity for several reasons. First, it feels vindictive to put him out there. I am not his judge and jury, nor do I want to be. He has faced repercussions for his actions and, if he continues to live dishonestly, he will continue to see consequences. I don’t need to aid that; I’m confident he’ll do fine on his own. I also worry about the safety of his wife. I know they were together at the time of our divorce, eight months after the text, but I do not know her current situation. I want to protect her. I also don’t know his current situation with his parents. They have suffered enough; I don’t need to add to that. Finally, his identity does not matter. His eyes, even the dead ones in his mugshot, hold no answers. His name does not reveal any hidden truths. They are as much of a facade as everything I thought I knew about him.
So, to answer your question – who is he? He is a man. A man that was once loved deeply and who perhaps loved back. He is a man that took the wrong path at some point and chose to hide rather than seek help. Maybe by not knowing his name, you will be better able to recognize elements of him in those around you. Who is he? A man that can teach us the importance of asking for help, the value of truth, and the power of acceptance.
And, for those of you asking Google how to get away with bigamy? Just say no.
More Information: Where Is He Now?
A related post: Why I Choose Not to Play Criminal Pursuit
Time Travel
I’ve been time traveling lately. I should have known this was a risk when I picked up the audio version of The Time Traveler’s Wife from the local library to carry me to and from work. I guess the book should have come with a warning label that time travel is a possible side effect.
My own journey started a few weeks ago when I was contacted by a producer for The Jeff Probst Show. After several phone conversations, they invited me to do the show and informed me that a field production team would be at my house in three days to do part of the shoot and would be flown out to Los Angeles to do the show the following Tuesday. This was my first jolt through time; those three days past in a blink as I went shopping for an outfit, got my hair done (sorry Great Clips, had to upgrade this one), and prepared my classroom for a sub.
- This was my name plate at the show. Surreal!
The field team showed up on Saturday afternoon. I immediately loved the field producer, a guy that used to work with Jeff on Survivor. (As an aside, my mom asked if I would do Survivor. My response? “I feel like I already have!”) He made me feel comfortable from the outset (not an easy task as I was preparing to film my first-ever real television experience). It was decided that I should don running clothes (so much for the carefully selected outfit 🙂 ) and that we would film at one of my running paths. I perched on a bench, surround by booms and cameras, while the producer knelt over a trash can (his stint on Survivor came in handy here!) just off camera to meet me at eye level. He led me through my story. I split in two at this point, one part of me reliving the early days of the courtship and marriage with my ex and the other sitting on a bench in a park that has only been known to me in my new life working on a project the old me could never have envisioned. The producer was amazing. He was gentle as he led me through the landmines of my past. He even teared up at one point.
As we lost our light, we moved back to the house to finish shooting. At one point, old wedding photos sat in current, re-purposed frames on my kitchen island. It was a shock, the past colliding with the present on the counter top. It was the first (and probably only) time my boyfriend has ever seen a picture of the ex-husband. It’s not like I keep his visage over the fireplace 🙂 All in all, it was a great day that left me exhausted and exhilarated.
Tuesday brought the literal time travel as I flew for almost 5 hours yet the clock told me it had been only 2. The last time I had been in L.A., I was about 11 and I was with my dad. I was convinced I was going to see Jon Bon Jovi on that trip. This time, I wasn’t concerned about seeing any 80’s rockers, I just wanted dinner…err…lunch. I had sure changed in the intervening years since that childhood visit, but Hollywood Boulevard is apparently resistant to time as it looked and smelled about the same.
I was in bed by 7:00 that evening, determined not to shift my sleep schedule for a one night stay. Of course, this meant I was up by 3:00 even though I wasn’t going to be picked up until 8:30. That left plenty of time for yoga. And nervousness. Which led to more yoga:)
Everyone at the studio was amazing. They were all super friendly, ĂĽber professional, and very real. I got the sense they they cared about their product, cared about each other, and even cared about me. It was a surreal feeling being led to my own greenroom instead of my classroom. I had my hair and makeup done when I would have been teaching equations. Strange. It turns out though that teaching was good preparation for this. I was complemented a few times that I was easy to work with since I talked in sound bites. I had to laugh and explain that it’s natural for me now since I teach 8th grade. They blank out after a couple sentences. I also wasn’t nervous about being in front of an audience. Jeff’s studio holds just under 150 people. Adults. That is so much easier than a cafeteria full of middle schoolers!
What I was nervous about was my story. They came up with an ingenious idea to start the segment that upped the drama and also upped my emotion. That was time travel in the most powerful way. It instantly took me back.
The show went well and oh-so fast. I barely remember the last segment after Jeff surprised me with some current information about my ex-husband. I walked off stage when it was over and made it back to my green room. Another team came followed me in to do an additional interview for their website based on some of the lessons from my book. It was so strange seeing my book in stranger’s hands.
If you have not seen The Jeff Probst Show yet, don’t wait any longer – set your DVR to record. It’s different than other daytime shows. Each episode has a theme and the guests’ connections to the theme may not be readily apparent (it kind of reminds me of the board game Tribond). Throughout every show, the focus is on facing your fears and living authentically and with adventure in your heart. It’s relatable feel-good with with wit.
I soon was headed back to the airport and further time travel. Just for the record, I can’t stand flying from the West coast to the East. The flight was faster due to the tail wind, but my 2:00 flight didn’t get me home until almost 11:00. Okay, pouting over.
After the craziness of last week week where I talked about my past in my present to help provide for my future, life is beginning to settleback to normal. Sort of. I’m talking to other producers.
Oh, and as for The Time Traveler’s Wife? It is a great story and very well written. I highly recommend it. After you read Lessons From the End of a Marriage, of course 🙂
Lessons From the End of a Marriage 