sueeeus

It can’t be all, so it has to be nothing.

I get it.

there I was, peacefully enjoying some ice cream, when...

I knew this day was coming.  I just didn’t know when.  Or how things would transpire.  But I really ought not be surprised.  And indeed, I am not.  It’s not how I would have liked things to go, but I guess it’s how I knew they would go[1].

I feel numb.  Probably it’s not the best time to try to write, in the heat of the moment, as it were.  Then again, the heat of the moment is when the emotions are raw, so maybe it is a good time to try to get things out.  Perhaps I can go through them later and make more sense of things.  Or learn something, at least.

He said that I am selfish and that I am a user.  I can’t recall much more than that.  My mind sort of goes blank.  I remember just looking at him like a deer with it’s eyes caught in the headlights.  I couldn’t find words to convey anything that he could hear.  Maybe I am selfish.  Maybe I am a user.  Certainly in his perspective I am, and I’m not going to try to defend myself for another’s hurtful opinion.  It’s his opinion.  Those are his feelings.  They belong to him.  Am I selfish?  I guess so.  Because I chose myself and my kids over him.  What he doesn’t understand is that I have to choose myself.  For my kids.  I don’t know how to balance life with him.  The way things were when we first met aren’t a true representation of the me who I need to be.  I put that person aside for way too long.  It’s unfortunate that he is the one caught in the crossfire, when I finally decide to take a stand for myself.  The woman he met two years ago was the woman he wanted me to be, not the woman I am.

I can’t explain that to him in terms that he will understand.  I hardly know the woman I am.  I want to get to know her, though.  Staying in a relationship that is out of balance is unfair to him.  He’s waiting for me to be who I am not.  I can’t let him do that, because I am who I am.  He is who he is.  I love him.  But we don’t fit.

I hope  he finds someone with whom he fits.  Someone he can laugh with, cry with, love with and be with.  Someone good for him.

[1] …I guess I didn’t know how things would go…

He said he was going to erase me from his life, and indeed, he is.  He said he would hate me.  He said that nobody has ever hurt him the way that I have, or as much as I have.  He said he wanted to go out and “f!#& a bunch of girls”.  He didn’t say goodbye.  He returned all the gifts I ever gave him (at least those he could find in the last 20 minutes).  I didn’t expect that.

So that is how it is.

I’m tired.  This day has been coming for some time.  I wish it didn’t hurt either of us.  But it did.  And it does.

I’m very sorry, and I hope that he will forgive me.  Not that I want to be forgiven for having the courage to be myself, but forgiven for hurting him along the way.

[2] …words spoken from a place of hurt…  i.e., the morning after

“Next time you decide to f&$# someone over, try picking someone who hasn’t already been f&#*ed over.”

“Take all your s$#t and go buy somebody else with it. It doesn’t mean s#!t to me.  You can’t buy me.”

(…but I sent him a text message later and said he could come get his stuff if he decided he wanted it…  …and it’s (mostly) gone.  With the exception of the pictures and cards, which are strewn dramatically and ceremoniously all over the shop floor.)

[3] …the morning after the morning after…

He apologized for the behavior and things said from the place of hurt.

How’s that for a title?

I had quite a bit more stuff written here, blah blah blah, but I think the title pretty much sums it  up.

a bit morbid, yet a bit brilliant, and a bit apropos as well

Recently I had dinner with a friend.  It was nice to have some grown up time.  I sort of feel like I over-talked.  It’s such a rare occasion, to spend any one-on-one time with another adult woman.  She’s also a relatively new friend.  Most of my friends have been friends for decades and we have history together so that when we talk, I don’t feel like I over-share.  Or rather, I feel comfortable sharing.    I don’t worry too much about over-sharing on my blog(s).  I have three of them, so that I can unload to various degrees with each one.  This blog is my tried and true, but I’m too cowardly to be completely raw and honest with or about certain things.  I have a separate blog for that.  I don’t bother with stats, so I don’t know how many people read that drivel.  I also have an intermediate blog, which is a bit more anonymous than this one.  I  had intentions for that one to be a real ‘break through’ venue, in which I actually made some progress with the issues I cycle through.  It’s just more of the same drivel, though.  If I were brave, I’d just merge the three here, where people who I know In Real Life can either roll their eyes or share their lovely words of friendship, camaraderie and encouragement.

I met this friend while church hopping last year.  I call myself a Christian, but I don’t call myself a religious Christian.  I struggle sometimes with the social expectations of labeling oneself as a Christian.  If you’re a [good] Christian, you should go to church.  If you’re a [good] Christian, you should tithe.  If you’re a [good] Christian you should marry, stay married, not get divorced, and of course if you are not married, you should not indulge in the lusts of the flesh.  Ahem.  I’m clearly not a [good] Christian.

walking the line

I tend to be of the mind that all that is my business, and it’s between me and God, and not a matter for a congregation.  Maybe part of the struggle I face is that the needles of Catholic guilt are deeply rooted within me.  I’m predispositioned to be on guard and feel as though I’m on trial.

There was a time in this rocky relationship when D said (also based on counsel from his church going friends) that God was not blessing our relationship because we weren’t married and we were having sex.  Fine, I told him back then.  I’ll be supportive of his convictions and abstain.  It never lasted, however, and he may try to say it’s because of me, but I’ll maintain that it was not.  I think he’s only interested in abstinence if marriage is on the table and the abstinence has a finite [and short] limit.  Since marriage is not on the table, the prospect of ongoing abstinence is quickly discarded.  I don’t know why I’m even writing about this.  There’s not a whole lot of crazy action going on around here anyway.

I suppose it’s because of something my friend said.  She’s since tried to assure me that she didn’t mean to be judgmental or religious, and she hopes that she didn’t jeopardize our friendship by saying such.  It was just a comment about valuing myself, and honoring myself, and that being physically intimate with someone while unmarried is a disservice to my heart and to my self.  I think there was also the bit about sin and going against God’s will sprinkled in there somewhere.

I actually agree with the aspects of valuing and honoring oneself, and respecting oneself enough to make solid and sound boundaries.  I also recognize how being casual with one’s holy of holies can certainly be a disservice to one’s heart and very self.  The struggle is the marriage bit.  It’s been a struggle for most of my life.  I’ve wanted to be well married for most of my life, but the opportunity didn’t present itself when I was young, and when my biological clock was thundering loudly, I took matters into my own hands and made a poor marriage decision.  Granted, I’ve chosen not to hold any regrets for that decision, because I am blessed to be the mother of two very fine boys.  I am, however, counted among the masses of the divorced.  Now I have a broken family, and perhaps in an ideal world there would be an opportunity to marry well.  I don’t want to just marry.  I want to marry well.  Or not at all.  Therein is my quandary.  I am in a relationship.  It is rocky.  I don’t know where or how it will go, but I don’t see marriage when I look into my crystal ball.

I’m on a path of rediscovery and awakening.  I’m working on unearthing myself from where I’ve been buried for most of my adult life.  I’m taking care of me, in very small steps.  I can’t imagine being a wife, because I can’t imagine a husband.  This is all stuff that rips D’s heart, and I can hardly have a conversation with him about it. I don’t want to hurt him.  None of this has anything to do with him.  I’m not rejecting him.  I’m choosing me.

I don’t think that being serially monogamous has been that destructive to my soul.  Yes, with each relationship there has been fallout.  I’ve had to pick up the pieces of my fragmented heart and patch them back together.  Scar tissue is strong, though!  This grisly tough battle scarred heart is still beating.  Will I become celibate if this relationship ends?  Probably.  Am I ready to be celibate now?  Maybe.  If we were happier in this relationship, then definitely not.  But we’re not all that happy.  So I don’t know.  Maybe.

Where does all this leave me now?  Sinner or not, I am a child of God.  I know that  his love for me is greater than my love for my own children.  What I am going through are the growing pains of life, and I am making and learning from my mistakes, just as my own children are making and learning from their own mistakes.

be still my bleeding heart

My life has been a road of many twists and turns.  The paths I’ve traipsed over the past few years have led me to face some of the most arduous challenges of my life.  I’ve made hasty, monumental decisions.  I’ve put myself into difficult situations.  Backed myself into corners.  Wasted time, wasted money, wasted emotions, wasted life itself.  I could say, “Hello, my name is Regret.”  But I won’t.  No, because I’ve been thinking about the wasted time, the wasted money, the wasted emotions.

I’ve been thinking about the ripples.  All the ways that lives have changed because of the roads I’ve traversed.  Good things come!  Good things happen!  It’s absolutely concrete.  While I could say that I wish I never wasted so much of my life chasing a mythical love, and I might wish I’d never said those two fateful words (“I do”), I have two vibrant and beautiful testaments to the perfection of that journey right before me.  Every day I am blessed by the wonder of these two human beings entrusted to my care.  And they would not be, had I not walked down that particular path.  And since then, for all the painful twists and turns that follow divorce, I can see how other people’s lives have changed for the better, all because our lives intersected at some point along that path.  This isn’t to say that I take credit for anything; it’s only to say that providence allowed me to be in a particular place at a particular moment in which I could (and did) do something that would (and did) help another.

It’s real.  It’s tangible. I can name names.

A child in Bali.  A village in Cambodia.  A single mother with two young children.  A battered wife.  A young mother with four children.  A woman.  A family.  A man (or two, or three, or seven, not that anyone’s counting).  If I even start to dwell on why or how I am here , in this country house so far from the madding crowd, I can turn my thoughts to any one of these people and quiet my anxious heart.  I don’t care how much money is gone.  I don’t care how many days, months, years have passed.  I don’t care how many tears I’ve cried.  Lives have changed!  Even one of these would be well worth any of the suffering I’ve put myself through.  I won’t dwell on the pain.  I won’t entertain regret.

True, I’ve been losing myself all along the way, bit by bit, so that I don’t even recognize myself any more.  I do wish I’d been vigilant from the start and given my self greater care.  I’m recognizing this now, and slowly but surely I am taking steps to restore myself to my self.  I’m going through the fire.  The refiner’s fire.  I’m going to be shiny and bright, when I get back to me.

Hello, my name is Hope.

I’m glad for this journey.

I wonder at what point in my life I became a be-yotch.  My boyfriend says that I am.  (Sometimes.)  I generally don’t think of myself in those terms, but I was looking through pictures of myself recently, and the face looking back at me doesn’t look all that nice.  I’m not quite sure how I’d describe her.  She doesn’t look very happy.  The smile doesn’t look very convincing.  If there’s a smile at all, that is.  I scrolled through my Facebook pictures, months, years back, looking for a reflection of happiness.  There are some photos where I’m snuggling with my kiddos.  Those photos show the me that I think I am.  So many photos I thought were pretty when I posted them now look empty and frayed.

He often says that I’m mean to him.  It always baffles me that he feels that way. He says that I should be nicer.  Again, I’m baffled.  Well, maybe not so much.  I’m finding myself once again at a distance, behind a safety wall that continues to grow.  So I suppose it’s not a stretch to say that I should be nicer.  I would very likely be nicer if I weren’t hiding behind that wall.

I would like to figure out how to stand tall with no walls.  To move about freely.  This is who I am.  I am standing here, in this space, right now.  This is where I am.  I can be here.

Ugh.  I’m so exhausting!

I had a dream last night in which I was single, and was attending some sort of work-related social function.  It may have just been a lunch break.  I was seated at a round table with two guys.  We are all professionals, but I’m not sure their respective fields, but they are friends.  One guy is doing most of the talking.  We are having some sort of conversation, but he is doing most of the talking.  He’s very smart (or at least he talks a good game), and he’s not bad looking either.  We’re wrapping things up, and I say to him, “You’re smart.  You’re young.  You’re cute.  I like you.”  I thought I was complimenting  him and letting him know I’d be interested in seeing him again.  I followed it up with, “Normally I’m not so direct and so succinct, but I’ve got so much to do and have to be going…”   …his response took me by complete surprise.  He was offended and said that the way I spoke to him was abusive.  I was remorseful for my abruptness.  The thoughts that spun through my mind were along the lines of regret that what I said had ruined any chances I might have had for a future with that guy.

Crazy.

Now that I write it out, clearly it’s a rehash of my boyfriend’s sentiments.  And mine too, I suppose.

I got sick this morning, on the way to drop off my kids with their dad for the weekend.  My chest was tight, my stomach was hard.  I’m not sure, but it seems to be psychological.  I’m reminded of all the  tummy aches and headaches I suffered as a child.   I’ve been going through all sorts of things recently and everything seems to be stacking up, so much that I feel like I’m close to a breaking point.   I even called my mom to ask what age she went through menopause.  Looking for explanations.  I’ve been perusing and contemplating anti-depressant options.  Again.

It’s an hour drive to drop off or retrieve the kids.  I stopped by the Home Depot on the way back for a couple of items, and barely made it to the loo in time. I called D and told him I don’t feel well,  so maybe he could go on a motorbike ride with one of his friends instead.   He said he could stick around and be with me, but I said I’d rather be alone.  Why is it so very hard for me to say that?   It’s true though. I  absolutely need some time alone, and I get so very very little of it.  It’s a shame that my sense of self-preservation would make me physically sick,  just to buy myself that time.

Oh Lord in Heaven, I really needed it.

I’ve had a good day. I  didn’t get as much rest as I’d like, but the sickness has faded.  My chest is no longer constricted.  My bowels are no longer  churning.  I was able to write a bit and unload some thoughts.  Just getting them out of my head helps tremendously.  My head is no longer whirring with so many unprocessed fragments.  I  feel much better.

home alone

I’ve been resting outside, listening to the musical whispers of my wind chimes, breathing the fresh country air.  I think I’m ready to face the world again.  At least for a little while.

green is green

Sometimes I happen upon somebody’s blog or Facebook page or photo stream and catch a glimpse of a life that I (think I) long for.  Cue the music for Les Mis…    …I dreamed a dream in time gone by….  Usually, it’s a stay-at-home-mom (SAHM).  I see pictures of happy activities with children, pretty gardens, sewing and craft projects.  Happy families.  Happy lives.  I wonder how they manage.  What kind of job does the husband have?  How do they afford that lovely home?  How do the children interact harmoniously?  How do they keep the house clean, the grass trimmed, the gardens cultivated and the weeds pulled?  How do they stay so happy?

If I look at my life, maybe it’s not so different.  There are moments when the house is clean, the grass is trimmed, and the weeds are pulled.  There are moments when the children are harmonious and cooperative.  There are moments when the table is set and a lovely meal rests upon it.  There are moments when I’ve managed to do something creative with paint or fabric or whatnot.  There are moments.  Probably, if I look through my own Facebook albums, my own life will look much the same as these women I envy.  (It’s not really envy.  Just a strange sort of wistfulness.)

I like my job.  I like the sense of control that it gives me over my life.  There is no question of whether we will have a roof over our heads, food in our bellies, and clothes on our backs.  Whether the house gets tidied and cleaned, whether the grass gets mowed, whether the laundry gets washed and put away, whether crafts and art projects are started, whether books are read…   …all these things can be done.  It’s just a matter of time and energy, but mostly a matter of energy.  Mental, emotional, and physical energy.

I need a certain structure in my day.  Without it, I am prone to melancholy.  It’s probably a good thing that I have so much to do, each and every day.  Granted, early bird as I am, it would be nice not to have to arise at 4:30 a.m. and be out the door and on our way by 5:30 a.m.  I think a 6 a.m. awakening would be much nicer.  Even so, the grass may look greener in someone else’s pasture, but the grass over here is very nice, all in all.

I wish I could remember things I’ve written, wisdom I’ve learned, conclusions I’ve drawn, resolutions I’ve made, acceptance I’ve granted myself.  I find myself in the same place, time and again, struggling to put a finger on just what it is that I’m going through, and I browse through my blog and find that I’ve been down this road before.  Time and again.

My life seems like another version of Groundhog Day, only my reset is a bit longer duration than 24 hours.

Will I ever learn?

And lo, it came to pass –a messenger came forth with a royal proclamation from the echelons on high.  It is hereby decreed that heretofore and notwithstanding, thy kingdom shall be divided in two.  Half of the crops, the herds, the fruits and the wares of the land shall be moved to another kingdom far and anon.  And what of the serfs who tend the holdings?  Shall the serfs be sent to a foreign land to tend the crops, the herds, the fruits and the wares, and establish them in a new country?  Ah, but no.  Alas, the decree is such that the crops, the herds, the fruits and the wares shall be given to the new kingdom, but the serfs will be released to establish themselves elsewhere.  But m’lord, one serf implored.  We have tended these crops, these herds, these fruits and these wares for years upon years.  Our crops, our herds, our fruits, our wares are foreign to others, but well familiar to us.  Be of good cheer, spake the messenger.  Our kingdom has new crops, new herds, new fruits and new wares — surely the serfs will rejoice at the opportunity to seek a place among these new holdings.

A blanket of silence filled the land.  The serfs shook their heads in sorrow and disbelief.  Some bristled with anger and indignation.  Who is the magistrate behind such a senseless edict?  In a new land, in the hands of an unfamiliar serfdom, the crops may fail, the herds may weaken, the fruits may spoil and the wares may crumble.  The kingdom will in no wise find more wealth through the dissemination of its crops, its herds, its fruits and its wares.

Woe.  Woe unto us, the toilers of this kingdom.  This crumbling kingdom.

And so it is in the land; there is much weeping and gnashing of teeth.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

I started this post on March 23rd.  I can’t recall the day we heard the news, that it wasn’t just another rumor, but an edict from on high.  A massive restructure in which we are literally slashed in two.  We are seasoned people with a wealth of knowledge.  Most of us have twenty or more years of experience with the company, if not this organization.  Eighteen of my 27 years with the company have been devoted to this organization.  Our contribution is significant.  This restructuring makes little sense from the inside, and the long term effects will likely have astronomical costs.  I suspect it may produce some short term improvement in stock prices, which seems to be the focus from the echelons on high.  So myopic.  I generally don’t write about work, and I certainly keep myself from the politics and shenanigans that swirl around in the corporate atmosphere.  But this time it’s hit so close to home.  So close.  I happen to be standing on the leg that isn’t being amputated, and for that I am supremely grateful.  And wary.  And devastated for my friends and coworkers who are standing on the leg that is soon to be amputated.

They are scrambling to make life changes.  Some have already found new jobs.  Better to jump ship before it sinks.  They will have the best chance of finishing their careers in peace and dignity.  Today, Saturday, I received a phone call from a coworker.  I assumed he needed me to work some urgent data for him — I’m always on call for such things — but he had simply misdialed.  He explained that he was moving from his home to another place, and for some reason someone needed his boss’s phone number.  He was trying to track that down and dialed me instead.  (My phone is forwarded, because I’m always on call…)  He apologized, and said goodbye.  I was nearly overwhelmed with sadness, upon hanging up the phone.  This man is forced to restructure his life, after steadily and stably contributing years upon years to his profession.  I have absolutely no grasp of what logic has driven or how much thought, preparation and planning has been given to this massive restructuring.  From where I sit, it has the appearance of a whim. A knee jerk reaction to something.  Maybe a power play to capture a fleeting moment of glory or to register a notch in someone’s performance review.  Either way, it has the odor of personal gain and greed.

It is a crock, and it stinketh.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

We don’t know what’s in store for us.  We can no longer take for granted that our jobs are stable.  We’re in service, and as long as there is a product to support, one would think that our jobs would remain stable.  One would think.  But that would be logic, and logic no longer seems to be relevant.  Business.  What ever happened to the business model in which a company delivers an excellent product that it stands behind, provides excellent customer support, for which customers in turn remain loyal, and return business or refer business.  The employees take pride in their contribution to the whole, and the world turns smoothly.  These days, it seems that companies try to produce the minimum level of quality that the consumer will be willing to pay for, and let the support go by the wayside.  It may make for a better profit margin in the short term, but it speaks doom for the long term.  The corporate world has cancer.  It’s called greed.  And it makes me sick.  And sad.  And it makes me ponder such things as where will I go and what will I do if this job that I do comes to an end.

This is not to say that I am unaware of how fortunate I am to have such an excellent job in the first place.  I am grateful for what I have, and I absolutely love the people I work with.  We have been together for decades.  We’ve grown up together.  Grown old together.  Shared triumphs and tragedies together.  I love my job.  I love my people.  I hate to see us shaken up like this.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Go thy way, eat thy bread with joy, and drink thy wine with a merry heart.  Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.

Eccl 9:7, 10

hello world, it's me

I’ve been feeling like I’m amidst a mid-life crisis, but my friend kindly reminded me that I say that every year when my birthday rolls around.

I do?

Yes, you do.

Alrighty then, we can all laugh about that.  Crisis expunged.

There is much turmoil in the land, which is normal in my world these past years.  However, I must say that the present turmoil is beyond the status quo.  I have another post brewing about the work aspect thereof, but I have yet to gather the courage and strength to delve into the emotional quagmire that beckons my attention.

I think that I am finally learning to understand myself, albeit at plate tectonic pace.  Fragments of thoughts whirl about in the recesses of my mind, and occasionally I capture them for a moment or two and give ponder before they squirm from my grasp and return to the atmosphere that spins inside my head.

I am starting to see that I tend not to be true to myself, and I am making small changes to amend that self-inflicted wrong.  I’m starting to make choices for me –to allow myself a little precedence over everything that I usually let ahead of me.

I recently gained some weight (yes, of course it was due to stress –I’m an emotional eater) which affected my blood sugar levels, and I fell into a panic over the weight, which increased the stress and thus affected the blood sugar more, which caused more panic on my part, and once the blood sugar was elevated, I gained more weight because my body couldn’t properly process what I consumed, which meant more fat storage, and so it went.   Oh the psychological warfare that wages within.  I was spiraling so quickly toward a place I did not want to be, and it was terrifying.  I did say I was in a panic.  I had to give myself a mental shake and say to myself that I had to rise above the storm that was raging inside.  STOP!!!   DO SOMETHING!!!

So I did.  I started walking with my kids after work/school/daycare.  I pick them up and go directly to the trail where we walk for about half an hour.  The boys are on their bikes and I walk.  The little one is just learning, so he rides with training wheels and we get some family time and some fresh air together.  I also stopped eating the refined carbs.  No bread, no wheat, no rice, no oats, no potatoes.  The goal is to get the blood sugar to stay in the target range.  I’ve been eating meats and veggies as well as some fruits.  So I do get carbs, but I figure that they are a whole food so my body should be able to process them well enough.

I’m feeling better.  I don’t feel bogged down or lethargic.  I don’t feel hungry.  It took a full week of super clean eating to get the blood sugar levels to drop, but they did finally come down.  I think I’ve lost a good part of the panic weight, and bit by bit I’m confident the rest of it will follow.  As long as I don’t let my emotional guard down and give in to the comfort food cravings.

forty eight, oh Narcissus

As for being forty eight?  Good LAWD!  When my mom was 48, I was an adult, graduated from university and three years into my professional life, and she was (in my callous youthful perception) washed up, worn out, and middle aged.  In comparison, my oldest child is in 2nd grade, my youngest hasn’t even started Kindergarten, and I am so not ready to throw in the towel and call myself washed up, worn out and middle aged.  Well, I am weary, but not completely worn.  And as long as I keep my hair colored, the years are in general kind.

I sort of feel like I’ve lost my smile, though.

I miss it.  I want it back.