Tag: anger

life

My Ex is Dead

A Graceful Catastrophe

Last night, my ex died. Not literally, though he is dead to me now. Any last hope I had that somewhere deep inside he’s a good person, is also dead.

Yesterday, I was served with papers from his lawyer stating he did not agree with the calculations ordered by the courts. He believed I was lying about my income and, therefore, is fighting me on support payments.

Here’s an interesting story for you.

Shortly after I started dating my ex, he was arrested for a DUI. He spent a night in jail, where I had to bail him out. He lost his job. He lost everything. And, while our relationship was still quite new at this point, I stood by his side. I lifted him up. I supported him in every single way a loving partner ought to have supported her significant other.

This DUI followed him for years. For quite some time, he had to take whatever crappy job he could, slowly working to build his career back up. We had our daughter and I managed teaching full time, taking care of every detail of managing a home and family, and raising our daughter, almost completely by myself. So that he could focus on rebuilding his career.

Today, he has a job where he makes over $10,800 each month (he actually texted me and corrected me on this) This month, I’ll make right around $800. I typically average right around $2000 per month.

In our divorce, I didn’t come after his retirement, though I could have. I didn’t come after him for many, many things I very well could have. I only requested to follow the court’s calculated support payments. The court agreed. And so did he, signing all the papers.

His income today is largely due to me – his girlfriend, then fiancée , then wife – supporting him, helping him rebuild the life he lost, through his own irresponsible actions. When we met, he was tens of thousands of dollars in debt. His credit score was embarrassing. He made extremely poor financial decisions.

I stood by his side. I helped him rebuild.

When he started punching me with his words, I still stood by his side. I helped him rebuild.

When he tells people “his side” of the story, he tells them how, y the end of our marriage, we had sex quite infrequently and that I rarely kissed him.

This is fact. I do not deny losing passion for him.

He treated me like garbage. Why would I choose to be intimate with somebody who spent much of his time insulting me? See, what people don’t know is that while I was fighting an extremely debilitating illness that gave me chronic fatigue and incredible pain, while teaching full time (where I had four preps – if you’re a teacher, you understand what that workload looks like), while managing the home, while raising our daughter, all with as much of a smile on my face as I could muster, he was out, building his career.

That was his focus. And I supported him.

Well, that, and treating me like garbage the next day for falling asleep with our daughter while putting her to bed rather than spend time in the evening with him. Falling asleep was never a choice. And I dealt with immense guilt for not having the ability to stay awake and spend time with him.

Rather than be compassionate and understanding, however, he would attack me first thing in the morning the next day, serving up an onslaught of words that felt like punches to the gut. His words were so ugly that they literally affected me physically.

And then, another new day started – again.

Where everything was repeated.

This happened for years and years.

I came to believe that I was not enough. I was not worthy. No matter what efforts I attempted to put forth, they were laughed at because, in his eyes, it wasn’t ever enough. To him, I showed no effort. He only saw what he wanted to.

Meanwhile, I was his punching bag and still tried to be a good wife, taking care of everything I could so that he could focus on rebuilding his career.

I took the almost daily verbal and emotional abuse. Why? I have no idea. Guilt, I guess. And believing I deserved it. If I could’ve been healthy enough to be a good wife, then he wouldn’t have had to be so angry towards me. If he could still be living in Florida, he wouldn’t have to be so resentful towards me, slinging his anger at me like daggers cutting through my heart.

We tried marriage counseling. The therapist tried outlining to my ex why I was who I was in our marriage. For a minute, I thought he got it…he didn’t.

I finally found a doctor who listened to me. After exploratory surgery, it was found that I had one of the worst cases of endometriosis he had ever seen. And he was not a young doctor. We decided to do a less invasive surgery, one where the doctor predicted I’d be healthy and good to go for approximately the next 3 years.

I felt great for about 3 months before all my previous symptoms started to come back. I dealt with them, getting progressively sicker for the next 3 or so months. In June, I went back to my doctor, because I just couldn’t take it anymore.

Everything with my endo was so severe, that I was scheduled for a hysterectomy just 6 days later. During surgery, it was discovered that my appendix was so diseased that the doctor was in shock that it hadn’t ruptured. I had an emergency appendectomy, too.

After surgery, I didn’t take any pain medicine. Once the pain meds from the surgery wore off, I didn’t take anymore again – for days.

The pain from that surgery was less than the chronic pain I’d been dealing with for the previous 5 or so years. So much less that I actually drove myself home from my hysterectomy and was hiking (miles) in Utah (on a family camping trip) just 11 days later.

This was a little over 2 years ago. That was also less than 1 year before my ex decided cheating on my was the way to go. Our marriage was shit from years of stress, years of beating me down for not being good enough, and he gave it less than one year after I was finally healthy to try to work on us.

He never worked on us.

Three or so months after he started cheating on me (unbeknownst to me), we went on a “beautiful family vacation” to Anguilla. There are a lot of Europeans who vacation in Anguilla and one woman’s standard of beach attire was much different than mine.

I knew my ex was watching her every move that day. What I didn’t know was that when he took a picture of his daughter and I, it was actually a picture of this beautiful, naked woman who was standing in the background.

He had such little respect for me that he didn’t even realize this was a dirty and disrespectful thing to do. When we came home, we went on a camping trip with a friend of mine and her family. We started talking about our trip to Anguilla and my ex asked the husband, “Hey, do you want to see a picture of my beautiful family on the beach?” He, laughing quite jovially, pulled up the picture, and then zoomed in to the real focus, of the naked woman in the background.

Guys, this was my life. Disrespecting me daily, womanizing, devaluing, and de-emphasizing my worth.

We were together for almost 11 years.

Recently I found an old journal with an entry dated approximately 4 months into our relationship. The first sentence is, “The words you just said to me stung as though you just smacked me across the face.”

When he shares his side of the the story, where I didn’t show him physical attention, please understand my side, too. For our entire relationship, I supported him so that he could rebuild his life professionally, all while managing the home and raising our daughter, teaching, and, for at least the last 6 years of our marriage, dealing with a chronic illness so severe that the pain 24 hours post major surgery felt like a literal walk in the most beautiful park.

When he hired a lawyer to contradict the court’s decision on support payments, he finally died to me. I finally see him for exactly who he is. He never once valued me as a partner, oftentimes making derogatory remarks regarding my teacher’s salary, amongst other things, and chose to focus on the fact that I didn’t take care of his physical needs.

Day after day, year after year, I was reminded that I was not enough. I was treated like garbage. I was reminded that I was an awful wife, almost daily, for the vast majority of our relationship.

And yet, I supported him so that he could rebuild. I took care of every detail so he didn’t have to worry about anything outside of building his professional life again. And I did so, for the most part, with a smile on my face.

He chose to end our marriage by cheating on me with random women across the country, then coming home on the weekends to remind me just how awful of a wife I was, and sit in therapy sessions that he later told his mistresses all about. He chose to stop working on our marriage less than one year after I was finally healthy.

Through sickness and health were not vows he embraced. Looking back, what he showed me was not love. And if I were gracious enough to define it as such, it surely was not unconditional love. He only treated me well when he was on the receiving end of physical attention. I was barely a human to him, much less a valued partner.

And he’s showing me that again.

I am not valued.

My efforts in managing all the details in order to support him from being in a position of being in jail and losing everything to where he now makes well over $10,000 per month (oh, and that does not include any bonuses he will be receiving), is non-existent to him.

He threw this family away. He threw me away. And he continues to devalue me.

Well, I am a changed woman and will no longer give him the power and control it takes to feel devalued. Sure, last night when I received the letter from his lawyer, I lost my ever loving mind. I was betrayed once again. His actions showing me that all he does is purposely hurt and destroy others – even the woman that helped to bring him to where he is today.

So, he’s dead. His actions will no longer have any impact on me. He is completely inconsequential to my life. I agreed to his lawyer’s request, following the court mandated amounts, because he is not worth any more effort. I could absolutely hire my own lawyer and make out like a bandit, as my documentation supports a lower amount than what I even thought I made. I could probably also sue him for the emotional and verbal abuse. I could hurt him financially to where he would regret his decision to hire this lawyer of his.

I could.

But that would mean putting energy into a human that no longer exists to me.

So I won’t.

Entitled? Call it what you will. I earned that money, too. He would not have the opportunity he currently has if it weren’t for me and my support over the last 11 years. I worked hard for the income and it is just as much mine as it is his. I know my value and fully understand it, even if he doesn’t. He won’t. He never did.

So, this is the last is the energy I will give to a man that is now dead to me.

Because my ex died last night. And I am finally released from any hope of the person I thought he could be. Because he doesn’t exist to me anymore.

When a person dies, he can’t hurt you anymore. I am finally free.

life, love

Eating Crow

A Graceful Catastrophe

A few days ago, I was talking with a friend that has this ability to call me out, saying all the difficult things that I need to hear, yet doing so in such a way that makes me pause, rather than defend (for the most part). I definitely don’t want to hear these observations, or answer the questions that inevitably follow, but, the truth of the matter is, in order to really grow, I must listen. And, in the kindest of ways, he makes me question all the things I thought to be true about not only me, but also my past.

After some hardcore self-reflection, I realized I have been a pretty shitty person to my ex. And not just in the last 7 months since I found out about his infidelity, but for years.

I lacked intention.

I lacked compassion and grace.

I reacted to his poor behavior, validating my response because I was a victim. A victim of all the things I’ve written about in previous blogs.

But, you know what? Just because somebody shits on you doesn’t mean you shit on them back. That’s just not being a good human. There’s no validating poor behavior. No matter what.

For my own reasons, I chose to treat my ex poorly. I withdrew. Any affection I’d had for him diminished day by day. I started to only see him in a negative light. I focused on all of his faults. And when I spoke to those closest to me, I complained about him. Incessantly. All I saw were the awful things about him. That was all I chose to see. So, naturally, I convinced myself that my poor behavior towards him was understandable. It was excusable. My awful behavior was valid.

Sure, we all know by now that he did not treat me well. However, I allowed myself to play the role of victim – for years. And have continued to do so for the last 7 months.

Was I a victim? Yep. Did it mean that I had to define myself as that? Nope. But I did. Unconsciously, sure, but I did. Right up until Friday night. Until my friend smacked me with that info.

Oof. That didn’t sit well with me at first. I immediately tried to protest. “But I only behaved that way because he…” No, no, no! That’s not okay. It was time for me to own my actions.

So I bit my tongue. Literally. And I sat there in silence, continuing to listen to what he was saying. I processed this info longer than anything else we talked about that night.

I lived in a place of constant hurt. And anger. And I held onto those emotions tighter with every breath I took.

And when someone’s words and actions constantly hurt, there are some defense mechanisms that have to be put into place for survival.

Or so I thought.

So, that’s what I did. I began to shut down. To be perfectly honest with myself, and, I suppose, you, my ex eventually ceased to exist to me. Over time, he wasn’t someone I fought for or tried to engage with. I loved him, and at the same time, I didn’t really care about him. And I gave myself all the valid reasons for my actions.

  • “Because he hurts me.”
  • “Because he doesn’t care about my feelings. Or my job. Or my day. Or (insert reason here).
  • “Because he doesn’t respect me.”

And guess what? It showed. It showed that he was an inconsequential human in my life.

He felt it.

I’m not sure which happened first. Did I shut down first or did he? Who shit on whom first?

Honestly, it doesn’t matter. We both turned away from one another. And we both convinced ourselves that it was okay. Because of that ugly place of being hurt. Both of us just wanted to feel love from the other. And neither of us was receiving it.

We were stuck in a negative loop so deeply entrenched in anger and hurt, stubbornness and frustration, that we both made decisions, some deliberate and intentional, others lacking complete intentionality, that drove a very solid wedge between us.

Let me be clear – hindsight is 20/20. In the moment, I never saw this. I actually didn’t see any of this until that conversation a few days ago. But the very ugly truth is that, over time, I came to care so little about him, and his feelings, that I would live my life with absolutely zero regard towards how my actions would affect him. He became insignificant and unimportant in my life.

Guys, we were married. I was his wife. And, though it was unintentional, I was, at the very least, a big giant jerk to him and at the very most, an astonishingly cold-hearted and inconsiderate human.

Just because it was unintentional doesn’t make it okay. Sure, I didn’t set out in the morning, when I opened my eyes, and plan how I was going to hurt him that day. I also didn’t set out that morning, when I opened my eyes, and plan how I would fill his life with happiness that day.

Truly loving somebody else is placing their happiness above your own. Seeing them happy should make you happy.

I didn’t care about his happiness. Because he didn’t care about mine.

Goodness, how wrong that thinking is!

Look at what it did, the outcome of that thought process…and to so many lives.

For the last 7 months, and for years before that, even if I thought that perhaps my actions could hurt him, I didn’t care. If it was something I wanted to do, I’d do it. His reaction to my actions weren’t my fault.

But, in a lot of ways, they were.

It wasn’t that I would purposely do something to hurt him. I’m not consciously evil. It’s that I wouldn’t think twice and consider that my actions could perhaps hurt him. He was that inconsequential to me.

Ouch.

Time for this incredibly inconsiderate person to eat crow.

Should he have betrayed me for almost a year? Of course not. Is it my fault? Of course not.

Were we operating from a place of love towards one another? Of course not.

My happiness didn’t matter to him. His happiness didn’t matter to me. Neither one of us mattered to the other.

Again…ouch.

I see the wife I was to him. I see it now, at least. Operating from a place of hurt and anger is simply a terrible way to live. And just because his behavior was poor and it did cause me pain and damage, it still doesn’t excuse my shitty behavior. I’m a grown woman capable of making sound decisions. I’m intuitive and bright. I engage in self-reflection. Yet, I chose to play the role of victim and react with venom, adding to the toxic environment. And then I justified it.

Not anymore.

My friend encouraged me to try to finally forgive. And not just my ex. But to take an honest look at my role in this and then forgive myself. He told me that it was an absolutely essential step in my ability to move forward. In the moment of that conversation, I probably looked at him like he was crazy.

But you know what? He’s right. So I have. I am. I’ve already begun to let my hurt go. I’ve come to terms with all the circumstances that have ultimately brought me here, to today, and to writing this blog.

If I want to move forward and continue to grow, if I want to be a positive and loving example to my daughter, and if I want to have any chance at having a healthy relationship in the future, I have to be a good human. And I have to face the realities that, during my marriage and right up until this last Friday night, I was not. And I have to not only forgive him, but I have to forgive myself.

So today, I am at a place where I have hope. I have hope that we can be civil to one another. I have hope that we can respect one another. I have hope that we will be supportive and kind to our future new spouses. I have hope that, someday, all 4 of us will be incredible parents to our marvelous little girl.

I have hope that, from this day forward (or, at least, most of the days that will follow), I will make the daily choice to walk through this life with purposeful intention, acting from a place filled with grace, and of love, which is once again filling my heart.

Crow has never tasted so good.

life

Fight or Flight?

A Graceful Catastrophe

You always hear kids saying how unfair life is, “it’s not fair that so and so gets a TV in their bedroom!” Or, you know, insert some material thing that some friend of theirs, or classmate, has.

As adults, life is still anything but fair.

It’s not fair to get cancer at 33 years old. It’s not fair to kick it’s butt and then struggle with crippling depression after getting the news that you’re all clear, making you, in ways, sicker than you were when you were actively fighting and going through all the treatments.

It’s not fair to grow up dreaming of motherhood, being a young adult and doing everything right to prevent a pregnancy, working incredibly hard as an adult, waiting until you’ve reached a “respectable” and “fiscally responsible” time of your life to start trying, and then finding out that you can’t have kids naturally. It’s not fair to spend 10’s of thousands of dollars and still come up empty. Causing you to feel a void greater than you ever thought was possible.

It isn’t fair to lose your dear brother, your best friend, to cancer, watching him slowly and painfully die and leave behind a family that loves him with every breath they take – and will ever take.

It isn’t fair that, when you’re doing everything your instincts are screaming for you to do, so much that you end up losing yourself in motherhood to protect the baby you almost lost, and then your husband’s response is anything but compassionate and empathetic. It’s not fair to devote 11 years to a man, when he only devoted 10. It’s not fair that now he wants to be a husband and blames me for tearing apart our family because I cannot look past all that he has done.

Life. Isn’t. Fair. You know it, too.

Insert your reason here. You know you have one. We all do.

So what do we do with that? So, okay, life can be shit. My best friend coined the phrase, “shituation.” We all have shituations.

Do we let it overtake us? Do we become bitter and jaded, holding on to the hurt and the anger caused by the shituation? Do we actively escape our own lives in whatever way we can?

Well, yeah. Maybe. For a while, at least.

And then what?

We all know it isn’t healthy to live in that space. Not for any extended period of time, at least.

So how do we get through it?

Well, I’ll tell you what I’ve done – and am doing – and who knows if it’s right or wrong or would work for anyone else other than me. Be sure to take it with a grain of salt.

I escaped my reality. I ran away, sometimes with friends and sometimes alone. Any opportunity where I had no motherhood obligations, I drank myself happy. Drank until I didn’t care. Drank to forget.

I also worked out – obsessively at times. I still do. (I’ve got to counteract the drinking… *shrug*)

And I finally reached a point where I didn’t want to escape anymore. If you read my previous blog, I, at what feels like long last, got to the point where I was ready to face this beast. And I’m now doing so, in very small bits at a time.

Fight or flight. I was in denial for a good month, then flew directly to flight for the last two.

I’m ready to fight now.

Are you?

How are you going to fight your shituation? How are you going to face the utter depths of despair and begin to crawl back from them?

I’ll tell you a secret: there’s absolutely no way I could ever possibly do this alone.

I’ve learned something about myself during the last 3 months. Okay, I’ve learned A TON about myself, but here’s one thing. I don’t reach out. When life explodes in my face, I actively avoid. I thought, a few blog posts ago, that it was only those most familiar to me that I didn’t – couldn’t – be around. But it’s not. I avoid anyone and everyone.

The people I’ve opened up to are the ones who have reached out to me. They’re in my face and I literally can’t avoid them, no matter how hard I’ve tried. I’m honest – to a fault (live out loud, right?). So, if you’re someone who has reached out, and then reached out again and again, and happened to catch me in a moment that absolutely sucked, I’ve opened up to you – probably giving you more than you bargained for. I’ve done this with strangers. I’ve opened up to close friends. I’ve opened up to acquaintances. Anyone who happened to be there for me and just wouldn’t get out of my face.

The ones who have consistently checked in and would check in again and again until my silence and facade broke? Guys, find those people.

I know I haven’t been that person for so many going through their shituations. The energy necessary to consistently check in was more than I had in my tank. It troubles me greatly that I haven’t been able to be that person for all my friends going through their shit. Because I know how impactful those people have been to me. I hope my tank is starting to fill. I can’t keep running on “emotional empty.”

This shituation I’m in has been draining on so many levels. SO MANY, GUYS!!!

And I’m angry and frustrated that it has changed who I am as a friend.

It’s changed who I am as a person, guys. I am not who I was. I’ll never be her again.

I don’t know who I am. Honestly.

And that’s so hard to admit.

I’ve always had a good head on my shoulders. I’ve always been responsible and thought about how my actions would affect my future. I’ve always known exactly what I was going to do tomorrow and next week and next month and next year…and so on.

But for what? All of that for what exactly?!

There is no reality past this breath I am taking right now.

But there has to be a balance.

So how do I find it?

How do I care about how my actions today will affect my future when time and again I have been shown that my future can change in a second. A mere, tiny, oh, so very significant second!!!

Oof, I am angry.

I am on a plane right now. And I’m surrounded by couples, actively loving one another. And I just wonder, when will it end for them? What will be their demise?

Because relationships aren’t infinite.

*sigh*

So, there you go. Real time. Real emotions. This blog quickly shifted from uplifting to anger.

This anger is constantly simmering. I’m always at the edge. It doesn’t take much to trigger me anymore.

And this is just not who I am! I’m not an angry person. I never have been.

Maybe this is the new me.

Distrusting. Angry. Frustrated. Jaded. Bitter.

Do you realize how toxic those emotions are? And they’re all harboring inside of me. Silently waiting to show themselves at the first opportunity that presents itself. And I have no clue when that could strike.

Like in the middle of a crowded plane, as I furiously write this on my phone.

So here we are. Full circle.

You are reading it live…raw. The full gamut of what I live, moment by moment, every single damn day.

Future? What a joke. I can barely process an hour at a time.

But I can’t keep flying away. That’s not reality. And it surely isn’t healthy.

So, ladies and gentlemen, how do we fight?

This life is absolutely worth fighting for. I obviously have no doubt about that. This life, these moments in my life, they all serve a purpose. I believe that all the way to my soul.

From moments filled with hope to moments spiraling out of control and finding themselves settling in rage, they all teach me something.

And they are all valid.

This blog feels absolutely all over the place.

Real time.

Real emotions.

This is life.

It fluctuates for everyone. Though, perhaps, not as quickly as you’re seeing here.

I have been writing for a little over an hour, or so, now.

And this is why I’m pretty consistently emotionally drained right now. And a self-absorbed person. And probably – no, definitely – not the greatest friend.

So, I hope you can forgive me.

And I hope, whenever I reach “the other side” of this shituation, you are still there. Because I love you dearly.

I guess I’m asking for grace.

And perhaps, just maybe, I am ready to start living with it again.

life

Eating the Elephant

A Graceful Catastrophe

You know, there just isn’t any guidebook for how to deal with trauma. When you see someone going through something difficult, you sometimes *try to* put yourself in their shoes. Sometimes people make judgments on how the other person is responding or how they would do it differently. Other people seem rather fascinated and can’t even begin to understand how the person is coping “so well.”

In reality, you just don’t know until you go through it – and even then you have no idea how to process life.

For me, I’ve been processing by choosing to escape. I haven’t wanted to face my reality because the rare moments where I couldn’t avoid them were crippling. So I did what I could to bury it further. The pain from the discovery on March 17 has really, quite honestly, been impossible to bear.

But I think it was because I was trying to face it all at once. I thought I had to eat the elephant in one bite, so to speak. I thought I had to look at my pain, all of it, and try to process it as a whole.

That idea was beyond overwhelming. To think that I had to try and understand what was going on inside my head, to sit down and pick apart the betrayal and agony one layer at a time until it had all been chewed up and spit back out, was inconceivable!

But I thought that’s how it was supposed to be done. Just face your fears, right? Why wouldn’t the same idea apply to facing your trauma?

And do you know how absolutely and genuinely terrifying that is? And I mean “terrifying” by its exact definition: “causing extreme fear,” as Google’s dictionary says. “Extreme,” guys. Not just regular, run of the mill fear, but extreme. Again, thank you Google dictionary for defining “extreme” for us: reaching a high or the highest degree.

I had reached the highest degree of fear and was sprinting away as quickly as I could. I was never suicidal, thankfully, but I didn’t want to live this life. I wanted, desperately, to run away. So I could pretend that this wasn’t my reality. How could this be my reality? How could I ever trust again? There are, I’m sorry, were, two men in my life that I blindly trusted. My dad and my now ex-husband. How could he do what he did, day in and day out, for almost a year, all while coming home and complaining about what an awful wife I was? And let’s not forget about how he sat in marriage counseling and complained about how awful I was there, only to turn around and tell his Ashley Madison lovelies all about our therapy sessions.

Yeah, I wanted to run. Far and fast. How could that have been my life?!

At first, I thought I could handle everything with grace. Of course you should give grace to those who least deserve it. Well, that’s all fine and dandy when you’re in the denial stage of grief. There wasn’t a ton of grace to be given during the anger stage! I don’t know if you can see the hashtags on my blogs, but if you can, and you take a look back, there’s a definite moment where I stopped using the hashtag “living life with class and grace and muscles.” Because I was only living life with muscles.

I was angry a lot of the time, which I preferred to sadness. Sadness shut me down. Sadness made me want to hide under the covers and never, ever move again. Anger, though, anger made me feel alive! I could still laugh when I was angry. I could put up a front and live in the moment and feel free of my reality.

But, that’s not exactly the most healthy way to live…

Like I wrote in yesterday’s blog, there’s a distinct shift occurring within. I couldn’t pinpoint it yesterday but I can today.

The last 2 months, while wild and fun, have still felt empty. I have felt so empty and I have been trying, in vain, to fill that void.

But when the wild and crazy calmed down, I was left feeling emptier still. I’ve never done ecstasy or Molly but I feel like my last 2 months resemble what I’ve heard those highs – and lows – are like. From what I understand, when under the influence, you feel euphoric. But then when it starts to wear off, the coming down from it is one of the worst things ever.

That’s how my life has been. I have a blast going out with my friends, or going out on dates, but when it’s all said and done, my reality is that I’m still alone, trying to process a trauma so great that it has been both exhausting and crippling. And simply too excruciating to face.

There has been very minimal light and the darkness definitely won for some time.

But I had the most amazing session with my therapist Thursday of last week and he gave me permission that I don’t have to face my reality all at once. What?! I don’t?! Oh, my goodness, halle-freaking-lujah!!

Do you know that I felt about a million times lighter after that? I can just live. I don’t have to sit down and spend hours – or days – doing nothing else except focusing on sorting out all the emotions! I can walk through life and just live. And when something triggers me, I can feel sad. I can honor that emotion, that moment, process it for what it’s worth, and then move on. I don’t have to linger there and go deeper and try to understand how it applies to the 34 thousand other layers of pain. I can just process that piece. I can eat the elephant one bite at a time.

Life. Changing.

Friday night was like my grand farewell to the last 2 months. It was probably the wildest, most uninhibited night I’ve ever had. And probably the most fun.

Saturday morning I awoke with a distinct shift in my mindset.

I want more.

I don’t want to feel empty anymore. I also don’t feel the need to escape anymore. Now that I know I don’t have to swallow this elephant whole, I am no longer terrified.

Guys. I am no longer terrified of my reality.

I fully understand what this means for me…it means that I can finally begin to heal.

And that makes me smile.

As I write this, it is June 17th. At 6:08 tonight, while I was out with my girls for dinner, I hit the 3 month mark exactly.

It makes me laugh to think it’s only been 3 months. A lifetime has occurred in these last 3 months! And I’m sure I’m in for a million more changes and ups and downs in the next 3 months.

There’s no doubt my mindset will continue to flex and change as the time progresses. If nothing else, I give myself permission to continue riding this wave, to allow it to guide me through this next phase. At least now, I am facing the challenges ahead unafraid.

This elephant will be eaten – eventually. And I’m giving myself permission to do so one nibble at a time.

life

Everyone Needs a Lighthouse

A Graceful Catastrophe

According to the National Park Service’s website, a lighthouse “is a tower with a bright light at the top” and its purpose is to “serve as a navigational aid and to warn boats of dangerous areas.”

I am in a boat. And I’m out sailing the turbulent waters of this catastrophe, in areas of the vast sea that appear ever so scary and dangerous.

You all, well, most of you, are my lighthouses. You shine your bright light straight into my soul, illuminating my path, cautioning me away from the dangerous areas. You remind me that my actions impact my daughter…because I’m not sailing alone. You remind me that I am strong. You remind me that not only should I live my life with grace and class, I am also fully capable of it.

You remind me that my feelings are valid. That anger is an appropriate response at this juncture. I’ve only been navigating this storm for 2 months. You remind me that it will get better. You remind me that I am not alone. You share your stories with me, giving me perspective from the other side.

You envelop me with love. So. Much. Love! You make it so that I can hold my head high and choose to live with compassion. Because you remind me of how loved I am. And when you’re loved unconditionally, you are capable of anything.

You. My lighthouses. You have helped to navigate me away from such nasty waters, ones that I almost sank in.

Tonight, I’ve found a patch of calm sea. I’m drifting in a bit of peace. Because you’ve given me the strength to steer my boat out of danger.

I appreciate you for lifting me up, for shining your beautiful light in my direction, for helping guide me back to who I am at my core.

Tonight, after being home for all of about 5 minutes, my ex and I had yet another heated exchange. I told him, again, that I hated him. And then I went to my room and read and re-read your messages to me. Love flooded through me. And soon enough, so did my internal strength. I want to give grace. I want to be understanding. He’s the father of my child. A man I have a lot of history with and someone I wouldn’t have ever married had he not been a good person. He may not deserve grace right now, but I want to give it to him. After spending some time breathing and reading your messages that were all filled with beautiful love, I went downstairs and asked my ex if we could talk.

And we did.

It started a bit rough, but I was filled with your light and your love, so I was able to remain calm. Eventually, his anger dissipated. You know, I am not someone who enjoys being filled with hate. I am a peaceful, compassionate, and loving person. It just takes so much awful energy to feel such an intense negative feeling. It is toxic and I don’t enjoy who I am when I’m filled with it.

So tonight, I was able to let it go. Again.

I’m angry. Hurt. Sad. Emotional. I mean, I’m pretty much a general mess. But I’m not filled with that rage and hate anymore. It is no longer all consuming. I was able to let it go – and without punching something this time. And I feel so much lighter again.

These blogs are personal. They’re raw. And they’re written in real-time. So because of that, I am able to receive your unconditional support and love in real time. I receive your beautiful light and it shines so strongly into my soul that it is overwhelming and brings me to tears, in a most amazing way. Thanks to you, I was able to process through this negative space of the last several days without resorting to behavior that I could potentially regret (like a broken hand).

And my ex and I are in a decent place once again. He apologized. I apologized. We want to be better to one another. To do better. I know he genuinely wants to improve how he responds to the stressors in his life. When it comes to stress and choosing how to respond – with fight or flight – he has pretty much always chosen to fight. He gets backed into a corner and he lashes out. It isn’t right – and he knows that. And just like Maya Angelou says, when you know better, you do better.

I know better, too. I know that the best way to approach life is with grace, compassion, and understanding. You catch a whole lot more flies with honey than you do with vinegar…isn’t that the saying?

At times I’m so hurt that I feel broken. But you put me right back together. You lift me up, taking turns when it all just gets too heavy for any one of you. But there has always been someone else to take your place, jump in, and show me love.

So, thank you for that message. I am paying it forward and showing my ex that same message. And hopefully he can learn how to pay it forward and show grace and compassion when life gets just a little too uncomfortable, rather than go on the attack.

We live what we know. I am fortunate enough to know unconditional love from so many different people. Now that I’m filled with it, I want to live that love you all have shown me, time and time again.

I am not broken. Maybe I’m cracked. And I’m definitely not shattered. My boat is intact for the most part, though perhaps taking on just a little water. I have the resources necessary to make sure my boat doesn’t sink. I won’t drown. And I’m beyond grateful for those resources.

I am choosing to live with grace again. I am choosing to use my resources to help me grow and have a better tomorrow than I did today. My boat will be stronger every day…because of you all.

My ex may not deserve the grace but deep down, he is a good person. He’s just lost. We live what we know and I want him to know that there are better ways to respond to stressful, awful situations than to lash out and attack. He needs a lighthouse. Perhaps I will start building one for him, one beautiful brick at a time, built with compassion, grace, and understanding.

Everyone needs a lighthouse.

life, Uncategorized

Screw It All

A Graceful Catastrophe

Screw it. Screw it all.

It appears that I have a breaking point.

It’s today.

My ex husband shared with me today that a “longtime friend” has betrayed me, too.

This is just one betrayal too many.

It has been an awful week so far, with so many stones thrown at me. I thought I was strong enough to hear his malicious words, spitefully attacking me…but I am not. Rather than let them bounce right off of me, I absorbed them. All of them.

Guys, I’m done.

I want him to hurt. I want to intentionally cause him so much emotional pain that it physically hurts him. He’s been accusing me of purposefully hurting him all the while anyway, so why not just lash out and do exactly what he thinks of me anyway?

The rage and hurt and frustration and anger have all reached a violent boiling point. It has consumed me. It is literally all I feel right now.

He has accused me of not giving him grace.

He believes, with every ounce of his being, the world he has painted. So I may as well jump in the painting and show him that reality.

I. Am. So. Done.

Living life with grace is for the birds.

My daughter can learn a different lesson.

One where a strong woman can fight back against the emotional abuse of a disgusting and broken individual. One where I don’t have to tolerate being spoken to with such venom spewing out of his mouth.

Amongst other vicious attacks, he claims I am weak because I don’t make enough money to support myself and my daughter or be able to stay in this home without his money (which I cannot, but it surely doesn’t make me weak!). He laughs that I have to turn to my dad for help.

I HATE that I have to ask my dad for financial support.

I HATE that this is the world I now live in.

I HATE that I can’t trust.

I HATE him.

He has thrown all the stones he can think of in the last two days to intentionally hurt me. And he won. He did it.

So now I’m done. I’m angry. And hurt. And sick to my stomach. And I can’t sleep. And, really, I’m just done.

He wins. He’s gotten inside my head.

He’s beaten me down.

I quit.

I have no desire to live life with grace or class or anything that gives him an ounce of kindness right now.

I mean, I’m nice enough to him in front of my daughter…but I am done when she’s not around. He doesn’t deserve it and I’m too exhausted to muster the energy to give it.

I’m not strong.

I can’t do this anymore.

Today, I am defeated.

It took just a bit over 2 months. Two months of trying to be strong. Of trying to be the bigger person. Two months of fighting for my sanity every single day. Two months of being on the worst emotional roller coaster I’ve ever been on.

Two months. And I’m exhausted. I just can’t do it anymore.

I hope it’ll get better from here someday, but for now, I’m sure it’s going to get ugly.

Because I don’t care anymore.

Actually, that’s not entirely accurate. I care so much that I am so emotionally defeated that I can’t care anymore.

And definitely don’t care about him.

There is just too much to process. Too much pain. Too much stress.

It makes me physically ill. Drained.

He thinks he hasn’t been receiving grace thus far. I wonder what he’ll think of my new attitude towards him…? He has no clue, apparently, just how graceful I have been.

For the last 2 months, he’s been on the attack, throwing stones left and right. Calling me names. Some days were better than others. Some days we were able to finish out the 24 hours without a single stone being thrown. A lot of days have been an absolute living hell.

Oh, man, the stones that he has thrown in the last 2 days alone…

And, tonight, I finally threw some back.

And will continue to throw them.

Because I just don’t care.

It’s like he forgets what he’s done, the tailspin he’s thrown my life into, his daughter’s life… He takes no responsibility for it. Shows zero accountability. According to him, his actions don’t matter because I deserved it all. His actions are all justified because I was an awful wife. (And I was…because I retaliated for being treated awfully. We were stuck in a horribly sad, negative cycle.) But they aren’t justified and weren’t deserved.

“Romantic love” is stupid. Romantic love won’t exist in my world…not for a long time. Possibly not ever.

It’s just not worth it. It’s not worth this. When Alfred Lord Tennyson said it’s better to have love and lost than to have never loved at all was obviously not betrayed by people he thought loved them.

First, my husband. Now, at least one friend. I just can’t take it. It’s all slightly too much for me.

So, yeah, that’s been a thing. He talks with my “friends,” apparently. And my “friends” are talking about me behind my back. Awesome. I needed more betrayal in my life. More proof that nobody is to be trusted.

Fine.

Talk.

But could you at least be adult enough to tell me to my face what you think of me?

Because I don’t want to have to waste my time on you, too.

We’re all so old now. Grow up.

So, if you’re a long time friend, I guess you have to prove that you’re really my friend. And not talking smack about me behind my back. It’s going to be a long road.

Because now I trust no one.

I’m done.

I don’t have energy for nonsense.

And my life is filled with things that just don’t make sense right now.

God, I just want it all to make sense.

I want him to hurt as badly as he’s making me hurt.

So grace is gone. For now. Probably for a while.

So I can hit him where it hurts.

Intentionally.

Purposefully.

Like he did to me.

Over. And over. And over.

I’m so done.

Today, I don’t care.

About anything (except for, obviously, my daughter).

Because I hate him.

And it’s consumed me.

At least for today.

And for tomorrow, I’ll never forget. I am a changed woman. And he especially isn’t going to like the new me.

So screw living life with grace.

In the long run, it just doesn’t even matter.

We’re born. We die. Nothing in between really matters.

So, I’ll join him in his crappy little painting for now. Show him what this reality of his that he’s painted really looks like.

Because it is ugly.

And I have no more energy to try to paint rainbows and butterflies.

life

Dear Ashley Madison Lovelies

A Graceful Catastrophe

I spent a good portion of today angry and frustrated. It isn’t all that often that I allow those negative feelings to consume an entire day of mine, but today it was, apparently, unavoidable.

I have a way with words. I typically am very capable of putting my thoughts and feelings into sentences that are able to be clearly read and understood by others.

The feelings I have from being betrayed by one of the very few people that I blindly trusted – by my husband – are just nothing that I can put into any form of coherent thought.

It’s more of a physical feeling, deep within my gut. When I allow it to consume me, I feel physically ill. Most of today, I felt absolutely sick. But, like, disgusted. Like I was forced to eat old, molded, putrid, rotted fish. Over and over. Bite after bite.

That’s as close as I can get to explaining what it feels like when I try to understand what my ex did to me and our family. It’s also the feeling I get when I look at him and fully understand that he has absolutely no clue the extent at which his actions have affected me.

And will always affect me.

I know he doesn’t understand because of his actions and words all day today.

Which constantly made me feel even worse. To know that he doesn’t understand, and to realize I am incapable of explaining it in a way that he can, drove me absolutely bonkers today.

I desperately want him to understand how I feel. I want him to truly visit the depths of the sea of anguish I now swim (and sometimes sink) in. But how could he ever when I don’t even quite comprehend how I feel?

I know I am so incredibly angry. I am disgusted. I am filled with rage and even hate. Lately, the ability to live with grace has been shadowed by so much negativity. The more he pushes back, the cockier he behaves, the more he tries to defend and justify what he did, the less I am capable of acting with any semblance of class or grace.

And he’s been home for so long now! When he was cheating on me for the last year, he was home for about 1 week each month (except during the 2 months after his accident, when he was home and I was taking care of him, the house, and our daughter, all while trying to work my new business… Ugh, I wish I knew then what I know now!) . Now that he’s not cheating, he’s barely been on the road! Coincidence? I think not.

It’s so hard to see his face, day in and day out. It’s even harder to hear him play the role of victim, which he has been doing more and more frequently. It consumes me with such fury that I know I need to head to a rage room soon because I definitely do not need to be punching another column in my kitchen…

Every time I think about what occurred during the last year of my life, I try to assign words to the thoughts and feelings swirling about. I fail every single time. But perhaps it’s impossible because words are rational and these thoughts and feelings are anything but.

My life was a joke – and I had absolutely no clue. Well, that’s not exactly true. I had a gut feeling, even talked to my best friend about it, but dismissed it quickly because I thought, no, not him. He’d never lie or cheat.

God, I was a fool! Listen to your gut, ladies and gentlemen. It doesn’t lie to us.

You now the other thing that made me so mad today? Apparently, he has shared this blog with some of the women he chats with on Ashley Madison. They read it and then text him, reinforcing his thoughts that he is a victim, that how awful I am to paint such a picture of him. I mean, they are women with letters after their names! They know! They told him, apparently, that I have portrayed him as a villain. And since they have titles, they absolutely know what they’re talking about.

Well, it’s a good thing you Ashley Madison women know my (ex) husband so well! How dare I show him in such a terrible light?! Of course I’m just a woman scorned, out to say horrible untruths about the man that did nothing wrong over the course of our marriage. He was the victim! If he did behave in any sort of unsavory way, it was simply because he was provoked! His behavior was always justified because I acted in such a way that deserved to be treated and talked to in such a manner. He was, of course, justified in his actions over the last year, too, because I didn’t show him love… Of course all of these blogs are written because I’m just hurt and want to attack him.

Barf.

I do not write this to throw him under the bus, as his precious friends would like to reinforce. I write this to not feel so alone. To process. To feel support from my community during a time when my heart – my life – is absolutely shattered. To try, desperately, to put words to the ugliness I feel within, down to my core. To rationalize this catastrophe. And I write to hear how maybe you assigned some sort of sense to it when you went through it.

I write to know that I will come out ahead and even stronger than before. To know that I will never allow something like this to ever happen to me again.

I write so that I can look back on these blogs and remind myself to never again be such a naive fool. To always listen to my gut.

Because, guys! I don’t remember things. Ever. I have the worst memory! And God forbid I ever forget how this feels.

So I write. I document. I process. I lean on you all (well, maybe not all. I’m definitely not leaning on you lovely Ashley Madison ladies).

So, let me speak directly to you, you Ashley Madison lovelies: understand that you have absolutely no clue who this man really is – you only know who he wants you to see.

And understand that I do not write to villainize (yes, that really is a word) my ex. It’s not always about him. I write, first and foremost, for me.

Because I will not forget this pain. Ever. I refuse. I will have these blogs to look back on as a constant reminder to never be fooled again.

I write to remember.

life

Happy Husbands Don’t Cheat

A Graceful Catastrophe

UGH…

This weekend has been filled with, well, just moments of “ugh.”

I have not had much grace. I am not being a good friend to him. I’ve been so sad. And the hurt just feels like it has been hurting a bit more these last couple of days. It’s honestly been so hard to keep it together and I’ve had several moments where it was impossible.

When my (ex) husband is home, and he’s being humble, filled with regret, and, therefore, kind, things feel “normal” and normal is super confusing to me. Sometimes, though, when he’s home, he justifies his behavior and utters my newest most hated phrase: “Happy husbands don’t cheat.”

Excuse me while I go rage out and break my other hand…

He traveled last week for work and was only home for about 11 hours between Friday night and Saturday morning before leaving for work again. Eleven hours, most of which were overnight, also happened to be sufficient time to trigger the heck out of me. And rather than respond with grace, I handled it with sarcasm, anger, and bitterness.

*sigh*

I am not always strong, nor am I always the bigger person. Sometimes I am very human and petty emotions get the best of me.

Then he’s gone again, traveling for business. But now I know exactly what he does when he travels for work. While I fully (logically) understand he is no longer my husband, I still struggle with his actions, though I now have no right to, since we aren’t really married anymore.

So it kind of all just breaks my brain. And my heart? Forget about it.

On Thursday he comes home again. Just in time to help me with our daughter’s birthday party, where we will entertain her (our) guests, together, like we have for the last 8 birthday parties. Except this time will be our last time. Next year, he’ll have his own place and I will host by myself. He’ll merely be a guest.

We’ll officially be a broken family.

God, that sentence hurts.

Logically, I get that we weren’t happy. We hadn’t been happy for a long time. There were many times where we barely liked one another – and it was obvious to the both of us. In a lot of ways, we’d both given up on the marriage.

But we’d started seeing a marriage therapist. I was working on changing my mindset, trying to focus on the good he brought to my world, rather than all the little (and big) ways he annoyed, hurt, and angered me. I was seeking advice on how to make our marriage work from anywhere I could get it. I wanted our marriage to work.

He didn’t.

The bottom line is that he wanted to do something so terrible that it would make me stop fighting for our marriage. He wanted out. I can’t help but continuously feel that I wasn’t worth fighting for. Our family wasn’t worth fighting for. And when he justifies his actions by blaming me, a very tiny part of me believes him. Because our marriage was really difficult.

Then I snap out of it. It doesn’t happen for long – me believing him. But then I get so mad for allowing myself to be manipulated that I end up handling the situation quite poorly. And then I feel guilty!

Ugh!

So, then I apologize because I am supposed to be living my life with grace. I am supposed to be understanding and forgiving. These are the bars that I have set for myself. This is how I am supposed to behave because it’s honestly the way I want to behave. It’s easy to respond with grace and class when he’s being humble and apologetic. It is so very, very hard when he convinces himself that I pushed him to cheat.

Because, he tells me, happy husbands don’t cheat.

*Deep breath in. Long, slow breath out.*

I believe I am on this path purposefully. I don’t believe that anything happens to us by accident. And it’s very obvious that I need to practice the act of giving grace to those who don’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve an ounce of grace. He especially doesn’t deserve it when he utters the stupidest sentence I have ever heard.

So, I continue to have opportunities to practice. I’m not great at it yet. I’m not even mediocre at it yet. I’m actually quite poor at giving him grace when he doesn’t deserve it. Which means I’m sure I’m going to be presented with many more opportunities to practice being kind, understanding, compassionate, and forgiving. This is my chance to grow and be a better human.

I want to be a better human. So when he comes home on Thursday, I’m sure I will get an abundance of chances to practice giving grace and I will try oh, so very hard to embrace them.

I have to remember that he is broken. Anyone who believes the sentence, “Happy husbands don’t cheat,” must be tragically damaged. Whether or not he is going to work at fixing all of his broken pieces is up to him. It’s only up to me to give him the grace he doesn’t deserve.

So that is exactly what I will try to do, in between taking deep breaths to calm the rage inside when he says stupid things.

I know that one day, some beautiful day sometime in the future, I will be happier, and it’ll be because of this journey. Until then, I will make a conscious effort to embrace the low moments, remembering that it is through this pain and adversity that I will grow.

Mindset is everything and I have to choose to see this catastrophe as a gift he has given me. Seeing it through any other lens turns me into someone I don’t really care for and while I get that it’ll happen every now and then, I don’t have to live in that space. I refuse to.

This weekend has been challenging. That’s just the way this chapter is going to go. There’s no getting around crappy days. As I sit back right now, finishing up these last few sentences, and taking a deep cleansing breath, I’m ready to try to move forward again. Despite having all the reasons to hold onto my anger and hurt and disappointment, I will consciously move forward with compassion and grace for him.

For no reason other than I want to be better. I want to do better.

And so I will try my best, in all the moments, but especially the ones that are awful, to give grace to the man that believes, “Happy husbands don’t cheat.”