Anything I’ve ever done that was ultimately worthwhile…initially scared me to death.
Betty Bender
Posts Tagged: divorce
9
Mar 10
Living On The Roof
I miss the roof. There. I said it. We camp out on the roof because of the good and the bad. We are ever-hopeful that the good outweighs the bad. After awhile, we lose sight of that delicate balance.
The good, with John, included that delicious ping sound the computer makes when I get a new email. Those emails used to come from long-distance, John. I’d hear that ping, look at the bottom of the screen, and that cute little envelope would be smiling up at me. I would drop everything and check my inbox. I miss anticipating hearing from him. I miss the plans that I’d made for future visits. I miss the sweetness of that fantasy of a life with John. It’s funny how the missing overshadows the reality. The reality is that I had plans. He didn’t.
I’d been thinking a lot about how it is that we end up staying in unhealthy relationships. Before I even figured out the roof analogy, I was wondering what it was that keeps us in something that ultimately makes us miserable. Is there something in our wiring that makes us gloss over the negative and focus on the positive? What if there is a lot more negative than positive? Is it the same thing that makes women forget the rigors of labor and delivery. If our brains didn’t have the capacity to stifle the negative, the world would be populated with only children, and there’d be no such thing as marriage. We’d all bale out of relationships at the first sign of hurt feelings, thereby making it impossible to stick it out long enough to make it to the altar.
I’ve been following Seth Godin’s Blog. He talks a lot about the lizard brain and fear and resistance and how those things relate to productivity. I’m intrigued by the concept that what holds us back is basically biological. We don’t wake up every morning and say to ourselves, “I’m not going to take risks. I’m not going to jay-walk. I’m not going to talk to that cute guy at work. I’m going to blend in and not make a fool of myself.” There is an unseen force in our brain that controls all those choices.
I assumed, then, that the lizard brain played a part in relationships. And it does. The lizard brain is consumed with the desire to reproduce and the avoidance of fear. Picture this little lizard holding a large blueprint that maps out everything that happened to you up to the age of six. The lizard compares any new situation to this blueprint, and then determines your knee-jerk reaction. If you feared being left as a child, you go out of your way, now, to make sure you will never be left again. If you craved attention as a child, your lizard fears the absence of attention, and will make sure to put you in situations where you get lots of attention. In my case, when getting my feelings hurt, or when I feel rejected, my lizard brain (LB) studies the blueprint carefully and determines that I should be more pleasant, play nice, and keep my disappointments to myself. My LB tells me that if I’m nicer, I won’t get my feelings hurt; I won’t be rejected; and I won’t be deserted. Continue reading →
6
Mar 10
I Am Part of the Universe or Get Yourself Off the Roof
So a flood is coming. The man has been warned. He sees the waters rising. He’s standing in his front yard praying for God to save him when another man floats by on an inner tube. The man on the tube says, “Hey, there’s room on my tube. You better come with me.” The first man says, “I’ll be alright. God will save me.”
The waters rise forcing the man to climb the side of his house to wait for God’s help on his roof. Just then a motor boat goes by, and a woman in the boat yells up at him, “Hey! We’ve got room. You better come with us!” The man yells back, “That’s nice of you, but I’m fine. God will save me.”
The waters begin to crest the house. The man is running out of time as he continues waiting and praying on the roof. Suddenly a helicopter appears. The pilot hovers over the man’s house and sends down a rope. The man waves off the pilot. The pilot cannot hear the man over the roar of the helicopter. What the pilot couldn’t hear was the man yelling, “Thank you, but God will save me.”
After the man enters the gates of heaven, he summons up the courage to approach God. The man says, “I don’t understand. I prayed. I waited. I had faith. Why didn’t you save me?”
God said, “Geez, Buddy. I sent a rubber raft, a boat and a helicopter. What more could I have done?” Continue reading →
5
Mar 10
Recipe For Moving On
Apparently life is not waiting for me to catch up. It’s time to put an end to my little pity party, round up the soggy wads of kleenex, wipe the mascara from under my eyes and move on.
Ever since the kids could walk, I’ve asked them to get a kleenex when they see someone is hurt or crying. It’s not because I wanted them to wait on me, but handing someone a kleenex when they are crying is a great way to show you care when you don’t know what the hell to say. It’s better than standing there waiting for the sobbing person to tell you, “Could you get me a kleenex, already.”
Tuesday night, Will wised up and brought me the whole box.
There’s too much to do, too much to plan, and too much to anticipate to spend any more time licking my wounds.
Enough is enough. Continue reading →
3
Mar 10
Stop The Clock
It was the winter of 1996 and I was standing in the middle of the produce section of a grocery store wondering how anyone could fuss over a navel orange when my grandfather had just been found, face down in the drifted snow next to his mobile home. I thought for sure that the clocks would have stopped, that time would be frozen somehow, so that everyone could acknowledge the passing of someone who was so dear to me. How could people go on about their day, squeezing heads of iceberg lettuce, griping about the long lines, and fumbling through their purses for coupons? How could life continue to be so ordinary?
I thought of that today when my neighbor walked by with her Golden Retriever. She’s a pleasant gal. I’ve not chatted with her a whole lot. She has commented that she likes the wine glasses hanging from the wine rack above my kitchen window. We exchange pleasantries. She always has a smile on her face. Her dog is beautiful, and he’s always excited to see Rita. Today her smile annoys me. Last night I said goodbye to my long distance friend. I can’t quite fathom how my neighbor can be so damned happy when I feel as though my heart has been flattened, drained of life, and pinned to the bulletin board. Naturally, the neighbor lady doesn’t have a clue. I envy her delight in the simple, mindless pleasure of walking her dog. She makes one pass, two passes, and the kids comment on her happy grin. By the fourth pass, I’m thinking, “Pick a different route. Please.”
I am marveling at how messed up I am at the demise of this relationship. After all, it was long distance. I’m not sure it ever had the chance to get to the point of being called a relationship. We didn’t get to know each other well enough to find out what would irritate us about each other. Maybe that explains the sadness. It’s over before it got bad, or before we had the chance to see that it could be really, really good. But I’ve been thinking all day that it’s strange that I’m worse off now than when I left Mark. Back then, things had been bad for quite awhile when I decided to move out. By the time the kids and I had moved to my mom’s, all I could think was that it was great to be able to breathe again. It was good to see that the sky was still blue. Life could be simple and good. I could find pleasure in the routine of caring for kids, and being with family. We had come out of the darkness at Mark’s. It was hard to be too sad.
The end of this relationship is different because I was clinging to what I thought was the promise of a happy future. I see now that I was clinging to him like a lifeboat. He even told me once that I should remember that this was my first relationship since my divorce — and all that implied. (I hate the word ‘rebound’ as it applies to relationships.) He was a huge part of my surviving the narcissism. I’m thinking I’m going to learn more about the surviving now that I don’t have the lifeboat anymore.
Maybe it’s time we got a dog.
2
Mar 10
Boulders In My Shoes
Some days are like that. You have to remind yourself to laugh. You have to stop taking yourself seriously. You have to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
And after a long day of putting one foot in front of the other, treat yourself to a hot sudsy soak for your toes. I’m going to. Those simple little bright spots — that we can look forward to — they get us through the day. That, and a kiss from my kids.
1
Mar 10
No One Can Cut Your Shadow In Half
“How did you sleep?” “Did you have any dreams?” Each morning begins the same way. While rubbing eyes and stretching long thin arms, we ask each other how the night was. We’ve talked about dreams since the kids could talk, or since they first started having dreams. I can’t remember which came first. When Jen was little, she felt left out if Will and I were discussing our dreams, and she didn’t have a dream to share. I don’t know if she just couldn’t remember, or if she had a hard time with the difference between dreams and reality. When it was her turn to talk about her dream she’d always say, “It was about a snowman.” And that was it.
Last night she had a symbolic dream about ‘a guy’ that cut her shadow in half. When she realized that he cut her shadow in two pieces, she cried for a whole day. When she had finished crying, her shadow became whole again. But just as the shadow became one, ‘the guy’ cut her bunny in half. (This was the very special pink bunny that she had gotten when she was in the hospital with pneumonia.) So with tears in her eyes, she brought the bunny to me, and I “sewed the bunny all up and it was good as new.”
I have always felt that we process things and solve problems in our dreams. Some of us are lucky enough to remember dreams, and then we can hang on to what the dream means. Some of us don’t remember much about our dreams. I’ve taken the approach that if we talk about them everyday, we start to remember them more, and we’ll have better access to the lessons. In Jen’s case, each time I’d prompt her to tell us about her dream, all she could come up with was the snowman. But after awhile, she seemed to listen to herself more, and she started remembering her dreams. It’s kind of like intuition — if you stop paying attention to intuition, it will stop speaking to you.
That being said, sometimes (a lot of times) dreams are too bizarre to have any real tangible significance to anything in ‘real’ life. But there’s nothing wrong with a little comic relief in the morning. For example, Jen’s other dream last night was about catching friendly, minuscule rubber-headed leprechauns in a tiny paper house. Not sure where to go with that other than the kids set a trap every year to try to catch Larry the Leprechaun. Maybe she’s working out a plan for a new trap.
Jenny’s dream about ‘the guy’ is pretty straight forward. To me it says, her dad is squashing her spirit (cutting her shadow in half). She has been afraid to cry out when her dad does something that denies who she really is. She is learning the value in crying — showing who she is and how she feels. And as she lets herself out, her spirit (shadow) can be whole. And sometimes she just needs a little help from her mom.
26
Feb 10
Narcissism Sucks
A wise woman once said, “narcissists suck.” I’ve spent some time on her blog. It’s a deep, dark, cavernous hole of information. I would caution you to be careful before spending much time there. You may learn more than you really want to know.
Tonight I am really thinking that narcissists suck. I have a little girl who hasn’t been feeling well. She will be fine. But for right now, she is depleted. She wants to cry and she can’t. She actually told me that she, “wants to let the tears out, but she can’t.” When I ask her why she can’t cry, she explains that she’s been practicing not crying in front of her dad. She doesn’t want to cry in front of him because he treats her like a baby. So now she thinks she’s forgotten how to cry.
In the meantime, Mark has not come by to check on Jenny. You see, he skied on Wednesday and Friday. And he’s leaving town after work tomorrow for a convention in the sunny Napa Valley. He can’t afford to come by and check on his daughter because he doesn’t have time, and because he wouldn’t want to risk catching her bug before he leaves town. (So how about calling to check on her?)
Narcissists suck.
——————- Continue reading →
24
Feb 10
Who Are You?
There is still snow on the ground, but the days are getting longer. Will just informed me that Spring will arrive in 28 days. The angle of the sun makes things melt like crazy, even if the temperature doesn’t warrant it. And while eating lunch today, we marveled at the icicles and how they go from dripping slowly to dripping continuously, and then back to a slow drip. You can hear the birds chirping and almost smell the wet soil, where the sun has melted the snow and warmed the earth a bit.
Gardening season will soon be upon us. Okay, it’s not going to be here that soon, but it’s fun to plan. Last year, about this time, I was making plans for our little garden and flower beds. I always draw the garden out on paper so that I remember to rotate plants. That way I won’t keep planting things in the same place each year. I was sketching out where to put the Early Girls, the Sweet 100s and the Norland Reds, when it hit me. I don’t like potatoes. Baby reds are nice once in awhile, but I don’t like them enough to devote all that space in my tiny garden to just potatoes. I had been living in my own house, and I was still planting what Mark liked. It took me about three years to figure out that I didn’t have to plant potatoes anymore.
Just when I think I’m making all this progress, figuring out how to make my way after this bizarre relationship, I realize I’m still clinging to aspects of my old life. When I first moved into this little house, I remember walking around with nails between my teeth, a hammer in one hand, and ‘Frieda’s Dream’, by Monte Dolack under my arm. I was trying to figure out where it would look best. As I’m walking through the house, mumbling to myself, I caught myself thinking, “I wonder if Mark would like it there?” In the next instant, I realized I didn’t have to take Mark into consideration when decorating my own house. That realization was as sweet as the waking from a bad dream, when you realize it’s all just a bad dream, and that sense of relief washes over you.
There were a lot of delicious thoughts running through my head when we first moved to this address. “I get the remote. I’m going to watch Food Network, HGTV, Lifetime movies and whatever I darn well please. No one is going to make fun of me for reading Martha Stewart Living. I don’t have to eat waffles on Sunday mornings anymore. I can have a glass of wine (or two) while cooking dinner, and I’m not going to feel guilty.” Now that we’ve been living here for over three years, it’s interesting to see how things are shaking out. I haven’t picked up a Martha Stewart Living Magazine in probably five years. I have probably checked out the Food Channel a handful of times. Each time I watch, I think to myself, “Why was I desperate to watch this? It’s not like they are gonna do a whole show on the glories of peanut butter and jelly.” Lifetime Movies make me cry, so there’s no point in that. I haven’t had a waffle in almost four years. Yes! And I do enjoy a glass of wine while making those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. (That I also serve at dinner, not just lunch. Just so you know I’m not also sipping the vino at noon.)
But all this got me thinking about what it is I like and don’t like. What are my preferences? I thought I knew what my preferences were when I still lived with Mark. I seemed to want to steer toward the things that he didn’t like. Maybe I was trying to make a statement. It’s a lot like the child that is denied candy and cookies. They want those treats all the more when they are told they can’t have them. When there aren’t any limits put on the sweets, the child may or may not be interested. But they certainly aren’t feeling desperate to have the Tootsie Rolls. When my world was so limited, I found myself clinging to stuff that had been off-limits. Now there are no limits, the world is wide open, and I’m not obsessed with HGTV or romance movies. But I could watch, “You’ve Got Mail” every week. And now I can, if I want to. Continue reading →
22
Feb 10
Choosing A New Tree
This post is from Pat, who sent a beautiful comment yesterday. If you caught the comment, you know how insightful it is. And it is definitely worth reading again.
A man was resting under his favorite tree. As he rested and daydreamed, he felt a wet, sloppy splooge land on his head. Taking out his handkerchief to wipe off the mess, he looked up and saw a large, green, crested bird with red and yellow speckles on its tail on the branch above him. The bird cocked its head and smiled at him. The man understood the bird was just doing what birds do, but he hated what the bird had done to him. His handkerchief wasn’t large enough to clean off all of what had landed on his head, so he went home to wash his hair and finish the job.
Sometime later, the man rested again under his favorite tree. Presently, he felt a large plop on his head. It stunk. It was repulsive. It ran down his neck. Incredibly, it was from the same large, green, crested bird with the red and yellow speckles on its tail. As he stared in amazement at the bird, the bird cocked his head, returned his stare, and smiled. The man was tolerant of the bird, which had only done what birds do. But he HATED what the bird had done to him. His handkerchief was no larger than the last time. He went home to take a shower and change his clothes.
When next the man felt the need to rest, he hiked again to his favorite tree. He hoped the bird would not be there. Settling under the tree, the view of the countryside filled him with a sleepy kind of peace. He raised his arms to cushion his head on his hands against the tree, and closed his eyes. Unfortunately, the large, green, crested bird with the red and yellow speckles on its tail once again interrupted his pleasure. Incredulous, he glared up at the bird. The bird cocked its head, gazed at the man, and smiled. What fell from the bird this time was by far greater in volume than any time before. It reeked. It was foul and disgusting. It ENRAGED the man. This time, the awful, slimy filth had not only covered his head and run down his neck, but had landed on his hands and run down inside his sleeves. Though he had come with towels, just in case the bird was there, he still was not prepared with enough towels to clean up what was on his clothes and in his clothes. He wondered if he would ever be clean again, even after a long, hot shower.
There came a time when, after a long day’s work, the man needed a rest. Tramping through the countryside toward his favorite tree, he walked more and more slowly. He thought about his tree and about the bird that had come to inhabit it. He loved his tree; he wanted to rest under his tree. But he did not want to have his restful time ruined by the large, green, crested bird with the red and yellow speckles on its tail. He remembered what the bird had done to him, and he remembered how it made him feel each time he rested under that tree. Maybe he should find another tree. It would make him sad not to be able to enjoy his favorite tree, but he definitely didn’t like what happened there anymore. Yes, he told himself, a different tree would be better. He told himself he might even come to love resting under this new tree. It would become his new favorite tree. Continue reading →
21
Feb 10
A Bad Day Doing Anything Is Better Than A Good Day With A Narcissist
His knees make this strangely hollow sound when he smacks them together. Imagine taking two 2×4’s wrapped in fleece, and hitting them against each other. Will is a thin 11 year old. He doesn’t have a lot of padding, especially around his knees. He’s gone through an interesting series of nervous ticks. I don’t think of the knee-knocking as a nervous tick, but I’ve noticed that he does this when he’s playing a game on the computer, or when he’s talking on the phone with his dad.
We went skiing with grandpa yesterday. It was another great day at the ski hill. As tired as I am of the snow, it has made for some amazing conditions this year. Jenny and I don’t feel the need to ski every single day. Will doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with skiing every single day. As we were driving home from the hill yesterday, we were talking about what to do on Sunday. Will has a standing invitation to ski on Sundays with Mark. (Jenny sort of has a standing invitation. That means that Mark has invited her to ski on Sundays, but has implied that it will really be more fun for her when she can ski the more challenging runs. “Daddy loves to ski with you on the days you go with mommy.” That means he makes an appearance on the green run, exclaims loudly how his little girl is skiing so beautifully, and then ditches her for the black diamond runs. We all know that Mark won’t sacrifice a full day of skiing to spend it with Jenny on the easy stuff. The only reason Will has a standing invite is because he can ski everything on the hill now.) Jenny and I had made plans to go to the library this Sunday. Will was saying that he felt like maybe he should stay home and go to the library with us. Grandpa couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and he said, “What? You can’t decide between skiing and the library? Are you feeling okay?” Will knows that sounds ridiculous. You’ve heard the expressions: “A bad day of golf is better than…” “A bad day of fishing is better than…” We always say, “A bad day of skiing is better than a good day of staying at home.” It’s more than a little embarrassing for Will to weigh the prospect of skiing versus a trip to the library.
Will called his dad last night, knees knocking, and he couldn’t decide what to do. “I can go skiing with dad and the snow will be awesome. I can practice those jumps I’ve been working on. The moguls on Muley will have a fresh dusting of powder. I know it will be great. But dad will make fun of me and hurt my feelings. I don’t want to deal with that.”
Here’s where I say all the mumbo jumbo that I’m supposed to say to help my son deal with a narcissistic dad. “Try to develop a tougher skin. Let what he says ping off your coat of armor. You can’t limit the things you do in life because you are afraid that someone will say something that hurts your feelings. Focus on the good/fun part of the day. Let what he says role off your back. Or, better yet, actually come out and tell him that what he says really hurts your feelings. Stick up for yourself. Be tough. Be like Bode Miller. Be strong and ski like crazy and ignore your dad.”
In addition to the knocking knees, I’ve noticed that Will always asks his dad if anyone else will be going with them on Sundays. I don’t know if Mark has noticed that Will only likes to go with him if someone else bums a ride. Will doesn’t like to be alone with Mark. Will and I talked about how dad says his sarcastic, cutting comments when no one else is around. No one else hears those comments. That’s why it is hard from grandpa to believe that Will wouldn’t want to go skiing. That’s why the guys at the ski hill may be thinking that Mark is a pretty good guy. They don’t hear what Mark says to Will on the chair lift when no one else is around. Continue reading →
17
Feb 10
Love Notes and the Narcissist
I stepped out of the shower this morning, head full of what to make for dinner; are they on track for home schooling; did I figure the taxes correctly; gotta order some firewood …. And I found this on the bathroom floor — a love note from Jenny. Sweet words sung to the tune of ‘Clementine’. It doesn’t get much better than that.
Mark used to write me notes. He wrote a lot of letters to me. For obvious reasons, I can’t bring myself to look at them now. But I remember they were quite wordy, windy, and showy. I hadn’t ever received love letters before. What did I know? There’s the classic examples of love letters that you can find in literature. To me, that’s a lot like the Latin Lover with the rose clenched between his teeth. No thanks. When I think back on Mark’s letters, I remember thinking that there was a lot of stuff about Mark in them. It wasn’t so much about how fabulous I was, it was about how fabulous he was. Maybe he saw the necessity, even then, in trying to convince me.
And he kept track of my responses to his letters. He wouldn’t write to me, until he’d received a response to his most recent letter. He was definitely keeping score. At the time, I thought that there must be some sort of protocol for love-letter writing. I know, now, that love isn’t about keeping score, it’s about giving freely with heartfelt intentions. A genuine expression of love ought to be as innocent as a note from a child. When Jenny penned that little note this morning, I’m positive she wasn’t thinking, “Okay, I’ll write this to mommy, but I sure hope she writes one back to me.” That was not her motivation for writing the note. She loves me, and wanted to tell me. There’s no agenda.
But love is also about some measure of reciprocity. It’s also about loving yourself, and realizing that you deserve love. It’s not stomping your foot, demanding acknowledgment or recognition. It is giving freely without expectation of return. And love is also about respecting yourself enough to move on to something healthier when you keep giving, and getting nothing back.
When was the last time you wrote someone a love note? Write a note to someone — maybe even to yourself. It’s not as silly as it sounds. It’s sending good words out there, that you deserve. You can make it flowery, if you like that sorta thing. Or make it straightforward and to-the-point. Just don’t sit around waiting for a response. That ruins the genuine intent of the whole thing. And if your choice comes down to writing to yourself, or the narcissist in your life, please write to yourself.
16
Feb 10
Life Moves Fast
Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop to look around once in awhile you could miss it.
Matthew Broderick as Ferris Buller
16
Feb 10
Distraction as a Means of Survival
We are not going anywhere tonight. No one is coming over. I’m going to cook a simple dinner. We have planned not to make plans.
Isn’t that how it is?
You plan not to do something so as to focus on what is at hand. Then, life gets in the way, and once again, you are afforded the opportunity to avoid what really needs to be addressed. And you are so thankful for that bump in the schedule, because you would give anything to keep from handling the real life stuff.
I see it all the time with my kids.
The light is blinking on the answering machine. In fact the light blinks on the four phones around the house. Uniden, the company that made our cordless phone, probably thought that was a great feature — a selling point. “Our phone will conveniently remind you when you have an urgent message that needs to be answered.” It’s enough to pretend that Mark didn’t call. We don’t need the phone to continually blink its little red light to nag us about calling him back. Continue reading →
14
Feb 10
Be Your Own Valentine
I was going to work on my taxes today. I was going to try to unclog my bathroom sink. I played all day yesterday, so I’m feeling like I’m supposed to be productive and accomplish something today. (As if spending a wonderful day enjoying the company of my kids isn’t productive.)
Then I remembered, “It’s Valentine’s Day!!”
*sigh*
I don’t have anything insightful to say about Valentine’s Day. If you’d like a chuckle to go with your obligatory box of chocolates, then check out a previous post on narcissism and gift-giving.
Enjoy this quote on love, or this one, too. Continue reading →
