The froth is the perfect warmth as it clings to my lips. The nutmeg tastes earthy. The espresso is strong enough without stealing the show from the froth. And the sugar…. oh…
Starting the day with cappuccino is a fine way to practice a little self-care. This is indulgence with a kick.
The bouquet looks tired. She ought to have pitched it a couple days ago. She turns the vase to view the arrangement from a different angle and convinces herself that if she changed the water, she could enjoy it for another day or two.
He leaves hand prints in the dust on the cover of the box as he opens it. The box contains a package of lures, empty 22 shells, skateboard bearings, tech deck pieces and pictures of successful fishing trips. He keeps the packaging from the gifts. He’s yet to use the lures for fear he’ll lose one.
He closes the box and grabs for his cell. He’s hoping to make plans to shoot gophers or stop at the convenience store to pick up worms and go fishing or take a long bike ride. He leaves another message.
She devotes a drawer in her vanity to notes and cards. There’s one her dad have given her on her twelfth birthday. There’s a scribbled note from the boy that sat behind her in 8th grade English. She found a couple from college roommates.
The drawer is lined with the glitter sprinkled on the “fancier” cards. She remembers being a little girl excitedly opening a birthday card. The glitter would stick to her fingers as she read the card’s message. She believed receiving a fancy card was a sign of a true, lasting kind of love. Continue reading →
So you say… that you wish you could find extra hours in the day to maybe carve out a compost pile in the backyard, learn to play the fiddle or compile all those photos into scrapbooks; yet you never miss an episode of your favorite TV show.
So you say… you’d like to do a better job of keeping in touch with friends, but there’s never enough time after work, homework, laundry and dinner, especially with the time you spend on Facebook every night.
So you say… you could cut back on hours at work, if only you could get your budget under control, while spending every Saturday at the mall looking for something to fill the void.
So you say… you’ll be able to slow the family pace a bit, right after the next session of swim lessons. Oh, but there’s another season of soccer coming up and junior has to take soccer with all his buddies.
So you say… you’re going to take this minimalist lifestyle thing seriously, once you buy the shelving to organize all the stuff in storage. Continue reading →
Me: “He’s demonstrated that he is more than willing to put in the time. When other kids his age beg to play Xbox, he searches the internet for tips on golf swings. Clearly, this is one of his top three passions – it may be the thing he is most passionate about. We’ve been told by a couple instructors that he is blessed with some natural talent. We don’t spend money on soccer or baseball or football or guitar or karate. I really think it’s time we get him some lessons and support him in this thing he loves.”
Him: “My parents never did that for me.”
… before you were married, he said flattering things about the way you dressed and the clever way you put yourself together. After marriage, he tells you how he never liked boots with skirts, and that you shouldn’t wear your hair short because it makes your face look full.
… he refuses to suggest that you spend a day doing something you’ve been talking about – something he knows you’ve been dying to do – until you beg him to go with you.
… he spends more time getting ready in the morning than you. His lotions and potions take up more space in the bathroom than your creams, and he often smells more fragrant than you.
… before marriage he was convinced you did everything perfectly. Now that you’ve been married for eight months you’ve mysteriously forgotten how to cook an egg, sweep a floor, make a proper bed or keep the car tidy.
… he says you spend too much time reading and not enough time watching the stuff he likes on T.V. Continue reading →
We may walk hand in hand for a time, or we may know each other only briefly.
We’ll share many of the same turns and detours.
We’ll marvel at the beauty found in the connection we share.
I may pull your rolling red Samsonite for a stretch, and you might offer to carry my fraying black backpack.
I will empathize and address your concerns with compassion. I will hand you tissues when you cry and pour the wine while you laugh so hard you can’t hold your glass.
I will listen while you detail the reasons for your choices. We’ll both smile and nod when we realize we’ve made similar mistakes.
We’ll learn lessons from each other that we wouldn’t be able to learn from another.
I’ll be the first to pat you on the back. Though I instinctively brush off your kind words, I’ll try to remember to be gracious.
Neither of us may know where we are going, but I will not follow you.
That’s not my journey.
I walked out of the doctor’s office and ran across the street to the drug store where everyone knew me by name. I was out of Pepcid. I had a box in the bathroom, two in the kitchen cupboard, one in the office desk, and one under the car seat, but the box in my purse was empty.
I had made an appointment hoping to discover a name for this thing that caused me to go through antacids the way a nervous first-year college student goes through cigarettes.
The doctor ruled out pregnancy, gall bladder, and Crohn’s.
Last month, I’d asked my OB-Gyn if it was typical to require a prescription in order to stay married. She said, “Jesse, I think you know the answer.”
Today, in the doctor’s sterile office with the posters advertising the benefits of a healthy lifestyle, I asked, “What now? Do I live on Pepcid for the rest of my life? Is this normal?” Continue reading →
Through tears he said, “I don’t wanna go. I’m tired. Do we have to? Do we have to do a dad visit?”
I said, “I’m sorry, Honey. I know. You are tired, but that’s not a good enough excuse to skip out on a visit. You can be tired at dad’s house, too.”
He said, “I know that, but it’s not the same. It’s not comfortable there.”
__________
Later, when sorting through Tech Decks and old Golf Magazines, picking up air soft ammo and discussing the logic behind owning seven backpacks, we found the wallet he lost last Thanksgiving.
“Mom! Can you believe it? There are gift cards in there, too. I thought I’d never see that wallet again!”
I said, “You lead a charmed life, Cowboy. Do you see that?”
He said, “I know, mom. I do lead a charmed life. Even if I have to go to dad’s today, I still have it pretty good.”
He walked out of the room to show Jen the found wallet.
A bit later he came back in and said, “I get it, mom. The good is that much better because of the bad.”
They said, “How bad can it be? He doesn’t beat you. He doesn’t gamble. He isn’t gone every weekend. You have a nice home. How bad can it be?”
They said, “You know, it’s not easy being a single mom. There will be lonely nights. It’s a lot to handle by yourself. Are you sure this is what you want?”
She said, “I don’t want to hear your reasons for leaving him. I think he’s wonderful.”
He said, “I thought you were the perfect couple. You looked like you were happy. Wasn’t he making enough money for you?”
And when I started this blog, they said, “You shouldn’t dwell on all this negative stuff. It just isn’t healthy for you or the kids. Leave all this toxic stuff behind you.”
…
After I’d been writing for over two years, and the kids and I had clearly grown and worked through a laundry list of issues, they said, “Well, where are you going to go with this now? You’ve survived. You’re thriving, even. You’ve clearly come out the other side and you’ve made great progress. Why are you still writing about surviving narcissism?”
__________
This morning I received an email. She said, “I saw the comment that came from another corner of the world. I see how many there are. I see how they all wonder if they might be crazy. I see how this impacts children. I see how this might help. I get it now.”
I knew she would.
There is an undercurrent of truth seekers in the river of life.
They are everywhere.
Some carry backpacks full of self-help books. Some can be seen taking a Myers-Briggs Test at the corner table in Starbucks. Some fill yoga classes. Some do Tai Chi on a sunny afternoon at the park, and they don’t care who might be watching.
Some might meditate.
Some might write in a dog-eared journal. Continue reading →
I am a work in progress and so is this blog.
First, some chronology to set the stage:
5 1/2 years ago – Stuff three boxes, buckle two young kids into car seats, leave husband, nice house, financially secure future, perpetual stomach aches and nicest yard* I’ll ever tend.
5 years, 5 months ago – Discover NPD and naively present the concept to narcissistic husband and helplessly watch as message falls on deaf ears.
5 years, 3 months ago – Buy tiny, cozy, safe home for the three of us. Put holes in walls, roll in grass that is never fertilized, refuse to make beds, leave projects out in plain sight, smile and laugh every day.
4 years, 4 months ago – Youngest starts public school. Take a temporary, part-time job with family. Rush between commitments like every other family in the U.S. Stomach aches start to make a reappearance.
4 years ago – Divorce is finalized. Kids seem to be coping well with divorce, not so well with public school. Continue reading →
She hadn’t written him a letter explaining. She hadn’t told him she was leaving. She didn’t realize – until she saw her hands putting her journal, a laptop, and some clothes in a box – that she was leaving.
As she packed, her mind wasn’t going over the possibilities of what would come next. She hadn’t made a six-month plan or a five-year plan. She hadn’t given serious consideration to finding work or a house. She didn’t know what she’d tell friends and family.
She needed to breathe.
In order to breathe, she would have to leave her marriage.
As she packed, her thoughts were consumed with, “What do I need to take with me because I am never coming back here.” Her hands operated as if on auto-pilot. Her demeanor was calm and determined. She didn’t frantically start grabbing things from the kitchen cupboards. She methodically filled one box with a few necessities for starting a new life. Continue reading →
Whether it comes from years of looking inward, or years of not seeing clearly, I don’t know. Their eyes take on a cloudiness that makes it look like they have a difficult time focusing on the rest of the world.
You will feel yourself fighting the urge to hold a magnifying glass between yourself and the Narcissist, but it won’t help. If you aren’t careful, they’ll use the magnifying glass against you. They’ll find your flaws and use them to illustrate the fact that they are superior to you.
They’ll point out that they cook eggs better than you, or sweep the floor better or dress better or laugh easier.
She hadn’t planned to turn her back on herself. She didn’t wake up one morning and say, “This feels like the right day to put myself aside for this relationship.”
It just happened.
Like so many things just happen.
I could have said, “Geez you guys! I can’t handle this stuff laying around everywhere!”
I could have said, “I want more time to do what I love, instead of having to pick up after you two!”
I could have said, “I need a break from this mess!”
I could have said a number of things, but while I was washing off the metaphorical dirt in the shower, I hatched a better plan.
It went something like this:
Take out a piece of paper. Continue reading →
