No-dependent?
Anti-dependent?
I feel strong. Powerful. Kind of like that scene from Rocky where he’s running up the stairs and the theme music is playing. I hope this lasts.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
Notes From the Trailer Park
Well, I had planned to post a biting letter to Daddy Carpetbucks under such a clever title as this. I wrote it in a Word doc on my desktop. It contained all of the scorn and sarcasm any one person could ever think they would have. (Yes, I know that sarcasm is anger’s ugly cousin, but if it weren’t for sarcasm, I’d have no humor- if that is what you call it- at all.)
Then, my conscience kicked in and I decided that my anger would be better utilized if funneled into more productive and socially acceptable activities, like lifting weights until veins pop out of my head.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Old Eggs Stink
Most everyone knows that walking on eggshells is not fun. But, it keeps you occupied. Then it just gets old. When the eggs are gone, there is just a horrible smell lingering in the air. And a question of what to do with all of that extra time and energy?
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition
My anger sometimes comes out in road rage, sardonic humor (which I realize isn’t humor at all -- except when Jim does it on The Office which is the best television show of all time), and, when I’m really mad, a fervently spoken four letter word.
I’m working on it, okay? “All prayer and supplication,” you know…
But really, lately I’ve realized that 41 years of buried anger easily comes out in the car. In fact, not too very long ago, I had one of my wild arm waving and yelling fits at another driver, only to realize that I knew the person I was raging at. Worse, it was one of my students! (Yes, I did apologize later that day before class, and he got quite a kick out of it- and so did the entire class.)
Even when my church music is playing I can rage on. It goes something like this:
I’m working on it, okay? “All prayer and supplication,” you know…
But really, lately I’ve realized that 41 years of buried anger easily comes out in the car. In fact, not too very long ago, I had one of my wild arm waving and yelling fits at another driver, only to realize that I knew the person I was raging at. Worse, it was one of my students! (Yes, I did apologize later that day before class, and he got quite a kick out of it- and so did the entire class.)
Even when my church music is playing I can rage on. It goes something like this:
La-la-la
You are the ever-lasting God. Ever- lasting God. You do not faint. You won’t grow…
You stupid jerk, learn how to drive!! Dude, seriously?! Get out of my way.
La-la-la Strength will rise as we wait upon the Lord, we will wait upon the Lord, we will wait upon the Lord
Sad, right? Ok, sad in a funny sort of way. But, hey! Good thing I’m not Catholic. Too many hail Mary’s- and it’s just too hard to count those little beads when you’re driving.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Woof and Oink
I read a post that spoke to my heart today: It was a reflection based on Matthew 7:6- Do not give the dogs what is sacred; do not throw your pearls to the pigs. If you do, they may trample them under their feet and then turn and tear you to pieces.
Hmmm, been there, done that.
Well said. But, tell me, why are lessons like this learned the hard way?
From now on, I will focus on keeping my pearls to myself, thank you very much.
Hmmm, been there, done that.
The blog read, “It’s easy to settle for anything and everything if we don’t believe we're worthy of anything better. You are sacred and God wants you to protect yourself from those things or people in the world who will tear you down and lead you away from his path and purpose for your life.”
Well said. But, tell me, why are lessons like this learned the hard way?
From now on, I will focus on keeping my pearls to myself, thank you very much.
Monday, January 23, 2012
A Day in the Life
Okay, so I’m driving along on my way to the court because I am being sued by a collection agency/attorney for a defaulted student loan. (My master’s degree in psychology has earned me a job making less than I did 10 years ago as an Outback Steakhouse hostess, but that’s another story altogether.)
So I’m supposed to be there at 9, and I’m running late- I pull in to the parking lot at 8:54. No problem, I think, there’s never anyone here. I’ll grab a spot, put my 50 cents in the meter and run.
Well, the big practical judicial joke was on me. I think Justin Beiber may have been making an appearance. Either that, or it was Everyone in Oklahoma Show Up at the Tulsa County Courthouse Day and I didn’t know about it. So after driving around the block four times and finally parking in a $5 a day lot, I run over to the machine to pay my fee with my bank card. It’s freezing outside. I wait in line, tapping my foot and watching my breath while the people in front of me figure out how to load their crinkled up one dollar bills into the machine. Thank God I have my card and I don’t have to deal with that.
Finally! My turn!
“It doesn’t take credit cards” a voice behind me says as I swipe my card. Right then I notice the small “No credit cards accepted” sign posted right under the card swipey thing.
Great! All I have is my bank card. No cash. I was expecting to use two quarters in the regular parking garage. I run over to the sock-hat-wearing parking attendant who calls me Little Mama and tells me to go take care of my business and pay him when I get back. He says there’s an ATM in the courthouse on the first floor. Thank you, Parking Attendant. And, we’ll talk about that Little Mama thing later.
I finally make it past security and up to the 6th floor by 9:10. (I won’t mention the over-capacity crowd and images of the elevator plummeting to the ground panic attack I had on the ride up.) I walk past the first judge’s chambers, (oh, the judge who was on my divorce case, how nice) and go next door, to this other judge’s place. Wow, I must be well-like around here.
Ok, not too bad, I think. I’m only 10 minutes late. In Oklahoma time, that’s on time, right? But then a group of three lawyers cut me in line. One of them turns to me and says, “We all have to stay together because we are on the same case.”
To which I say, “We’ll then you all should have stayed together behind me.” On the inside. Yeah, I’m not sure how the world would change if I actually verbalized my internal dialog.
Anyway, that gave me 10 minutes to wonder why lawyers act like jerks and think they are so much better than everyone else.
I finally get up to the woman at the desk and begin to pour out my story about the two accidents that held me up in traffic, and the crazy parking, and Justin Beiber, and the parking lot attendant, and, and, and… She (very nicely) cut me off and asked me my name.
I told her, she found me on the list, and then said with a sweet Southern drawl, “Oh! All this was, was a scheduling. The attorney is going to send you a letter with the information on when you need to be here. She scheduled it waaaaay out- 6 months!”
So, basically, I didn’t even need to be here today. Nice.
Since I was there anyway, she wrote the pre-trail date on a card and bid me a good day. I went back into the madhouse on the lower level, found the ATM and hurried back over to the parking lot. The attendant greeted me with a “Hey Little Mama” again. I thanked him for letting me get the money as I handed him a $20 bill. He shook his head and told me I’d have to go get change.
I looked around in bewilderment and frustration because there is no other place to get change except back in the madhouse. Parking Attendant then said, “You know what, just go on, Little Mama. It’s okay.”
Near tears, I apparently thought it would be highly appropriate if I threw my arms around Parking Attendant and thanked him. He laughed, hugged me back and asked me if I was okay. Well, I can’t handle that question. It makes me cry. Ugh, I’m already fighting that urge!
As I hurried to my car, clicking the door locker clickie key chain thing, I called back, “I will be!”
“All right, Little Mama, take care.”
You, too, Parking Attendant, you too.
And I think I’m okay with Little Mama for now.
So I’m supposed to be there at 9, and I’m running late- I pull in to the parking lot at 8:54. No problem, I think, there’s never anyone here. I’ll grab a spot, put my 50 cents in the meter and run.
Well, the big practical judicial joke was on me. I think Justin Beiber may have been making an appearance. Either that, or it was Everyone in Oklahoma Show Up at the Tulsa County Courthouse Day and I didn’t know about it. So after driving around the block four times and finally parking in a $5 a day lot, I run over to the machine to pay my fee with my bank card. It’s freezing outside. I wait in line, tapping my foot and watching my breath while the people in front of me figure out how to load their crinkled up one dollar bills into the machine. Thank God I have my card and I don’t have to deal with that.
Finally! My turn!
“It doesn’t take credit cards” a voice behind me says as I swipe my card. Right then I notice the small “No credit cards accepted” sign posted right under the card swipey thing.
Great! All I have is my bank card. No cash. I was expecting to use two quarters in the regular parking garage. I run over to the sock-hat-wearing parking attendant who calls me Little Mama and tells me to go take care of my business and pay him when I get back. He says there’s an ATM in the courthouse on the first floor. Thank you, Parking Attendant. And, we’ll talk about that Little Mama thing later.
I finally make it past security and up to the 6th floor by 9:10. (I won’t mention the over-capacity crowd and images of the elevator plummeting to the ground panic attack I had on the ride up.) I walk past the first judge’s chambers, (oh, the judge who was on my divorce case, how nice) and go next door, to this other judge’s place. Wow, I must be well-like around here.
Ok, not too bad, I think. I’m only 10 minutes late. In Oklahoma time, that’s on time, right? But then a group of three lawyers cut me in line. One of them turns to me and says, “We all have to stay together because we are on the same case.”
To which I say, “We’ll then you all should have stayed together behind me.” On the inside. Yeah, I’m not sure how the world would change if I actually verbalized my internal dialog.
Anyway, that gave me 10 minutes to wonder why lawyers act like jerks and think they are so much better than everyone else.
I finally get up to the woman at the desk and begin to pour out my story about the two accidents that held me up in traffic, and the crazy parking, and Justin Beiber, and the parking lot attendant, and, and, and… She (very nicely) cut me off and asked me my name.
I told her, she found me on the list, and then said with a sweet Southern drawl, “Oh! All this was, was a scheduling. The attorney is going to send you a letter with the information on when you need to be here. She scheduled it waaaaay out- 6 months!”
So, basically, I didn’t even need to be here today. Nice.
Since I was there anyway, she wrote the pre-trail date on a card and bid me a good day. I went back into the madhouse on the lower level, found the ATM and hurried back over to the parking lot. The attendant greeted me with a “Hey Little Mama” again. I thanked him for letting me get the money as I handed him a $20 bill. He shook his head and told me I’d have to go get change.
I looked around in bewilderment and frustration because there is no other place to get change except back in the madhouse. Parking Attendant then said, “You know what, just go on, Little Mama. It’s okay.”
Near tears, I apparently thought it would be highly appropriate if I threw my arms around Parking Attendant and thanked him. He laughed, hugged me back and asked me if I was okay. Well, I can’t handle that question. It makes me cry. Ugh, I’m already fighting that urge!
As I hurried to my car, clicking the door locker clickie key chain thing, I called back, “I will be!”
“All right, Little Mama, take care.”
You, too, Parking Attendant, you too.
And I think I’m okay with Little Mama for now.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
I’m Not Afraid to Throw a Chair
There is a Bible verse that goes something like, “Whatever happens, conduct yourself in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ.”
With years of unresolved anger issues and a self-defeating quest to find unhealthy relationships, I have often failed at this.
I have, however, on occasion, conducted myself in a manner worthy of being a guest on the Jerry Springer show.
Photo credit: http://www.fiveminuteeconomist.files.wordpress.com
With years of unresolved anger issues and a self-defeating quest to find unhealthy relationships, I have often failed at this.
I have, however, on occasion, conducted myself in a manner worthy of being a guest on the Jerry Springer show.
Photo credit: http://www.fiveminuteeconomist.files.wordpress.com
Saturday, January 21, 2012
I Like Big Butts and I Cannot Lie
The other day, I decided I needed to get out and enjoy the sun, so I bundled up the baby and set off with her in the stroller. It was sunny enough to lift my mood yet cold enough to keep me moving at a brisk pace.
Not long after we reached the bike path/jogging trail near my home, a female biker whizzed by us in one of those skin tight black outfits that looks like a diving suit. I was briefly saddened at the sight of her fit body and rock hard backside. My mind wandered back to a time when I rode my bike almost daily and my own butt had not yet started the descent down the back of my legs. That was back in California, where the weather is, well, nicer, and the land, much flatter (hmmm, like my butt).
In the three years I have lived in Oklahoma, I have been on my bike maybe a dozen times. That hardly matters now, since my bike was stolen about 6 months ago. I guess it’s a case of “use it or lose it.” (Could this also be another reference to my butt?!)
Ugh! I miss the health and fitness world. I put it off (as a hobby, a lifestyle and an occupation) to focus on my now defunct marriage.
Here comes the anger again. I used to… I could have… I should have…
Enough! I thought as I picked up my pace to a slight jog. Enough of this pity party. Enough of this “I can’t work out anymore- and I have low self- esteem because I stayed in a horrible relationship- boo hoo – stuff. It is what it is. Now what can I do to change whatever it is I actually have some control over?”
Ha! That’s more like it. Positive thinking! I am going to get my butt (flat, sliding and otherwise) back into shape.
Yes. I’m going to make some changes.
I’m going to climb my way up that mountain. Mountain climbing should be good for my butt.
Not long after we reached the bike path/jogging trail near my home, a female biker whizzed by us in one of those skin tight black outfits that looks like a diving suit. I was briefly saddened at the sight of her fit body and rock hard backside. My mind wandered back to a time when I rode my bike almost daily and my own butt had not yet started the descent down the back of my legs. That was back in California, where the weather is, well, nicer, and the land, much flatter (hmmm, like my butt).
In the three years I have lived in Oklahoma, I have been on my bike maybe a dozen times. That hardly matters now, since my bike was stolen about 6 months ago. I guess it’s a case of “use it or lose it.” (Could this also be another reference to my butt?!)
Ugh! I miss the health and fitness world. I put it off (as a hobby, a lifestyle and an occupation) to focus on my now defunct marriage.
Here comes the anger again. I used to… I could have… I should have…
Enough! I thought as I picked up my pace to a slight jog. Enough of this pity party. Enough of this “I can’t work out anymore- and I have low self- esteem because I stayed in a horrible relationship- boo hoo – stuff. It is what it is. Now what can I do to change whatever it is I actually have some control over?”
Ha! That’s more like it. Positive thinking! I am going to get my butt (flat, sliding and otherwise) back into shape.
Yes. I’m going to make some changes.
I’m going to climb my way up that mountain. Mountain climbing should be good for my butt.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Hello, Friend!
It's amazing how many new friends just start coming out of the woodwork when you stop isolating yourself.
I took my wall down. Or, ok, it just collapsed under pressure.
Behind the wall was me.
I was broken.
And people responded.
Thank you, people. New friends. Old friends that are reconnecting. My faith in humanity is being restored. And so am I.
I took my wall down. Or, ok, it just collapsed under pressure.
Behind the wall was me.
I was broken.
And people responded.
Thank you, people. New friends. Old friends that are reconnecting. My faith in humanity is being restored. And so am I.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Pollyanna Can Kiss My Flat Mom Butt
If I read another blog about someone’s perfect kids, home or husband I’m going to puke. How many “my life is so great” blogs are there, anyway?
(Did I mention that codependency often comes with a big side of anger? Ugh, focus, Melinda. Deep breaths… )
(Did I mention that codependency often comes with a big side of anger? Ugh, focus, Melinda. Deep breaths… )
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
The Red Suzuki
So, I’m backing out of a parking space at the middle school (junior high for you non-Midwesterners). As far as I know, my reverse lights work. And, this dude in a red Suzuki pulls up right behind me, blocking me in, and parks to let his ‘I’m in no hurry to slowly get my lunch and my backpack and my jacket and talk and dawdle and finally leave’ teenager out of the car.
People, especially men, should be very careful of how they behave. You never know when you are going to run into a divorced single mom who is very much in the “anger” stage of healing.
I thought of the scene from Fried Green Tomatoes where Kathy Bates crashes into another car and says, “Face it girls, I’m older and I have more insurance.” I had to talk myself out of backing into him. (Admittedly, it wasn’t difficult because I am pretty sure I don’t have more insurance than him unless he has something less than minimum liability.)
But that would have been really cool if I did
People, especially men, should be very careful of how they behave. You never know when you are going to run into a divorced single mom who is very much in the “anger” stage of healing.
I thought of the scene from Fried Green Tomatoes where Kathy Bates crashes into another car and says, “Face it girls, I’m older and I have more insurance.” I had to talk myself out of backing into him. (Admittedly, it wasn’t difficult because I am pretty sure I don’t have more insurance than him unless he has something less than minimum liability.)
But that would have been really cool if I did
Monday, January 16, 2012
Out of These Ashes
My healing song as of late is Rise by Shawn McDonald.
I will rise out of these ashes.
Rise.
From the trouble I’ve found
And this rubble on the ground
I will rise.
I will rise out of these ashes.
Rise.
From the trouble I’ve found
And this rubble on the ground
I will rise.
You Don’t Own Me
Denial…you are on notice. I’m taking back what’s rightfully mine:
My feelings
My energy
My friends
My family
My personality
My sanity
My life
At first, you seemed to provide an answer- I’ll pretend the problem isn’t there and maybe that will make it true. But denial, you come with more side effects than you are worth.
You see, I didn’t want to admit that I find people who need to be rescued because I wanted to be rescued. I didn’t want to admit that I felt lost and broken inside. I didn’t want to admit that my life had become unmanageable.
But I admit that now, so your power is broken and has been rendered ineffective in my life.
Yeah, I’m gonna be alright.
My feelings
My energy
My friends
My family
My personality
My sanity
My life
At first, you seemed to provide an answer- I’ll pretend the problem isn’t there and maybe that will make it true. But denial, you come with more side effects than you are worth.
You see, I didn’t want to admit that I find people who need to be rescued because I wanted to be rescued. I didn’t want to admit that I felt lost and broken inside. I didn’t want to admit that my life had become unmanageable.
But I admit that now, so your power is broken and has been rendered ineffective in my life.
Yeah, I’m gonna be alright.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
I’m a Believer Who Struggles With...
I started going to a church support group so that I can work on my long-standing relationship issues and my jaw-dropping ability to attract drama (and some not-so- good-for-me-people) into my life.
I could have gone to any number of share groups. The Love and Relationship Addiction class fits my bill. The Hurt, Habits and Hang-ups class, likewise. But, for some reason, on that first night I went to the Co-dependency group and I’ve stayed there for weeks now.
Every attempt at sharing on my part has been difficult. I think it’ll be easy. After all, we only get 3-5 minutes to talk and we can even say “Pass” if we’d like. But, I wanted to share because I know it’s part of my healing.
It’s hard. I feel naked. Exposed. Vulnerable.
It’s just that I’m not used to sharing my feelings. In true co-dependent fashion, I have always been an “Everything’s great!” kind of person. You know, a Stepford Wife. If anyone gets too close to finding out the truth- that nothing is great- I shut them out.
The night I shared about my divorce was a big one. It was my third week and I really didn’t feel completely safe yet. I, however, realized that “completely safe” could take years (maybe decades), and I don’t have that kind of time. So I shared anyway.
My husband and I had been separated for months and I had known about him filing for weeks, but somehow saying it out loud to a group of women who I hoped might not reject me made me cry. I couldn’t even look at them when I was talking because it made me get into that high-pitch, blubbering sob-talk that no one can understand. So, I stared at the floor and spilled my guts in a somewhat comprehensible manner.
Then I was done and they thanked me for sharing my story.
How nice: no advice, no hugs, no sad looks of pity, no questions, no fixing. Then, the next person started her turn and I was relieved that I hadn’t said “Pass.”
I can’t remember exactly what the next four people said because I was stuck in some kind of post-traumatic shock coma, sniffling and trying to keep the waterworks from my eyes from soaking my t-shirt. (Um, warning to those of you who are also about to take the vulnerability plunge yourselves: That first dose is surprisingly difficult.)
Ah, but I am so ready to move on. This is right where I need to be.
I could have gone to any number of share groups. The Love and Relationship Addiction class fits my bill. The Hurt, Habits and Hang-ups class, likewise. But, for some reason, on that first night I went to the Co-dependency group and I’ve stayed there for weeks now.
Every attempt at sharing on my part has been difficult. I think it’ll be easy. After all, we only get 3-5 minutes to talk and we can even say “Pass” if we’d like. But, I wanted to share because I know it’s part of my healing.
It’s hard. I feel naked. Exposed. Vulnerable.
It’s just that I’m not used to sharing my feelings. In true co-dependent fashion, I have always been an “Everything’s great!” kind of person. You know, a Stepford Wife. If anyone gets too close to finding out the truth- that nothing is great- I shut them out.
The night I shared about my divorce was a big one. It was my third week and I really didn’t feel completely safe yet. I, however, realized that “completely safe” could take years (maybe decades), and I don’t have that kind of time. So I shared anyway.
My husband and I had been separated for months and I had known about him filing for weeks, but somehow saying it out loud to a group of women who I hoped might not reject me made me cry. I couldn’t even look at them when I was talking because it made me get into that high-pitch, blubbering sob-talk that no one can understand. So, I stared at the floor and spilled my guts in a somewhat comprehensible manner.
Then I was done and they thanked me for sharing my story.
How nice: no advice, no hugs, no sad looks of pity, no questions, no fixing. Then, the next person started her turn and I was relieved that I hadn’t said “Pass.”
I can’t remember exactly what the next four people said because I was stuck in some kind of post-traumatic shock coma, sniffling and trying to keep the waterworks from my eyes from soaking my t-shirt. (Um, warning to those of you who are also about to take the vulnerability plunge yourselves: That first dose is surprisingly difficult.)
Ah, but I am so ready to move on. This is right where I need to be.
I Was Country When...
The worship leader at our new church reminds me of a modern day Barbara Mandrell.
I’m kind of jealous. I don’t think I’m allowed to be jealous in church.
I’m kind of jealous. I don’t think I’m allowed to be jealous in church.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
It’s Worse Than I Thought
I was looking through some old journal entries and notes to my now-ex. What a huge, sad wake-up call.
I feel stupid. Pathetic. Embarrassed. Is my self-esteem that stinking low that I had to hold on to this?
No, it’s not chocolate. It’s definitely poop.
I feel stupid. Pathetic. Embarrassed. Is my self-esteem that stinking low that I had to hold on to this?
No, it’s not chocolate. It’s definitely poop.
What Relationship?
I keep thinking that I am missing my supportive partner: the one who is by me in good times as well as bad.
To be my friend.
To help me laugh at life.
To help me see the blessing in the midst of trial.
But the truth is, I never had that to being with.
Admitting that is hard.
To be my friend.
To help me laugh at life.
To help me see the blessing in the midst of trial.
But the truth is, I never had that to being with.
Admitting that is hard.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Is it Chocolate or Poop?
I have no idea why I’m posting this. I just think it’s a really funny line from a movie and it makes me giggle.
Either that or it’s an unusual analogy of my life…
Either that or it’s an unusual analogy of my life…
Thursday, January 12, 2012
“Wife is restored to her maiden name.”
How should I react to this?
a) It was supposed to be forever. I didn’t know that forever was 9 ½ years long.
b) Dear Daddy Carpetbucks, The “old,” “fat,” “wrinkly,” “worthless,” “trailer park hooker” says thank you.
c) Bye.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Internal Dialog
I may appear to be friendly, encouraging and patient most of the time. But, the truth is, I am not. Well, today I am not, anyway.
It’s not like I’m a total bitter angry Grinch, but I do have my moments where my internal dialog goes like this, “Are you freaking kidding me?! Shut up before I kill myself. Were you raised by wolves?” and so forth. I try to monitor but it’s no use. Some peopled just irritate me.
It’s not like I’m a total bitter angry Grinch, but I do have my moments where my internal dialog goes like this, “Are you freaking kidding me?! Shut up before I kill myself. Were you raised by wolves?” and so forth. I try to monitor but it’s no use. Some peopled just irritate me.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Empty Well
I stumbled upon Lori's poem. It’s beautiful. It made me cry.
The problem is that I was at the public library at the time.
http://www.narcissismfree.com/blog/?p=79
The problem is that I was at the public library at the time.
http://www.narcissismfree.com/blog/?p=79
Monday, January 9, 2012
Sawing the Zs... or Not
Really?! I look tired?
Gee, I don’t know why. I just spend my nights in peaceful uninterrupted rest and spend my days relaxing by the shore, sipping on a drink that was served to me in a pineapple by a tall dark and handsome man named Paco.
If I hear one more "You look tired" I’m going to scream.
Gee, I don’t know why. I just spend my nights in peaceful uninterrupted rest and spend my days relaxing by the shore, sipping on a drink that was served to me in a pineapple by a tall dark and handsome man named Paco.
If I hear one more "You look tired" I’m going to scream.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Crazy Talk
Me: You filed for divorce?
Him: Yeah, I filed for deh-vor-ess, but I want to still date you. And then, if things work out and we get married again, we can do a prenup.
Huh? What? This boy must have sustained a head injury. Nevertheless, here I go with my crazy making crazy talk in my crazy little head…
He is still interested?! I don’t want to lose him or our marriage. Maybe we can date? People get remarried to each other all the time. If we stay in each other’s lives, we have a chance of reconciliation. Wait-- I know what he means by “date.” So he wants the fun of marriage without the responsibility. Why does this surprise me? He’s already made this clear. For years, he has made this clear. But, if I don’t “date” him, he will “date” someone else- soon, I imagine. If I say no to this, it’s over. God, I don’t want it to be over. But why don’t I want it to be over? We were married, but we didn’t have a marriage. It was only a lopsided adventure in ‘how can I avoid conflict and how can he avoid being anything this side of decent’. And he wants a prenup next time?! A freaking prenup?! When have I ever wanted his money? Is he delusional? Paranoid? On drugs?
And that’s how it went. I was working myself into a Jerry Springer brawl. (You know, where I rip off my shirt and throw a chair at someone.) I had to get a grip.
I took a breath and said: No. That’s not how it works. We were supposed to be working on our marriage, (“dating”) during the separation. But you filed for divorce. Aren’t you the “black or white” thinker? You are either in or you’re out, right? I don’t want to date you. I married you. You have chosen to walk away from that. I have to protect my heart above all else. So, no I don’t want to date you. I actually don’t even want to see you again.
Yes, it’s true: I managed to finally stand up for myself and spit some words of self- respect out of my mouth. Let this day go down in history.
Oh, you want to know what happened after I hung up the phone? Well, I sat there and did this weird combination cry-laugh thing for a minute. Then I cleaned the house.
“No” can be a very empowering word.
Him: Yeah, I filed for deh-vor-ess, but I want to still date you. And then, if things work out and we get married again, we can do a prenup.
Huh? What? This boy must have sustained a head injury. Nevertheless, here I go with my crazy making crazy talk in my crazy little head…
He is still interested?! I don’t want to lose him or our marriage. Maybe we can date? People get remarried to each other all the time. If we stay in each other’s lives, we have a chance of reconciliation. Wait-- I know what he means by “date.” So he wants the fun of marriage without the responsibility. Why does this surprise me? He’s already made this clear. For years, he has made this clear. But, if I don’t “date” him, he will “date” someone else- soon, I imagine. If I say no to this, it’s over. God, I don’t want it to be over. But why don’t I want it to be over? We were married, but we didn’t have a marriage. It was only a lopsided adventure in ‘how can I avoid conflict and how can he avoid being anything this side of decent’. And he wants a prenup next time?! A freaking prenup?! When have I ever wanted his money? Is he delusional? Paranoid? On drugs?
And that’s how it went. I was working myself into a Jerry Springer brawl. (You know, where I rip off my shirt and throw a chair at someone.) I had to get a grip.
I took a breath and said: No. That’s not how it works. We were supposed to be working on our marriage, (“dating”) during the separation. But you filed for divorce. Aren’t you the “black or white” thinker? You are either in or you’re out, right? I don’t want to date you. I married you. You have chosen to walk away from that. I have to protect my heart above all else. So, no I don’t want to date you. I actually don’t even want to see you again.
Yes, it’s true: I managed to finally stand up for myself and spit some words of self- respect out of my mouth. Let this day go down in history.
Oh, you want to know what happened after I hung up the phone? Well, I sat there and did this weird combination cry-laugh thing for a minute. Then I cleaned the house.
“No” can be a very empowering word.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Holy Cow It’s Howie Mandel
When I was married, we had been going to a church for two and a half years - and I don’t think a single person noticed when we left. That’s not church.
So, after my separation, I decided to find a new one. The first time my daughter and I visited another one in town, we find our way to some seats at the end of the isle. Before long, I notice a guy sitting behind us- it was peripheral vision, I suppose, because I hadn’t turned around and actually looked at him. Either peripheral vision or Single Dude Radar. I think my new-found singleness makes my hyper-sensitive to being alone and hyper-sensitive to other single people. Maybe it’s based in some insecurity or need to find others like me. It’s a phase I’m hoping I will outgrow soon.
The time comes to say hello to fellow church-goers so I turn around and see this guy face to face. And, holy cow! It’s Howie Mandell!!! Well, not the actual Howie, of course, but a darn good look-a-like. Let me just note here that I happen to think Howie Mandell is an attractive man. I can say that, right? (This is so not what I went to church for, really, I promise!)
Anyway, the guy’s name was, well, we’ll call him Harry. Harry shakes my hand and the hand of my daughter, who immediately wants to play match-maker. She got the case of the giggles and spent the rest of the service whispering to me, trying to convince me to get his number. (“Hey, mom, look, he’s taking notes! Mom, he’s a guy- at church- by himself!” “Get his number. This is your chance!”)
She even wrote on the prayer request card that “My mom should marry Harry.” (No, I didn’t let her actually turn this thing in and no, I didn’t ask for his number. I mostly just sat there and said “Shhhhhhhhhhhhh” to her and “Oh, Lord I’m sorry!” to Jesus.)
I guess we are both trying to deal with my newfound singleness.
Several weeks later, we still attend and call this church our new home. But I think we scared Harry off because I haven’t seen him since. (Sorry, Harry.)
So, after my separation, I decided to find a new one. The first time my daughter and I visited another one in town, we find our way to some seats at the end of the isle. Before long, I notice a guy sitting behind us- it was peripheral vision, I suppose, because I hadn’t turned around and actually looked at him. Either peripheral vision or Single Dude Radar. I think my new-found singleness makes my hyper-sensitive to being alone and hyper-sensitive to other single people. Maybe it’s based in some insecurity or need to find others like me. It’s a phase I’m hoping I will outgrow soon.
The time comes to say hello to fellow church-goers so I turn around and see this guy face to face. And, holy cow! It’s Howie Mandell!!! Well, not the actual Howie, of course, but a darn good look-a-like. Let me just note here that I happen to think Howie Mandell is an attractive man. I can say that, right? (This is so not what I went to church for, really, I promise!)
Anyway, the guy’s name was, well, we’ll call him Harry. Harry shakes my hand and the hand of my daughter, who immediately wants to play match-maker. She got the case of the giggles and spent the rest of the service whispering to me, trying to convince me to get his number. (“Hey, mom, look, he’s taking notes! Mom, he’s a guy- at church- by himself!” “Get his number. This is your chance!”)
She even wrote on the prayer request card that “My mom should marry Harry.” (No, I didn’t let her actually turn this thing in and no, I didn’t ask for his number. I mostly just sat there and said “Shhhhhhhhhhhhh” to her and “Oh, Lord I’m sorry!” to Jesus.)
I guess we are both trying to deal with my newfound singleness.
Several weeks later, we still attend and call this church our new home. But I think we scared Harry off because I haven’t seen him since. (Sorry, Harry.)
Friday, January 6, 2012
Thursday, January 5, 2012
And The Pounds Keep Dropping
So I’m down 4 more pounds. 11 total. This is bad news because I know most of that is muscle weight. The sad fact is, I haven’t been working out and I haven’t been eating right. For months.
I can vaguely remember the feeling of strong muscles, a fit physique, the mental and emotional clarity that comes from a consistent pattern of limit-pushing workouts.
I always used to say that exercise was my therapy. Dang. I need some therapy now.
I’ve got to make a plan… I see some gym shorts in my future.
I can vaguely remember the feeling of strong muscles, a fit physique, the mental and emotional clarity that comes from a consistent pattern of limit-pushing workouts.
I always used to say that exercise was my therapy. Dang. I need some therapy now.
I’ve got to make a plan… I see some gym shorts in my future.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Games People Play
Don’t tell me I am beautiful. And, no, I do not like seeing you. It’s just a painful reminder of broken promises. Misplaced priorities. Lies...
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Step Away From the Blinders
I’m trying to come out of denial, but I’m afraid that the anger will overwhelm me.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Burgers and Vision Quest
Braum’s used to make the most rockin’ burger town, but lately, not so much. (Yes, I went through the drive-through again.) But, I couldn’t even eat the little hockey puck they served me tonight. Wendy’s is way better.
Wait a minute. How did I go from a fitness professional to evaluator of fast food burgers? I had broken the fast food (and a few other) bad habits years ago, and formed a healthy new life. Where’d it go?
A little change in marital status, residential status, financial status, dependent status (and some could argue, mental status), and I’m back to square one?!
I don’t mean to sound like that hyper fitness chick from the 90s but the insanity needs to stop! I know life can throw some curve balls, but I have got to get a hold of myself. All of this unhealthy eating, mooning painters and falling while sober needs to end immediately. If not sooner.
God, didn’t you say, “Without vision the people perish”? I’d like vision, please! (And this is no time to help me work on my patience!!)
Wait a minute. How did I go from a fitness professional to evaluator of fast food burgers? I had broken the fast food (and a few other) bad habits years ago, and formed a healthy new life. Where’d it go?
A little change in marital status, residential status, financial status, dependent status (and some could argue, mental status), and I’m back to square one?!
I don’t mean to sound like that hyper fitness chick from the 90s but the insanity needs to stop! I know life can throw some curve balls, but I have got to get a hold of myself. All of this unhealthy eating, mooning painters and falling while sober needs to end immediately. If not sooner.
God, didn’t you say, “Without vision the people perish”? I’d like vision, please! (And this is no time to help me work on my patience!!)
No Rosie the Riveter
I don’t mean to set the whole women’s empowerment thing back 100 years, but I really enjoy (or should I use the past tense- enjoyed) being a wife and mother (or the concept thereof, anyway). So, while it seems like I should be reveling in my newfound freedom from all of the drama, and just living the single glamorous life, I am not. I am doing this family thing sans a dad/husband. And that sucks.
Everyone who has heard about my divorce says something along the lines of “Good. He’s a jerk.”
I can’t say that I am in any kind of disagreement at this particular moment. But, it’s still the death of a marriage. Another failure. The ending of hope.
And, the start of the Great Unknown.
Everyone who has heard about my divorce says something along the lines of “Good. He’s a jerk.”
I can’t say that I am in any kind of disagreement at this particular moment. But, it’s still the death of a marriage. Another failure. The ending of hope.
And, the start of the Great Unknown.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
The Truth Is
The truth is, some people don’t want to change. They don’t want to grow, learn, achieve, mature… And helping them is like trying to push a drunken donkey up a hill. They won’t budge.
I’m not one of those people. I have an innate desire for lifelong growth. I think that no matter how great we are now, there is always room for improvement. Yes, I can look back and enjoy how far I’ve come, but what will I be missing if I don’t press ahead for more?
I am philosophically opposed to New Year’s Resolutions. Nevertheless, I’d like to look forward to a new and better year in 2012.
As for the drunken donkeys of this world, I’m not helping them anymore. I figure that if I’m working harder on you than you are, there is a problem. And it starts with me. Can you say, “Co-dependent no more”? I can. And I’m looking forward to what that will actually look like in my day-to-day life in the weeks, months and years ahead.
I’m not one of those people. I have an innate desire for lifelong growth. I think that no matter how great we are now, there is always room for improvement. Yes, I can look back and enjoy how far I’ve come, but what will I be missing if I don’t press ahead for more?
I am philosophically opposed to New Year’s Resolutions. Nevertheless, I’d like to look forward to a new and better year in 2012.
As for the drunken donkeys of this world, I’m not helping them anymore. I figure that if I’m working harder on you than you are, there is a problem. And it starts with me. Can you say, “Co-dependent no more”? I can. And I’m looking forward to what that will actually look like in my day-to-day life in the weeks, months and years ahead.
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