I think I’ve found a place to go when life gets to be too much. Where everything is beautiful and to my satisfaction and if it is not, I can change things around and make them just so. I have found inspiration, beautiful men, intelligent dialogue, gardens in bloom, high ceilings, wood floors, concrete counter tops, containers for everything (labeled already), soft textiles, exquisite art, perfect bodies, scrumptious food, outdoor dining, candles lit, step stones and tailored hedges, baby animals and all things cute … every wish, every desire, zero calories in or out. Continue reading
I can’t shake this sense of grief and preoccupation with the unfathomable loss of the families in Newtown Connecticut.
I will deal with my divorce and my daily life. But, I can’t imagine ever believing that my problems are significant again. Continue reading
My kids slept out at their grandparent’s last night. I slept in this morning, something I almost never do. Shortly after I awoke, I went on Facebook on my iphone by rote. I found the usual blather and some references to another shooting. I checked my emails. I sauntered out of bed, relishing in the quiet and the complete lack of obligatory tasks. No kids around, such ease, such a treat. Continue reading
I’ve been wondering lately how the hell I’m ever going to attract a decent guy into my life. I mean, I’ve dated a bit, but it’s been quite a parade of misfits I’ve wasted my precious nights off with.
In a comment made on my post Children Need Their Fathers…Duh!, D.A. Wolf of Daily Plate Of Crazy mentioned our “happiness’ culture.” This got me thinking about the quagmire that anyone in the midst of trauma finds ourselves in. We all know the platitudes. We know that everything works out in the end and that a good attitude is key, but we also can’t repress and deny the genuine pain and dis-ease we experience when faced with huge life changes that include upheaval and loss.
Probably the primary triggers of my acute phases of depression have been my realizing that I have failed to stay positive and graceful, I have failed to provide a utopian environment for my children, I have failed to “manifest” all that I desire for my children. This sense of failure is an abusive vacuum that in an instant sucks all hope and innovation out of me. I have learned to recognize when it’s happening and immediately shift my focus. Still most days I ward off feelings of inadequacy not just for failing to create the stable life for my children that I had envisioned but also for failing to buck up cheerfully and be a TEDxTalk sensation by now. Continue reading
I’ll admit, when my kids’ dad said he was leaving me and hitting the road, my first impulse was to hoard my children, shield them from their dad’s apparent mid-life crisis, and start a new life without him. I shoved that feeling down and never acted out or impeded his ability to see them. It just so happens he literally left the country for new career opportunities and adopted a nomadic lifestyle. It wasn’t long after his departure that I was on the phone begging him to please come home and help manage the emotional fall out that our separation was having on our kids. Continue reading
I’m getting divorced. I didn’t want to get divorced but seeing as my husband has split (it’s been a few years now), it is probably time for me to face the music. I don’t want to be single but there’s no dignity or integrity in staying married to someone who has created a whole new life for himself.
Roughly 2/3 of divorces are filed by women. It’s easy to read into this that women are the initiators of divorce but that may be a convenient stretch. How many of those filings are attributable to the simple lack of physical filing on the part of the husband (as in my case)? I’ve witnessed numerous husbands who border on despondent yet stay married. Is it possible that men just don’t take the initiative to file for divorce even if they are in sex-less, life-less (I don’t generally believe in love-less*) marriages?
At some point maybe I’ll reduce myself to articulating, on this blog, the ridiculous lengths I went to to “save” my marriage. Well, it’s saved! I’m still married but I have no husband in the flesh. He’s gone and we are only a partnership in that we share children together (whom he sees when his schedule allows) and we still share a bank account. For starters, the book Divorce Busting by Michele Weiner-Davis was my main resource and I spent a great deal of time on the forums of Divorcebusting.com . Go ahead, check it, get a good laugh at the expense of desperate left behind spouses seeking communion, support and advice from virtual strangers. Once in a while a couple makes it back together and the gaggle of hopeful romantics (translation- delusional broken-hearteds) dine on crumbs of evidence that maybe, just maybe it will all work out. Continue reading
I don’t mean to make light of mental illness. It is not funny. And, there are people near and dear to me who have been afflicted. Still, with one in four women taking psych meds, a person has to wonder (or at least I do), is there something wrong with all of these women? Or is there something wrong with the paradigm in which we live? I mean, are that many women just inherently flawed?
Consider that this statistic doesn’t even include women who abuse alcohol, street drugs, or obtain prescription meds illegally.
It’s a hard question to ask and harder to answer. Have we developed into a society that is so oppositional to women’s needs that women are forced to get stoned in order to keep going? Or, are we women spoiled? Lacking endurance? What’s the problem? What’s not working?
This is a topic dear to my heart. I had a run in with a psychotropic medication. Within hours of taking Prozac only ONE time, I became legitimately suicidal, crying inconsolably for hours and panicked, with my children still in my care. It was one of the most frightening episodes I’ve ever experienced. I had been suffering from depression in the aftermath of my husband leaving. But, I was not suffering from a chronic chemical imbalance, I was responding authentically to a true life crisis. My preference at the time would have been for the drug to work. Upon reflection, I am grateful it didn’t work. I had to go through the grueling, sometimes debilitating stages of grief and recovery. I had to leave no emotional stone unturned. Frankly, I still wake up on many days thinking – “Really? This is my life? Really?” – as I stare longingly at my pillow, wishing to slink back under the covers and dream the perfect dream to assuage my anxiety and insecurity. But, I get up and I care for my kids and I do what I can, one little bit at a time.
All of that said, I did what works for me. I incorporated exercise and lots of reading, writing, soul searching, healthy foods, water, time with friends, therapy (which was hit and miss and dependent on available funds). I don’t doubt that meds help people. In fact I know people who have been helped by them. But, I know more women who are lingering in an odd sedated dissatisfaction, mellowed enough to function but too mellowed to let the inertia of discomfort push them toward evolution and perhaps the dreaded, “change.”
This is a tough issue. Are we all fucked up? Or are we just women? Hormonal, moody, needy, demanding, stoic, sensitive … the full spectrum of human?
Some among us are indeed bipolar, clinically depressed and/or chemically imbalanced. But as those numbers increase, should we ask why? When more women are medicated than not, does crazy become normal?
I don’t have the answers. I’m asking the questions right now and intend to revisit this topic.
I am a mother. I care deeply about being present for my children. Though I feel scattered and faltering much of the time. I miss nature. I am lazy at heart unless intrinsically and overwhelmingly passionate about what I am doing. I miss nature. I feel beautiful sometimes but not beautiful enough. I love to write, but mostly so I can be “heard,” understood. I love men, want a man in my life, want to soften and fall into one, but am terrified of surrendering. I want a garden. I want a kitchen with concrete countertops and stainless appliances. I want an audi. I want to get parenting right. I want to be divorced but I don’t want to be a divorcée. I like to edit, motion pictures, text, words, life … I like to research, analyze, dissect (concepts, not creatures). I liked being vegan, felt cleaner and clearer but I crave meat. I’m an easy crier, a sap, a dreamer, a cynical romantic. I hate being looked at but want to be recognized. I’m starting to feel jealous of young people which is just awful. I love acting but feel ugly when I do it. I still feel like a dork. Stupid. Maybe not stupid, but lame and secretly genius but socially inept. I think that none of this really matters but every detail means something. I want more friends but so many people irk me. I don’t believe in true altruism but do believe I should be more generous and charitable. I want to be special but I really believe everyone is special which means no one is really that special. I thrive on approval and accolades but the establishment can fuck itself.
I don’t want to care about what people will say about me when I’m dead. I’ll be dead!
I care about children, nature and the environment, movies, literature (wish I’d read more and would read more), education, women’s rights, men’s rights, human rights, animal rights. I care about clean air, healthy food and water, the truth about medicine and how we sicken ourselves.
I want to travel. I want enough money to do what I want when I want. I want to do big or do nothing.