What Loss Can Do

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Loss can crack you open

Until you almost break

Or until you break

And either stay broken

Or put the pieces back together

Ignore the cracks?

Embrace the cracks?

Seal the cracks with love and gratitude?

The cracks remain

Loss can make you feel

Too much

Too often

Too fully

Or just enough?

Loss can remind you

That you cared that much

That you could again

That some things do matter

And some things don’t

Loss can make you choose

To live with it

To accept the deal

To risk its barbs

Again

And

Again

Loss can make you

Realize

It’s worth it.

 

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On parenting and the speed of time…

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I was just speaking with someone who has a six year old.

It brought back memories of those days—long and full of Legos and questions and battles over getting in the bath followed by battles over getting out of the bath. Nights were filled with cuddles and kisses and remembrances of the day, as if the day had been a fairytale set in a long ago time with vibrant characters and morals easily extracted. Having witnessed that innocence so intimately brings me to tears, even now, especially now.

Six years old. That was my younger son’s age when my ex and I split, when we attempted to penetrate his naive determination that things are like this or like that, with an alternate reality, that things are really about to be a whole other way. An inconceivable way.

It’s impossible for me to know if time would have sped up otherwise, but our world spun off its axis and sparked a sort of chaos and warped speed that never slowed. It’s felt like skipping and tripping and sprinting and juggling ever since. Even in my quietest moments I don’t feel I have caught up to the present. It’s better. I’m closer to being in my skin again, like the younger me but with more humility and willingness to cede control.

My kids now tower over me (both more than 6 feet tall) with deep voices and man gestures. I find myself daily saying out loud, “who are you and where did you come from?”

And I think maybe that’s just how parenting goes, no matter how present you are, no matter how conscious of the adage that “time flies so fast,” there is no way to avoid the inevitable moment where you wonder where the time went and how these adult looking people are lumbering through your house, with insatiable appetites and distinct, passionately espoused interests and world views.

I’ll never know how things would have evolved if my marriage hadn’t ended. Life knocks us all on our asses in multiple ways. Perhaps there’s just a limit for how long one can remain in what feels like an intact, manageable existence, to the extent that time doesn’t seem to be running ahead of us.

You tell me? Do you relate? Is this part and parcel to raising kids in general? Specific to divorcees? I can only assume any trauma or upheaval can have such an effect. I’m interested to know how other parents have experienced the passage of time…

Single on Valentine’s Day? Don’t Sweat it…

loveI’m single and I don’t really give a fuck about Valentine’s Day. I mean, I’m digging my life and the people who are in it. Romance is fun too. I’ve had it before and I’ll have it again.

If you’re single or in a bummer of a relationship, don’t fret. Love the shit  out of everyone around you. It’s fun. Love your friends, your relatives, your neighbors, your kids, and for cryin out loud, please, love yourself.

We know we’ve got to love ourselves in order to be loved; it’s a cliché at this point. But like many clichés it’s based on some truth.

You should always treat yourself well, but Valentine’s Day is a perfect occasion to really appreciate yourself and the unique value you bring to this world and the people around you. And if you doubt you are valuable, just go ahead and be nice to some people, even strangers, and observe the effects of that. You can make people smile, feel good and cared about and I promise, in turn, you will smile and feel good yourself.

I love to analyze and dissect everything but this is really simple—Valentine’s Day does not have to be about roses and romance, it doesn’t really have to be about anything at all. But if you’re looking for love and a hit of oxytocin, you don’t have to procure a romantic partner, you can hug anyone for 20 seconds and be good to go. How cool is that?

So, this Valentine’s Day (and how about every day?) be kind, be loving and give lots of hugs! XO

Time to Buck the Fuck Up!

Ugh, I feel like such a wimp sometimes. The demise of my marriage completely knocked me on my ass — to a degree that is very hard to rationalize. Though I know many can relate to my experience and of course I understand my own psyche, I’ve often said to myself, “come on, big fucking deal, your marriage ended, happens all the time, get over it already.”

Well, I’m finally over it. I mean over the break up, over the loss of the vision I had for myself and my kids, over the disappointment.

But one of the most annoying things about traumatic events is that typically when it rains it pours. It’s like when a boxer is on the ropes — that moment of weakness leaves him open for more hits and the more times he gets hit the harder it will be for him to get back up. But he gets back up, he has to. And you just don’t know until the damn thing ends if that worn out bruised and bloody disoriented mess of a person is going to pull it all together and win the match.

I’m not bruised and bloody, but I was a disoriented mess of a person for a long stretch after my husband left. And I’d get back up and get hit back down. Whether it was drama with the ex, dating disappointments, work prospects falling through, a friend’s betrayal, or some other let down, every hit seemed to weaken me further. Each blow sent me spiraling back into that pit of insecurity, with panic attacks, nightmares and pervasive self-doubt. The thing is though, each time the recovery has been shorter and more informative.

This shit comes with the territory of being human. I’m not in a war-torn country, I am not starving — I am not suffering the fate of many, if not most, people on this planet. I am simply alive and facing the music.

So, today it occurred to me that I need to buck the fuck up. It doesn’t mean I won’t be sad or feel insecure or get hurt again, it just means I need to keep my big girl panties on and keep going.

At the bare minimum, bucking the fuck up can mean just staying alive. Yes, that counts. If you’re depressed, just staying alive is brave and bold. And hopefully from there it is getting out of bed, engaging in life, taking some risks. And if you get hit one, or two, or three times, take a breather, lick your wounds, and then get back in there. None of us know what is coming next and when some gust of inspiration, fortitude, or kismet might propel us forward.

It would be so lovely if we could give ourselves credit for getting up off the ropes and back in the ring. When in the midst of despair, it takes great courage to respond with a renewed commitment to risk loving, caring, and engaging in life. It takes awareness to appreciate that it may seem to get worse before it gets better, that our resolves may be challenged over and over again. This is how the best stories unfold, how we get to know our own strengths and weaknesses and how we discover who we really are and how to fulfill our own potentials.

There are so many diverse and inspiring quotes about courage. When I read them I feel humbled and sort of ridiculous for thinking there is anything particularly unique about my journey. The greatest thinkers have made it explicitly clear that they had to buck the fuck up and so must we.

Divorce, Shame and What Century Are We In?

I have these bouts of feeling back in my skin. Thinking I’ve found my new normal and having regained my confidence, I put myself out there in one way or another — professionally, socially, romantically. Before long, I find myself cowering in my cave, wanting to shelter myself from the inevitable slings and arrows of real life.

I’m in the cave stage at the moment. Continue reading

Death, Divorce and “The War of Art” …

It’s been over five years now since my husband and I split up and about three and a half since I gave up any hope for reconciliation.

Looking back, what fascinates me most is how I could have possibly sunk so low, how my identity and sanity could have been so rattled by the unilateral move of another human being. It’s not that I don’t understand intellectually—my family is everything to me. But, how could I have forgotten the inevitability of loss and suffering in some form? How could I have deemed myself immune from having my reality shattered in one way or another? Continue reading

I, Cliché…

“Many people die at 25 and aren’t buried until they’re 75.” -Benjamin Franklin

I saw this quote last night and it hit a nerve. Continue reading

Mediation Interruptus

Since my ex and I met with the new mediator, a lot has happened. Well, a lot having to do with everything but getting divorced.

It seems there is not enough money nor time for us to do this.

With the arrival of some major unexpected expenses and the always relentless hustle and bustle of work and life, our foray into mediation has been suspended for now. So, I remain living in limbo. Not married, not divorced.

In the meantime, I’m still sifting through our things, organizing and preparing.

The ex and I are getting along. The kids are relatively okay and have acclimated to this odd new structure (or lack thereof). And I grapple with how the hell I will manage to get the divorce I never wanted.

All you need is love … Bum bum ba da dum

MediaFile_269By now, I’m not supposed to be a romantic. My heart has been broken to the point of what I thought unfixable.

But, I still believe in love.

Continue reading

The Ten Rules of Divorce Mediation

Depositphotos_55786679_sSo, after the first grueling hour of meeting with a mediator, I learned quite a lot. Now, the question is, will the ex and I follow these rules? Continue reading