Men are Oblivious and Women are Impossible…

Yes, that’s a gross but equal opportunity generalization.

I realize that there are exceptions and nuances in every relationship, but, for the purpose of this conversation, I’d appreciate your acceptance as I generalize a bit.

When I was desperately trying to save my marriage, I went to the best resource on earth, Google, and typed in “Save my marriage.” Continue reading

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Um, Excusez-moi, I Didn’t Want to be Single.

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

Mother’s Little Helpers…

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.

My Pseudo-Bio

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.