circling back

I’ve been single for the past seven months after a long-term relationship ended.

For much of the time we were together, we talked about marriage. And, in the end, we never made those next steps — and it’s better this way. I’ve made peace with it.

And then I focused on work and family.

A few months later as I was still focused on my own growth, I felt a little nudge like a small voice asking a question as it poked at the back of my head, on the right side, just at the base of my skull. This poking was persistent and specific; the question was “love?”

In no way was I ready to dive back into a relationship. My business needed my attention. And I have only a few more months of having a child at home… once again, more possibilities open on the horizon. I needed to get back into the energy of what I wanted to create — and, as I did, unresolved hurts from the past kept rising to the surface. I took on a mission of healing and clearing those persistent beliefs, stories and energies.

A strange thing began happening as I started doing this work: nearly every man I’ve dated in the past decade circled back in one way or another. Guys I haven’t heard from in years came out of the woodwork to say “hey” in my dms: one became a client, one invited me to play Words with Friends, one asked to catch up over dinner, one hit me up to learn more about the work I’m doing now — and even that most recent guy reached back out to express his disappointment that I didn’t try to repair our relationship (he even gave me an apology script) after it had ended (and then notified me two days later he was engaged).

It became a running joke among a group of girlfriends. “Who did you hear from this week?” became a regular question during phone calls or messages, with me occasionally sharing screen shots or photos.

As flattering as it may have been to suddenly and strangely attract all these fellows from the past, there’s only one who might have stood a chance. And, of course, he’s the one I haven’t heard from in five and a half years.

“What if you reached out to him?” my friends have asked.

Truthfully, I have. More than once. Following through on something I said I’d do. Checking in. Sharing a photo memory that made me smile. And ultimately to let him know that I’d forgiven him and was grateful to have experienced what we shared together, to have those feelings as a compass. And I’ve never gotten any sort of response to those handful of notes over as many years. Which is its own sort of response.

I know all this and it still hurts. And I’m still tempted to share the Facebook memory that popped up from six years ago from our time at the beach. And I still hope for at least one more conversation, an acknowledgement, some kind of closure that I haven’t seemed to be able to allow myself.

I’m learning to move forward again, to release the energy and heal the hurt that seems to come in unending layers, and to embody the energies of what I want for myself: love, tenderness, devotion, adventure, companionship, etc.

And still, I can’t help wishing he would circle back.

really, I’m fine

I keep meaning to write — really, I do… And then I go into a funk because it’s rained for like six days straight and I might lose my ever-loving mind if we don’t get some sunshine and a high pressure system soon.

So here’s what’s going on (as might relate to this blog): not much.

Meaning: my life is busy and full, as usual. I enjoy time with my girlfriends and family, spend a bit of time at sporting or other school events with my children and occasionally do some work around the house. Or pay someone to.

This last weekend, I clicked through a link in my Facebook feed and found myself answering some questions and ultimately realized I was in the process of completing a profile on a dating site. Momentary freakout… because as excited as I can get for the vision of my partnered / mated life, as good as that feels to imagine / remember how amazing love can be, I still can’t seem to get myself excited about the prospect of online dating. It just feels like so much work! Still I hit “submit.” And I was fine. The world didn’t come crashing to a halt… nor did the heavens open and angels sing.

The next day, I happened to be in a place where there was a psychic. Okay, I drove to a place because I heard good things about a certain psychic. So I sat down for a few minutes and found myself becoming quite emotional as I asked about this “other half” I’m eager to meet and share my life with. The psychic looked at me with my teary eyes and said, “You need to focus on your own happiness right now.” And this was my exact in-that-moment thought:

It’s not that I’m unhappy; I’m just really sad.

Because, unlike what we’re taught when we’re growing up, happy and sad are not polar opposites; they are not mutually exclusive. I’m living proof that it is entirely possible to be happy and content with life, and to be sad that there’s one part that feels … well, frankly… cursed.

The psychic said of my experience with Lee: “That experience had a purpose — it was to give you a glimpse of how great love can be.”

To which my response is: “F&$# that! I didn’t need a trial run or a dress rehearsal; I was ready for the real thing…and for it to last.” He also assured me that it was very real — for Lee, as well. And that he got scared. Which was like, DUH.

(All of which should probably make me question whether said psychic is really psychic, because it was approximately as informative and “true” as a daily horoscope. But some days I take comfort where I can find it.)

At any rate, the next day I checked my new dating app, read a few messages, looked at the potential matches within my parameters (scant) and, then, I unceremoniously deleted my profile. Because even though I’m pretty happy most of the time, I wouldn’t say I’m feeling vibrant, in love with life or excited at the prospect of meeting new men.

i felt like me today

The new year — despite all the political crazy that comes with it — has definitely brought a shift in energy for me, and I so needed it! I’ve been slowly getting better… a lot of “two steps forward, one step back” kind of progress. Still some total meltdowns. And today, I felt unexpectedly confident, buoyant, … normal… like the me I was a year ago, before I got caught in grief’s powerful undertow. And I noticed and acknowledged this amazing feeling.

Since the new year, I’ve been reading a much-needed resource on meditation and practicing sometimes twice a day. Getting back into this self-care routine has helped. Then, a recent bout of despair led me to an entirely new insight about a story I tell myself… You see, I’m one of those children who was “an accident.” (My children, by the way, are both blessings who arrived on their own schedule — language is powerful — and I’ve always wanted two children.) So, even though my parents were and are loving and are still very much a part of my life, I must have translated this knowledge to something along the lines of feeling unwanted. That’s a painful and lonely realization — but, having had the realization, I can finally begin to do the work to let go of that baggage.

I’d already been working on releasing loneliness, aloneness and other adjacent sort of feelings that seemed relevant to the shit storm of triggers during Dec. 2015 through Feb. 2016. Probably some shame and abandonment, too, and hella anger. After hitting on the unwanted emotion and doing some meditation and tapping to release it, something shifted and I had an entirely new perspective.

Today’s positive mental health is definitely cause for celebration, but I have more work to do… Here’s something I’ve learned over the past year:

There’s no way around grief. You have to feel it, sit with it, wade through it. Even so, there comes a point where thinking about it triggers an automatic response in the body, which the body becomes addicted to, and then the chemicals in the body generate the thought and it becomes a vicious cycle. Lee’s departure was a big trigger for this pattern in me. Despite the months that have passed, it felt like a fresh wound and an ancient scar at once. My body has become addicted to feeling the heartache — and to break the addiction, I’ll have to use my brain as well as cleanse my body of these chemicals. I’m also going to check into a trauma acupuncturist who was recommended by a friend, because that’s what I’ve felt around my heart — a deep, unhealed trauma. I like the thought of asking for help in this way.

Now, I’m off for my nightly meditation.

And get ready… after being a sad sack for the better part of a year, Momma’s getting her mojo back!

let’s call the whole thing off

Since … when? the election maybe?… I’ve been going through more anger, sadness, disillusionment. I understand what it is — yet another wave of grief — though I don’t quite ever get used to it and I am somewhat surprised that I’m still feeling it so deeply.

My body isn’t helping me. I’ve been fighting off a sinus infection, cold and other maladies for a couple of months, too, and I feel constantly exhausted.

There was one fabulous day when suddenly I felt well and energetic and I re-hung the curtains, bought a nice area rug and re-organized my bedroom, where the closet had been expanded and the room repainted, and I thought: “This is my lovely retreat and I want it all to myself!”

The feeling was short-lived and I succumbed to round two of a head cold. Meanwhile, I was dating a fellow or two casually and so I kept things going, though without much enthusiasm.

On Thanksgiving, I thought about first meeting Lee a year ago that night in a mountain town. The first week in December, my neighbors hosted a party — the party I’d left early last year to go on my first official date with Lee. The second week in December was the anniversary of my ex’s death. A year ago today, I was on a flight to paradise with Lee… and so on. The memories keep flooding back and, as much as I try to keep things in perspective, I am saddened.

The holidays are a lonely time for a single parent, when all the focus is on ensuring the children feel loved and have something special under the tree. There is no one “special” in my life to shop for and plan with, and no one shopping for something special for me.

Instead, I got new brakes.

Last year at this time was sad, too, but I had a trip to the sunshine to look forward to — and, even if I didn’t know it at the time, life was about to get truly, spectacularly beautiful…for a period of approximately two months.

I desperately want to feel that hopeful again. I want to feel loving and loved, sweet and feminine, like the partnership part of my future is not so bleak as the present… because all in all, I have a rich and wonderful life.

So today I sent a text ending things with the fellow who really seemed to hope our few dates would turn into a relationship. He replied, “I really liked you.” And I wish I were capable of feeling something back. I just don’t feel sweetness or desire or… or anything for him or anyone else I’ve met.

Amidst all of this malaise, I am aware that it is but a moment and that I will feel less bleak again soon. I know the best way out of it is to focus on myself and my family. I will hope again. But, in the meantime, I need to remember how to love my life, just as it is, again.

how I fell

It’s laughable, really, how quickly we can fall and for what reasons. I could give you a nearly endless list of the things I loved about my last boyfriend. But when a friend asked me a different question recently — how did you fall in love? — I thought back to those milestones in our courtship that brought me closer to him…things I’m sure he’d laugh at if he only knew:

One of his children is gay. It was one of the things I learned the first night we met, and I knew when he told me, the way he told me, that we shared certain values and perspectives on parenting.
I asked him what the worst job he’d ever had was. “Castrating hogs,” he said, and something inside me melted. Knowing he’d grown up in a rural community performing hard, gory work gave him a boy-next-door quality and made me feel familiar and comfortable around him. Despite his middle aged physical manifestation, I could clearly see him young and tan and shirtless, in work boots and jeans, a blade of grass dangling from his lopsided smile.
Once, very early in our relationship, I mentioned something about the college funds I’m saving for my children. He said, “You mean you don’t need me?” Swoon! “I didn’t say that,” I replied, “We just may want to postpone the nuptials until after the FAFSA forms are sent in.” And we laughed together.
I told him about the research facility at which a relative works and, before I could get into the details, he said, “Did you know they’re aiming a laser at the bottom of a mine looking for neutrinos?” Actually I did, but how many guys are smart nerdy enough to contribute that random fact into a conversation?!
Sledding.

Of course there was so much more, but I guess you can boil it down to my being a sucker for a liberal, compassionate, hard working, breadwinning, nerdy sort of guy who still likes to go sledding.

death gives our lives structure

I’m paraphrasing here, but I heard a sentiment today on a podcast that said something like, “death gives structure to our lives.” I wrote it down on a slip of paper, tore it off the pad and shoved it into my pocket as I left the office earlier.

Here’s why it stuck with me and I was compelled to bring it up: To optimize choice, it’s suggested (based on computer algorithms) that we consider 37 percent of our options and then chose the next best option we come across. You can apply this to searching for a mate, a restaurant for dinner, a house…

But I’m in my mid forties. My life is, ostensibly, half over. And, as I shared with my children the other day, I am driven by fear. Meaning: I am not driven by fear of water, fear of heights, fear of sharks, fear of injury… Nay, I am driven by fear of not experiencing all I want to experience while I am still physically able and alive. But, in truth, it is less fear than lust for life; I have already experienced so much more than many around me: I have water skied, slalomed, knee boarded and tubed behind a boat; I have yet to wakeboard. I have paddle boarded and surfed in the ocean. I have also downhill skied, hiked, biked, learned karate, run, skated, tried and enjoyed many flavors and textures of food and drink… I have traveled, but not everywhere or even to every continent. In short, I am somewhat driven to experience as much as humanly possible.

Why call it fear? Mostly to contrast a “healthier” fear to one of my children’s sometimes limiting fear of heights.

By the same token, I am not afraid of living / spending my life alone. My desire for partnership is stronger than my fear of embarking on another round of online dating. If there is fear in my quest for partnership, it is only the fear of not giving my children what I believe so strongly they deserve: a loving and healthy relationship model.

So these are the thoughts in my head as we embark on vacation number two for the year… I will embrace adventure for myself and for them, I will use my vacation time, and we will all get on an airplane no less than three times a year to explore all the wonderful places to see, meet all the people there are to meet and thrust ourselves into the world with abandon.

And then, when we come back, I will brave yet another round of online dating and see if I might be able to apply this 37 percent algorithm somehow. You’ll be the first to know!

slogging through the grief

Grief weighs on me. When I finally lie down at the end of the day, my body feels leaden as it sinks deep into my mattress.

Sometimes it feels like a battering ram to the chest. I spend entire days struggling to catch my breath, yawning, wondering if my inability to breathe is physical or psychological.

I’d like to maintain that I’ve always had a healthy emotional range, experiencing the rich ups and downs of a life fully embraced. But the intensity of my emotions lately is such that I wonder if I’ve ever felt anything before. Unfortunately, these emotions have been predominantly negative, difficult and hard — a real slog. The rage, sadness and deep hurt have been overwhelming at times. I’ve spent entire days at my desk on the verge of sobbing convulsively, only to go home, get on the lake and wonder why on earth I’d been so emotional earlier.

Meanwhile, I think I’m managing the work reasonably well, but it’s difficult to ask for recognition when your emotional bandwidth and, possibly, self awareness has been reduced to a minimum.

I recognize all of this as grief, all part of the process. And I am feeling my way, wading through it, as I know there are no other options. Do I wish it were easier, shorter, over? Hell yeah! Do I hope processing through it heals me deeply, permanently? Yes.

A good friend is full of aphorisms about grief:

Grief doesn’t give credit for time served.

There is no way around grief; only through it.

Grief is cumulative.

My ex’s death, the end of my relationship with Lee, the more recent passing of my last living grandparent, a tough school year, a doubled workload…add it up. It’s been a lot. Overwhelming, even. Somedays I wonder how it is that I’ve kept going, kept on getting out of bed, running, showering, feeding myself and my children, going to work… I won’t claim to have been doing any of it well. Every so often, I have a good, strong moment… a period during which I clear some clutter or plan ahead instead of just getting through.

I’m a throw-everything-at-it kind of person: I’m going to acupuncture, seeing my chiropractor, spending time with friends, confiding in colleagues, eating healthy, taking supplements, exercising, meditating, getting lots of rest…

It has, for the past week or so, gotten easier. My perspective is shifting. I hope that’s a lasting trend.

And, after all of this, I’m actually looking forward to the grief counseling that starts in a couple of weeks.

mad, now sad

I’ve shared that I spent somewhere in the neighborhood of six to eight weeks feeling sheer, murderous rage… No, I didn’t hurt anybody, and I’ve moved on: Now I’m sad. Not depressed…but genuinely, deeply sad.

I credit all this to my ex who passed (or committed suicide, one sip at a time, depending on how you look at it) six months ago and the relationship that blossomed and disappeared all within two months of that…and then my workload doubled, my child got a concussion and my last remaining grandparent died, yada yada yada. This is life; I get it… but could the shit storm of it end for a few months, please?! All I’m asking is for a brief reprieve of ease, abundance, and good times — or a lotto win — to heal, to get beyond thinking about Lee every. single. day. Biggest mindfuck of my life! And biggest heartbreak.

As grateful as I am for a rich and rewarding life, my feelings are swaying me harder than they have ever before. I am able to get up and exercise, coach and manage others, move forward in life, behave as though everything is normal…and yet I ache. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this much…or allowed myself to. And it sucks! Is every breakup worse than the one before?

The ridiculous thing is, I’ve been — off and on, when I’m feeling most emotionally healthy and balanced — meeting new people. I’m of two minds about this: One is in no way am I emotionally in a place where I should be looking to start a relationship. Two is that no other cure beats getting back on that horse. Ugh. What strangeness it is to feel so broken and, at a macro level, so incredibly ready to find my life mate!

As my therapist would say, “hold the tension.”

Here’s the deal (in case the universe is listening — please tell me you saw the Bill Nye / Amy Schumer video about the universe!): I’ve made my peace with being a single woman — I’ve learned to love single life, to live independently, to enjoy rich relationships with my children and girlfriends…and I. AM. SO. DONE. I want partnership. I’ve wanted partnership. I’ve stopped looking in the wrong places. I’ve stopped getting distracted by the latest bright, shiny object. I’ve found the balance between too many filters and not enough. I’m ready.

And I’m premenstrual. And, you’ll be glad to know, I’m starting grief counseling (along with my children) in two weeks.

licking my wounds

Brad’s sudden disappearance hurt both my heart and my ego. Let’s be honest: nothing sounds more hang dog and pathetic than to have been left by someone who, in all honesty, wasn’t quite in my league anyway. I don’t say so to be a pig…I was really ready to test drive “us” in a relationship. But he clearly was not equal to me emotionally, in communication skills or maturity, as demonstrated by his actions. (Jeez, that sounds self-righteous as shit, don’t it?!) And, as much as I liked the way I felt when I was with him, eventually we were going to run out of interesting conversation — he simply wasn’t all that intellectual. I find few characteristics less impressive than a person who doesn’t read.

So I got back on the horse. Right away. And I’ve had two first dates with two different gentlemen, and I have second dates scheduled with each. Both of these guys get yellow flags: one for being divorced just two months; the other for having had a second, momentary marriage and divorce, then moving in with a girlfriend not too long afterward. I’m concerned he moves too fast and maybe isn’t measured in his thinking / planning. The first guy I connect with better, but I’m not interested in being a rebound, and I’m not sure he’s interested in marrying me, putting my kids through college, etc. Yes, that’s getting ahead of myself…but I’m going to be direct about what I ultimately want.

Oh, wait…this is supposed to be fun!

And I intend to have fun. Forever. With the right co-conspirator.

How else have I been dealing? I’ve been going out with friends, continuing to check out new restaurants, bars and haunts. I have petty moments of wanting to send photos of my outings to Brad, who loved my charming neighborhood, tap rooms and chef-driven restaurants…and I fantasize about including a certain gesture in each image. But that would be childish and desperate, and I won’t give him the satisfaction.

A few of my girlfriends have asked me if I’m absolutely, positively sure he wasn’t in some sort of horrific accident. And I confess: every so often I do imagine him coming out of a coma, calling my name from his hospital bed. But I wouldn’t go back, because I can now see his lack of emotional connection for what it is.

Any anyway, the .001% chance of that having happened, well…

My final few heartbreak recovery tactics are these:

Reminding myself that I am whole and healed, and that I don’t need to be exactly perfect or ideal to deserve a relationship that’s ideal for me — just as I don’t expect another person to be perfect.
Knowing that, deep down, my chances of success in a relationship with Brad were slim, and believing that there is a much better something awaiting just around the corner.
Lots and lots of Beyonce and dancing.

call me tinderella

I’ve been on Tinder for a few weeks and have made several observations and absorbed a number of lessons in this short time.

First, and most importantly, perspective: It’s amazing how quickly the pining and constant thoughts about Mr. Meltsmyheart have faded with the attention and prospect of attention from other men. And I’ve simply decided I’m not going to worry about it. If I enjoy myself with someone, I’ll see him again. So there are a couple of guys that I’ll see again, if they ask, and there are some others that I may meet. Simple.

Second — and this is a significant revelation — men find me attractive! I’ve written about some of what’s being going on in my life for the past several months, and it’s been stressful, and one of the hardest things that I didn’t even realize until recently was feeling completely, totally invisible. None of my friends set me up on dates, no one seemed to flirt with me, I’m not sure I caught a single second glance…for months! And now I’m finding that there are real, actual men out there who find me desirable. Whee-ha…bring it!

Third, men are every bit as bat-shit crazy and lie as often as women, and this is clearly evident in their profiles. And there are more of them who are “laid-back” and use “sarcastic” as a selling point than you would ever guess! One of the common themes I saw within Tinder’s tiny space for copy on each profile was a simple line suggesting “if you don’t look like your profile picture, you’re buying me drinks until you do.” So clearly some men are predisposed to think that women are not being honest, yet I’ve encountered a few who clearly are older than their profiles report.

Fourth, what’s with the pictures?! I’ve seen so many out-of-focus, bad angle and plainly unflattering images that I’m dumbstruck. Do you not get that this is a site where you’re basically selling yourself on looks? Best foot forward and all that! Here are some of the other ridiculous images I’ve seen:

Those whose first photo is of their children! (No, I do not share photos of my children on a dating site. Nor do I advise it.) Simply write that you have x children with general age information in your profile.
The obligatory midwestern fishing or hunting photos. I’ve said it before (in my best caveman voice): “Me bringum home food!”
Who are all those women?! Why are you posing with women and then using those in your dating profile? Help me understand this…I am so curious to understand what sort of sense this makes!
Cartoon characters. What in heaven’s name does an image of Daffy Duck have to do with you or — more importantly — me being attracted to you?! Am I supposed to make some sort of sense of that?
Or photos of tigers — or art images of tigers! No context. Are you trying to tell me that’s your spirit animal? Or do you actually make those arty images? Because if there’s one thing I’m never going to proudly exclaim to my friends or family, it’s, “Look at what Jack does! Isn’t it brilliant?!” Cringe.
Omigod the number of motorcycles, snowmobiles, dirt bikes, boats… I like toys, too. They’re just not all in my photos.
Photos in gym mirrors. There is no subtle way of holding your mobile phone for a selfie in a fitness center mirror.
No photo at all. And no words. Really? Does that work for you?

At any rate, while I first found this swiping left or right on the basis of a photo or a few and what amounts to a short paragraph shallow, if anything, I’ve learned to consider the subtext of the photos. If your first one has a picture of you holding a shot glass, I probably swiped left. If you have broad, yang facial features, I probably swiped right. But still I find that I am remarkably inconsistent in this. And sometimes I just swipe wrong because fat fingers and app confusion…oh well.

Finally, there’s the feigned outrage…illustrated by this brief exchange I had with one fella:

Him: Hi

Me: Hi

Him, hours later: That’s all you have to say?

Me: Apparently it was at 2:09pm, while I was at work.

Him: Good answer.

Him: I’m a really great catch.

Him: unmatches me.

So is it my job to lead and carry the conversation? Or is it reasonable to say “hi” back to someone who said “hi” to me? Am I missing something as basic as that? Apparently this particular man took offense that I didn’t gush about how excited I was that he’d deigned to say hello to me, and he was offended enough to storm off in a huff…which is okay by me, frankly, because I don’t do well with those whose anger is simmering right there beneath the surface, just waiting for an opportunity to claim “disrespect!”

I try to be a positive person, and I very much work at assuming positive intent. Certainly I hope others will approach me similarly, because I ain’t got time for a petulant man-child’s drama.

Weird.

Meanwhile, for now anyway, Imma keep on swiping!