acts of forgiveness

One of the lessons I’ve learned along the way is that forgiveness, like love, is expressed through action.

Witnessing acts of forgiveness is incredibly powerful and life-affirming. We know we have forgiven ourselves when we break a self-destructive habit, such as addiction, or form new, life-affirming ones. We know we’ve forgiven others when we stop doing things to make them angry.

A divorced male friend recently shared this story with me: He and his ex see a child development specialist every couple of weeks to understand and try to mitigate the effects of their break-up on their five-year-old child (which I think is a very mature approach on their part). My friend’s ex had introduced her boyfriend to their daughter, a man with whom she had recently broken up. She was asking the specialist how to handle it when their daughter asked for her boyfriend by name.

My friend, meanwhile, was fuming. He sat in his chair, gripping its arms with his hands until his knuckles were white. He had been upset with her decision to introduce this man to their child, questioned her normally sound judgment and, though he desperately wanted to seethe, “I told you so!,” he held his tongue and calmly asked the child development specialist, “Is it possible that our daughter associates this man with Mommy’s happiness? and that, rather than the ex boyfriend, our daughter simply misses seeing Mommy happy?”

The child development specialist agreed that this was likely, and suggested the ex-wife ignore any of their daughter’s references to the ex boyfriend. My friend, meanwhile, was quite proud of his restraint. It even earned him a positive email from his ex-wife. But I wonder if he even recognized his action for what it was: an act of forgiveness.

I recently experienced such an incredibly generous act of forgiveness that I want to share it here. I requested a networking coffee with a man whose company for which I had done some work (more than a decade ago). This man has seen my highs and lows, including me in the midst of my most morally bereft phase (I think a lot us were there in the late 90s).

Simply meeting me was a generous gift of his time. Then he told me that he had always seen my talent, appreciated my personality and was thrilled to see the light inside me shining brightly again. I actually teared up. Even knowing the lowest points in my personal history, he sat across from me, looked into my eyes and uttered these warm and positive words. After an hour, we embraced and parted.

Every moment and every word was, to me, an act of forgiveness. And it was painfully humbling. I confess, I questioned my worthiness. How could I possibly deserve such grace? Yet every religion on Earth makes allowances that we might all be forgiven, healed and made whole.

Now if only I could learn to forgive myself and others with such grace and generosity!

what happened next (part 15)

Four – six months ago…

If you’ve followed all this bizness about Chi-guy, you already know that I had developed some feelings for him, that he was a hot mess and that, despite a mutual multi-year crush, we never got it on. And even thinking about what happened next makes me want to slap myself!

I became the über friend, the counselor and confidante. We had discovered that our situations were remarkably parallel in too many ways to ignore: he had lost his job and was the primary caregiver for his daughter while his wife was the breadwinner, just as in my household; he had been using alcohol to numb his pain, just as my ex did; even our (and by “our” I mean mine and his ex wife’s) roofs leaked following the same winter storm (despite several hundred miles between us).

“You know that’s your fault,” I teased.

“Yes, I’ve been told,” he replied.

He told me he didn’t understand why. I told him (as I’ve now written twice) that he should stop asking, because he’d never get a satisfactory answer. He asked me how her life could possibly be better now, without him there. And I told him that it’s not; it’s hard having to be the full-on single parent, especially when you’re hurting emotionally, and to take on all the other tasks that were once shared. Yet the stress is different because the emotional weight is gone. We even discussed Dr. Phil’s philosophy on what women need from men — to provide income and a soft place to land (emotional safety).

I sent him emails and texts and even small gifts. I dreamt about him — dreams that were too real and projected my fears about my own ex onto him — and then worried that those dreams might be real. I called from time to time, and I was there when he needed to talk.

I loved (and still cherish) the closeness, our conversations, his authenticity and candor, yet I hated what had become of us. I didn’t want to be his friend or his counselor; I wanted to be his woman. I wanted to feel that intensely feminine way that I’d felt when I was near him. I wanted to sit across a table from him, listening while he talked, but mostly smoldering inside as I fantasized about crawling across the table, opening him up and licking his sexy brain.

Sometimes we were flirtatious, yet emotional support or commiseration ruled our conversations. After the holidays, he updated his profile photo on Facebook. I could see immediately that he’d turned a corner. I relaxed. I let go of my need to worry about him.

When I caught myself yearning for him or, more accurately, that feeling I had when I was with him, I stopped and replaced the thought of him with “him, or someone even better for me.” I forced myself to create a list of characteristics that my ideal mate would have — even those things in direct conflict with who Chi-guy is now. And I created an online profile and opened myself to dating.

You see, it wasn’t that I thought I was in love with him. Rather, I believed (and still do) that we have a unique connection, a potential of some kind, and we were (are?) missing the opportunity to fully explore whatever it might be or wherever it might lead.

Maybe this is all we get. Maybe we get to have supported one another through a transition. It’s been strangely rewarding (even if not satisfying). But sometimes I still wonder how our story is going to end…

a few random things about me

I keep a gratitude journal, and find great value in noticing and reflecting on the blessings each of us knows in our lives. I genuinely believe that gratitude is among the most powerful emotions, and I’ve personally experienced profound changes in my life from practicing it.

I dance in my kitchen and sing along with the radio, iTunes or Pandora…despite the fact that I might as well be tone-deaf. I am a truly average singer, and I limit my karaoke episodes to bi-annual occasions and I choose either rap or The Tide is High by Blondie for the limited vocal range required.

When I’m having a really crabby day, I force myself to step out of my emotional stinginess by tipping better. It always helps to realize that there are others in society around me that contribute to my lifestyle, and I am able to be more generous and contribute to theirs. It doesn’t always make me feel better in the moment, but I like the idea of how this practice forces me to step outside of my own bad mood and give.

I like hats. All kinds of hats. But I only look good in some of them.

One of my dreams is to live in a custom-built modern home that may incorporate reclaimed shipping containers. What a cool concept! And I think modern can be incredibly warm and inviting.

I believe we create karma, and that we will attract the energy we put out into the universe.

I love reading fortunes from fortune cookies! And horoscopes. Fun! And I actually believe there can be some validity to the latter of these.

My longest committed relationship is with my hair stylist, with whom I’ve been for roughly 16.5 years.

I was a “Becky Homecky” in my youth: I learned to bake, garden, sew and craft, participated in my county’s 4-H program and even won a trip or two to the State Fair for my efforts. Still, I have many friends who can out Martha me.

I am more religious about seeing my applied kinesiologist/chiropractor once a month than I am about anything else. He does this muscle testing stuff that allows him to have a dialogue with my body’s energy. I know, it sounds crazy…I always feel as though I’m saying something like, “I was abducted by a UFO…No, really! You’ve got to believe me!” But I always walk out feeling better.

I am a Libra, a romantic, a fool for love. I crush easily and hard. I am in love with being in love. Maybe even addicted to it.

I try to eat organic and local foods, recycle, compost and otherwise minimize my impact on the environment.

I’m a late bloomer. Many of the relationship lessons I’ve learned along the way and I’m writing about now are things I feel I should have learned earlier or known intuitively.

I’m a sucker for cheesy romantic pop songs, a la “Marry Me” by Train to actually good songs like “In Your Eyes” by Peter Gabriel. (I also like good music…usually alternative…often via the public radio station here.)

I miss traveling internationally. It’s been too long, and Italy, France and Thailand are calling! I’d prefer to immerse myself into the culture and learn through connecting to the natives than by engaging in the typical tourist experiences.

I was once told by a “seer” that my spiritual symbol is a frog. I sit and I sit and I sit…and then I leap. Right now, my legs are starting to twitch. Watch how far I go!

I’m a complete blabbermouth. If you tell me something is a secret, I will take it to my grave. If you don’t tell me it’s a secret, there’s a good likelihood that absolutely everyone knows. I also have little discretion and no filter. There, I said it.

I am equally comfortable in worn jeans at a dive bar and in a cocktail dress at the opera. I relish the great diversity of experiences life has to offer!

I believe commitment has its own rewards. I believe that working on a relationship and emerging stronger and more resilient after a difficult time will pay great dividends to those who persevere.

I don’t believe in saving things for a special occasion that will never come. Every day is special. (I do, however, keep a stash of activities for children that I can pull out on a rainy day.)

My cup is always at least half full and, often, overflowing! Happiness and optimism are conscious decisions and an outlook we can choose to adopt. I also believe these qualities can be taught or nurtured in our children.

My deepest desire is to find someone to share with — a companion, mate and co-conspirator! But I have a pretty damn rockin’ life independently, as well. Oh, and write. My other deepest desire is to write…which I’m doing…now, in fact. I’m writing right now.

the relationship as a mirror

I’ve long believed that relationships are our mirrors into ourselves, bringing out the best and the worst, but always the potential within us. There are few people I’ve ever truly disliked, yet I’ve had the wisdom to ask what it is about them that I don’t like in myself. The answer wasn’t and isn’t always clear.

When tension began to grow in my marriage, I looked first within myself to see how I was creating and affecting and directing the relationship. I changed many of my own thoughts and behaviors, using the opportunity to grow. I stopped reading into and interpreting my husband’s behavior in ways that were harmful to me. His behavior had nothing to do with me — I could accept it or like it or neither. Perhaps my fault in this was that I was so busy taking on the task of growing myself that I forgot to pause and communicate that I wasn’t willing to accept the impact of certain of these behaviors on me or my (our) family.

Meanwhile, as I’ve begun to more actively focus on healing myself after the split, I’ve enlisted the help of Debbie Ford‘s wise Spiritual Divorce. In following the exercises at the end of one of her chapters, I listed all the qualities in my ex that I disliked or hated. There were really only a few, but they were kind of big buckets. Then I contemplated the judgments I made about those characteristics and, finally, I mused about how those very qualities exist within me. I was surprised at how easy this was…until I was lying in bed that night: suddenly, I thought of approximately a dozen additional character flaws that I positively hated about my ex!

I made a mental note to revisit these qualities in the next couple of days and to follow through on the exercise of searching within my own psyche for how these characteristics manifest within my own behaviors. I have yet to follow through. These must be the sticky ones…

do you have romantic regrets?

A recent NY Times article cited a study about regrets, saying 44 percent of females had a romantic regret…

I suspect there are many of us who occasionally think about the one that got away, the friend to whom we never confessed our true feelings, the relationship we unintentionally sabotaged, simply because we didn’t know any better…

Most of us who have gone through a divorce or major break-up have probably thought more than one of these regretful thoughts:

Why didn’t I settle for the guy / girl before him / her?
Why didn’t I leave sooner?
Why didn’t I work harder?
Why didn’t I see his / her true nature before we got married?
Why doesn’t he / she want me anymore?
Why wasn’t I enough?

None of these are productive questions. As I’ve said before, even if these kinds of questions were answerable, the answer(s) would never be satisfactory. If there were easy answers, I’m hopeful that we’re all smart enough to find them unacceptable. What could possibly explain away the upheaval, decimated self-esteem, cock-eyed financial shenanigans and ruined dreams (especially of our children)?

Perhaps later in the process, we’re asking instead:

How could I have done that?
Why did I behave so poorly?
How did I let that slip in front of the children?
Why did I fight so hard for or hang onto that (home, piece of furniture, or other physical object) for so long?

…or any number of other possible regrets.

This morning I met a strong, incredible and divorced woman for coffee. She asked me what happened, and I told her, “we just disagreed.” Yeah, it’s probably a cop-out. After awhile, the pain and resentment fade, the drama no longer seems to create a compelling narrative, and it seems I’m mostly looking forward.

When I’m feeling nostalgic, I just dig through my iTunes for this classic Dave Mason song:

So let’s leave it alone, ’cause we can’t see eye to eye…

There ain’t no good guys; there ain’t no bad guys;

There’s only you and me and we just disagree.

I’d like to think I’ve mostly moved on. Every so often there’s a flash of anger. I can hear it in my tone of voice when I’m cleaning the basement and marveling to anyone who will listen about something my ex hung on to, or when I come across another of his ineffective home repairs. Mostly, though, I am grateful for the lessons, grateful for our children, and very pleased with the woman emerging from the experience.

Do I have regrets? Sure. But most are fading regrets of misbehaviors that I’d like to think taught me a little something. There’s no one who got away. In this Zen moment and every other, everything is as it should be.

what’s your wacky divorce story?

I’ve heard some truly bizarre stuff in talking with friends and colleagues about divorce. Seems once you put it out there, everyone’s willing to share a story.

Take, for instance, a local friend: He’s not originally from these parts, and he was offered an opportunity to come and work here, in this lovely midwestern city, by a friend — his best friend. My friend bought a house, met a woman, got her pregnant, got married and is now divorced. My friend always did the bulk of the housework, brought in the bulk of income and did the lion’s share of parenting, as well. Since the split, he’s learned that his very best friend goes over to visit his ex, shovel the walk and babysit their child — without telling him!

Or another male friend: Just over two years ago, his wife’s sister was going through a divorce. At the time, he remarked to his wife how stressful and sad that must be, and asked: “I mean, if you were having feelings like that about me, we’d be talking about it, right?” Six months later, his wife’s brother was asked to move out / for a divorce. Six months after that, my friend was asked to move out and was on his way to a divorce. Six months after that, his ex-wife’s sister’s ex-husband and his ex-wife’s brother’s ex-wife are dating. Did you follow that? The in-law’s exes are dating. And then my friend’s ex-wife’s father made a feeble suicide attempt with a bottle of sleeping pills and a cry-for-help note. As I told my friend, “It’s not you. Clearly your ex and everyone in her family needs drama.”

When I was going through the worst of it, feeling emotionally unstable and questioning my sanity, stories like this kept me going. Like watching any of The Real Housewives franchises, it was incredibly grounding; I realized I wasn’t all that crazy.

So what’s the most bizarre divorce story you’ve heard? What crazy cues did you draw on to assure yourself of your sanity?

reflections on the fortieth birthday

About six months ago…

I’ve already written a bit about how this milestone birthday hit me — it is, after all, included in the title of this blog.

I am a Libra, in love with being in love, quick to fall. You’d think I’d know better by this time in life, yet there I was, falling again for the distant and unavailable man in Chicago, falling faster and harder than any rational, reasoning soul ought. It was as though everything out of his mouth was customized especially for a sucker like me!

Meanwhile, as my birthday approached, I was despairing my not having yet attained the stature or status in life that I would have like to have claimed for myself. The successful career and marriage I’d imagined for myself had eluded me — in fact, I had just that week interviewed unsuccessfully for a new role. I had envisioned I’d be spending my upcoming big day in France or Italy with the love of my life. Or, barring that, a poet.

I experienced some incredibly ugly feelings, a range from self-doubting and unworthy to angry, hateful and outraged. The best I could describe it was “prickly,” like a porcupine, as though anyone who came too near was in danger of me flaring some fierce quills. While my friends insisted on taking me out to celebrate my birthday, I was in no mood to inflict my toxic self on anyone.

I remember thinking that, if Chi-guy had been feeling anything like this that last time I’d seen him, no wonder he didn’t want to get close to me! He had been pretty low at that time, and what I was experiencing gave me greater empathy and opened me to be more forgiving. We had continued to be in contact, loosely — in fact, he had just texted me a very hot photo! After the attention I had paid to his birthday, I wondered what he might do for mine.

On the big day, I dragged myself to the store for a new outfit — dress and heels — to wear out on the town. As I shopped, I started to get excited for my night out and spending time with my girlfriends. Yet my excitement was muted, like being as happy as you can be when you’re depressed, which isn’t particularly happy. Even as I got ready, went to dinner, bar hopped and danced with some amazing girlfriends, I was very down and emotional. Meanwhile, I put on a smiley face and plowed forth.

I’m not always sure whether I’ve found the right balance between “fake it ’till you make it” and being truly authentic. I genuinely believe that happiness and contentment can be a conscious choice. Sometimes this involves deciding to make the best of a situation, putting on a brave face and going out. But my gamely facade crumbled when one of my girlfriends told me how beautiful I looked, how much she admired me, and how fabulous and empowered a strong and sexy forty-year-old me seemed to be. (This was from a woman who has yet to hit this milestone birthday.) I immediately began to tear up, because I felt none of those things — and, by the way, thank you for pointing out this conflict between how I look and how I feel and, therefore, bringing up all my feelings of inadequacy.

Chi-guy, meanwhile, had not called, texted, emailed or sent a card. One girlfriend remarked, “Well, it’s better to know now.” (He left a message a couple of days later. Miss.)

While the intense malaise of my birthday lasted for about a week in total, I continued to feel low for several weeks — maybe months — following. That I was forty, in an unsatisfying job and without a loving partner in life were conditions that did not just evaporate, after all. And it was going to take some time and work to make the major transitions that would bring greater balance, peace and a feeling of forward progress.

the ex-husband-orcism

Last weekend, I invited girlfriends over to help me perform an exorcism: the exorcism of my ex husband’s belongings, photos, spirit and trappings of our married life from my boudoir and other areas of the house.

I had long been thinking about the idea of a cleansing or a celebration, and I never felt quite certain about what was appropriate or acceptable. My plan took on definition for two reasons:

A girlfriend gently told me that, while I clearly cherished my “mother” identity, it didn’t belong in my bedroom. Every other room in our home is family friendly; my room should be a personal sanctuary, a child-free zone. The family photos and stuffed animals would have to go.
With each passing week that I failed to tackle the project of cleaning and re-organizing the basement, I knew that I was experiencing some major resistance to dealing with it all. This was not going to be an easy job for me.

I was going to have to call in some reinforcements. And I would need them to be both relentless and brutally honest. After all, my closet (and outdated wardrobe) was part of my bedroom.

I invited a bunch of fun girls, knowing that only a handful could or would show up — this sort of thing is not for everyone. In one day, what we could accomplish would be limited, so I prioritized:

Rearrange and organize my bedroom and closet
Organize the children’s artwork (my sister, the art major, would be assigned ultimate judge of what I should keep, purging the rest)
Begin the impossible task of cleaning the basement

I set out a spread of beverages and snacks — brie, hummos and the like — and the girls arrived in early afternoon. We began by moving furniture and de-cluttering in my room. Down came the belly cast from my second pregnancy, out went the family photos, and in came the “welcome to my boudoir” energy. Any trinkets or baubles that I’d received as gifts from my ex went into the garbage. After the momentary feeling of guilt that this might be appreciated by someone else, I willingly, gladly let go.

With a team of supporters around me, it was easy to enjoy the feeling of liberation that letting go, releasing what no longer served me, could provide. Sure, there were a few moments of compromise, a few items that, for sentimental reasons, I was not ready to let go. But mostly, perhaps because I was being watched, it was easy to say no to that oh-so-tartish Roxy tee shirt, a circa 1988 Benetton and a Coogi sweater (yeah, embarrassing) that I’d purchased while vacationing in Sydney with a boyfriend in 1996. What was I thinking, holding onto these for so long? Even after the girls left, I purged books and jewelry with glee.

We never got as far as the basement, but I now feel unstuck, as though the task might be something I could accomplish, little by little, on my own. And I think the biggest surprise to me was how easy it actually was. I thought I might have some bigger moments of resistance or feeling really emotional, maybe even tears. But there were none. It was fun, even empowering!

When the children returned from their weekend with their father, they were energized and began cleaning their own room. We’re on nine large bags for charitable donations and counting.

Sage smudge yet to come.

on co-habiting with the opposite sex

A girlfriend called a few days ago and, per usual, began a rant about the B.S. she’d put up with in relationship with her child’s father. She rehashed a litany of complaints about his slovenliness, assuming I would jump on the ex-bashing bandwagon. I didn’t.

Instead, I told her that I didn’t share her experience: I LOVED sharing my home and my kitchen and my bed and the housework and all of it! Sure, the occasional coat of facial hair shavings on the bathroom sink was a mild irritant and I never liked the layout of the office, which was primarily his domain. But I loved co-creating our life together — from shopping together for what we each deemed necessary kitchen tools and negotiating menu plans — to our concern for one another when one of us wasn’t feeling well. I loved snuggling up against his warmth in bed. I loved the thought of our pant legs and shirt sleeves intertwined in the laundry.

It’s true that I carried most of the responsibility and had to make most of the decisions. The fact that I can clearly recall the time when my ex noticed that we were nearly out of t.p. and actually went to the store and purchased it speaks volumes. He was inflexible as it related to vacation destinations and ruled out countless menu options.

Living with someone can be a pain in the ass, and I am learning to enjoy the blessings of being the sole adult in my home. But I generally appreciated interdependence of partnership enough to overlook most of the little things. And I look forward to the day when I’m regularly waking up in the same bed as a man I love again!

alone in my room (part 9)

About seven months ago…

Chi-guy had just left me at the front door of my hotel…

As if in a fog, I found my way to the elevator and pushed a button. The very first coherent thought in my head was, “I must have spent four or five hours on grooming — and for nothing!” It was true: my hair, brows, toenails, legs and bikini area were groomed to perfection in anticipation of this very night.

Wow! I had not seen that coming! We had been flirty and suggestive for about a month now. How had I so completely misread this situation? Clearly we were not vibrating on the same level!*

Back in my room, I plopped onto the bed and turned on the television. Tension pumped through every cell of my body. I had been so ready for…for…for, I don’t know, something more. Honestly, I would have been happy to hang out and talk more, to lie near each other fully clothed, to simply make out, to hold each other and cry…anything.

My mobile buzzed with a new text message. For an instant, I hoped that he had changed his mind and was rounding the block to park.

“Got a parking ticket while saying good night,” it read.

“Bummer,” I responded.

We texted about the pathetic movie selection on cable and he made reference to the statistic about how long on average a porn movie is watched on pay-per-view in hotel rooms. I think I made one last-ditch attempt to express what I was thinking: that two people in very similar circumstances, neither in a position to think of entering a relationship, might be uniquely available to provide comfort and touch in a way that could be healing, nurturing and fulfilling for both.

I washed my face and undressed. My body would not relax, settle down or allow me to sleep.

How did I get here? To this place where I had hoped and anticipated so much and was now feeling so incredibly rejected, unwanted and desperately alone? I mean, this was a guy that I liked well enough to contemplate putting his junk in my mouth! And I kind of thought he was into me, too.

It was too late to call any of my girlfriends.

“Really need to talk. Are you available?” I texted Max, thinking that, far left of here, there was a chance he’d still be awake. But there was no answer.

After tossing and turning for another hour or so and sobbing uncontrollably for a bit, I turned on the light and picked up a pen and notebook. I wrote some of what you’ve read over the past few entries, as well as these thoughts:

I completely respect that he must honor where his head and heart are at right now.
Does he not get that having this conversation has already changed everything? That our friendship can never be the same?
I get that flirting, like talking smack, is a bit of a game and liberties are taken. However, when our flirting became more directional or explicit, I was genuine in letting him know that I’m available. And I feel misled.
This whole thing about “liking me” is weird: we live in different cities and each have children that will keep us there and we’re both in the process of ending relationships, so there is no potential for anything real…nothing to ruin or jeopardize. Where does he think this might go?
p.s. it is now 3:17am and I haven’t slept a wink.

I set my pen and notebook down, turned off the lamp and continued to toss and turn until I had no choice but to get up and begin my day.

More…

*reference to the Law of Attraction, which states that like attracts like.