Happy Birthday to Me!

Ok, so it technically isn't my birthday now. It's been over for a little over an hour, but I just gave myself a big, huge present - the gift of closing a door. People talk about ending relationships and closing "the door", but in my experience, that's not really how it works. There isn't just one door that needs to be closed. You can't intertwine 2 lives and expect there to be only 1 point of attachment. It just doesn't work that way.



The hardest part is right after you close the first door. You have that sense of accomplishment, of closure. You go on with life thinking that it's over. You've done the impossible. The next thing you know, there's another door that needs to be closed. No, it's not the same one, but it needs closing all the same. So you close that one and again think that the process is over. Wrong again! Suddenly you realize that everywhere you turn there are open doors that need closing. You frantically run around the room of your life trying to close doors only to run into painful memories at every turn. As you sit down to cry in the middle of the room of misery, you see a hallway. That hallway is the only way you see that leads out of the room where you've been stuck, isolated and alone. You take a deep breath and start down the hallway. Along the way, there are still doors that need to be closed; doors that lead down paths you no longer want to travel. As you make your way down the hallway, you stop and deal with the memories and close the doors; but it is much less frantic and painful than that horrible room.

I was so thankful when I found that hallway, that ray of hope. Before that, I truly felt that I would die, that my heart would absolutely explode from overwhelming pain of being trapped in that room with all the memories of the past 4 years. Eventually, the doors along the hallway get further apart and you don't have to deal with facing the past as often. It becomes more bearable even though it still hurts and sometimes rips your heart out.

Today, I took out the envelope that contained our first - and last - family Christmas picture. I've been avoiding that envelope for over a year, knowing the excrutiating torture and tears it contained. But I forced myself to look at them, to feel the anguish of missing them, of being a family. Then I took one more look and dropped it in the trash. I have the good memories in my heart and there is absolutely no point in holding on to the pain. It doesn't hurt him...only me, and he's hurt me enough. I deserve better. I deserve to be happy. We all do.

My decision today: Let go of the pain. He's not worth it. Let God heal it, close the door and move on.

Thanksgiving blessings

Holidays tend to bring out the worst in me. I would love nothing more than to write a sad epistle about how cheerless and mournful this Thanksgiving is. After all, I'm divorced, my mother and grandmothers are gone, one grandfather is gone, the other is distant, and I don't get to see my nephew. That's a lot to be depressed about. Instead, I am resolved to write something positive and count my blessings.

I'm thankful that even though I'm divorced, I'm alive. Many women who are abused - verbally, emotionally, or physically - never make it out of the relationship alive.

I'm thankful that even though I don't have my own place because I'm waiting for my house in Detroit to sell - not the best market to be selling right now - my dad and his wife care enough to make sure that I'm not homeless, that I'm warm and safe.

I'm thankful that even though both of my jobs make me a little crazy sometimes, that I am blessed with employment when many are struggling to find work and wondering, not only how to afford Christmas gifts for their children, but how to feed those little mouths today.

I'm thankful every month when I make my car payment, every day that I get in and turn the key that I have a nice car to drive and don't have to worry about how I'm going to get to work.

I'm thankful that my job provides insurance and that I've found a wonderful, godly, prayerful doctor who is helping me be the healthiest I can be when many people die every year because they can't afford the medical care they desperately need.

I'm thankful for family and friends who love me even though we may fight, even though we may not see each other as often as we'd like; there are so many who are completely and utterly alone in this world.

I'm thankful that I know God and how much He loves me. Some people die without every knowing the love and peace that God gives.

There are many, many more, but I think I will go and enjoy my blessings instead of sitting here writing about them.

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

I can see clearly now....

I remember the day that I got my first pair of glasses. As I recall, my mother laughed quite hysterically at me that day. I didn't think I even needed glasses. I could read everything just fine. I wasn't getting headaches. The doctor, however, insisted that I had a thing called astigmatism. It wasn't that my vision was blurry as much as it was askew. We left the doctor's office with me still insisting to my mother that those glasses were completely unnecessary, that I could see perfectly without them and that the trained medical professional did not, in fact, know better than an 11 year old child.

But as we drove home, I began to take the glasses off to compare my vision with and without them and I discovered something. I had been compensating for something I didn't even know was wrong. When I took my glasses off, suddenly everything leaned a little to the left and wasn't in crisp focus. That's when I noticed something else - I had developed a habit of leaning my head to the right, which made everything look the way that it should.

It's an odd feeling realizing that what you thought was right and normal isn't at all. Today was another of those days.

Some of you may know this about me. Those of you who don't probably won't be particularly surprised by it. I have dealt with depression as long as I can remember. As a teenager, I stayed home in my room reading or practicing music to escape from reality. Those were the only times I was alone that I didn't feel like crying. I didn't have anything to be that sad about. Life was good. I made good grades, had lots of friends, had a family who loved me. It wasn't until years later that I learned that my mother and both of my grandmothers had similar issues.

After my mother died, things became much, much worse. Before that, I had been able to compensate and hide my problem from nearly everyone. I still didn't know there was a problem. When that's all you've known, it feels normal. You just deal with it. But that was my breaking point. It was just more than I could deal with and I completely broke inside. Eventually, I moved on with life enough to get married and make a life for our family.

Even though things were good for a little while, sooner or later the struggles had to begin. I had never been married before and every relationship I have is wrought with drama and tension. That's normal, right? Again, tilting my head, compensating for a problem I haven't yet discovered.

When I arrived in Pennsylvania a year ago, I did not recognize the person I had become. The girl who once chased down kids fleeing her hotel to avoid being arrested after she broke up the fight (not one of my smarter moments, but an entertaining story nonetheless), was now afraid to leave the house and afraid to be in her own house, startled by every noise, believing that he was coming back to get her. I had adjusted to not sleeping, and when I did sleep, waking with every muscle aching because even in slumber I was tensed and ready to flee. No matter where I was in the house, I had my phone and car keys in my pocket ready to run. That had become my normal.

After a year of being here protected by my dad, I've finally accepted that he's not coming to get me, that I'm safe. With that resolved, I've moved on to fixing other aspects of my life. Some take longer to resolve than others; it's a work in progress. My latest project is my health. Several issues I've been ignoring - none of which I will bore you with - I am finally facing head on. I have accepted that I will probably be on medication for the rest of my life. My body does not produce the correct balance of chemicals to operate properly. Despite what I was taught growing up, that does not mean that I am not close enough to God or that the devil is after me and holding me down or that I'm crazy. Diabetics aren't crazy because their insulin production is incorrect; the other chemicals of the body are no different. So I'm seeing my doctor regularly and getting everything in balance. (Wow, that last sentence sounds like a prescription commercial.) This is good...or is it?

When I woke up this morning, much too early for a day off, I knew something was different. I didn't feel the same, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I proceeded through my day, mentally checking off my to do list. All the while, that nagging thought is in the back of my mind that something is wrong. Suddenly, I realize what it is. I don't feel sad. I don't feel sick. I feel happy and healthy. It had been such a long time - if ever - that I had felt like this, that I didn't even recognize it. Feeling tired and melancholy had become my normal. I thought that's how I was supposed to feel, how I would feel for my whole life. Little did I know that things aren't always that way. God has blessed me with a wonderful doctor who always prays with me and exercises wisdom in treating the whole person, not just symptoms on a chart.

It's going to be an adjustment, this new perception of life. It's hard to accept that the world hasn't changed, only the way that I see it.

Lord, please help me learn how to be happy and content. I'm not used to that and it still feels strange. Teach me to stop struggling and to just rest in You. Life doesn't have to be hard. Overwhelm me with Your peace! Amen.

Where did the time go?

Tomorrow is a very important mile marker in my life. Tomorrow will mark one year since the day that I filed the papers that would change the course of my life. 365 days ago I walked into an attorney's office and had to admit to him - and to myself - that my husband had left six weeks before and wasn't coming home. I sat there wishing the floor would open up below me so I didn't have to sit there feeling the shame and humiliation of that admission. Failure had become reality and there was nothing left to do but pick up the pieces and try to go on with life, all the while wishing I could just lay down and die.

My first choice was where I was going to go. I had no reason to stay in Michigan alone. Should I go back home to West Virginia and my old life as if nothing happened? Not possible. I could have gone home, but it would not have been the same and I would have been disappointed. So I ran to the only safe place I could think of - I came to stay with my dad. For those of you who know the story, you know that was not an easy decision. In the end, the benefits outweighed any doubts. Thus, I became a resident of the great state of Pennsylvania.

I know what you're thinking - she's a grown woman and she is running home to her dad. What the heck? I felt that way, too, but I had to swallow my pride and accept some help. My ex had left me with nothing, quite literally. He had forced me to quit my job, had taken all of our money, and had allowed the car that he bought me to be repossessed. I had nothing except my "stuff" and an appointment for a job interview.

Besides the help I needed with basic living expenses, I was an emotional train wreck. The years of berating and name calling and belittling had taken their toll - and he was still on the attack. So I did what every girl does when she's scared. I ran to my dad crying for him to protect me. I may be a grown woman, but I still know that when my dad is around, he's not going to let anything happen to me. I don't have the words to express my gratitude to him and his wife for taking me in this last year and giving me a place of rest and peace and healing. Dad has sheltered me from hurts I couldn't handle and stood behind me and been my back up in the battles I was able to fight on my own. I will be honest - this is not where I wanted to be, but it was the best thing for me. I wish that I could have gone through this on my own, if only I had been that strong.

Little by little, day by day, like a broken leg on the mend, I've found strength I didn't know that I had. Brick by brick, I've begun rebuilding my life. My ex may have thought that he destroyed me because he burned everything to the ground, but I still have a firm foundation on which to rebuild. He can't take that away from me. This house may be smaller and a little less grand than the last one I built, but I've learned along the way to build stronger and sturdier.

So, happy 1st anniversary strong, independent Sarah! You've made it through the first year and you can make it through the next.

But, God, that grass is greener....

As I was driving to the post office today, taking the long way around to enjoy the scenery, I was thinking deep thoughts. I've always done my best thinking in the car. Today, however, as I pondered the plight of the world and other complex issues, I saw something that made me turn the truck around and take a second look. As I passed a field full of sheep, I saw that one of them had squeezed his head through the fence and was happily munching on the grass on the other side. How he had managed to get his rather large head through the comparatively small hole in the fence, I will never know. But there he was, ignoring the entire field full of perfectly good grass where he was, in order to reach the very same grass on the other side.

It made me wonder how many times I've done that. How many times has God put a fence up in my life and said, "Sarah, this is for your safety. I will take care of you and provide for you and you'll never want for anything, but you need to stay away from that side of the fence."? And how many times have I wriggled my stubborn head through said fence and looked at Him innocently and said, "What? I'm still on this side of the fence."?

God, please help me not to be like that foolish sheep. Help me to be content with the bounty you have provided for me and not to question the boundaries you've set. May I realize that what is ok for someone else might not be what you want for me - and that's ok. It doesn't mean that you love them more. Give me the eyes to see the beautiful field full of lush grass you've already given me and stop obsessing about that stupid fence.

Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

I know, I never call or write; but, neither do you.


Today has been a hard day. It's been 6 years since you left (somehow I still think of it that way - I guess my brain thinks it hurts less, but my heart knows better) and I feel more lost and confused than ever. I've always known that I'd never be able to fill your shoes, but facing today, after my divorce, just confirms it. You managed to build a life with Dad and stay married til the end, and raise 2 children, through a lot of rough times. I couldn't hold it together for four years. I just feel like a failure and I wish you were here so I could talk to you about it and you could tell me what to do. But then, if you'd been here, things would have been very different.

I try not to think about how things would be if you were still here, but sometimes I can't help it. The what-ifs keep me up at night. I can't make them be quiet. If you had been here, I could have called you to ask for advice when I realized that my marriage was a mess. If you had been here, you would have beaten him for not letting me come home for holidays. If you had been here, I would have stood up for myself a lot more because I would have known that I had back up. Don't blame Dad - I pushed him away and wouldn't let him help, just like I always do. We've done the best we can; but, let's face it....you were the crazy glue that kept us all together.

I know that some people probably looked at my Facebook status and thought that I'm delusional. They probably think that I'm remembering things better than they were now that you're gone. I'm not. We had a completely dysfunctional relationship and I have a lot of scars from my childhood. Who doesn't? It's taken a lot of analyzing and crying and yelling and praying for me to come to this conclusion: you were a flawed, imperfect human being who made mistakes and completely screwed me up. But here's the rest of the story: I also know that no matter what, you did what you thought was best for me and it came from love; no matter what, you were there when I needed you, even when I didn't particularly deserve it; no matter what, you loved me just the way I was. You made me who I am today and I wouldn't trade one messed up thing about my childhood.

I remember when I was at IBC and you called me to ask if you were a good mother. You had been reading a book that had a zany, weird mother and a boring, OCD daughter, just like us. The daughter was always wishing for a "normal" mother and you asked if I felt that way. Mama, I have a confession. I lied to you when I answered that question. I told you I didn't wish that, but I wished it all the time when I was growing up. I couldn't understand why you couldn't be like the other moms. What I really wanted was for people to think I was as cool and fun as they thought you were. I didn't want you to be different. I wanted me to be different. But I wouldn't have told you that at that moment for all the gold in Fort Knox. I heard the uncertainty in your voice and knew that you needed validation more than you needed me to tell you how I really felt. How many times had you done that for me? So, please forgive me for that lie. I promise never to lie to you again.

There are so many things that I wish you were here for. Most of all, I just wish you were here to be my mom.

I hope you don't mind if I share this letter with some friends. See, this blog isn't just about me. You taught me to always try to help others and that's what I'm trying to do. I don't have anything important to say, but maybe it could help someone. I think that's what I admire about you most. You always rooted for the underdog, always took in the strays, always brought home the misfit Christmas tree, and always, always, always fought for the people who couldn't fight for themselves. I'm not as strong as you, but I do my best.

I love you, Mom. Wish you were here.

Love,

Sarah Beth

Maybe he was hit by a bus....

"We're all lonely for something we don't know we're lonely for. How else to explain the curious feeling that goes around feeling like missing somebody we've never even met?" --David Foster Wallace

I've had the strangest, most random feeling of loneliness the past few days. Why it started, who knows. Maybe it's because I look around and see the world moving forward while I feel trapped, shackled in my emotional prison. Maybe it's because I realized that this time last year, I was sitting in an empty house waiting for a husband who was never coming home...not because of some noble cause, but because he was too weak to fight for our family or because he just didn't love me anymore or because he didn't like what I made for dinner. Who knows why he decided I was no longer worth coming home to.

Part of this feeling probably has to do with my obsession with Christmas. Let me explain. I looked at the calendar and realized that there are less than 100 days til Christmas....87, to be exact. This means I am racing the clock to get everything done. We take Christmas very seriously where I'm from. It requires much planning and preparation. When I realized this, my next thought was, "Oh crap, I'm gonna be 31 the day after Christmas!" Believe it or not, I did not really struggle with my 30th birthday. I think I was so glad to be alive and to be surviving what I was going through that my age was the least of my concerns. This year, it's just another reminder that I'm alone. I'll spend the holidays with my family that are traveling here. We'll laugh and reminisce and make some great memories. Then I will get in my truck and go home, alone.

Never in a million years did I ever imagine that I would be divorced at the age of 30. Somehow I always thought that I'd be married and have a wonderful job that I love, a beautiful home, 2.5 perfect children, and a golden retriever in the white-picket-fenced yard. Every girl's dream, right? Instead, I'm living with my dad waiting for my house to sell so I can afford an apartment

Even as I'm writing this, I realize that this loneliness is not the kind that comes merely from being alone. I've been alone before. I was 26 when I got married, for goodness sake. I'm ok with not being in a relationship. My time is not spent pining away like a princess in a tower waiting to be rescued. This loneliness is the kind that stems from rejection and abandonment, the kind that makes you question if you will always be alone because you aren't good enough or smart enough or pretty enough or....well, ANYTHING enough. This loneliness comes from questioning if this is a permanent state of affairs.

Maybe my prince charming doesn't have GPS and won't ask for directions. I read that on a bumper sticker and laughed hysterically, until I really thought about it. What if it's true? What if my ex really was my one and only and he decided I wasn't worth it and now I'm destined to live my the rest of my life alone? My mind reels at the repercussions of not having a husband, a family. It means that one day I will be old and there will be no one to come visit me at the nursing home. I'll die alone and have to depend on my brother to take care of my funeral. My only hope is that Jason outlives me so that he can step in and make sure that my send off is the fabulous affair that it should be. Most of all, I'm afraid that when I die, I won't be missed because I have no one to love me.

Don't get me wrong, I am loved. I have my family and my friends. But I don't have that one person in the world to whom I am the whole world; the person who would question if he could go on without me.

I had that once. I may never have that again.

Why can't I trust God as much as I trust my GPS?

I'd like to introduce you to my wonderful friend Karen. She has a beautiful Australian accent and travels with me everywhere I go. Karen is always there ready to direct me when I take a wrong turn or when I need to find the nearest Wal-Mart. She never leads me astray...when I follow her directions. Karen is my GPS.

I know what you're thinking.....who is crazy enough to name their GPS? First of all, that's the name of the voice that I have programmed on it. Secondly, nearly everyone I know that has a GPS, has a name for it.

Now that my sanity has been defended, here's the story....

I left the house this morning, running late, as usual. This was no normal day, however. Today I was headed to one of the most important meetings of my life. Today was my volunteer driver training for the Road to Recovery program. If you're not familiar with it, please check it out at http://www.cancer.org/ - and, yes, that was a shameless plug for an amazing community resource. I had been looking forward to this since I got the e mail last week. I've always been involved in community service, but in the last year, I have been more driven than ever. When I first began putting my life back together after my divorce, volunteering was one of the only ways I felt like I had something to contribute to the world.

Even though I was going to be tardy, I was determined to not miss this training. I had every confidence that Karen would find the most efficient route to my destination. Typically, I program the address and only follow directions once I am near the end of my journey. I can get myself in the general vicinity. But today was no ordinary day, so I followed Karen's directions to the letter.

Things started out well enough. Karen was following the standard route I always take. But about halfway there, she told me to turn right. What?? I've never been on this road....are you sure this is the right way? But I did as I was told, assuming that this was a short cut to the other main road that I knew went the direction I was going. We all know what assuming does. This was no exception.

The next part of my trip became a series of twists and turns and changing roads. Normally, I have a great sense of direction. But I had never been on these roads and after a few turns, I had no idea which direction I was supposed to be going....which I meant I had to rely on Karen even more. Dreadful thought.

So I kept following the course Karen had graciously planned for me. When I turned on Back Road, I had a smidge of doubt, but quickly reminded myself that Karen had brought me this far and obviously knew the way. The doubts grew as the road narrowed and there was no center line. My misgivings seemed justified as the landscape changed to cows and barns and corn, but still I marched on. When I saw another main road up ahead, I silently asked Karen to forgive me for thinking she would lead me awry.

The smooth, wide, well-maintained road that I saw was not what she had in mind for me, however. Yet another side road was my pathway. I had resigned myself to a journey through the country, which I would have enjoyed had I not been in such a hurry. I let my mind drift as I watched the rain fall all around me. That's when disaster reared it's ugly head. Somehow in my daydreaming, I had missed the sign warning me about the sharp turn up ahead. I found myself trying to brake without skidding on the wet pavement, struggling to negotiate this sudden twist in the road.

I would love to blame Karen for this near mishap. After all, she was the one who led me down that dangerous and unfamiliar road in bad weather. It was her brilliant idea to avoid all main roads in favor of country lanes. But was it her fault that I failed to see the signs of what was ahead? Could I blame her for the fact that I was so blase about my driving that I ignored the obvious warnings? No, it was not her fault; so again, I apologized and continued on, trusting that she would help me complete the journey.

That's when it hit me that I have exponentially more faith in Karen - who is, after all, only as good as the people who programmed her - than I do in God, my Lord and Saviour, Creator of the universe. How hard that was to admit, even to myself! I never blindly follow God. The conversation sounds something like this....

God: Sarah, I want you to turn right on the next road.

Sarah: God, I've never been on that road, but the one after that comes out near where I'm going, so why don't I just take that one instead?

God: No, it doesn't take you where you think it does....and that's not where you're going, anyway. You have a few stops to make on the way.

Sarah: Stops? What stops? We did not discuss making stops before I got there. I haven't planned for that or allowed enough time. That's going to make me really late getting to where I'm going. Are you sure this is the right way?

God: Yes, I'm sure. I've had this planned for a while. Just trust me.

Sarah: I know...you're God and I'm not...you're the Boss...but I really think this isn't going to work.

Get the idea? I would love to tell you that this is only an occasional lapse of faith on my part. Unfortunately, God has come to accept that this is the conversation we have every time He gives me direction. Sometimes I have to wonder if He didn't help scientists develop things like Xanax due to His frustration over His conversations with me. If I could frustrate Him that much, there's no way people were going to be able to tolerate me without some sort of help.

As my lack of faith really began to sink in, I felt the wave of shame wash over me. God, do I really question you that much? Do I really believe that You would take me down an unsafe road and cause me harm? My heart cried out a thousand apologies and I meant every one of them. How could I think that a kind and loving Saviour that would give up His life for me would then lead me down and unfamiliar path only to abandon me?

So my resolution for tomorrow is to put my GPS faith in the One who creates not only the map, but also the road, for every journey.

All holidays are cancelled until further notice....

"To many people holidays are not voyages of discovery, but a ritual of reassurance." -Philip Andrew


Anyone who knows me already knows that I have an abnormal obsession with holidays, especially Christmas. I love the traditions that go with each and every one. As a child, my little OCD mind loved knowing what was coming.

For New Years' Day, Grandma Hettie always had pork and cabbage (which I did not eat). She said it was for good luck. I still haven't figured out how that is good luck food, but she made it every year, without fail.

When Easter came, there was always the duck family that migrated to my basket. I don't know when my mother started making them for me. I don't remember an Easter without them. Each year she would make the trip to the candy making supply store to buy the provisions to make my chocolate ducks. There was the papa duck with his top hat; the mama duck with her Easter bonnet; and the baby duck with his beanie. Every year they looked the same, without variation. The first Easter after she died, I woke up still expecting to find my duck family. But there were no happy little ducks. There was no basket. That's when I knew that things would never be the same. We could go through the motions of Christmas and Thanksgiving and all the others, but that was a tradition completely unique to my mother and it died with her.

When the snow began to fall, we would begin the search for a Christmas tree. Inevitably, I would find the tree that was perfectly shaped only to be outvoted. My mother was always devoted to the misfits of the world and this extended to the realm of the pines as well. We were destined to every year have a tree with some major fault - too fat but only on one side, huge holes where branches were missing, leaning a little to the left, two tops....you name a fault in a Christmas tree, I'm sure we brought it home. Then came the fight about the decorations. I, of course, wanted all white lights and matching ornaments. My father liked the old fashioned large, multi-colored lights; my mother liked the small multi-colored twinkle lights. They both got their lights; I got told I could have what I wanted when I had my own house. On went the lights. Next, the angel on top. After that, the first ornaments to go on the tree, without exception, were always the ones my parents had on their first tree. And somehow the flaws that I had seen when I looked at the tree on the lot disappeared as the magic of Christmas filled the room.

As the years passed and I was making the holidays special for my own family, I tried to forget all the things that I missed about holidays with my mom. I tried not to remember how we had to cram every ornament we owned onto the biggest Christmas tree in the civilized world. I did my best to forget that the Thanksgiving lasagna started the year she had her first heart surgery and I was responsible for making Thanksgiving dinner, but had no clue how to make a turkey. But the more I tried to forget, the more my heart ached for all the things I missed. To make matters worse, I had married a man who dictated that we spend every holiday with his family, never with mine. So I found myself hundreds of miles from home with no family and none of my traditions for the holidays.

Now I'm facing my first holidays officially back on my own. In a weird way, I had been looking forward to it because not being tied to him meant that I was free to be with my family. I was going to get to go home to Grandma's house, home to West Virginia for Christmas and we would bake together and decorate the tree and life would be just like it used to be....well, almost. But now that's been stolen, too. Is it possible to have Thanksgiving dinner with no grandma's house to go to? Can a person celebrate Christmas with no mother to shop for? No husband to drop hints to about what I'd like him to buy for me? No daughter's face to light up brighter than the tree as she opens the gifts Santa brought her?

Those traditions were my security blanket. No matter how horrible the world seemed, everything was ok as long as I had those holiday rituals. But an era has ended. I have no mother, I have no daughter, I have no grandmothers.

So for now, I've decided to cancel all holidays. For now it just doesn't seem possible to celebrate anything.

A Real Love Story

Over the past few weeks, I have seen the truest love anyone will ever witness. I saw a glimpse of it 6 years ago, but I was drowning in guilt and grief and couldn't see it clearly. This time, I have had the awesome privilege of drinking in the picture of true love.

Their story started over 50 years ago in a little West Virginia town. She told me that his younger brother used to walk her home from school, but he was the one she thought of. She told me that he used to sit on the steps of the general store and smoke his cigarettes, but he gave them up when she told him she didn't like that. She told me about when he asked her to be his bride and they went to the preacher's house to be married. I can just imagine the look on her face as she said, "I do". I can imagine it because I've seen the way she still looks at him. It's not at all difficult for me to picture him as the preacher said, "You may kiss your bride." I see it clearly because he still blots her lipstick for her.

The next years were spent working and raising children and caring for aging parents. Four children they sent out into the world. My mother used to tell me stories about growing up. She would tell me that their house was where all of her friends wanted to gather. Even children can feel when a house is filled to the brim with love. My own friends all called her Grandma...and she really was everyone's Grandma. But she was mine first.

I have watched them as they have grown older and slowed down, as their health has declined. He washed her hair when she couldn't do it herself. He took over the grocery shopping when she was too tired to walk through the store. Never once did I hear him complain. I don't think it would have occurred to him to not want to take care of her.

Now, I watch him watching her as she struggles to breathe. He has not left her side for days. The chair he occupies is not a comfortable one. He doesn't say a word. At night, he turns the chair so that he can better see her face. I watch him gently stroke her hair and kiss her face and I can't help but think how lost he will be when she's gone. She's been the rock of our family, the one we all lean on. She's been the glue that holds us together. Nothing will ever be the same again.

Young couples think they have the monopoly on love and romance, but they have no idea what love is really about. Love is staying together through 50 years of babies and fights and jobs and deaths and joys. Love is slowing your steps when the one you love can no longer walk quickly. Love is sitting constantly by her bedside knowing that the minutes you share with her are numbered. I have been so incredibly blessed to have been a part of their love story and would give anything if only I could change the ending that must come.

numbness

Today, my head is craziness and numbness. I wish for the release that tears would bring, but they don't come. I should feel something. There's only emptiness. It's as if I'm watching the world pass by in slow motion. Life is going on around me, though I hear no sound. For once, I wish for the reality of pain.


As I sat today at her bedside, I was struck by how much she looks like her mother. I never noticed it before. It was as shocking as the first time I realized how much I look like my mother. The same blood that runs through her veins ran through my mother's veins, runs through mine still. Then I realize the blood running through her veins belongs to someone else; several people actually. She's been running on borrowed blood for weeks now. I would gladly give her all of mine if it would change the outcome.


I try not to compare this to the last time I sat in a hospital room, but my mind inevitably drifts back to that day. If things had gone differently that day, my mother would be in this room today tending to her mother, hovering over her as we are all apt to do. It's a trait that's been handed down through the generations; we are caretakers, the women of my family. If things had gone differently that day, she would be here to tell me what to do and how to handle this. But she isn't here. She's been gone nearly six years, but I can look around and know exactly what she would be doing, what she would be saying.


She's the missing link of the chain that anchors me to this hospital room. I'm a generation unto myself...I'm no longer a mother and I no longer have a mother. Fathers are wonderful to have, but sometimes a girl just needs her mother. Today is one of those days. But if she were here, she would be feeling the same way.

Another Picture to Burn

Taylor Swift is a very wise young woman. I'm not sure how she managed to write a song about my life, but there it is. I was looking through a box of old pictures and found some that I thought I'd already properly disposed of. Just when I think I'm making progress, there he is again ripping my heart out and reminding me of the years I'll never get back, the scars I'll always carry. Just when I think I've forgiven and almost forgotten.

The anger wells up from somewhere deep inside. I try to ignore it. I try to squash it. It's like a wildfire that cannot be contained. I'm powerless against the sheer force of it. After all this time, you would think that the hurt and the anger would have diminished.

In my mind, I relive every day of our four years together trying to pinpoint where things went wrong. What should I have done differently? Was that the fight that made him stop loving me? Was that hair do that he hated the one that made him look at other women? What if I had said this instead of that?

Then the anger makes a sudden turn. Instead of chasing him, it is headed straight toward my neighborhood.

Suddenly I'm angry with me, not for all of the things that I think I should have done differently, but because I'm still making excuses for him. Maybe we did have a fight. Maybe we had lots of fights. But if he decided to stop loving me, if he decided to look at other women, if he decided to walk out the door and throw our life away, that was his decision. I didn't make him do it. When you truly love someone, it shouldn't be that easy to walk away.


And there's the real question that's always been in the back of my mind: did he ever really love me?


Even as I type that question, it feels as if someone punched me in the stomach and I can hardly breath. For so long, I would say that I thought he really did love me in his own way but because of his childhood he just couldn't express it. If someone had said that to me about their spouse, I would have explained to them how many things are wrong with that logic. Sometimes those lies are all that gets us through the day. They help us survive. But they are a double edged sword, one side saving us, one side cutting us deeper; until one day we find that we can't believe our own lies any longer.

Today is that day.

As I look at our engagement photo, the bright smile on my face so full of hope for the future, all I can see is the pain that was soon to follow. That smile became my disguise, my permenant mask to cover the pain. But that smile is gone, replaced by the tears that were his parting gift to me. On that day, I thought we were beginning a beautiful journey, walking the same direction hand in hand. On that day, he was thinking all his troubles were over because he'd found a maid for him and a mother for her.

Today I am forced to put away the lies of survival and face the truth. I wasn't the answer to his prayer for a life partner to share the journey with. I was the answer to his want ad for a caretaker to solve all of his problems. How could I have been so blind for so long? How could I have missed the signs? How could I have mistaken being needed for being loved?

Like Taylor Swift, today I'm striking a match on my wasted time.

Is there a translator in the house?

I had another subject picked out for today's post, but after the conversation I had tonight, I can't let this one go. Whether we like it or not, there is a fundamental difference between the way men and women view things and communicate. One would think that after 4 years of marriage and a divorce, I would not be surprised by this, but here I sit, surprised yet again at the vast difference.


The conversation began innocently enough. I'm not even sure how we got on the topic of love and romance. I do know this - the conversation did not end in agreement. My guy friend - who shall remain nameless....have to protect the innocent, after all - made the statement that love is a decision. I had to read it a few times to make sure I didn't need to replace my contacts. A decision? How exactly does one "decide" to fall in love? What are the requirements before deciding this is the person I'm going to love? My Nancy Drew instincts took over and I was compelled to investigate this mystery.


As it turns out, my crazy friend is not the only one who feels this way. As it turns out, 2 people - men, doctors, no less - wrote a book by this title. I find it interesting that there was no woman cowriter on this project. Therein lies the problem: this is a man's way of thinking. Women don't feel that love is a decision. It's a feeling. We do, however, decide whether or not to pursue this feeling. We are all equipped with Windows Vista Love 5.0. Here's how the message box reads: "Feeling attraction and affection, Allow or Cancel?" Basically, my friend and I concur on the subject; but, because we express it differently, we both left the conversation thinking that we disagree. Interesting....


While I don't believe that falling in love or feeling love is a decision, I do believe that cultivating a mature and loving relationship is all about decisions and committment. Couples don't stay married for 25 years because of the butterflies they felt when they were 20. A wife may love her husband more than life itself, but after a few years of picking up after him, it becomes a decision not to murder him in his sleep for throwing his socks on the floor NEXT TO the hamper. A husband may love his wife enough to protect her from anything that may come along, but he must decide to eat the burned meatloaf and not criticize her. But that same couple did not decide when they met to fall in love. That part you control as much as you control the rain.


The heart of the problem lies not in whether or not we decide to love someone or not, but in the fact that many couples never learn to communicate. When we finally decided to go to counseling, we joked about the fact that our counselors were basically translators because we were speaking two different languages. When I tried to explain to him how I felt, all I got was the blank stare....or screaming frustration, depending on the day. What we had was a failure to communicate. I recently found this quote that expresses our relationship the best: "When you said forever, you meant a few months. When I said forever, I meant every day until I died. When you said always, you meant until you couldn’t handle it anymore. When I said always, I meant until time ended. When you said you loved me, you meant I was no different from any other girl. When I said I loved you, I meant I had never felt what I felt for you."



I would love to end this post on a positive note and say that I have an answer to this age-old debate. I have no such answer. I don't know any more now than I did before my investigation. I still don't know if love is a feeling or a decision. I still don't know how to solve the world's gender communication problem. So for today, I must resign myself to not having all the answers.

History repeats....

Today, I sat in a hospital room, much like the one I sat in nearly 6 years ago. The woman I sat with today is older than the one I sat with then. She's not fighting the same disease the other faught, unsuccessfully. As I sat there, I felt the same overwhelming feeling of helplessness I felt then. As I watched her labored breathing, I felt my chest tighten in sympathy, but knew there was nothing I could do to change it. I felt guilty all over again.

As I watched my grandmother lying in the hospital bed today, I was forced to accept that she is no longer my young, vibrant partner in crime. Somehow when I wasn't looking, she became an old woman. Today, I watched her receiving blood that her body can no longer make. I watched her struggle to sit up in bed. No more sneaking off to go shopping while Grandpa is away fishing. No more playing the grandma card to get me out of trouble with my parents. Instead, I combed her hair because she couldn't do it herself.

In my mind, I wandered back to the room of another hospital I sat in almost 6 years ago now. It's become as familiar to me as the room I now sit in, so often I have revisited it. Then, I sat by the bed of another woman dearly beloved, daughter of my grandmother, mother of me. That day I was so full of hope. She was to come home that day. Fate had other plans. I wouldn't trade that last day that I had sitting alone with her - she napping, I reading. Occasionally, she would awaken and we would chat about nothing. Once she opened her eyes and unexpectedly said, "I'm so proud of you." I will carry that moment with me forever. So many years I had longed to hear her say that, had tried in so many ways to gain that stamp of approval. But even that moment was not to last. Within a few hours she was unconscious, never to open her eyes again. Instead of coming home that day, she went home.

As I came back to the present, I had to fight the urge to try to fix things. There's nothing to be done...not by me. The most I can do is sit with her and love her and make sure I say all the things that need to be said so that I don't live the rest of my life wishing I had said them. The rest I must leave to the doctors and God. How hard it is to give up control! But the more I think about it, the more I realize, I never really had the control I thought I did. I couldn't fix it then, and I can't fix it now. And so I decide today to not feel guilty for things I can't change. I will do my best to do my part and trust God to do His, and hope that this chapter of my story has a happier ending.

Curses! Foiled again....

My paranoid side would like to believe that my ex secretly has access to foreign satellites and is spying on me. My realistic side knows he's just not that crafty and the fact that he started texting me a few days after my last post was merely coincidence.



Or was it?



Here's how it went....

My last post was so poetic and full of finality. I was coming to terms with the fact that I would never hear from him again. I should have known better. Just when Miss OCD gets everything put together, Mr. ADD is like Godzilla coming through Tokyo stomping it to bits. Translation: he sent me a text message.

I know what you're thinking....it's JUST a text message. No need for alarm. The problem is this is just another way he refuses to cooperate with what should be. There are rules in life. They are to be followed, not tossed aside with abandon. People don't get to do whatever they want. Once there is an ending, that's it. It's the end. You just don't get to contact ex's whenever you feel like it. It's against the rules of divorce.

I am happy to report that I remained strong and did not give in to the panic that I really felt. I did not let him control and manipulate me. When he told me to drop dead, I simply asked that he not contact me unless he had something important and meaningful to say. When he told me he was going to be in my hometown (I'm still not sure why and fairly certain it was a lie just meant to infuriate me) and told ME not to be near MY family, I didn't give him the verbal beat down I wanted to unleash. I calmly replied that if I am there at the same time, that's his problem, not mine. And then something miraculous happened. I found the inner strength to turn off my phone and just forget it. (Triumphant music starts to swell....think Henry Mancini.)

For the first time in so long, I was the one in control and it felt great. He meant to be hurtful and hateful, but I found the strength and gumption to say enough is enough.....correction: God gave me the strength. I didn't have it within myself. I tried for 3 years to find the strength to stand up for myself, but it just wasn't there. With each day that I let him beat me down, there was less strength than the day before, until I finally gave up trying. But when I gave up and let God fight the battle for me, He made sure I had just enough strength to handle it. You see, he meant that text message to hurt me, to manipulate my emotions one more time, to twist the knife in my back once again; but God stepped in and said, not this time...this time, is going to be different. What was meant to be a stumbling block, God turned into a stepping stone.

The moral of the story: Just because it doesn't follow the rules, doesn't mean that it can't be used to your benefit. Ask the Referee for His ruling before you throw in the towel.

What do you say when there are no words left?

For some reason this week has seemed very empty. There's a void that I wasn't expecting. Besides sitting across the courtroom from him, I haven't seen the ex since that sad, dreary November day when I got into a rental car and headed east. The only contact we've had are the occasional texts about the business of ending our not-so-blessed union. None of our conversations have been pleasant. They usually ended the same way every conversation for the last 4 years ended....with him screaming, me crying and wondering why I even bother.


I knew this day was coming and thought I had prepared for it. Even though we signed the papers months ago, I knew this would be the real end because there's no need for any further conversations. It's all been said. He doesn't live in my house. I don't have his name. Except for the trail of paper and tears, no one would ever know we even knew each other. And somehow, as much as I never want to see him again, my life seems empty this week because I know I'll never talk to him again.


How many times was I glad to get the random, angry text from him because it meant he was at least thinking about me? How many times did I have a legitimate question that I needed to ask him, but wouldn't, because I didn't want him to know I was thinking of him? How many times did I look at the phone waiting for it to ring? Waiting for it to be the call when he said he had made a mistake and couldn't live without me......


And yet....


I knew that if the call came, it wouldn't change anything. Too many lies, too many broken promises had shredded the fabric of my affection. We had nothing left to build on. I had not properly guarded the nest and now it lay in ruins, nevermore to be repaired. But what could I have guarded it against? There was no outside attack. No, that damage had been done from the inside. Every time I tried to shore up a wall, he was there with a sledgehammer to destroy the work I'd done. I don't understand why....we should have been building together. Could it be that he is afraid to be happy? Afraid to admit he doesn't deserve it, but accept it regardless?
And so, I have resigned myself to the silence that fills the days to come. No more calls. No more texts. No more contact at all. Just emptiness and quiet, but not the peaceful sort that comforts the soul. No, this is the haunting emptiness of a void that can't be filled with friends or family or working too long into the night. This is the quiet that echoes through the mind's hallways as I revisit the dreams that will never be.


For the first time, in a long time, I have nothing left to say.

I no longer carry crayons in my purse....

We've already established how addicted I am to Facebook. No need to rehash that. As I'm scrolling through the status updates to see what my friends are up to, I see some of the quizzes they've been taking - which 7 dwarf are you? what color M&M are you? Who would be your celebrity boyfriend if only he weren't divorced 7 times and dating 3 different actresses this week? Amusing reminders of how much time I waste. But as I continue scrolling, there it is: what kind of wife would you be?

As much as I wanted to take it, I refuse to go within a mile of this quiz. I've already failed it offline. As much as I tried, as much as I gave, I just wasn't good enough. I begin looking through my purse for a tissue as I feel the tears start to roll down my cheeks. That's when I realize....everything in my purse belongs to ME.


I give up looking for the tissues that aren't there. You see, I'm not a mother anymore, so I'm not prepared for these emergencies. There was a time, in the recent past, when I could dump the entire contents of my purse and only 5 things were mine. It was really the family carry all and I was the designated pack mule. No matter where I was, I was prepared for any emergency. Spilled ketchup on your shirt? Shout wipes, check. Paper cut? First aid kit, check. Bored, screaming children waiting impatiently for a hamburger? Crayons, paper, check, check. She loved the fact that no matter where we were, she knew I had those crayons.

So I sat there looking at my full purse and thinking how empty it looked, how much I miss those pictures she used to color for me and leave for me to find later. My key chain feels much too light without the maternal keyrings of all 3 years of her school pictures, my badge of accomplishment as she grew and learned. And it's all his fault because he took her from me. I know I had no legal claim to her. But what mother stops to think about legalities when she just knows how much she loves that little face that calls her mommy? That little voice that cries for mommy to take care of her when she's sick. That little hand that slips into yours while you're watching tv - inevitably cartoons because mothers have no reason to watch anything else. The little hands that want so badly to help in the kitchen even though they make more of a mess than they help.

And I hate him all over again.


I hate him for bringing her into my life just to snatch her away. I hate him for every time he used her to get what he wanted. I hate him for the time I wasted waiting for him to love both of us more than he loves himself. I hate him for every time she became my only reason to stay. I tried to protect her, but I wasn't strong enough. I endured what no woman should have to endure. But he had so much anger and so much rage and it was going to hurt someone, so I took it so she wouldn't have to. And I would do it again.....a million times I would do it again just to protect her from one hurtful word from him, from one self-esteem shattering insult.


And I hate him all over again.


I hate him for every first day of school I won't be there for. I hate him for the first date I won't get to help her fix her hair for. I hate him because I won't be there when she graduates. I hate him because I won't be the mother of the bride. I hate him because I'm not a mom and I'll never be grandma.


Most of all, I hate him because I don't carry crayons anymore.

A rose by any other name....

As I was listening today to Suze Orman - my new financial guru - she was talking about how women identify themselves, in general not just in terms of their money. When you ask a man to tell you his name, he doesn't hesitate. There's no reason to - he has had the same name since birth and it doesn't change. Women do not have this luxury. When I was married, I sometimes had to give my maiden name also, because that's how I was known to some people. While I didn't do the Hillary hyphen, I did list my maiden name on my resume.

Try this experiment sometime....walk up to a woman and ask her name. Usually, there is a hesitation while she tries to figure out by which name you know her so that she can give the correct answer or she will ask if you mean her maiden or married name. This only gets worse after divorce.

The first time I had to sign something after taking back my maiden name, I nearly had a nervous breakdown. I had taken Mitzi to the vet and had to sign her discharge papers. I stood there at the reception desk, pen in hand, looking at that signature line. Absolutely frozen, I could feel my blood pressure rising along with the panic in my stomach. What if I sign the wrong name? What IS the wrong name? Who am I, again? I pretended there was something wrong with the pen, praying the receptionist hadn't noticed my quandry.

Just when I thought I had gotten the hang of being Sarah D. again, the ex calls with one of his notorious rants about something I had supposedly done to ruin his life....again. The difference was, he had involved my family this time. I felt trapped. There are few people in this world that I refuse to stand up to, but my grandmother is one of them. When she is involved, I fold, every time...and he knew it. He knew before I answered the phone that he had already won because he had played the trump card. So when he started berating me for ruining his life, I took it. When he started calling me names again, I took it. When he said that I was the reason for every bad thing in his life and that I had scarred his daughter for life, I agreed. All the guilt that had been piled on me for nearly 4 years - because I'm responsible for everything that happened in that time....if only I really had that kind of power! - all that guilt dropped right back on my shoulders.

I stumbled at first because I had become used to walking without it, but soon readjusted to the load. I hadn't even noticed the change, but everyone around me did. Suddenly, I had nothing to say. It was all I could do to keep from crying every time someone spoke to me. Then, a coworker asked if everything was ok. You already know the response, don't you? "Of course, everything is fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?" Coworker's response to that: "You just don't seem yourself." Oh brother.


All of a sudden, I knew the problem. Somehow in the course of accepting the yelling and the blaming and the swearing from the ex, I had transitioned from Sarah D, who takes crap from no one, back to Sarah L, who takes tons of crap from 1 person. And I hated myself for it. I hated that he still had that kind of dominance over me. He knew all the things to say to hurt me the most, and I hated myself for letting him know that. Somehow, I had to get my identity back and take the power away from him. But how to do this?


If you haven't figured out exactly how OCD I am, you're about to. I got out a piece of paper and a pen and started to write my name over and over. Timidly and in small print at first, then with authority....like a rock star autographing photos of herself. And as I wrote, I prayed and I cried and I asked for direction and help. Somehow I knew I was still there under the rubble of an abusive relationship and a failed marriage. I asked God to help me find myself and find my way. Just like that old hymn we used to sing, He brought me out of the miry clay, the wreckage that my life had become; He put my feet back on solid ground where I knew who I was. He took the guilt and the hurt and said, "You don't have to carry that anymore."

So go ahead, ask me my name.

Be careful little mouth what you say....

Why is it that when you make a decision to change something about your life, and you tell all your friends because you are so excited about this great epiphany you've had, that, inevitably, within the week, something will come along to make you really question your decision?


Let me explain....Remember the obligatory first dates I told you about? And I hinted that there was one that was benevolently granted a second date. Well, what I didn't tell you was how that date went. Here's the scoop.


First date was ok. I was nervous, so I'm grading harshly. He calls and wants to know if I'd like to go out again. Sure, why not. It took us about 3 weeks to coordinate schedules and find an evening when we were both available. Sorry, but I'm not leaving my calendar empty on the off chance that some guy wants to sit across the table from me and eat dinner at the same time. (Sorry, T, I know...that sounded like an angry woman comment, but it's just reality.) He says there's this great Italian place he wants to take me to. Other than vaguely reminding me of the ex, sounds great. I check out the web site and the place looks amazing. I've made my trip to Gabe's to stock my closet. The shopping gods were shining on me - found the perfect pair of jeans, which we all know NEVER happens. But then the story takes a weird turn.


As I'm getting ready, I have this ball of panic in the pit of my stomach. And I don't know why. I can't explain it. There's no reason for it. I've already been out with this guy - he doesn't have 2 heads. We've been talking for a while - he can carry on a reasonable conversation. So why do I have this sudden urge to crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head and never, ever come out to face the world again?


I push aside the panic and decide that it is unreasonable to cancel at this point. I finish getting ready and set out to find this mecca of Italian cuisine. The trek turns out to be much longer than I expected. Even with Karen, my GPS, as my guide, I have to stop for directions, not once, but twice. When I finally get there - 20 minutes late - I'm so distracted I can barely follow the conversation. Even as I'm trying to figure out how much longer I have to sit there, I'm wondering what's wrong with me. I'm sitting across from a perfectly nice guy and can't wait to get away from him. Hmmmmm.....


I hadn't given it much thought until today. Two months later, he sends an e mail asking what happened. I still have no answer, but the e mail annoyed me. Why is that? I was almost as irritated by this harmless e mail as I was by the crazy texts from the ex telling me he missed me, eight long months after he left. They were not even in the same ballpark, so why did I have such a similar reaction? Here's my theory....


Number 1: Men are random. I'd love to be able to expound on this and give you a reasonable explanation. There is none; it just is. Randomness is a great source of stress for a person struggling to control their surroundings. Scientific law states that an object at rest tends to stay at rest. Men are apparently exempt from this law. They don't need some external force to cause them to do something. This bothers me because there should be a reason for everything.


Number 2: Men don't always think. When I send someone an e mail or a text, I read it several times to make sure there are no nuances that could be misconstrued. Men don't see things this way. It made sense in his head, therefore, it makes sense to everyone.


With that said, here's where the conundrum comes into play. How do you stick to a resolution, when everything in the universe is conspiring to make sure that you fail?

I want so badly to refrain from being an angry, bitter woman that little children run from in terror. I am trying, but it is a daily struggle and I am publicly admitting this to make a point. Just because you forgive something one day, doesn't mean you won't have to forgive it again. People say they forgive and forget, but that's just not possible. Unless you have amnesia, you will remember. The best we can do is to fight the battle one more day and admit when we've stumbled and need help....and forgive men their random quirks. Just because we don't know the why, doesn't make it random. Just because we can't control it, does not make it evil. Just because you didn't stick to the decision today, doesn't mean it's time to give up. It means it's time to try harder tomorrow.

If you're happy and you know it....this isn't the blog for you!

They say that misery loves company. I don't think that's exactly true. I think misery likes to whine and needs someone to listen. It doesn't want someone to cheer it up. Misery would rather stay in the rut and kvetch about how long it's taking for the tow truck to show up. That is the polar opposite of what this blog is about. This is not about whining or complaining or ex-bashing or blaming. This is about telling a story, my story, for every woman who has been in this situation and has yet to find her voice.


Looking back, things weren't always bad. When I first started dating him, he was one of the most charming guys I'd ever met. I actually bragged about how well he treated me....and it was true, I didn't imagine it. We started out like any newlywed couple raising a 5 year old - tired, distracted, and broke. But we were happy, I think. I can't even really tell you when things changed. But as they progressively got worse, there was only one thing to be done - make sure no one found out.


That whole misery/company thing may work for a lot of people, but I've always been a rebel. When things get bad, it's show time! Spotlight center stage, please. All quiet on the set. Sarah pretending she's happy, TAKE ONE! I read my cue cards perfectly...."Oh, of course everything is all right. We've just been really busy lately. I promise we'll get together soon." Cue smile. And as the audience leaves and the lights dim, my smile fades also and I leave the theater to go back to the prison of my own making. But no matter what, everyone must be held at arms length no matter the cost. No one must know that my life isn't perfect.


For a while, I thought that the problems in my marriage were my prison. Then, during an extended session of reflection, I realized that the real prison was my perfectionism. It forced me to push people away so that they wouldn't see my flaws, my failures, my faults. And the worse things got, the further away I had to push people. Normal people go to their friends and talk things out, get advice, and just fix things. Perfectionists can't do that. We just hide the pain and go on with life until we finally crash and burn because we have nothing left to hold us up.


After this goes on for some time, one day you look around and find that you have acquaintances instead of friends, excuses instead of relationships. This is exactly where I found myself and I had no one to blame....it was all on me. I couldn't tell anyone how bad my marriage was - what would they think? I couldn't say, "You know, I'm pretty sure my husband doesn't love me anymore." I had been so careful not to let them know that anything was amiss, what would they think when I told them that things were falling apart? So being the independent woman that I am, I set out to fix it myself.


Actually, I wasn't fixing anything. I was merely trying to find a way to survive and wait for the storm to pass over. Picture yourself sitting on the beach trying to survive a hurricane with a blanket over your head. No matter what I did, no matter what I said, it was sure to make him angry. And I hated myself every time I gave in and let him win just to make it stop. But what alternative did I have? I had no strength left and I couldn't fight him alone. At one time there were people I could have called, but I had pushed them all away.


There is much, much more to tell, but it will keep for another day. For now, I'll skip to the end....I wasn't alone. Every time I went and sat at my piano with the door closed so he wouldn't know he hurt me again and made me cry, I wasn't alone. There was One there with me through every hurt, every tear, every heartache, though I'd forgotten to ask Him to stay and help me through. It would be further down the road before I really let Him help, but it was enough that He was working things out for when I was ready to open the door and let someone in.

Really? There's More?

When I went to bed last night, I thought maybe I had gotten this whim out of my system. I mean, how much can one person have to say? Turns out, it can be a lot! It may only be useful to me, but I doubt it, not because my words are important, but because there are too many people out there in the same sinking ship who feel alone and need to know they aren't. We are bound together by our experiences. This weekend, I had a friend throw me a life jacket and I'm determined to pay that forward and try to pass hope on to someone else.

Speaking of this weekend....Why is it that just when you think you are getting the hang of riding the divorce train, someone pulls the e brake and you find yourself flat on your face again? My cynical answer: the world IS out to get me. Realistically, sometimes that's the only way God can get our attention and get us to fall on our faces before Him. Let me explain.....

Last week, I was preparing for my final trip to Michigan - well, as far as this divorce business goes. It's been final for months. I've been on my obligatory first dates, all but one of which I refused to grant a second date. Things are good. I'm moving on. Pretty impressed with myself, actually. Got the crazy texts from the ex saying how much he misses me, even though he's been in a relationship with someone else since a month after he left...that didn't faze me. I am walking around thinking I've finally got it together and I'm going to make it through this. Then (cue the music....dun dun DUN) you guessed it, things were not fine.


I drive to Michigan, the first trip I've made by myself since all of this started. Jason goes with me to meet the ex to get the keys to the house. I didn't even blink. Handed him his stuff, he hands me the keys, we go our separate ways. No muss, no fuss, no drama....perfect, just the way I like things.

Little did I know that when I got to the house, there was a twist in the plot I had not and could not have prepared for. You see, I had grieved the past 4 years that I had lost of my life. I had grieved the fact that the man who promised to love me and cherish me and be there for me the rest of my life had said, "Eh, not so much on the forever thing, babe." What I didn't know, is that there was another piece of the puzzle...and it's a doozie. I had not grieved the future I was supposed to have and it hit me like a ton of bricks as soon as I was alone in that house.

Suddenly, all I could see were the Christmas dinners I would never cook, the children I would never bring home from the hospital - not to this home, all the Sequence nights with Pastor Dave & Miss Kris that would never be played. I could see it as if someone had painted a brilliant mural on the wall and I could hardly breathe. The pain went past the bone right to the core of my soul. What had I done to deserve this? Hadn't I been a good wife? I followed all the rules in the How to Be a Good Wife Handbook. So I sat in the middle of my empty living room floor and had a memorial service for my marriage. Morbid, you may say, but it had to be done. I cried a few decorous tears like a good widow and finished with the business of cleaning up after him one last time.

All was well (or so I thought) until I got in the car to drive back to Pennsylvania on Sunday. I had been on edge all day. I made poor Jason cry more than once with my sharp comments. I was in severe pain and keeping everyone away lest they accidently touch one of my open wounds.

As I pulled out of the driveway, I began to sob...not the decorous tears of the day before, but the ones that make you stop to catch your breath because it overwhelms your entire being. No longer trying to be brave, I call a friend. She talks for a few minutes, but then has to go. I look down the road over 6 hours of driving....alone....and I am like a drunken dialer trying to call everyone I know just to keep from being alone in the car. There are several numbers in my phone. Do you think anyone answered that day? Not a chance. God had something else planned for that day. The memo had not reached my desk, but I had an appointment for a real come to Jesus meeting and I was running late.

I put in a CD thinking it would be a good distraction. I'm pretty sure God chuckled as He put the CD in my hand and hit the shuffle button to make sure it was the exact song I didn't want to hear.....I'm Broken. The more I sang along with it, the more I cried. The more I cried, the more I thought about the advice that I'd been given the night before. "Pray for him....sincerely....not just telling God that he needs to deal with him because he's a tool, but earnestly pray for him." Cut off my right arm, you say? Would have been easier. I did not want to pray blessings on him - he left me. I don't want him to prosper - he took everything from me. I don't want him to be blessed - I want to shoot him. And I told God all of that, very loudly just in case He couldn't hear over the radio. He doesn't deserve all of those good things. He doesn't deserve to be forgiven for what he put me through for 4 years. And then there was that voice...you know the one....the one that says exactly what you do not want to hear because you know it's true. "Did you deserve to be forgiven for your mistakes?" Wind out of my sails! Muttering to myself as I rip the CD from the player, I decide to listen to something else.

And again, God chuckles.


If you have not heard CeCe Winans sing the song "Alabaster Box", please take this time to go listen to it before you read any further. This is the song that God had lined up next on the play list. While I'm still trying to absorb that somehow I have to forgive the jerk, the next lesson is getting ready to hit.....(music again.....dun dun DUN). I can't forgive myself until I forgive him. Soooooo not fair! I'm no longer legally bound to him, so why is my forgiveness tied up in his? I begin to pray, quietly at first, not wanting to seem any crazier than I already do to my fellow motorists. This continued for about 3.2 seconds until I broke just like that alabaster box. I prayed for my ex like I never had before - prayed mercy on him because he hasn't known grace like I have, prayed that he get the help he needs to carry the burdens he has to carry.


You see, friend, I had come to a crossroad. I could go on being angry - because I had every right to be angry. He treated me like dirt for nearly 4 years and then left me with nothing, not even a shred of self-worth. Or, I could choose a different path. I could choose to be a gracious and compassionate woman of God and let go of the anger, let go of the pain I had been wearing like a hair shirt to punish myself. I left that bag along the Ohio Turnpike and decided not to carry it anymore.

I traded the ashes of my failed marriage for the beauty of a contrite spirit. I don't say that to boast....I still got up the next day in need of an attitude adjustment, same as every day of my life, but there was a difference. The adjustment was my choice. Was I going to let circumstances decide my attitude? Not anymore. And when you get to that point, God will be there to meet you also. He won't let you go through that breaking point by yourself.

He may, however, make sure that none of your friends have working cell phones that day so that you have no choice but to talk to Him.

So I talk too much....

I've recently discovered that the world of Facebook is not big enough for everything I have to say. I can only update my status so many times per day. I guess I should start with the back story of my life just to catch you up. So, I was born on December 26, 1978.....just kidding. Would never want to bore you with the entire story all at once.
As far as the title of my blog, that did start about the time I was born. My mother said I was the child that always wanted things a certain way and didn't want my clothes to be dirty, and please do not mention the possibility of dirty hands to me. DRAMA would ensue! In other words, no, I did not just wake up one day and decide....hmmmm...I think I'll be a control freak. It's been going on for a really long time.


I grew up not knowing that it wasn't every little girl's dream to run the world. I was completely oblivious to the fact that not everyone in the universe would not welcome my opinion. My father always did. We used to have the best, ummmm....we'll call them discussions with variable volume levels. Long before I was old enough to vote, I had definite views on politics and they were inevitably the direct opposite of my father's (please don't ask him about the 1st Clinton election...this is still a source of deep embarassment for me). Not that those were my actual opinions, but I would defend them to the death. Which taught me that if I could just talk long enough, eventually the other person would see my side. Brilliant, right? Turns out, most people don't have the attention span to endure my endless diatribes.


How does this relate to the rest of my life, you ask? I'm so glad you did! Fast forward to age 24. I've been on my own since I was 17. Sure, I've moved back home a few times, but who hasn't? I've always had jobs where I felt I was in control of something. I might not necessarily be the boss, but I am the person that other people call when they need the impossible done....and I usually find a way to make it happen. I was walking through life kicking butt and taking names and everyone knew it. Then one day, I find myself sitting in a hospital room with my mother. Somehow, I couldn't control this one. She lay there so pale, so bloated and swollen. The machines were humming in the background like a million mosquitoes, an angry reminder that I could do nothing to change the situation. And in the blink of an eye she was gone. I tried but was powerless to stop it. All the things that I KNEW to be true, suddenly weren't. I was not in control like I thought I was. God didn't heal my mother the way I thought He would. What was the world coming to.....and I crashed into the wall of reality.


Fast forward again to age 26. I've managed to tape pieces of my life back together. You have to look really, really closely to see the invisible tape. But you would never get that close....I make sure of that. I've learned from my mistakes. Never let people get too close because that's when you get hurt. Somehow even with that philosophy, I managed to get married. Very odd and not quite sure how that happened. I just knew that I met this amazing person who was the exact opposite of me. He was fun and carefree, whereas I was boring and grounded. My logical mind dictated that this would yield balance.
Somewhere along the way, I had not learned the lesson that states that logic has no place in matters of the heart. In my mind, logic determined the outcome of everything.

Life was an equation and if you had the proper knowledge, it could be solved. Very precise, no mess, no fuss....there's a formula for anything, right? Wrong. This poor man who had chosen to walk through life next to me had no idea what I was talking about when I tried, so desperately, to explain this to him. For one thing, there were too many shiny objects in the room for him to actually hear what I was saying. I'm fairly certain what he heard was similar to the voices of the grown ups in the Charlie Brown cartoons. Things went on for a few years and got increasingly more difficult. Was I a source of vexation to him? Most definitely. Did I deserve the reaction I usually got? Most definitely not. You see, where I had grown up with an over-inflated sense of order in the world, he had grown up with practically no boundaries at all and felt it appropriate to say anything that popped into his head. I, on the other hand, had a complete staff of full time editors working round the clock in my head, censoring every thought to ensure that anything I expressed was nothing if not appropriate. Well, except for the sarcasm. That was my little rebellion. He had no such staff in his head. I'll skip the details....that's for another day.


Suddenly (why is it that things always seem to happen to me suddenly? is it because I'm not looking? not sure...but I digress), I find myself sitting in an empty house at the age of 29. The man I had committed to for the rest of my life was not coming home. For the past 3 1/2 years I had cooked (well enough for him to gain 30+ lbs) and cleaned and ironed and taken care of him and raised his daughter, and, yet, there I was alone.

Everything I had done wasn't enough. I wasn't enough. And I was utterly and completely, heart-wrenchingly alone. I just KNEW that if I took good care of him and made him need me, that he wouldn't leave me because he couldn't live without me. See, that's how a person with low self esteem thinks. You've been there, haven't you? You just decide that they may not like you, but you will make yourself irreplaceable and then you will never, ever be alone again.


This theory may work in an OCD world, but that's not the world I was living in. And so he left and I found myself not in control of the situation - again - and God didn't stop it from happening - again. With so many emotions, I didn't know where to start. Anger? No, that's too easy. Anyone can be angry. Denial? Oh, that would have been bliss. Let's just dive right into the pool of self loathing and incrimination, because it IS my fault, you know. I'm the wife and it was my job to protect my marriage and my home and I failed. I was a failure. That's the logical answer. But, oh, it wasn't the answer at all.


Thank goodness, it wasn't the answer! There's only so much a lioness can do to protect her pride, but if the lion walks away, what is there to protect? That was his choice, not hers. She can't control him anymore than she can control the weather.


When I finally accepted that I was never in control of things in the first place, what a burden lifted! It wasn't my responsibility to control him.....I couldn't control him. As I began to realize that, I gave the control back to God (ironic since He already had it....isn't it weird how we always think we are giving Him something when He has it already?). I finally went to Him and said, "Father, here are the pieces. I'm broken again and I can't fix it. Will you help me?" I didn't want to ask for help because I would much rather do it myself. I knew I didn't deserve help because I had wandered so far, far away from home and I was, after all, a failure. But just like that prodigal son, so many years ago, when I came and fell at His feet and gave it to Him, He picked me up and welcomed me home just as if nothing had ever happened and I had always been right there where I belonged.


If you're still reading, you must be in the same boat that I am. No one else would have stayed with this story line this long. I know that I'm not making this journey alone. There have to be others out there who feel the same shame and embarrassment for choices you didn't make, for things you couldn't control. And yet, we feel responsible and ashamed that things didn't go the way we expected. Don't lose hope! There's more to my story and there's more to yours, too. Just make sure you have the right One writing it.