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.