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.
No comments:
Post a Comment