Tag: grief

What my marriage taught me: about myself and relationships

I know I made some people wait quite a bit for this last installment of my three-part series of “What my marriage taught me”. I apologize for the delay. This took a bit of time for obvious reasons. It was the hardest to compose. It is the hardest because being teachable alludes a bit of humility, does it not? Yes, money and fear are big topics and there is a lot to learn. Always. But when we are talking about ourselves in our 40’s, aren’t we supposed to be experts on ourselves? On our relationships?

In my  mid 20’s and I became single after a long six-year first-love kind of thing, I thought it would be “so exciting” and how I am going to find someone better than who I had left out of impatience and drifting apart. For the record, I never did find someone better right after leaving. That’s far and away a different story. Anyway, back then it was 1995 and I was hopelessly devoted to Alanis Morissette. Jagged Little Pill was my anthem back then. Damn! I had a lot to learn.This was when I thought I knew something about something. I had a 20-something sized ego and my bumper sticker on my Honda CRX said “Whatever”. That should say someting.

Since then I had traipsed through flings, AOL chat room encounters, short relationships, being cheated on, and mostly just being single. So much, yet really not  SO much. I learned to trust less, have  too much fun and I  believed sincerely that I would sleep when I die. I was a bit of a party girl. With out the drugs. A little alcohol, but really just guys….and more of the same nightclub/bar type existence.

Advance to 2006: I had just broken up with my boyfriend (as you know, the one that would be my husband in 2009). I thought I had learned that his bit of expressed anger and rage was too much for me. I guess not. I guess his charm and his ….everything….got to me AGAIN. I just didn’t learn. Not then. Not yet.

Advance to 2010: I returned to Denver with my tail between my legs. This relationship was done. I failed. Again. This time with lessons. Oh, there were lessons. I realized what dignity was. I realized what it meant to feel I had none. I knew what rock bottom really meant. I had no idea; I was completely naive to how rock bottom would feel exactly. For me: my life reduced to boxes packed in three hours, a rented car filled with some clothes, my dog and me. I was a grown adult who only had a ring on my finger that I would need to pawn at some point, my precious puggle Max and my mom’s  American Express. I had what little cash I took out (originally $200 a week before leaving Florida) before our accounts were frozen by him.

I got home. I cried it out. Every fucking day. There were tears. Yes, tears for him. Tears when he swore me out with horrible names the night I told him I got my old job back back in Denver. Tears of loss. Tears of failure. You get the idea. I went into therapy and saw a wonderful lady who really got me through the pawning of the wedding ring (I had to eat and pay a little rent), the paperwork after being served  divorce papers at my door step by a process-server, the trauma of being such a failure. But she helped me realize that what I went through was unique, but not unique.  Not everyone gets divorced after rage, post throwing  dangerous objects, post verbal abuse and “silent treatment” episodes (to teach me lessons about talking too much). Not everyone suffers unpredictable rage that has absolutely nothing to do with what the non abuser may have actually done or not done.  But those who have been through that know what that looks like. And feels like.  Even if they didn’t know back then. The first time I had a clue that there is something beside physical abuse that counts as some type of abuse was when I called the police the second time at the encouragement of my  father. My ex hadn’t actually hurt me, but for the first and last time, he did put his hands on me in a forceful way (to extract car keys). My father said I need to report that in light of what had happened the previous nights (ex trying to kick me out of my own place). This is the first time I learned first hand of something other than physical/sexual abuse. The police officer who took my report that day gave me a list of numbers on a card that described all types of abuse. This card was given to me by a male police officer. I dont know why that’s relevant, but it was to me at that time. It was a comfort that another male would recongnize the treatment was not right. I was extremely grateful, but more grateful long after I had left Florida. I was still shell-shocked having to even make a report at the time.

So, the aftermath: 2010-2016: I survived an awful divorce and monetary losses, loss of dignity, trust, and developed a necessity for  hyper-analysis of every infraction against me that I had perceived . I think I resented what he had done  to me in the divorce and aftermath more than the crimes of the actual marital discord.  I had a few relationships in 2016 and some online adventures up to then which I posted about previously.

What I learned about everything, including 2016, the birth of my blog!

  1. Humility is being teachable and allows me to progress to better and more healthy relationships.
  2. Admitting regrets: I can regret something and recognize I made a mistake, I had a lapse of judgement. I would love to say I live with out regrets. I don’t think I can say that right now. I think that sounds a bit righteous and a little ignorant. Can’t we all admit we didn’t do something perfectly, something we would like to do a little differently?
  3. Honesty:  What do I want? What can I handle and what can’t I handle in my future relationships? What are my red flags? Can I hold up to my own side of the bargain-for the sake of my dignity, can I walk away from those red flags?
  4. Don’t write about people in current relationships with out their consent. I learned this in my last relationship after trying to get him to read my blog after every entry that mentioned him. After getting into a heated discussion, he read one and felt blindsided.  I recognize that I will preserve people’s privacy until they are comfortable with being mentioned in a most anonymous sense.
  5. I learned  that what I really have after all this is anxiety: Still. After all these years from the series of unpredictability and rage in my uber-brief marriage. I may have had it before I was even married; however, it spiraled  out of control in the years since, includng the first few  years of my recovery from the divorce. Now I can admit it is something I have to, and want to work on, something that I seek help for to make these relationships work.  So I don’t sabotage the really awesome opportunities and people who come into my life.

 

SO… some of you may be asking about #3: What are my red flags in the aftermath? What can I handle? What did I learn that I really need and got honest about it? Why don’t I write that as a part two of this third installment.

Please leave me a comment if you would like to hear more of this detail in #3 and I’d be happy to include a part two!

 

Music pairing: If I need to say it: Okay! I was inspired by Alanis, because when I am not in the old space, I need to be reminded of how it felt. Jagged Little Pill does that wonderfully.

With a very heavy heart…

To the loving mom of my first love,

This is so very hard to write, but as I was writing my letter of heart-felt loss to your son, I realized it is really you I need to reach. I am glad he was able to tell me about your health before now, so that I was able to reach out to you once more. I regret deeply that I haven’t reached out more often since then. And now, this is my only chance. And still, too late. I want to thank you for everything. Everything you have been since I met you more than a half a life time ago. Yes, do you remember? I was barely 20 years old. I did not have a driver’s license, so I think I came up there by bus. I remember so much. Some of the finer points are a bit fuzzy, but I remember the important things and many of  the little details.

I want to thank you, but when I want to let you know I haven’t forgotten all the little things, it doesn’t seem so eloquent in a long drawn out paragraph. Perhaps a list will get the point across in some way.  I know you were somewhat private about your health toward the end, so I am making this thank you note anonymous. Perhaps that doesn’t much matter now, but it is a mitzvah in your rememberence .  I want to learn how it feels to grieve someone so wonderful who is not related to me by blood/legal family.  I want to learn  how it feels to lose that deeply.  I wish it was written to someone else. I wish the lessons of grief and loss weren’t  because you had to leave all of us way too soon..  I have always known I had to learn things the hard way. I can’t just read a big old book on Elizabeth Kubler-Ross  on death and the five stages of grief and just “get it”.

Someone like you had to come along and show me unconditional love with an open heart and open door to your home to show me it wouldn’t be easy. When I first met you, in my early 20’s, I was just beginning my life. I was learning about everything in books. I met your son at some crazy party and he brought me up north to meet you and your husband and other son. You made me great food and always had soda and fun snacks (these were fun facts for a young woman who did not have soda and chips at any time for the taking!). I ate with paper napkins. I saw a cross  hung in your kitchen. Until then, I had never seen an actual cross in any home. You opened my eyes that people live  different lives than the ones in my little Beltway Bubble. I am eternally grateful for those little things, the paper napkins, the cross on the wall, the marriage and intact family you offered. So, without going further, there’s just too many things for a run-on sentence or long-lost paragraph, so here’s your list:

Thank you for:

  • showing me different religions and paths simply by showing me your cross in the kitchen.
  • letting me eat with paper napkins
  • inviting me each and every time into your home
  • showing me a loving intact family (being from a child of divorce)
  • making me chicken pot pie that was more like a soup
  • always having food and soda and fun snacks
  • always making sure I was taken care of at your home
  • when I arrived all shaky after  driving into the median on a highway and calling with a quarter from a payphone, you made sure I got to your place safely
  • showing me that no matter what, you can always love people who aren’t in your immediate family.
  • showing me that when people make other choices with their, there’s no need to judge.
  •  having your first son so that I could know what that innocent first love is all about and of course, thank you for raising your sons so well so that I could even have this letter to write.
  • supporting us in our choices to consider other places to live and letting me take him across the country to start the next chapter of  my life with him.
  • letting me be a part of your life tangentially (Facebook, holiday cards) even after my life with your son was over.
  • being unforgettable.
  • teaching me a lesson in grief of parent loss before I have to experience this with  my own parents. It sounds so selfish, but I am telling you really how selfless you are and you didn’t even know it!

I am sure I am missing so much over the past 27 years that I have known  you. I know paper napkins and crosses seem trivial to you, but they are not. They show me how people live amazing, but different lives than the one I lived up to that point.  It taught me tolerance at a young age, when I did not have much experience in much at all for that matter. In a time of feeling immortal when I was young, I am all grown up now and very much in touch with our mortality.  Thank you for showing me what counts.

You are so special. I am listening to Adele’s ’21’ as I wrote this. I am not sure if you ever listened to her, but it’s what I chose.

Thank you..

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