Sorry to call so late...

The Message:

"Sorry to call so late, but I was wondering if you were available to babysit. My husband and I are going out to celebrate our eight year anniversary tonight. It was really two days ago but he was out of town. He bumped his flight back a half a day and got in at 11:00 that night so that we could still see each other on the actual day, but that didn't leave us any time for dinner. And last night, well, he was still on Central time so we barbecued with the kids at 4:00. So that brings us to tonight. So I was hoping, if you don't have anything going on, I'd really appreciate it if the kids could come over for a bit. The restaurant is just around the corner from your house and we'll bring some dessert... Call me back."

The Return Call:

"Aren't you guys still separated?"

Yeah... I get that a lot.

While my husband and I are still separated, we are dating. And because we are married, there's no guilt in having sex. (I'm a recovering Catholic, what can I say?) Aside from not falling for bullshit lies that get told when you're dating, the other big bonus is that he really really likes my kids! There are some important things that need to be ironed out before we can make any big changes towards a full reconciliation, if that's even the way this will all play out. But hey...

one day at a time.

...

Happy Anniversary, Fly Boy. I love you.

...

Still foggy in here...

It's been a week since Day One at BlogHer and I am finally back into reality mode. Not an easy thing, let me tell you.

I'm feeling a lot of feelings right now. And since all of my therapy money went to my trip to San Francisco for BlogHer, I'm just laying it all here. You lucky reader, you...

I really wish I would have stayed at the St. Francis. Not because it's such a beautiful hotel or because I wanted to be able to just walk downstairs to the sessions. I wish I wouldn't have spent nearly as much time with my sister as I had... and it was pretty limited time. It was awkward. I realize now that I just can't be around her. It hurts too much. I'm upset that she's the only other kid that lived through life with me and doesn't have any desire to talk about it without being hurtful and sarcastic. I'm also upset with her for her snarky jabs and then getting all exasperated like I'm the one that did something wrong when I finally had to jab her back. Sorry, but stupid questions and being talked down to kinda do that to me! I had to summon all of my decency in order to just give her one of those two-pat-man-hugs at the airport. I couldn't walk away fast enough. Well, I was late for my flight, so I had to walk fast... but you get what I mean, don't you?

While I was up there, my kids were all here. All of them. Even the one that doesn't talk to me. I invited her, but I have a feeling, that was all being planned before my gracious invitation. I'm still trying to get all the stories straight about how my hand-blown glass humingbird feeder met its demise or why my furniture looks like it's sitting on a slant. I also reached for a mug only to find it missing. I already said what I needed to say. I think my words were heard. I'm not sure how they were processed on the other end, but that's not my deal. What happened was that I let them all know that I was disappointed. The reactions were that they didn't think I should be upset. Apparently, the mere fact that they were helping me out means that anything that was broken or missing or misspoken would be forgiven.

Ummm... no.

If I'm watching your cat and it dies because it jumped out a three story window because I let him play there and then I said Ooops, sorry, but don't be mad, cause I was watching your cat for you... is that okay? No. Or how is it that you can wash all of YOUR mugs without breaking them, but come over to my house and all of the sudden you have some crazy, mysterious hand problem that prevents you from holding MY mug without letting it drop? Huh, Mom? Or if you are going to partake in my home and all the amenities, have the decency to respond to an email that asks if you had a nice time and that I hope you were comfortable here... even though you won't visit when I AM here.

I'm also still heaving out the last of the fog trapped in my lungs. I get this weird temporary asthma whenever I breathe in moist air, which is usually daily living so close to the coast. That was part of the reason I moved further inland when the pilot and I sold our house and separated. I need dry, people! DRY! I'm thinking I'm going to take a trip out to the Grand Canyon. It's so beautiful there... so big... so amazing... we went there for lunch last year. Yep. Just for lunch. The life of a pilot's wife is kinda weird like that.

Am I still a pilot's wife? hmmm...

We are "celebrating" our Eight Year Anniversary next week. He'll be in Texas on the actual day. That's another thing I've become accustomed to. Before you feel sorry for me, I have to say that I understand that it's only a date. Some random numbers on a calendar. I'd much rather have our lives be sane and joyful than to celebrate artificially on a specific date. Does that make sense? So, I'm picking him up from the airport two days later. We're going to dinner from there. Downtown San Diego is always a lot of fun, so it should be nice. I'm really looking forward to some time alone with him. But from there, what? We've been talking about moving back in together, but I think we're both a little scared. I know I am. This Texas thing is nice. He's been away for ten days. I've had some fun in The City. But now, we go back to real life.

And it's all still just a little foggy to me...

...

A Dysfunctional Fairy Tale

Once upon a time, there was a Sweet Little Girl who lived in a foreign land, trapped in a castle that was not hers. No matter how much she smiled or laughed, the King and Queen of that horrid land were rarely amused. They declared her a nuisance. How were they to be bothered with her needs with so many more pressing, more important issues to deal with. They had a daughter cursed to die and another cursed to cry about the people in infomercials about acne. "Go away!" they would say. The Sweet Little Girl learned early to keep to herself and especially...

not to bother anyone.

She spent time visiting with the Fairy Godmother that sometimes lived at the castle, depending on the state of her marriage. Some days, the Sweet Little Girl could find comfort in sitting with the Fairy Godmother, listening to her stories and learning her old ways. But other times, the Fairy Godmother's blood sugar would be too low and she'd zap her with the wand or emit nasty criticism and other harsh shreaking-eel type noises. This scared the Little Girl very much... almost as much as carnies... but not quite as much as circus clowns.

So she made up an invisible life all her own.

She made up stories. And people. And all kinds of grand adventures. She began talking to herself in the mirror, describing these wonderful tales. This odd behavior did not amuse the King and Queen. AT. ALL. So as not to be embarrassed, they locked her in the tower. But she was good with a paper clip and locks and soon escaped. Once she jumped to the ground (single level tower), she ran as fast as her Sweet Little Legs could take her. Unfortunately, during her escape through the Wicked Forest, she ran into lots of Lions and Tigers and Bears. No carnies, though, thank goodness. Escaping from the wicked animals of the Wicked Forest was pretty tricky, and sometimes, she got scars when she tripped and fell. Some of those scars were ugly... and deep... and embarrassing.

After what seemed like a lifetime (but really only the first few chapters), she came upon much nicer digs.

She found the New Land of the Wise and Caring King. She knew that he was the Real King (not the phony baloney ones that locked her in the tower). She longed to petition this benevolent Lord to rid her of the deep scars that she had been hiding. The ones that wouldn't go away. Even the really embarrassing ones. But she feared bothering Him with her insignificant needs. After all, He had more important things to do. Feed the hungry. Clothe the naked. Solve our Universal Health Care issues...

Why would He want to help her?

Still, she wondered, "Could it be true what they say? Could He really take on my hurts and heal my scars??" She decided to step out in Faith. She asked if He could make the scars magically go away if she just volunteered enough. He said, "No, not a good idea." That wasn't at all the answer the Sweet Little Girl wanted to hear. He told her that she was forgiven. (Whew!) Next, she had to forgive others, after which she naturally replied, "You know... I kinda like these scars." But after a while, she thought, well that was stupid! So she began to forgive. The King and Queen that didn't know any better. The tempermental Fairy Godmother that didn't always take her meds. The Lions and Tigers and Bears.

And eventually, Herself.

And soon... the scars started to fade. Not completely. But you can barely see them anymore. Better than that, she began to live! She felt happier than she had ever felt before! She knew it wasn't always going to be a cake walk. But she also knew that whatever it was, she and the King could handle it... one hand tied behind her back, even!

The End. Oops! I mean...

The Beginning.

...

Anger

I left this comment over at Daily Goddess in response to a post about Anger and it's value and power in our lives:

I began going to a recovery group four years ago to "deal with" my anger. I was embarrassed at my moments of rage. At the shattering of glass against walls. At the constant yelling yelling yelling. What I have discovered through years of peeling back the onion is that I was right to be angry. I just didn't know WHY I was angry. I was hurt and in pain and still expected to walk around as though nothing was wrong. My anger would bubble over at times when I could no longer pretend that everything was fine. That I had never survived any hurts. Now, after putting blame in it's proper place, and now in taking responsibility for my part of the situations I've gone through, only now am I no longer so angry. But without that initial anger, that intense feeling, I don't think I would have taken that road towards self-discovery and to true healing. I think anger is necessary. Just as a fire is needed for seeds to burst forth and a tree to bloom.

I had a LOT of very real reasons to be angry. The problem was I couldn't name the reasons. I stuffed those feelings and did everything I could to control my environment. When I couldn't keep all the plates spinning, I'd lash out at those closest to me for not helping me to keep things in some sort of dysfunctionally perfect order. uuuggghhh... I hate that I was like that!

I know that many people view anger as being out of control, and so do everything in their power to avoid any outbursts that might embarrass them. That's trying to control a very real human reaction because of the concern of what other's might think. I don't mean that we should be allowed to go out and beat someone senseless because they have upset us. I mean, if you are upset or angry with someone, feel the feeling! But stuffing our true feelings is pretty typical for most people. And that's very dangerous to our psyche. We don't want to think we're mean. We don't want to make others uncomfortable. We want people to like us... blah blah blah blah blah...

It was only through hours of prayer and meditation and a lot of group time that I came to understand that I had every right to be angry for things that I had gone through as a child and young adult. I have since "calmed down" now that I have been able to put faces to the feelings of rage. I still have moments where I wish I had a punching bag in the garage, but not like before... not on an hourly or minute-by-minute basis. Now when I'm just so pissed that someone crossed a line with me, rather than trying to control my environment or taking it out on those closest to me, I sit in that anger. And then I write, or run, or take deep breaths... but mostly I sit in it and pray. And sometimes, I even find the strength to go back to the one that crossed my boundary and tell them "That was not cool. You can't do that to me ever again. Have a nice life." If they walk away from me, all the better. Remember, they can warm themselves by my fire, but damned if I'm giving my wood away to anyone who would hurt me ever again!

I've turned a horrible character defect into a positive element in my life. Something shameful into something powerful... yet still so humbling.

So what do you think about anger? Do you allow yourself those moments of just being rightfully pissed off? Or do you control your feelings too well to be enraged when someone has wronged you? Was there a time when anger worked for you, not against you?

Or do you just think I'm some crazy lunatic?

...

Heather

Some of you know who Heather is. She is Dooce (rhymes with moose). Most of the time, she has us laughing about the bawdy words that just came out of her mouth and into the blogosphere to jolt us out of our suburban coma.

Today Dooce is in tears.

How strange to go to a site that I find so witty and funny to read about the sad news about her step-father and her questions of faith. It seems so prevelent in my life right now. I go to Dooce to escape, but today I understood that not even Dooce is immune.

And how selfish of me!

How many times have I gone there to get away from my reality. To have Heather tell me all about her demon dog and see the pictures of the venerable chotchkies. "I wish I was Dooce" is written on my forehead... if you look close enough. I know she has a husband and a beutiful little girl who doesn't like to wear pants. I had no idea whe was mourning her miscarried baby due this week. I have been following all of her press interviews with raw, green envy for the last couple of weeks. The same two weeks that she and her family have befallen the curse of cancer.

Dooce is real. She's a girl named Heather who is still trying to figure it all out just like the rest of us. She just happens to do what she does really well and seems to have an outstanding level of belief in telling it like it is. She is my Livin' For Real hero. You may not always like her take on things... and she really could probably care less. Do yourself a favor and make her part of your day. Let her infect you until you want to wear a bracelet with: WWDD

"What Would Dooce Do?"

...

New Beliefs

Part of healing and recovery is replacing old Belief Systems (BS) with new empowering beliefs. Easier said than done. Definitely nothing that comes overnight. But it is possible, and so I move ahead.

This morning was spent in the presence of a group of wonderful women, all in a room to promote their own businesses and to partner with each other for the good of everyone. We chatted over coffee and learned about our past month and goals for the coming month. That was Part I of our meeting.

Part 2 was very special. Our speaker was Claudia Jean, self proclaimed Queen of Self-Esteem! She began by talking about aging and how the alternative is "you not being here to share and to bless others." That quieted me quickly. If I don't want to age, then I have to give up my place here... and all the fun that comes along with it. Simple truth... yes. But how often do we look in the mirror and sigh unhappily about the state of gravity on our parts? She asked us to pretend we were ourselves in the future, take a look back at our image today and then say (from the future), "Damn! You looked good back then!" 'Cause back then... that's what's happening right now. She also said something very simple yet true: "The fact that I showed up means that I am good enough!" But she admitted, just knowing you are good enough doesn't mean that you will feel it, too. We talked a little more about loading back up with good and positive beliefs.

Enter MY guest this morning, Lorretta Shughrue. Lorretta is a hypnotherapist who, aside from having her own therapy practice, offers over-night rejuvination CDs that unlock the yuck that we say to ourselves throughout the day, sends it on it's way, and refills our subconscious with positive affirmations. She gave us a sampling by ending our meeting with an affirming breathing exercise reminding us that we are wonderful, beautiful creatures. The word I took away from that exercise was "magnificent." Later that morning, I thought, "this must be how a princess feels!" Wonderful. Beautiful. Magnificent.

In emptying out the old BS, I am actively replacing new thoughts. I used to feel like How much worse can it get? Now I feel as if I am on a platform ready to jump off and soar into the sky. All my fears are still there, but they are diminishing and I am getting stronger. This life... this new life of my own making... it's going to be...

MAGNIFICENT!



Claudia Jean's site is currently under construction. She is, however, available by phone at 760/692-0439. She speaks to women's groups from the teen years to those celebrating their seventies and above. In her talks, she will share the three parts of Self Esteem and how to be kinder to the woman in the mirror.

Lorretta Shughrue, DCH has earned a Doctoral Degree in Clinical Hypnotherapy and a Master’s Degree in Counseling. She has a passion for empowering others to reach their personal goals and improve their quality of life. Her practice is Experience Empowerment and can be found at www.expemp.com

Trina

It's hard to define yourself by an issue, and it's also quite unhealthy. But to admit that you struggle with something is the first step towards sanity. So many times I heard that kind of psycho-babble and rolled my eyes. I don't worry anymore about people rolling their eyes at me so much as I wonder if they, or you, are identifying.

The other day I read a story about a woman named Trina:

Trina just met the "man of her dreams" a few weeks ago. She invited him to stay with her when his girlfriend threw him out. She's so happy giving him what he needs domestically, financially, and sexually, especially when it's something the girlfriend wouldn't do. She loves knowing that she understands him better than anyone else. That is why she is going to surprise him by taking him out to dinner for his birthday and wear the kind of very revealing dress he really likes. Making him happy is what counts. She leaves work early to swing by his office and give him a ride so he won't have to take the bus. She's thinking about placing an ad to give away her precious Siamese because he has hinted that he doesn't like cats.

By the end of the passage, I was supposed to feel like this Trina woman was nuts, I think. But I just looked up and thought, well now, Trina sounds like a really nice person. I don't see anything wrong with what I just read.

Oh boy...

I laughed out loud about it later because I know better now. I don't see that behavior as loving anymore, but as captive. I don't see Trina's boyfriend as a nice guy down on his luck who just needs a little tenderness. I see him as a pariah. That's right... a soul sucking, blood thirsty, loser... okay... maybe it's not all his fault.

Of course it's not!

Trina is active in her victimhood. She allows her boyfriend to walk all over her. She does this out of a misguided idea of love and need for acceptance. So have you ever been Trina before?

Chances are, if you are a female, you might have.

...

When the student is ready...

I read an interesting Hero Quest story today about a woman who faces great challenges and overcomes fears in order to soothe an angry husband recently home from battle, wounded and desiring nothing but isolation. The woman asks for guidance from a wise person in her village to help her cajole her husband back to the sanctuary of their marriage. She is sent off into the unknown for a hair. Stay with me... she climbs a mountain, gradually gains the trust of a bear by feeding him, asks for a hair from his neck, is granted the request, and half scared but mostly optimistic, runs back to the village. All I want at this point in the story is to read about the magic elixir that will make my angry husband change and love our family the way we deserve.

Will she never learn, you ask?

When the woman returns to the village, the wise person takes the hair, inspects it to make sure that yes, in fact, this woman did do as required. That she did conquer fear and insecurity for the love of the wounded husband. The hair is then thrown into a fire, seemingly oblivious to the harrowing quest taken up by the selfless (and at this point, I'm thinking, stupid) wife. She screams "WHY?" The wise person says to now in turn do the same for the husband.

Huh?

What the hell? I'm supposed to risk life and limb to get my husband to come inside? Just because he's an angry jacka$$? What the heck kind of codependent crap was this storyteller trying to peddle? Is it just ME? I began to wonder if this was how "wise people" kept women in subservient roles for so long. But then as I read the explanation, I realized that I was once again reading with the wrong pair of glasses. The husband wasn't a husband.

He IS my psyche.

The husband is representative of the wounded part of us, wanting to isolate and wallow in our pain. The wife is the kind nature inside each of us who wants so desperately to cover the scars with the salve of love. It is in the quest, the scary moments, the times we rise above our fears and accept all of life's challenges, that we become stronger and more resilient. And in that strength, we are able to bring our wounded self back into the shelter. But who is the wise person that sends us on this journey to face a fear, knowing that we will be okay? That we will become whole?

God.

My life verse is found in the Old Testament, in Isaiah. It's an amazing book of looking back on the wounds and looking forward on the healing. It's the eternal promise of God to bring us back into the sanctuary of His Love. The things in life that we wanted might have robbed us of our innocence and brought home to our loving nature a wounded warrior. With the help of God and his written promise, His Logos, we are able to be restored to the wonderful beings we were meant to be. With His grace and guidance, we WILL bloom again:

Isaiah 51:3

"The LORD will surely comfort Zion
and will look with compassion on all her ruins;
He will make her deserts like Eden,
her wastelands like the garden of the LORD.
Joy and gladness will be found in her,
thanksgiving and the sound of singing."

AMEN!

...

WANTED: Someone Just Like Me

It would be just fantastic to talk about my life without having to explain myself or deal with those eye twitches and not so funny smirks from others. It would be so nice to have someone else understand my idiosyncrasies. SO here goes...

SSWBF (semi-single, whitish brown female) seeks friend who is just like her. Must be divorced AND separated. Former(ish) husbands should be adrenaline junkies with a need for speed (ie race car drivers and jet pilots). Said husbands should also care more about their hobbies than their women. Friend must be familiar with the codependent behavior that made her think that trying hard enough would have made things better. Must have at least four children ranging in ages from Preschool to College with at least one of the children completely self-excommunicated. Prefer a friend raised on own as her parents were too busy fully realizing themselves. Must love the Lord but cannot use any annoying Christianese when conversing. Should be interested in hiking and biking as well as pedicures and spa getaways. Doesn't mind making an ass out of herself when attempting to surf. Potential friends please apply. No credit check but a full psyche eval would be good. (Membership in recovery program would suffice for psyche eval)

I need to get out more.

...

Clean Sweep

Clean Sweep’s Peter Walsh has a new book out. All about the physical cleaning out of one's junk. This is what he said in a recent interview about the show:

Our show was never about the stuff. I told the producers early on that you can only organize so many closets and garages before people lose their minds… We all have stuff. What we had to do was tell people’s stories through their stuff, and see them realizing what their relationship to the stuff had become.

This last move, I purged. A lot. I did what I’ve seen on Clean Sweep. I made piles. Then I made those piles go away based on what was unnecessary. It’s amazing what you take with you that is unnecessary. Many of my choices were made for me based on the rental that we were moving into. It's fully 1,000 square feet smaller than our last home. Talk about simplifying your life!

The relationship I have to the six tubs of stuff that I could not part with is a deep one indeed. Nineteen years of being a mom plus eighteen years of being alive prior to that. I have old journals, albums, corsages, paintings… nothing I dare part with. But that's all I allowed myself for fear of becoming...

my Mother.

I have real issues with that woman, so it’s easy for me to criticize her shortcomings… bear with me. She has homework… HOMEWORK… from the 50s. She has almost every drafting project she ever worked on rolled up in tubes. Lots of tubes. She has blurry, underexposed, and just really bad pictures. Endless boxes of them. She has stacks upon stacks of magazines that she keeps for decor ideas for her dream home. She even holds on to items that make her angry. Physically hangs on to objects that cause her pain. Why? Lord only knows.

There's an old Spanish saying: Aprende de cabeza gena. That loosely translates to “Learn from the mistakes of others.” I have learned a lot from my mom, but in a rear view mirror kind of way. If she did this, then I’d make sure to do that. If she suggested to do one thing, I'd investigate the opposite. The most visible example of how I've made sure to be very different from her is our relationship to stuff. Nowhere did I learn more about the dangers of holding on than from my mother.

She doesn't just hold on to items. She holds on to regret. Not about anything she's done... that would be too hard... anything she never had can be directly linked to a number of usual suspects. My dad, her parents, old bosses, me… always someone else’s fault. That’s another lesson she taught me… let me rephrase that… that’s a lesson she modeled for me, again in the rear view mirror: Accepting my part. This act even has it's own column in Step Four of the recovery process. Some of you know what I’m talking about. Step Four is all about inventory. The yuck. The baggage. The poor choices.

Owning up to my part hasn’t been easy, but neither is carrying around a lifetime of junk.

~