Friday, March 18, 2016
Starting To Write Again
I have now been divorced for 25 days. February 22nd was the day my status officially changed. I am now 50, and Single. Once again, when I walked up to the Family Court desk at the Court Registry in downtown Vancouver, tears welled up and fell down my cheeks. I collected the final order from the file as instructed. While standing in line to get certificates printed up I read the Final Order. Our date of marriage was stated. Our two full names were stated. And then, in a simple legal sentence printed simply on a piece of paper, we went from being marriage, to being divorced.
Amazingly enough, the thoughts going through my mind at that time were “I’m sorry.” And, “How did it get to this stage?”.
It was my marriage. My dream. My life full of adventure, love and laughter. And I know what brought us to this day. I know exactly when the tables turned, when I realized that I was beginning to dismantle my marriage. And most definitely, it was all my doing. It was my initiative to make the change. My admission to myself, and to my three children, that I could no longer carry on as Wife.
The entire divorce process has been intriguing. Girlfriends laugh at the fact that I could not even utter the word “divorce” for the first year after leaving my husband. I know I couldn’t. I simply was not ready to take that leap. I knew for certain that divorce was the ultimate goal. However, actually facing that task had to be achieved when I was ready. And it took me a year to be ready.
I still get emotions that bubble to the surface. I am still susceptible to random sensory overload. I can still have the wind blown out of me by the most seemingly insignificant events: Hearing a song on the radio at work that catapults me back to a former time and place; Hearing sounds in the great outdoors that instantly connect me to times gone by.
Just the other day, while walking around at work and looking out the window, I spotted a man standing there who I, for a split millisecond, thought was my husband. The reaction was intense: the lunging of my heart combined with being walloped by an invisible force that pushed me back 4 or 5 steps. At times such as those, messages sent out to either my children or my girlfriends help to settle me with words of wisdom: You won’t get over a lifetime shared with someone with the snap of fingers. It will take time.
And while I heal, I do things for me. Once beyond the sometimes extremely demanding schedule of work, I follow my own impulses to do what I please. This past month has been spent re-painting my entire apartment. The kitchen is complete (cabinets and walls), the dining room and living room walls have been painted, as has the bathroom. The two bedrooms remain outstanding. Those are next. I basically am re-creating our living space. Our home. I am making it into the kind of home (as best I can do in a rental apartment!) that I want to have now in my life. The English Country Cottage atmosphere is coming along nicely.
And I realized that I am quite revelling in this whole home decor project. Why? Because I feel as if I’ve never really had any significant input into how my home was to be made. I’m probably off a bit on that assessment, but my ex had great ideas with which I just followed along. These are my ideas for my home. Quite satisfying.
I have also begun to see a therapist/counsellor/what-do-you-call-this-person? Every other week. Same time. Same day. A regime for me. And I like her. She is very easy to talk to. We have had three sessions so far. I have been given a book titled “When Love Hurts”. I am slowly working my way through it. I can relate to the stores shared in the book.
I find myself quickly writing off my own reactions, attributing the cause of the tension to mental illness. But still, there is that line out there. The line between what actions were completely and utterly attributable to misfiring neurotransmitters, and actions that were deliberately and distinctly displayed because that was what he was most definitely wanting to do. When I start going down that line of thought, then one word becomes my mantra: Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.
As I told one girlfriend, I am taking the rose-tinted glasses off. I’m tired of reinforcing the positive elements of our marriage. Everyone knows there is an overwhelming abundance of positive elements that made up my marriage. And maybe it was my own defence mechanism of focusing on the positive so that I would not have to focus on the negative. I lived the negative. I left the negative. I did not want to put any energy into the negative now that I had moved on. And if I was not negative, then no one else could be negative because I was the only one who truly deserved to vocalize the negative. No one else had a right to harp about the bad stuff. I claimed the monopoly on that. Fair or not, that was (and still is) my logic.
But reading this book, “When Love Hurts”, also makes me feel good. I recognized these cycles. I recognized the power cycles. I recognized the control elements in place. I may not have done anything about it...wait, that’s not right. I did a hell of a lot about it while I was still there. I changed my behaviour. I modified my own reactions. I did everything I could do to prevent the cycles from repeating themselves. I was not successful in breaking the cycles, they continued on regardless of what anyone else did. But the actions I took were not necessarily standing up to my husband. The actions I took involved me figuring out how best to survive in the marriage given his behaviour/perspectives/reactions. I most certainly changed in order to survive on a day-to-day basis. I did that for years. YEARS. Until, one night, while lying in bed, I decided for whatever reason, to start investigating what was going on. Investigate the possibilities as to WHY things were going on the way they were.
I feel very, very lucky to have had the support of so many incredible people at this incredibly sensitive and emotional time. Friends that hid in the shadows for years instantly reappeared into the light of our lives (mine and the children’s lives) once I had taken the steps to make a change. No one could do anything while I was still in the midst of life with my husband. No one dared. And I fully recognize that. I had to take the lead. Once I started down that road, once I demonstrated and vocalized that I was stepping out of a bad situation, friends popped up like crocuses after the first warm rain in Spring.
I have been relishing these friendships. Some are mere blocks away. Some are provinces away. Some are in other countries. Women from across the board who have offered up different enthusiasm. I love to write. And I find writing in this format to be very natural, very therapeutic and very pleasing. I have been encouraged by many to write a book. And I would love to write a book. While we sailed as a family, and for years afterwards, people we met would say “You should write a book.” I tried. I did. But sharing details and sharing memories was too difficult.
I tried writing a children’s story. I entered a contest. I know it was a roughly-written copy but I did receive some positive feedback for it. However, I did not pursue it and it faded into the distance.
When I left my husband, I started writing. It was a great way to get it out. It was, finally, a format that I could utilize to express myself. I had not been able (or allowed) to express myself for years. YEARS. By writing my own words down, by sharing what I thought and what I felt, I was becoming more and more myself. I realized that I had a brain! Or rather, a functioning brain. I knew I was smart but, over the years, I succumbed to blindly following my husband and became more and more comatose. As soon as I left him, my synapses starting firing at full-throttle once again! Nothing got by me. I thought about everything. Every little detail was acknowledged, expressed and dealt with. I was now the head of our household. Three teenagers and myself who needed to carry on with life as a foursome. No task was too great. No task was ignored. I brought it all on myself and I was taking care of every little thing. I felt fabulous!
But to return to the writing conundrum, I have attempted at different times recently to think of an outline. At first it started with covering the span of my marriage. A tribute of sorts to the wonderful elements of our 20+ years together. I would cover topics such as sailing, rafting, being entrepreneurs, being parents, etc. I started writing. What I discovered was the words did not flow in the same relaxed manner as when I am writing in this blog format. And while hiking down from First Peak on The Chief earlier today, I also discovered that I prefer the open-ended format of the blog. To wrap up a certain period of time between Page 1 and Page whatever, I find rather stifling. The appeal lies in a continuous stream of information, insight, humour and introspection.
I do not really have a point to make in a book.
For me, the revelations of my life encompass so many aspects in the past, in the present and in the future. I do not wish to be bound to a front and back cover. I want to babble on endlessly for whoever wants to read it!
And given how stress can come and go, and how happiness can come and go, and good moods and bad moods and emotions can come and go, I would rather espouse on those elements of life as they present themselves. Relating back and forth to the past, and hypothesizing about the future, I find much more rewarding and satisfying. Besides, the whole idea of editing and re-writing is exhausting. I would rather write something, put it out there, click “publish”, and then move on.
This is how I write. And I like it.
My tea cup is empty. I am feeling relaxed. I think it is time to head back down the mountain, drive to the Post Office and grocery store, go home and cook a good dinner for the children. And hang some pictures back up on the walls (I have not yet put anything back up on the freshly-painted walls!).
Happy Friday Everyone.
I look forward to sharing with you.
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