#41: Day Off Monday

Monday, March 21, 2016

Day Off Monday

In a rare event, I have a two-day weekend!!  I am revelling with having two consecutive days off to unwind even more so than usual.

Yesterday, I took myself for a lovely 8km walk through the forest on the local trails.  It started out as a gentle jog, but as my leg muscles were still feeling the effects of hiking up to the First Peak of The Chief on Friday, I slowed it down to a brisk walk.

This morning, I packed up and headed off to the gondola to do the Shannon Basin Loop (about 10km), with plans to afterwards hit the restaurant and open up the laptop.  Good intentions faded quickly.  It is raining at the top, the snow is mushy.  I forgot to pack my spikes and gators.  My lower back, which I could begin to feel last evening, does not wish to trudge around in slippery snow with a backpack.  After cursing myself for not being properly prepared, and thinking that I always like to get the hike in first before the writing begins, I find myself at the restaurant, a cup of tea beside me.  Sounds of a group float in from the other section, but unfettered solitary roominess are to be found in this section.  It is a cloudy, grey day.  Misty rather than cloudy.  The tops of the mountains on the opposite side of Howe Sound are barely visible.  The snow is patchy and melting.  I will simply have to go for my forest exercise after I write.  I suppose it is good to  mix things up a bit!!

In the past 48 hours, I have discovered two different elements with my emotions.

First off, as I was talking out loud in the shower (actually, pretending I was a guest speaker at a women’s conference concentrating on women surviving mental illness...I know, terribly egotistical and childish), and describing how I embarked on this voyage of complete and utter personal change, a wave of realization struck me.  My pursuit to learn about side-effects of marijuana, namely what is the connection between smoking marijuana and paranoia, rapidly evolved into the study of symptoms of mental illness.  It was not side effects after all.  It was symptoms that I was dealing, that WE were, dealing with.

I started out wondering just how much of an impact marijuana had on the brain.  How much marijuana had to be smoked in order for the brain to be impacted.  How much marijuana had to be smoked, how often, how consistently, in order for the brain to begin to view the world in a more off-kilter perspective?  It is not as if marijuana was smoked every day, week after week, year after year.  It was totally cyclical.  Just how much was needed to cause a permanent effect though?  And in my initial searching, I was looking for clinical answers with direct connections between the two.  Looking for the definitive statement:  Marijuana unequivocally causes long-term paranoia.

I did not find that statement.  What I did find was a door that opened onto a world that I knew nothing about.  A world that was completely unknown to me.  A world that, upon discover, suddenly made sense of everything.  Revelation after revelation struck as waves against the shore.  Endless knowledge pouring in which divulged the depths and intricacies of my ex-husband’s mental state.

What is interesting is that the more I discovered the more likely explanations of “why” my husband had the perspectives he did, and “why” he behaved the way he did, and “why” he reacted the way he did, the less and less concerned I was with discovering “what” caused these perspectives, “what” caused the behaviours, and “what” caused those particularly predictable reactions.  It didn’t matter what brought this all on in the first place.  Whether it was effects fro two concussions in university (rugby), or spurred on by casual marijuana use throughout school and the early years of marriage, or other drug use later in life, or a biological reason attributed exclusively to his unique genetic make up.  None of that mattered.  All that mattered was that this is what I/we are dealing with right now.  What got us to this point is irrelevant.  All the focus and energy was put towards determining what we do next, both short-term and long-term.

I began reading of other people’s experiences.  How living with a partner with mental illness affected them.  What daily life consisted of when living with a partner with mental illness.  Examples of life with less extreme symptoms and examples of life with more extreme symptoms.  Reading about living long-term with someone whose personality will only become more and more extreme as the years wear on.  It was at this stage that my internal light went on.  That I admitted to myself, without hesitation, that I could not do this anymore.  Now that I had an explanation for “why” everything was the way that it was, and why my (ex) husband was the way that he was (and still is, and most likely will still be), I knew with complete certainty that I had already been living with mental illness for years.  YEARS.  And that I was not going to live with mental illness ANYMORE.

That miniature me who I turned to in the darkest of moments (typically while curled up fetal position on the floor), began to stand up and push out her shoulders.  In hindsight, while I sit here looking out over the misty mountains, it was a Jean and the Beanstalk effect.  Just as the magic seeds sprouted into a magnificent stalk leading up and away, that miniature me began sprouting.  Even with meltdowns, even with tears of frustration and sheer emotional exhaustion, I kept going knowing that at the top of that stalk my release would be found.  For lack of a better word:  my salvation.  Freedom from this oppressive regime under which I had been living for years.  YEARS.

I read articles that weighed both the pros and the cons for leaving someone with mental illness.  The comparison was made to cancer.  Would you leave someone who was just diagnosed with cancer?

That argument did not phase me in the slightest.

I was leaving.  It was as simple as that.

I had been subjected to the emotionally turbulent extremes of unquestionable love and devotion, and undisguised hatred and horror.  For years.  Now that I knew what I was dealing with, there way no way in Hell that I was going to stay.  Even with an illness, nothing was going to make me remain in a relationship which, bit by bit, strove to peck away at me until there was nothing left.  A relationship in which one moment I was the reason for our excellence, and the next the brunt of all blame for our misfortunes.  A relationship that, I can now admit, had me suffer phsyical and emotional consequences for someone else’s perspective.  I no longer have bruises, or scratches, or welt on my anatomical structure.  But, I have those memories; those invisible yet ever-present scars.  And although I fully admit that I am far from perfect, the creation of those particular memories rests solely on the shoulders (and in the fists) of my ex-husband.

I now had an escape valve.  I now had this opportunity to say Enough.  I now had the chance to get my life back.  To rescue myself.  To live a life that no longer incorporated cyclical emotional upheaval, mixed in with physical retaliation.

As I type this out, I think about the second discovery that I wish to divulge.  Now I wonder about its validity.  I’ll explain:

Yesterday, as I walked along in the forest, it struck me that the reason I was not getting angry and bitter towards him, is that I simply did not want to hate him.  For me, leaving him was all that was needed for my world to move in a 180-degree trajectory.  When he turned and walked the other way, my stress was gone.  The vice-grip released its grip.  Instantly.  I could breathe again.  I could live again.  I could smile again.  I could be myself, again.  And because of that incredibly basic change, one day living with my husband and the other day not, there was no need to channel any energy into blaming him.  It wasn’t a part of my life anymore so why spend time thinking about it?

Funnily enough, other people wanted me to be angry.  Wanted me to curse and swear and shout and release any and all pent-up negative emotions.  Yet, I did not.  I was too busy enjoying all the amazing things in life to waste my energy and new-found time on dealing with “him” who no longer was part of my daily life.  I wanted to focus on all the amazing things that my life consisted of now.

But, I now realize, that after years and years of abuse, there most definitely are buried emotions.  Yes, there is still incredibly fond and cherished memories of our life together.  There always will be.  I will never discount the goodness of our marriage and our love.  That did exist.  I know that.

I suppose that even admitting that I have these emotions is a step in the right direction.  I do not feel unworthy.  I do not feel inadequate.  Hell, I am made of STEEL.  I know this.  There is no lack of self-confidence here (at times, yes, there is a lapse but as a general rule of thumb my confidence level is pretty darn high!).  I am not a wounded victim, paralyzed by trauma.  My therapist clearly stated last week that I most definitely am not suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder!  I could have told her that about 18 months ago!

I still do not want to hate him.  I don’t.  He didn’t ask for his brain to start firing this way.  No matter what caused it, the effect on him is unintentional from his perspective.  He did not deliberately do something in his life so that this would happen.  I know this.  Which is why there is no blame for our marriage breaking up.  Other people won’t understand this.  I know that.  But that does not matter to me.  It is how I understand it, and my children, that matters.

I do feel an increasing need, however, to stand up to him at some point.  To stand my ground on some issue that he cannot refute.  That he cannot argue about.  That he cannot cause me harm because he sees it, or interprets it, differently.

During the past two Christmas seasons, the children have gone to spend time with their father.  Time together which I encouraged and facilitated by lending my vehicle.  After the first visit, days later, I learned that he had been not just in my vehicle (and the girlfriend, too), but actually driving it.  I gave the children no reaction to this news.  I took it in stride.  But, while walking in the forest with a girlfriend (funnily enough, the one person who truly wants to see me get angry!), I cursed and spouted and tore vocal strips off the coniferous trees.  I was f---ing angry.  Could not believe it.  The gaul.  The sheer gaul of him driving my vehicle.

Anyway, when this past Christmas rolled around, the kids were gearing up to go see their father, and my vehicle was volunteered for them to use.  I politely told the kids that, even though they might think me mean and selfish, and that even though I was allowing them to use my vehicle to get together with their father (as far as I am concerned he should be taking care of all of those logistics...not me), and given that I have taken a stand on my own independence and am paying for my vehicle with my own hard-earned money, that I did not want their father IN my vehicle.

The first reaction was prompt:  “You don’t even want dad IN the car?”.

“No.  I do not.”

Silence.

Then the subject was changed.

Again, days later while we were having

#40: Starting To Write Again

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.

#39: D Is For Divorce

Monday, February 22, 2016

D Is For Divorce

At 12:00am this morning, while plugging in my cell phone to charge, the clock registered that my marriage had come to an end

A marriage that was magnificent.  A marriage that was a marriage.

Over the past 19 months of separation from my (now ex-) husband, I have traveled the emotional highway.  Grief for what was lost.  Relief for what is no more.

#38: YVR

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

YVR

Location:  Vancouver International Airport (YVR)

Reason for Being There:  Catching a flight to Toronto to see girlfriends I grew up with

Why:  ‘Cuz I Can!  ‘Cuz I Want To!  ‘Cuz I Deserve It.  ‘Cuz THIS IS WHO I AM!!!

This has been in the works for eight months or so.  I made it a mission to get myself to Toronto at some point in 2015.  It has now evolved into a 10-day Extravaganza of Girlfriends!

2015 has been about reclaiming ME.

All the various aspects of life that I value, all the different levels of happiness, enjoyment and sheer wonder that I value have been somewhat pushed aside (?) over the years  With my new-found freedom came all these amazing opportunities for me to pub back into my life all those aspects of life that I value.  All those aspects that made up “ME”.

I call it reclaiming, and that is exactly what it is.

And I have worked hard to reclaim myself.  It was especially hard to continue reclaiming me just this past week.  My holiday (which began August 1st at 5:01pm when the office closed for the day), could not have come at any better time.  I was at the end of my rope.  I was barely able to keep it together.  I was exhausted physically, emotionally.  I was exhausted from the sheer shouldering of responsibility.  I could finish that sentence with “during the past 12 - 18 months”, but, in reality, I have been shouldering responsibility (responsibility that should have been shouldered by two people, not just one), for many, many years.

I melted down into tears a total of three times on Saturday.  Once in the morning at home, then at work, then again at home over dinner.  Three meltdowns in front of three different audiences.  Even the notion of going to water someone else’s garden brought me to a complete state of panic.

I CANNOT DO THIS ANYMORE.

I am tired of being the sole go-to person for myself and my three children.  Don’t get me wrong.  I don’t want to be anything other than THE go-to person for my children.  All I am saying is that I had reached the state of complete and utter exhaustion.

It was a giant wave that rolled over me.

Given the fact that I have gone completely backwards in my physical state lately (running less, eating more), and how that fact has completely bummed me out, …

I’m taking a pause right now.

I just don’t feel like writing at the moment.

Hold on to those thoughts and I will get back to you.  I am gonna sit back and enjoy my Chai Latte!

#37: What Are They Thinking?

Friday, July 17, 2015

What Are They Thinking?

Tomorrow will be my one-year Anniversary of being separated.

Just a few moments ago I was struck with the need to know exactly what my children think of everything.

How they view their father.

My weekend project is researching and starting to prepare divorce papers.

It is time to have “the chat” with my children.

I don’t want them to self-implode with unspoken emotions.

I have given them time and space.

Now, it is time to talk about it.

#36: Another Tick On The To-Do List

Sunday, July 13, 2015

Another Tick On The To-Do List

I am tired.  I am emotionally worn out.  I am elated.  I am completely and utterly in a “phew” state of being right now.

It has now been 12 days since my financial status has changed.  Have I divulged that I declared personal bankruptcy on September 30, 2014?  Well, if not, I did.  Nine months later, on July 1st of this year (12 days ago), my bankruptcy was discharged.  I am now debt free.  A huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

I will not be going into the details of why bankruptcy was a route to be taken.  Suffice to say, that it was necessary from my point of view.  I knew that this was one of the big matters requiring attention when I left my husband 359 days ago.  That matter, at least for me, is now a fait accompli.  I have my certificate.  Creditors can no longer look to me for repayment.

And less than seven days afterwards, I put myself right back into debt!!!!

I bought myself a brand new Jeep.

The ‘93 Honda Accord that we (my children and I) have been driving for the past year, totally gave up.  Ironically enough, on the day we were going into the city to pick up a family member’s car to “car sit” for a few weeks, the Honda decided to start acting funny.  A quick diagnosis by one of our mechanics at work stated “head gasket”.  That was that.  The Honda was done.

The next 24 hours were spent getting my financing approved, locating the vehicle of my choice (Jeep Patriot) from a dealership in the city, finalizing the transfer and then driving into the city to pick it up and drive home!  I didn’t officially own it until 2 days later, but I got to bring it back to Squamish.

And what an amazing evening that was.  A brand new, 2015 Jeep Patriot, elegantly coloured with Granite Crystal Metallic paint (in other words, dark grey!), and just sitting there waiting for ME!!!

This was a HUGE step forward for me.  To be clear of the debt, to breathe freely financially, to know that it was ME, and ME alone, that led to the particular moment when I unlocked my new car (SUV) for the first time.  To sit inside something so new, so clean, so elegant, so sturdy, so secure, so SAFE, and so trustworthy completely wrapped up everything I have been trying to accomplish these past 18 months.

Yes, I know, I am accomplishing so much for myself and my children.  But, this is the first tangible evidence of what I have accomplished and everything I have strived to do for me and my children.  Provide safety.  Provide security.  Provide love and laughter and a roof over our heads.  And the Jeep completely, and metaphorically, represents all that.  (Yes, I do realize it is only a vehicle with four wheels!)

I feel safe in that vehicle.  I feel secure in that vehicle.  I feel relief in that vehicle.  I feel satisfaction knowing that it was my efforts and dedication to the task at hand that got me into the driver’s seat of this vehicle.

And now, I feel as if I need to rest.

This was a big one to accomplish.  It wasn’t necessarily difficult to achieve.  The bankruptcy was incredibly straightforward, civilized and painless.  Nine months passed so quickly without any kind of hiccup.  It was simply a huge step forward with my own independence.  It was a huge step forward with my own accomplishments (or my ongoing list of accomplishments).

And as one feels after a good, long hike:  I need time to sit back, put my feet up, relax, breathe and slowly get myself ready for the next task.  Maybe have a glass of wine too, while I cook our Sunday feast!

I have dubbed it “Deb’s D & D”:  Discharge and Divorce.  The former has been realized.  Now for the second “D”.

I have gone back and forth while researching divorces.  Do I prepare for a Jointly-Filed Divorce (one that might be accomplished if my husband and I could sit down and realistically discuss what is to happen next), or do I prepare for a Sole-Applicant Divorce that may need to assume that my marriage will end in silence?

The paperwork for the divorce will always be on my shoulders.  I know that, and I have no problem with that.  It’s the silence between us, the unspoken heartfelt words on my part that may go unspoken that truly breaks my heart.  I was taught to say Thank You, and I want to say Thank You to my husband because, regardless of anything else and the reasons for us being apart, he deserves to be thanked.  He deserves to know of my gratitude for all the incredibly phenomenal events that made up our marriage.  The possible silence is heart-wrenching.

Yes, I have a letter for him that the children can deliver when they next see him, but I will probably never have the opportunity to speak those words to him.  To look him in the eye and say what I sincerely want to say.

The last time I looked him in the eye was two weeks after I had left, and telling him “I’m sorry, I can’t do that” when asked if he would be coming to live with me/us again.

I know where his head is at with all of this.  I know my husband.  I know his perspective.  I am not surprised.  I was hoping, perhaps against all odds, that civility, compassion or respect for our time together would show forth and allow him to answer my text.  

I have gone back and forth on the wording of such a statement, if we are ever to be face to face in the near future.  Statements ranging from “we should talk about what to do next; or “I would like a divorce”; or “I want a divorce”; to the final selection:  “I am filing for divorce”.

The power is in my hands.  There is no room for misinterpretation or power-playing or permission.  I am doing what I want to do.  I am informing him, not seeking his permission or approval, for what my actions will be.

So, a Do-It-Yourself Sole Applicant Divorce it is.  Time to download the kit and get on with it.

During my drive back to Squamish with my dealership-owned Patriot, I drove down roads on whim, winding my way through lovely neighbourhoods in Vancouver; winding my way through the neighbourhoods I have lived in Vancouver.  Places that meant something to me.  And I worked my way down to Kits Beach, where we lived in our one-bedroom apartment together, played tennis on the tennis courts a block from our apartment, where we bought warm bagels from Siegel’s Bagels, and learned how to rollerblade together on the Sea Wall.  The apartment from which we planned our Wedding.  I parked the Jeep (it’s not a car!) and walked out towards the anchorage.  The place was alive with city dwellers enjoying the urban sunset (blazing red because of all the smoke from provincial wildfires).  And then I saw it, the boat that I had lived on for four years.  The big Canadian Flag loosely hanging off the stern.  The hand-carved wooden mast standing above the steel hull.  No barking dog running around on deck.  A sole dinghy floating around out back.  All quiet, but someone was home.  I could feel it.  I stopped and watched for a while.  I took a picture of the boat and sent each of my children the photo, telling them exactly where I was.

And once again, I was surprised at the grief that rapidly bubbled to the surface.   Tears rolling down my cheeks, a sob working its way up from my gut.  Sadness appearing.  Loss of a beautiful thing.  Loss of what once was.  Was he watching me through binoculars?

The people passing by, taking photographs of the Kits Beach activities and the sunset over English Bay, laughing light-heartedly, had not a clue of the composure I was trying to maintain.  Pure grief welling up from the depths of my being.  Grief and sadness for the ultimate closing of the curtain now.  The final act is upon us, or rather upon me.  It will be me who takes the final bow.  It will be me who will be totally and completely aware that the end of my marriage is drawing nigh.

Shared knowledge between my husband and I is a thing of the past.

Somehow, somewhere, he will learn of our marital dissolution.  Whether it be from papers being served (good luck with that!), or through the children, or through other members of the family, I do not know.  But, I do know that now it will be me, once again, bringing about the next phase of change in our lives.

C’est la vie.

Au Revoir, mon chere.

#35: The Evolution of Me

Sunday, June 21, 2015

The Evolution of Me

The First Day of Summer.

I sit at an outside table at the Quest University cafeteria, looking out upon the magnificent Tantalus Range which serves as the western perimeter of the Squamish Valley.  I hear a White-Crowned Sparrow most distinctly above the other bird calls floating about in the air.  We have a blue sky today, a gentle breeze (the strong daily in-flow wind has not yet completely set it), the air is fresh and I am primed for writing.

All my children are working today, on a Sunday, so I lay in bed for a bit, called my father to wish him a Happy Father’s Day, and then took myself to the gym.

My daughter and I spent Summer Solstice Eve working our way through a Yoga session (my first Yoga class ever!) on top of the mountain at the Sea To Sky Gondola.  A spectacular setting to be sure.  7:45pm to 8:45pm, and we watched the sun sink behind the mountains to say farewell to Spring and hello to Summer.  It was a lovely way to spend a Saturday evening.

But honestly, I’m not sold on the whole Yoga thing.  Yes, I do enjoy stretching and feeling my muscles reach out beyond their usual parameters.  I do also admit that I like a good sweat;  I like to dance; I like to clap and hop and bop and smile and move about the place.  I was an aerobics enthusiast from the start!  And perhaps it is simply because I don’t know the moves, the stances, the positions and how to move swiftly from one position to the next while figuring out the breathing in between.  I am a novice, that’s true.  And given my entirely new direction in life, I won’t write it off completely.  At the gym just now, I did 30 minutes of cardio then went into the studio with a balance ball, two 5-pound weights and a mat, and did my own thing.  I like working my muscles.

Now I sit on the cafeteria balcony, shaded from the hot noonday sun, snacking on raspberry yoghurt and snapping pictures of the very tame White-Crowned Sparrow that just hopped atop my water bottle to say “Hello!”.  Perfect.

The big thing I’ve noticed today is that after gaining a few pounds over the winter, I’m starting to see a bit of a change in the right direction.  I still have some trimming-down to do, but at least I can see some progress.  Keeping the running / hiking up along with the gym visits will make a difference.  I’m not quite ready for a bathing suit which is totally hilarious given that I lived in small bikinis for years while sailing!  Not quite the Amazon I used to be.  And with hanging out at a lake when I’m back east in August, not to mention hanging out at lakes here in Squamish, I am definitely being provided with incentives.  I don’t even own a bathing suit at the moment.  I threw the last two bikinis away that I brought with me last summer.  Time for something new.

Life continues to evolve:  I have 9 days left of my bankruptcy.  Hard to believe that nine months have passed so quickly.  The kids are amazed that it is almost wrapped up.  I have been investigating vehicle options.  My ‘93 Honda Accord is needing fixing, regularly, and my patience is running thin.  I can get a half-decent interest rate for a new vehicle which will help me re-establish myself in the world of credit.  It’s quite exciting thinking of a new vehicle.  I have picked the model (thank goodness I work at a Jeep dealership!), but my first choice in colour is not available within a 500km radius.  Bummer.  I wanted white.  For the features I want, and the price I want, my colour choices are “Deep Cherry Red” or “Granite Crystal Metallic”.  The red isn’t quite the fire-engine red that I love, it is a deeper shade hedging towards the maroon.  The granite is obviously more grey with some hints of blue as well, with the “metallic” offering a sparking effect.  If I can’t have white, then what to choose?  My daughter thinks red is the better choice of the two.  I will have to see what my sons think!

As I told someone recently, who enquired as to why I would ask my children about the colour of MY car, I replied that I haven’t shut them out of the major life decisions I’ve made these past 18 months, so why would I now shut them out of the simple decisions?  Fair enough, was the response.

I continue to include my children in pretty much every decision that needs to be made.  I don’t hide anything from them, at least I don’t think I do.  Take my recent foray into my research project on Divorce.  I have chatted with each of them and stated that I am starting to look into divorce.  They all seem to understand.  With us all leaving last year, I suppose it was automatically assumed that our family was permanently changing anyway.  Divorce is just the next logical step in the evolution of, what shall we call this?  My marriage?  Our family?

It struck me on Friday evening, as I was jogging through the forest in a lovely gentle rain (yes, we actually had some rain!), and thinking about how to work the eventual conversation with my husband, that I am the one that actually has to say the words:  “I want a divorce”.  The classic line from movies.  To use words such as “I’ve been thinking about what our next step is”, or some other such similarly-worded phrase, seems absolutely ridiculous and wishy-washy.  Since bringing all these changes about in my life, I have completely evolved into a straight-shooter when it comes to saying what I think.  No more hiding behind lies.  No more suppression of my thoughts and emotions and reactions.  So to remain as that straight-shooter, especially when communicating with my husband, means that those four words are the words that need to be used.

I want a divorce.  I “would like” a divorce?  No, “I want a divorce” is the phrase to be used.

Because it is what I want.  It’s not wishy-washy.  It clearly states exactly what I’m thinking.  “I would like” implies that he has the final say or decision-making power in this.  And he does not.  I do.

The question really is:  Will he cooperate and work with me on this to easily prepare and sign the documents?  Or, will he say “if you want it, you take care of it”?

I’m certain that the latter will be the case.  I am the one who left.  I want the divorce.  I will be the one who will have to take care of it.  I know this man.  I know how he will react.  And I am prepared for either stance he may take.  If he wants to cooperate:  Fantastic!  If he wants me to do it all and he’ll have nothing to do with the process, then so be it.  We have been separated for almost one year now (amazing, I know), which is one of the three different grounds available for filing for  a no-fault divorce.  Where the waters may get a little trickier is determining the matter of child support.

It is the legal right of children to be supported by BOTH parents and have them supply the necessities of life.  Even my acknowledgement of taking care of everything for the children on my own will not hold.  I do not have the legal right to waive my children’s rights to these necessities of life.  Nor do I have the right to refuse child support from my husband.

The real issue is that he is most likely NOT going to pay anything.  Even if the courts impose a monthly financial amount (that’s assuming he is earning money, which I really don’t think he is), and doesn’t pay, I am not going to go after him in court to pay up.  I can totally see this scenario unfolding.  So if I can get in front of a judge, explain the situation and its various components and intricacies, say that the likelihood of payment, and the likelihood of follow-up, are both zilch, then maybe we can do away with all this rigamarole and simply grant me the divorce so that I can get out.

I have taken care of everything for years, both while living with and without my husband.  It is entirely realistic to predict that it will be ME that will continue to take care of everything.  

I made the first attempt to communicate with my husband.  Two days ago, after chatting with my children, I asked for his number so I could text a message.  I asked if he would like to meet for a cup of tea.  I haven’t heard anything back yet.  I’m sure it will take some time for him to receive it, think about it, and then possibly respond.  I am assuming that he will eventually respond.  I picture him asking the question:  “So, why did you leave?”.  I’m prepared for that question.  And I’m fully prepared to answer it.

I can, without doubt, look him in the eyes and tell him exactly why I left.  No problem.  And anger won’t enter into the conversation, or at least it won’t on my part.  Sure, there are all sorts of past events and circumstances and behaviours and reactions that I could get angry about.   But what’s the point now?  I’ve changed everything.  And I don’t want to waste my time and effort on feeling negative emotions.

I can maturely, civilly, and honestly tell him exactly why I left.  And it won’t take too many words.  I don’t know if he’ll understand and fully comprehend my answer, but he will be told the reason.

I suspect he’ll condone to meet me, but will give it a time limit.  Such as he will have some sort of commitment to meet with another person.  Ha, this is all so predictable.  I should not get too far ahead of myself though.  He has not yet replied to my text!

The gist of this is that I am ready to have this conversation with him now.  It has taken a year of evolving:  a year of letting emotions rise to the surface at their own speed; a year of securing a stable home environment for my children; a year of identifying who I am and what makes me happy; a year of re-igniting friendships all over the map; a year of celebrating ME.

The tears are less frequent nowadays, but I have no doubt that divorce proceedings, even with a Do-It-Yourself arrangement, will be emotionally challenging at times.  How could it not?

The Squamish Valley is in its afternoon splendour.  The white-crowned sparrow continues to sing, the tree swallows continue to swoop around chasing insect, I have the cafeteria deck to myself once again.  A lovely tranquil Sunday afternoon.

I will be preparing an old-fashioned Sunday Roast Beef dinner for the four of us tonight.  The boys are looking forward to a good hearty meal.  I will even bake something for dessert!

Happy Summer, everyone.

Happy Father’s Day, fathers.

The air is so lovely and fresh and clean:  Just like me and my life.