ASYAD - Day 138 - Are we all broken?

This past weekend, a dear friend came to visit me. His presence has always given me that warm fuzzy feeling of comfort, so his visit was well-timed. We spent a whirlwind two days running around Portland, but also had a couple of hours of downtime to just talk. And as is our way, the conversation became deeper than I think either of us expected.

We talked about our issues, where we felt like we fell short in life. We both summed it up as, "I'm so damn broken." At one point, my friend asked me if we knew anyone that wasn't broken in some way. And that gave me pause for two reasons. First, I look at my friend and am constantly amazed at what he accomplishes every day with his challenges, so I don't think of him as broken at all.In fact, I have very few friends that I would truly identify as "broken". Second, if everyone is broken, is that the best way to describe anyone?

With those thoughts running through my head, I started wondering what "broken" really means. Who is broken? What makes them broken? How do we define broken versus having challenges?

In talking through this with my friend, I realized that while I regularly say that I'm broken, I don't really believe that I am. I have challenges. I have areas that I'm working on. That's everyone. Or at least, that's everyone who has even a bit of self-awareness. People - humans - know their areas to work on, and are continually learning to make those areas better. That's pretty unending. No one is perfect, so we're always working on something.

Those challenges and areas for improvement are more difficult for some than for others, to be sure, but if that's the definition of being broken, yep. We're all broken. Humans, as a whole, are broken. But that makes the word worthless. It's not really a description at all. It's like saying that humans breath air and poop feces. There has to be more to it to make it useful.

There are a few people in my life that I do think of as "broken". Like truly challenged people who need to do a lot of work to be a functional adult. They struggle with the most basic of life requirements, like getting and keeping a job in order to support themselves. They simply can't adult at the most basic levels. More importantly, they aren't working to get better. Their struggles are intense, but their effort is minimal or even non-existent. They've given up, or they won't seek out or listen to guidance. They settle into their challenges, wrapping themselves in their despair like a cloak. For some, their trauma has pushed them past being able to see any chance at correction of course. For others, they just can't see any path forward so they stop in their tracks, for whatever reason. I think there is comfort in their misery because at least then they understand their failure.

But those people are the exception in my life, not the rule. Nearly everyone I know has challenges either new or old. Nearly everyone has something "broken" in their life, but that doesn't make them broken as a whole. They know there are challenges, and nearly all of them are looking for ways to correct it. They may not really know how to fix those challenges but they're still working on it.

You've all seen my broken bits. It's on display in this blog in a million ways. But the more I think about it, the more that I realize that I'm not a broken person. I'm a flawed person, who spends a lot of time trying to correct those flaws. I've made mistakes - a lot of mistakes - and I'll continue to make mistakes, but I'm not a bad person for those errors. I'm just a person. Living my life in the best way that I know how. Sometimes I miss the mark, but that's not an inherent blot on my character. It's an action that I can learn from, and make better the next time.

This can't be news to anyone. For decades, psychotherapists have said exactly this. So how come we still consider ourselves broken instead of just flawed? Why do we wrap ourselves in that cloak of despair as if we're the only ones who've made mistakes or who are struggling to be better people?

We can't all be broken. So, going forward, I'm just going to call myself challenged. I'm a challenged human working to live a life that requires less effort to be a functioning adult. Maybe that's not as clean as saying broken, but at least with that I can see hope for a better me tomorrow. And when all else fails, hope helps get me through.

Heard on the Train - Respect for the masses

On the train this morning, a gentleman had a seizure. A grand mal/tonic clocic seizure, to be exact. He fell to the ground, of course, and people screamed and a few semi-panicked.

The woman in the seat in front of me whipped her head around to see what the commotion was, and then pretty casually said, "Oh, he's having a seizure. Make sure he doesn't hurt himself." She got up and went to him. I glanced back, saw that she was right, and went back to reading the news while somewhat monitoring the situation behind me.

One young man, maybe 30, was speaking to the conductor through the intercom. His voice was stressed, but he was clear and calm. One woman who had been standing by the man when he collapsed was bent down rubbing his back. The other woman, who'd gone down earlier, was talking to him in soothing tones. She explained that the train was stopping soon, that an ambulance was coming, that she was making sure he was okay.

The panic turned to concern. The rest of the train stayed on alert, but there was no more chatter. They were just there, listening to the young man and the woman.

When the train stopped, most people filed off to catch other modes of transportation. The two women stayed with the man even after the medics came. I left to walk the last couple of miles to work.

What struck me was that after the initial fall, no one acted poorly. No one complained about the train being held up. No one talked about the man as if he weren't there. It was a respectful silence while others handled the situation.

I hope the man is okay. The seizure was over by the time we stopped, and he seemed fine. As for everyone else? They've restored my belief in people for one more day.

ASYAD - Day 124 - Time to re-evaluate life in Portland

When I moved to Portland a little over two years ago, I promised to give myself three years before making any decisions about how long I'd stay here. I knew that moving away from my family - by blood and by choice - was going to be hard. Making friends as an adult is always difficult. I wanted to make sure that I'd given my new city every chance I could to be, you know, home.

Those three years are up at the end of June, and I keep finding myself wondering if this is where I really belong.

I moved to Portland for change, and to be near my sons. I wanted to experience a different part of the country, to live there, and to see what opportunities I could find. And I've found a multitude of differences and opportunities. My heart soars at the thought of being able to hike on the side of a mountain or along the coast with just a short drive. I love that one of the most beautiful cities in Canada can be experienced in a weekend for the cost of two tanks of gas and an AirBnB for a night. I love the culture in my new Kingdom - for the most part. I love working in downtown Portland, and being able to easily experience all it has to offer. I love how dog-friendly everywhere out here is. I love that my kids can easily call me up and ask me to do things with them.

But there are a lot of negatives to being here, too. In my two years here, I've struggled to be part of the groups I've encountered. I participate, but I feel very much the outsider. It could be argued that I've kept myself away for a lot of that time. I dated a man who didn't understand nor want to participate in a hobby that has been my life for two plus decades. My built-in social group, as it were. So I didn't join in as much as I could have.

Not that I stayed away, particularly. I became an officer within a few months of moving here, and have continued as an officer of some sort ever since. I attend at least one event a month, usually, though I've been known to skip a month here or there. I guess I count myself as still active, but not as active as I had been back in the Midwest. Some might even say that I participated a healthy amount. And I've met a number of people. I am acquainted to many, and friends to a few. But it's not the belonging that I left behind. Of course, that's hard to replicate.

These new friends have built-in social dynamics, and they don't always include the lonely, needy new woman who has shown up in their town. They're kind and I think they care, but they also don't always think to invite me, or they have limited space and I don't make the cut. I don't blame any of them, nor am I hurt or upset for the most part. It just means that I'm never sure where I fit into this social dynamic that I'm now a part of, and I think many of my friends here feel the same about me.

On top of that, while it's nice to be available for my kids, they don't reach out that often. They have their own lives, which often doesn't include Mom hanging around. I'll invite them over, but it's hit-or-miss if they can or will come. Weeks will fly by and suddenly they'll remember me. I'll get invited to do something, and for one night, things are really good. Then it'll be another several weeks where I'm home alone, waiting to be remembered. I'm not their priority.

I'm not anyone's priority right now. And that's hard. It's lonely.

I've been seeing a few guys, but they're transitional. None of them are people that I really want to invest my energy into too much. They're fun in the moment, and when they're gone, they're pretty much out of my mind. They're a diversion from the loneliness, not a cure.

Moving away from everyone you know and love is hard at the best of times. When I moved out here, it was pretty much the worst of times. I've struggled for the last two years to not only find my place in this new city, but to find myself, too. That's been so damn hard. I think I'm finally coming to grips with who I am, but I've still got to find my place here.

One of the smartest people I know suggested that I make a pros and cons list about living here. Be logical in assessing if this is where I should be at this point in my life. The pros list is long and deep. I love my job, I love the terrain, I love the culture of acceptance. I love the weather, the culture, the sailing, the snow-shoeing. I love the food, the new experiences I've had (and so many more that I know are still to come). I love Portland, and its proximity to so many amazing places and things.

My cons list is short and very narrow: I'm alone and lonely. It's been a theme throughout these blog posts. I'm an extreme extrovert who needs people to fully appreciate the experiences that I have.

This is why I settled into a relationship with a guy that I knew wasn't right for me. He was someone to have experiences with, and we like a ton of the same things. That everything we experienced were on his terms for the most part didn't matter so much, because at least I wasn't left to have those experiences by myself. Because if I'm honest, for me, most of the time, having those experiences alone are barely worth having. The shared experience is what I seek.

I don't know how to appreciate solo experiences. If I can't laugh with someone else, then what's the point of a comedy? If I can't share a sunset over the ocean, then how can the beauty be truly seen? How do you cheer for a team by yourself? Who is there to argue politics with - or to share the grief with - when you're the only person in the room?

So all that Portland has to offer falls flat so often. Those pros are dimmed.

My three-year commitment isn't up until the end of June, and a lot can happen between now and then. For now, I'm holding onto the shared experiences I've already had that make Portland so amazing. And I'm hoping that in some miraculous way I'll learn to appreciate solo experiences. I miss my people, but I really do love it here. I just don't know how to love it alone.

Does anyone know where I can learn how to deal with this whole alone thing? Suggestions appreciated.

ASYAD - Day 117 - Resilience

I spent the weekend in Canada at an event that my medieval recreation group put on. The event went off well, my friend joined the knighthood, and I managed not to do much damage to myself or my dog.  After, I took a the holiday Monday and spent it with two friends that I've known online for nearly 15 years but had never met in person. We're all participants on a forum that discusses politics, history, sports, our lives, and life in general.

These two men - and their families - have been a part of my life for a very long time. They've witnessed my highs and lows for one and a half decades, all the while cheering me on from the sidelines. (To be fair, it goes both ways as one dealt with health issues and the other with employment concerns, and I've always tried to be as supportive toward them as they've been with me.) Regardless, what this means is that these two men have seen snapshots of my life for a long time. They know some of my more intimate concerns about my life, and they've actively supported me when things were truly horrendous.

They know me.

One of the men, R, and I went on a hike with our dogs when I first arrived through a gorgeous old-growth forest near his home. He showed me the massive stumps of hundreds-years-old trees that were cut down at the turn of the century, and the new trees that have taken root in the rotting carcasses of those old trees. He showed me the river his boys played in as children, and the beautiful serene cliffs on either side of it. While we walked, we talked about our families, his health, my life, and basically just enjoyed spending time talking about the things that we knew about one another, but digging a bit deeper.

In the midst of that conversation, R says to me, "I have to tell you. I've told my wife that you are easily the most resilient person that I've ever known. You take whatever is thrown at you, and you turn it around into something positive. I'm just continually impressed with how you always bounce back and up."

I stumbled a bit on the hike when he said this. Then I said, "Well, I mean, what were my options? Giving up and curling into a ball?"

He stopped and looked at me. "Well, yes. That's what plenty of other people would have done."

I half-laughed and said, "I'm too stubborn for that. And I don't have time to give up."

He smiled and said, "Well, I'm impressed by you. I wanted you to know."

We continued on our hike, but I couldn't shake what he said. This is an accomplished man, regularly voted one of the top lawyers in Vancouver. He does amazing corporate work, and offsets that with meaningful pro bono work. He's extraordinarily intelligent, kind, and generous to a fault. A bit pompous - he's Canadian after all *wink* - but someone that I've always looked up to as The Guy to Be. And he looks up to me. He finds me extraordinary. He's so impressed by me that he tells his wife how exceptional he thinks that I am.

Not because of my accomplishments, but because of my accomplishments after my failures. Not because my life is genteel and lovely, but because of how hard-scrabble it's been, and yet I've achieved many things. He respects me because I never gave up when so many others would have.

We returned to his house, showered, and headed off to lunch with our other friend, J, and his family. J and R have delightful wives, both marrying well the first time. They chose exceptional life partners, and I enjoyed getting to know them as well as spending time with the guys. In the midst of lunch, J says to me, "You know, M, I just have to tell you how remarkable I think you are. I just can't believe all that you've done given what you've been through. It is truly impressive."

I blink and slightly shake my head. "Thank you, but honestly, I mean...."

R jumped in, "She's going to brush you off. I was telling her the same thing. It's really incredible."

J says, "Yeah, seriously. I don't know how you've done it. I mean, you taught yourself your current career, and you're succeeding brilliantly! That's so remarkable!"

R then turns to me and says, "One day, maybe in a few years, you're going to look back at this time and think, 'Yeah, I really did some great things despite it all.' Just watch. You taught yourself an entirely new world at an age when I'm convinced I couldn't learn how to play a new game. You have to see how amazing that is."

When I think about my life - the highs, the lows, the meadows in between - I don't think about the grit that it's taken to keep getting up and to keep moving on. These men have heard the stories about my dad, about my ex-husband(s), and about my career woes. They were there when I was fired from an $11 an hour receptionist job, laid off from a toffee shop, and so many other job disappointments. They cheered me on when I took on the task of learning new skills so that I could land a career instead of just another low-paying job. I didn't realize they thought all of that was so amazing. I just got tired of being broke, and did what I needed to get out of that situation.

I never saw myself through their eyes. Until yesterday.

My Midwestern roots taught me that one doesn't crow about our accomplishments. We are self-deprecating to a fault, and we never say thank you when given a compliment. We, instead, brush it aside. We remember the failures and ignore the successes. We share what we've learned due to our mistakes, but not from our accomplishments. Lessons are learned the hard way or not learned at all.

And this has led me to struggle with seeing my own strength, my grit, and my determination to succeed when others would not have done so. Looking back now at the mountains that I've climbed, the fears that I've conquered, and the successes that I've created for myself out of whole cloth, I feel... proud. It wars with my Midwestern upbringing, but still, it's there.

J and R are two men that I've respected for more than half of my adult life. They are brilliant men who've built up lives to be envied. And both men hold me up as an example of what success looks life against all odds.

So I'm looking at those accomplishments differently today. I'm looking at my career - on an upward trajectory - and my life - full and filled with more joy than sadness - and I realize that I made this for myself. Like the old-growth forest in the park by R's home, I planted new saplings - now full-grown trees - on the stumps of old life. I'm taking the nutrients - the lessons and love - and building newer, more healthy growth.

I'm proud of who I am today. I don't love what I went through to get here - and I'll be honest, I'll never say I'm grateful for any of it - but I am proud of where I am now. Where there was rot there is now life-saving, oxygen-giving leaves. The pride won't last - I'll cover it with memories of failures soon enough - but maybe I'll see even those as obstacles to overcome rather than mistakes to forget. Maybe, just maybe, my time with these two men have given me a new way to view myself and my life.

Midwestern girl or no, I've achieved great things in the midst of chaos and pain. I need to remember this. I need to hold this tight.

I need to keep seeing myself the way these two men that I respect so much see me. 

ASYAD - Day 112 - Turning a Corner

Over the past few months, I've made a lot of changes in my life. I've changed my diet and exercise in order to lose the 20 pounds I gained while with S (as well as another 30) and to finally get my waistline at a healthy place. I am living alone for the first time in my life. I'm taking steps to move up in my career.

My life, for the most part, is good. I'm healthier than I've been in 25 years. (Okay, and hungrier, but we'll let that pass for now.) I can do everything that I want to do - on my own - with minimal complications. I've gone kayaking, hiking, and camping on my own. My apartment is lovely and clean, and I can run around naked anytime I want and not worry about who may walk in. (Gasp! I love to run around naked in my home!)

I miss S daily still. Or rather, I miss what I hoped we'd have. But it's a dull ache now. An acceptance ache. The kind of sore tooth that you know is there so you put your tongue on it occasionally, but you're not calling the dentist every five minutes anymore.(Forgive me the analogy; I just had a root canal.) We still talk regularly, but the urgency to have his love is mostly gone. I'm not looking to "make" him take me back. I'm just enjoying the time I do spend with him as my friend. He's a wonderful person, and I'm grateful that he's still in my life.

Somewhere in all of this, I've turned a corner of sorts. I'm finally looking to myself first. It's not evoking the relief or extreme joy that I thought it would, but it is a sort of peace that I didn't know I could feel.

Once, a few years ago, one of the most amazing men I've known saw the sadness in my eyes and said, "I'm not going to wish you happiness. That's fleeting and ephemeral. I'm wishing you peace, because that's what we all really need in our souls. Simply, peace." I lost that dear, sweet man not long after, and I feel that loss now more than ever. His kind, generous spirit understood humanity and humans in a way that made life easier.

I feel like I should be honest with all of you. When this started, my goal was to be single for a year and a day - and for myself, I included no casual dating and absolute celibacy in that. I had it in my head that I wasn't capable of casually dating anyone; that I am an all-or-nothing kind of girl. But as time has marched on, I've done some serious soul searching. The truth is, I had no idea what casually dating was like for me anymore. It has been more than 25 years since I've done it, so how could I possibly know how I'd respond to that kind of thing? And, to probably be more frank than any of you want to know, I really missed the physical joy of being with another person. It has been a very, very long time since I've truly enjoyed that. My recent-past relationships weren't stellar in that department.

So, I reached out into the ether to see what dating was like right now. And to my utter shock, I was overwhelmed with offers for dates. Men from 18 (what the bloody hell??) to 64 were interested in taking me out. I went out on a few dates, and I've met some really decent guys. In case you were curious, no, I absolutely did not go out with the child of 18, but I did go out with a 25-year-old man just to see what that would be like. It lasted as long as it took me to drink my beer. My bottom limit is now 30. I've winnowed the field down to a handful of guys that I enjoy spending time with, and we're keeping things so casual as to be barely seeing each other. It's perfect. I have maybe one or two dates a week, they tell me that I'm sexy and beautiful, I get out of the apartment and do new things with these new people, and then I go home and love my life with my dog.

I don't know how healthy that is. Does it feed my need for external validation? Absolutely. These men think that I'm amazing, special, and beautiful. It's been so long since I've been told those things by men not married, or related to me. Both M and S were ridiculously frugal with compliments to me, and I thrive under those compliments. Again, I have no idea how healthy or unhealthy that is, but it's pretty much integral to who I am at this point. And it's helping me rebuild my self-esteem. So I'm going to take it. I'm going to enjoy it for what it is. These guys aren't telling me these things for any reason other than they think and feel it in the moment they say it. And that's so heady.

The dating thing is nice, but for the first time, it's an addendum to my life, not the focus of it. My life revolves around me, my dog, and my art. My life revolves around building my career, living out loud, and being myself. My life is about me, and I am near tears with the joy of being able to say that honestly.

I still ache for what could have been. I still miss being in a relationship. But it's easier to set that aside now. It's easier to keep the focus where it's supposed to be.

ASYAD - Day 100 - What I've learned so far

One hundred days ago, I started on a journey of self-discovery. I wish that I could say that I've had some major epiphanies and life-altering understandings, but I'm not sure that I have.

Things I have learned about myself:

• I make things easy for people to do things with me in the hopes that people will want to do things with me.
• I don't trust people to care for me as I am.
• My fear of being forgotten stems from the two points above.

Also:

• My belief in who I am is stronger than those fears and insecurities.
• I will fight for myself when a guy isn't in the picture.
• When a guy is in the picture, the top three points take over.

So here's the problem. I can know these things, and have for a while now, but unless I'm willing to make real changes based on this knowledge, it's useless. To date, I've not done so. I've focused too much on how I'm feeling and not nearly enough on what I'm doing.

Habits created over a lifetime don't dislodge because I figured out that I'm doing them. For decades, I've adjusted my life to make it easier for people to love me. That's not going to disappear overnight. Hell, that's not even going to disappear over a month. Especially if I haven't worked up some way to make those changes. 

Conscientious living takes a lot of energy. A lot of energy. But it's the only way that I'm going to break these habits, and I have got to break them. I have to. My heart can't take these kinds of relationships anymore. My faith in humanity is suffering every time I give so much of myself - however misguided - and get so little in return. Because however much I fought the idea that I deserve more love than I've been given, however immodest I believe it to be, it's true. I absolutely do. But I'll never get it unless I demand it.

We, as a society, give little value to things freely given. We buy into the hype that it's worthless unless we've paid some price for it. I've devalued myself immensely by freely giving love, time, and energy. My love is taken with no return because they didn't invest anything to begin with. There was no need. 

There are memes and stories and beautiful poems told about women who love freely. It's a point of pride, if you believe them. You hear people say things like, "Don't let that heartache take away your ability to love freely." I was this many years old when I realized what that actually meant. 

It doesn't mean to love enough for you both. It doesn't mean to give up everything for them. It doesn't mean to check your own needs and wants at the door. That's codependency. No, what it means is once someone has earned your trust and respect, then love them freely. Then give them your whole heart. Then, and only then, do you love them with abandon.

That's the piece that I was missing. Making them earn the right to my absolute love. Such a small piece, and yet it's everything. 

Decades old habits don't change overnight. My belief that deserving love is immodest won't change because I recognize that's wrong thinking. Deprogramming childhood training will never be easy. This is a hard path I'm on.

Three months and a few days in - 100 days after a starlit night - I still hurt. I still don't fully understand how a person can do the things the men in my life have done to someone who loved them freely. But I have a path now. I know what I need to do. 

It starts with trusting and respecting myself. That's my first and only goal right now. And it's hard. Oh so goddamn hard. It's fighting a lifetime of hearing my father's voice in my head. Of watching my family move on without me, never really fitting in. Always being the "off" one. 

But here's the thing. I have absolutely no problem doing that in a professional setting. I demand respect for my knowledge, my skills, and my leadership. I refuse to be devalued by anyone, be it in my job or my hobby. I only have this problem with relationships with men. 

I don't have an answer to this. I'm not sure how to fix it. But I have to somehow. I've got another 265 days to figure it out before I'm back out there. 

Right now, I can't imagine that another 2650 days will get me there, but 100 days ago I didn't think that I could sit on my couch by myself in an empty apartment and feel comfort in that, either. But I did exactly that last night. 

So there's hope. I'm 100 days in, and I finally feel... hope.

ASYD - Day 95 - Learning from Jane

It's been a while. So long, in fact, that a friend reached out to me to see if I was okay. I am. Okay, I mean. Still processing a lot, still spending way too much time in my own head. Still wishing I had someone to love me - to truly cherish me.

The last couple of weeks, I've been binge watching Jane the Virgin. It's a love story. Well, actually, it's multiple love stories, and I thought it would be so hard - too hard - to watch. I'm fighting hard to be okay being single, but at the same time, I'm still wishing so much to have someone cherish me, to come home to that is just happy that I'm there, that wants to make my bad day better. Someone who will go out of their way for me like I do for others. Make me a priority. And here's this grand love story - series of grand love stories - how could I watch it?

Easily. Because I got something else entirely from the show. I learned from Jane the Virgin - from Jane, the Virgin - how to have an adult relationship. How to think about what I want first, and then think about the other person. Jane does an exceptional job of making sure that she's treated right. She refuses to compromise herself to do the easy thing.

If you've never seen the show, you should. The whole thing - all five years - are on Netflix right now. Go watch it. There are four strong, independent, capable women who move through their days, learning from and living with one another. And most importantly, loving each other. I mean, sure, there are guys in the show, too, and they're important. But they're not the story for me. The story for me is about those women knowing who they are, what they want, and who they want in their lives. And fighting to make sure that they each take care of themselves. Through it all, they have each other. The men flow through their lives, coming and going, but the women have each others' backs from beginning to end.

I want a partner in my life. I want a guy to come home to who will take one look at me and know that I need to sit down, have a glass of wine, and be coddled and cared for. Who will be there, who will fight for our relationship, who chooses me every day. But... I want that sisterhood, too.

I'm incredibly blessed in that I count four amazing women as my sisters, one by blood and three by heart. They are every bit as strong, resilient, silly, and amazing as the Villanueva women (and Petra). They hold me up, keep me grounded, and make me laugh at the absolute best times. I hope that I am as good to them as they are to me. I try to be.

Why has it taken so long to write here? Because I didn't like how I felt, or what I kept thinking in my head. I kept rewriting my relationship with S into what I wanted it to be, instead of what it was. He and I work so well together on paper. We have a lot in common, and we get along incredibly well. At the end of the day, we have so much joy when we're together. But...

Come on. You knew there was a but because otherwise we'd be together and I wouldn't be on this bizarre teenager's journey at nearly 50. So, but...

... he doesn't love me. Not the way that I need. Not the way that I deserve. Not the way that he wants to love me, either. And if I've learned nothing else from Jane the Virgin, it's that I do deserve to be cherished. It's what I want, and I can't settle for less. It hurts that he doesn't - and probably can't - love me that way, but I do know that it's okay. I can wait for the guy who can. Whose life fits mine just as well, and who loves me. Someone who will make some grand gesture, who will fight every day to make sure that I know that I'm loved.

I should feel good about that, but I don't. I just feel tired. Worn out. I'm three months into this journey, and I'm already so done. I'm looking for that Happily Ever After, and wondering if it will ever come. And wondering if I'll be okay if it doesn't. Because I won't settle again for anything less. So, I guess I'll have to be. Right?

Right.

ASYD - Day 63 - "You deserve better"

When someone breaks up with their partner - by choice or no - it is inevitable that someone will say, "You deserve so much better than them." It's happened at least a dozen times since this latest break up, and even more with my ex-husband. And every single time, I cringe. Often, visibly.

"You deserve better." 

So much weight in that statement. So many assumptions, so many judgments. 

I used to think that my friends said this as a way to say that I was better than my ex. I deserved better than that lousy so-and-so. And there's no question that several of my friends meant exactly that. There are other friends, however, who meant something entirely different. They didn't mean that I was better than my ex. Rather, they meant that I deserved better than that relationship. I deserved to be loved wholly, completely, and with abandon by my partner, something that I've never experienced. Something that I'm not sure I believe is even possible. 

To be perfectly frank, I didn't know that I really deserved that kind of love. My friends are great, but they don't know the things that I've done in my life, the people that I've hurt. There are people to this day who despise me for the things that I did in college. Hell, I despise many of the things that I did in college. I'm still horribly ashamed of how I left my first husband, and that was 18 years ago. 

I'm a nice person now, but I wasn't always. I am still haunted by who I was then, and I work very hard to avoid becoming her again. 

My hero and constant cheerleader sent me a video today of a guy talking about how we love ourselves, or rather don't. The comedian said that if we love ourselves only 20%, when someone comes along and loves us just 30%, we're over the moon! Look at how much they love me! But if we loved ourselves 100% - loved ourselves fully - someone else would have to really go above and beyond to show their love for us in a way that we would recognize as worthy of us. 

This struck me right between the eyes. 

Can you imagine loving yourself so much that you don't just take the next person that shows an interest that's also mildly interesting? Wait, and get this... instead of accepting the occasional scraps of attention and love offered on their limited schedule, you expect - EXPECT - to be a priority in your partner's life. AND THEY LOVE YOU ENOUGH TO DO IT.

Mind. BLOWN.

Okay, so typing this up, I'm already feeling gross for thinking like this. How horribly selfish. So many other things are more important than I am: parents, children, careers, education, pets, gaming, the lawn, that annoying hangnail. But Christ, I'm so tired of being last on that stupid list. I'm tired of my wants and needs being merely a blip on the screen of their life, while I will rearrange my entire life for them. Only my kids have taken precedence in my life, and they're all adults now. 

Most of my relationships, I've gone along just hoping that one day they would make the choices that I did for them without my having to ask. They didn't have to ask me, after all. I showered my love via my actions and choices (and often, my wallet) without them having to so much as look my direction. They mention a need or desire, and I jump to meet it. A casual comment has resulted in my spending bill money on a gas grill, or money I'd saved for a dress on a pool cue. 

Because if I did, they would love me, and maybe, just maybe, they would one day wake up and do the same for me. Never mind that there's a ridiculous amount of broken that caused me to do the things that I did. That's part of the co-dependency thing. Trying to buy love, to manipulate a person into loving me. And I was crushed - absolutely crushed - when not one of the men I've dated responded in kind.

Wait, that's actually not true. There was one guy who did respond in kind. Within four months, I realized how not okay this was and walked away. And two months later, I got a restraining order against him.

Dear Lord, I really need to do a better job of actually looking at my life. *headdesk*

I'm still trying to wrap my brain around what a healthy relationship should look like - with myself as well as with someone else. What do I want it to look like? Who do I want me to be both in and out of any relationship? It's tough, and I spend a lot of time arguing with myself about this. I do know what I don't want it to look like, though. 

Some time ago, I told S that he and I did a very good job of living his life, and I needed us to at the very least cross over to living our life. It didn't happen. I recognized the issues but chose not to act because at least I wasn't alone. I settled for 30%.

I see growth now. Three months ago, I wouldn't have even been able to imagine being "selfish" enough to love myself 100% first. To expect to be made a priority with the intention of not settling for less. I'm still leery of how I could do such a thing, but it's not completely alien. It seems... possible. Maybe not plausible - who would love me like that? - but possible that I could refuse a relationship that didn't. 

For once, I'm focusing on what I'm willing to accept instead of what someone else is willing to give. This is huge for me. It's a step toward buying into the idea that I deserve better. That it's better to have no one's love than merely 30% of someone's, and that stems from having 100% of my own. That's a lot of numbers, and I hate numbers. Let me restate this better.

I can't settle for 30% of someone else's love anymore. I can't even settle for 80%. I deserve to be the highest priority in my partner's life with the sole exception of his children and himself. I deserve to be loved wholly, completely, and with abandon. I deserve to be put first in my own life, and I deserve to be put at the top of someone else's.

ASYD - Day 49 - And the test results are in: Need help ASAP

I joined a divorce support group last week at a local church. I'm not Christian, nor do I believe in a lot of the Christian tenants, but this church seems much more of the "love thy neighbor" type than the "stone the prostitute" type. The group isn't overly religious so far, and regardless, I need the support. I feel like I'm failing at this whole being single thing on my own.

The group bases its meetings on different chapters in a book called "Rebuilding: When Your Relationship Ends". There are issues with this book, for sure, starting and ending with the level of privilege and lack of diversity that's shown in the examples provided. I'm finding this to be a theme with these types of books, mostly because they're nearly all written by older, white men, but that's an argument of a different sort.

Anyway, the group suggests that you take a survey when you first start meeting with them, and then again once you've gone through a full cycle of 15 weeks (i.e. the full 15 chapters in the book). Partly because I love self-assessment tests (only reason to read Cosmopolitan really), I was a good girl and took the test.

Um. Yeah.

There are some results a girl just doesn't want to see.

I think it's important, for context, to understand how I saw myself three years ago:

• Confident and self-assured in my own body
• I knew that I wasn't a svelte, model-type woman, but I also knew my own attractiveness and self-worth even at 50 pounds overweight.
• Confident and self-assured in my personality
• I have known my whole life - thanks, Dad! - that I'm not everyone's cup of tea, and for the most part, I was really okay with that. Not everyone had to like me so long as I knew that I was a good person and there were those who did think I was pretty okay, if not pretty awesome.
• Competent and capable
• Curve balls were a dime a dozen when raising four children, and I felt fully capable of at the very least mitigating their damage, if not outright dealing with them forcefully. 
• Emotionally Capable
• As a heart-on-my-sleeve person, I knew that I would always feel stronger and more obviously than the average person, and I also knew that this gave me a leg up over the more emotionally quiet folks out there because I always, always, always moved through those feelings because I simply wasn't built any other way.

That was three years ago, before The Year of Hell began. Before the death of a dear friend, then the death of my mom, moving away from the house I raised my kids in, the death of my marriage, losing my job, my youngest leaving home, and a full-on health crisis. All in less than 12 months. 

That'll leave a mark.

And it did. I mean... damn... these results... They just freaking hurt to look at.

It's a 66-question test that gauges where you are on your personal path through the loss of your marriage. It breaks it up into six categories: Self Esteem/Self-Worth, Emotional Disentanglement, Anger, Grief, Rebuilding Social Trust, and Social Self-Worth. Each score is 1 out of 100, and a low number indicates "areas for improvement".

None of my scores are over 50%. Not one of them. Only one comes even close, and that's because my friends are amazing and I recognize their love for me.

*sighs* Here we go:

• Self Esteem/Self-Worth - 1%
• Emotional Disentanglement - 17%
• Anger - 20%
• Grief - 9%
• Rebuilding Social Trust - 1%
• Social Self-Worth - 42%

My overall score: 5%

Three years ago I knew who I was. I knew what I wanted, and how to get it. I knew that while not perfect, I was a positive force in this world.

Today, I'm struggling to remember what it feels like to look in the mirror and be happy. Not even bone-deep happy, just not freaking bone-deep sad. The kind of happy that comes from being comfortable in your own skin. I was that once, and now, I'm not comfortable breathing. And this test shows it. It shows how little I value myself, and how little I trust beyond myself.

I do understand that this is an assessment of who I am right now, seven weeks out of a relationship that was never going to work, and two years out of a relationship that was ripped from me. I get that this is a road map for me, a way forward. It still sucks to think about how far I've fallen. I mean, it's not news to me. Not really. But ... you get it. It just sucks.

This is supposed to be a way to see where I should start, and since everything but "my friends freaking rock" is so low, I don't know that it does that. Clearly my trust in self and others is the lowest, so probably start there? If only I knew how.

Because my friends freaking rock, I know I'm going to get a lot of "I love you as you are" comments, which are incredibly sweet. But if those were going to do the trick, I'd be right back where I started because I've gotten hundreds of those comments over the last few years. I appreciate them, and they keep me going on a lot of days, but it's not enough to fix this.

No, this has to come from inside myself, from my own assessments and understandings. I have to see myself differently than I do today, and that's ... jeez, it feels like such an impossible task. I simply can't see what all of you see right now. I'm trying. 

I think need a better road map. 

For those interested in taking this test yourselves, it's here: https://www.afterdivorcesupport.com/self-test/ I get nothing out of sharing it, and I have no idea of its validity. It's just the one my support group recommends. Fair warning, you'll get a call from the guy who created it, Nick, but I didn't answer, and then a couple of days later he sent the results via email anyway, with an offer to talk about it - No Obligation! - if I wanted to call him. I don't, but thanks, Nick. I appreciate your concern. :)

ASYD - Day 47 - Feelings are hard

I had a conversation with a dear friend of mine today. He has the uncanny ability to clarify so many things for me. I vent to him, whine about how I feel, what I'm thinking, how I'm acting, and he distills it down into simple actions. Or he points out that what I think is horribly unhealthy is, in fact, pretty damn healthy.

Today, we talked about how hard it is to just feel feelings. I'm trying to allow myself the sadness of missing S, while also recognizing that how I felt throughout that whole relationship was incredibly unhealthy. I explained it as trying to remember the moments while rewriting how I felt in them.

This is hard to explain. I'll give an example:

Most of the time that S and I were together, I was angsty. I felt that it wasn't right - not for him, nor for me - but I wanted it to be right. I like him. I wanted to love him. I wanted him to love me. In the romantic sense, not in the way that I love all of my friends. We worked well together, and I really wanted to build that into something special for both of us.

Big reveal: That doesn't work.

In fact, it creates situations of stress, anger, hurt, and confusion. All of the emotions that I have now equated to my relationship with S. And honestly? To M, my ex-husband, as well. It's hard to think back on moments - memories - and not immediately feel those things. I get images in my mind about going to play pool, hanging out at the house watching TV, playing with the dogs... and I immediately feel anxious. It's not a warm-fuzzy feeling of being with someone I love doing something I enjoy. It's anxiety over how that person feels about me, how I'm being perceived by that person, and how my actions are affecting all of that. And it drove my self-esteem into the gutter.

See, this whole codependency thing. It's about control. It's a deep-in-your-soul belief that you have the power and strength to control those around you by your actions. So when you can't control things, when people don't do what you want them to do, it digs into that belief. It undermines this concept you have in your own power.

Shockingly, this means that my memories are pretty tainted. Those emotions were valid, of course, but when I try to think back on those memories and instead see it as two friends enjoying a day, it's so incredibly different. If I set aside - not disregard, but actively set aside - those feeling of anxiety, it's a pretty wonderful history of memories. I'm sad that I tainted 18 months of interactions with those anxieties, with my need to control. I want to re-remember everything in the light of what I now accept to be true: that S and I are great companions, but not great partners.

I talked to my friend about this. I had been in a funk, sad and despondent, missing S. I said that I was afraid that I was wallowing instead of just feeling because I didn't know where the line was.

He said, "It seems to me that wallowing is being submerged and not processing."

I replied, "I'm struggling with trying to change the feelings. Like, instead of thinking back and feeling the angst, changing that to acceptance."

He said, "That's the processing part, right?"

Huh? Wait....what?

I've known that I need to process my feelings, that I need to work through them, that ... well you know all the same psycho-babble I do. I needed to do that stuff. But I've never once thought through what "that crap" actually was. Well, now I do. At least, this is my version of what that crap means.

It's okay to feel sad for the loss of a relationship. It's okay to feel loss in the potential for a relationship. It's even okay to feel loss of the person. Those are all valid things. The processing part is looking at those feelings and seeing how they change with the new information in hand. Like, I miss the idea of S and I as a couple. It was never going to be as neither of us really felt that spark. But the idea of it, the potential - that was real. And it was a dream for me for a long time. Now I know, however, the reality of that potential - it was nil. We just don't work that way, the two of us. Blaming him or demanding he do things differently or trying to force him into some mold - all that does is destroy what is actually there. That friendship, that love. And when I think of those anxious feelings, when I think of the sadness of that loss, through the lens of friendship instead of romantic love, it takes on a new life for me.

I don't see his actions as "slights" or uncaring. I don't see the things that he said as unkind or hurtful. Our time together isn't filled with lost potential, but rather comfortable camaraderie. We were always friends, and never really lovers. As such, his actions fit for us. It just didn't fit the dream I had for us.

This isn't to say that there weren't issues even as friends. I'm not taking all of the responsibility on myself of where we are or how we were. He, like me, has issues with relationships. He, like me, was pushing things along for far too long. He has his own path to tread through therapy and self-discovery that has nothing to do with me.

On Sunday, I told him that I needed a break from our friendship. The pain was - and is - still too raw. This is going to be a process, to work through these emotions and relearn how to feel them. It wasn't going to happen while he and I continued down the same road, trying to be friends. I can't try to be around him without the angst until I can get rid of the angst from the past.

This whole thing is so freaking hard. Every day, I wonder how I'm going to find the energy to once again live inside my own head. At what point do I get to just be, and not overthink every single word or deed I've ever done, looking for examples of my deficits and how to fix them? There just doesn't appear to be any kind of relief. I know that's the reason for meditation, and I walk so much that I find room for that as I can. It's still hard.

If you're going through this crap, like I know a lot of my friends are, know that I get it. I understand why getting out of bed hurts sometimes. But what are our options? I'm not going to go back to being that person again. I really want to be someone I want to love, and this is how I get there. And you can get there, too. We'll trudge through this crap together, arm-in-arm. We'll be a tiny army of self-love by the end of this, damnit.

We've got this. Together, we've got this.

ASYD - Day 42 - The woman behind the mask

Yesterday, I touched on something that I feel needs a bit more attention. I said that I am co-dependent because of the fact that my father was an alcoholic - and because I'm afraid that one day you all will see who I "really" am.

I spent the better part of last night thinking about that. Who am I really? Like, if you saw me naked and vulnerable, what would you see? What am I so afraid of you finding?

Honestly? I'm afraid of you finding out that I'm the person that my father always said that I was.

A few short tales of my father, me, and his drinking:

- My earliest memory of my father is when I was three years old. He had passed out in the kitchen chair and toppled onto the floor. My four-year-old brother and I were trying to get him up before Mom saw him because we knew she'd be mad. My dad slapped me and told me to get off him. My brother, on the other hand, was allowed to help him up.

- It's 1:00 am and my brother, sister, and I are sitting at the top of the stairs, listening to my mom and dad fight. He's drunk and angry. My brother is helping my sister get her shoes on, so she would have been three, him eight, and me six or seven. When Dad hits Mom a second time, she calls us down to leave. We head over to my godparents' house and stay there for a week with Mom. Dad goes into rehab. Again.

- When I'm 10 and my sister is seven, we're arguing about doing the dishes. Typical kid stuff, you know? "You wash this time! I did it last time!" My dad, drunk of course, comes raging into the kitchen at us. My sister and I cowered in a corner. My dad took every dish on the counter and smashed them at our feet. Then he opened every cupboard and smashed them at our feet, too. All the while, he's raging about what a worthless little bitch I am, how I need to just learn to shut the fuck up, how I'm one of the worst things to ever happen to him. He then storms out of the house, gets in his truck, and heads to the bar. My mom cleans up the mess while my sister cries and goes to our godmother's house. I sit there at the table, stoic, because really, why cry?

- Thanksgiving Day when I'm 13. Dad, the cook in the house, is drunk (it's almost noon) and angry that the turkey didn't brown the way he wanted it to. All of the other food is sitting on the counter, waiting to go into the oven. Dad pulled the turkey out of the oven and throws it out the kitchen window ... without opening the window. It's Thanksgiving Day, November in Des Moines, IA, and all of the stores are closed, and we now have no turkey and a huge gaping hole in the window. Dad raged for a few minutes then went and passed out while Mom, my brother, my sister, and I cleaned up the mess. For the record, cardboard isn't an effective insulator.

- At 15, my best friend is over at the house. We're getting ready to go out for the night when my dad comes into the kitchen in a full-on rage. I don't even remember what it was about, but I do remember the vitriol and hatred in his face. He grabbed one of his multiple pill bottles and empties the contents into his hand. He holds them up to me, furious, and says, "I'm doing this because of you, you dirty little bitch." And he downs all of the pills. Then he throws the bottle at my feet and goes to lie down on the couch. My mom tells me to call an ambulance while she tries to get him to stand up and walk around. I do, but it took an effort to dial the three necessary numbers.

- It's a Saturday when I'm 17, getting ready to leave the house. Dad and I are the only two home since my mom and brother are both at work and my sister is out at a friend's. He gets pissed at me for God-only-knows what, again. I finally snap. I'd had enough of this bullshit, the constant belittling, the never-ending complaints about what a horrible human being I am. I yell at him, tell him to just shut the fuck up and go sleep it off. He hauls off and slaps me. I slap him back. He looks stunned, then he screws up his fist and punches me in the face. I leave and go to a friend's house. I'm there for two weeks before my mom convinces me to come home. He never apologizes, and in fact, doesn't acknowledge my existence for another couple of weeks.

- Another Saturday, when I'm 23, single, pregnant with twins. I'd just had a conversation with my baby-daddy about marriage, to which he said that he didn't think he was ready. I was devastated because I was very much in love with him. My dad, drunk per the norm, and I are in the kitchen, and he asks me when I'm going to get married. I tell him that we'd decided to wait to make sure it was the right thing for us. He then spend 15 minutes telling me what a whore I am, how I'm bringing two little bastards into the world. That he's ashamed of me, of what I've done. He can't even look at me, he says, and he leaves the room.

He died when I was 37 years old. That kind of shit? Never stopped. When he was drunk, I was "thunder thighs", "that little bitch", "that whore", etc. I don't remember a single time that my father told me he was proud of me. Not when I graduated from college. Not when I produced amazing grandchildren for him to dote on. Not when I was a fantastic single mother to those children.

When he was sober? Mostly, he just kind of ignored me, which was preferred. Sometimes he was kind, like when my friend committed suicide when we were 14. We watched a lot of old TV together, quietly sitting in the living room together, just the two of us. When he was sober, he wasn't a good dad, but he wasn't a bad one, either.

But yeah... drunk? Heh.

Despite all of this, I don't hate my dad. He started drinking when he was nine years old. He was beaten and abused by his parents his entire childhood. He was remarkably intelligent, and only had a ninth-grade education. He loved my mom more than anything, despite the way he treated her. And when I really needed him - like when my friend died - he was the one who sunk on the kitchen floor and cried with me while my mom stood at the sink completely at a loss of what to do.

In my family, we regularly say that Dad was an awful father and a worse husband, but he was a good man and a great grandfather. He, like most of us, failed in very fundamental ways while succeeding in others.

My fear, however, is that one day, someone will look inside me and see the ugly, horrible person that my father saw. They'll see a monster where my soul lives, and they'll find me as repugnant as my dad did. I am co-dependent so that I can protect all of you from the person I believed myself to be for a very, very long time.

A college friend posted yesterday that she'd seen a small bit of my life then, and she totally understood why I was co-dependent. I had to be to survive. I responded that I no longer get to hide behind my childhood for my issues. I've been an adult longer than I was a child, and it's time to take responsibility for who I am.

This includes how I see myself.

My dad was wrong. He is the one who never really saw me. He is the one who saw a monster instead of a good soul with a strong sense of right and wrong.

The true irony is that the person that I am today is who he would have been had he not been an alcoholic. I believe firmly in supporting the weak, just like he did. I believe that everyone has a right to be whomever they want, just like he did (except that I include women). I would give my last dollar to help someone else, going hungry so someone else won't. My dad was the same, and I saw that happen more than once. I love with all of my heart, just like he did. I can empathize with most anyone, as he did.

The monster my father raged against in me wasn't a monster at all. It was a reflection of what he could never be. 

ASYD - Day 41 - Epiphanies sometimes suck

Years ago, I spent a lot of time in 12-step programs for both Adult Children of Alcoholics and Codependency. Like a lot a lot of time, at least one meeting a week, sometimes more. I wanted to learn how to not be broken like my parents had been, and I learned a lot. I made real changes in my life and in my coping mechanisms. In a lot of ways, I felt like I had grown up because of those meetings.

Flash forward 20 years to today. I'm sitting here trying to figure out why I'm reacting the way that I am to so many things. What has caused these emotions, these responses? I'm practically obsessing about.... wait. What? Obsessing? About my feelings toward someone else? About my feelings toward myself? Where have I...?

CODA. ACOA. Al-Anon. 

That's where. That's where I remember these feelings from. That's where I remember those words, those phrases. This feeling of spiraling out of control, of losing oneself in worry about another. This feeling of codependency.

For my friends who are blissfully unaware of what codependency is, allow me a moment. There are all kinds of definitions that you can find on the the web, but on a very personal level, for me, it means:

Coping with a loss of control in one's life by trying to control the feelings and actions of another using manipulation and emotional warfare. 

Jeez, that was painful to write. It's even more painful to acknowledge as true. It's what I've spent the better half of the last decade doing, trying to control the uncontrollable using nefarious and horrible methods. This goes back a lot further than moving to Portland. 

My father was an alcoholic, and therefore, by default, everyone in the house became codependent. It was the only way to cope with his erratic and violent behavior. The only coping mechanism we had to control the uncontrollable, or at least to feel like we could. It's shown itself differently in each of us, but I think it's pretty safe to say that my siblings and I all deal with it in one way or another. They're just more functional than I am, I think.

My recent ex-husband is an addict. His addiction is his own affair and isn't important in this context. It is, however, important in helping you understand what I've been doing, and why. I didn't know that he was an addict until the end of our marriage, but that's also immaterial. Addicts have certain ways of living life, regardless of their triggers, and he lived the life of an addict. In turn, I became codependent again. It was a rut - a comfortable, easy path - for me to fall into. So much so that I didn't even realize that I'd done so. I didn't see his reactions and attitudes for what they were, and I certainly didn't see my own responses for what they were. 

So I've fallen back into old patterns, being manipulative and controlling - or trying to be. Convinced of my own powers of observation and drive to do to be able to make people like me, want me around, and believe that I'm worthwhile. Because if I didn't do those things, you see, people would hate me. All of the things that my hateful, drunken father said about me would come to light, and I would be alone, despised and forgotten. 

Look, I can rationally know that that's bullshit. I have so many amazing friends who love me as I am that logically, I know that's crap. But here's the beauty of your formative years - they dig deep, unforgiving ruts into your psyche. They burrow in, and no amount of excavation will smooth them over. They're like the foundations of castles past with a thousand years of silt and dust and traffic over them, and then one day, poof! We know where King Richard III is buried under a car park. 

The worst part of all of this is what that means for my entire relationship with S. I was in full-on codependent coping spiral throughout the whole thing. 

• Controlling - being whatever and whomever I thought he wanted me to be to make him like me. 
• Manipulative - trying to convince him that he cared for me more than he did so that I wouldn't be alone. 
• Emotionally abusive - making him feel like it was his fault when things didn't go the way that I wanted/needed/expected them to go.

W. T. F. 

Who does that?? Who does that to someone they claim to love?? Jesus. What an awful, horrible thing to do to someone. It wasn't intentional. I didn't realize that I was doing it. I rationalized it away as being a "chameleon" and somehow making it his fault. But let's be clear about this: I did this to him. I acted this way to him. I treated him that way. This wasn't any fault of his own; this was my default factory settings being reset and him bearing the brunt of that error. 

I've never felt more ashamed of myself in my life. I knew that I did these things. At least, I knew that I've done these things in the past. This, again, is my default factory setting. I have to actively work to reprogram myself. And I forgot. 

The problem is that people with these coping skills? We don't get to forget. When we forget, we hurt not only ourselves, but the people we love. It is my responsibility to never forget because I am self-aware enough to know that this happens. And I got lax. I failed my friends and family in doing so.

One of the most important steps that I learned in CODA and ACOA is to make amends when doing so won't harm the other person. So I'm going to work really hard to make amends to S, as his friend, asking nothing from him but forgiveness. And I'm going to take a long hard look at the last five to ten years of my life and see where and if I have other people that I need to apologize to, because while I can't take back how I was, I can own my mistake. And yes, I will include myself in that, I promise.

I'll be hitting up the local CODA meeting tonight. There's also another group for dealing with divorce that I'll be going to another night. I don't get to ignore this. That's simply not an option.

Life is a process, and it's not an easy one. So many things going on all the time, so much stress, so many burning sticks in the air. This is a journey of a million steps, sometimes forward, and sometimes back. Today I realized that I've been going backwards for a while. It's time to turn things back around, starting with a single step.

ASYD - Day 39 - Finding Peace

A friend of mine regularly wishes peace for me. Not happiness, not unbridled joy. Just peace. He hopes that I find peace.

It's probably one of the kindest things anyone has ever wished for me. It's a promise of finding pleasure in the moments, and of learning to accept the life I have instead of wishing for something that may never be. It's a wish for a calm mind filled with reason over drive; a warm heart, not a burning passion. 

Today started rough. My uncle died. I wasn't close to him; in fact, barely knew him at all. What I did know, however, was that he was a kind man with a good heart, and his passing at 76 will hurt all of his children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and most of all, his wife. He, like his older two siblings - my mom included - died far too young. They all died around 75-ish, my grandfather lasting to 78. Most of you have heard me say that we are not long-lived people, and now you know why I say that. 

This means that all things being equal, I may only have 25 years left, give or take a bit. (Yes, I know that I'm not my parents' generation and medicine has come a long way and and and... hush, please, and just listen to where my mind is.) 

I'm already suffering from all of the ailments my mom had when she died, shy of the lung cancer that killed her. I don't smoke, and never have. I rarely drink anymore - that which killed my father. I exercise regularly, and try to eat healthy. But I'm overweight, and I'm apple-shaped, and so I'm a ticking time-bomb by nearly every CDC standard. My only option is to drop weight... all of the excess weight that I carry, because nothing short of that will help my hip-to-waist ratio, my magic number. That sounds so awfully daunting.

I'm scared, so I'm working hard to get there anyway. 

It's not just the weight that scares me, though. Twenty-five years isn't a very long time anymore. I have a long list of things that I want to do, and only a handful of years to do them. Travel comes first for me, always. I waited a very long time to be able to see the world, and now it's where I will spend my time and money whenever possible. My kids come a very close second, though they've got their own lives to live without a weird old mom in the way. And third, I'd like to find someone that will cherish me - and all of my foibles - while allowing me to be cheesy and cherish them back. Because before I die I want to know what it's like to be truly loved, passionately and openly and shamelessly. 

The morning started with news of my uncle's passing, which led me down this dark tunnel of knowing how short time is now. I took stock of my life - specifically my past loves - and then I went into the office bathroom and cried for a solid 10 minutes. So much pain in those relationships. So many questions about whether the men I dedicated so much of my time and heart to actually reciprocated it. None of them had to work for my love; I gave it freely and with abandon. Yet, I now look back and see all of the work that I did to gain their love. I have no idea if they would have loved me if I hadn't. That wasn't the point. 

The point was that I worked at it because I believed - and still believe probably - that it was the only way that I would be found lovable. If I did the things, said the stuff, felt enough for both of us, then it would be enough and they would love me. They would share that love freely, openly, shamelessly. They would envelope me in their love, their lives, their hearts as I did them. I would be found valuable. Not because of who I am, but because of all that I did for our relationship.

Only that's not how it's ever worked. I've done so much freaking work, and at the end of the day, it wasn't enough. I'm still single at 49, wondering what I could have done differently.

Now the clock is ticking, and I find myself just not caring. Like, Mr. Perfect could walk up to me tomorrow and my response would be, "Yeah. Okay." Because I really don't have the energy nor the drive to be Ms. Perfect again. I've tried it multiple times and all I've gotten is a hell of a lot of heart-ache. I don't want to go there again. I'm 39 days into my self-prescribed celibacy (just over 10% done) and for the first time, I'm grateful that I'm not allowed to even bother. 

It's not that the guys that I dated/married were jerks. They weren't, for the most part. With one notable exception, they were pretty decent guys. Both of my husbands were kind, caring, and good dads to my kids. Nearly all of the guys that I spent any length of time with since college were decent guys, just trying to figure crap out like I was. They weren't the problem; I was. I mean, why work when it's given so easily? Why put in the emotional effort when your partner is willing to do it all? That's a natural response. It's not to say that they didn't care or put in effort. It's to say that I didn't step back and allow them the opportunity to really show me how much I mattered. Because my thinking was that if I did that I might find out that... I didn't matter at all. 

So these things are swirling around my head while I'm trying to navigate my work, and I'm realizing that I'm not going to find chaos out of order the way things are going. Even after the cry - and a good conversation with a dear friend - my mind spun in all the wrong directions. So I gave myself a time-out from thinking, and I spent my lunch hour walking in the sun along the Willamette River. 

The path was packed with people, as it should have been, but I had my little personal-space bubble. For once, I wasn't looking at the men, wondering who was single. I wasn't stressing about the zit on my chin or my frizzy hair. I just walked, alone. The sun felt amazing on my face and shoulders. The wind off the water kept me cool while I exercised. The sound of the river lapping against the concrete walls overwhelmed the chatter of the people around me. I focused on the seagulls flying overhead, on the bridges that spanned above and across from me. I watched the bobbing kayaks paddling down river, and the swollen sails on sleek white vessels with names like "Merry Me" and "Dame Judy". I breathed in and out, as I've done for decades when the chaos tried to overwhelm me. 

For a mile, I ignored everyone around me and focused instead on the natural world and my breathing. Then I turned around and headed back, this time, listening to the chatter, watching the faces, seeing the bodies around me, all shapes, sizes, and colors in varying degrees of motion. I was part of them, but separate, and I reveled in that feeling of individual unity. The mile back went quicker, seemed like less effort, and erased the noise in my mind completely. 

There was peace for me. Not the peace that my friend wishes me - his offer is one of unending peace and this was ephemeral - but peace, still. I was able to work freely and easily. I left with the feeling of successes, small though they were. To build on this feeling, I met my ex - let's call him S for the sake of these blogs - at a preserve with the dogs, and we walked another three miles, mostly joking and just being at ease with someone we love and care about, no strings attached. He's not my soulmate, if that's even a thing, but he is a dear friend, and if nothing else I'm eternally grateful that we salvaged that from our doomed courtship. 

Home now, I'm relaxed, at peace still, I guess. Joyful in the moment; finding pleasure in the mundane tasks of doing dishes and folding the laundry. This is closer to the peace my friend offers. Still ephemeral, but closer. Oh so much closer.

ASYD - Day 31 - Things to learn about myself

I talked to a couple of my friends today, and they each gave me some things to think about. It seems fitting to put them down here.

First, I had a conversation about how much we devalue ourselves. How we will bend over backwards for the people in our lives, and yet feel selfish when we tell someone what our needs are. Because it is selfish. The problem is that not all selfishness is equal. Sometimes selfish is good. It's selfish to make sure that you get downtime when you need it, but that's also self-care. It's selfish to focus on your own goals, but again, that's also self-care. Those are necessary bits of selfishness, as is telling someone what we need from them. It's a necessary bit of selfishness. It's self-care.

Intellectually, I can know this. At one time, I even believed it whole-heartedly. I did a really good job of being clear and concise in what I needed from my husband. Then my world was shattered, and that piece of me got lost. My friend reminded me that it's something that I need to find again, because I will never be whole until I do. She's not wrong.

It comes from confidence. From knowing that I value myself enough to say, "This is the least that I will accept from you." So that's where I have to start: finding my personal value again. I'm not perfect, but I'm a good person with a good heart. I am kind. I am generous to a fault. I may talk too much, but I'm not stupid or silly. Most of the time what I say makes sense, it's occasionally funny, and even on the rare occasion poignant.

These are the things that I have to focus on. Not that my hair is too frizzy, that I have more wrinkles, or that I'm still 30 pounds overweight. Not that I haven't been lucky enough to find a guy who respects me and loves me and is in love with me. (It is all luck, by the way. Sheer dumb luck. Revel in it if you've happened to fall into a good relationship with a great person.)

The second conversation focused on how little we know what we want or even who we are. She was filling out a dating site form and it asked what her passion was, and she stalled out. She didn't know anymore, though she once did. So we talked about that, how we lost ourselves, why, and how to find her again.

She's been finding inspiration in places like that, and then meditating on it. Learning about herself one question at a time, one bit of inspiration at a time. It was my goal when I started this blog, too, but I started getting too caught up in trying to be friends with my ex so that he'd like me again. Because that was easier. (Dude, seriously? It was easier to have anxiety over a guy who's made it clear that I'm just not his type than it was to learn about myself. What the hell is wrong with me??)

So I started thinking about what I need to learn about myself. I couldn't think of anything, but it occurred to me that what I really needed to do was to date myself. Hang with me here. When you start dating someone, you're hungry to learn all that you can about them. Who are they now, who were they as children, as teenagers, before you knew them? Who do they want to be next year, in five years, in 20 years? What drives them? What makes them happy, sad, upset? How do they handle those emotions? Can they share them? If not, why not?

You want to hear from them often, to get that little thrill from knowing they cared enough to reach out to you. You want to embrace them, make them feel happy in your presence. You want to make their life better, joyful, fun.

And these are all of the things that I want to do for myself. I want to learn to love myself the same way that I have learned to love so many other people. Not one of them were perfect, and some were far from it, yet I found a way to love them. Why has it been so hard to do the same for me?

My heart is still broken, and I'm still feeling the roadrash of my last two relationships, but I still think that I can figure this out. It's going to require a lot of kindness, patience, and a gentle hand, but I've gentled more tortured souls. And honestly, I'm so sick of feeling so fragile and weak. It's not who I've ever been, and it's time that I step over those feelings for the more important ones.

Nowhere to go but up, right?

ASYD - Day 31 - A Really Bad Day

I've had a dozen blogs written in my head over the last couple of weeks, but in truth, they were the same as the ones before. I'm sad. I'm hurting. I feel rejected. I feel lost. None of that has changed. I don't feel any less of any of it, either. 

Maybe I'm just not ever going to be very good at this whole being alone thing. Maybe - now hear me out - I'm happier in a partnership so I really should be in one. That's why I stick it out longer than I should with the wrong guy. Because I'm happier with someone who can't/won't love me the way that I need than I am on my own. 

It's a possibility. I don't know. I just know that I don't feel any better today than I did a month ago when I suddenly became single. And get this, while I love him, I certainly wasn't "in love" with him. There weren't fireworks. There weren't sparks, and there certainly wasn't mind-blowing sex. Hell, at best it was meh sex, if we had it at all. But we were comfortable together. We laughed a lot together. He was someone to make dinner for, to cuddle with. It was enough for me; why wasn't it enough for him?

Why wasn't I enough for him?

Yes, I know. I reread that paragraph again, too, after I typed that last sentence. The answer is there, plain and simple. He wanted more than meh sex and someone to make him dinner. He wanted - wants - fireworks. At the very least, sparks. Me? I'm so afraid of getting burned that I'm like an Oregon forest in mid-August: NO FIRE, NO SPARKS. What I had with him gave me enough of what I needed to help me get by without any of the rush of an infatuation to scare me. 

We've been trying the friends thing. We have been seeing each other a couple of times a week, talking daily, etc. I can't do it. I wanted to. I wanted to keep that connection just in case he changed his mind. (Again, yes, I am well aware of how stupid that is. Hush.) He's not going to change his mind, though, in part because I am so weird around him. I'm still not myself when we hang out. I'm still trying to impress him, be the person I think he wants me to be. And until I can just be me around him, I really shouldn't be around him at all. If I really want to maintain a friendship with him, I need to step the hell away until I'm no longer thinking of him as someone to convince to love me.

That phrase: someone to convince to love me. 

I think I've mentioned that my whole life, I've done that. I've played the chameleon to be whom I think the guy I like wants me to be. And I used to be really good at it. Then I met my second husband, and for the first time, I was truly myself. I compromised, of course, but overall, I was just me, and it was enough. He loved me, or so he said. I was wonderful... until I wasn't. Until he decided to destroy me. 

That's a part of it, you know? I was me and it was enough... until it wasn't. And then, in spectacular fashion, it so wasn't. Two years down the line and I'm still trying to understand what went wrong. Two years down the line and I'm still trying to pick up the pieces that he broke me into. 

Intellectually, I know that it wasn't about me. Intellectually, I know that he made his choices because he's broken, not because I did or didn't do something. The little girl in me that's only ever wanted someone to love her just as she is, however, struggles to understand that. 

This hurts. It all hurts so damn much, and I just can't see it getting better. I feel weak, which I hate. I feel tired. I feel defeated. 

I just want a guy to wrap his arms around me in bed and whisper to me that I'm perfect for him, that I'm what he wants in his life. I want someone to love me with abandon just like I've loved, so that he can teach me to do it again. To be perfectly honest, I truly cannot see that ever happening for me. I look at my future, and I test my heart, and I know that I'm damaged beyond repair. 

It's a bad day. I'm sorry. It's just... yeah...

A Single Year and a Day - Day 17 - That's Loss

Theme: Learn to be comfortable alone.

I can't believe that it's only been 17 days. It feels like forever ago. "It" being sent off to be my own person. My friends have been concerned about me. Am I okay? How do I feel?

Honestly? I feel okay. Not great, but okay. I haven't lost anything, really. My ex and I are still great friends, and we spend time together regularly. This suits us better. Our friendship matters more than our romantic relationship ever did. So no loss, really. Just change, and I'm nothing if not used to change. Well, and loss.

In July, I'll begin once again going through a year of memories that continue to haunt me. You see, from July 2016 through to May 2017, I lost a lot. So much that my therapist told me to get a puppy because I needed something in my life to care about that would last for a while. My two cats had recently died, and my remaining dog, Thor, is a ripe old 11, which is on the older end for a cocker spaniel. With all that I'd already gone through, he was worried that when Thor crossed the rainbow bridge, I would be undone.

Things have gotten calmer, and I'm not nearly so on edge as I was then, but who knows? That may be because of the puppy, Kepler. He doesn't cancel out the loss, but he gives me something to focus on outside myself. It helps.

You see, when I talk about Loss, it's with a capital L in my mind. That year affected me deeply. As I said, it started in July 2016, with the loss of a dear friend. He died of a heart attack while out mowing the lawn, a year after he retired. My friend, Curt, had the ability to calm you like no one else. His voice, his words, his demeanor, his spirit. All of them just made you feel better about life. His loss would continue over the next year, as more and more things would happen. On a purely selfish level, not having his guiding hand through the hell that followed cut me all the more.

In September, a coworker lost her fight with cancer. She was barely 40 (was she even 40?) with two young children. I didn't know her well, but she was a Presence in the office even while out. Her kindness filled our team. Her loss devastated all of us.

In October, my family made the decision to move out of the home where my children grew up and into a townhouse. After a decade of memories, we cleaned the place out, leaving nothing but a few dust bunnies and nicks in the walls. I couldn't explain to my then-husband and daughter why moving was so hard for me. It wasn't the house, but the memories. The Heather Dale concert in the back yard, the beautiful planter built by the kids, the long winters curled up in the living room, the laughter in the kitchen. It hurt.

In November, I felt like I lost my country. That nearly 50% of the population believed that a New York City grifter would lead better than the most qualified candidate ever just.... I couldn't deal with it. Hell, most of us couldn't. I cried for three days after that election.

A few weeks later, on December 3rd, after my best friend and I spent a wonderful day at an event in Indiana, I turned on my phone to find a stack of texts and missed calls from my brother and son. My mom had lost her fight with lung cancer. The next several weeks were a blur. I lost my birthday, Yule, and New Years that year. It will be three years this December, and I don't know that I'm any closer to dealing with her loss. My mom was my hero. I miss her every day still.

The gods gifted me with a reprieve to process Mom's death, and it wasn't until March that I felt the next blow. This one was a whopper, though. This one resulted in the death of my marriage, my dreams, and my faith in humanity. With one statement, my ex-husband destroyed me. To be fair, I was already fragile, but I think had I been 100% myself, it would still have undone me. I'm not sure many would walk away unscathed after hearing that their husband had been with several other people in the previous couple of weeks.

Two weeks later, I was in the doctor's office being told that my A1C had hit 13, and I was very sick. I dropped 30 pounds in a handful of weeks, and learned to give myself injections twice a day. For the rest of my life, I would be on medication. My youth disappeared in that instance.

In April, I lost my job. As an ACA (aka Obamacare) expert at an HR company, with the new administration, management decided that I was superfluous. On the plus side, they gave me a nice severance package, but this meant that while still in a state of shock over everything else, I would be expected to find a job. And my insurance would be gone in eight weeks.

In May, my youngest child graduated from high school and started preparing for college in Iowa. For the first time in 23 years, I wouldn't have a child to care for. My purpose in life would change drastically, and it was the straw. I broke. I fell apart. Were it not for my friends, I honestly am not sure I would have ever come back together.

The next month, I packed everything up in a ten foot U-Haul, and my daughter and I drove away from the only life I'd known to Portland, OR. Away from my husband. Away from my children's memories. To where my sons had all moved. To a new life. To find me.

So I know loss. I think many of us do.

I miss cuddling, but right now, after the last few years, what I really want is someone who can really love me. Not a lukewarm kiss, but a passionate embrace. So the change in my relationship with my recent ex is okay. It's not a loss, but a release. An opportunity to find myself, and then to find that passionate embrace.

First, myself, though. I'm learning that first myself has to come before all else.

I can thank my friends for that, too. 

A Single Day and a Year - Day 10 - What makes a woman?

Theme: Determine personal wants/needs/likes outside of external input.

I know you all thought that I'd forgotten you already, but in truth, I just needed some time out of my own head. As it is, I think way too much about way too many silly things, and this is really messing with my mind. On top of that, the current climate in our country regarding women's bodily autonomy has made it nearly impossible for me to concentrate on much without becoming livid.

But this isn't a political blog; it's a blog about a woman trying to come to grips with her very unhealthy relationship with herself and the men she's loved.

Part of that unhealthy relationship with herself... er, myself... is in how I look and portray myself. A bit of background: when I was young and adorably cute, I used that in a variety of ways, many of which make this grown woman cry sometimes. It wasn't uncommon to doll myself up and flirt to get free drinks, free movies, etc. It's amazing what a guy will do for a cute girl he thinks might like him. Which, okay, that's kind of on him, but it's not like I didn't know what I was doing, too. Manipulation was my game, and I was a master player.

When my first marriage broke up - as did the codependent rebound relationship that followed stupidly soon after - I realized how much of a chameleon I was and had always been. I morphed into the person I thought my paramours wanted me to be. I liked what they liked. I laughed at the things that they laughed at. I became The Perfect Girl for them. Sound familiar? How many of us have done - and maybe still do - this? I'd guess too many.

In answer to this, I decided to be Mom first, and everything else second. I rarely dolled myself up anymore, and when I did, it was for a night out with My Guy. Flirting flew by the way side. In fact, I pretty much forgot what flirting was like, or why I'd ever done it. Moms didn't flirt. Moms didn't get sexy. Moms were just.. moms. Plain ole ladies with gray hair, chubby waistlines, and practically nothing to remind themselves that at one time they were Women first. And I did this for 20 years.

I set aside my womanlyness. Sometimes, on a lark, I'd dig out a fancy dress and put on some make-up, but after a while, that felt silly. Like I was play-acting at being a woman. My husband told me that I was pretty, which was enough-ish validation. Until he chose a couple of prostitutes instead of me. Then... well.... things got tricky.

Then I felt like I couldn't be pretty. I couldn't be sexy. I couldn't be anything but this old gray haired, chubby mom who was well past her prime. Who would pick me when my own husband preferred to pay someone else than be with me?

The self-pity has been pretty prevalent since then. Every once in a while I've thought, "I'm still cute! I'm still someone desirable!" But it doesn't last. With my most recent break-up where I was told that I'm a great friend... but not a good romantic partner for him... Yeah... you get it.

Today, during a particularly woe-is-me rough patch, I reached out to my best friend via text. I told her how I felt ugly, fat, and wholly unattractive. She said, "I wish you could see yourself the way that I see you." I blinked.

In commiseration, she told me that she, too, felt ugly, fat, and wholly unattractive. And somewhere in my mind a light went on.

You see, when I think of my best friend, I think of her gorgeous smile that fills the room. I see her beautiful skin, her stunning eyes, and her laugh that you can't help but join in on. She's intelligent, funny as hell, and sexy. I mean flat out sex-ay. And somehow she just doesn't see it. How is that even possible??

I suppose it's the same way that I can't see myself as she does. And that's a serious flaw in our make-up, hers and mine, and at a guess, in so many other women. We see where we fail, where we're not young anymore, or thin, or adorable. Where our skin might sag a bit, or our teeth are a bit more yellow than we'd like. We see the wrinkles around our mouths that now require lip liner, something I didn't understand the need for at 25 but at nearly 50 won't go without if I'm wearing lipstick.

Part of me wants to ignore all those flaws and just... camp it up. Wear make-up that makes me feel pretty. Put on a fun dress with high heels or strappy sandals and hit the city. Act like I'm 22 again, single, childless, and the only care is getting home safely.

Another part of me thinks, "Yeah, that would be a sight."

Why do we sabotage ourselves so harshly, so cruelly? Why do we treat ourselves in a way we would never let our friends be treated?

I admit that a huge part of my reticence is based in fear of looking ridiculous. I'm terrified of looking like a sad, fat, old woman who's trying far too hard to retain her youth. I've never been one to wear a lot of make-up, so if I start now, will I look silly? I love playing dress up, but does that really suit this personality that I've spent years cultivating of a Strong Independent Woman who doesn't need to impress some man? Does dressing up and trying to look pretty make me part of the Patriarchy Problem?

These are the weirdnesses that I grapple with. If I try to look pretty - and relearn to flirt - do I then become part of the problem that I've spent a lifetime trying to fix so that my daughter can have a bit of an easier time? Or is it just fun frivolity that everyone needs a bit more of today? Can I look pretty just for me? If so, what does that look like? Do I have to lose weight to feel pretty? Am I doing that just for me, or because some guy will find me more attractive? Does looking pretty have to include make-up, the stuff that has always been used to attract a man?

This being a woman in 2019 is a world away from what it was in 1989 when I first learned it. Thirty years have taught me a lot, most of which is how little I actually know. I don't know what I'm doing for me anymore, and what I'm doing because it's what society has taught me is appropriate for me. I don't know what I like, or what I think is appropriate because I've only ever seen myself through the lens of a patriarchal society, or of a man I was trying to attract.

And if I decide that I really don't want to do all of that stuff, that I want to be in jeans and a flannel shirt, chubby, clean-faced and gray-haired... does that mean that I'll be alone forever because I'm not "pretty" or "desirable" to a man?

Where and how do I even begin to figure it out for myself?

This woman thing... it's so damn hard.