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. 

A Single Year and a Day - Day 7 - Moving on and moving up

Theme:  Learn to be comfortable alone.

This is a theme that I'm going to come back to time and again, I think. It's a major sticking point for me, and once I succeed in this, I have a feeling that the rest will follow. OR the rest will guide me to succeeding in being alone. I admit that I have no idea which will lead the other(s).

I spent the day bemoaning the fact that I no longer had the "go-to" person I wanted to be at my beck and call via text. Funny thing, that. That kind of thing was - and continues to be - a source of great anxiety for me. I send a text of some whimsical thing I'm thinking, and what feels like days (and is really an hour or so), I get a response. Modern technology at it's best? Worst? Regardless, I hate it. Not because of the technology, but because I really hate the anxiety on the waiting. It has the potential to be soul-crushing if you tie your self-esteem too tightly to those responses. (Not that I've done that. Of course not; that would be unhealthy.....)

Anyway, I'm going through a ton of changes in my life - braces, travel, singledom, living on my own for the first time in my life at the end of the summer. There's a LOT going on here! And I process by talking to others about things. So when I don't have a specified go-to person by the very state of our relationship (dating), it's hard. I have a ton of friends who are always there for me, but still. The One. I am selfish, and I want The One. I just don't happen to have even The Right Now. By choice, admittedly, but it means that I end up spreading my chatter over several people to avoid driving them all to drink. (This may be why I'm single again.. you think?)

I made it through the day at work, left a little early to take care of the dogs, then went to watch the Blazers game with my ex. After a really amazing game that the Blazers lost, he gave me a ride to the train, like last time. This time, however, I didn't climb on in a puddle of tears. No, I felt really good. I mean, for the Blazers losing, of course. I felt strong and capable and ready for tomorrow. I have a lot of changes going on, but I feel good. I'd love a little stability at some point, but overall, I know that I'm finally heading in the right direction.

Today was good. Not a heavy-lifter, but good.

A Single Year and a Day - Day 6 - There's alone, and then there's Alone

Themes: Learn to be comfortable alone & Take time to do the rituals and meditations that help

As today has gone on, I've been feeling this blanket of despair falling over me. It's not "I'm gonna die!" despair, but that's still the best word for it. It's a deep sadness bundled up with a feeling of no escape. This feeling belongs here, it seems to say, and it's going nowhere. As the blanket settled on my shoulders, I allowed it to envelop me. I wanted to explore the emotions, understand the feelings that were beginning to overcome me.

At first, the cacophony of thoughts drowned out any real substantive features, but slowly, certain thoughts began to emerge as useful. Mostly questions: What am I sad for? What am I reaching for? What am I aching for? Aching... I'm aching... why am I aching? What is causing the aching? Can I relieve it? ... what am I aching for?

This was an interesting line of thought for me. That ache is ubiquitous with my broken hearts. Every time I walk out of a relationship - whether it's by holding the door or walking through it myself - I get this ache, this overwhelming feeling of deep sadness broadened by need. Need... what do I need? If I figure this need out, will the ache go away? Can I fill whatever need there is without a partner? Can I be enough to fill this need?

... what is it that I need?

I sat quietly at my desk, listening to the Paper Kites, and let that question wash over me. What is it that I need? What.... do.... I .... need.... need? Want? No, it's need. It's a bone-deep need. It fills me completely, under this blanket of sadness. So what is it?

The image of curling up on the couch with my ex came up; us watching TV, laughing, snuggling. A feeling of warmth hit me with a bit of a sharp cut that surprised me. I looked at the cut, and an image of my ex in a rage, angry at me for making a mistake, the feeling of being on edge, of walking on glass like when I was a child and my angry alcoholic father would scream. This image was a flash - barely perceptible, but there, bringing with it the emotions that I swore I wouldn't deal with again. As the flash passed,

I focused on that "need" again, trying to figure out what being in a relationship did that made it abate. An image of my ex and I walking along the Pugent Sound shore, holding hands, talking, but there was another bit of sharpness. I wasn't relaxed with him. Not fully. I had told myself that I was, but in looking at it now, I realize that I was nearly always a little on edge. What would upset him? What would make him sad, angry, annoyed? What would I say that would change the tone of our conversation?

Again, it had been a flash, barely a thought. Yet, still... knowledge.

A few more minutes of this kind of work, and a true image began to show itself. The Need. The driving desire that built up this horrible sadness when I was single. I want - no, need - to feel fully comfortable with someone. Not just comfortable, but... myself. My true self. My whole self. I need to be where I don't need masks, armor, war paint. Where I don't need to worry about my every word, my every movement. Where I can make mistakes and it's okay. Where am I loved. Loved the way my friends keep telling me that I deserve. Loved for me, and not for who they want me to be, or who I think they want me to be.

So much of our lives are hidden from the world. We choose what we wear to present an image, not because it's who we really are. Yesterday, because I was going into a big meeting with a lot of people that I needed to listen to me, I wore a business skirt, shell blouse, cardigan, and heels. I had put on make-up, straightened my hair, and trimmed my fingernails. Battle mode. War paint on. Armor in place. Face of professionalism ready. Today, I wore jeans and a kind of dressy top. Tennis shoes, no make-up, and my hair up in a pony tail. I wanted to be invisible, unseen, ignored. I wanted to deal with the pain of last night that still lingered when I woke up this morning. The Invisible Woman mode.

But with whom do we ever get to do relax like that? In theory, our partners, the people who are with us by choice, who love us wholly.

That's what I'm looking for, but haven't had in a long time. I never had it with my first husband. He believed me to be not-so-bright, but a great lay. Pretty good mom, but of course, he was the better parent. To him, I was always lacking. After him I dated a man who actively sought to hide me from the world as a part of his life. He didn't want to go in public with me. If we did, it was as "buddies". My second husband... with him I felt the most at "home". It took me seven long years to finally trust that he would be there, to relax and start to be myself (minus watching my every word for fear that I would tip his depression into the wrong direction), but it was my closest to getting there. Then, five years later, that "home" was blown away in a spectacular fashion. When that relationship exploded, it wasn't a simple blanket of sadness overlaid with need. No, my heart went into a coma and is only just beginning to emerge. And now my most recent ex... he is so uncomfortable with himself that I was never going to be able to be myself with him. He focuses so heavily on how the outside world sees him, and therefore how it sees me, as I was a reflection of his choices. And I was found wanting... often. He demanded perfection, though he probably doesn't even realize that he did it, and I am never going to be perfect.

Home... this emotional blanket fort filled with sadness and need... it's my shelter while I seek home. While I seek a place to sink into wholly, completely, nakedly. It's filled with sadness because I'm completely alone in there, snuggling into myself, trying to push away the need that fills my soul. So alone, and that's what I've always focused on. The alone part... not the home part. Because if I can be with someone, there's a chance that I'll find home. If I'm alone, well... how would it even be possible?

And here's where my epiphany comes in. When I was with my ex - all of my exes - I wasn't alone, but finding home was never possible with them, either. I was completely incapable of being myself while with them because I was 100% focused on being what I thought they wanted me to be, which is the exact opposite of what I need. 

I wasn't alone, but I was Alone. I felt those shards, those punctures, over and over and over again, and I thought that it was okay because at least I wasn't alone.

What is wrong with me? It's my mantra right now. Not in a self-defacing way, but rather in an exploratory way. What is wrong with me? And on this, I've found an answer. My fear of being alone has pushed me to be Alone for almost all of my life. I need the comfort of a warm embrace, a snuggle-in, but with someone who doesn't prick me with his shards. I need to relax without worrying about getting splinters.

I need... to be me. I need... to love me. I need... to snuggle in alone and relax, pulling that blanket up for a time. But the blanket isn't sadness. It's a weight, warmth, a shield... I need to be alone with my blanket shield to protect myself from being Alone. I can deal with that. Aching or no, I can deal with that.

          **********************************************************************

Note: What I went through today was a form of meditation. I call it Free-flow, but I'm sure there's some other fancy name for it. Basically, I focus on a feeling, an emotion, a thought, and let my mind wander on that until it pulls me in a direction, and I follow that thread until I either come up with an answer or a dead-end. If it's an answer and I don't need more, I leave it there. If I feel like I need more or I've hit a dead end, I travel that path backwards to the first focus and follow a different thread in another direction. I can do this dozens of different times for a single topic, or I can do it once and find what I'm looking for. This one took me down a lot of paths, a lot of memories, a lot of feelings, before I got to my "answer". I just wrote about a few of them.

This is a really effective method for me to explore my emotions, something that I continually learn from. 

A Single Year and a Day - Day 5 - Heartfelt hugs from a Stranger

I have no goals, plans, or themes for today. I did, and then the day just happened, and I knew that it didn't matter what I thought I would blog about. This blog is just about living, and feeling, and doing.

The work that I do is stressful. A lot of moving parts, a lot of data, a lot of making sure that it all shows up where, when, and how it's supposed to. If it doesn't, there's a very real fear that personal health data will end up in the wrong place to the wrong people. I know that I don't want the world to know my business, so this is a pretty big thing.

Today, a large group of my business partners showed up to figure out how to make sure that the work that my teammate and I do is fully supported. For nine hours, we worked as a team to build new processes to fix what was broken. I have never felt more supported or heard in my life. By the end of the day, a fairly high mukety-muck said to the room, "The more that I hear, the more that I understand how much support [T] and Roana need, and I feel like we really need to throw our support behind them 100%."

Our team consists of a grand total of two people. What we do affects over 50 business partners and several hundreds of thousands of members, and today that was not only recognized, but celebrated. My team's efforts were applauded. That hit my heart square on.

Then I met up with my ex to watch the Blazers game. It's not what you think; we aren't getting back together. But he is one of my best friends, and I am definitely his. We need each other in a purely platonic way, and we're working toward that. In fact, being around him really drove home how he can't be what I need. He's a wonderful guy, but he has a lot to work through. And as has been hammered into me, I deserve someone who can and will put me at the very least on his priority list. My ex is a good guy, but I'm simply not that important to him. Not like that. Not like I'm beginning to believe that I deserve. (I still hate that word, and a post about that is totally coming up soon.)

He dropped me off at the train station, and as I walked away from his car, I truly felt the pain of what isn't and couldn't ever be. I started to cry, and I let myself. The heaving sobs, the pain, the tear-filled eyes. I needed that so much. I needed to feel that pain, that frustration, that fear. I needed to mourn what wasn't and never was going to be. It doesn't matter how I feel about him, it's so one-sided as to be laughable. So I cried.

I cried as I waited for the train. I cried as I leaned against the clear plastic divider on the train. I cried my heart out, and I knew that it was exactly what I needed.

At some point, as I just allowed myself to hurt, a young man got on the train. He wore a Blazers jersey, a pair of long shorts, and had a long board with him. He was maybe late 20s/early 30s? White, ginger beard, and a ball cap on his head. He got on the train and stood across from me. I barely noticed him, so caught up in my own pain, until he asked me if I was okay. I nodded, and continued to cry.

Then he did the most Portland thing ever. He said, "Do you need a hug?" I nodded, and he reached over and just held me while I cried. I have no idea how long he held me, but it was at least a few stops. When I finally pulled away, he patted my arm and said, "What's going on?"

I told him that my boyfriend had broken up with me, and while I knew that that's how it goes sometimes, it still hurt so damn much. I said, "Life. It's so hard." He said, "Yeah. I get it. I just lost my brother. He was 35 years old, and work, stress, life... it killed him."

And we stood there, the two of us, in a joined sorrow for several minutes, not really saying anything.

My stop came, and I thanked him again. He asked me my name, I told him, then he told me his. He hugged me again, and I got off the train. I cried the entire way home because of his incredible kindness.

There will be those who think that it's awful how sad I was, how much I cried, maybe even be weirded out by what happened with this stranger on the train. Personally? I feel like I'm finally beginning to feel a bit. It may have taken five days, but for the first time, I've cried - and cried hard - over the loss of a dream, and over the fear that this is my life now. Tomorrow I'll feel a million times better because today I cried in the arms of a stranger.

A Single Year and a Day - Day 4 - Guidelines and Definitions

Goal: Set guidelines for this year and a day

Timeframe: 1 day

Process: Decide what this year is meant to achieve, and set guidelines for successes and areas that need continued work

Success: Complete general guidelines to help me through this year

Progress: [Complete]

Even though I've known for a couple of days that I'm going to need guidelines, rules, something to help me get through this year, I am struggling to figure them out. I have a lot of expectations for myself, and a lot of "themes" to process. Some, if not all, of them are going to need at the very least definitions.

I've written and rewritten a number of things, only to erase them again and again. This really isn't easy. Yet, when I think about why I'm doing this, what my end-goals are, the whole definition thing becomes much easier.

Single - Not dating anyone. Not even casually, because I'm incapable of worrying about myself when I'm romantically with another person, even for only one evening. So, single is exactly that: single. Solo.

Alone - The goal is to do the kinds of things that I would spend time with a partner, but alone. Go to the movies, a museum, a weekend on the coast, or a night home on my own. I want to learn how to feel comfortable in those situations without someone there beside me.

Emotionally Available - This is when I am able to trust someone enough to let them in. As an example, every relationship that I've been in for the past 18 years, I've been waiting for him to leave from day one. Every. Relationship. It took seven years before I started to trust my ex-husband not to leave, and that ended way worse than him just leaving. So, trust. I need to learn to trust again.

The rules, or rather guidelines, for this journey are as follows:

• Journal every day, if not on this blog, then elsewhere to be posted later
• Be willing to step back from a relationship if one may potentially happen
• Spend at least three hours of awake time alone every day, or some combination that equates to 21 hours a week (can be in combination with the other things on this list)
• Meditate daily
• Do at least one ritual a quarter (Solstices and Equinoxes)
• Exercise at least five hours a week
• Take medications and vitamins daily

Again, these are subject to change as we roll through the year, but this is a good start. There are no repercussions if I don't hit these guidelines. I deal with enough self-flagellation; I'm not going to add to it. I just need this stuff written down. Some way to keep my focus - or regain it, as the case may be. 

This wasn't a particularly fun blog post to write. It was harder than it should have been. I wonder why. 

A Single Year and a Day - Themes to Address

The themes have been set and I wanted them to all be in one place for easy reference. I'm going to be needing these a lot over the next several months.

1. Learn to be comfortable alone.
2. Determine personal wants/needs/likes outside of external input. 
1. Do more thinking about what I think and less about what others think.
3. Find what I love about being me and not only love it but celebrate it.
4. Take time to do the rituals and meditations that help.
5. Learn and apply the techniques needed to feel freely again.
6. Set goals and create plan for a sound body and better physical health.

I like these themes. It lays out a plan for me. They may change as the year progresses, but it's a good starting point. 

A Single Year and a Day - Day 3

Goal: Figure out what I want and need from this exercise

Timeframe: 3 days (last day)

Process: Track mental gymnastics and look for thoughts/attitudes to change

Success: Define at least six overarching themes to focus on

Progress: [Complete] 

Years ago, I felt everything... deeply. Heart on my sleeve? Nah. Heart on my whole shirt, maybe my skirt and socks, too. I cried freely and I laughed heartily. I loved with all of my heart, and I gave my emotional all to all those with whom I came into contact. Remembering that time in my life, I remember the freedom that came with that way of living. My emotions weren't volatile, just... out there for the world to see.

Over the years, with tragedy and injury after tragedy and injury, I closed in on myself. It's not that my emotions aren't there. I just can't access them like I used to. They're... frozen in my chest in a block of ice. Every now and then, the ice will melt and I'll feel a bit. Not a lot, but something. 

The weight of that block of ice is daunting. The pressure, the stress of carrying it, the fear that it will never melt. What if those emotions are never released? What if my fear of being hurt again keeps me from being able to love freely again?

I do feel, but it's muted. Like the ice filters my emotions, chills it to keep it from burning too hot. I dunno. Is this just what happens as an adult? Your heart lives freely in the beginning, but over the years, callouses form. Every painful thing said - "You know, I don't think I ever loved you." - and loss - "I'm sorry, but your baby was just too small to make it." - and tragedy - "I've been sleeping with other people." - rubs against your heart, dragging gores into the flesh which eventually scab over. Over time, that beautiful heart that sang with every sunrise struggles to hum over anything. 

There's a mental health diagnosis for this kind of thing. It's called Depersonalization-Derealization Disorder. That's the extreme version, the one where a person has lost all sense of connection to the world because the scabs and callouses have completely covered their heart. They've completely emotionally checked out. Their heart is a geode.

This terrifies me. How many more tragedies am I away from that? What will have to happen to push me into that status?

Yeah, okay, I'm just not willing to go there. So I need to figure out how to melt that ice, shave those callouses, crack that geode. Whatever crappy metaphor you want to use, that. I need to figure out how to do that. 

Theme 5: Learn and apply the techniques needed to feel freely again.

I don't remember where I heard this, but recently I heard someone talking about what makes a great relationship. They said that when someone makes you want to grow and be better for that person, that's how you know you're where you should be. At first, this really resonated with me. Wow, I thought. Yes! I want to be better, and I have this incentive. To be better for him. 

What. The. Fuck? Like, seriously?

There are a lot of things that I need to be better at, and I will continue to work on those things with or without a man in my life. Because I deserve (this is a word that I struggle with and will likely come back to another time) to be the best person I can be. End. Of. Story. The only way to get there is by picking myself up and doing the things. Not because or despite of some guy, but because I need to be better. 

The sentiment should really have been that when someone makes you want to grow and be better with that person. Together, you both strive to be so much more than you thought you could be on your own. Not one or the other, but both of you. 

This is 100% where I fail. I am exceptional at helping others become better versions of themselves, without finding someone willing to do the converse. It's not that they're users, so much as they simply can't/won't/don't know how to help me be the best version of myself.

I've always interpreted that as they clearly don't love me. If they did, they'd do this for me. The more that I think about it, though, the more that I realize that love isn't the big factor here. It's laziness. They very well might love me, but they simply cannot get up the gumption to be that person for me, even when I've done it for them. Worse, they honestly think they have because they've said, "Yeah, I think grad school would be good for you!" Whereas I have hunted down application documents, helped write countless essays, and oftentimes done everything but actually send the application myself to help him. 

The resentment is strong in me on this. I want someone that I can trust (oh man...) to walk me through those steps when necessary. This has become my litmus test in my mind. 

However... I'm dedicated to being single for a year and a day. So I have to be my own incentive. I have goals, things I want to accomplish outside of rebuilding my soul and uncovering my heart. These should be as important as everything else. Not to attract a man. Not to keep a man. Not for any reason other than I deserve to be a better me. 

Theme 6: Set goals and create plan for a sound body and better physical health.

A Single Year and a Day - Day 2

Goal: Figure out what I want and need from this exercise

Timeframe: 3 days (2 days left)

Process: Track mental gymnastics and look for thoughts/attitudes to change

Success: Define at least six overarching themes to focus on

Progress: 4 of 6 

Today ... was a day. My son and I went to my ex's place to get the rest of my things, and walking through the house, scouring the backyard for the dogs' toys... all of it, hurt. I teared up as I said my good-byes to an empty house, wishing it could be different. I laughed a lot in that house. I felt comfortable and at ease there. Even though I still have a key, I honestly don't know if I'll ever see the inside of it again. 

Because I'm me, my mind went to the next woman he'll bring there. What will she think? How will he act with her? Will he be in love with her, passionate and playful? Will she be able to break through in a way that I couldn't? 

I'm jealous of someone he may not even know yet. What am I jealous of? Am I jealous that he'll be with someone else? Yes, but only in so much as it's a representative of what I'm not. Whomever she will be, she will be something I'm not. Thinner, prettier, funnier, smarter... what will it be about her that will catch and possibly keep him? What will she have that will bring up the passion that he couldn't find with me? What is wrong with me that will be right with her?

And that's kind of the thing. Intellectually, I know that some relationships work and others don't, and sometimes there just isn't a logical, coherent reason why. Two humans in a relationship means that there are dynamics that can't be accounted for on paper. Intellectually, I know this. And intellectually, I know that he was right to break up. My head is very much in agreement. But my heart...?

Yeah, that gets tricky. I do not doubt for one second that I love him. I want only good things for him. I really do want him to be happy. At the same time, I know that a big part of why this breakup hurts is because once again, I was found wanting. I wasn't enough. I was too fat, too bossy, too... me. If only I'd have worked harder, done more, acted more sexy, it would have been different. If only I'd... 

... not been me. 

That's what I'm bemoaning. That I wasn't woman enough to keep a man. It doesn't matter if he's the wrong man for me or not. It doesn't matter if I knew that I wanted more than he was able to give. What matters is that I failed. I wasn't enough. I lack... something. Again. Because as a twice-divorced woman with almost no singledom in between, what I keep telling myself is that I... lack. Intrinsically. Internally. Externally. I don't know what it is because I can't put my finger on it. If I could, I'd fix it. I'd be more. I'd work harder. I'd ...

... not be me.

I need to remember that it's not all about whether or not I was enough. Sometimes, it's about whether he's enough for me. Sometimes, it's about whether that relationship fills my head, my heart, and my soul. Sometimes, I'm enough, but the relationship just isn't.

Theme 3: Find what I love about being me and not only love it but celebrate it.

A number of friends have reached out to me over the past couple of days. I've gotten a lot of love, support, and just plain kindness. Some have offered words of advice from having gone through something similar; others have offered anecdotes about what their single-by-choice life has meant to them. Some just wanted me to know that they were around and cared. 

One friend very pointedly told me that I'm only as alone as I want to be because I could always reach out. 

If you know me, you already know that's really hard for me to do. My best friend will text me to ask me how I'm doing, to which I'll say, "Oh, you know. But how are you? How did X go? Tell me all about how life is going for you!" And she will immediately call me out for deflecting. She will steer me back to my life, my woes, my fears, my concerns. Because she knows me well, she watches for it, and counters it. To my face, if you can believe it!

So, for the past couple of years, I've been working on not doing that. To understand that when my friends ask me how I'm doing, they actually want to know. It's not like my boss asking me in passing by the water cooler how everything is. No, these people really do care. They want to listen. Most importantly, I'm not a burden when I start with, "I'm really hurting today, and I could use a shoulder for a bit." 

This means the world to me. Many of these people have been my lifeline since the end of my marriage when I went into a black abyss with no way to get out on my own. Nonetheless, I still believe that self-soothing is an important skill to have. It's why I started meditating years ago. I could find my peace even if I couldn't ask for a hand. 

Now that I have hands aplenty, and many shoulders, I've backed away from meditating, and I think that's a problem. I think that a large part of my problems stem from my lack of centering, finding my soul, and focusing internally on where I feel out of balance. I need to get back there. I need to find my soul again, and spend some time taking care of it.

Theme 4: Take time to do the rituals and meditations that help.

A Single Year and a Day - Day 1

Goal: Figure out what I want/need from this exercise
Timeframe: 3 days
Process: Track mental gymnastics and look for thoughts/attitudes to change
Success: Define at least six overarching themes to focus on

I didn't cry when he said what he said. I didn't cry when I lay in the bed, wide awake, listening to his quiet snore that I love so much. I didn't cry while I packed my things. I didn't cry when I told my friends about the break up.

It's not that I didn't care. I love him. But he made the right decision - even if I fault him for his timing and methods. We were buddies first, and only rarely lovers. We just don't belong together as a couple right now. I'm still emotionally damaged from my marriage, and he has his own issues. I understand this, and while it hurt that he stepped away like he did, intellectually, I got it.

Having not slept much, I moved through my day at work slowly and methodically. I just did the day, you know? Then 5:00 came, and I realized that I was going to be alone all evening. That's when the tears welled up, though they didn't fall. I heaved dry sobs, and the pain my stomach ... oy. Typing this up, it seems ridiculously mellow-dramatic, but again, this whole process has caused real pain in the past. I didn't give it up last time because it was easy. I don't do single well. Period.

Maybe I should explain. It wasn't that I was going to be alone that did it, because I am alone a lot of evenings in general. It was that I was going to be alone, and I didn't know how to not be alone. I didn't have a go-to person to call and say, "Hey, when will you be home? I can have dinner ready." In fact, I had no one to worry about for dinner but me. That realization bowled me over, and not in a good way.

Theme 1: Learn to be comfortable alone

To save me from myself, I took the dogs for a long walk, then went grocery shopping. Here's where my mental gymnastics really shone. I put on a fairly short sundress, because it shows off my legs which I've been told are really nice and I wanted to be looked at and admired. I wandered the store, trying to decide what to buy, and I focused on what to eat to lose weight to be more attractive. At one point, I stopped myself from buying hair dye because I legitimately didn't know if I wanted to dye my hair for me... or to look less old to maybe attract a partner.

Nearly every decision that I made as I wandered that store centered on how to make myself more appealing - in a conventional sense - to men to get their attention. I know that I thrive on the idea that someone finds me sexually attractive. I even know why; I've had decades of therapy to figure this out. When I was a child, I was sexually assaulted, and then raped in high school. Doesn't take even a BS in Psychology to know that will cause some issues. So yeah, okay, got it. Even at nearly 50, this crap is coming up. The question isn't what or why, but how to fix it.

Specifically, how do I decide what I like for me without focusing on what affect those things might have on some unknown man on the street (or in the store)? I'm going to admit that it really disturbed me to realize exactly how much this comes up in my thinking just walking through a freaking grocery store. It is sad how little I know about my own wants and needs, irrespective of the men I come into contact with. What is wrong with me?? Damn....

Theme 2: Determine personal wants/needs/likes outside of external input
     Subtheme A: Do more thinking about what I think and less about what others
     think

A Single Year and a Day

Introduction

Two years ago, I walked away from a 12-year marriage. The why isn't nearly as important as the how: I packed a 10-foot by 10-foot U-haul with whatever fit, loaded the cab with my 18-year-old daughter, her dog, and my two cats. We then drove 2100 miles across the country, from Champaign, Illinois to Portland, Oregon.

I was 47 years old, my four children were all adults, and it was time to start my life over, this time for me.

The problem was that I didn't really know how to do that. I'd lived my life for others for so long that this whole "focus on me" thing was not only alien, it hurt. I cried a lot. I ached with loneliness. The entire "learn to be alone" thing just didn't happen. Within six months, I joined several dating sites and met a really nice guy.

Flash forward 18 months and we're standing on his back porch, watching my dogs - that he's spent as much time with as I have - play in the yard. Atypically, stars shine clearly in the Portland sky. We'd just spent a pretty wonderful week together, and I had started moving in. The man beside me, someone I'd grown to love and respect if not always adore, sighs heavily and says, "Roana, you're my best friend..."

... my heart melted...

"...but I'm not sure about the romantic side of our relationship." And with that, I was single again.

As I lay there in his bed - it was after 11pm when he told me this, and we'd been drinking so I stayed the night - tossing and turning, trying to understand what had happened and why - something clicked in me. I was single again. All of those things that I'd wanted to do before were available to me. I could learn to be alone, but for real this time. I could learn to take care of myself first (how do people do that??). I could figure out what I like to wear, how I like my hair, and the beauty in my own body without worrying about how a guy is seeing it.

Of course, the problem before was that doing all of those things were hard. So hard, that I gave up and jumped on the dating sites to find someone to distract me from myself. In reality, I simply didn't do single well. I am nearly 50, and I'm pretty sure that I haven't been single for more than a few months since I was 14. I put the "serial" in serial monogamy. It was time.

So this is my Single Year and a Day blog. I hope to blog something every day, but I know myself well-enough to know that may not happen. At the same time, this is kind of my diary of learning to be me. The motivation to write what happens, how I feel, and how I'm doing will be strong. Maybe on May 11, 2020, I'll be able to look back through this and see where growth happened.

Anyway. here's to living single... even when you're absolutely terrified of it.