Hanger On

Dear Hanger On,

By the skin of your teeth you have hung on to this  last almost failed relationship like a cat clinging to the swaying branch of a tree he unwittingly ended up scaling.  Even now you wonder at your tenacity and your willingness to go back to something you know is clearly not easy and natural.  Maybe the desire to be comfortable, even when the comfort level is insecurity and lack of communication, supersedes the desire to be in a healthy, mutually respectful relationship.  One thing is certain, this swaying branch you are helplessly trapped on has taught you invaluable survival skills, there is nothing quite as motivating as a life or death grip when you have fallen before and the result was as close to a nervous breakdown as you have ever been.

He is as cunning and as dangerous as a Las Vegas big cat, trapped in an emotional ex-wife cage waiting for the enthusiastic burst of applause to trigger his next performance.  This time it is reconnecting with her parents who are in town, and taking his mother along, so they can pretend in epic Southern denial that "nothing happened."  This is the only family you have ever been around where they demand you accept and embrace all of the the exes (and there are so many of them) and their convoluted family members without comment or complaint.  You hung on to the notion that time would surely remedy this but unfortunately it is the same over and over, only the show time changes as does the story of her and her whole families betrayal and abandonment.  They will all drawl "hey!" to each other and "How ya'll doing?" as if none of the complete craziness of the past four years occurred.  It isn't forgiveness as much as an unwillingness to move forward with new people, new relationships.  The ex will be pleased that she has gotten him roped back into her dysfunctional families clutches so that she can snap her whip and make him bound onto a pedestal, even when he is snarling and defensive she enjoys making him perform for her.  He hangs on to the unusual notion that this is normal and will be great when their daughter has children,  which just justifies the entire inbred clans countless failed marriages.  If any of them could spell "boundary" much less understand the concept of it perhaps you would not be where you are, claws out, tenaciously clutching a past with no hope and a future with very little. 

Your choice is to scamper back down that tree trunk of disappointment and confusion, to curl up in the sun and blatantly ignore them all like a well fed cat.  He isn't ready to let the past go, but you don't have to chase that string anymore.  The show will go on...without you.

Good Intentions

Dear Ms. Intentional,

The theme lately is living intentionally, though having to Google what that is may not be a good sign.  It seems that having good intentions and living intentionally are two very different things.  You always intended for your kids to have the best of everything without them having to struggle, you intended to get remarried a year after you got divorced, you had the best of intentions that your company would flourish and you would be set for life by 50.  So much of what we try to accomplish is vague and undefined, and though good intentions are nice, they don't mean anything without good decisions.

So today you begin the harder path of choosing to live intentionally.  To do this you have to go back to your goals, your core values, what you know you want and need.  Not always easy for someone who is chronically codependent and used to caring more for others than herself.  You must stop frantically casting a wide net in the hopes that all of your goals will come to fruition, and instead go back to the basics.  Slowing down, thinking things through, not reacting.  The decisions that will come from this different way of life will be different than before, will move you toward what you intend for your life now as a divorced single mother.  It's time to embrace the world you currently reside in, and find whatever love, comfort and joy there is already in your life.  If you also intend to focus on fewer relationships, to take better care of yourself, to communicate with love and respect, to take more time organizing and planning instead of flailing around on the whim of every client and every family member, you will be more successful.  To focus on what good being successful can do for your world is also a good intention, and benefits everyone.  You can decide, day by day, hour by hour, relationship by relationship what you want and need.  

So under the banner of "living intentionally" you must make some decisions that you normally would not, and let go of some of the unintentional self inflicted unhealthy goals and ungoals that are holding you back from an intentional, personal, wonderful life.

Wishy Washy

Dear Wishy Washy,

Up down, around and around, the roller coaster of your emotions is exhausting.  A day after making the statement "I will go No Contact for six months" you come home to a huge bag of gluten free dog food leaning against your garage.  No note, no sweet card, just really expensive gourmet kibble. What to make of this?  Is he sorry he threw your relationship away?  Is he trying to make amends?  Does it mean anything or was it a Costco reflex purchase?  You wrestle the odd deluge of emotions that swamp you.  Anxiety that he was at your house that day and you might of had to talk to him if you had been home, pain that two people who used to be so close were reduced to dog food overtures, hope that he had miraculously changed overnight and wanted to create a shiny new healthy relationship, anger that he won't talk or reach out but will drive out of his way to give you puppy chow, tenderness that he thought about you while buying huge amounts of toilet paper and frozen tilapia, despair that you know in your heart the two of you will never work.

So you text him, a terse thank you for the dog food, and get a response right back.  He wanted to do something nice for you.  Well what the hell does that even mean?  Mr. Wishy Washy again; I want you I don't want you I hate you I love you I want to marry you I want nothing to do with you.  The ambivalence is incredibly confusing and takes you back to the two years of never knowing what was really going on inside the complex brain of this almost bipolar individual.

In reality Ms. Wishy Washy you are right there with him.  Are you done?  Really? Well why do you go out of your way to drive on the roads that you know he frequents, think and or talk about him incessantly to your annoyed friends and family, go on date after date and feel nothing at all.  An internal commitment to go No Contact and you are texting him immediately, your brain scurried around all evening trying to figure out what particular meaning this purchase really had.  Neither one of you is in, and neither one of you is out, and that wishy washy half hearted hopefulness has to end.  Now.  You can wish it was different, he was different, it had ended differently.  But you cannot have back what has been intentionally trampled on and thrown in the garbage.  Nor would you really want to. So the free food is nice, he is nice, you are nice, but the relationship is over.

Dazed

  Dear Dazed and Confused,

You try to be clear, to communicate, to work through the ins and outs and ups and downs of every problem.  You never give up, having been walked out on by your Mom you find it impossible to walk out on anyone. Even when you should.  So it makes sense that you keep trying to get him to tell you clearly and concisely what happened to the love he supposedly felt for you, because you are so confused.  You would rather be hit hard over the head with it, and in a concussed and headachy delirium accept the truth.  Only he won't.  Or he can't.  Today he went from I do love you even now, to I don't know if I ever loved you.  He said you were pretty, you dressed nicely and he used to get excited to see you.  That is not love.  That cannot even be compared to love, that unique connection that two people share and the commitment to unconditionally accepting each other.  That is a fourth grade crush, a superficial attraction to how someone looks.   Love is looking into another persons' soul and accepting everything you see in there, the good the bad and the ugly.  Love is being steadfast in your ability to work through problems, to trust that the other person will honor your feelings.  Love is being a good partner, someone who accepts the strength you have when they are weak and vice versa.  Love is not caring what a person looks like, because being with them is happiness personified and happiness doesn't have a face or a body type.  Love is wanting to walk away and having the courage to stay.  Love is gracious forgiveness.

It's confusing, this sudden withdrawal, this angry abandonment.  No one wins, you are dating to have something to do, traveling alone, sometimes going to events alone.  He is alone as well.  You spent the last six weeks in a daze, barely functioning at work, your scattered brain furiously trying to make sense of the incomprehensible.  Today you realized that you will never know, you will never have the answer because he doesn't even know.  He doesn't know if he loved you then or if he loves you now or if he ever could.  And you realize that as disoriented as you are, he is truly lost and bewildered, dazed and confused. 

Gambler

Dear Gambler Girl,

The only game you ever played at all of the smokey casinos he dragged you to was the penny slot machine Wizard of Oz.  You would search it out, knowing that Glynda the good witch would reward you with at least $30, feeling comfortable because you knew the rules of this particular game, and how to play.  Sometimes he tried to make you play cards with him, but you were usually fuzzy from wine by then and the arbitrary strict rules and disapproving looks of the real gamblers made you feel stupid and inept.  So back to Oz where there was at least a modicum of safety.  The huge casinos were so intimidating, and he left you to yourself much of the time, so you wandered around a lot people watching and trying not to inhale the insane amounts of cigarette smoke.  You never thought that a girl like you would be in a place like that, but you wanted to spend time with him and that was the only way to do it.

The biggest gamble you took was to leave your last relationship because you were so attracted to him.  Or maybe it was simply time to get out and he was just an excuse.  Still, you put all your cards on the table and tried to play his game for two years, even when the rules changed constantly and you basically felt like you were lost in the streets of the Emerald City much of the time, confused by the mood swings and his Great and Powerful facade.  

Maybe it was Glynda who gently pulled you out of there and sent you back Home, where you finally feel normal again.  No more smoke filled casinos, obsessing over wins and losses, no more six hour drives just to be left alone in a hotel room watching Law and Order SVU.  Like Dorothy meandering through an odd and terrifying landscape, you did what you had to do to get back to where you belong.  And now the only games you are going to play are Scrabble and Monopoly with friends on game night.  The next time you play someone's game, it might be better to learn the rules first.

Evil Woman

Dear Evil Woman,

You woke up with the same dull stomach ache, waiting to get up until your brain could scrabble around enough to realign the new life you have after two years with someone you loved with all your heart.  Down the stairs to turn the coffee pot on, feed the animals, sweep up the insane amount of dog hair that appeared overnight, check email, all the while trying to make sense of being abandoned out of the blue.  Did you not try hard enough?  Change enough?  Love enough?  It's a process, this morning routine of trying not to remember, trying not to miss him, trying to move on.  

The ipad is plugged into the speaker, and you turn it on to your Singer/Songwriter itunes radio station just to have some static to break up the thoughts that continuously swirl around in your head.  It's Evil Woman that comes on, and you have to laugh.  Still, it's a great song, and you know all the words!  So you start dancing around the kitchen, singing as loud as you can, and suddenly the day looks brighter, the future looks brighter.  

The Nike+ bracelet your sweet friend bought you last week that tracks your daily steps picked up on this crazy three minutes of movement, your heart rate went up and you felt almost happy for once in the past month.  It's about movement, about moving on with your life.  There will come a morning when you wake up and you won't even think of him.  Until then, you should dance a crazy dance every morning and remember to keep going forward.  Happiness is what lies ahead, only hurt and disappointment behind.  Dance on Evil Woman!

Caretaker

Dear Caretaker,

It's OK to care about others, but it's not in your best interest to continue to caretake.  People can and will take care of themselves, and it's really not your job to step in an "Mommy" everyone to death.  Even your kids want their independence and have worked hard to achieve it.  The dogs, your new kitten, they need actual caretaking in the form of regular exercise, visits to the vet, food and water.  Your clients need a different kind of caretaking, a hands on, I've got it approach that enables them to trust you with their homes and their money.   But in relationships, in your family and your love life and your friendships, people have already got what they need to take care of themselves.

It's time to take care of yourself...it's been forty plus years in the making and now is as good a time as any.  So today, when you handled the adjuster for the car that was in a wreck a week ago, got your hair done despite desperate texts from clients, went to the store and bought your meal plan groceries, paid your bills... you were taking care of yourself.  Tonight when you meet your lawyer date for a nice dinner, you are taking care of yourself.  Tomorrow, when you meet friends for lunch, get your house cleaned up, pick up your drycleaning, you are taking care of yourself.

So all that energy that went into fixing unfixable relationships, taking care of all your kids friends, your ex boyfriends family, the interpersonal problems your clients deluge you with...all that energy is now going to go into you taking the best care of you.  Because it is important, it's no one else's job, and it's the only way to finally be healthy and happy.  That's the only caretaking you are allowed for now, to care about yourself.

Dumped

Dear Dumped,

Still gives you a stomach ache, doesn't it?  That someone would just dump you without making any effort to work through the issues that led to the final horrible confrontation at a nice restaurant.  That isn't a relationship, how could you relate to someone like that?  You make every, and I mean every, effort to work things out, even when there is crying and door slamming involved.  Counseling, talking to friends, reading books, you work and work and still, you were dumped.

You can write about it, talk about it, try to work it through but in the end it is what his ex did to him, and what you did to your ex.  People get dumped.  There is at least a sense of empathy now for what your ex boyfriend experienced when you said enough and moved out.  It's like the foundation you built your life on crumbles into a pit of despair, and all the good gets dumped in that deep hole.

It's not right, it doesn't make sense, but it happens all the time.  Just because he didn't want you doesn't mean you are "unwantable"...it just means that you weren't right for each other, and no amount of loving kindness can change that.

So today when you go to the job site look in that dumpster at all of the cabinets, hardware, appliances, bits of wood and countertop, and see twenty years of memories from that kitchen that are being sent to the dump because it's time for change.  It doesn't mean the family is going to dump their good memories, the family meals, the kids doing homework at the counter, the games of scrabble.  It just means it's time to create something new, that something better is coming.

Sweet Heart

 Dear Sweet Heart,


Sometimes the hardest thing to do is set someone free, even when you feel like their departure leaves a gaping hole where hope, security and love used to rest.  Even when losing such a huge part of your life leaves you feeling like your heart is breaking.

What is worse?  To not love fully, openly?  To not trust him?  To not feel your heart pound when he comes close to you?  To not want to rub his arm, kiss him, smile at him?  To not feel? To tie yourself to what lies behind instead of what lies ahead?

You gave everything to him, and in the end he didn't want any of it.  He was mired firmly in his failed marriage and his pain, and there was nothing you could do to heal that.  Your love story had a beginning, a middle and a tragic end, and your heart felt so much joy, love, confusion, fear, pain...but you felt it.  Wide open and invested, you felt it all.  Hearts heal, lives move on, loss becomes a memory.  Don't stop having a loving heart, that is the gift you give the world, it makes you sweet and it makes you who you are.

Messy Girl

Dear Messy Girl,

You've spent the last two weeks trying to get organized, trying to make your home perfect.  In your post-break up panic you have frantically categorized every  drawer, every file is up to date and neatly labeled, the walls in three of the rooms in your home have been freshly painted, heavy drapery removed.  You cleaned the grout in the kitchen with bleach and a toothbrush, you threw away two huge garbage cans of old papers and magazines, you color coordinated your walk in closet.  The problem with doing all of that is that it doesn't change anything.  It makes you feel temporarily more in control, more "together" but really you are sad and lost, still wondering how someone who told you he loved you every day could just walk out.  There is no controlling that.

You had so much confidence, you believed you were loved, pretty, valued, that he was proud of you.  Even when the laundry piled up during the weeks you had craziness at work, and sometimes you lacked the energy after a hard day to go grocery shopping and ate cheese and crackers instead, you believed, you knew, he loved you.  The real you, the girl who had spent the last eleven years as a single parent struggling to put her kids through college, putting all of her energy into a thankless job so that she could take care of her family.  You believed, you knew, he enjoyed spending time with you, traveling with you.  You believed, you knew, that somewhere in his heart he wanted to be with you. 

Then it was over.  Suddenly, completely, and irrevocably over.  Of the spiteful things he had hurled at you over the past year the ones that stuck out the most had to do with being disorganized and messy.  Was this why he left?  Because in your frantic 60 hour work week you didn't make tidiness your number one priority?  Sure, your house was clean, but it was lived in and messy too; books, magazines, dog toys.  The stuff real life is made of.

Well, life is messy.  Emotions are messy, relationships are messy, construction work is messy.  Nothing is or should ever be so tightly controlled, so obsessively organized that it takes precedence over living a full, authentic and yes, messy life.  You accept your mess gladly, it comes from being more worried about friends and kids than doing laundry.  It comes from being flexible, busy and happy with hobbies and work.  It stems from joy, from relationships, from animals.  So you can stop organizing now, and relax.  Live your messy, wonderful, complicated, exuberant life...without him.

Optimist

Dear Optimist,

That saying that everyone kept throwing at you three weeks ago, that seed you refused to let germinate in your anxiety and sadness, is now finally taking root. " Time heals all wounds".  Already the sting of the mean and angry words that were hurled at you is fading, as is the memory of his face and his voice.  Though last night your friends called you "Sally Sunshine" you occasionally let the thoughts of abandonment and insecurity blow through your psyche, but the tears no longer fall from these thunderous cloudy memories.  Slowly as you move forward you see that there is always a rainbow after the storm, and that what waits for you is better in every way.

Your friends and family love you, support you, heal you with their hugs and cards and emails and texts.  Your animals continue to love you unconditionally, especially the new kitten your son urged you to name Grief.  He is the antithesis of grief, he is joy, love, sweetness, light.  He makes you laugh.

You date, and as you date you see what was missing and what was unhealthy.  The IBM Systems Analyst who is a dog lover, well educated, thoughtful, kind.  The Architect with the funky shoes who loves how quirky you are and how beautiful your home is.  The Doctor you are seeing next week who you have only talked with, but find you are drawn to by his sense of humor, confidence and intelligence. The Dentist you met yesterday, centered and calm.  Somewhere there is someone who is a perfect storm of all of these qualities, and that is the person you will wait patiently for.

There is fog and rain outside this morning, but the weather report calls for sunny skies later.   Sally Sunshine will take the dogs to the dog park, paint a little, read a book, breathe in and breath out and know that the new calm is perfect in every way.  Optimistically you will live your life, knowing that the life and relationships you already have and the joy you are open to receive is the rainbow after the ugly storm of a bad relationship.

Artist Girl

Dear Artist Girl,

The painting exists in your head, it is a mixed media piece, three dimensional of a circus performer balancing on a tightrope.  The bottom third of the canvas is a poem written six weeks before the relationship ended, and it is written out with resist and magazine words on a piece of handmade paper.  The canvas is inserted backward into a frame and the hanging wire is the tightrope.

Tonight may be the time to buy the canvas and begin making the paper,  begin creating a brightly colored reminder of what an abusive relationship feels like.  You can hang it in your office for all to see.  That is what real art is, a manifestation of the inside of someone's soul.  It is not benign landscapes or cafe scenes, flowers, paintings of vases or gondolas in Venice.

Writing, painting, trying to get your life back together to the way it was before you allowed yourself to be manipulated and controlled and criticized.  At least you have a process through which to process.  For that be grateful little artist girl.  

That sick feeling
when you realize
he no longer
loves you...
if he ever did

So
you move past it
by tiptoeing
with your head down
and your eyes averted

Hoping the magic
will come back...
or at least 
some sense
that he loves you again

Walking a tightrope
of insecurity.

Someone Like You

Dear Someone Like You,

Of all the things he said and didn't say, the worst was the sentence "I would never marry Someone Like You."

Now you know you are not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but you are a loving, kind, thoughtful, talented, funny person who is deeply committed and willing to put up with a lot.  You love and rescue animals, you take care of all of your millions of friends and your family, you work harder than most people do and it's not for you to have more, it is for the people in your life to have more.

So you sit and ponder that statement, and the only things that come to mind are that you don't cook elaborate meals and you have a messy garage.  I mean, you are well educated, you have money in an annuity and money in a 401K, you own your own beautiful home, you put two kids through college alone.  You are pretty, well loved, flexible, giving...the only parts of you that are not authentic are the parts he created with his expectations.  You were to be a party girl, always be available, willing to listen to him talk about his ex wife every day, show up when and where you were told to, never disagree with him or have an opinion.  You were to take what was given and never ask for more, allow him to brood and give you the silent treatment without comment, never have an emotion other than happiness.  You were the Someone who spent the last month of this relationship crying every day and at odd times because you knew in your heart he was through with you and you didn't have any power left to leave.  You did what was expected of you, you were the Someone who waited tensely for him to end it.  Which he did.

Maybe he meant to say, "I will never marry Someone Who Is Not Exactly Like My Ex Wife"...because he has never processed the fact that she left him abruptly for greener pastures in the hills of North Carolina.  And to that point the Someone Like Him and the Someone Like You could never be happy together because the ex-wife is an unattractive, greedy, manipulative, sneaky, self-centered witch.  And you don't want to ever be Someone Like That.

Hopeful

Dear Hopeful,


In the space of two short weeks your world shifted on its axis in much the same way a tornado ravaged community or tsunami engulfed shore line does when the unthinkable simply happens.  You have used the phrase "Hope is not a Strategy" many times, but in your naivete you believed that hope and love could stop the tidal wave of anger, criticism, withdrawal and abuse that led to this upheaval.  In the aftermath, shaken and in denial, you viewed the devastation with disbelief and mourned what could have been.

Relationships, good ones, are full of respect, trust, truth, intimacy and unconditional love, and the effort required to maintain this balance is enormous.  You thought, you hoped, that if you did 99% of the respecting, trusting, and loving that the result would be a perfect marriage.  You thought, you hoped, that he would get over his anger and his sadness at being left by his ex-wife, at losing his family, and in time he would see what a wonderful family you two could build together.  The only problem with hoping for this is you knew deep in your soul that he didn't love you.  He loved the idea of you, the sparkle of you, the brightness and shininess of you, but not the real you.  For someone to love you they have to love your story, feel your story on a deep level, accept that you are the you you are because of your story, and love you more for it.  He didn't even want to open the book much less accept the tumultuous childhood that brought you to this place in your life.  His method of coping, to shut down completely, is in his mind what you do about past hurts, past loss.  If you drink enough, gamble enough, travel enough you don't feel the very thing you know will dessimate you with the mighty strength of a formidable hurricane.  You hoped that your love could heal him, bring him to the surface, bond with him.  There isn't enough hope in the world to accomplish that, with someone who refuses to face their life, their shortcomings, their emotions.  A mutual friend said bluntly through your tears, "He hasn't loved you for along time, he decided a year ago he didn't love you."  You thought love was a feeling not a choice.  You hoped he could have at least this one feeling.

So you let go.  Because you had to.  Because he will never be healed, and you will never be skinny enough, organized enough, emotionless enough to make him love you.  Maybe you will someday write his story, the story you fell so madly in love with, the story of a builder who built a life in spite of hardship.  Or maybe not, maybe you can just do what your father has asked you to do and close the book, and hope for the real thing next time.

She Let Go

"She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go.
She let go of fear. She let go of the judgments.
She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head.
She let go of the committee of indecision within her.
She let go of all the ‘right’ reasons. Wholly and completely,
without hesitation or worry, she just let go.
She didn’t ask anyone for advice. She didn’t read a
book on how to let go…
She just let go.
She let go of all of the memories that held her back.
She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward.
She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.
She didn’t promise to let go.
She didn’t journal about it.
She didn’t write the projected date in her day-timer.
She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper.
She didn’t check the weather report or read her daily horoscope.
She just let go.
She didn’t analyse whether she should let go.
She didn’t call her friends to discuss the matter.
She didn’t do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment.
She didn’t utter one word. She just let go.
No one was around when it happened.
There was no applause or congratulations.
No one thanked her or praised her.
No one noticed a thing.
Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.
There was no effort. There was no struggle.
It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad.
It was what it was, and it is just that.
In the space of letting go, she let it all be.
A small smile came over her face.
A light breeze blew through her.
And the sun and the moon shone forevermore."

Ms. Exhausted

  Dear Ms. Exhausted,

You have fought for so long, tried so hard, battled windmills and invisible foes, accepted the unacceptable, and done for others your whole life.  It must be exhausting.  Throw in dysfunctional relationship after bad relationship, where giving it all and twisting yourself into someone else's expectations, followed by periods of intense revenge scheming and passive aggressive bad behavior, and you have the recipe for a complete breakdown.

Except you can't allow yourself that luxury.  You can't sit at home and wail about your last failure, or continue to toss and turn night after night, because you have responsibilities.  You have to get up six days a week and work to care for yourself, your kids, your animals, your employees.  You have to keep going, even if the only way to do that is with excessive amounts of coffee in the morning and borrowed downers at night.  

Your strength comes from the knowledge that to give up is to fail.  And you cannot fail.  Even this last breakup was not a failure, it was a blip in your story.  Of all the things that you learned, and there are too many to even sum up, you learned that trying to make something work that simply cannot work will never work.  There is a lot of regret, for accepting talking to a therapist instead of your boyfriend, for being fake and dishonest with him, for knowing you weren't right for each other and lacking the courage to face that, for allowing him to put you in your Barbie box and agreeing to be available when he wanted to play with you.  Your biggest regret is that you wanted him to need you, this man who needs no one and nothing, and then the one time he did truly need you you failed him miserably.  Dramatically, unnecessarily and permanently.  You can argue that you were exhausted, but in reality you wanted to hurt him, to make something that was not about you about you.  That isn't love, that isn't even close.

 You can argue that your life is exhausting, you can argue that you were put in a bad situation with no support, you can argue that you were making a point.  But go back to the beginning and stop arguing...stop trying so hard, battling windmills and invisible foes, accepting the unacceptable, and doing for others your whole life. Make your life less exhausting by not trying so hard ever again, and in time you will sleep knowing that you learned what love is and isn't, and maybe even someday you will forgive yourself.

Drunk Girl

Dear Drunk Girl,

The shock will eventually wear off, and in time relief will take its place as it should.  For two years you pretzled yourself into a twisted version of the real you... 

In the beginning it was as if every prayer you had ever sent heavenward had been answered.  A kind, sweet, emotionally present man who was intent on pleasing you in every way.  You talked for hours and hours about everything, mostly about how his 26 year long marriage had ended abruptly with his wife leaving him for another man.  He immediately folded you into the warmth of his family,  suddenly you had a full life again, with your oldest son absolutely loving this wonderful man.  He did more for you physically than you could ever have imagined possible. From moving you to trimming trees to helping at construction jobs to power washing your driveway to showing up with heavy bags of dog food to fixing your toilet and a million other things he staggered you with his sweet consideration.  You were literally glowing with happiness, people commented on how beautiful you looked.  You felt loved in every way, and so ecstatic to have found your soul mate at last.  As you held hands and  sat in church together and prayed, you thanked God for this wonderful man.

Sure, there was some adjusting to be done.  You had to be available every Friday night for Date Night at six o’clock without discussion, and it was not optional.  With a work schedule from Hell, you were stressed beyond being able to function because your jobs close out on Fridays and getting home at 4:45 to shower, change, walk the dogs, sweep up the insane amount of dog hair that was perpetually tumble weeding across the hardwood floors, and be ready to go exactly at 6:00 was incredibly difficult.  Still, you loved him and you were willing to make that effort, even when you found yourself screaming at your employees periodically and letting payroll slide from Fridays to Mondays. You had learned the hard way how important punctuality was to him.  So in beautiful dresses you couldn't afford you let yourself be swept up for dinners that were never less than $150 every Friday night, with an over abundance of wine, deserts, after dinner drinks, piano bar drinks, drinks at home before bed…somehow the drinking just got out of hand.  It was like being in college again and he never judged or limited you, though most nights you passed out on the way home from the exhausting work week and the alcohol.  The voice in the back of your head that said “enough Kelly” was silenced by yet another bottle of the expensive French wine you had begun to love.  Soon the scale started to creep up, from 112 to 115 to finally 122 pounds.  All that wine, all that food, the sheer gluttony of it was now reducing you to someone who could no longer tuck a blouse in.  Finally you got him to change the time to 7:00 but still...some Fridays it would have been nice to rent a movie and order a pizza and cuddle on the couch with him.

Drinking also made it easier to listen to him talk about his ex wife incessantly.  If you walked into a place they had been you got to hear how Debbie did or did not like something about it, or listen to an anecdote about something that happened to the two of them there.  Every trip  was a place he had taken her first, and you were regaled with story after story about the two of them.  At first you just listened thinking that it had only been two years and he was still processing.  After all Debbie was apparently perfect in every way, and it seemed he was still reeling from the unexpected betrayal.  But on and on it went, and every reference to her began to pile up like tiny little grenades.  And when they finally blew, it was not pretty.  You ranted, raved, sobbed, staggered off, screamed “F--- You!”  That first time he gave you the silent treatment for two days, until you dramatically showed up at his house, begging forgiveness and crying, pleading for him to take you back.  And so it began.  Every time you showed passion or emotion he would withdraw, and tell you he had to think about himself first so he was taking a step back.  You remember thinking "how much further back could you get?"  So you towed the line,  tried to never have emotions, to be more "Debbie Like" in every way, to be perfect because the threat was always there that he would just dump you if he decided he was done.  You never had an opinion,  worked until 2 or 3 in the morning during the weeks he booked  trips for you,  staggered into jobs hung over a lot because everything revolved around drinking.  He and his friends could swill three or four bottles of red wine at dinner, then there was the after party.  You were drinking white wine, but you kept up.  Always the ex wife was there in spirit, either he was ruminating about something to do with the divorce or he was making observations about their past life. If you couldn't be where he wanted you to be when he wanted you there he went alone.  You drove yourself to a lot of his family events, in the midst of work problems, moving, your kids being in town.  You carefully cultivated relationships with his kids, trying to get a foothold.  But in the end his oldest daughter had to listen to you sob and lament his treatment of you to the point you finally knew you were in deep trouble.  She looked at you with pity and said "It shouldn't be this hard."

He no longer looked at you with love and trust, and you no longer trusted yourself not to become that insane, jealous, screaming drunk girl.  So you started therapy.  He was happy you were going to "fix yourself " , which is a direct quote.  So time went on, you did date night and drank and traveled and laughed and drank and took the boat out and drank and cooked at his house and drank…you were both so uncomfortable with each other for so many reasons by then that was the only way to be together was numb from wine.  Still, you believed you loved him, and you were adamant that he was going to forgive you for being emotional so then he would love you again and it would feel the way it used to.  He called all the shots though, was always in control.  He would never ever see you during the week, sometimes canceled plans for Friday if something better came up, went on little trips with people without discussing it with you, letting you know after the fact what he had planned for the weekend and with who,  excluded you from his normal social stuff and the big stuff like surgery.  You began to think you really were crazy, while he told you over and over how much he loved you, he would then slide into a mean brooding mood and give you the silent treatment, then casually he would mention you two getting married and building a house, then talk about where he was moving to alone, then ogle other women at bars, then exclude you  from a family event or go to a different church with other people out of the blue.  It was like existing in a world made entirely of jello.

The beginning of the real end to this sad love story was when his daughter got engaged.  For eight LOOOONG months all you had crammed down your throat was his ex wife, by their entire family.  Not one conversation could begin or end without her being brought up.  Everyone had so much anxiety over this nondescript woman and her hill billy family who had betrayed and devastated their family.  His mood swings were getting worse, so much of it was about the amount of money involved in the wedding, but always there was an undercurrent of sadness that she was going to be attending the wedding with the guy she had left him for.  It was combined with a very real and very scary anger.  You kept thinking “what the hell?  I am beautiful, I love him, we have been together for a year and a half…why can’t he just LET GO of her and be happy with me?”  You weren’t getting anything you needed any more at all, not attention, love, support, or communication.  You became his counselor, his sounding board, his best friend.  You wrote his speech for the wedding, a nasty letter to his ex for him, managed the anxiety his daughter had, decorated her house for the bridal shower.  In doing so you lost all confidence in yourself, aided by his never ending criticism and the awareness that you were never going to measure up to Debbie in his mind.  All of this culminated into a frustration and anger that finally reared its ugly head at the wedding. It was a complete disaster, it was probably the lowest you have ever sunk. You allowed Debbie and her terrible, ugly, timeless power over Mike to turn you into a drunk, screaming, crying mess.  If you need a visual just rent the movie "Bridesmaids" and fast forward to the cringe worthy wedding shower scene.  You remember saying to everyone the next day, “he will never forgive me”…and he didn’t.

So you did your time, you did five months of his withdrawal, his snide comments, his distance, being left out of family get togethers, his hot and cold emotions , his passive aggressive abuse.  He showed you a picture on his phone of the girl he said he hoped he would end up with, he casually mentioned how his friends really liked his ex girlfriend, he stated for the trillionth time he wanted his wife and family back.  Ten days ago you went on your Facebook and found out he was looking up a woman he had met at a party he had intentionally excluded you from, and you felt a sense of intense shock.  Things weren't great but you had travel plans lined up through February.  You had talked about your future, you had mixed your families together.  When you confronted him at dinner that night he told you to “fucking shut up!" … and that’s where it ended.  He told you he would never marry "a person like you"  so he was cutting you loose.

You loved him.  Why were you that person trying so hard to feel loved for so long by someone who was obviously still in love with someone else?  I think you will find someone who is healed and whole and have a healthy relationship with him....or maybe you will just be happy alone.  Either way it is better than being Drunk Girl.

Perfect Family

 Dear Perfect Family,

Every parent wants to give their kids the world, wrapped up with gorgeous shiny paper and a large sparkling bow.  I desperately wanted my two boys to have a perfect childhood, filled with warm memories of family holidays, delicious gourmet meals and evenings spent playing Scrabble and Uno.  No matter what I did, what herculean effort I put into such a blissful ideal family, there was one large snag.  Their father didn't want shiny paper anywhere near him, in fact he would huff and puff his way through said "warm family holidays" with gigantic black garbage bags, snatching up gift wrappings as soon as they hit the floor.  His control problem was always there, but it was always triggered by family; his, mine and ours.  

It's true we lug our mental photo albums into our marriages, flipping through them to recreate what feels normal.  Recently may father sent me a taped up box with all of my photos inside.  I had to tip toe quickly through my awkward pimply adolescent photos to arrive breathlessly at photo after photo of our family without my mother.  It's true she didn't mean to abandon us, that she loved us completely, that her mental illness stole her from us.  But it did leave a gaping hole that my father was almost (but not quite) able to fill with overblown Christmases and new cars and clothes.  Still, I would have traded all that for one more family scrabble night where he teased my Mom so adeptly her giggles echoed through our kitchen.  I yearned for the day I would have my own family, where there was no chasm to fill, where giggles would be normal and everyone was Happy.

My ex-husband grew up in a strange huge house, where everyone was angry all the time and violence could and did erupt at any moment.  Slapping, swearing, chair tipping, axes to doors, all part of the shadowy lines that had been drawn the day his father brought his mistress into his home to pick up where his dying ex-wife had left off, the raising of his two daughters.  These lines squiggled through and around everyone in that house because a part of the baggage she packed to move in was their illegitimate two year old son.  Still, from what I was able to piece together, the three kids adapted as kids will, as did the two children that were born after that.  What could have been a Brady Bunch home never quite happened.  The mother was bitterly disappointed in her new life, and the father was quick to find a replacement mistress.  Of the many Jewish holiday dinners I participated in not one of them remained free of some kind of verbal or physical altercation, and I learned that a valium and a glass of wine was necessary before setting foot inside.  It's no wonder my ex was angry all the time, that he didn't talk about feelings, that the only emotion I remember him expressing was disgust.  And it's hard to create a Hallmark family when your spouse is dead set on recreating a bad horror movie.

My boys are amazing.  They were verbally abused, sometimes physically abused, then abandoned... and yet they are kind, loving, sweet and helpful.  When I sort through our family photos stashed in my television cabinet I see giggles and huge smiles and enormous stacks of elaborately wrapped Christmas presents.  Anyone else flipping through them would see that all-american family I so desperately wanted to create.  It's the mental photo album I hope my kids unpack when they start their own families.  And I want to be a part of that, if only to hear the giggles and play Uno with their kids and take some lovely family photos.