independently verified

Coming out on my blog last week was a really big deal for me.  I'm sure you all realize that without the statement, but the extent to which I've hidden and tried to deny the reality is significant.

Why?

First and foremost was my holdout in the hope that things would change back to normal.  Keeping things on the down low would have made it easier to reconcile.  The fewer people who knew we were having problems, that he wanted out, would mean fewer people to explain how the break-up never materialized.

Another is that this stuff is hard to talk about.  Hard to talk without triggering a quiver in my lips, or a crack in my voice, or tears puddling in the bottom of my lids only to stream freely as I lose control.

Then there is the shame of being dumped.  Of being a failure.  Of knowing that this is going to cause irreparable damage to my children.  There will be scars.

Of course there is also the obvious, I didn't want it to get back to the kids.  People talk.  That's what they do.

It was much more preferable to pretend.

I did it well.  Only my closest, most trusted friends knew - some real, some virtual.  I needed some people for support, advice and to help maintain my sanity.  But the majority - co-workers, pool league friends I've known for years, friends in town - remained in the dark.

I often wondered though, could people see through the facade?  I would stare in the mirror wondering if people could see the fake-ness of my smile or the dark sadness in my eyes.  On the surface everything seemed normal.  I would engage in conversation, laugh at jokes, go to lunch.  But underneath it all I was hurting, am hurting, the worst pain imaginable. 

Coming out in some ways has been a huge relief.  I no longer have to pretend, but it hasn't changed my underlying emotion of wanting to keep quiet.  I haven't posted any blog posts on Facebook since I revealed the truth.  To do so will open the flood gates and I'm not sure I'm ready.  Maybe this post will make it there.  Maybe it won't.

Slowly I'm letting people in.  I'm trying to get comfortable and move forward, understand the life that is in front of me is what I have to accept whether I want to or not.  And telling people makes it real. But it is oh so hard.

As it happens, in chatting online with a co-worker, I mentioned my blog.  He asked for the link and I hesitated knowing what was out there.  I stalled but then finally said fuck it.  People are going to know sooner or later and it might as well start now.  Later, his comment to me, he could tell something was wrong by my eyes and the laugh that wasn't really a laugh.  He saw.

It seems pretending didn't work.  The light has gone out of my eyes and is for all to see, independently verified.  I know in my head it will return.  Hopefully.  Someday.

this seems appropriate

I find it amazing that in the midst of all this devastation and pain there remains some semblance of normal.  It gives me hope that eventually I'll be okay. And that is good.

i'm coming out

We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned,
so as to accept the life that is waiting for us.

Joseph Campbell

 Today is the fourth day I haven't worn my wedding ring.  I am painfully aware.  My husband hasn't worn his since February.  He wants a divorce.

I am very much a person who wears her heart on her sleeve and to keep this secret has been intentional.  Maybe if I don't say it, it won't be true.  But it is and I cannot believe I am in this place now.  At some point every day, usually in tears I cry to myself and wonder how did I get here?  Almost 19 years of marriage and more than that of him being my best friend and he has shut the door - just like that.  It takes two to make a relationship but only one to break it apart.

I know this because I was the one who broke us 10 years ago.  I was the one who left.  I was fortunate enough to realize my mistake and most fortunate for my husband to forgive me - except he never really did and that is the crux of the issue.  I thought that because we made it through that mess we would always be solid.  We were really good for many years.  A fight was just a fight; a disagreement just that - not the end of the world and, for sure, nothing to end our our marriage  They were opportunities to practice arguing, practice saying I'm sorry and, well, just arguments.

Clearly I am wrong.

I spend my commute days wiping away tears and choking back the vomit I feel in the pit of my stomach.  Anytime I have too much time is bad for me but the weekends are the worst.  These are the days when I have no idea what to expect.  No idea if we are going to pretend to be a family under strained circumstances.  No idea if or when he's going to come home.

Oh right!  He actually hasn't left yet.  Not only is he still here but we are still sleeping in the same bed.  We are still pretending.  Or more accurately, I am still pretending.  Still pretending but still knowing.  Trying to figure out what this will mean for my sons - one a junior in high school, one in 8th grade and one in 2nd grade.   Trying to figure out how I can best manage this situation. 

The practical questions keep flowing.  How am I going to be able to afford to live in this same affluent town to keep my kids in the only school district they've ever known?  How are we going to manage "together" things like the Back-To-School Nights?  Who do I have to turn to when every_single_person is married and with family.  No more couples gatherings.  No more family BBQs with other families.  People will feel awkward and unintentionally, quite naturally, choose "sides".  It reminds me of a post I read from BigLittleWolf's Daily Plate of Crazy titled "Which is Worse - Death or Divorce".  I quote from her post:

Bruce, of Privilege of Parenting, was kind enough to point me to the Washington Post, a particular piece of writing describing divorce as a sort of death.

Read it.

Or should I say – read it and weep.

Citing from Rabbi David Wolpe’s post, from his own former wife Eileen’s words to a friend:

Divorce is a hard path, a long, circuitous journey that is not something you can control…and your married friends look at you like you have leprosy. It threatens their world view for you to divorce.  It threatens their marriage… everything changes.  In ways you can’t imagine or anticipate. Everything. Everything. Everything.

Eileen Ansel Wolpe goes on to say that divorce is:

… the destruction of together-dreams, forever-dreams, family-dreams, love-dreams. You cannot leave a marriage without doing violence to all those things, no matter how amicable the divorce.

 And the truth in that has broken my heart into a million pieces - destruction of together-dreams, forever-dreams, family-dreams, love-dreams...
 
I am grieving and it is the worst grief I've ever experienced.  I remember the feeling well from the death of my mother and, more recently, the death of my Uncle.  My friends are supportive.  My sister is awesome.  Unfortunately, as anyone who has dealt with grief understands, it's just a hole in your heart that no one can help heal.  It is incredibly lonely.  No matter how many people I have around me, this is mine to deal with alone. 

I feel so, so sorry for my children.  I've let them down.  I feel like a failure.  I feel like an ass for writing posts like this and this.  What a fucking joke.  I am 41 and I've been with this man for 20 years - half my life.  I have no idea what to do.  I have no idea what's going to happen.  Maybe we will recover, although I doubt it.  I know my husband and when he sets his mind to do something, he typically follows through - and he is determined to leave me.  I've hoped before, only to be crushed.  I don't think I have it in me.  I can no longer pretend that my life isn't total shit.  And so I am coming out.

thinking

I'm sitting in the TV room, feet up on the coffee table.  The TV is on, Henry is playing Civilization on the XBOX.  Danny is back in his bedroom with a friend studying for their science test.  Sam is here on the couch impatiently waiting for 7:00pm so he can have the TV.

And I am sitting here thinking.  I have this time, precious time that I know will not be here forever.  Time to engage.  Time to visit.  Time to talk.  Time to understand.  And all I do is think.  I watch from the periphery.  I do what needs to be done but I live in my head.

And I'm irritated.  My thinking time is being disrupted with Sam yelling at Henry - ordering him around.  Henry has non-stop babble.  He is a kid who can carry on a conversation with no one but himself - and he does all the time.  It is never quiet.

But I shouldn't be thinking.  I shouldn't be wondering how I got to this place.  I shouldn't be arguing with Sam, but I am.

Interrupted.

All.  The.  Time.

Unpleasant.

The angst around here.  Boys fighting with boys.

"Go away."

"Get out of my room."

"Put my video games away."

"Wash your hands before you use the controller - it's all greasy now."

And I think, how did I get here?

"Mom."  Interrupted again.

But I should be here.  The problem is that I'm not.

**Post inspired by Just Write.**

come visit me!

Today I'm posting over at Momalom!  Jen and Sarah have quite the site and following.  It was their Five for Ten series that motivated me into this blogging world.  Now I have the honor of posting for their MomMamaMommy! series.  I owe them lots for this wonderful community I've discovered.

Head on over and see what I have to say about the dynamics of three.  While you're there, check out their writing in the archives, subscribe to their feed and add them to your Twitter list.  Enjoy!

stifled

My heart is here but my head isn't.  Words and ideas swirl in my head like the dead leaves outside on a brisk fall day.  They click as they rustle never seeming to settle down.

I am disconnected, outside looking in.  Lurking.  I sit on the periphery engaging only sporadically.  Unfortunately in both the real and virtual worlds.

I am not living up to the title of this blog.  I am not saying all I want to say.  I've written before about how I cannot wear a veil.  I can make excuses but mostly I am stifled.  It appears that if I cannot write with honesty about things that matter, then I cannot write at all.  It feels false and unworthy of my time.

I need to find a balance though because I miss the community.  I miss the engagement at a time when I need it the most.   Of course my real-world friends are here for me but there's something to be said for the online world.  It is always "on" with no need to coordinate schedules, drive anywhere or find babysitters.  You can reach out and find people to connect with regardless of, maybe even because of, your idiosyncrasies.  At any given time you can find someone.  And it's good to have someone even if there are words left unspoken.

My Pink Network

Christine over at Coffees and Commutes wrote about her Pink Network and inspired me to write about mine.  

I've always considered myself to be "one of the guys" and valued that classification.   It was difficult for me to make friends with girls.  Their interests were not my own; their games repulsive at times.  But I've always had a few girl friends - and a few good ones at that.  So few that I can recount everyone of them since elementary school. 

Of course my first girl friend was my sister.  Growing up we had this love-hate relationship but if either of us was in trouble, we had each other's back - no questions asked. 

And then there was Laura.  We played Barbie dolls forever, took rides around the block, got stung by bees and swam all summer long.  Brenda and I stole cigarettes from our mothers' packs and hid out by the barn, coughing and hacking away.  Iris was there as we hung out and did science projects together.  We fell out of touch but as weird things go, we ended up renting rooms in the same house our senior year in college.  Freaky. 

High school was such a miserable time in my life.  I hated it.  I hated the girls.  I hated the popularity contest.  I didn't fit in with any click even though it was a school of 1,600+.  But there were a few shiny pinks in the midst - Ellen with her gorgeous hair - dark auburn with this natural curl you could never fake with a bottle of perming solution.  Michelle, Kathy, Heather - those were my girls - and thanks to Facebook we had a bit of a reunion a few summers ago.  I don't keep in touch as much as I'd like, but I still feel close to them.

College was a small but awesome pink experience.  There were really only two friends for me - Rebecca and Kim.  All three of us RAs.  You know, Resident Assistants, those pesky annoying people who made you follow the rules in your dorm.  We were all very different then, and yet not so much.  We shared less than ideal childhoods and we all took that damn job because we needed it to get through school.  Interestingly enough, we all got degrees in education.  I've lost touch with Rebecca even though we still exchange Christmas cards.  But, I know if I picked up the phone and we both (miraculously) had a spare minute to talk, we'd be right back in the thick of it.

Kim I'm a little more connected with courtesy of Facebook.  Here is another freaky story.  Kim is still back in Connecticut and she married her high school sweetheart, Tim.  Tim has a brother Jonathan.  Jonathan lives in California.  One day I got a note from Kim saying that her brother-in-law moved to my town.  Not only did he move to my town, but he moved to about a mile away and now Kim's sister-in-law is one of my trusted friends, and part of my pink network.  Small world, huh?  Kim also was my first real pink experience.  She is a survivor - going on 10 years now.

And my pink network - we are a grounded set of girls.  I have friends like Cheryl (who married my ex-boyfriend - I know another freaky), LouAnne, Dee and Kim who have been friends for life - at least my life in California.   They have seen me at my worst and they have seen me at my best.   I have Leslie, Shawn and Erin - pool teammates I'm out with every Wednesday.  It's my one night out a week whether I need it or not.  Then there are Andrea, Jules, Brooke, Sonia, Larra and Barbara - the local girls always ready for a cosmo and a conversation.  And last I mention are the women who have bumped me up professionally.  Lucy, Susan (also a survivor) and Alisa, Valerie, Hope and Megan, most recently Barb.   These are the girls in my life and I would like them to stay here.

October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  Do something.  For me, I support Susan G. Komen For The Cure.  Be aware.  Be generous.  Be true to your pink.