Mother's guilt

I have mother’s guilt. I was not there for my child’s big moment. Indeed there are many big moments in a child’s life, teeth lost, presents unwrapped, good report cards and school plays. The X has missed many. Last night I missed one, the only one ever. D was performing in a show, she begged me to come, didn’t understand why I couldn’t. Needless to say, it felt awful.

To compound it, SHE was there. There were also others, family and friends to cheer D on, but it feels worse because of this particular presence. I don’t feel bitter, just annoyed.

The evening continued with bizarreness. There were some confusing feelings between myself and who I am know going to refer to as L. We were at dinner and his X walked in. He claims it was fine, but her vibe was clearly venomous. I knew exactly what she was feeling. It’s hard to see someone you loved for so long with another person. I don’t think he has settled on what his relationship with her should be. And I know, that is a daunting task to balance on an ever-changing scale.

I felt inundated with a myriad of relationships. For one day, and I will make sure, one day only, there were at the forefront of my mind. By the time they had settled from their chaotic dance, I was in desperate need of validation. An old friend came through and took me to the movies. That helped.

New Year, New Moon tonight, hold tight.

Fight or Flight

I learned long ago to never tell any one person everything. I no longer blurt out everything about myself to a new person. Truth be told, there is now just too much in my long life to tell. But my recent events over the last couple years are overwhelming.

It is to this point that I keep things close to my chest. Unfortunately there is just so much information that I still come across as “intense” and certainly complicated. As people get to know me I think they can predict how I will react, how I will be. This part I can’t hide. The details become less important. As much as I feel I have held back information, it really doesn’t matter to those that have gotten to know me.

New relationships are tricky. Not just with my so-called baggage, but because they seem expendable. I am more willing to quit them if they are not working for me. While I would never do this with an old friend, the ones that have truly been through it with me, it seems easy to end situations where I feel misunderstood.

I question myself on the self-serving part of this. Gratification is nice. I don’t consider myself a taker, but when a friendship becomes unequal, I lose interest. Perhaps it has to do with the profound neglect I experienced with the X. That certainly felt unequal. And as a result I want nothing to do with that feeling again.

I’m in a new situation now. There seems to be some struggle to define it, it’s clearly not a true relationship as there are many outside complications from both sides. My own, which I’ve understated, his own, which I find myself giving more credence to. I cringe when I realize this.

Looking objectively the whole thing seems messy and just too much. It seriously makes me wonder whether anything will come easy in my personal life or if I should just commit to become a cat lady....with dogs.

The Holidays

So far so good on remaining drama-free for the holidays. I am cruising through unscathed and trying my darnedest to remain so. It is not without some significant effort and spectacular acting ability that I’m getting through.

The X has just had his girlfriend arrive at our house, now his house, on the island. Our kids are with him. On video chat I put on my brave face and deliver my positive message like a Prime Minister to his citizens. All will be well my people. Their little faces search me for meaning and all I can do is encourage the change. I say things like “sounds like fun having more people there. This is a good time to get to know her.” Of course I inwardly cringe, but I try my best not to let them see that. I dread meeting her by video camera.

The X led me to believe she would be there over Christmas. This took months for me to reconcile in my mind, the idea that she would be there opening gifts with my kids. I don’t know why I feel more significance with this act than any other. Could be my obsession with all things Christmas and the traditions we made and have now lost. I found out a couple of weeks ago that she would arrive after, and for some reason, this made me feel better. It meant she was spending the holiday with her family, not mine.

I can’t help but feel possessive. It’s the mothering instinct. It’s interesting to me that the kids are still my first priority after being told by a couples therapist years ago that my spousal relationship should come first. This was a concept I found hard to grasp, and apparently, still do. It’s hard to imagine anyone coming before them. This may be to my detriment, that my personal life will forever remain separate from my relationship with them.

Any idea of someone blending in with us is really hard to imagine. It seems incredibly far away, if it even exists at all.

Priorities and Perspective

I’m on my own once again. This past summer when the girls went to spend their vacation with their father, I had just found out about his girlfriend, and subsequently went on a bit of a self-indulgent bent. This time is different, I feel clarity instead of numbness. I’m focused on things to be done and most importantly, in charge of my priorities.

When I was raising children I heard a lot about the work and family-balancing act. This scale is heavier now for me. My practical mind tells me what should be up there, my emotional mind likes to battle it. For me the balance is between these two minds, allowing one to inform the other, but not dictate or overpower one another.

Of course at the top as always, my kids and my health. The others scramble for attention below that; The X and his demands, career and ambition and my struggle to have a personal life. There is ebb and flow on all of these points. But there are certainly times when I have no problem eliminating any one of these. The foundation and support I have from friends and family help to keep it all in perspective.

It’s funny that much from a year ago is such a blur to me. Psychologically I’m not sure where I was. I can blame it on the meds, but if I’m truthful, I take more now and my judgment doesn’t feel clouded.

With the kids gone for the Christmas break I will lean on friends and family, tis the season after all. Loneliness will not occur, though I will have time for lots of thinking. I just need to stem that impulse to over think things.

Trip anticipation

I have just booked tickets to see D in the New Year. It is a trip that is loaded with trepidation and excitement. I am very excited to see her and miss her terribly during this time she has been with her father.

The anxiety I have around the trip has more to do with my old life. I will be staying in a hotel instead of at my house, which is really no longer my house, as the X took it very soon after we split. The house itself represents a lot. I had my stroke there as well as some pretty seminal and nostalgic moments in my life.

The last time I went to the island, a year ago, it was with the high hope of a reconciliation with the X. I think at this point it is safe to say it was utterly disastrous. We had major misunderstandings about how it went; I thought it was over, he thought it was a fresh and slow start. I came home and started dating someone. D, in her childlike way, reported back to dad who went ballistic and called the lawyers in reaction.

It is with this strange taste in my mouth that I anticipate the visit. My dates were carefully chosen not to overlap with his girlfriend’s visit as well as the hub bub of the holidays. This is hard to handle when D is constantly asking why I can’t come over Christmas. I respond diplomatically saying “well you guys will be so busy” but what I really want to say is “there is no way in hell I want to see that woman.”

I blame her for nothing, it’s a gut reaction. I have come to terms with the new family dynamic. Accepting and balancing the relationship I have with the X is another story that seems to be in evolution. I have a strong bond with the kids. My old life is over and there are many parts that I don’t miss. But being there will undoubtedly dredge up old wounds. That’s what I have to prepare myself for.

Looking back

No one likes living with regret. But I have done some foolish things in an attempt to seem capable and responsible. Namely, living alone with my children so soon after my stroke. I was trying, well desperate really, to achieve my pre-stroke life in any way possible. Mental motivation pushed me physically and at the time I felt ready to resume my rightful place.

Looking back now, a year and a bit later, under a cloud of fog for that period, I question whether I should have done that. Particularly now that I am discovering that very few stroke survivors even live alone, much less as a single parent with children.

My biggest regret is not focusing on them more. The distraction I had created by embarking on a new and somewhat disastrous relationship didn’t help matters. Not only was I guiding them inappropriately, I wasn’t paying much attention to my own health and wellbeing. There was a cruise control going on for me. A real persistence to reiterate to everyone around that I was just fine.

It took a few months, but the slow crash came and sunk me to the bottom. My children were with their father at the time. I felt at sea, with no focus that our daily routines had held. They were the glue and I was like a limp piece of paper barely holding on. Without them, I sunk into my couch for weeks.

It was no surprise at this time that my body started to give out. I had spent 3 months on no medication, but within a short period, I was dosed up on a fair bit. My health has been an ongoing frustration, but back then it was just frightening. It was a period when I had no idea what would happen next. I was up at night anxiety-ridden, convinced I would have another stroke. Every little pain was an alert. When I woke up in the mornings I was thankful I was still alive.

The depths I felt coincided with the anniversary of my stroke. While I think the depression was short-lived, it is a sadness I cannot forget. It drove me to take action and that is the path I have been on ever since.

A good part of this was letting go of my pre-stroke life. There was a grieving process around that, not only for myself physically, but for the lifestyle I once had. The love and downright idealism that came before and no longer existed. I had to mentally separate from my X as we had in person. His life was no longer mine. We shared memories, secret nostalgic moments, and of course, parenthood. Chances of a reconciliation came crashing with his instigation of making our situation legal.

The learning curve for my children still continues. I’ve been accused of no longer being “a fun mom”. This hurts, and I say so. I cannot be the same mother, I am a different mother. Better in a sense because I have been forced to learn so much about myself, I only see this as being an extension to them and that ultimately the trauma we’ve been through will undoubtedly strengthen them.

One of the great things about parenthood, is that tomorrow is always another chance to make things right. Currently the X has our youngest, D, with him, while I care for our eldest, M. It is a brief arrangement that will enable us to focus on each child individually and so far it seems to be bringing all four of us great joys and strides forward.

Stroke Support Group

It has taken me far too long to seek post stroke support. It was never something I was interested in. I went to one seminar when I was in rehab. And the truth is I wanted nothing to do with stroke. I was determined to achieve my pre stroke level and there was nothing anyone could say about that. Of course that is not what has happened.

The moment I was wheeled into the in-patient rehab institute, I swore I would do all in my power to get out of there as fast as possible. I had been in hospital for a month and I was happy to move on to this next stage. Being unable to walk, or move, quite frankly, never seemed permanent to me. In fact I felt more frustration over it than anything. Accepting the situation as is, wasn’t in my thoughts.

At the rehabilitative hospital I was one of only 4 people under 50 years old, the majority of patients were well over 60. They ate in silence in the dining room. It was very “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest”. I felt so out of place. I wanted to smile, but I could only cry.

The work there was hard for me at first. Physio, occupational and speech therapists pushed me. I begged to be let out of the wheelchair and onto a walker, but it took time, longer than I thought. Day in and day out I exercised my stubborn muscles. I wouldn’t put it together until much later, how much of the stroke--the paralysis, the dizziness, the vision problems, the pain—was coming from my brain. At the time I was in Forest Gump mode, “go legs go”.

To come to a stroke survivors meeting at this point, a year and a half post, seemed moot. I was very wrong. There were people there who had been coming to the meetings for 15 years. They spoke about topics I had never been able to articulate for myself. Such as how much sound, when there is a cacophony of it, can affect me. Also how frustrating it is to look perfectly fine, I am now mobile, but have all these hidden issues that the outside viewer is unaware of.

I have accepted the stage I am at. I work around most of my issues to the point where people are shocked when I tell them I had a stroke. The truth being, I am not that person before, not in body and certainly not in mind. The survivors support group has surprised me and I’m looking forward to the next meeting.

A Series of Reminders

My reactionary tactics have always ruled me. It’s something about myself that while I recognize it, is still hard to keep in check. I have noticed over the years, after reading many parenting and psychology books, that if you change your reaction to something, the outcome, if not on the positive, will at least be different.

The X and I are stuck in a terrible pattern. Every couple of weeks we end up in an argument. For the last few months it has been motivated primarily by his new relationship. Which if I’m to be honest with myself, is not that new. While that topic instigates things, it usually brings up much of what our core issues have and always will be: his inability to listen and understand what I’m saying, his preoccupation with finances, lack of emotion, or misplaced emotion, and inappropriate priorities.

This time was different. It may have been because we were on video chat, I could see my face, and hence my physical reaction to what he was saying. In the past I would have gone on the attack, instead I kept on my Buddha smile. He accused me of being smug. But it didn’t matter because it was real. I wasn’t angry, I was bemused.

My habit after situations like this were to fire off emails “ you hurt me when you said….”, but I didn’t do it this time. In the moment I understood that change was never going to happen. I left for a reason, and even having a life-altering stroke, when everyone expected it, I did not go back. Yes, I’ve thought about it in nostalgic moments. But as these arguments repeat themselves, they are like a highlighting reminder to me.

It is amazing to me that these bouts of awareness continue to come to me. It makes me feel like the experience of this life is a series of realizations so you can do better the next time round, in your second chance. I feel incredibly lucky that I got a second chance, at life proper, but also at how I view life. My outlook has changed, for the best I hope.

Patterns left by the X

When most people recognize they are stuck in patterns they try to break them. This single life, as short as it’s been thus far, has me stuck in a repetitive scenario. What is becoming obvious is the type of guy I go for. This has nothing to do with the physical, but the emotional.

My “jury”, that is my well-trusted friends, seem to think I go for an emotionally unavailable guy. The men I have dated, in particular the ones without children, have a decidedly self-centred bent. My thinking is that without a history of responsibilities and feelings toward those, whether that is an indication of maturity or not, it is a hard mesh with my life.

I suppose I may fall into that odd category of a non-traditional woman. That is, I am not looking for a guy to support me, to give me children, or even to live with me. If that is what the trend now calls a “cougar”, so be it. I’m all for the feline comparisons, though I feel slightly young to be thrown into that stereotype. Most men, stuck in traditional thinking, have a hard time with this concept.

Back to the emotionally unavailable. I have expectations about how I think men should respond. Unfortunately, I find myself disappointed by most responses, even when it’s obvious there is something there. I always want more, want to give more, and now even hold myself back emotionally. This leads me to inevitable preoccupation. Expectation is a killer. Then again there is that nagging thought that if this was “to be” it would be easy and obvious. I’ve been told this is idealistic.

As time has gone on, I see that the X was very much like that. Not giving emotionally what I wanted or needed. This left me with an odd desire I feel stuck with and have no outlet for. But I don't want to end up in the same situation I tried to fit into for so long. The next time has to be different.

In the short time of singledom, I am already trying to figure out these patterns and see what works for me. It’s an ongoing process. Awareness first.

High heels and other single gal exploits

One of the major effects I was left with after my stroke was my physical imbalance. The result was a limp and months of using a cane and wearing flat shoes. I admit I was thrilled that flats were in fashion. Now I have achieved the goal of wearing heels. It sounds superficial but it speaks volumes as I click clack my way along the sidewalk.

High heels were one thing I never thought I'd be able to wear again. This goes along with running, dancing and skiing. The feeling, being completely absorbed in the feminine sway, is hard to describe. It's not that I want to be another character or wear them as part of a role, it's part of me I thought was lost and the rediscovery is rather thrilling.

Like a kid on a rollercoaster, I feel all grown up now and have that "hey, look at me" quality. I feel like a superhero, perhaps I should don a cape. My kids look at me as if I'm high up in a tower, as it should be. That way I can instill more fear (kidding).

I have found out that after a couple drinks I can be rather wobbly on my high heels. This is not cute. And like a friend that had to make a similar choice, I choose heels over cocktails. For the moment anyway, we'll see how long that lasts.

I suppose underlying this new leggy look is whether men will take interest, but in the moment I am not thinking of that. It is truly an afterthought and to be honest, when I think about it, it seems a bit much, overwhelming and perhaps intimidating. I mean if I were a guy I wouldn't dig it. But clearly some men do. I'm not sure if it's the hobbling around bit or the idea of long legs wrapped around them.

People's shoes, particularly women's shoes, tell much about the person without really knowing them, over the knee boots, stilettos, platform pumps or ballet flats. Whatever their story, it's all tied up in the feminine, how you embrace it, your commitment to it, or not. Of course it is not everyone's thing.

While I am taking small steps, my heels are not really that high, I take them confidently and finally feel like I'm striding. It's not a bad thing to live in a metaphor.

When the X comes to call

I have just endured another visit from the X. It was nice actually and we spent a fair bit of time together with ease and comfort. He had the kids a lot, which I realized I missed more than anything else, that sort of shared parenting camaraderie. And then he was gone. A harsh reminder that this would still be my life if we were together. So here I am, boomeranged back into single parenthood.

I do give him credit for being a stand up guy. He came back earlier than planned because I wasn’t well. The allergies to god-knows-what, continue. Luckily no more hospital visits, but I’m plagued by skin irritations and low energy.

Mainly I am supremely frustrated that this illness continues to be a reminder in my life of the state I am in. There are so many periods where I feel fine, then there is this kind of regression. One friend pointed out that he sees me as someone who really wants to be active but my body won’t allow it. I guess my brain won’t allow it since that is where this has all stemmed from.

Needless to point out, I was pleased to have some time off from the kids. The X was instrumental in segueing into our routine. I felt some guilt when the classroom seasonal cold made it’s rounds with the kids, but then realized it was good for him to see what that is like too ie. Sick kids staying home for days on end.

I cheekily emailed him an article on Shared Parenting this week. It is a fantasy for me really. He travels to work and will probably never live in the same city as us. He briefly replied that he agreed with the concept in principle but reminded me that it just wasn’t in the cards with our life.

On I go, forging ahead and mapping my way through this single life with all its checks and balances, ups and downs.

Allergy

I have spent much of the summer feeling very strong and dare I say, vital. I was having less naps, less need for downtime, and as a result felt pretty normal. The meds that were making me drowsy were being pulled back so that helped. I had late nights socially, energy for my kids, and was thrilled that things were leveling out.

Two nights ago I went to bed noticing some hives on my legs. I thought it was a result of stress since this had happened once in the past. I didn’t think much further about it and just went to bed. I was aware that the previous four days I had been quite fatigued. My neuropathic leg pain had jumped up and I was walking with my cane again. The previous weekend had been truly exhausting, but I ploughed through it.

When I woke the next morning my lip was swollen. Classic allergy response. I went straight to my family doctor who questioned my blood pressure meds and suggested I replace them immediately and take Benadryl. That didn’t work and I ended up in Emergency being treated for anaphylactic response, epinephrine shot, IV’s of cortisone and god knows what else. My lips were swollen to a ridiculous size and I was covered in hives from head to toe.

There is still the mystery of what I am allergic to. I have been on the same meds for over 6 months, there is the possibility of food allergy, but I ate nothing different. The hives have lingered though I have a 5 day course of heavy duty Prednisone to take, which knocks me out completely.

The whining side of me is really saying, “Now? Really? I thought I was fine”. I recognize that rest is a must for recovery. Not so easy with two kids. Surprisingly, and possibly out of guilt, the X is coming in a few days to support the situation. I’m sure he will take the kids and that will give me a break.

The Tell

One of the last visible “tells” I have relative to my stroke, is my voice. It is often squeaky and tight sounding, people who don’t know ask if I have a cold. My favorite compliment came on a recent date when he said he thought it sounded sexy. I was skeptical because I am so sensitive about how I sound.

The fact is it’s just embarrassing for me at this point. I can’t go into loud places like bars or parties because no one can hear me. I definitely shy away from any scenarios where I may meet new people because I am so conscious of my voice.

The stroke affected my right side and subsequently paralyzed my vocal chords. Though I was very lucky to have my speech, my voice has returned very slowly. I have had months of voice therapy, drills and exercises, cameras shoved down my nose and still deal with varying degrees of sound on a daily basis.

At this point it seems to be an accepted fact that the trauma is what has affected it. My vocal chords, the experts summarize, have healed. I am holding emotion in my voice box unconsciously. This is bit like people who have a traumatic incident and never speak again.

I feel when emotion hits me. My throat tickles, a bit like butterflies, an actual physical stab. It has happened when I’ve read an email that affected my feelings or when I see caller I.D. and it’s someone I’m worried about speaking to. The most recent and thoroughly relevant instance was when I was on my way to a lawyer’s meeting regarding my divorce. I had to review some material before arriving, by the time I got there and throughout the meeting, I had no voice.

Everyday gets better. Mornings are the best, I sound like my old self. By evening, particularly when fatigue sets in, I am high pitched and tight. Sometimes it really just hurts like someone has their hands around my neck. The more I let go of some stresses, the better I sound. Lately it’s pretty good. I sound strong most of the time and the best is when friends notice and say so.

So much of my illness has been connected to stress and emotion. This final piece audibly shows how far I have come and how much stronger I can be. It feels good to finally be getting there.

Relapse

When I was married I had this reoccurring dream: My X is telling in an extremely deadpan, unemotional voice that it is over and he is seeing someone else. In every dream I’m devastated and I wake up upset. I told him about these at the time but he always reassured me. In fact I was trying to interpret them and wondering if they were more about my own fears than anything else. Well I was wrong, the scenario played itself out almost exactly this week.

We spent a therapy session that was supposed to be for organizing kid scheduling, talking about us instead. The idea was to make sure we were both on the same track, we weren’t, and that we understood each other, we don’t, and get a handle on my/our anger, we didn’t. But we did agree not to take a destructive path, which will force us to put aside pettiness and control impulses toward hot button topics.

I had to hear, really for the first time that it was truly over and he was moving on. Not “was” but that he had. The girlfriend is a relationship he is keen on pursuing. To hear these things, yes, devastating, but also I couldn’t stand that I had to hear it through someone else; the therapist. I feel like he was such a coward. I was angry that I had to hear that finality communicated this way, though he had paraphrased it throughout the last week.

For the most part, I’m upset at myself for letting his visit here completely shake me, make me question how far I’ve come and show me those dark places again that I’d thought were gone. Was I not convinced it was really over? Possibly, but not being able to make that decision myself was hard to bear.

I can’t breathe around him and can’t wait for him to leave. It seems impossible to heal with him in my sphere. Now I look forward to working past all this, and truly, truly finding the strength to move forward and pursue what I really want. All this while being mindful of my children and their ever growing personalities and emotions.

New Year

This is my New Year. I feel happy, positive, downright sunny about whatever may come along. Call it blind optimism if you will, but I think I even forgot what this felt like. I like it. Though the path took some getting used to, I feel like I'm successfully on it and striding forth.

My birthday (yesterday) also coincided with my hospital release date a year ago. I was in for almost 3 months so it was a huge relief to be out after the ordeal. Of course I had no idea it would take this long to truly recover. Of which I have been reporting to others to be 80% fulfilled.

Accepting my situation on every level, health, home,work and relationships had been an incredible, and clearly, ongoing journey. The time has come for me to enjoy all it has to offer. Even if it means dealing with drama, the good and the bad. I'm figuring out what's important and the sieving that to the top, without letting the bad completely fall through, dealing with it, but definitely letting it go afterwards.

My kids and the X's arrival is imminent. Back to being needed in a mommy way. I'm standing by and ready to carve out and define the other role.

Say Hello to My Little Friend

Here is what single life has turned out to be for me so far; a post-modern evolution of the platonic affair. Not exactly the kind of summer I thought I’d have.

I have gotten to know someone very well, emotionally in particular, but not physically. He has been hung up on someone else, which was fine until my feelings changed from friendship to more than that. I kept thinking he would be over his previous relationship, to open up the opportunity, but he clearly was not, and it stung every time he spoke about it.

There are lots of reasons I should not engage in any sort of relationship right now. The main one of course being that I’m still trying to negotiate (legally and emotionally) my position as an ex-wife. It thought that being in this friendship was safe. But as we spent more and more time together, hanging out, enjoying the summer, and what do you know? It jumped up and bit me. Yeah, it really did feel like that.

I asked myself, was really him or just feelings I had that had to go somewhere, and I placed them on him? I haven’t been able to answer that. Being his “friend” solved a lot of things. It gave me a great companion, I got a chance to get to know someone new, and I heard about and evaluated someone else’s relationship issues.

I felt stuck in yet another role I detest playing, “the friend”. And to be told that, is even worse, almost degrading. This only stands when I have feelings for the person. I have other male friends, I don’t seek out their approval or compliments. This is similar to connections I’ve had in the past, where the attraction was obvious, the emotional connection was there, yet to act on anything else was not allowed.

So on I go, navigating this bizarre world of single life. I’m not sure I ever really fit in anywhere, so I’ll continue making up the rules as I go and see what life will send my way.

The X comes to visit

The X is coming to visit. This is the result of a minor pressing from the lawyers due his lack of visiting the kids on their home turf. Now I have to deal with the idea of him being here and I’m not sure how I feel about it.

One task that is obvious for me is the self-preparation. He is bringing the children back from their time with him, so I am thinking about their return as well. Being mindful of how I am when they come back is on the top of my list.

I have become quite stuck in certain ways without them around. It’s funny how you see old people stuck in their ways. My grandmother eats certain meals on specific days for example. I on the other hand, have reveled in the lack of routine. I eat toast for dinner, chicken leftovers for breakfast. I stay up late, like a teenager pushing the limits, totally regretting it the next day as I’m pressed to nap for the sake of carrying on. But it’s my version of freedom.

Becoming “mom” again is easy. Being the ex wife is not. This is where I stumble and I don’t know how to act. Here is someone I don’t hate, I know better than anyone, who knows me better then anyone, who I have had the most intimate and important events of my life with. But now I must pretend that didn’t happen?

I like the idea of going with it all. Not over-analyzing (right!). So here goes me reseting my state of mind.

Living within

A friend recently sent me a great quote about looking within before looking without. It’s age-old wisdom of course in this day and age of embracing Eastern philosophy. I took it to heart having spent most of this year taking a good look at myself to figure out the best way to move forward. Sometimes it feels like one step forward and two steps back. This matches my health situation as well. Everything is so undulating.

The X has had some harsh words lately. The legal process that he instigated is not going according to his liking. I have pretty much gone along with everything but now I am standing strong on some points. I feel I have to. The mama bear in me is putting out the protection growl. But he sees me differently, maybe as a tiger, a snake, not sure, but it’s not warm and cuddly, that’s obvious.

But each time he bellows, I look at the situation differently. I don’t react immediately as I used to. I stop and think how I feel first, and then try to understand how he does. Now I just feel sorry for him. It must be awful to drag negativity around. I have my own baggage, but it feels lighter these days.

I care how he feels because we will always be connected. But moving on is hard, acceptance of new situations is painful, worrying about other people (and little people’s) feelings makes my empathetic well run dry. Looking within to understand it, to grow in a positive way, has become very important.

The Day My Bikini Died

I had no idea a piece of clothing could end up representing a huge part of my life. Bathing suits are an odd fashion piece, you own a few but you only really wear the one you feel the most comfortable in, though not necessarily look your best in. They tend to be ones that didn’t cost as much as the designer, new technology styles, but do the job just fine. My orange striped biking sits low in the front but covers enough on the rear. The triangle top is flattering but doesn’t disguise my small bust in a false advertising way.

My orange striped bikini was always my go-to swimming costume. For a recent trip I threw it nonchalantly in my bag with the high hopes of dock lounging and lake swimming. As I tied the strings around my neck I heard the unmistakable crackle of dry rot. I ran my fingers along the length of string I felt the hard broken elastic inside the orange stripes. I put it on anyway but it felt the waxed twine around my ribcage and it itched the back of my neck. As much as I would have liked to shed the top altogether I thought better of it and changed into a tank top with the bikini bottom which had now started to sag in the front.

To see that suit die was symbolic. It was the end of an era. I sat on the boat dock up north and twisted back to look at the label. I have bikinis from all over the world, designer ones from Miami and sexy booty-baring ones from Brazil. I actually wasn’t that shocked to discover this one was from Old Navy. I immediately remembered the trip to the Eaton Centre when I bought it along with suits for my girls, then 3 and 6, now 10 and 13.

My orange striped bikini was well documented. Framed pictures around my house show its evolution. One with my daughter in a floatie standing in the shallow water of the Bahamas. Another taken by a friend who is a fashion photographer had me in mid air jumping with a joyful look on my face. She even told me once that she sent it to a down friend to cheer her up. It worked.

The last one, framed and currently residing in my daughter’s room, is of the X and I. It was Christmas and we sat with friends on the beach. It was the last vestige of our happiness before our idyllic world fell apart. We’re grinning and hugging.

Earlier this year I took a trip in the hopes of a reconciliation with him. The bikini came along and made an appearance, which surprisingly, was not documented. It only lives in my memory of what I was wearing when I started to face the idea that our 17-year relationship was over and irreparably changed.

It made sense the orange striped string bikini should die now. My marriage is clearly over. The X has begun another life. I am emerging from a dark transition and redefining my life as I see it. I’ll get a new one this summer.

Time Heals (cliche 103)

I have simmered down, as I knew I would. Some free time to think, days on my own as the kids have left to visit their father for a while. It feels good, this time to ponder, figure out how to move forward. It’s less a “how” and more a “be”, if that makes any sense. I am not planning anything, just having a sense of the moment and defining it for myself.

I have put the X in perspective. What I truly feel, and as usual I may just be convincing myself of this, is that extraneous circumstances will prevent us from ever evolving. His work and travel, my health resulting in a grounding (in every sense of the word), just compounds everything. The stars and the universe just aren’t in alignment for us.

This helps me move on and not think about any possibilities with him. It compartmentalizes what he is and who he is to me. I can label our relationship, at this point—parents—and recognize it within the structure of what society says X husbands should be. It will take acceptance on my part, as he has certainly been more to me over this last year.

To see and realize that this is the only way for me to move on, move forward, forces me to stop thinking about how this should go. The fact is, it’s gone. The time is passing. And every reference to time in a bad situation is true. It does heal.

Seeing Red

Suddenly I am supposed to be understanding of a concept that has previously been an unacknowledged rule. That is, the introducing of the children to people we’re seeing. Seeing, seeing, I’m seeing red.

Apparently I should allow my kids to take a trip with the X to a foreign country where he will introduce them to his girlfriend of 1 month, possibly 2, I really don’t know. I am NOT cool with it. They are going to visit him and I requested that he please send them home before this planned trip.

His response? To tell D, who is 9 years old, that mommy says you can’t come on this trip, so our visit will be shorter. Yeah, that’s right. I have bent over backwards to keep my kids out of my private life. The couple of people I’ve dated only met the kids in passing, never in a formal way, and never with any consistent time spent with them.

When these relationships ended, it was the one thing I felt confident about. The kids had no connection to that person so it didn’t affect them. Needless to say, I just feel so angry, and to be honest, it’s a first. I have been pretty easy going with him through this. For the most part, going along with what he has suggested.

Now I just feel so incredibly done. I don’t feel a kinship at the moment at all. At the moment I just want him out of my life, and preferably as far away as possible.

The anger could indeed be read as unrealized feelings. And that is true. I spent the better part of the last few months being more open and emotional with him than I ever had. To hear he was dating would have been fine, to hear he was in a relationship, ok, to be told he wants the kids to meet her just killed me.

I’m sure my anger will dissipate. But the truth is, it’s just another signpost for me to move forward. In a substantial and meaningful way. And that is my frame of mind, not about him, or his relationship to us, but us, the three of us. Because now more than ever, that is how it feels it has always and evermore shall be.

Feet on the ground

For a long time I pursued flight and speed. I loved to run, ski, and jump as high as possible in any jazz choreography. I liked my feet off the ground. It felt good to do it and much of it was for fun but a lot was for keeping in shape. That changed.

Just before my illness I used those activities for emotional release. I remember at one point just running until my chest heaved and I felt like my heart would burst. I even contemplated what might happen if I did collapse since I was alone. I didn’t care. The pressures I felt seemed so enormous. The physical became less of an issue, I had lost lots of weight from the stress , but I kept running.

Flight indeed. I was trying to run away from everything. Who knew that within weeks I would be grounded in a major way. After my stroke I was paralyzed on my right side initially, then just weakened. I was in a wheelchair for 2 months and had to learn how to sit up, get out of the hospital bed and eventually relearn how to walk. That process, as determined as I was, took longer than I expected.

Physical recovery still continues for me. I’m happy to be mobile and regular yoga classes help, but I still feel grounded. I dance at parties, but I keep my feet still. I dream of running, I dream of flying. When the pressures get too great, they are just another thing I have to work out in a different way, because not only is my body different, but my mind is too.

I can’t run away anymore. I dismiss the feeling the minute it creeps up. I don’t really have a choice but to face things head on. So I do, and it is starting to come automatically to me. With my feet firmly planted.

Kids are #1

To top off my fantastic week (the X dating, me not) I am in crisis with my youngest, D. She is in severe anxiety mode and hasn’t gone to school in days. I pushed her at first that was horrible, for both her and myself. I was racked with guilt from threatening punishments and yelling for her to go.

Now that I’ve taken a step back, she seems perfectly fine just staying at home. The school isn’t concerned because the year is almost over and I’m quite pleased with the harmony between us. Of course the one major overriding issue is that she won’t leave the house. She spends her days painting, playing dolls and dressing up virtual dolls on the computer.

The X feels extra guilt about it (hmmm…wonder why?) and has moved into his black and white response to things. By that I mean, trying to take control of the situation as he sees fit. So for a couple of days the idea of her going to live with him next year was floating around. I think we have agreed (after much arguing…discussion) that the pros to her staying with me and her sister outweigh the cons of her going to him.

It has been illuminated to me in the past months, that she has a real worry about me being sick. If I have a headache, she worries about it, if I need to rest, she wakes me up. She doesn’t like when I leave or if she has to go somewhere. It’s separation anxiety I suppose but between a 9 year old and a mother who is a stroke survivor.

I am not ignoring this one bit. In fact it is my main priority at the moment. A professional will see her this week and we will try to get some of her issues resolved and back on track. The idea is to get her through summer holidays then we will set up an ongoing counseling situation. Poor thing, she really is just a tiny person.

Single defined

It started out as I imagined it should be, that is, fairly typical for a single gal. I met a great guy, totally made a connection with him. Barely had to wait a day for him to contact me, let him make all the first moves, ask me out, lean in for a kiss.

The first date was truly magical and will go down in history as certainly one of the most romantic. A picnic in the park, he brought the blanket and gin and tonics. The conversation flowed and the evening would have been fine ending that way, but it ended with the sweetest kiss.

Two dates later, ugh, rejection is embarrassing. He was completely honest with me, a pre- existing situation he had to see out. He wasn’t making a choice, just couldn’t do both, blah blah, break my heart. Basically, I felt deflated.

Is the only way to view it the stereotypical way? He’s just not that into you. I saw the film, it struck a chord. Of course I will go on, I have been through way harder things. But this was different, I could see the potential. Now I’m just worried I’ll be one of those single women who feels connected every time, and cries over each and every loss. I can't exist in that pathetic path.

I liked someone then had to deal with having the potential yanked from my grasp. It stung. But there are other things in life than those that may or may not be meant to be.

Hate to say it, but it's a breakthrough

I have just received some information that should have sent me over the edge. The good news is that it didn’t. In fact I handled it positively, with a respectable response. I am talking about my X telling me he is seeing someone.

This is something I suspected over the last month, and actually asked him about, but he was trying to be tactful as I was dealing with so much emotionally at the time, that he denied it. Not vehemently I might add, which of course cemented it further for me.

When he actually told me my heart leapt to my mouth and I just wanted to go home and cry. But that was reactionary. I thought more about it and realized that I felt a huge relief from this news. I felt released and free. His happiness was no longer my responsibility and he wholeheartedly deserved some loving.

I told him that I want him to be happy and for whatever it’s worth, he had my blessing. I should add that previously on the two occasions that I started dating someone he completely flipped out, and the last time, he called the lawyers and began the legal process. This is something that is dragging on even though we are on the same page with it.

The heaviness of guilt that I have had for so long is gone. It sincerely feels like a weight has lifted that reveals a lightness that I haven’t had for ages. I like it. I feel good. He absolutely deserves something good at this point.

Now that I have embraced this decision to face this not only maturely, but also in a way that is conducive to moving forward myself, I have to remind myself that this is real change. This is how our lives are now. It finally feels separate.

Medical Rant

I feel like I’ve been through the wringer with the medical runaround lately. First of all, I spent a good couple of weeks incapacitated with headaches and high blood pressure, filled with anxiety that another stroke was coming. I couldn’t drive, I lay in bed and at one point didn’t eat for 2 days. After seeing all my doctors, they decided that it was stress and fatigue. It had been the lead up to the stroke anniversary and I guess I had put a lot of pressure on myself about it.

Then the aha moment. I have a documented history of low tolerance to medication. Everything I take is started at a low dose and is increased only incrementally. I filled out a new prescription at my local pharmacy for my chronic pain medication. Turns out I was taking 300mg more than I should have been. My headaches coincided with taking this, which I didn’t discover until I had been on them for 3 weeks. By the time I did, my body had become used to it and the headaches were easing off.

It was a relief to realize I had not really regressed. The anxiety of having another stroke was diminished significantly after this episode as well. The doctors all assured me that the chance of having another one, specifically because of the type of stroke I had, was very slim. I have felt much better since. And am so back on track with my exercise and in general, with my life moving along.

The next highly irritating occurrence was with Blue Cross. I had extended travel insurance that should have covered at least part of my one-week stay in hospital in the Bahamas. The agents are now telling me I didn’t actually have extended insurance (3 months travel at a time) I only had the basic coverage (15 days). So the upshot is, I have already paid the hospital bill in the Bahamas, so it’s a done deal and I won’t get any money back. Bastards.

I moved back to Canada because of OHIP (that’s socialized medicine to my US friends). I have been happy for most of it, I know how the system works now, though I am still trying to work it to the best of my ability. If I was still in New York I can’t even fathom the total of what this would have cost.

So factoring in the overall potential cost of everything up to this point easily makes the the Bahamas hospital bill seem negligible, but it’s irritating nonetheless.

Blood on the dance floor

Writing is cathartic for me. I think that is clear. The ink is blood. All my angst, anxiety and thoughts pour out from the pen and spread out in a streaky mess. It still feels tactile even through this medium.

The result of course is what I’m writing sounds raw, emotional and intense. Indeed, they are some of my innermost feelings and thought processes. They end up on the pages and not in my head, which is turning out to be the answer to how I handle things. It feels like I’ve passed the emotions to another place, so I no longer have to ruminate on them to death.

Real life, my life off the page, now seems manageable. Low moments are less. Zen moments are pursued. Now I try to smile through everything. When I frown I am so aware because I can actually feel my stress level rising. Not that it’s a bad thing to “feel” but I just want to smile at this point and not feel stunned.

The X is actually the person who recently said that I should try to do things that make me happy. Sometimes he does say things that I see pertinence to, so here I go.

Cliché # 102: The pursuit of Happiness

Expectations

Sometimes I commit myself to an idea in such a way that it can be detrimental. I convince myself so empirically of something that it goes beyond my assumptions or even my lame attempts at prediction.

I know exactly why I do it. It’s the morbid factor that I’ve always had, the what-if scenario. I wed myself to the most horrible idea so that any variable of the truth doesn’t hurt me. It’s a protection mechanism. But the truth is, it causes immense stress.

After having this history of being taken aback (the stroke and separation were bombs) I felt the only way to move forward was to think this way. As day-to-day dramas play out, I found I was less surprised if I had already thought of that worst-case scenario.

It is negative, no doubt, and perhaps even bitter. It’s based on my expectations of others, something I have tried to drive out of myself, but it’s difficult. I expect him to call, I expect her to behave this way, I expect them to think this of me. Not only is it disappointing, but also I find myself creating quite a drama out of it when it doesn’t go my way. It’s actually kind of bratty when I come to think of it in this light.

Slowly I am learning to take a step back and see things in a broader scope. Yet another cliché helps immensely-walking in someone else’s person’s shoes. It’s true though, when I think of something from all possible sides, it’s rarely as bad as I imagined. In fact that expansion of thought gives way to some incredible ideas and a more innocent way of thinking.

There was a time when I thought the best of everyone, that at heart, most people were good. So a pat on the back for naïveté and a welcome back.

Part Three

I only found out recently how the kids felt the next morning when they woke up without me. My younger one said “ I cried.” I never knew that. All I knew was that they went to school but were later taken to the airport and put on a plane for Nassau. My mother and the kids ended up staying with friends. She thought it wasn’t a good idea to let them come to the hospital so they spent the first few days shopping and going to the beach.

Initially when I arrived at the hospital the doctors were talking about migraines, possible sinus infection or a nervous breakdown, I was too young for anything else. The first night there I had a major pain attack in my head and I recall the nurses rushing in and giving me a shot. I had all sorts of i.v.’s going. The most painful was the Potassium one. It burned and after having it on and off for a month, it ultimately scarred the veins in my arms making them hard and painful.

When my X walked into the room, I was aware he was on his way from Europe, I was happier than I had been in months. His face was a real joy for me. He stayed with me, stroked my hair, and made me feel like everything was okay. Even curled up and slept with me overnight on the tiny hospital bed within the tangle of i.v. tubing. On the third day he even took me into the shower and washed my hair for me. It was one of the few times I remember pure and utter love from him. That was short lived.

My mother and my X took turns using the phone outside the room. He came in at one point, the color drained from his face. “What’s wrong?” I asked, but he replied “Nothing.” When he left again I asked my mother what was up with him. She told me he was really hurt.

A month before I had started seeing T. I use the term “seeing” loosely. It was a phone relationship for the most part, an intense one, that had included 3 days together. I never thought it would be serious enough to tell my X, otherwise I would have. Even worse, T was peripherally connected to my X as a work colleague and had just spent his last two days in Europe, the period when I had the emergency and entered hospital, working with him. He had just found out.

The truth is that over the next few months this relationship morphed and grew into something that was wonderful and painful at the same time. The X and I fought on and off about my new attachment, and I questioned it too, but not until much later. T ruled my life and my other relationships until fairly recently when I made the decision to walk away.

The next day the kids came to visit me for the first time. My older one, M, was like me, just asked nicely how I was then pretended like I was perfectly fine. My younger one, D, stood at the end of the bed tearing up, not wanting to come near me. I realized my voice was probably scaring her. It was very high pitched. I would find out much later that was due to a paralyzed vocal chord. Someone described it as my “Minnie Mouse” voice.

She eventually came toward me and sat on the edge of the bed, but wouldn’t look at me. It weirded me out, but I coaxed her and soon she was better, not her normal self, but close enough to get her to talk a bit. D and I have always been emotionally connected and her reaction to my illness is still there, the concern, the worry, the anxiety over whether I will leave her again.

Both my mother and my X were concerned that the hospital hadn’t done the tests right. They pressed them to do an MRI below the neck as all the previous tests had been done only on the head. As I was wheeled over to the MRI room the kids ran in to say goodbye. They were leaving with him to return to work in Europe. They would stay with him for the duration of my illness, a couple of weeks, the doctor had assured us.

He had also made arrangements for my mother and I to fly back to Toronto and go to a hospital there. We would leave in two days. Just after I said bye to him and the kids, we were given the results of the MRI. I had had a stroke. It was called Wallenberg’s Syndrome, a tearing of the arteries leading to my brain stem. A clot had formed in the right one, the worse damaged of the two. I would end up in hospital for 3 months.

Part Two

I sensed the nurses come in and out of my room. I knew it was serious by the way the acted, their silent manner. I even knew one of them from church. There was nothing they could do. I would be taken to the near-by clinic to see the doctor, the only one on the island, and he would decide what to do.

One friend stayed with the kids, they were still unaware, and the other picked me up and carried me to his van while one of the nurses sat beside me with an oxygen tank. It was old, like she had been dragging that sucker around to emergencies for years. It was part of her job detail surely, but it looked like it had never been used, just all banged up, like they bought it from the MASH prop house.

A few years before a very good friend had died on the island from an asthma attack. The consensus about her death was that the medication they had in the island clinic was old, and while she waited for a nighttime emergency flight to be arranged, she tragically died. I had actually held a fundraiser in her name to equip the island ambulance sufficiently.

My mind was lucid, while I thought of these things. I lay in the fluorescent light of the empty clinic, a converted house, and tried to respond to the doctor. He was Indian and I had trouble understanding him, I thought it was his accent, but now I’m not sure. I began to throw up.

They informed me that a flight was coming to take me to the hospital in Nassau. It would arrive in an hour. There was nothing they could do for me there. I made that plane and tried to feel relieved about that. The interior was gutted and they lay the stretcher directly on the metal floor. I felt really out of it. My friend and that same oxygen tank nurse came with me.

When we landed in Nassau and the ambulance was waiting there. It was the first moment I was aware of time, sunrise, the sky was so beautiful. They rushed me into the waiting vehicle, but I remember thinking I just wanted to look at that gorgeous, streaked sky a bit longer.

When I got to the hospital it was a rush of tests. I was slid in and out of machines, I was poked and prodded, made to swallow horrid tasting things. I really didn’t care, I just felt numb. I was told my mother was on her way from Toronto. I thought, “So quickly? But it can’t be that serious for her to come all this way.” It was serious and she was there by 11AM.

Part one

The morning of May 15, 2008 I called my then husband and told him it was over. We had been separated for 2 months and we had intended to give it 3 more to be sure. But I felt sure. He would later say that it didn’t sound like my voice. Needless to say, the rest of the day was highly emotional, I cried a lot, that is until the kids came home.

We were on a small island in the Bahamas where we spent a fair bit of time. As a result of the breakdown in our relationship, we decided that the kids and myself would stay there for the remainder of the school year.

We spent the early evening watching Juno, I felt exhausted. I really hadn’t been sleeping well and the emotions of the day had played out physically. I just lay there in what felt like a sleep deprived stupor as we all watched the film.

While they watched I got up to get something from the kitchen. The iPod was playing one of my favorite songs, Jose Gonzalez with Zero 7. I pirouetted my way back to the bedroom where the TV was, but never made it.

I felt my neck kind of snap and I instantly saw black spots. It reminded me of times before when I’d fainted except my neck really hurt. I lay on the couch and called friends to come over just in case I fainted. While I lay there I thought I had no reason to faint since I had just ate dinner. They came very quickly and fed me mango, gave me Tylenol, iced my neck and kept an eye on me. Eventually they put the kids and myself to bed, and told me to take another Tylenol if I woke up, and to call if anything happened.

1 AM, I got up to use the bathroom, my neck was really hurting, so I grabbed the bottle of Tylenol and took it over to the bed. As I swallowed the pill I noticed my right arm get very heavy, then the pain from my neck made its way slowly over the back of my head, on the right side, en route to my eye socket. I had never felt pain like that in my entire life. Even during childbirth, which I did naturally with my second child.

I had the cell phone beside me and I speed dialed my friends. I was able to say "It’s happening again." “Should we bring the nurses?" He asked. I knew the island protocol well and said yes. By this point it was my face, the right half, that was immobile, I felt like it was melting, my arm was heavy and I was unable to move it.

While I lay there waiting, my heart beating insanely, I thought to myself, wow, this is it, I am going to die on this island. This place where so many seminal moments had occurred, my wedding, my second child taking her first steps, my marriage falling apart. It made sense. I wasn’t scared. I just focused on the only light that was on, behind the slatted doors of the closet, trying to keep my eyes open. I was glad the kids were asleep in their rooms with the AC on and had no idea what was going on.

this week, ugh.

This week I keep replaying the events in my head. Woken up at ungodly hours, unable to sleep. I didn’t think it would be like this, but it’s all I can think about. Tomorrow is the anniversary and then I don’t want to think about it in this way again. I hope that facing it head on, delayed though it may be, will be the cathartic thing to do.

The plan is to be out socially tomorrow evening, either with friends at dinner or with my eldest daughter at the movies. But nothing will distract from the dark midnight hours. I know those will come but I feel ready for them in a way that I am strong enough not to let them take me over.

Major Realizations

Sometimes you forget what someone is really about. Kind of similar to the way women forget about the torment and pain of childbirth. Similar. To think you can get back into something and completely forget the bad part about it.

I'm smartening up about what it means to have the X as a friend. Yes, I do depend on him, but there are certain ways in which he will never change. One of these reminders popped up recently, let's just call it a case of inflexibility, where he restated one of his lines from 2 years ago.

I realized that he hides within this communications "message track". It is his safety balloon. His guidelines to life, even if they end up leaving out others ie. exwife and kids. Okay, okay, he's not a bad guy, in the least, but to have to brutally remember that this is how it was when we were married and this is how it evermore shall be.

It doesn't matter that the ensuing events of the last year should have shaken things up majorly, as they did for me, they obviously didn't for him. A major realization, a reminder of why I left, and I good way to move on armed with that knowledge.

Anticipation begins

This marks a week of reflection on an upcoming anniversary that profoundly changed my life.

I didn’t think I would see it as such, especially at this point, but as time goes by (it will be the one year mark) I am slowly learning more details from others that paint a bigger picture. Together with my own realizations the culminating anniversary is hopefully going to be instrumental in my moving forward in life.

It is not something I have ever wanted to be defined by, but I see now that it was a big part of this stage of my life as it not only affected me, but the people close to me. And in a major way complicated the terms of leaving my X.

Today is Mother’s Day. It was happy last year but days after that everything changed for a long time to come. Today I am in a happier place, I feel good, waiting for my kids to serve me breakfast in bed. But I can’t help thinking, it’s been a hell of a year.

Tunes

Sometimes I feel like a teenager. The thing that does it the most, is listening to music and having it become so emotional. I still can't listen to certain tunes. I cry, its pathetic really. But I'm amazed at how it gets to me.

Missing him, asking why, pining, contemplating, these are all the thoughts that come into my mind listening to some songs. I can't listen to anything he turned me on to. Then there are these ones that just make me weep.

I have actually had friends (and the X) tell me to listen to happier music. I contended that sad music made me happy. But it's not true and I'm not sure what to do about it. I think when I listen to those songs I feel taken back to the time when it was all hopeful. And now, knowing there is no hope, I just cry.

The X

I have this overwhelming desire to figure out where the X fits into my life. There is an attachment there, I think more so on my side, that treads a fine line. I depend on him for so many things, his opinions, his parenting, his friendship. When any of those threaten to drop off, I admittedly freak out.

As one friend put it, there is and will always be a spark there between us. I'm not sure I see it that way, there are many good reasons why I can't be married to him anymore, but the reasons of friendship stand strong. It is hard to figure out mainly because I'm not sure if he feels the same way. He freaks out when I start dating someone.

The big admission is that I still sleep on my side of the bed. In the morning the other side is relatively untouched. It's kind of embarrassing but there you have it. It's ingrained I think, from years of sleeping on "my side". I do fear becoming that sort of person who is stuck in their ways and has no space for someone new. Being aware of that helps I guess.

It's all a process. I will be patient and see how it all pans out. Of course the lawyers may just have some kind of say there. And perhaps when that part of the process is over, which to him is closure and significant, he will retreat. Who knows, I certainly hope not. But I am not a seer of the future, though I often pretend to be.

Cruise control

If there is such a thing as being in conscious cruise control, that's what I feel I'm doing now. Everything is going at a slow, routine and steady pace. To the point that if a curve ball is thrown I think I would be in Matrix-mode and deal with it as it comes toward me in slow motion.

It's a good feeling though at the same time hoping the sky won't fall in on me. The minor dramas are manageable. These would be mostly health related. The days I can't walk well, when the pain is just consistently there. It's a double edged sword trying to push through it. It took a very long time for me to get in tune with my physical situation, the recovery. I ignored it for a long time, and the emotional recovery lagged behind that even.

Now they both feel like they've caught up to each other. If I'm aware, or conscious, enough, I can handle both. Damn that universe in balance theory. It's a killer. The feeling of being in charge of those two parts (and still not the total me) takes a lot of effort. But I'm doing it or trying to my way.

What a girl needs

Wondering why the hell I have such needs. Just talked to the X. He is on a business trip and was just desperate to get to a hotel with a shower. It made me realize how complex my needs were compared to his primal ones. Not to say that he doesn't have lonely moments too, I know he does.

When dinner is on the table and the kids won't eat, every mother mentions starving kids in Africa. I feel that way with my emotional desires. Who the hell cares? Is there not so much more to life than this self indulgent piece? Has it not caused me and every other person I know, so much grief and trouble?

Tonight is bad. I feel lonely and needy. I reached out to the X and those needs were somewhat met. Friends too, talking always helps, but I hate being that person, " oh poor me." It feels weak and kind of pathetic. I am lucky to have a good relationship with him. He is still the coolest guy I know, and my ally in many ways.

Tomorrow will be better, it always is.

The time is now

The cute guy from the 8th floor smiled at me. I wanted to respond about what he last said, benign in fact, something about what a great view I must have from the top floor. My daughter had said to me " Mom, he wants to see your view." Unfortunately any possible response would have sounded cougar-esque, and anything I said would have sounded like I was channeling Marge Simpson's sisters. So I stretched my lips into a fake smile, quietly reacting to his presence.

The point of this is that there is something new in the air. It feels new in a way that rebirth can feel. My whole demeanor is relaxed, but not dumb. I can still let innocence play its part, but rationality is still there at the centre.

There is a shift in balance. What once would have left me spinning goes away quite quickly. The scars, or memories really, are all still there, like the reminders of potholes in a road well-travelled. I just swerve over them now. When the feeling rises, I acknowledge them like a long lost friend, then lose them in the crowd.

Perhaps the time from the depths of despair to now seems too short for me to say definitively that I'm on my way, but there is no question, I do feel better, lighter, and ready to face it all.

Clear minded

The sky that was stormy, now seems so clear. I see how someone I thought was a friend, wasn't. Who is? Sounds so esoteric, but it is and it isn't. That's life right, at times so incredibly serious, at others, just like, oh well, that's life.

I am moving through it. The kids make it seem like light speed, and my health sometimes worries me that maybe I'm not moving fast enough. But the truth is, I just want to enjoy it. Now I get that whole " be in the moment" analogy. I also get how people can remain uncoupled (weird wording) for a long time. It can just become less important. Where you aren't defined by it.

Of course we all strive to achieve balance, and love and romance is a part of that. It doesn't seem like the right time for me to search this out. Or maybe my decision is that it should just find me?

I have to ask these questions now. The ones about support, my neediness, the best way to move on. I have taken that final step, clearing the way for me, and space to really think about my thoughts in a practical way. I do finally feel clear minded, and that, nebulous audience, is that right way to be at this moment.

There is only one way to put this, the thing, the love that has held me prisoner for over a year, has been put to an end. I've walked away, I've withdrawn.

I've spoken before of situations where no good can come, I tried, no good came. I went back into a situation where I thought I could be mature and deal with a friendship, even when for me, it was so much more. It wasn't that a mutual feeling didn't exist, it just wasn't the same on both sides. Shall we say, a difference in opinion?

Either way, it hurts. I was ready for this to happen, now I feel like crying, my lips are curling, but I can't cry. I guess that means I was ready for it. The truth is, I just want to move on. And ultimately have some more space, emotionally mainly.

I miss him already. But it is what it is. He is just a guy for crying out loud. This is nothing compared to what I've been through. I can do this.

This is where one of those cliches begs to be played. That what don't kill me, will only make me stronger, please hurry up now, cause I can't wait no longer. Should I tell Kanye he's part of the official quote now? It's the impatient part that gets me.

Rebel without a cause

Sometimes being a rebel is not that cool. Fighting against things that are happening, life's daily dramas, wondering why some people feel a certain way or see things differently. It is life and I will no longer debate those things, I can only change myself.

Acceptance, going with the flow, living in the moment (I always say cliches work). It feels good. Actually the feeling is more of NOT feeling. Not taking everything personally takes effort, but I can do it now. It's like an exercise, a flexing, that has to be done repeatedly until it comes naturally.

Suddenly thinking about how others feel, the proverbial walking in someone else's shoes, goes along with that too. Though I have not normally thought of myself as self-centred, this process has been none but. I see now that to move forward I have to think about other people, not just treating their feelings with respect, but accepting them for how they feel, how they are and what they mean to do in their own lives.

I'm inching forward.

Today's Horoscope

I never take these things as gospel, they are entertainment after all. But when they are on, boy oh boy.

Leo

You have been tormented by an event that has put your heart through a grueling agony. And to add to it no one can understand your story. The tunnel has been long and dark, but the end is plainly in sight.

The Darkside

The realization that this is coming from my darkside is not as overwhelming as I thought. I accept it, surprisingly. I'm in it, but I plan and hope to come out of it soon. (I'll probably change the background color at that point, but in the meantime, it's my Blue Period.)

Letting go of stuff that has me loaded down would help; kicking the annoyances that keep nipping at my heels, walking away from those molehills. I know what to do, it's just the doing that is holding me back. I find myself taking itsy bitsy baby steps. Painful, yes.

It can be frustrating seeing where I should be as a person, recognizing all I need to do, but feeling like treacle getting to it. I guess being aware is the first step. At least I've taken that one.

I told a friend recently that I was employing every cliche, and right now, day by day is the one that works best.

Imagination's Slippery Slope

Imagination fuels my writing. Without it my talent would be nought. But when the line between imagination and reality blur it can feel rather gruesome. I have no problem admitting that I can completely conjure up scenarios in my mind. My mother used to call it making a mountain out of a molehill. It didn't feel good when it was a molehill and as an adult, well the feelings tied up in it often feel insurmountable.

When I am right about the way something goes, it feels more intuitive, I was on the right track. Other times I completely make up the reason why a person is behaving a certain way, when of course, I have no idea what they are really thinking and what their reasons for reacting are. The point is it can be a slippery slope.

Along with the advent of Facebook (who hasn't succumbed to that?) it is so easy to feel like we are piecing together someone's life based on what they have posted. Indeed, so guilty of that. Social networking and its ills in this path of single life is a whole other topic though.

But what of the age old "I'm waiting for him to call"? Feeling caught up in that is so juvenile and immature to me. To be quite honest, I was never a waiter, and impatience is my middle name. The main reason I'm like this is that when the passion hits, I want to talk to that person right away. It's when I'm not in contact that my mind plays those tricks and I totally give in to my imagination. Is that so wrong? Should I learn the rules of the game?

Confusing imagination or dreams with reality is a lesson to be learnt. I want to be careful not to blur those lines because that's when the crazy starts. To quote A.S Byatt:

"Between fantasy and reality are the dreams. Things we touch, involuntarily, in dreams: things we possess there: untrodden paths we tread. This changes us."

So I am figuring out how to be clear on the use of my imagination. Flights of fancy will be used in writing, not in scenes of potential reality.

To Guide and Grow

Stepping out and figuring out how to embrace every part of me is not so easy. There are parts that have been neglected or even starved. Now they look at me like tweens trying to understand themselves. I face them now, and try my best.

I've felt less like a mother and more like a guide. That is true now more than ever. Except the truth is, I seek out more outside guidance then ever. With these trusted guides I feel like I can formulate the plot to move forward with purpose and truth.

The trite labeling of "single" seems so simple compared to what it is I'm trying to do. It's the growth, the extending, the suspension of juvenile beliefs, the education of mature ones, and ultimately what can work best for me.

Indeed the "me" part of all this is clanging in my ears. I've never considered myself that self-centered, but that is the point of this forum, so I guess I have to embrace that. Ultimately the process feels quite public anyway. I fall in front of people, old friends pull me up, new ones, well, some stay, some walk away.

I suppose it's a bit delayed in saying so, but welcome to the ever so public growth of me.

The Course

Relationships have a course. The frustrating part is when the end of the course seems premature. Anyone who has been dumped will know this. The potential of what you thought should happen, is final and must be faced. These are cases when one person acts without the other, not being on the same page, and there is nothing you can do to plead your case.

I feel this not only in my marriage, but in relationships that have come since. There is a point when I just don't feel comfortable, myself, or even happy. I ask "Is this relationship making me unhappy?"

It's a western idea that you should only do what makes you happy. Some things are hard and worth fighting for. But some, I have to face, must be let go. It's sad, but seems to be the only way. When the tools in the belt of useful items to assist in these situations, is empty, what else is there to do?

When I have arguments with friends, I know it is okay because afterwards because we will both have a sense of relief. It seems healthy. But to continue past this point, still feeling insecure about things, seems like a bad idea. I recognize now when I'm not being myself with someone, I feel fake and like an actor. It is insecurity with that person, I recognize it now. And though I would love to be happy all the time, but this feeling is not a good one.

When is something worth fighting for? How hard and how long?

I'm just a cave girl

The hardest to moderate are the ups and downs of my mood and outlook. I've surprised myself, as well as some longstanding friends, with the profound effect life has on me these days. I hate to use the words "vulnerable" or "raw", but that does seem like the best way to describe them. Part of me feels like a cave girl, I'm just learning how things really work.

Some days it's just fine, I'm happy that nothing important seems to be going on, and routine envelopes me warmly. On others, drama takes me by surprise. I try to look at it objectively, sometimes truly feeling untouched by it, like I'm in a coma and everything is going on around me. Other times I can't help but feel it stab me, I take every little thing personally, act irrational, or worse, I embarrass myself.

What's weird is that I was never like this. I used to let everything cruise by me. But that attitude I've decided was a fault, the result of which was that I felt nothing. I do blame much of it on being sleep deprived and exhausted from raising small children, but ultimately, I just let things slip by, I didn't speak up when I should have, I said yes to things I didn't want to do. I look back and wonder if I was a marshmallow living in a glass house.

What am I now? The jury is still out on that. The growth is slow, though much of that is the recovery of illness. The shoots are just coming out of the dead branches. I am learning to walk again (literally and figuratively) and navigate the reality of life and relationships.

*sigh*

Today is my 15 year wedding anniversary.

On Friendship

This of course brings me to friendship. When I was a younger adult, on the verge of motherhood, there was a period when I culled my friendships in a major way. I felt like I was in a different phase of life and there were too many people who didn't get it. A lot of the friendships that survived that period are the people who have stood strongly by me since then.

Last year, when I had my illness, a stroke, and my separation, true friends stood tall. Surprisingly only a couple fell by the wayside, but that was more due to the separation. That scenario taught me one thing; when something major is happening, people compare it to themselves. I saw this firsthand. There were very few who stepped up and offered real advice and relation at a time when I was so vulnerable and needy. The ones that did are giants in my life.

When I started dating, well I think my obsessive need for attachment made me try to fast-track friendship. It was put on, idealized, and from there I felt I had imagined the perfect person. I played the part, the dutiful girlfriend, and so did he, the adoring guy. How could I resist?

It is almost impossible, I have decided, for someone you date to become a good friend. It seems to me to be something that rarely happens. And when it does, that person probably should have just been a friend to begin with .

As above, so below

In terms of yoga and Eastern thought, I turn my mind to chakras. It may sound hokey, but this school of thought connects sexuality to creativity within the Swadisthana chakra. Meaning that in terms of energies, they come from the same place in our bodies.

This explains a lot of what has been going on in terms of the connections I make with people (men). I now feel free to explore and ask the question "Am I confusing sexual energy with creative energy?"

I don't doubt, as many women do, that I depend on sexuality to get what I want. In these contemporary times, I think we call on it less, but it's there regardless. If I even remotely like someone, this comes out, usually in the form of flirtation.

Now I feel I should take a step back, look at the big picture, and determine whether the guy I'm feeling connected to, is really in the realm or even deserving, of my sexual energy. And what I see is that connectedness does not always spell "boyfriend or partner".

This isn't something I had ever considered, but there you have it. A truth that I am using to create this new hierarchy of friendships in my world.