more on the being single

My personal life is embarrassing to write about. I am completely aware that having been married for so long, I am somewhat immature to the ways of adult relationships. It’s like a bizarre gap in my knowledge (and I pride myself on the knowledge of many topics) . To this end, I am admittedly green and self-conscious about my actions when it comes to relationships, but I’m learning.
I’ve operated on the idea for a long time that when you’re into someone, or alternately, them into you, it’s instant, you know right away where you stand. But in the dating world, I often don’t know where I stand and get impatient enough to just end it before the other person does. That action alone seems immature, but in my reality it is necessary.
As for being single, I’ve noticed the men I’ve been involved with falling in to 2 categories. The forever bachelor is under 35 and rhapsodizes about parenthood, but in reality is not interested in a relationship. They seem to be still swinging singles as their outlook is quite young and inexperienced. I'm attracted to the aspect of fun but find that I hide parts of myself to accommodate the light and breezy personality. It's feels forced and fake like I'm acting, and doing it badly.
The second category is the broken-hearted-but-still-standing. Over 40, divorced, maybe has kids, maybe not, either way, they are too distressed by their breakup to fall into anything serious. I’m attracted to someone who has had similar experiences but the too-broken-to-try just leaves me empty and dissatisfied.
Needless to say, there have been no winners so far, but some interesting experiences. I’m slowly becoming adept at guarding my heart and dealing with attachment, or rather not becoming attached in the emotional sense. Nothing I’ve been involved with has really gone past the 2-month mark. Having few previous experiences before marriage has put me on the learning curve of defining this single life of mine. Resounding in my head is the line a married friend gave me recently, "you're so lucky, you get to have a do-over." But will the do-over result in Mr. Perfect?

Blame the Meds

Being strong wears me down. It can become too much to bear and I crumble on occasion, biting my lip to sting me back into reality. “You have to stay strong” It’s a mantra during these fleeting yet overwhelming moments.
They are new to me and come in a surprising manner, like a hula-hoop that is slipping off my hips. I wonder if it’s the natural process of trying to create a new life, the obvious fear of the unknown, to which I usually sally forth?
Sometimes I wonder if they have something to do with my medication. I imagine the TV ad—May cause an inability to deal with children. Tendency to get teary when couples walk by holding hands. May lament cooking fantastic meals with no one to share them with. May attract emotionally unavailable men. —Check.
It’s a humorous caveat. I get to blame a lot on the meds.

Six shooter

As January draws to a predictably depressing close I admit I entered the New Year encumbered by too much. As much as I tried, the feelings were hard to shed and I’ve proceeded with my pistol, troubleshooting my way toward some sort of solace.

My anxiety around the trip to see D and the X went as expected. I had to deal with being in a place that had previously brought great joy, I got married there, had many happy moments, and now it reflected only pain, having my stroke there, breaking up there. It was also the house I’ve lived in the longest in my life. Not staying there, viewing it as no longer mine, along with a lifestyle that was not longer mine, was hard to swallow. I had intended to avoid the house altogether as I was staying at a nearby hotel. But D wanted me to be there and I felt fine being there, until it hit me each time, this irrepressible urge to flee, which I did. I couldn’t stand seeing things I bought, the blanket from my trip to Havana, the tray that was a gift from a visiting friend, and of course, my beloved doggy. As I jokingly say to people, the X got custody of him.

As for D, she was happy to see me, but gave it to me in her usual way, through tantrums and oppositional behaviour. On day 2 I had to honestly admit to the X that I was not sure I could deal with her, she was pretty overwhelming. The feelings around this are hard to bear for a mother. I feel guilt that I can’t handle my kid, no matter how needy she may be. I want to do whatever it takes to make her better, but at the same time I am faced with the fact that I am marginally recovered. I’m still dealing with chronic pain, high blood pressure and medication management. The X pointed this out upon my return. He wanted to discuss the reality of what I was able to do ie. Was raising 2 children, one diagnosed with anxiety and very needy, a realistic possibility?

His heart is absolutely in the right place. He is trying to do right by me, right by the kids. But I boomerang back to one of the reasons I split; I have always raised the kids. When he is not around (most of the time) I perceive an out of sight, out of mind scenario with him. I bear the brunt of child raising and there is little he can do to help. Now that he has had D for a few months, he is connected to the process, and perhaps is getting a glimpse and a new outlook.

But the reality of his involvement is the real question. He has no intention of living in the same city as us (work is prohibitive), quitting his current job is a pipe dream that he dangles as some kind of martyrdom (he'd be miserable). Alternately, I want the best for my children always. Subverting my own needs is how I have always lived. The thought now that it may be bad for my health leaves me in a quandary.

Ultimately, and somewhat predictably, my plan is to enlist more supportive resources, for both the children and myself and hopefully that plan will work. We have always led an unconventional life, and my health seems to force that to continue. We all seem weak right now. I can only hope it will make us stronger.

Twenty Ten

It looked like my New Year would come in like a lamb. I was wrapped in my kimono, sipping on bubbly, intent on watching the ball drop on TV, when my friend called and insisted I come out. It was nice to ring in the new decade with friends after all. Though I missed my children terribly.

This first day of the year I woke up with one thing in mind; do not have exasperating conversations with the X anymore. These have generally been made up of things said over and over between us, it’s pointless now, everything has been said. And if it hasn’t, it is useless to say it. There is no end goal. I am at the point that if I hear him repeat things again I just might scream.

The other negative I am willing to drop is my attitude towards his girlfriend. She is minor and a part of his life I am no longer privy to. When I focus on mothering I realize that she has little influence if any, on the bond between the kids and I. It’s an opportunity to strengthen my connection especially when they are away from me.

As many do at this time of year, I see my blessings clearly. I am lucky in so many ways. The kids are growing up in a way that is delightful, even within its challenges. I’m glad to have them as my tribe. I include the rest of my family and close friends within this group. I am truly blessed to have this entourage parade in my mind. I never feel lonely because of them.

I might sound like I’m 80 when I say this, but every morning I feel lucky to be alive. There is a resolve to try harder at remaining healthy. I have all the resolutions that most people have today; exercise more, drink less alcohol. But there is also the big one, live every day as if it’s my last.

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.