Honesty

Warning: if anyone reading this post considers a certain level of emotional honesty to be unbearable oversharing, then you'd better leave now.











Okay. Here's a picture I painted a day or so ago. It reflects much of who I am right now.











And here's a snapshot of a plant I was given a day or so earlier. The sweet little poinsettia suffered a rude shock leaving the store and being carried to the car on a frightfully cold day. It barely survived those few moments of transition. This picture also reflects how I feel right now.











Over the past few years, I have found tremendous healing in acknowledging painful feelings. It's taken much hard work to find a balance between standing calmly in the feelings and allowing them light and air, versus wallowing in them and sometimes coming near to drowning.


I'm gonna see right now if I can move forward in one particular area of my life by bearing witness to some deep pain I'm feeling. This is not at all easy for me to do. Much shame attaches itself to these feelings. I hope that by being open here I can banish some of that shame.


My father dominated the first portion of my life. My husband put his mark on the next three and one-half decades. Another man affected the few years since the divorce.



My father was a pedophile and I was his six-year-old victim. There's no erasing what he did. But oh, how I wish he had chosen to repent of his actions and apologize to me before he died.


My husband and I each brought serious emotional baggage to our union, and then faced some sharp and painful experiences during the marriage. I used every resource at my disposal to save our marriage. I wish my husband had done the same. Maybe he would have still chosen to end our marriage, but maybe it would have been easier to live with. Easier to get over. Easier to move past. I wish he had not turned to other women during our marriage. I wish I had not been so easily replaced.


I met a man at the time of the divorce who was part of my life for the next three-plus years. He said often that he valued my faith, my sense of humor, my loyalty, my spirituality, my sensuality. Then one day, without warning, he dropped me. No contact at all. No explanation. Just silence. After several letters from me, he finally left a phone message saying he'd "met someone and was moving on with his life."


I am grateful beyond words for so many ways in which I have grown and matured over these past few years. I love my friends, my faith, my family, my home. And yet there remains a raw, ragged hole in my heart, created not just by the fact of these three failed relationships, but by how each of the three men chose to treat me.


I have had to be the one to end some relationships. In so doing, I summoned all the kindness and courage I could and tried to tell the person, gently, why I was doing what I was doing.


Breakups happen. I get that. And even though my particular faith experience fills me with confidence that "with God all things are possible," I also realize that some people do feel as if they have to give up. That the emotional mountain before them is just higher than they can climb.

But can't even giving up be done with some measure of grace? When you have tied yourself to another human being, and your giving up directly affects their life and stability, wouldn't it just be plain ordinary kindness to cushion the breaking up in any way possible?


For my dear friends who are reading this, please know that I am okay. Truly. I've made it this far and I sure as heck am not giving up now. My intimacy with my heavenly Father has grown deeper than I ever thought possible. My home is, bit by slow bit, experiencing a fresh and joyful transformation. Daily I ask God to show me ways I can reach out to others with compassion and kindness.


But my heart is healing far more slowly than I would wish for. I realize that the three men I have mentioned are only three--just a mere trio out of how many millions of men on the planet. But those three men have overshadowed every single year I've been alive on this earth. It isn't being single that is difficult. I'm adjusting to that. It's being left. Dumped. Cut off. Abandoned. Ignored. Forgotten. Unwanted. Replaced. Erased.

I know that each of these three men fought their own demons. They made bad choices. I just wish that even one of them had had the courage to take some measure of responsibility for how their choices affected other people, like me. I wish even one of them had cared enough to bandage the wounds they inflicted on me.




I'll close this post by sharing another floral friend. These geraniums lived outside one summer a few years ago until a hard frost threatened. I didn't mean to be rough, but I had to speed to get them out of the ground and inside, safe and warm. They responded by hanging on.

















They are gangly and not terribly attractive, but oh, they bloom with a fierce persistence. Look at them, and you see me.

Sturdy Soul

It's nearly midnight here. I intend this post to close out my first year of blogging. But then, depending on when I push a magic computer button, it might actually become my first sharing of 2010. We'll see.



I'll admit right here: the last few weeks of this year have been rugged. A part of me is ashamed to say that, since I know others suffering grave illness. Some mourning suicides. Others struggling with chronic bodily pain and joblessness and poverty. I have none of those.



Rational thought points an accusing finger to the mirrored image and mutters: "She better shape up. Stop complaining. Just shake off the past and get ON with her life."



I'm trying. I really never thought it would take this long or be this hard. I've prayed harder than ever. Flung countless streams of heartfelt gratitude to the heavens. Felt the presence of God more sharply and intensely than ever.



And still, such sadness remains. With every fiber of my being, I know that full healing is possible, since nothing is impossible with God. But some days I don't think I will ever fully come out from under the shadow of what my father and husband have done.



But I'm trying.



As the last few minutes of this year count down, I hereby make a conscious decision to focus my attention on some good things and share those, even while tears wet the keyboard:



Thanks to the loving prompting of my daughter, I painted today. It's not finished yet since it still needs some sharp contrasts, but here it is as a work in progress.



I also closed out this year watching the last three hours of So You Think You Can Dance. That's all I was able to see of the season, since I don't have TV access. My dear daughter recorded the final shows for me and I was overwhelmed, not just with the quality of dancing, but with the overflowing emotion and joy and enthusiasm expressed by the dancers and the judges. Truly a celebration of life.



I wasn't able to finish out my 100 days of writing, but I'm quite proud of the 57 days I DID write.



And in November, I wrote poetry every day. From that body of work I've distilled a collection which I've named "Sturdy Soul." It reflects the heart of me and I am very proud of it.



So, I finish out this year in my home, alone, tears freshly dried, a painting also drying, poetry speaking of my heart's resilience. My walk with God has reached new heights and depths. My commitment to live real and honest and fully alive and loving is stronger than ever.



For this, and for the friends and family who have been so faithful in their love of me, I am truly grateful.

Day 4 of 100

Only four days into this project and it's already part of me. Some sort of oasis in the desert.

I have finally started making serious inroads into sorting through 30+ years of Stuff, complicated by the fact that the marriage that produced the Stuff didn't survive, but the Stuff did. It's really hard to sort through what should have been souvenirs of those decades but is instead sad reminders of what is no longer.

Also, opposite-sex relationships since divorce have not gone well. They, too, seem to be being shed, one by one. Or at the very least, they are not turning out the way I'd hoped.

So, in the midst of the past week of all sorts of housecleaning and soulsorting, I have taken water and color and splooshed on paper. Yesterday and today I worked on the pieces all throughout the day, a dab here and a swirl there.

With the sorting, I'm letting go of so much that I once dreamed would be wonderful. At the same time, I am allowing myself to play with the simplest of elements, on one 5x7 piece of paper a day. Downstairs go through a musty box of old papers and letters and anniversary cards. Then go upstairs and see how lemon yellow looks next to raspberry and spring green.

Making beauty with the same hands that are sifting through emotional wreckage and worn-out dreams is somehow saving me.

Gotta Bloom

My flower buddies are teaching me sooooooo much about persistence. And even more than that: about doing what God has designed me to do. No matter what.

One winter several years ago, I just got mad when our outdoor growing season stopped so soon. It's not unusual for a freak snow in September to wipe out flowers that are really still at the height of their growing. I heard news of a coming hard frost and went outside and dug up my geraniums and plopped them in a glass bowl. Honestly, I didn't hold out much hope for their successful transplanting--I'd been sorta rough and fast in my "rescue." But I'd fallen in love with their fiery red blooms and just did NOT want to see them end.

To my surprise and delight, they immediately prospered. However, over the next few years, my tending of them went seriously downhill. My personal life was unraveling, with marital separation, reconciliation, then another betrayal. Then ultimately, divorce--unwanted by me, seemingly unavoidable, like an emotional avalanche I couldn't stop nor avoid being buried by.

Every so often I'd remember these sweeties and water them. Every time I thought my neglect had killed them, they rallied. These pictures show them as they are this morning: gangly, wild, raggedy, and exuberantly blooming. Look how they turn to the light. True, only a mommy or daddy geranium (and ME!!) could call them "beautiful" in their present state. But oh, how their insistence sustains me.

Most days, I, too, feel gangly and disjointed, trying to survive despite arid conditions. But most days--no, EVERY day,--I, too, turn to the sun, to divine Love, and blossom. Not because I "choose" to, but because that is how God designed me. Hallelujah!

yet another fresh start

Taking a deep breath. Exhaling gratitude. Doing the best I can to just BE in this present moment.

Friday's disappointment over leaning on another human for support was mitigated by hearing from him Saturday and being able to set myself aside and feel compassion for his challenges.

Saturday was preparation with family members for my mother-in-law's memorial the next day.

Sunday was the memorial, scattering ashes, sharing a meal, then dividing up some of her belongings.

The peace I felt at the end of that day was nothing short of miraculous, especially since the time was spent with members of a family I am now disconnected with because of my husband's leaving me.

The next day--yesterday--was my birthday. It's never mattered much to me to celebrate "birth"--that's just a biological event years ago. But it does matter to me to celebrate a person's uniqueness.

And that's where I'm dragging a bit, right now. It's a struggle for me NOT to define my value in terms of how I think others perceive me. Having my dad leave me when I was two, and then my husband leaving after 33 years of marriage, and choosing to be with several other women during our marriage--I have a hard time shaking a sense of worthlessness. [To the people who love me who read this-don't freak out. Deep down I KNOW I'm worthy and loved and lovable]. It's just this darn persistent sense of being left. Of wondering WHAT it is about me that is "leaveable."

I want to get my sense of worth from God, from inside myself. And I'm working on it. And despite the thoughts shared here, I have made tremendous progress. But sometimes the pain just hits all over again.

But then, all over again, I fight back. I make a fresh commitment to bloom like my favorite peony--with all my might, not holding back, not saving any beauty for another day, or even another hour. Just live and bloom extravagantly. That's my plan.

Yeah, I slipped a little tonight. But I'm back.

Transitions

Had the family over tonight . . . my aunt Marge, 88, survivor of a pretty rough life. My oldest son, in the midst of his divorce, and deciding it would be better NOT to have his soon-to-be-exwife at G'ma's memorial in two weeks. My other son and his wife, who will host the gathering at the clubhouse at their apartment complex. My daughter and her new husband. My ex-husband.

We all ate. Potluck. Daughter made potato soup. Son brought cheese and crackers. Other son and wife made a cheesecake. Aunt brought drinks. Ex brought salad. I made biscuits. We ate and remembered G'ma. Made plans for the gathering in two weeks.

I'm grateful for the peace I feel, yet even as I type those words, tears well up and spill over. I'm not feeling too good right now, so that probably makes everything seem bluer than it really is. But this time of my life is so far from anything I ever imagined. I would so love to be able to cultivate a sense of adventure about all this newness--to try to see the positive in all these opportunites for new choices, new directions.

Well hey. Why don't you just CHOOSE to do that? Spread your lips out into a smile, right now. . there you go .. . well, THAT looks more like a grimace, but with a little practice . . . there, that's better. Even with the tears not quite dry on your cheeks, you are smiling.

Hey, punkin . . . I love you. You are a brave soul and you haven't given up on love, not by a long shot. I'm proud of you.

Good night. Sleep tight.

Who'da thunk it?

I'm happy with today.

I still feel totally at sea concerning relationships with men. Never imagined in a bazillion years I'd be single after my kids were grown. Never imagined I--once a confirmed teenaged wallflower--would find myself dating immediately following an unwanted divorce. Never imagined that in one year I would connect with someone, break up, then reconnect, only to have them fall and hit their head and die. Never imagined I would become involved with two other men with so much emotional baggage a semi-truck couldn't hold it all.

Never imagined I'd feel so open and honest and real. Never imagined I'd think seriously about drinking. Never imagined I'd pray so long and so hard and feel so close to God.

Life's full of surprises.

Keep on Keeping On

Last day of January . . . not sure what that signifies . . . maybe that endings are followed by beginnings . . . I'm still crying way more than I want to. I think I'll always cry some--that just seems to be part of me. But I'd sure like for it to lessen. I've worked hard this month to pull myself out of low times by smothering myself in gratitude. Sometimes when I curl up in bed at night, all I can manage to say is "I'm grateful I have a warm, safe place to sleep."

Truly, I know I have so much. Family and friends, church, a strong and pure connection with my Father-Mother God. It doesn't take much for me to feel really ashamed of doing any complaining at all, because at the very deepest part of me, I do know that I am loved and valued.

But I gotta tell you, in this human experience, betrayal and abandonment cut to the heart. Please, anybody reading this, if you have made a commitment as a parent or a spouse, please do whatever it takes to keep and honor that promise. Ask for help--don't be embarrassed. No, I'm not talking about staying in a physically or emotionally dangerous situation. But for all other times, don't run away. Don't abandon the person you've made promises to. Parents, take care of your children. Love them the way they deserve to be loved.

With all the good in my life, I still struggle daily to overcome the pain of rejection, betrayal, abuse, and abandonment. So many times, when something wonderful happens, it feels tainted by the stink of past hurts. I can't seem to escape the smell. I have prayed so much and so long and have made tremendous progress. I work every day to think more of others than myself. I pray for new and bigger ways to love others. I express as much joy and compassion as I know how to. I pray constantly for God to help me leave the past behind and live each day in a way that glorifies Him.

But there are times I feel like I'm back at square one and I'm that little girl whose daddy left her and then came back and hurt her. I'm that young girl dishonored by a boyfriend. I'm the wife and mother whose husband turns to other women. I'm the newly single woman who attracts only men who do not treat her right. And all I can think is: what is wrong with me?

I'm not giving up. Not by a long shot. As much as I have hung onto God, I know God is hanging onto me. I know God is Love and God designed me to express that love. It doesn't matter that my whole human history has been studded with distrastrous relationships--I will keep on believing in the power of love.

But I meant what I said earlier: husbands and wives, mothers and fathers, please do whatever it takes to keep your promises to each other. When you don't, you screw up lives really badly. I know first hand. I've gotta believe that someday I will be free of the crippling done to me by broken promises, but tonight the road seems long. Very long.

What a difference a few days makes . . . actually, my mood lightened the next day. I've just been too busy having fun to post an update here! Having the daily project of posing a question, listening for an answer, and recording it in a big journal, has really been working for me. Since the point is to let the day unfold according to the answer, my thought (and resulting actions) are pulled back to that spark of inspiration, all through the day.

When I was low and discouraged the other day (when I last posted) the project was there the next day, tugging at me pretty darn persistently. My year's question--What if . . .? --was there to revive my spirits and urge me on. So far, different responses to the "what if" have led me to holding a certain thought for the day; a certain action, like "smile"; or a particular activity, like "put on music and 'dance' while cleaning the utility room." I'm pretty wide open to the sorts of urgings that come.

Starting every day with wondering "What if . . " really opens my mind, directs my gaze far beyond the horizon of what surrounds me right now. I can feel so solidly mired in the rubble of a past life--parental abuse followed by broken marriage--and even though I have claimed that I am "moving forward," and have many delightful new parts of my life, I can still feel like the smell of the fire is on me, pervading everything.

But. And yet. This new project--this time of wonder every morning--is really lifting me up and out of feeling still stuck in the past. Yes, it's still scary, allowing the door of possibility to swing wide open every morning. Yes, I might find great stuff Out There. But I also tremble, thinking Monsters might come in and find me.

But. I don't think that all the time any more. The sweet little girl hidden inside me for far too long is coming out to play more and more. She has surprised me with flowers drawn on the journal page . . . with silly gooey kisses pressed all over the page after my adult's hand has smeared lipstick across my lips . . . she has made giggles spurt out of my grown-up's mouth . . . and this bubbling, unconfinable joy starts my day, dresses me with laughter, sends me out into The World to do my lists of Stuff, just like before, yet different. I giggle. I grin. For no other reason than I'm me and I'm happy.

I still live in a wilderness. I still get sad. Mad. I still cry a lot. But as always, those tears water flowers of hope. Wildflowers. Wild hope.

It's past bedtime, but I just gotta take a minute or two to touch base here. Haven't posted anything here in a few days. Have also lightened up greatly on the time spent on my What If project . . .granted, the last several days have been busy, but I still end up feeling like I do so often--that I have a great idea and start strong and then poof! I stumble and fall.

You know, I'm worried that this blog stuff will just end up sounding like whining. I have a roof over my head, I have enough to eat, I'm reasonably healthy--so what am I fussing about? I guess I'm still mad, madder than I realized up until just now. Mad that a marriage I spent so much time on and effort on behalf of, is just gone. That I am starting over now, just at the point I thought I'd be exploring the next portion of life with a loving, life-long partner. I look behind me and expect to see the "house" (marriage/family) I spent all my adult life laboring to build, and instead, all there is, is rubble. Yes, I know my story is all too familiar, but actually, that is not a whole lot of comfort most days. I don't really care that the club I've been forced to join is overflowing with members. This is my only life. I gave my all to my marriage--I was faithful, forgiving, deeply prayerful. And still, despite all that, my partner was able to pull the plug and that was that. Didn't matter what I wanted.

Yes, I guess that if that is what my partner would do, then I'm better off without him. And yes, technically, the rest of my life is wide open and I have the luxury of being able to consider choosing a new partner. Well, right now, all I can say is: whoopee.

Maybe this is just tiredness and late night talking. I hope so. I do my best to stay realistically positive, to be honestly grateful. But right now, I'll tell you . . . starting over sucks.