In preparation for my new floors, I've had to go through every nook and cranny of my basement. I need to either move items elsewhere in my house, or get rid of them altogether. Never before have I had such a good incentive to purge: I'm going to have to move every object anyway, and there's no sense in keeping what doesn't suit me.
It has been strangely liberating.
The sweater that didn't quite fit? Gone. The cute Japanese rice bowls that I never really used? Gone. The supplies purchased years ago for craft projects that never took place? Gone. (I am never, ever, ever going to sew pillows or use those pillow inserts. It's time to own that, no matter how cute my vision of the finished project is.) The big crate of canning jars that has been sitting in my attic for three years without being touched? Gone. And with each of these things, the freedom to stop feeling like I'm behind for not using them. It's okay that I don't have Japanese themed dinner parties. It's okay that I haven't gotten around to making jam in a long time. It's okay that I don't want to sew anything. What freedom!
That framed print, street art from a European vacation years ago? I've never liked it; it was never quite right. And yet, it has lived on my wall for fifteen years. Fifteen years of "I don't really like this"?! I lifted it right off the wall, impulsively, and stuck it in the pile. The blank space it leaves behind doesn't look empty, it looks clean and free.
I had no idea that I was weighed down by these objects - mostly tucked away out of sight, neatly organized in their appropriate zones of the house - but clearly I was, because it feels so good to let them go. Each time I said goodbye to something, I think I was saying that I was enough without that item. I was saying that it didn't matter if that item was perfectly useful if it wasn't useful to me.
Sometimes, it feels really good to let go of things.
I'm trying to cleanse my life of everything that doesn't fit. I am shedding my baggage, literally and metaphorically, as I move forward. I think it's interesting how the literal shedding of what doesn't fit my life feels so good, but perhaps that's because I see the links to the metaphors. I'm working at only inviting what I love into my life, and letting go of what doesn't work makes room for that.
I wish I'd done this years ago.
Monday, November 9, 2015
Saturday, November 7, 2015
Growing Up
Have you heard the Macklemore song that he wrote for his new baby when his wife was pregnant?
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The lyric that stays with me is:
Times are changing, I know, but who am I if
I'm the person you become
If I'm still growing up?
I am 46 years old. I have a nearly thirteen year old daughter. I have a mortgage, a car payment, and a real job. I hold a masters degree. I have been married, and divorced. I've run a half marathon, and I've had double mastectomies. I do volunteer work in the community. I cook dinner nearly every night. I walk the dog, I pay the bills. I own a crock pot, a table saw, a lawn mower, and a life insurance policy.
But I don't feel like a grownup yet.
When do people usually feel like grownups? Am I the only one who often feels like it's all a bit of an amusing joke that I've been granted all of these responsibilities, because I'm just starting out?
According to Macklemore, probably not. He's an international star who, I assume, is much more together than I am. I guess if it's okay for him to feel like he hasn't arrived, it's okay for me. And for you.
I'm in a between-time right now: I'm winding down my current job, struggling financially because I haven't received a full child support payment in months and because my current job just barely covers the bills. I start my new job in three weeks, and not only will my professional life change substantially, my financial life will, as well. It is certainly a period of growth.
In order to get ready for my new job, I have to first wind down the old one of course, but I also have to make space in my life for the new one. Because I will be working from home, I need to create a home office, and I'm spending a lot of time doing so.
A note about my house: my house is really two houses on top of each other, or so it feels. The upstairs is a cute bungalow/cottage style, with hardwood floors, picture rail, original trim and doors (solid and attractive). The downstairs is a daylight basement that was clearly a 1970's afterthought, with almost no trim work, horrible carpet, acoustic tile ceiling, and bad design at just about every corner. When I had a flood I had to tear out part of the carpet, leaving bare concrete exposed in the center of the basement (and not smooth, polished, sexy concrete: this is 1923 crumbling concrete). The downstairs is where the TV is, and where kids go to bounce off the walls, but mostly I ignore the downstairs. It's barely usable.
And I'm changing that.
I am attempting to create a grown up's house. I am ripping out the horrible carpet, and ripping out a poorly designed wall, and ripping out a bunch of cabinets (set up as a mother-in-law kitchen but not used that way for probably 25 years). I'm evening out the concrete, and adding beautiful light, clean bamboo floors. Gone will be the 1970s linoleum in the bathroom. Gone will be the boards nailed between posts to make "bookshelves" (they weren't fooling anyone). I'm even getting rid of the pressboard bookcases that I purchased in college and have housed my books since then.
Not only am I creating an office space for myself, I am redoing the TV room and guest room at the same time. And I'm not borrowing favors from friends to patch something together, I'm paying Real Live Professionals to come in and do it right.
This makes me feel a teensy bit more like a grownup. But it also makes me feel like I'm a total fraud as a grownup, because I feel so out of my comfort zone in doing this. I feel like maybe I should cut more corners - if I put in new flooring in my office, I don't need to do the whole basement, right? I don't really need an ergonomic chair that will help my back, do I? It's okay to leave that weird little wall that sticks out into the middle of the room, right? Because I don't really need anything, I can make do. I'm fine, I won't cause any trouble, I don't need to take care of myself...
I have to fight through these feelings just about every minute of the day.
But I am fighting them, and winning!
In my new job, I need to be a full grown up. If I do my job, I can quadruple this little organization and serve so many more women. I need to allow every ounce of leadership within me to shine, to inspire the board and volunteers and donors to make it happen.
And in my new life, I'm trying not to put off my hopes and dreams for the future, I'm trying to make them happen. I'm trying to remind myself that I really am a grownup, and I can make grownup decisions. I suppose it doesn't really matter if my basement is finished or not, but it matters to ME.
In Feng Shui, basements represent the subconscious, and one's foundation. Well, if that is the case, my subconscious has been dark, partially finished, out of date, dusty, uncared for, and ugly. That's not the kind of foundation anyone should build upon. I'm doing a clean sweep of the basement - that ugly old carpet probably contains enough nastiness to make anyone sick, and it needs to go - but I'm also doing a clean sweep of myself.
I want my foundation to be built upon light. I want it to feel clean, and open, while still being inviting and comfortable. I want to feel solid. I want to feel complete, not unfinished. I want to feel proud, not apologetic. I want to feel welcoming, not closed off. I want to feel beautiful.
I'm not even sure if I'm talking about my basement or myself as I do this project, but for whatever reason it has become highly symbolic to me.
I might be growing up.
<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/6mhtJduoCZ0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
The lyric that stays with me is:
Times are changing, I know, but who am I if
I'm the person you become
If I'm still growing up?
I am 46 years old. I have a nearly thirteen year old daughter. I have a mortgage, a car payment, and a real job. I hold a masters degree. I have been married, and divorced. I've run a half marathon, and I've had double mastectomies. I do volunteer work in the community. I cook dinner nearly every night. I walk the dog, I pay the bills. I own a crock pot, a table saw, a lawn mower, and a life insurance policy.
But I don't feel like a grownup yet.
When do people usually feel like grownups? Am I the only one who often feels like it's all a bit of an amusing joke that I've been granted all of these responsibilities, because I'm just starting out?
According to Macklemore, probably not. He's an international star who, I assume, is much more together than I am. I guess if it's okay for him to feel like he hasn't arrived, it's okay for me. And for you.
I'm in a between-time right now: I'm winding down my current job, struggling financially because I haven't received a full child support payment in months and because my current job just barely covers the bills. I start my new job in three weeks, and not only will my professional life change substantially, my financial life will, as well. It is certainly a period of growth.
In order to get ready for my new job, I have to first wind down the old one of course, but I also have to make space in my life for the new one. Because I will be working from home, I need to create a home office, and I'm spending a lot of time doing so.
A note about my house: my house is really two houses on top of each other, or so it feels. The upstairs is a cute bungalow/cottage style, with hardwood floors, picture rail, original trim and doors (solid and attractive). The downstairs is a daylight basement that was clearly a 1970's afterthought, with almost no trim work, horrible carpet, acoustic tile ceiling, and bad design at just about every corner. When I had a flood I had to tear out part of the carpet, leaving bare concrete exposed in the center of the basement (and not smooth, polished, sexy concrete: this is 1923 crumbling concrete). The downstairs is where the TV is, and where kids go to bounce off the walls, but mostly I ignore the downstairs. It's barely usable.
And I'm changing that.
I am attempting to create a grown up's house. I am ripping out the horrible carpet, and ripping out a poorly designed wall, and ripping out a bunch of cabinets (set up as a mother-in-law kitchen but not used that way for probably 25 years). I'm evening out the concrete, and adding beautiful light, clean bamboo floors. Gone will be the 1970s linoleum in the bathroom. Gone will be the boards nailed between posts to make "bookshelves" (they weren't fooling anyone). I'm even getting rid of the pressboard bookcases that I purchased in college and have housed my books since then.
Not only am I creating an office space for myself, I am redoing the TV room and guest room at the same time. And I'm not borrowing favors from friends to patch something together, I'm paying Real Live Professionals to come in and do it right.
This makes me feel a teensy bit more like a grownup. But it also makes me feel like I'm a total fraud as a grownup, because I feel so out of my comfort zone in doing this. I feel like maybe I should cut more corners - if I put in new flooring in my office, I don't need to do the whole basement, right? I don't really need an ergonomic chair that will help my back, do I? It's okay to leave that weird little wall that sticks out into the middle of the room, right? Because I don't really need anything, I can make do. I'm fine, I won't cause any trouble, I don't need to take care of myself...
I have to fight through these feelings just about every minute of the day.
But I am fighting them, and winning!
In my new job, I need to be a full grown up. If I do my job, I can quadruple this little organization and serve so many more women. I need to allow every ounce of leadership within me to shine, to inspire the board and volunteers and donors to make it happen.
And in my new life, I'm trying not to put off my hopes and dreams for the future, I'm trying to make them happen. I'm trying to remind myself that I really am a grownup, and I can make grownup decisions. I suppose it doesn't really matter if my basement is finished or not, but it matters to ME.
In Feng Shui, basements represent the subconscious, and one's foundation. Well, if that is the case, my subconscious has been dark, partially finished, out of date, dusty, uncared for, and ugly. That's not the kind of foundation anyone should build upon. I'm doing a clean sweep of the basement - that ugly old carpet probably contains enough nastiness to make anyone sick, and it needs to go - but I'm also doing a clean sweep of myself.
I want my foundation to be built upon light. I want it to feel clean, and open, while still being inviting and comfortable. I want to feel solid. I want to feel complete, not unfinished. I want to feel proud, not apologetic. I want to feel welcoming, not closed off. I want to feel beautiful.
I'm not even sure if I'm talking about my basement or myself as I do this project, but for whatever reason it has become highly symbolic to me.
I might be growing up.
Monday, October 19, 2015
Changes
It's fall, and the leaves are in full color, the skies gray, the air cool. The bright trees won't last much longer: even as I watch them turn, I know that soon enough they will drop their leaves and the branches will turn from bursts of flame to lace against the sky.
I couldn't stop it if I wanted to, so I try to embrace it. I live in the Pacific Northwest where almost everybody complains about the gray monotony of winter: we may not get any snow, and we will get lots of rain, and sometimes the gray sky feels like it is only three feet over our heads. People get grumbly about it and complain about it even in the summer ("oh, summer's great here, but November....!"), but not me. I like all of our seasons; I appreciate that though it won't snow in the city (not much anyway) I can go up to the mountains to ski, just an hour away; I don't mind running in the rain. I like hot apple cider, Halloween parties, turkey trots, and so much more about the season. I look forward to Christmas with tiny lights everywhere and Christmas ships and friends and sparkly dresses. Sure, it would be nice to break it up with a trip to Hawaii and blue skies....but overall, it's much more good than bad.
Life keeps changing, as much as the seasons, as much as the trees, and I'm trying not to fight that, either.
The job change - yes, I got the job! - is mind-blowing. I have faith that this is the job that I've craved since returning to work, and that I am on the path I want to be on. I am filled with awe, the kind I get when I see a particularly bright sunset, or a whale breaching, or stars over a mountain lake. I am filled with joy. It helps that I'm leaving my soon-to-be-old job on a high note: our big auction was this weekend, and I positively killed it. More money, more people, better messaging, and a much smoother event. I spoke to the room (300+ people) and did "the ask" and when I told them about our clients, the entire room cried. Afterwards, more people than I can count came up to me to tell me how powerful my stories were, and how grateful they were to hear them. (One slightly inebriated guest told me, "Your charisma makes me faint!" which was good for a chuckle.) I most certainly earned my keep. I felt rock solid, strong, capable, successful.
That's a change. Two years ago as I was fighting unemployment I felt insecure, frightened, uncertain. Hope that it would get better kept me going, but I was so scared.
I'm not scared anymore.
***
My daughter is going through changes faster than I can count them, too. Soon she will be a teenager, and her body changes daily before my eyes; she could easily be mistaken for an older girl, given the "right" clothes and some added makeup. She's tall and slim but muscular, with glossy hair, clear skin, long legs, and a gorgeous figure. At twelve! She does her homework without prompting, has good friends (with minimal drama), does her chores, is trustworthy. She's a fierce competitor in sports, giving it all of her heart. She's kind. She does volunteer work. Right now, her dream job is to fight for women's empowerment; she's thinking that maybe she'll become a lawyer to fight for women's rights (especially the gender pay gap). She sings to Taylor Swift nonstop. She prefers jeans and Converse. She bakes. She's my backpacking buddy, my lake swimming daredevil.
And this month, she became somebody's girlfriend.
I do not feel okay about twelve year olds dating. I don't feel okay about it AT ALL, actually, and my mind leaped from "she's such a great kid" to "this is the beginning of the end" in the space of about two seconds. I think in the space it took her to say "I have a boyfriend" I went from "all is well" to "she will be a pregnant teenage dropout" without blinking.
Fortunately, I kept my panic hidden and said something like, "Uhhhh, oh, ummm" or equally intelligent.
That night I Googled "tween dating" and "when should I let my daughter date" and such. I learned that my daughter is at the average age for this kind of thing; I learned that at this age, "dating" means that they text each other a lot but have no plans to go out and actually DO anything together. (Phew.) I read articles on how to discuss dating with your child.....and how NOT to discuss dating with your child. I read articles about how to put boundaries in place without becoming such a strict disciplinarian that your child will rebel from being too constricted. I read articles about how to coach her through this, and started saying "self respect" and "kindness" a lot.
At about the exact minute that I caught my breath, after weeks of monitoring text messages, I got the news that he dumped her. I felt an unnatural desire to throttle a child, to call him up and give him a piece of his mind. I felt certain that he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.
And then I caught my breath, realized that this was what was going to happen all along (she might have dumped him, or he might have dumped her, but the dumping was in the air from the first shy glance) and that I shouldn't expect a 12 year old to handle things gracefully, and that he was learning too, and that the two of them could handle it just fine. My daughter texted with her BFFs who were suitably enraged and full of girl-power. She played "We are never, ever, ever getting back together" loudly. She did her homework. We watched a movie together (one with no romance).
I breathed a sigh of relief.
***
Everybody knows that the only constant is change. We hear it all the time, and we live it all the time. That's why it's funny to me that when changes happen, they surprise me, catch me off guard and make me think "what on earth is happening!" and my mind spins off in crazy ways. (Uh, as far as I can tell there was never even a first kiss, and I don't think that pregnancy is going to result from five-character text messages.)
I'm trying to go with the flow. To accept the incredible goodness that is going on in my life, and to embrace the changes yet to come.
My new job is extraordinary. It is an answer to the prayers I've been sending into the Universe; it is filled with hope and possibility. I'm trying to live fully in this moment, to celebrate it deep in my heart as well as celebrating it with cake and champagne with friends. It, too, will change. It *will* be good, but there will also be challenges, struggles.
My daughter is extraordinary, and full of hope and possibility. She, too, will keep changing.
I never, ever, ever would have guessed that this is how my life would look when I was 46 years old. The single mom thing, the cancer thing, the career crazy thing....none of it has gone as predicted. My finances most certainly haven't gone as predicted. Some things are better than imagined - my own happiness, for one! - and some things I could really have done without.
And it all keeps changing, all the time.
I'm trying to live with that uncertainty, while holding optimism, and rooting myself in the present. It's tricky territory, acknowledging that I'm not in full control, yet working hard to make my dreams come true. I haven't got it figured out.
But today, now, in this moment, is really, really good. And I am really, really grateful. The recent changes are incredible, and I'm ready to embrace them.
What a moment in time I am in; what a gift it is.
So grateful.
Friday, October 9, 2015
Tipping Points
There have been several times in my life when I have felt things tip, in the space of a second, where nothing will ever be the same again.
The first was when Bryan proposed. He slipped a diamond on my finger, and I knew that my life would never be as it was before. (This remains true. That proposal altered my destiny in ways both expected and unexpected.) One second we were boyfriend girlfriend, and the next, our destinies were woven together.
The second and third are related. The moment when the pregnancy test showed two lines, my hands shook and I burst into happy tears. I wanted that baby SO MUCH and I knew I would never be the same again. The third moment is, of course, holding beautiful Katherine in my arms, amazed that she existed, that I could hold her, that I was forevermore a mother. I knew there was no going back, that every part of my life had just changed.
Then, cancer. I got the phone call while I was in the grocery store, from a nurse at a surgeon's office. In the time it takes to say just the words, "I'm sorry to tell you this, but the results are back and you have cancer..." my whole world permanently altered.
My whole world changed again with the utterance, "We need a divorce."
Today, my world tipped again.
I got a message saying that I should come in to discuss the position that I've interviewed four times for, and there is "positive news."
Dear readers, I have fought so long and hard to get my career together after a near decade of being a stay at home mom cancer patient. I took a job in an industry that didn't interest me at all, but paid my bills and suited my life, and I was just so relieved that I wouldn't have to live in my parents' basement. And then the unemployment, which was relatively brief in the scope of my life, but so painful. And then the job in the new, "correct" industry of nonprofit, but at an organization that I always knew wouldn't be a long term fit for me, and with a boss who turned out to be one of my life's lessons. I have often felt like Sisyphus, making so little progress. The current job barely pays enough to meet all of my responsibilities, and I've been holding off on Katherine's next set of braces, and I haven't traveled or done many other things, because I couldn't. My boss is.....well, beyond belief. I wake up every morning with a knot in my stomach, dreading going in to the office, and I go anyway and work my brains out, scrambling to do my best because I believe in the mission of the organization and my commitment to helping their clients. I work incredible overtime, with no praise from my boss, despite my remarkable results. (I took the job to get the experience that I needed to get the jobs I really wanted.)
But this new job?
Oh. I hardly have enough words to describe how I feel.
I will be my own boss, the Executive Director. The board is a group of incredibly talented, motivated, fabulous women. I will be doing the work that I'm good at, and I'll be able to help women who are fighting for their lives.
I will be able to prove to my daughter that when adversity hits - cancer - I know how to turn it into something beautiful. I am turning the hell that was my cancer treatment into something that will save women, feed my soul, make the world into a better place.
I get a raise - a big one; I won't be rich, but I will be able to breathe again, to save, to be less panicked at each new expense. I get to work from home, with my tired, achy old dog - the most loyal creature to have ever lived - at my feet, and be at home many days when Katherine arrives home from school (I envision having a cup of herbal tea together for a moment before she does homework and I go back to the downstairs office to finish my day). I get to go out into the community, and grow this small nonprofit into something sizable that can make a bigger difference. I get to call my own shots, while working with people I respect, and changing the world.
I'm good at what I do, with results that prove that, and I am going to be great at this. I feel it in my soul, and my heart bursts with the joy of it.
I haven't signed anything yet, and so it's hard to believe it's really happening, but what I know is this:
I am meeting with the board president to discuss the position, and she has positive news.
I just felt the world tip.
The first was when Bryan proposed. He slipped a diamond on my finger, and I knew that my life would never be as it was before. (This remains true. That proposal altered my destiny in ways both expected and unexpected.) One second we were boyfriend girlfriend, and the next, our destinies were woven together.
The second and third are related. The moment when the pregnancy test showed two lines, my hands shook and I burst into happy tears. I wanted that baby SO MUCH and I knew I would never be the same again. The third moment is, of course, holding beautiful Katherine in my arms, amazed that she existed, that I could hold her, that I was forevermore a mother. I knew there was no going back, that every part of my life had just changed.
Then, cancer. I got the phone call while I was in the grocery store, from a nurse at a surgeon's office. In the time it takes to say just the words, "I'm sorry to tell you this, but the results are back and you have cancer..." my whole world permanently altered.
My whole world changed again with the utterance, "We need a divorce."
Today, my world tipped again.
I got a message saying that I should come in to discuss the position that I've interviewed four times for, and there is "positive news."
Dear readers, I have fought so long and hard to get my career together after a near decade of being a stay at home mom cancer patient. I took a job in an industry that didn't interest me at all, but paid my bills and suited my life, and I was just so relieved that I wouldn't have to live in my parents' basement. And then the unemployment, which was relatively brief in the scope of my life, but so painful. And then the job in the new, "correct" industry of nonprofit, but at an organization that I always knew wouldn't be a long term fit for me, and with a boss who turned out to be one of my life's lessons. I have often felt like Sisyphus, making so little progress. The current job barely pays enough to meet all of my responsibilities, and I've been holding off on Katherine's next set of braces, and I haven't traveled or done many other things, because I couldn't. My boss is.....well, beyond belief. I wake up every morning with a knot in my stomach, dreading going in to the office, and I go anyway and work my brains out, scrambling to do my best because I believe in the mission of the organization and my commitment to helping their clients. I work incredible overtime, with no praise from my boss, despite my remarkable results. (I took the job to get the experience that I needed to get the jobs I really wanted.)
But this new job?
Oh. I hardly have enough words to describe how I feel.
I will be my own boss, the Executive Director. The board is a group of incredibly talented, motivated, fabulous women. I will be doing the work that I'm good at, and I'll be able to help women who are fighting for their lives.
I will be able to prove to my daughter that when adversity hits - cancer - I know how to turn it into something beautiful. I am turning the hell that was my cancer treatment into something that will save women, feed my soul, make the world into a better place.
I get a raise - a big one; I won't be rich, but I will be able to breathe again, to save, to be less panicked at each new expense. I get to work from home, with my tired, achy old dog - the most loyal creature to have ever lived - at my feet, and be at home many days when Katherine arrives home from school (I envision having a cup of herbal tea together for a moment before she does homework and I go back to the downstairs office to finish my day). I get to go out into the community, and grow this small nonprofit into something sizable that can make a bigger difference. I get to call my own shots, while working with people I respect, and changing the world.
I'm good at what I do, with results that prove that, and I am going to be great at this. I feel it in my soul, and my heart bursts with the joy of it.
I haven't signed anything yet, and so it's hard to believe it's really happening, but what I know is this:
I am meeting with the board president to discuss the position, and she has positive news.
I just felt the world tip.
Sunday, October 4, 2015
Big week ahead
I'm in the middle of it.
Work: it's the busy season, and the big event is on October 17. I often feel like I'm drowning in the work load.....but it's going to come together.
Career: Please send out thoughts, wishes, prayers. I have my final interview for an amazing opportunity on Tuesday. This is a heart-connection job: it feels so good to think about it, because I know that I would be just as good for them as they are for me. I really, really want it. I've passed every step until now with flying colors, but I do know that I can make it this far and still get turned down. Please pray that doesn't happen, and that the full board gives me their vote of confidence and hires me.
Romance: Oh, dear readers, I've made progress. I met a nice man. We talked every day for two weeks. We went on two dates. He is kind, smart, successful, a dedicated father, a good friend, easy to be with. But he had some other things that told me he was not in a good place for dating, and that he wasn't the right person for me (including an alarming lack of chemistry, even though he's not bad looking). I gently, kindly, but firmly said no thank you. I do not need a placeholder boyfriend, even though that sounds kind of appealing. I listened carefully to my gut, and my motivations, and I feel absolutely at peace.
Too bad - he has a boat and a cabin and it would have been fun. ;-)
He's small potatoes compared to the job opportunity. Please, please, please let this be the right fit, the job that is meant for me!
Work: it's the busy season, and the big event is on October 17. I often feel like I'm drowning in the work load.....but it's going to come together.
Career: Please send out thoughts, wishes, prayers. I have my final interview for an amazing opportunity on Tuesday. This is a heart-connection job: it feels so good to think about it, because I know that I would be just as good for them as they are for me. I really, really want it. I've passed every step until now with flying colors, but I do know that I can make it this far and still get turned down. Please pray that doesn't happen, and that the full board gives me their vote of confidence and hires me.
Romance: Oh, dear readers, I've made progress. I met a nice man. We talked every day for two weeks. We went on two dates. He is kind, smart, successful, a dedicated father, a good friend, easy to be with. But he had some other things that told me he was not in a good place for dating, and that he wasn't the right person for me (including an alarming lack of chemistry, even though he's not bad looking). I gently, kindly, but firmly said no thank you. I do not need a placeholder boyfriend, even though that sounds kind of appealing. I listened carefully to my gut, and my motivations, and I feel absolutely at peace.
Too bad - he has a boat and a cabin and it would have been fun. ;-)
He's small potatoes compared to the job opportunity. Please, please, please let this be the right fit, the job that is meant for me!
Sunday, September 6, 2015
Groveling
Did I really last write in May?
Oh dear.
Readers, I've been busy. Not "I'm too busy to blog!" but "I'm busy trying to figure out my life, and while I figure it out I have no idea what to say."
Generally, when I'm writing, I'm grounded. You would be accurate to assume that my lack of writing here - and anywhere else - is a sign that I haven't been grounded lately. At all.
I'm okay. Things in my life are humming along, all things considered. I am healthy and strong. My daughter is thriving. I still live in a big old house that, while a bit worn around the edges, is also cozy and filled with comforts. I've spent as many weekends this summer as possible out backpacking, filling my soul with forests and alpine lakes and incredible vistas that nearly make me weep with their beauty (yes, I'm sappy like that).
But some deeper work is going on.
I believe that we keep learning our lessons, over and over, until we get them right. Well, it seems that I have not learned some critical lessons just yet, and it is about time. I've been struggling, and I think that I've been so deep in the struggle I couldn't even analyze it or explain it: it exhausted me past my ability to figure it out.
On the surface, the struggle is about a bad boss. My Executive Director is temperamental, prone to emotional outbursts. He runs a disorganized organization. He manages through fear, control, and ego. He is prone to committing to things, and then changing his mind after the ball is already rolling. He has looked me in the eye and lied to me on multiple occasions. What's worse, we serve an incredibly low income community and he treats our clients disrespectfully and doesn't always operate within their best interests. To say that it is disheartening is an understatement. Over the past year plus, it has worn me down. I have been weary, and felt more and more broken.
There is no question that I'm good at what I do. The results are clear, and the feedback from other staff, others in the field, clients, volunteers, and my peers at other organizations is clear. When my boss allows me to do my job, I get results. I am proud of my work, clearly on the right career path. When asked directly, my boss actually tells me that I'm doing good work, that he's pleased with my results, that hiring me was a great idea.
But I'm locked in a bizarre relationship with this boss, who treats me badly and then praises me. It's nonsensical and confusing.
***
Bryan, too, treated me badly and then told me that all was well. Bryan was temperamental, too; he also made illogical decisions and then expected me to clean up his messes.
Clearly there is a pattern. Over the past few months, I've been struggling not to see the pattern - oh, it's there, clear enough! - but to determine my role in it. Why do I keep attracting these impossible situations for myself? Why don't my friends struggle with this? Why am I locked in this pattern?
***
My father is all about control and "respect." He demands that I adhere to the notion that he is my superior, and that what he says is to be done, without question. I supposed that there are plenty of fathers like that; strict dads aren't that unusual. But the thing with my parents is that one minute they are playful and generous and treat me like I'm interesting and special and that my ideas have value, and the next they are angry and name calling and unkind.
This week, my plans to go backpacking got canceled. This was my "big trip" this year: having limited money (Bryan is again unemployed, and again not paying child support) I had planned a trip into the mountains for four or five nights as my big vacation. However, the weather - hot and sunny all summer! - suddenly shifted to downpours and lightening, so it wasn't safe to go to the woods. I was glum about it: I've been fantasizing about this trip for months, and badly needed to clear my head and get a break. My father called me, concerned about my safety, and kindly asked about my plans. I told him that I just wasn't sure what to do: I needed to stay safe, but I didn't have money in the budget to do hotels and such, so I was feeling sad about it. My father said, "Well, I think you need a vacation. Why don't I give you some money so that you can take a trip? You and Katherine need a break. Where would you like to go? What would you like to do? I can help, just tell me what you need."
I hesitated. I have seen this before, and sometimes it's a trap.
I said, "That is so incredibly kind and generous of you - thank you for offering. Please know that Katherine and I are fine, and though I absolutely love that you offered, I don't want you to feel obligated," and so on. I was determined not to fall into the trap this time.
He said, "No, tell me what you want! I want to help!"
I still hesitated. "Well....I don't want to tell you how much to spend. If you'd like to help out, please tell me what you feel comfortable with, and I will work within that budget..."
He got annoyed with me, said, "Come on! I want to help! Just tell me what you want to do!"
I bit the bullet. "I'd love to go to the San Juans for maybe three nights, stay in a little hotel..."
I hadn't finished the idea when he snorted. "WHAT!? That's ridiculous. The cost of the ferry, and you've got so many other expenses - do you really think you should be spending money on a vacation right now?!"
I was still sucked in, trying to please him. "I'm sorry, I don't understand, Dad. I am not sure what to say, I thought you wanted me to give ideas....?"
My father, loving and kind five minutes before, practically sneered through the phone. "If you want my money," he said, "You're going to have to grovel."
***
I can not, in ten million years, imagine seriously telling Katherine to grovel in order to receive a gift, or imagine begging for her ideas on a vacation and then telling her that her ideas were ridiculous and worthy of scorn. I can not imagine offering her something, and then rescinding it. I can not imagine telling her "Ask for anything!" and then treating her as if she was unreasonable.
I have played this game with my parents my whole life: they offer kindness, gifts, praise....and then switch gears, and I find myself with my head spinning. How can my father go from openly offering a gift - which I did not request or hint at - to treating me as if I'm a foolish spendthrift, and telling me that I need to grovel?
Who the hell tells their kid to grovel to receive gifts?! Never mind that I'm in my mid-forties; this type of language has been around my whole life. My father doesn't just treat me like this, he treats everyone like this, and because he's "the boss" (the patriarch of the family as well as a successful business owner) he gets away with it. Well, except that there are snickers behind his back and I think he knows it....he has his own struggles, and his control issues, his ego issues, likely pain him much more than they pain me.
And here's the lesson I'm trying to learn, deeply and thoroughly: this behavior is not normal or acceptable. It is not a reflection on who I am, or my value. And it is NOT MY JOB TO FIX IT.
***
When Bryan lied to me, I stuck it out for years, and did a lot of self-work to figure out how I was contributing to our marriage problems, and tried to be sexier/more interesting/a better wife. I picked up his slack, over and over, hoping that he'd see that I had worth and value, and the harder I tried, the less he appreciated me. Actually, it was almost an inverse formula: the more I worked at our marriage, the less he did. He was very happy to hand me all of the work....and give me all of the blame.
My parents raised me to be like this, and I'm slow to see it. They switched gears based on their moods or whims, and expected me to respond with gratitude, whether it was to praise or insults (I heard "you can do anything you set your mind to" and "you're a moron!" in equal doses. They raised me to believe that "groveling" was what one does to people in power. I was expected to switch gears when they broke promises, without resentment; *I* was expected to try harder. (The big broken promise was college: in my senior year of high school they told me that they would not pay for my college, after a lifetime of telling me that they would. I managed to put myself through college with only the tiniest bit of help - $100 here and there when I literally could not buy groceries - from my parents. They unabashedly gave my brother a full ride at college, paying for everything, which is more ironic because he dropped out and never graduated, while I managed to get two undergraduate degrees and a masters on my own.)
I have spent the past year groveling to my boss, trying to work around his craziness to make it make sense, to prove that I am worth his praise. In the context of my birth family and my husband, this makes sense. It is pure craziness, and yet in my head I've allowed it to make sense.
***
So what is my lesson? In the midst of all of that craziness, what is it that I am to learn? Saying "Don't sign up for crazy!" is far too simple. What is it that I need to learn?
Here's what I think the lesson is:
Other people's bad behavior is not a reflection of my character, and I don't need to own it in any way. I do not need to prove my worth, to convince them to change, or to accept their behavior. I can say "No" and doing so is a sign of health, self-respect, and integrity. Sticking around to help them to solve their problems - when they don't want to solve their own problems - is not useful or desirable.
When I walked away from my husband, I thought I'd learned that....but I see that it was an incomplete lesson, an important first step, but not my destination.
This week, when my father told me to grovel, I didn't yell at him or accuse him - what would be the point? Instead I just said, "Thanks for your offer but I can manage this." And then I managed it: I did a little road trip, stayed with family in another town, had some adventures. I had a great time, on my own budget, without his help. Most importantly, I didn't grovel, or apologize to him for something I hadn't done, or try to make him feel good about himself. I do not owe him for his offer, and I don't need to wonder what I did wrong that he basically rescinded it, mid-conversation. I did not attempt to convince him of my worth, by groveling or by getting angry.
I think this surprised him, actually.
With my boss, I'm also laying the foundation for walking away. A favorite charity is interviewing me, and I might just get the job. It's a dream job, and I do hope that I get it....but if I don't get this one, I'll get another job, just as good. I've shared my concerns with the board, and they are concerned, also. They see the good work I'm doing, and they are astonished at what I've revealed (especially because it all checks out). In the end, the ED may be fired over this, and the board is begging me to stay. I know that it doesn't feel healthy for me to stay, however, and I am okay walking away. I leave them in better condition than when I found them, and I am ready for my next career step. Their need is not my problem to solve.
***
My worth is not judged by other people's behavior. I do not need to analyze, to convince, to argue, to fight for kind treatment.
I am taking this information with me, into the next phase of my life. In all of my interactions - personal, professional, and everything in between - I am holding fast to this new knowledge.
My worth is not determined by people who are struggling with their own worth.
It is not my responsibility to fix damaged people.
...and, because I am PollyAnna, one more lesson, encapsulated in a Taylor Swift lyric:
"Don't you worry your pretty little mind,
People throw rocks at things that shine..."
Well, I'm shining. With every year, I get a little brighter, learn a little more, make a bit more progress.
Mark my words:
This shiny thing is going to get the next job, and she's going to learn to love herself so deeply and thoroughly that she will attract a man who also knows how to love himself, and together, we will have a love that offers great light into the world. I feel it getting closer, and I know it's true!
***
PS All of this introspection is exhausting. It has taken me months to figure this out, and writing it, my belly has done little flip flops. I am, perhaps, a very slow learner. Better late than never!
Oh dear.
Readers, I've been busy. Not "I'm too busy to blog!" but "I'm busy trying to figure out my life, and while I figure it out I have no idea what to say."
Generally, when I'm writing, I'm grounded. You would be accurate to assume that my lack of writing here - and anywhere else - is a sign that I haven't been grounded lately. At all.
I'm okay. Things in my life are humming along, all things considered. I am healthy and strong. My daughter is thriving. I still live in a big old house that, while a bit worn around the edges, is also cozy and filled with comforts. I've spent as many weekends this summer as possible out backpacking, filling my soul with forests and alpine lakes and incredible vistas that nearly make me weep with their beauty (yes, I'm sappy like that).
But some deeper work is going on.
I believe that we keep learning our lessons, over and over, until we get them right. Well, it seems that I have not learned some critical lessons just yet, and it is about time. I've been struggling, and I think that I've been so deep in the struggle I couldn't even analyze it or explain it: it exhausted me past my ability to figure it out.
On the surface, the struggle is about a bad boss. My Executive Director is temperamental, prone to emotional outbursts. He runs a disorganized organization. He manages through fear, control, and ego. He is prone to committing to things, and then changing his mind after the ball is already rolling. He has looked me in the eye and lied to me on multiple occasions. What's worse, we serve an incredibly low income community and he treats our clients disrespectfully and doesn't always operate within their best interests. To say that it is disheartening is an understatement. Over the past year plus, it has worn me down. I have been weary, and felt more and more broken.
There is no question that I'm good at what I do. The results are clear, and the feedback from other staff, others in the field, clients, volunteers, and my peers at other organizations is clear. When my boss allows me to do my job, I get results. I am proud of my work, clearly on the right career path. When asked directly, my boss actually tells me that I'm doing good work, that he's pleased with my results, that hiring me was a great idea.
But I'm locked in a bizarre relationship with this boss, who treats me badly and then praises me. It's nonsensical and confusing.
***
Bryan, too, treated me badly and then told me that all was well. Bryan was temperamental, too; he also made illogical decisions and then expected me to clean up his messes.
Clearly there is a pattern. Over the past few months, I've been struggling not to see the pattern - oh, it's there, clear enough! - but to determine my role in it. Why do I keep attracting these impossible situations for myself? Why don't my friends struggle with this? Why am I locked in this pattern?
***
My father is all about control and "respect." He demands that I adhere to the notion that he is my superior, and that what he says is to be done, without question. I supposed that there are plenty of fathers like that; strict dads aren't that unusual. But the thing with my parents is that one minute they are playful and generous and treat me like I'm interesting and special and that my ideas have value, and the next they are angry and name calling and unkind.
This week, my plans to go backpacking got canceled. This was my "big trip" this year: having limited money (Bryan is again unemployed, and again not paying child support) I had planned a trip into the mountains for four or five nights as my big vacation. However, the weather - hot and sunny all summer! - suddenly shifted to downpours and lightening, so it wasn't safe to go to the woods. I was glum about it: I've been fantasizing about this trip for months, and badly needed to clear my head and get a break. My father called me, concerned about my safety, and kindly asked about my plans. I told him that I just wasn't sure what to do: I needed to stay safe, but I didn't have money in the budget to do hotels and such, so I was feeling sad about it. My father said, "Well, I think you need a vacation. Why don't I give you some money so that you can take a trip? You and Katherine need a break. Where would you like to go? What would you like to do? I can help, just tell me what you need."
I hesitated. I have seen this before, and sometimes it's a trap.
I said, "That is so incredibly kind and generous of you - thank you for offering. Please know that Katherine and I are fine, and though I absolutely love that you offered, I don't want you to feel obligated," and so on. I was determined not to fall into the trap this time.
He said, "No, tell me what you want! I want to help!"
I still hesitated. "Well....I don't want to tell you how much to spend. If you'd like to help out, please tell me what you feel comfortable with, and I will work within that budget..."
He got annoyed with me, said, "Come on! I want to help! Just tell me what you want to do!"
I bit the bullet. "I'd love to go to the San Juans for maybe three nights, stay in a little hotel..."
I hadn't finished the idea when he snorted. "WHAT!? That's ridiculous. The cost of the ferry, and you've got so many other expenses - do you really think you should be spending money on a vacation right now?!"
I was still sucked in, trying to please him. "I'm sorry, I don't understand, Dad. I am not sure what to say, I thought you wanted me to give ideas....?"
My father, loving and kind five minutes before, practically sneered through the phone. "If you want my money," he said, "You're going to have to grovel."
***
I can not, in ten million years, imagine seriously telling Katherine to grovel in order to receive a gift, or imagine begging for her ideas on a vacation and then telling her that her ideas were ridiculous and worthy of scorn. I can not imagine offering her something, and then rescinding it. I can not imagine telling her "Ask for anything!" and then treating her as if she was unreasonable.
I have played this game with my parents my whole life: they offer kindness, gifts, praise....and then switch gears, and I find myself with my head spinning. How can my father go from openly offering a gift - which I did not request or hint at - to treating me as if I'm a foolish spendthrift, and telling me that I need to grovel?
Who the hell tells their kid to grovel to receive gifts?! Never mind that I'm in my mid-forties; this type of language has been around my whole life. My father doesn't just treat me like this, he treats everyone like this, and because he's "the boss" (the patriarch of the family as well as a successful business owner) he gets away with it. Well, except that there are snickers behind his back and I think he knows it....he has his own struggles, and his control issues, his ego issues, likely pain him much more than they pain me.
And here's the lesson I'm trying to learn, deeply and thoroughly: this behavior is not normal or acceptable. It is not a reflection on who I am, or my value. And it is NOT MY JOB TO FIX IT.
***
When Bryan lied to me, I stuck it out for years, and did a lot of self-work to figure out how I was contributing to our marriage problems, and tried to be sexier/more interesting/a better wife. I picked up his slack, over and over, hoping that he'd see that I had worth and value, and the harder I tried, the less he appreciated me. Actually, it was almost an inverse formula: the more I worked at our marriage, the less he did. He was very happy to hand me all of the work....and give me all of the blame.
My parents raised me to be like this, and I'm slow to see it. They switched gears based on their moods or whims, and expected me to respond with gratitude, whether it was to praise or insults (I heard "you can do anything you set your mind to" and "you're a moron!" in equal doses. They raised me to believe that "groveling" was what one does to people in power. I was expected to switch gears when they broke promises, without resentment; *I* was expected to try harder. (The big broken promise was college: in my senior year of high school they told me that they would not pay for my college, after a lifetime of telling me that they would. I managed to put myself through college with only the tiniest bit of help - $100 here and there when I literally could not buy groceries - from my parents. They unabashedly gave my brother a full ride at college, paying for everything, which is more ironic because he dropped out and never graduated, while I managed to get two undergraduate degrees and a masters on my own.)
I have spent the past year groveling to my boss, trying to work around his craziness to make it make sense, to prove that I am worth his praise. In the context of my birth family and my husband, this makes sense. It is pure craziness, and yet in my head I've allowed it to make sense.
***
So what is my lesson? In the midst of all of that craziness, what is it that I am to learn? Saying "Don't sign up for crazy!" is far too simple. What is it that I need to learn?
Here's what I think the lesson is:
Other people's bad behavior is not a reflection of my character, and I don't need to own it in any way. I do not need to prove my worth, to convince them to change, or to accept their behavior. I can say "No" and doing so is a sign of health, self-respect, and integrity. Sticking around to help them to solve their problems - when they don't want to solve their own problems - is not useful or desirable.
When I walked away from my husband, I thought I'd learned that....but I see that it was an incomplete lesson, an important first step, but not my destination.
This week, when my father told me to grovel, I didn't yell at him or accuse him - what would be the point? Instead I just said, "Thanks for your offer but I can manage this." And then I managed it: I did a little road trip, stayed with family in another town, had some adventures. I had a great time, on my own budget, without his help. Most importantly, I didn't grovel, or apologize to him for something I hadn't done, or try to make him feel good about himself. I do not owe him for his offer, and I don't need to wonder what I did wrong that he basically rescinded it, mid-conversation. I did not attempt to convince him of my worth, by groveling or by getting angry.
I think this surprised him, actually.
With my boss, I'm also laying the foundation for walking away. A favorite charity is interviewing me, and I might just get the job. It's a dream job, and I do hope that I get it....but if I don't get this one, I'll get another job, just as good. I've shared my concerns with the board, and they are concerned, also. They see the good work I'm doing, and they are astonished at what I've revealed (especially because it all checks out). In the end, the ED may be fired over this, and the board is begging me to stay. I know that it doesn't feel healthy for me to stay, however, and I am okay walking away. I leave them in better condition than when I found them, and I am ready for my next career step. Their need is not my problem to solve.
***
My worth is not judged by other people's behavior. I do not need to analyze, to convince, to argue, to fight for kind treatment.
I am taking this information with me, into the next phase of my life. In all of my interactions - personal, professional, and everything in between - I am holding fast to this new knowledge.
My worth is not determined by people who are struggling with their own worth.
It is not my responsibility to fix damaged people.
...and, because I am PollyAnna, one more lesson, encapsulated in a Taylor Swift lyric:
"Don't you worry your pretty little mind,
People throw rocks at things that shine..."
Well, I'm shining. With every year, I get a little brighter, learn a little more, make a bit more progress.
Mark my words:
This shiny thing is going to get the next job, and she's going to learn to love herself so deeply and thoroughly that she will attract a man who also knows how to love himself, and together, we will have a love that offers great light into the world. I feel it getting closer, and I know it's true!
***
PS All of this introspection is exhausting. It has taken me months to figure this out, and writing it, my belly has done little flip flops. I am, perhaps, a very slow learner. Better late than never!
Saturday, May 30, 2015
A filled closet
When Bryan and I were married, we shared a closet. My home, which was ours back then, was built in 1923 when people didn't have as much stuff as we do now, and the closet is only about 7-8 feet long, with a shelf up top and a bar for hangers. He had his half, and I had my half.
Which seems fair, except that I had more clothes than he did (he preferred to cycle through about 10 polo shirts and a couple pairs of jeans and a couple pairs of slacks, whereas I had blouses and skirts and dresses and slacks and jeans and long coats and short coats and so on). My side of the closet was completely crammed, and his had room to spare. Let it be noted that he didn't want more clothes, he was perfectly content with his small wardrobe, because fashion isn't his thing.
One day I noticed that he had lots of space, and that I was crammed, and I put a couple things on his side, past the bracket holding the bar in the middle that marked his vs. mine.
He was livid. He told me that it wasn't fair and that I took more than my share. (Ironic, given spending habits and household work and childcare etc.) He put my things back on my side, pouted, fumed, and stomped his feet. (How sexy, right?)
When he moved out of the bedroom (first to the basement, and then to his own apartment), I took over his side of the closet. My clothes now hung, wrinkle free, with room to breathe. I could feel myself feeling relaxed, even as the clothes relaxed. We were both less confined.
Over time, I've transitioned the plastic hangers to wooden ones, and what's more, I've added to my wardrobe. Now that I'm in charge of my own finances, I've picked up some nicer clothes for myself (again, ironic: our married income was much greater than my single income, but I am so much better off financially without him spending so much on himself) and the closet is once again filled....with my things.
The closet feels symbolic of my own growth, of my own taking care of myself, of my expansion into the world. It's prettier now. It's feminine. It's mine.
And this, perhaps, is a problem.
I'd love to have a partner. I'd love a man who lights up when he sees me. I'd love to fall asleep in someone's arms. I'd love sex (lots and lots and lots of sex). I'd love to share vacations, meals, planning for the future. I'd love to share chores, errands, crises, and joys.
Except that maybe I wouldn't.
I don't want to give up any space in my closet.
I want to share my life with someone, in all of its messy glory, but I don't. I don't want to give up half the closet. I don't want to eat the way someone else wants to eat. I don't want to compromise the way I parent. I don't want to share finances. I don't want to deal with someone else's schedule.
I don't want to be consumed, eaten alive by someone else's desires.
I am terrified of giving my heart to someone ever again, because last time I tried that, I was eaten alive. I lost so much of who I was in my marriage, and I allowed someone to bully me, to blame me, to put his wants and desires in front of mine. I allowed myself to be treated unkindly. I took on too much, I asked for too little, and I turned the other cheek until I felt black and blue (thankfully metaphorically). I lost many of my dreams in the process, and I'm still breathing life back into them, still working on healing them.
I am well aware that in true partnership, there is so much more to be gained than there is to be lost. I am well aware that my marriage was truly and deeply dysfunctional, and that I will never agree to that behavior again. I am well aware that I am operating from a place of fear, and that without opening my heart up, I will not be able to invite another person into my heart.
But I do not trust myself to choose a partner wisely. I do not trust myself to give my heart without giving up my spunk and sass and sass. I have thrown out the baby with the bathwater: I won't let anybody in, because it might not work out, and because I might not know how to manage it.
Well, shit.
I am not a fearful person. I am courageous and strong and brave and I've proved it a hundred times. (Next up: speaking publicly about my breast cancer experience. And after that: topless photos and my story, to be published in a book geared at women newly diagnosed with breast cancer; the first photos - not of me - were recently published in The Huffington Post. These are not for the faint of heart.) I manage my life relatively fearlessly. Last weekend I went backpacking - with a far-too-heavy pack filled with 20 year old equipment - with my daughter, in the wilderness, for two nights. I am not a fearful person.
So I'm going to have to work through these fears, too. I believe that romantic love and companionship is one of the greatest blessings in a life, and I will not exclude myself from that possibility by operating out of fear.
I don't want to give up space in my closet, because I don't want to be small and powerless. I don't want to share, for fear that when I offer the first bite, I will be gobbled up until I'm not even there any more.
I want to find ways to expand my closet so that there's room for two, and expand my soul, so that there is room for two.
I'm not there yet.
Which seems fair, except that I had more clothes than he did (he preferred to cycle through about 10 polo shirts and a couple pairs of jeans and a couple pairs of slacks, whereas I had blouses and skirts and dresses and slacks and jeans and long coats and short coats and so on). My side of the closet was completely crammed, and his had room to spare. Let it be noted that he didn't want more clothes, he was perfectly content with his small wardrobe, because fashion isn't his thing.
One day I noticed that he had lots of space, and that I was crammed, and I put a couple things on his side, past the bracket holding the bar in the middle that marked his vs. mine.
He was livid. He told me that it wasn't fair and that I took more than my share. (Ironic, given spending habits and household work and childcare etc.) He put my things back on my side, pouted, fumed, and stomped his feet. (How sexy, right?)
When he moved out of the bedroom (first to the basement, and then to his own apartment), I took over his side of the closet. My clothes now hung, wrinkle free, with room to breathe. I could feel myself feeling relaxed, even as the clothes relaxed. We were both less confined.
Over time, I've transitioned the plastic hangers to wooden ones, and what's more, I've added to my wardrobe. Now that I'm in charge of my own finances, I've picked up some nicer clothes for myself (again, ironic: our married income was much greater than my single income, but I am so much better off financially without him spending so much on himself) and the closet is once again filled....with my things.
The closet feels symbolic of my own growth, of my own taking care of myself, of my expansion into the world. It's prettier now. It's feminine. It's mine.
And this, perhaps, is a problem.
I'd love to have a partner. I'd love a man who lights up when he sees me. I'd love to fall asleep in someone's arms. I'd love sex (lots and lots and lots of sex). I'd love to share vacations, meals, planning for the future. I'd love to share chores, errands, crises, and joys.
Except that maybe I wouldn't.
I don't want to give up any space in my closet.
I want to share my life with someone, in all of its messy glory, but I don't. I don't want to give up half the closet. I don't want to eat the way someone else wants to eat. I don't want to compromise the way I parent. I don't want to share finances. I don't want to deal with someone else's schedule.
I don't want to be consumed, eaten alive by someone else's desires.
I am terrified of giving my heart to someone ever again, because last time I tried that, I was eaten alive. I lost so much of who I was in my marriage, and I allowed someone to bully me, to blame me, to put his wants and desires in front of mine. I allowed myself to be treated unkindly. I took on too much, I asked for too little, and I turned the other cheek until I felt black and blue (thankfully metaphorically). I lost many of my dreams in the process, and I'm still breathing life back into them, still working on healing them.
I am well aware that in true partnership, there is so much more to be gained than there is to be lost. I am well aware that my marriage was truly and deeply dysfunctional, and that I will never agree to that behavior again. I am well aware that I am operating from a place of fear, and that without opening my heart up, I will not be able to invite another person into my heart.
But I do not trust myself to choose a partner wisely. I do not trust myself to give my heart without giving up my spunk and sass and sass. I have thrown out the baby with the bathwater: I won't let anybody in, because it might not work out, and because I might not know how to manage it.
Well, shit.
I am not a fearful person. I am courageous and strong and brave and I've proved it a hundred times. (Next up: speaking publicly about my breast cancer experience. And after that: topless photos and my story, to be published in a book geared at women newly diagnosed with breast cancer; the first photos - not of me - were recently published in The Huffington Post. These are not for the faint of heart.) I manage my life relatively fearlessly. Last weekend I went backpacking - with a far-too-heavy pack filled with 20 year old equipment - with my daughter, in the wilderness, for two nights. I am not a fearful person.
So I'm going to have to work through these fears, too. I believe that romantic love and companionship is one of the greatest blessings in a life, and I will not exclude myself from that possibility by operating out of fear.
I don't want to give up space in my closet, because I don't want to be small and powerless. I don't want to share, for fear that when I offer the first bite, I will be gobbled up until I'm not even there any more.
I want to find ways to expand my closet so that there's room for two, and expand my soul, so that there is room for two.
I'm not there yet.
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