Mar
28
For many years now, this blog has been a place for me to document my days, but more importantly, process my feelings. I often find my way to the heart of what I’m dealing with emotionally through the act of trying to describe things to you, dear reader.
The stage I’m in now has been enormously tricky to navigate with public writing. I have this great desire to make sense of the reality I am living in, to be seen in it. Things can feel so isolating; I deeply crave commiseration, validation, reflection.
But that kind of support can be destabilizing to others in this story. The parts of my story that feel the most painful are live wires connected to people who are not me, who have stories of their own, who I love more than anything in the world.
So my work here is to find the truths that can be shared in a way that honors my experience, while staying fully in my lane. And let me tell you, that has been hard and I have messed up more than once.
I think the most honest, safe way to describe my life post-divorce is that it does not look like what I thought/hoped it would look like, and that is something I can keep talking about in general terms. It’s the part of my life that is the most difficult, the most painful, and it feels so BIG. Sometimes it feels like everything, this feeling that things are not as they should be.
That is where the struggle happens, right? What is that saying, Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional. Which is a deeply annoying thing to consider sometimes, like oh thanks I guess I just have to life coach my way out of this severed arm that got torn off by a wheat thresher. But I can understand the basic truth of it. If I’m stuck in a pouring rainstorm, I can either accept that I’m getting wet or I can get wet and howl in misery at the sky. Neither option keeps me dry.
It should be different is a thought I have to let go of. In part because the whole of that thought is “…because things would be better,” and I can’t keep trying to convince people to agree with me. Maybe that isn’t even true, no matter how it feels to me. But also because this is how things are, full stop.
Who knows about the future but this is how things are, there is no sign of change, and it’s time for me to stop scrabbling against it. Beating my wings on a hot bulb, nothing happening but my own ability to fly burning black.
There is a big difference between sitting with pain and spinning out trying to figure out how to get rid of it. Sometimes it feels like way too much to let that pain really come to the table. It tells me it is overwhelming, that I can’t handle it. It comes with a lot of sneaky no-good thoughts like this is all your fault and this is because you’re a bad person, you always have been and you always will be. It tells me that it is an endless black hole of hurt and it will never ever get better.
I have been stuck at acceptance since day one, I think, and always trying to convince myself that I’ve progressed. Whew, that was tough but I think I’ve got it now lol!! The truth is that it was tough, it still is tough, it’s going to be tough.
This is tough and that’s okay. It’s okay for things to be hard because sometimes things are hard. Pain does not automatically mean I did something bad. Pain will not kill me, it is a natural thing to be feeling, and it will in fact evolve over time. It won’t always feel like this. Nothing stays the same forever.
I think it’s important for me to allow the bad feelings to come on in, and also to make sure they’re not bring a bunch of backchannel buddies. Yes, I feel loss, but no, it does not mean I am a bad mom, a bad person, or that I did not exist for the past 24 years. Yes, this is sad, but I am not erased. I cannot be deleted from life’s grid. I exist.
My life meant something before and it still does. My whole life has taken on a different shape and not everything looks like how I wish it would look and that is how it is. If I manage to expand outside of my own navel-gazing, there are a GREAT many things that are not how I wish they would be, and that is how it is.
Don’t let this pull you back from being their mom, my therapist told me recently. Mom harder.
I like that, Mom harder, and I think it can apply to my own self as well. Oh honey. I know it hurts. I’m sorry. Let’s just sit here for a minute.
Mar
25
I have MISS RUBY DAWG here this week! She needed a place to stay during a spring break trip and so she is here, a big sweet heavy-breathing heavy-everything presence for a bit of time.
Dylan and I did a trial visit to see how the cat would do, and Billy initially surprised me by shooting under the bed and tiptoeing anxiously around with saucer eyes — I thought bro was fearless! — but it did not take long at all for him to warm up to a state of wary but obvious curiosity.
Here on their fourth day together, Ruby remains largely oblivious/occasionally cautious of Billy, while Billy has become obsessed/entertained with Ruby. Whenever she’s not sleeping, Ruby follows me everywhere in hopes of food, while Billy follows her close behind, visibly taking notes.
A little animal choo-choo train sounds delightfully festive and it sort of is, but also I get to the point several times throughout the day where I’m just like CAN ALL YOU HONEY BUNNIES PLEASE CHILL I AM JUST GOING TO THE BATHROOM.
Poor/resilient Ruby is quite elderly now. 14? I would need to look at the old-life birthday calendar to be sure. She has a hard time getting around, although once she’s up and moving she’s slow but okay. Her back hips/legs can easily give out on slippery flooring and then she’s unable to get herself up again without a boost, so I’ve strewn a real hodgepodge of rugs/towels around the kitchen which is the main area in my house without carpet.
I have taken her for a couple walks around the neighborhood, which she deeply enjoyed. I was unsure if she could handle it, but once we get past the chaotic transition of the garage steps, she is good if not exactly speedy.
In fact, her slow pace has been kind of a delight, because as we mosey along with her whuffling up the smells of the world I can more nosily peer at my neighbors’ front yards and stoops. One time I met up with my neighbor pal and her Lab and that was extra nice. I used to be anxious with Ruby on walks because she had some leash aggression, not sure that’s the right term for it but she could be kind of rude and barky at other dogs if approached when on leash. This does not seem to be any kind of issue now, perhaps like many of us in older age her once-lush field of fucks has reduced in size and focus over the years. Also she’s mostly deaf, has the aforementioned mobility issues, and while relentlessly sweet may be a little on the senile side now.
In the house, when they’re not trailing me around, Ruby mostly rests and Billy works up various approaches to try and scare her/entice her to play. If I’m nearby he gets especially bold, and comes in to lightly swat her tail then go shooting off at top speed. Or he’ll do this absolutely hilarious routine of morphing into the classic Halloween cat position — back arched, fur on end, ears in airplane mode — then somehow without adjusting anything he comes flying in with a Tokyo drift type maneuver before skittering away like a crab.
I’ve been going to bed earlier than usual because that is a surefire way to get them to settle. Ruby has her dog bed kind of wedged in one of my closets, and throughout the night she snores away down there while Billy lies in a cinnamon-bun swirl up near my face. The room gently fills with Eau de Elder Lab (strong undernotes of fish and musk with a Frito finish). I pluck a long cat hair from my mouth. The choo-choo train takes a beat.
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