I've been an employed mom for just about as long as I've been a mom. I've encountered a lot of opinions about that, some of them unkind. I was once told my choice to work outside the home was an example of my selfishness. I was only thinking of myself. Working was something I did for myself, to put myself before my family.
The person who said that seemed blind to the fact that my work was not undertaken to provide our family with luxuries but to make sure we avoided starvation and homelessness. I had a lot of "shoulds" and "supposed tos" thrown my way during that conversation. I was judged by the standards of an ideal that was not available to me. I vowed to never do the same to another mom who decided to go to work, no matter what her reasons (or my perceptions of them) might be.
I didn't have children hoping to leave them in the care of others every day. I spent most of my time as a working mom looking for something, anything I could do from home so that I could avoid the expense and the sadness of sending them to day care. Often, I embarked on new opportunities while still employed elsewhere, always with the hope that if I worked hard enough, I could build it into something that would be my main source of income.
15 years after my first child was born, I'm there. I've been there for two years now, working from home, helping make ends meet while still being available to my kids. It's everything I'd hoped it would be. It's not perfect by any means, but there's enough of the good stuff to make up for the downside.
I don't love trying to work while kids are arguing over game time and asking me to referee. I don't love the occasional late nights spent working after attending a school program or concert. I don't love feeling like I'm always at work.
But I love being here at the crossroads, saying goodbye as my kids leave for school, being here when they come home. I love being here when they have a sick day or a snow day or a vacation day. I love the flexibility of my schedule, the opportunity to put my family first as often as I can.
But you know...I always put them first. Even when I was working away from home, sometimes multiple jobs, it was always about putting them first. I was striving for the ideal at all times, striving for the chance to be here for them. The fact that I have it now doesn't change what I've always felt. It's always been about them.
If I had the chance or the desire to speak to that person who branded me selfish for doing what was necessary, I don't know what I'd want to say. Would she realize her opinion was short sighted? Or would she just decide that I've learned to be less selfish over the years and that is why I'm working from home instead of out of it. Maybe she'd think working from home is just as selfish as working outside it...after all, I enjoy my job, and I'm not always able the give the kids all of my attention.
I think the most important thing I can remember is that, for all of the shoulds she sent my way, the only real should I need to worry about is whether or not her opinion of me should matter. It shouldn't. I'm grateful for my kids. I'm grateful for the jobs that allowed me to help provide for them. I'm grateful for the chance to provide from them from home now. Selfishness just isn't part of the equation.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Daily Gratitude: Writing again
There's not much else to say than that. I'm writing again, and it feels like Heaven. I hadn't forgotten I was a writer, but I'd forgotten what it felt like when there was time to write. I finished school a few days ago, and all I see before me in the next year is time...beautiful, wonderful time I can fill with writing.
It's an amazing feeling.
It's an amazing feeling.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Daily Gratitude: Treatment Center Girls
Do you know? Do you know how proud I am of you? Do you know how much I miss you? Do you know what it means to me to see you rise above your struggles, your challenges, your tough lives and succeed?
Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your lives. Thank you for being a part of mine. There are people who tell me they could never work in a treatment center, never work with kids like you. I always tell them that that's okay...it's not for everyone...but it's definitely for me. It is the one place (outside my own home) that I could be the most me, and the fact that you loved and appreciated that made my time there rewarding and worthwhile.
It is my privilege to watch you all growing up, getting married, becoming mothers. I wish I could tell you every single day how proud I am of you all. I know so well how hard life can be, and I know so well how hard so many of you have had it, and yet here you are, making it work...and shining in spite of trials.
To the girls we've lost...I love and miss you. My heart aches that life got too much for you. I hope to see you again on the other side, to wrap my arms around you, to tell you how loved you always were.
To those still here...stay here. I'm here. You have support when you need it. You are loved. You are worth it. You are an amazing miracle on this earth, and there is someone out there, probably many someones, who needs you to be an influence and help them through their tough times. They need you to say, "Hey...if I can do it, you can do it."
Ladies, you can do it.
Thank you for that.
Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your lives. Thank you for being a part of mine. There are people who tell me they could never work in a treatment center, never work with kids like you. I always tell them that that's okay...it's not for everyone...but it's definitely for me. It is the one place (outside my own home) that I could be the most me, and the fact that you loved and appreciated that made my time there rewarding and worthwhile.
It is my privilege to watch you all growing up, getting married, becoming mothers. I wish I could tell you every single day how proud I am of you all. I know so well how hard life can be, and I know so well how hard so many of you have had it, and yet here you are, making it work...and shining in spite of trials.
To the girls we've lost...I love and miss you. My heart aches that life got too much for you. I hope to see you again on the other side, to wrap my arms around you, to tell you how loved you always were.
To those still here...stay here. I'm here. You have support when you need it. You are loved. You are worth it. You are an amazing miracle on this earth, and there is someone out there, probably many someones, who needs you to be an influence and help them through their tough times. They need you to say, "Hey...if I can do it, you can do it."
Ladies, you can do it.
Thank you for that.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Divorce and Metamorphosis: Transfusions
(This is the eleventh post in Divorce and Metamorphosis, the story of my 2006 divorce and the personal growth that followed it.)
When I suffered my hemorrhage in 2002, the emergency room doctor hadn't thought a blood transfusion was necessary. It wasn't until two years later that we learned the full impact of that decision. I was pregnant again and battling low blood levels that had never recovered from the previous miscarriage, plus the blood disorder I'd had since birth, plus a new round of iron deficiency anemia. Ivy sent me to see an obstetrician, who sent me to a high risk pregnancy doctor, who sent me to a hematologist, who exhausted every other strategy before finally determining that a transfusion was in order.
I called Ivy that day, and she expressed the kind of relief only a midwife could feel. Having had a blood transfusion following the birth of her oldest child, she told me what I could expect when I entered the hospital the next day. One thought stays with me to this day: "You never know how sick you were until suddenly you start to feel better."
The next day, as two units of some healthy person's blood began to mix with my own, I felt those words. I laughed and realized I hadn't laughed out loud in months. I sprang up the stairs at my house, where previously I had only been able to manage a slow shuffle as I leaned on the wall for support. My face was back. My color was back. I was me again, but I hadn't realized before how much I'd stopped being me. It was an eye opening experience to find the me I hadn't known was lost.
As I left SHA's office a year and a half after that transfusion with his words, "You're bleeding" ringing in my head, and I thought about my transfusion and about finding the healthy me so quickly. I looked closely at the woman I had become in all of the pain and stress of my marital problems. In many ways, I was better for it. More open. More forgiving. More willing to compromise and more willing to support my husband.
But I was small. In some ways, I had become weak. Insignificant. And the word that is hardest to type, something I had never in my life allowed myself to be...I had become a doormat. Disrespected. Trampled upon. Forgotten. Used. And thank you, sir, may I have another?
Even that measure of introspection didn't show me the whole picture of where I, Sarah, of the vivacious, shining, courageous personality, had gone. As with my hemorrhage of years past and its eventual healing, I wouldn't know how sick I was until I suddenly started to feel well again.
My first transfusion would occur on a rock in Zion National Park, where I finally felt ready to take up the challenge SHA had issued that first day of Parenting Class. Telling Aaron what I intended to do, I left him to care for the kids on his own for the first time in much too long a time and drove the hour to Zion, ready for whatever quiet, stillness, and nothingness could teach me.
I later wrote the following about that experience:
The rock assignment was a challenge issued by the teacher of the parenting class I was taking at the time. When I heard it, I was intrigued. When he mentioned that in 19 years of teaching the class, only a few had successfully completed the assignment, I was resolved. I would meet that challenge. I would be one of the few. I would do what most people were not willing or able to do and stand, in all my superiority, above the rest.
Oh, the arrogance of ego.
The truth is that as I climbed that path to that flat-topped rock, it was not with the march of the conquering hero, but the halting step of the broken-hearted. Crushed beneath the weight of a marriage that was crashing down around me, my ego was all but gone.
That was a good thing. There was no room for ego on that rock. There was no room for superiority or arrogance or worry or fear or doubt or any of the varied clutter of my life. There was only room for stillness, breath, God, creation, truth.
In that stillness, I sat, the splintered, disconnected me melting away into a rebirth of being. Sarah, who was mistreated, forsaken, gave way to the Sarah who was part of all things, connected to all things.
I sat on that rock and prayed for a miracle, for my husband to find his way back to God and to his family. In the stillness, my Father in Heaven answered that I would have that miracle. The surety of that answer buoyed me up in my darkest moments. It was going to be all right.
It would be 2 more years before I saw the evidence of that miracle, and it would come in the form of another man who was finding his own way back to God and found and loved our family along the way, but for that time, belief was enough. I knew, no matter what, everything was going to be okay. I was going to be okay.
Had it not been for my sojourn to that rock, I might not have had the courage or the conviction to complete the second part of my metaphorical transfusion.
Certain of my online friends who lived outside of the state of Utah were coming to Salt Lake to visit family for the holidays. This prompted the women inside the state to declare the need for a GNO, or Girls' Night Out, so that long time friends could meet in person and share some laughter and fun for an evening. The date was set for a day late in November. The venue would be Salt Lake.
Somewhere inside of me, a deep longing for a night with these friends began to throb. My rock sitting experiment had given me peace and hope. My friends would bring me life. I knew it with everything left in me. I needed to get to Salt Lake. I needed to be there...needed all of them. Heidi, Lara, Emily, Tisha, Sara...every other friend who planned to be in attendance. I needed them like I'd needed those two units of blood those years before, healthy angels who could share their light with me and bring me back to who I knew I should be.
Broaching the subject with Aaron wasn't easy. Months of doormat living had wounded my ability to ask for what I needed. Months of ill treatment from him left me little room to hope he'd agree. Going to Salt Lake would mean money...for gas, for babysitting, for dinner out with friends and food on the road. It would also mean rearranging schedules and leaving him in charge of five children overnight. Consequently, it would require him to forgo any plans he had with his new friends to allow me a night with mine.
He wasn't mean, but he wasn't supportive. We just didn't have the money. There was just no way. How would we pay for Christmas? Could I really justify it if it took money away from Christmas?
Of course, I couldn't. I got online and let my friends know it just wouldn't be possible. I put a brave face on my post and wished them all well, said I hoped they'd all have a great time. Then, I stepped away from my computer and cried a torrent of tears.
It was Corey, an online friend who was then living nowhere near Utah and would have no way of attending the GNO, who stepped up first to say that my post would never do. She, like all of these friends, knew how much I needed that trip and that evening. "I have $27 in my paypal account. I don't need it for anything. I just talked to my husband, and if it can help get you to Salt Lake, it's yours."
Suddenly, women all over the country were pledging similar help. Heidi said she was paying for my dinner. Emily said I would be staying at her house in Provo. This friend was pitching in for my gas. That one was had $10 she could spare. Before my tears were even dry, my trip to Salt Lake was covered. My babysitter, very aware of the struggles Aaron and I were facing, offered to keep the kids late for free and encouraged me to go and have a great time.
Having the money to go bolstered my lost confidence, and when I approached Aaron again, it was not to ask about the trip, but to tell him I'd be going. To his credit, he didn't fight me...until I told him I wanted to take his shiny, new car.
"Why can't you take the van?" he asked, visibly agitated at the thought of being apart from his Mazda for 24 hours.
"The van has two bald tires, engine problems, no heater, and gets terrible gas mileage. It only makes sense for me to drive the car."
"But I need the car to drive to school."
"Can't you drive the van to school?"
"The van doesn't have a parking sticker."
"Is there nowhere else you can park?"
"There are places I could park, but I'd have to walk farther, and I just...really don't want to drive the van." He said this as if our GMC Safari minivan was a rusted bucket of junk he couldn't possibly be seen driving.
As he dug in his heels, the months of pain began to give way to something new. I felt...annoyance...indignation...and humor? No, not just humor...hilarity. It was a strange feeling, this angry, ridiculous laughter in my heart. Was this man for real? Was he really fighting me on this? Was I really going to allow it? It was like the old Sarah was waking up and shouting, "No more!"
In that moment, I felt the best characteristics of the old Sarah merge with the best characteristics of the new. I kept my weapons buried, I did not lash out, but I stood firm. And in so doing, I found my vision becoming sharper. I was standing before a man who was acting like a spoiled and coddled teenager who couldn't possibly be asked to drive the family car. So often in the preceding months, he had acted in just this way, and my fear of an impending divorce had caused me to give in, to spoil, to coddle him. Today, I saw him for what he was, and I was having none of it.
"Are you really going to make me drive 5 hours one way in November in the freezing cold in a car that has no heat and that might not even make it there without breaking down or blowing a tire?"
He threw his hands up in the air and gave in with an exasperate sigh. "Fine," he said, "but my car had better be clean when I get it back."
"Do you want me to clean it with my tongue?" I said, with a good natured smiled.
He laughed in spite of himself and agreed that I should lick the car clean.
I felt my eyes fly open and my heart begin to race in excitement as I said, "Aaron! Do you know what we just did? That was called a repair attempt! SHA's been talking about those in Parenting Class. We were having a conflict and getting upset, and we were able to pull out of it and make the situation lighter with some humor! We did it! Isn't that cool?"
Aaron looked at me like I was crazy and rolled his eyes.
"He doesn't want this to work out," I said later that day in SHA's office. "I told him how excited I was about that repair attempt, that we had communicated so well and done something so many people can't do, and I realized...he doesn't want things to get better."
"How does that feel?" SHA asked.
"Funny," I replied. "I don't care if he doesn't want things to get better. I'm going to keep doing what I'm doing, and we'll see what happens."
SHA's smile stretched across his face, and in that smile, I knew something was fundamentally different. I wasn't bleeding anymore. Everything else was the same, but I I had staunched the flow of blood somehow.
A few days later, I grabbed a few favorite CDs and a small suitcase and drove away from pain and heartache and into love and sisterhood in Salt Lake. I drove the car, his car, with the heat on high and the music even higher. For the next 24 hours, my friends transfused me with their light, their love, and their words. At dinner Thursday night, I found my laugh again. At a walk around Temple Square, I found the spring in my step I hadn't known was missing.
As I drove home, I popped in a favorite Will Smith CD. As he rapped about being knocked down and getting back up again, I began to feel like he was rapping about me. The words "I got my swagga back" hit me square across the chest. I had left St. George as an erstwhile doormat. I was driving home with swagger.
Tisha, one of the friends I'd met for dinner, had talked to me about her own feelings on my situation. "It's time to stand in your majesty, Sarah," she had said, her stern brown eyes daring me to disagree, her 4 foot 10 frame so majestic she might have been 10 feet tall. "You are majestic, and you need to stand. Your husband will do one of two things. Either he will take his rightful place beside you and be majestic himself, or he will not be able to abide your presence, and he will leave. Either way, you need to stand in your majesty, Sarah. It's time."
I drove home majestic and ready to stand.
When I suffered my hemorrhage in 2002, the emergency room doctor hadn't thought a blood transfusion was necessary. It wasn't until two years later that we learned the full impact of that decision. I was pregnant again and battling low blood levels that had never recovered from the previous miscarriage, plus the blood disorder I'd had since birth, plus a new round of iron deficiency anemia. Ivy sent me to see an obstetrician, who sent me to a high risk pregnancy doctor, who sent me to a hematologist, who exhausted every other strategy before finally determining that a transfusion was in order.
I called Ivy that day, and she expressed the kind of relief only a midwife could feel. Having had a blood transfusion following the birth of her oldest child, she told me what I could expect when I entered the hospital the next day. One thought stays with me to this day: "You never know how sick you were until suddenly you start to feel better."
The next day, as two units of some healthy person's blood began to mix with my own, I felt those words. I laughed and realized I hadn't laughed out loud in months. I sprang up the stairs at my house, where previously I had only been able to manage a slow shuffle as I leaned on the wall for support. My face was back. My color was back. I was me again, but I hadn't realized before how much I'd stopped being me. It was an eye opening experience to find the me I hadn't known was lost.
As I left SHA's office a year and a half after that transfusion with his words, "You're bleeding" ringing in my head, and I thought about my transfusion and about finding the healthy me so quickly. I looked closely at the woman I had become in all of the pain and stress of my marital problems. In many ways, I was better for it. More open. More forgiving. More willing to compromise and more willing to support my husband.
But I was small. In some ways, I had become weak. Insignificant. And the word that is hardest to type, something I had never in my life allowed myself to be...I had become a doormat. Disrespected. Trampled upon. Forgotten. Used. And thank you, sir, may I have another?
Even that measure of introspection didn't show me the whole picture of where I, Sarah, of the vivacious, shining, courageous personality, had gone. As with my hemorrhage of years past and its eventual healing, I wouldn't know how sick I was until I suddenly started to feel well again.
My first transfusion would occur on a rock in Zion National Park, where I finally felt ready to take up the challenge SHA had issued that first day of Parenting Class. Telling Aaron what I intended to do, I left him to care for the kids on his own for the first time in much too long a time and drove the hour to Zion, ready for whatever quiet, stillness, and nothingness could teach me.
I later wrote the following about that experience:
The rock assignment was a challenge issued by the teacher of the parenting class I was taking at the time. When I heard it, I was intrigued. When he mentioned that in 19 years of teaching the class, only a few had successfully completed the assignment, I was resolved. I would meet that challenge. I would be one of the few. I would do what most people were not willing or able to do and stand, in all my superiority, above the rest.
Oh, the arrogance of ego.
The truth is that as I climbed that path to that flat-topped rock, it was not with the march of the conquering hero, but the halting step of the broken-hearted. Crushed beneath the weight of a marriage that was crashing down around me, my ego was all but gone.
That was a good thing. There was no room for ego on that rock. There was no room for superiority or arrogance or worry or fear or doubt or any of the varied clutter of my life. There was only room for stillness, breath, God, creation, truth.
In that stillness, I sat, the splintered, disconnected me melting away into a rebirth of being. Sarah, who was mistreated, forsaken, gave way to the Sarah who was part of all things, connected to all things.
I sat on that rock and prayed for a miracle, for my husband to find his way back to God and to his family. In the stillness, my Father in Heaven answered that I would have that miracle. The surety of that answer buoyed me up in my darkest moments. It was going to be all right.
It would be 2 more years before I saw the evidence of that miracle, and it would come in the form of another man who was finding his own way back to God and found and loved our family along the way, but for that time, belief was enough. I knew, no matter what, everything was going to be okay. I was going to be okay.
Had it not been for my sojourn to that rock, I might not have had the courage or the conviction to complete the second part of my metaphorical transfusion.
Certain of my online friends who lived outside of the state of Utah were coming to Salt Lake to visit family for the holidays. This prompted the women inside the state to declare the need for a GNO, or Girls' Night Out, so that long time friends could meet in person and share some laughter and fun for an evening. The date was set for a day late in November. The venue would be Salt Lake.
Somewhere inside of me, a deep longing for a night with these friends began to throb. My rock sitting experiment had given me peace and hope. My friends would bring me life. I knew it with everything left in me. I needed to get to Salt Lake. I needed to be there...needed all of them. Heidi, Lara, Emily, Tisha, Sara...every other friend who planned to be in attendance. I needed them like I'd needed those two units of blood those years before, healthy angels who could share their light with me and bring me back to who I knew I should be.
Broaching the subject with Aaron wasn't easy. Months of doormat living had wounded my ability to ask for what I needed. Months of ill treatment from him left me little room to hope he'd agree. Going to Salt Lake would mean money...for gas, for babysitting, for dinner out with friends and food on the road. It would also mean rearranging schedules and leaving him in charge of five children overnight. Consequently, it would require him to forgo any plans he had with his new friends to allow me a night with mine.
He wasn't mean, but he wasn't supportive. We just didn't have the money. There was just no way. How would we pay for Christmas? Could I really justify it if it took money away from Christmas?
Of course, I couldn't. I got online and let my friends know it just wouldn't be possible. I put a brave face on my post and wished them all well, said I hoped they'd all have a great time. Then, I stepped away from my computer and cried a torrent of tears.
It was Corey, an online friend who was then living nowhere near Utah and would have no way of attending the GNO, who stepped up first to say that my post would never do. She, like all of these friends, knew how much I needed that trip and that evening. "I have $27 in my paypal account. I don't need it for anything. I just talked to my husband, and if it can help get you to Salt Lake, it's yours."
Suddenly, women all over the country were pledging similar help. Heidi said she was paying for my dinner. Emily said I would be staying at her house in Provo. This friend was pitching in for my gas. That one was had $10 she could spare. Before my tears were even dry, my trip to Salt Lake was covered. My babysitter, very aware of the struggles Aaron and I were facing, offered to keep the kids late for free and encouraged me to go and have a great time.
Having the money to go bolstered my lost confidence, and when I approached Aaron again, it was not to ask about the trip, but to tell him I'd be going. To his credit, he didn't fight me...until I told him I wanted to take his shiny, new car.
"Why can't you take the van?" he asked, visibly agitated at the thought of being apart from his Mazda for 24 hours.
"The van has two bald tires, engine problems, no heater, and gets terrible gas mileage. It only makes sense for me to drive the car."
"But I need the car to drive to school."
"Can't you drive the van to school?"
"The van doesn't have a parking sticker."
"Is there nowhere else you can park?"
"There are places I could park, but I'd have to walk farther, and I just...really don't want to drive the van." He said this as if our GMC Safari minivan was a rusted bucket of junk he couldn't possibly be seen driving.
As he dug in his heels, the months of pain began to give way to something new. I felt...annoyance...indignation...and humor? No, not just humor...hilarity. It was a strange feeling, this angry, ridiculous laughter in my heart. Was this man for real? Was he really fighting me on this? Was I really going to allow it? It was like the old Sarah was waking up and shouting, "No more!"
In that moment, I felt the best characteristics of the old Sarah merge with the best characteristics of the new. I kept my weapons buried, I did not lash out, but I stood firm. And in so doing, I found my vision becoming sharper. I was standing before a man who was acting like a spoiled and coddled teenager who couldn't possibly be asked to drive the family car. So often in the preceding months, he had acted in just this way, and my fear of an impending divorce had caused me to give in, to spoil, to coddle him. Today, I saw him for what he was, and I was having none of it.
"Are you really going to make me drive 5 hours one way in November in the freezing cold in a car that has no heat and that might not even make it there without breaking down or blowing a tire?"
He threw his hands up in the air and gave in with an exasperate sigh. "Fine," he said, "but my car had better be clean when I get it back."
"Do you want me to clean it with my tongue?" I said, with a good natured smiled.
He laughed in spite of himself and agreed that I should lick the car clean.
I felt my eyes fly open and my heart begin to race in excitement as I said, "Aaron! Do you know what we just did? That was called a repair attempt! SHA's been talking about those in Parenting Class. We were having a conflict and getting upset, and we were able to pull out of it and make the situation lighter with some humor! We did it! Isn't that cool?"
Aaron looked at me like I was crazy and rolled his eyes.
"He doesn't want this to work out," I said later that day in SHA's office. "I told him how excited I was about that repair attempt, that we had communicated so well and done something so many people can't do, and I realized...he doesn't want things to get better."
"How does that feel?" SHA asked.
"Funny," I replied. "I don't care if he doesn't want things to get better. I'm going to keep doing what I'm doing, and we'll see what happens."
SHA's smile stretched across his face, and in that smile, I knew something was fundamentally different. I wasn't bleeding anymore. Everything else was the same, but I I had staunched the flow of blood somehow.
A few days later, I grabbed a few favorite CDs and a small suitcase and drove away from pain and heartache and into love and sisterhood in Salt Lake. I drove the car, his car, with the heat on high and the music even higher. For the next 24 hours, my friends transfused me with their light, their love, and their words. At dinner Thursday night, I found my laugh again. At a walk around Temple Square, I found the spring in my step I hadn't known was missing.
As I drove home, I popped in a favorite Will Smith CD. As he rapped about being knocked down and getting back up again, I began to feel like he was rapping about me. The words "I got my swagga back" hit me square across the chest. I had left St. George as an erstwhile doormat. I was driving home with swagger.
Tisha, one of the friends I'd met for dinner, had talked to me about her own feelings on my situation. "It's time to stand in your majesty, Sarah," she had said, her stern brown eyes daring me to disagree, her 4 foot 10 frame so majestic she might have been 10 feet tall. "You are majestic, and you need to stand. Your husband will do one of two things. Either he will take his rightful place beside you and be majestic himself, or he will not be able to abide your presence, and he will leave. Either way, you need to stand in your majesty, Sarah. It's time."
I drove home majestic and ready to stand.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Daily Gratitude: Homecoming
Last Tuesday was a day simply overflowing with joy and gratitude. Our oldest, Aaron, had his first trip home since going to live in a therapeutic group home last year. While Richard and I have enjoyed weekly visits with Aaron, it had been just over 18 months since Aaron had been able to spend time with his siblings. The excitement at our house was palpable as we waited for him to arrive at our door with his therapist, and when he finally arrived, all was right with the world for a moment.
We spent a couple of hours with him the following Saturday, carving pumpkins together as a family. The goal now is to slowly build up the length of the visits and transition him home. I can't begin to express my gratitude for his transformation, his growth, and for the people involved in his care.
At our most recent therapy appointment, Aaron's therapist told us that he considered us the ideal family to work with and Aaron the ideal client. I don't know if he'll ever know what those words meant to me. Richard and I have spent the last year and a half praying for, loving, supporting, and working with my son and his caregivers...not because we hoped to hear praise like that, but because he is a part of our family and always will be.
I know there are many out there with children who struggle. Whether they suffer from disabilities like our son or they've just taken a wrong path and don't know how to get back on the right one, I would say there's hope. There's always hope. I'm so grateful I didn't lose my hope through this process, even when it seemed none was forthcoming.
I'm grateful for dear friends who supported and loved me so I had the energy to support and love my son. I'm grateful for a therapist who knew just how to approach him, who took his disabilities seriously and adjusting his therapy sessions and goals accordingly. I'm grateful for a case manager who kept me always in the loop, spoke to me like I was a valued member of a team, and treated my son with dignity and respect even when he struggled. I'm grateful for group home staff members who mentored him and welcomed us into the home like old friends. I'm grateful for a niece and her husband who made a noble effort at helping him prior to his move to the group home.
I'm grateful for a husband who treats my children as his, who never missed an appointment, who made visits a priority, and who never missed an opportunity to tell Aaron how proud he was of the progress he was making. Richard, I learn from you more than anything that fatherhood is not conferred by the mere rules of biology. It is earned. It is cultivated. It is chosen.
Finally, I'm grateful to my children...to my son for his willingness to work hard to overcome his struggles. To my other children for praying for him during family prayer, for caring about him from afar, and for welcoming him back with genuine smiles and happiness.
To whomever is reading this...I'm grateful you're here. I'm grateful you care.
We spent a couple of hours with him the following Saturday, carving pumpkins together as a family. The goal now is to slowly build up the length of the visits and transition him home. I can't begin to express my gratitude for his transformation, his growth, and for the people involved in his care.
At our most recent therapy appointment, Aaron's therapist told us that he considered us the ideal family to work with and Aaron the ideal client. I don't know if he'll ever know what those words meant to me. Richard and I have spent the last year and a half praying for, loving, supporting, and working with my son and his caregivers...not because we hoped to hear praise like that, but because he is a part of our family and always will be.
I know there are many out there with children who struggle. Whether they suffer from disabilities like our son or they've just taken a wrong path and don't know how to get back on the right one, I would say there's hope. There's always hope. I'm so grateful I didn't lose my hope through this process, even when it seemed none was forthcoming.
I'm grateful for dear friends who supported and loved me so I had the energy to support and love my son. I'm grateful for a therapist who knew just how to approach him, who took his disabilities seriously and adjusting his therapy sessions and goals accordingly. I'm grateful for a case manager who kept me always in the loop, spoke to me like I was a valued member of a team, and treated my son with dignity and respect even when he struggled. I'm grateful for group home staff members who mentored him and welcomed us into the home like old friends. I'm grateful for a niece and her husband who made a noble effort at helping him prior to his move to the group home.
I'm grateful for a husband who treats my children as his, who never missed an appointment, who made visits a priority, and who never missed an opportunity to tell Aaron how proud he was of the progress he was making. Richard, I learn from you more than anything that fatherhood is not conferred by the mere rules of biology. It is earned. It is cultivated. It is chosen.
Finally, I'm grateful to my children...to my son for his willingness to work hard to overcome his struggles. To my other children for praying for him during family prayer, for caring about him from afar, and for welcoming him back with genuine smiles and happiness.
To whomever is reading this...I'm grateful you're here. I'm grateful you care.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Daily Gratitude: A Cohesive Marriage
After some hemming and hawing over the summer, I decided to follow through and finish my minor during my last semester at the U. Both of the classes are interesting and helpful and make me glad I didn't abandon my minor in favor of fluff classes.
Tuesdays and Thursdays, I attend "Strengthening Families," and spend an hour and a half at a time learning about what a great marriage I have. The more statistics and case studies my professor shares, the more I realize that this go round, I've got the marriage I struggled and failed to create the first time.
Today, we talked about the different types of marriages: Pursuer/Distancer, Disengaged, Operatic, Cohesive, and Traditional. As Dr. Herrin described the characteristics of a Cohesive marriage, I couldn't help but wonder how long he'd been hiding in my house and observing us.
According to our reading, by E Mavis Hetherington,
"...a cohesive/individuated marriage, characterized by warmth, respect, equity, mutual support, autonomy, and relatively low instability — a feminist ideal. These couples felt comfortable disagreeing, but did not resort to coercive, hostile strategies in resolving their differences. Although they were emotionally and sexually satisfied in their relationship, had many shared interests, and enjoyed spending time together, they still permitted each other considerable autonomy to work and pursue their own goals and to have their own friends."
This is my marriage, and today, this is my gratitude. I'm grateful to have it. I'm grateful my children get to see it. I'm hopeful they'll have the same for themselves.
How did I get this lucky?
How did I get this lucky?
Monday, July 25, 2011
Divorce and Metamorphosis: Hemorrhage
(This is the tenth post in Divorce and Metamorphosis, the story of my 2006 divorce and the personal growth that followed it.)
The days that followed Aaron's revelation of his plans for divorce were clouded in pain and hope. He was leaving, but he was still there. I had four months to turn this around. Surely, if he really meant to leave, he would have done it already, right?
According to Aaron, he really did intend to leave. But I was to tell no one. He wasn't ready for his family to know where we stood. I held his secret inside me, afraid to speak it anyway.
He didn't grant me the same respect. Within days of our talk in the car, I received a phone call from a disgruntled employee on his crew.
"Is this Sarah Wilson? Aaron Wilson's wife?" said the unfamiliar and angry voice.
"Yes," I replied.
"Well, I work with your husband, and I just think you ought to know that he's planning to file divorce on you in February with his tax money."
"I know that." What else could I say to this?
The man sputtered for a second and then said, "Well, I just thought you should know." He finished by calling Aaron a name I won't print, then hung up.
I wondered if I looked like a complete fool to this man, knowing my husband planned to leave me and letting him stay in my home anyway. I wondered what his coworkers thought of him, of me. Would they all agree with this angry person, spitting Aaron's name out as a profanity like it was poison? Or did more of them sympathize with his plight, their poor supervisor and his...what? crazy? mean? terrible? wife?
With the cloud of divorce hanging over us, we continued to live as if things were fine, at least in front of the kids. As was his new way of being, Aaron wasn't around much. School was still in session, and work had picked up so much that he had guaranteed overtime each week. He continued to spend as much time as possible with friends, all but ignoring me and his kids in the process.
A week after his revelation, we met together with SHA as planned. I had asked Aaron if he was willing to continue working on the marriage, just in case things could change by February. While doubtful that would happen, he had agreed. I arrived at our session ahead of Aaron, and SHA asked me privately how I'd like the session to go.
"I'd like to hear what Aaron doesn't like about me, so I know what I can continue to work on."
Aaron entered shortly after, and SHA began the session, leading it in the direction I'd noted without letting on that I was the one who wanted things that way. Aaron looked at me with a little nervousness, as if wondering if I could handle what he was about to say. Inside, I almost laughed. I'd been listening to him tell me what a crappy wife I'd been for months now. I could certainly handle specific complaints in the safety of SHA's office.
While acknowledging some of the changes I'd already made, Aaron told me he didn't like that I was clingy...suddenly clingy. I tried to touch him too much, hug him too much. I was too emotional. He couldn't handle it. I wanted to talk too much.
I nodded through this. This was productive. This was what I had wanted.
SHA talked to Aaron about withdrawal and pursuit, suggesting to him that I was suddenly clingy because he was suddenly withdrawn, that I had been used to a certain amount of affection from him, and he had removed it. He shared that my response was a normal one, but that he was likely pulling away even more in response to my clinginess, and that that would only make me more clingy.
I did a lot of listening during that visit. My ego was still all but obliterated. I was teachable...open.
And I still wasn't really looking at his faults. SHA's words about withdrawal and pursuit gave some of the responsibility for that dynamic to Aaron, but I couldn't comprehend it. In my mind, I was still a perpetrator, a predator, the terrible person who had brought all of this on myself. My husband was acting in cruel ways, and I deserved it. Didn't I?
It was the first time I began to question that belief.
Life, for me, was a never ending roller coaster of exhilarating highs and devastating lows. There was Aaron, hugging all of us, including me, before leaving for school each morning. There was the day Aaron had playfully run away from me with something I needed, laughing and hiding and slapping my bottom when he finally gave it to me. Then, there was the day he approached me saying he wanted to spend a good portion of Thanksgiving Day with his friends watching football at a bar. Thanksgiving...my favorite holiday.
I stared at him blankly and then simply said, "Who ARE you?" before bursting into tears in front of him. Rolling his eyes at me, he tried to backpedal out of the situation. I took some breaths and regained my composure and agreed that if he wanted to leave on Thanksgiving, he should go and have fun. He offered a compromise, saying he'd watch the Dallas Cowboys game with me. In my shock and disorientation and my need to avoid conflict, I accepted but still encouraged him to go.
He left for work shortly after that exchange, and I got online to a message board of friends who had no idea how bad things really were in my marriage. I posted a one line thread: "I need to talk to someone on the phone." My friend, Pamela, was the first to post with her phone number. I hadn't known she was exactly the person I needed to talk to until I saw her name there.
Pam and I spoke for two or three hours. I paced in front of my home, unloading everything I hadn't shared with everyone else on the message board. I shared every fear, but I shared something new. I was angry. I was tired of being hurt. I was getting tired of keeping my weapons buried. I wasn't ready to dig them up, but I was done carrying this pain alone, bearing it alone, pretending it didn't hurt.
More than anything, I was confused. I was angry he was going to leave us on a holiday, yet I'd encouraged him to go. Why had I done that? What was wrong with me? I had asked him who he was. Who was I?
I emailed SHA on Thanksgiving night, and the anger and fear poured out like a hemorrhage...
I’m angry. So, I guess that means I’m afraid. So what am I afraid of?
I want to start with anger. I’m angry because I’m sick and tired of feeling like I’m the only responsible parent in this home. I’m sick and tired of Aaron coming home, “putting in hours” as a father, and then taking off to party, play games, do whatever he wants to do and I’m in charge by default. I’m angry that he hasn’t been in charge of the kids alone in months. I’m PISSED that he would even consider partying on Thanksgiving appropriate. I’m tired of feeling like we’re his sloppy seconds...like we’re being tolerated...like when he’s here, he’s just passing time until he gets to be with his friends again.
So what am I afraid of?
I’m afraid of being left. I’m afraid of having to raise these kids alone, of having the responsibility for them left on me for good. I’m afraid I can’t do it. I’m afraid of the baggage they’re going to have to carry over feeling abandoned by their father. I’m afraid of being overwhelmed and distant as a mom. I’m afraid that he’s going to string me along for the next three months, and I’ll spend all that time working and hoping and praying and thinking things are better and then he’ll leave anyway. I’m afraid there’s someone in particular he’s going out to see, and all the recent smiles and positive interactions are just a cover to keep him housed and fed until he’s got the money to leave. I’m afraid of feeling like the world’s biggest fool come February. I’m afraid I’ll lose my composure, forget everything I’ve learned and changed and kick him out the next time he goes and I’ll spend the rest of my life feeling like it was all my fault. I’m afraid he’ll leave and realize later that we didn’t deserve this, that his family really was the most important thing in his life, but it will be too late to come back.
I don’t know what the next step is. Do I embrace my fear or diffuse it? Is it enough just to name it? Is this the time for a plan B? It’s time for a plan, anyway.
What will I do if I’m left to care for the kids alone, except one evening a week and every other weekend?
I will choose to feel sad and hurt and disappointed. I will continue in parenting and work HARD to be a loving and involved mother. I will lean on friends and church members to help me when I need it. I will take passion time for myself to avoid becoming overwhelmed. If I do become overwhelmed, I will have a plan in place, and I will be kind to myself and understand that single parenthood is hard. I will continue in therapy and do work on my own to become stronger and able to carry the burden alone. I will expect Aaron to be the involved father he claims he will be, but I will leave that choice to him. I will choose to remain friends with Aaron, even if that takes a lot of work on my part toward forgiveness.
What will I do if I learn all this niceness was just another act, and he serves me with divorce papers despite all I’ve done to change?
I will choose to feel devastated. I don’t think there’s any way around that. I will choose to feel disillusioned for a while. I may feel at fault for awhile, and I will choose to be kind and forgiving to myself about that. I will come to accept that he made his choice, and I will be honest with myself about whether or not I did everything in my power to change and be a better wife. I will choose to be grateful that our last few months together were kinder and not hostile, because the kids don’t deserve hostility.
What will I do if there is someone else?
I will scream the scream of the discarded wife. I will choose to feel the incredible pain. I will work to heal any resulting trust issues in therapy. I will know that this choice was not about me. I will choose to feel sad that he would make such a choice, but I will leave the responsibility with him.
What will I do to avoid losing my composure and kicking him out?
I will continue to listen to my inner voice reminding me of the work I’ve done. I will continue to read my scriptures every day and pray continually when I need added strength. I will recognize when I am being reactive and will take a step back and start over, praying for guidance and help. When I do well, I will give myself positive reinforcement by writing it in my 7 principles log. (Give credit: When I reacted to his desire to leave us on a holiday, I stopped myself, acknowledged to him that my reaction was not the best, prayed mightily for guidance, and remembered my Anti-Nephi-Lehi strategy).
What will I do in the months between now and February to avoid being overcome by this fear?
I will concentrate on myself. I will continue to follow my plan. I will pray daily and retain my hope and confidence in the Lord. I will make my choices based on the future I hope for and revert to the above plan if I’m presented with the future I dread. I will choose to feel everything, and I will recognize that my desire to fight back or ask him to leave is a product of the intense pain. I will remember that the pain will not go away if I kick him out. I will choose to have faith that things can change for us, and that if I endure this pain, I can receive a stronger measure of joy as my relationship with Aaron heals. I will frame new developments as opportunities to negotiate rather than as betrayals. I will remember NOT to allow Aaron to put me in the position being his parent, and I will choose not to put myself in that position. I will remember that Aaron is responsible for himself, and I have choices in every situation. I will probably ask SHA for ideas on how to avoid the parent role. I will accept his new kindnesses and be grateful for them and work to avoid distrust or seeking for the motive behind them. I will tell him what I appreciate and like about the things he does.
I will seek for guidance from the spirit to tell me when I need to assert myself and when to let go.
(credit for Aaron: I like that he asked me what I thought about him leaving today and he initially decided he wouldn’t go if I had a problem with it. I was the one who encouraged him to go, because I didn’t want to have to deal with resentment if he stayed. I don’t think that was entirely clean on my part...it felt a little codependent. I like that Aaron compromised by watching the Cowboys game with me and that he does make time for us. I like that he’s going to stay with the kids while I hike on Saturday and has said he will keep better track of them so they don’t trash the house.)
SHA's answer came quickly:
Sarah,
this will be short, cuz I don't have a lot of time, but we will talk about it further if you want later. . . sounds like part of your fear is how you are feeling "set up". . .if you tell him you are fine with him partying today, you are giving permission and are becoming part of it. . .if you don't and react then he has more evidence that he can't be with you. . . or maybe you will get pushed far enough that you step in and file on him to relieve the pain and take control (which you don't have much of right now). . . it sounds excruciating the way it is structured right now. . . he may be letting you gather more and more evidence that you'd be a fool to want to be with him and then you step in and do the "dirty work". . .or if you don't then you just take it on the chin over and over till February. . .it's a no win for you (at least in the relationship). . . if being the benevolent observer gets too old then you may have to shift focus to taking really really good care of yourself (whatever that looks like), because frankly right now, you aren't going to have many other people that will/can (Aaron). Have you got Crazy Times by Abigail Trafford? It's probably a little premature, but might help you if you don't have it yet. . .it's about what goes on in the divorce process as far as emotional stages and processes. . . the first couple of chapters could really help you. Hang in there and please be gentle, kind and caring to yourself. . . remember Nathanial Brandon's quote about "no one is coming". . .well you at least have your faith to support and clarify some things for you. . . there can't be fear when faith is preset. . .remember that please. .
talk to you soon
SHA
When Aaron returned home that night, I went for a walk alone and talked to God. I told Him that I didn't know how much longer I could do this, how many more offenses I could lie down and take. I had covenanted to not fight, knowing divorce was a possibility. I hadn't expected the death of my marriage to happen so slowly.
God spoke back. When I returned home, I spoke with Aaron. In the morning, emailed SHA once more:
Thank you for your reply. I think you got to the heart of it.
I did some praying and thinking on my walk last night after Aaron came home. I've decided to tweak my strategy a bit. I thought again about the story of the Anti-Nephi-Lehis and realized I wasn't applying it entirely correctly. My strategy is to bury my weapons and not fight back, but I've come to realize that there is a difference between not fighting back and encouraging Aaron to hurt me. The people of Anti-Nephi-Lehi did lie down and allow themselves to be killed, but they didn't hand the Lamanites the weapons to do it...they didn't say, "Here, let me help you with that arrow." And they didn't run and hide either. They faced the Lamanites first and THEN they lay down and were killed.
So, burying my weapons and refusing to fight back for me can mean refusing to be the one to file or ask him to leave, but it doesn't have to mean that I become completely passive in the relationship and lose the part of myself that I really admire. I can change the way I frame complaints, letting go of judgment and working toward acceptance, but I don't have to agree with everything he does.
When he got home last night, I let him know that encouraging him to go had been dishonest on my part. I told him that I hadn't agreed with it, and that I was hurt by it. I told him I didn't feel like it was a responsible thing to do. He reframed that as me calling him an irresponsible person, and I clarified the difference between a complaint and a criticism, told him I had intended it as a complaint about one specific action, and that if it came off as a criticism that I was sorry, and that's not what I meant. He wasn't happy to hear any of it, but I felt peace for the first time yesterday.
You summed up my choices in your email, and there is peace in at least knowing I have choices. My choice is to take it on the chin over and over until February. I can't be the one to walk away, no matter how hard it becomes. My choice is to make it incredibly HARD for Aaron to walk away from his family by being kind to him and loving and respecting him despite what he chooses. The only difference now is that I'm more committed to loving and respecting myself in the process.
Sarah
SHA and I had a private therapy session a few days later, and SHA told me how he saw Aaron's actions.
"He doesn't just hurt you. He asks your permission first. It's like he hands you the knife and asks you to plunge it into your own chest and twist it for him." He made a gesture that mimicked his words. "I understand you want to stay in this marriage and keep working, but Sarah, you're bleeding...to death. What can you do to stop the bleeding?"
I had no answer for him. The visual had stunned me in its accuracy. I felt that knife, and I felt my own hands on it. I felt the blood coursing from my body.
I knew hemorrhage. I had been rushed to an emergency room just a few years before when a late miscarriage became a life threatening hemorrhage while I was at work one day. I knew what it felt like to have blood gush from a wound deep inside me, to feel my life leaving me as it spread on the floor beneath me.
I knew he was right. I was bleeding to death. Maybe it wasn't a literal hemorrhage this time, but I wouldn't survive this emotional hemorrhage any better than I would a physical one.
I needed a transfusion.
But where would I find it?
The days that followed Aaron's revelation of his plans for divorce were clouded in pain and hope. He was leaving, but he was still there. I had four months to turn this around. Surely, if he really meant to leave, he would have done it already, right?
According to Aaron, he really did intend to leave. But I was to tell no one. He wasn't ready for his family to know where we stood. I held his secret inside me, afraid to speak it anyway.
He didn't grant me the same respect. Within days of our talk in the car, I received a phone call from a disgruntled employee on his crew.
"Is this Sarah Wilson? Aaron Wilson's wife?" said the unfamiliar and angry voice.
"Yes," I replied.
"Well, I work with your husband, and I just think you ought to know that he's planning to file divorce on you in February with his tax money."
"I know that." What else could I say to this?
The man sputtered for a second and then said, "Well, I just thought you should know." He finished by calling Aaron a name I won't print, then hung up.
I wondered if I looked like a complete fool to this man, knowing my husband planned to leave me and letting him stay in my home anyway. I wondered what his coworkers thought of him, of me. Would they all agree with this angry person, spitting Aaron's name out as a profanity like it was poison? Or did more of them sympathize with his plight, their poor supervisor and his...what? crazy? mean? terrible? wife?
With the cloud of divorce hanging over us, we continued to live as if things were fine, at least in front of the kids. As was his new way of being, Aaron wasn't around much. School was still in session, and work had picked up so much that he had guaranteed overtime each week. He continued to spend as much time as possible with friends, all but ignoring me and his kids in the process.
A week after his revelation, we met together with SHA as planned. I had asked Aaron if he was willing to continue working on the marriage, just in case things could change by February. While doubtful that would happen, he had agreed. I arrived at our session ahead of Aaron, and SHA asked me privately how I'd like the session to go.
"I'd like to hear what Aaron doesn't like about me, so I know what I can continue to work on."
Aaron entered shortly after, and SHA began the session, leading it in the direction I'd noted without letting on that I was the one who wanted things that way. Aaron looked at me with a little nervousness, as if wondering if I could handle what he was about to say. Inside, I almost laughed. I'd been listening to him tell me what a crappy wife I'd been for months now. I could certainly handle specific complaints in the safety of SHA's office.
While acknowledging some of the changes I'd already made, Aaron told me he didn't like that I was clingy...suddenly clingy. I tried to touch him too much, hug him too much. I was too emotional. He couldn't handle it. I wanted to talk too much.
I nodded through this. This was productive. This was what I had wanted.
SHA talked to Aaron about withdrawal and pursuit, suggesting to him that I was suddenly clingy because he was suddenly withdrawn, that I had been used to a certain amount of affection from him, and he had removed it. He shared that my response was a normal one, but that he was likely pulling away even more in response to my clinginess, and that that would only make me more clingy.
I did a lot of listening during that visit. My ego was still all but obliterated. I was teachable...open.
And I still wasn't really looking at his faults. SHA's words about withdrawal and pursuit gave some of the responsibility for that dynamic to Aaron, but I couldn't comprehend it. In my mind, I was still a perpetrator, a predator, the terrible person who had brought all of this on myself. My husband was acting in cruel ways, and I deserved it. Didn't I?
It was the first time I began to question that belief.
Life, for me, was a never ending roller coaster of exhilarating highs and devastating lows. There was Aaron, hugging all of us, including me, before leaving for school each morning. There was the day Aaron had playfully run away from me with something I needed, laughing and hiding and slapping my bottom when he finally gave it to me. Then, there was the day he approached me saying he wanted to spend a good portion of Thanksgiving Day with his friends watching football at a bar. Thanksgiving...my favorite holiday.
I stared at him blankly and then simply said, "Who ARE you?" before bursting into tears in front of him. Rolling his eyes at me, he tried to backpedal out of the situation. I took some breaths and regained my composure and agreed that if he wanted to leave on Thanksgiving, he should go and have fun. He offered a compromise, saying he'd watch the Dallas Cowboys game with me. In my shock and disorientation and my need to avoid conflict, I accepted but still encouraged him to go.
He left for work shortly after that exchange, and I got online to a message board of friends who had no idea how bad things really were in my marriage. I posted a one line thread: "I need to talk to someone on the phone." My friend, Pamela, was the first to post with her phone number. I hadn't known she was exactly the person I needed to talk to until I saw her name there.
Pam and I spoke for two or three hours. I paced in front of my home, unloading everything I hadn't shared with everyone else on the message board. I shared every fear, but I shared something new. I was angry. I was tired of being hurt. I was getting tired of keeping my weapons buried. I wasn't ready to dig them up, but I was done carrying this pain alone, bearing it alone, pretending it didn't hurt.
More than anything, I was confused. I was angry he was going to leave us on a holiday, yet I'd encouraged him to go. Why had I done that? What was wrong with me? I had asked him who he was. Who was I?
I emailed SHA on Thanksgiving night, and the anger and fear poured out like a hemorrhage...
I’m angry. So, I guess that means I’m afraid. So what am I afraid of?
I want to start with anger. I’m angry because I’m sick and tired of feeling like I’m the only responsible parent in this home. I’m sick and tired of Aaron coming home, “putting in hours” as a father, and then taking off to party, play games, do whatever he wants to do and I’m in charge by default. I’m angry that he hasn’t been in charge of the kids alone in months. I’m PISSED that he would even consider partying on Thanksgiving appropriate. I’m tired of feeling like we’re his sloppy seconds...like we’re being tolerated...like when he’s here, he’s just passing time until he gets to be with his friends again.
So what am I afraid of?
I’m afraid of being left. I’m afraid of having to raise these kids alone, of having the responsibility for them left on me for good. I’m afraid I can’t do it. I’m afraid of the baggage they’re going to have to carry over feeling abandoned by their father. I’m afraid of being overwhelmed and distant as a mom. I’m afraid that he’s going to string me along for the next three months, and I’ll spend all that time working and hoping and praying and thinking things are better and then he’ll leave anyway. I’m afraid there’s someone in particular he’s going out to see, and all the recent smiles and positive interactions are just a cover to keep him housed and fed until he’s got the money to leave. I’m afraid of feeling like the world’s biggest fool come February. I’m afraid I’ll lose my composure, forget everything I’ve learned and changed and kick him out the next time he goes and I’ll spend the rest of my life feeling like it was all my fault. I’m afraid he’ll leave and realize later that we didn’t deserve this, that his family really was the most important thing in his life, but it will be too late to come back.
I don’t know what the next step is. Do I embrace my fear or diffuse it? Is it enough just to name it? Is this the time for a plan B? It’s time for a plan, anyway.
What will I do if I’m left to care for the kids alone, except one evening a week and every other weekend?
I will choose to feel sad and hurt and disappointed. I will continue in parenting and work HARD to be a loving and involved mother. I will lean on friends and church members to help me when I need it. I will take passion time for myself to avoid becoming overwhelmed. If I do become overwhelmed, I will have a plan in place, and I will be kind to myself and understand that single parenthood is hard. I will continue in therapy and do work on my own to become stronger and able to carry the burden alone. I will expect Aaron to be the involved father he claims he will be, but I will leave that choice to him. I will choose to remain friends with Aaron, even if that takes a lot of work on my part toward forgiveness.
What will I do if I learn all this niceness was just another act, and he serves me with divorce papers despite all I’ve done to change?
I will choose to feel devastated. I don’t think there’s any way around that. I will choose to feel disillusioned for a while. I may feel at fault for awhile, and I will choose to be kind and forgiving to myself about that. I will come to accept that he made his choice, and I will be honest with myself about whether or not I did everything in my power to change and be a better wife. I will choose to be grateful that our last few months together were kinder and not hostile, because the kids don’t deserve hostility.
What will I do if there is someone else?
I will scream the scream of the discarded wife. I will choose to feel the incredible pain. I will work to heal any resulting trust issues in therapy. I will know that this choice was not about me. I will choose to feel sad that he would make such a choice, but I will leave the responsibility with him.
What will I do to avoid losing my composure and kicking him out?
I will continue to listen to my inner voice reminding me of the work I’ve done. I will continue to read my scriptures every day and pray continually when I need added strength. I will recognize when I am being reactive and will take a step back and start over, praying for guidance and help. When I do well, I will give myself positive reinforcement by writing it in my 7 principles log. (Give credit: When I reacted to his desire to leave us on a holiday, I stopped myself, acknowledged to him that my reaction was not the best, prayed mightily for guidance, and remembered my Anti-Nephi-Lehi strategy).
What will I do in the months between now and February to avoid being overcome by this fear?
I will concentrate on myself. I will continue to follow my plan. I will pray daily and retain my hope and confidence in the Lord. I will make my choices based on the future I hope for and revert to the above plan if I’m presented with the future I dread. I will choose to feel everything, and I will recognize that my desire to fight back or ask him to leave is a product of the intense pain. I will remember that the pain will not go away if I kick him out. I will choose to have faith that things can change for us, and that if I endure this pain, I can receive a stronger measure of joy as my relationship with Aaron heals. I will frame new developments as opportunities to negotiate rather than as betrayals. I will remember NOT to allow Aaron to put me in the position being his parent, and I will choose not to put myself in that position. I will remember that Aaron is responsible for himself, and I have choices in every situation. I will probably ask SHA for ideas on how to avoid the parent role. I will accept his new kindnesses and be grateful for them and work to avoid distrust or seeking for the motive behind them. I will tell him what I appreciate and like about the things he does.
I will seek for guidance from the spirit to tell me when I need to assert myself and when to let go.
(credit for Aaron: I like that he asked me what I thought about him leaving today and he initially decided he wouldn’t go if I had a problem with it. I was the one who encouraged him to go, because I didn’t want to have to deal with resentment if he stayed. I don’t think that was entirely clean on my part...it felt a little codependent. I like that Aaron compromised by watching the Cowboys game with me and that he does make time for us. I like that he’s going to stay with the kids while I hike on Saturday and has said he will keep better track of them so they don’t trash the house.)
SHA's answer came quickly:
Sarah,
this will be short, cuz I don't have a lot of time, but we will talk about it further if you want later. . . sounds like part of your fear is how you are feeling "set up". . .if you tell him you are fine with him partying today, you are giving permission and are becoming part of it. . .if you don't and react then he has more evidence that he can't be with you. . . or maybe you will get pushed far enough that you step in and file on him to relieve the pain and take control (which you don't have much of right now). . . it sounds excruciating the way it is structured right now. . . he may be letting you gather more and more evidence that you'd be a fool to want to be with him and then you step in and do the "dirty work". . .or if you don't then you just take it on the chin over and over till February. . .it's a no win for you (at least in the relationship). . . if being the benevolent observer gets too old then you may have to shift focus to taking really really good care of yourself (whatever that looks like), because frankly right now, you aren't going to have many other people that will/can (Aaron). Have you got Crazy Times by Abigail Trafford? It's probably a little premature, but might help you if you don't have it yet. . .it's about what goes on in the divorce process as far as emotional stages and processes. . . the first couple of chapters could really help you. Hang in there and please be gentle, kind and caring to yourself. . . remember Nathanial Brandon's quote about "no one is coming". . .well you at least have your faith to support and clarify some things for you. . . there can't be fear when faith is preset. . .remember that please. .
talk to you soon
SHA
When Aaron returned home that night, I went for a walk alone and talked to God. I told Him that I didn't know how much longer I could do this, how many more offenses I could lie down and take. I had covenanted to not fight, knowing divorce was a possibility. I hadn't expected the death of my marriage to happen so slowly.
God spoke back. When I returned home, I spoke with Aaron. In the morning, emailed SHA once more:
Thank you for your reply. I think you got to the heart of it.
I did some praying and thinking on my walk last night after Aaron came home. I've decided to tweak my strategy a bit. I thought again about the story of the Anti-Nephi-Lehis and realized I wasn't applying it entirely correctly. My strategy is to bury my weapons and not fight back, but I've come to realize that there is a difference between not fighting back and encouraging Aaron to hurt me. The people of Anti-Nephi-Lehi did lie down and allow themselves to be killed, but they didn't hand the Lamanites the weapons to do it...they didn't say, "Here, let me help you with that arrow." And they didn't run and hide either. They faced the Lamanites first and THEN they lay down and were killed.
So, burying my weapons and refusing to fight back for me can mean refusing to be the one to file or ask him to leave, but it doesn't have to mean that I become completely passive in the relationship and lose the part of myself that I really admire. I can change the way I frame complaints, letting go of judgment and working toward acceptance, but I don't have to agree with everything he does.
When he got home last night, I let him know that encouraging him to go had been dishonest on my part. I told him that I hadn't agreed with it, and that I was hurt by it. I told him I didn't feel like it was a responsible thing to do. He reframed that as me calling him an irresponsible person, and I clarified the difference between a complaint and a criticism, told him I had intended it as a complaint about one specific action, and that if it came off as a criticism that I was sorry, and that's not what I meant. He wasn't happy to hear any of it, but I felt peace for the first time yesterday.
You summed up my choices in your email, and there is peace in at least knowing I have choices. My choice is to take it on the chin over and over until February. I can't be the one to walk away, no matter how hard it becomes. My choice is to make it incredibly HARD for Aaron to walk away from his family by being kind to him and loving and respecting him despite what he chooses. The only difference now is that I'm more committed to loving and respecting myself in the process.
Sarah
SHA and I had a private therapy session a few days later, and SHA told me how he saw Aaron's actions.
"He doesn't just hurt you. He asks your permission first. It's like he hands you the knife and asks you to plunge it into your own chest and twist it for him." He made a gesture that mimicked his words. "I understand you want to stay in this marriage and keep working, but Sarah, you're bleeding...to death. What can you do to stop the bleeding?"
I had no answer for him. The visual had stunned me in its accuracy. I felt that knife, and I felt my own hands on it. I felt the blood coursing from my body.
I knew hemorrhage. I had been rushed to an emergency room just a few years before when a late miscarriage became a life threatening hemorrhage while I was at work one day. I knew what it felt like to have blood gush from a wound deep inside me, to feel my life leaving me as it spread on the floor beneath me.
I knew he was right. I was bleeding to death. Maybe it wasn't a literal hemorrhage this time, but I wouldn't survive this emotional hemorrhage any better than I would a physical one.
I needed a transfusion.
But where would I find it?
Divorce and Metamorphosis: Rumors and Truth
(This is the ninth post in Divorce and Metamorphosis, the story of my 2006 divorce and the personal growth that followed it.)
November began with a rumor.
The first day of the month was a Tuesday. I arrived at Ivy's house at our appointed time to assist her with prenatal appointments throughout the day. I loved the aura of Ivy's house and was happy to lose myself in the care of others for awhile.
It was not to be.
I couldn't know when I arrived that Ivy was struggling under the weight of information that might crush me. We made it through a few appointments before she could no longer manage it, and in a break between pregnant mothers, she sat me down to talk. I think of that moment as the beginning of the end.
Ivy's oldest daughter had recently begun working at the Wal Mart Distribution Center in Hurricane, UT, where Aaron worked as a supervisor. She, of course, knew Aaron through me. Whether or not his coworkers knew of their connection before sending gossip her way is unknown to me.
A few days into her new job, Steffany came home to Ivy upset. The distribution center was abuzz with a rumor. Aaron Wilson, the supervisor, was cheating on his wife with a coworker. Did Ivy know? Did I know?
Ivy watched me closely as I took in the news. I was a jumble of emotions. I was shocked and not surprised at the same time. I reminded myself that rumors didn't necessarily mean truth, but some part of me wanted to accept it as such...the truth that might explain the past 5 months, anyway. I don't think the tears came until later, until Ivy and I had agreed that I should take the rest of the day off and I had left her home, with Ivy wondering if she'd made the right decision in telling me.
Getting into my car, I prayed for strength and direction and knew where I wanted to be. I dialed my friend, Cori's number and managed to explain what had happened between sobs.
Cori is the kind of person you go to when you have news, the good kind and the bad. A naturally empathetic person, she has a gift for mirroring your emotions, enhancing them, sharing them. As tears sprang to my eyes, I heard them begin to fall from hers. Her sympathetic voice told me to come to her home, to get there fast. I obeyed.
I was there for hours...or was it just an hour? Or was it a day? Time had no meaning as I sat in Cori's bedroom and tried to make sense of what Steffany had heard about my husband. Minutes and hours dissolved around me as I wondered what to do next. Cory listened and cried, touched and held me, comforted me, bore my heavy burden as best she could.
At some point, I called SHA and left a message. My call was returned quickly. I think he could hear the tone of emergency in my voice. I broke down as I told him what I had learned. His soft, "Oh, Sarah..." felt to me like the greatest safety. This man hurt for me. He knew how hard I had worked, how badly I wanted to stay married, and he hurt for me.
We set up an emergency appointment for the next day. I told him I was going to go out to the distribution center and talk to my husband, give him a chance to answer the accusation. SHA seemed to think that was a suitable plan. He may have told me to wait until our appointment to do anything rash. Maybe I just told myself.
I left Cori's embrace reluctantly and then got into my car and onto the road toward Hurricane. The kids were at the sitter's house, a usual occurrence, since Tuesday was prenatal day and the night I attended parenting class. I called the distribution center and was put through to Aaron, telling the dispatcher it was an emergency. I told him I was on my way, that I needed to talk to him, and that I would take him to get some dinner in Hurricane. When he protested, I stood firm. However he could manage to leave work, he'd have to make it happen.
As I drove the 30 minutes to Hurricane, the full impact of the day began to hit. I began to feel the air leave my lungs and struggled to maintain my position in my lane while powerful, dry, and hopeless sobs shook my whole body.
Speaking a desperate prayer in my heart, I begged for help from my Father in Heaven. Immediately, I was reminded of the words of a treasured hymn, found my voice, and began to sing.
Be still my soul
The Lord is on thy side
With patience bear
Thy cross of grief or pain
Leave to thy God
To order and provide
In every change
He faithful will remain
Be still my soul
Thy best, thy heavenly friend
Through thorny ways
Leads to a joyful end
Be still my soul
Thy God doth undertake
To guide the future as he has the past
Thy hope, thy confidence
Let nothing shake
All now mysterious
Shall be bright at last
Be still my soul
The waves and winds still know
His voice who ruled them
While he dwelt below.
I thought of my mother, of the day we learned my father had been unfaithful to her. 20 years had passed since that day. She was happy and settled with my second dad, her prior pain only a memory. Had God guided the past to get her there. Would he guide my future?
Aaron was waiting for me as I entered the parking lot. He stepped into the van, irritation evident on his face.
"I don't know why I had to leave work," he said gruffly.
"What we have to talk about is not something I'm comfortable talking about over the phone where a dispatcher might be listening."
I told him what Ivy had shared with me. His face turned dark, and he spoke accusingly. "And you believed it."
"I came here to give you a chance to answer it. Maybe I believed it or maybe not. But before two weeks ago, I would never have believe you'd be willing to stay out all night and get passed out drunk on the floor of a night club, and you did that. I have no idea what to believe about you anymore. I don't know what you're capable of."
"I'm not having an affair. The woman they're talking about...we talk. She's separated from her husband and she needs someone to talk to."
"Well," I said, "whatever's going on, you're obviously not using the best boundaries, because your coworkers and your staff think what they do."
"I don't care what they think. I know what I'm not doing. I'm not cheating."
"Okay." I believed him. I still believe him. If he were to tell me today that it was all a lie, that he really had been having an affair, I don't think it would hurt, but it would surprise me. The rumor had not really rung true from the start. He was a lot of things, but unfaithful was not one of them.
"We do need to talk about something," he said. "I guess we might as well do it now."
My lungs, which had just begun to relax, constricted again.
"I've been waiting to tell you this. SHA told me we should wait...that I needed to let you down gently...that you weren't ready to hear it.
"I'm done. I want a divorce, but we can't afford it right now, so I'm waiting until February when we get our tax money. I'm hoping we can do it without lawyers. I want to work together. Until then, I guess we'll just live together like we are now, but in February, I'm going to use the tax money for a divorce."
The sword had descended. The words had been spoken. My greatest fear was real. It was over.
But it wasn't over. What's that he had said? February? He would wait until February? We were to live together as if for four more months, all the while knowing he planned to take the tax money and run? And what was that he had said about SHA? Let me down gently? This was gently?
I dropped him back at work with my head in a fog. I had just enough time to get back to St. George to parenting class, so I drove with a purpose. My tears had dried. My heart was cold. My head was swirling with Aaron's announcement.
I entered parenting class in the middle of a discussion on birth order. SHA noted my arrival with a meaningful look before breaking up the students into groups based on their places in their respective families. I sat on the edge of the middle child group and pretended to listen, but I felt like my body was made of stone.
Without looking too conspicuous, SHA made his way toward me, then leaned forward and asked with kindness in his tone how I was doing. I turned my stony gaze on him and related what Aaron had told me, telling him I didn't appreciate his remarks, that letting me down "gently" was the worst thing anyone could try to do, and that I would have appreciated honesty from him if he'd really thought my marriage was beyond saving. My voice was ice, and I wanted to piece him with it.
Somewhat taken aback, SHA held up his hands and said, "I'd like you to put all of these feelings into an email to me tonight and then we'll discuss them all during our visit tomorrow. Will you do that? Please, tell me exactly what Aaron said I said and exactly how you're feeling." I agreed to do that and we both went back to the business of class.
Afterward, Ivy and Cori hurried to me in the parking lot, and I shared what Aaron had said to me. The ice in my heart melted in the presence of these friends, and I wept new tears and shared all my feelings. I made my way home that night having cried out all the tears I had. True to my word, I sat down before my computer and wrote out a frustrated email to SHA, unloading a torrent of feelings meant for Aaron onto him instead.
The next day, I appeared in his office, stony expression back on my face, prepared to sever ties with the man while feeling heartbroken at the prospect.
"Your email was pretty angry," he said.
"I am angry," I responded. "I don't like hearing that you..."
He raised a hand before I could finish. "Did it ever occur to you to maybe talk to me and check out whether or not I actually said any of that, and if I did, what I meant? Were you even going to give me a chance?"
I was at a loss. It hadn't occurred to me. Not in the slightest.
SHA went on to explain that he still believed wholeheartedly that our marriage could be saved, but that he needed to buy time. His approach with Aaron was about keeping him married long enough for us to do the work that would turn things around.
Looking back, I don't envy SHA that position...meeting with a husband who wanted to use his therapy sessions as a way to leave and a wife who was using hers for the opposite. Just as I believe that Aaron was being honest when he said he wasn't cheating, I believe SHA meant what he said. He had faith, even then, that we could make it work, and everything he did, with Aaron and with me, was toward that goal.
This was the first day SHA mentioned his group therapy sessions. Friends from parenting class had mentioned being a part of them, so I knew something of them. They were tough and amazing, a chance to work and help others work, a place where maybe, Aaron and I could find success.
I left SHA's office chastened and humbled and hopeful. We set up a couple's appointment with the intention of talking to Aaron about joining the new 6 month group session that would begin in January. I went home to a man who believed he only had 4 months left of the misery of living with me. I went as a wife who was back to believing that could change.
We had entered limbo.
November began with a rumor.
The first day of the month was a Tuesday. I arrived at Ivy's house at our appointed time to assist her with prenatal appointments throughout the day. I loved the aura of Ivy's house and was happy to lose myself in the care of others for awhile.
It was not to be.
I couldn't know when I arrived that Ivy was struggling under the weight of information that might crush me. We made it through a few appointments before she could no longer manage it, and in a break between pregnant mothers, she sat me down to talk. I think of that moment as the beginning of the end.
Ivy's oldest daughter had recently begun working at the Wal Mart Distribution Center in Hurricane, UT, where Aaron worked as a supervisor. She, of course, knew Aaron through me. Whether or not his coworkers knew of their connection before sending gossip her way is unknown to me.
A few days into her new job, Steffany came home to Ivy upset. The distribution center was abuzz with a rumor. Aaron Wilson, the supervisor, was cheating on his wife with a coworker. Did Ivy know? Did I know?
Ivy watched me closely as I took in the news. I was a jumble of emotions. I was shocked and not surprised at the same time. I reminded myself that rumors didn't necessarily mean truth, but some part of me wanted to accept it as such...the truth that might explain the past 5 months, anyway. I don't think the tears came until later, until Ivy and I had agreed that I should take the rest of the day off and I had left her home, with Ivy wondering if she'd made the right decision in telling me.
Getting into my car, I prayed for strength and direction and knew where I wanted to be. I dialed my friend, Cori's number and managed to explain what had happened between sobs.
Cori is the kind of person you go to when you have news, the good kind and the bad. A naturally empathetic person, she has a gift for mirroring your emotions, enhancing them, sharing them. As tears sprang to my eyes, I heard them begin to fall from hers. Her sympathetic voice told me to come to her home, to get there fast. I obeyed.
I was there for hours...or was it just an hour? Or was it a day? Time had no meaning as I sat in Cori's bedroom and tried to make sense of what Steffany had heard about my husband. Minutes and hours dissolved around me as I wondered what to do next. Cory listened and cried, touched and held me, comforted me, bore my heavy burden as best she could.
At some point, I called SHA and left a message. My call was returned quickly. I think he could hear the tone of emergency in my voice. I broke down as I told him what I had learned. His soft, "Oh, Sarah..." felt to me like the greatest safety. This man hurt for me. He knew how hard I had worked, how badly I wanted to stay married, and he hurt for me.
We set up an emergency appointment for the next day. I told him I was going to go out to the distribution center and talk to my husband, give him a chance to answer the accusation. SHA seemed to think that was a suitable plan. He may have told me to wait until our appointment to do anything rash. Maybe I just told myself.
I left Cori's embrace reluctantly and then got into my car and onto the road toward Hurricane. The kids were at the sitter's house, a usual occurrence, since Tuesday was prenatal day and the night I attended parenting class. I called the distribution center and was put through to Aaron, telling the dispatcher it was an emergency. I told him I was on my way, that I needed to talk to him, and that I would take him to get some dinner in Hurricane. When he protested, I stood firm. However he could manage to leave work, he'd have to make it happen.
As I drove the 30 minutes to Hurricane, the full impact of the day began to hit. I began to feel the air leave my lungs and struggled to maintain my position in my lane while powerful, dry, and hopeless sobs shook my whole body.
Speaking a desperate prayer in my heart, I begged for help from my Father in Heaven. Immediately, I was reminded of the words of a treasured hymn, found my voice, and began to sing.
Be still my soul
The Lord is on thy side
With patience bear
Thy cross of grief or pain
Leave to thy God
To order and provide
In every change
He faithful will remain
Be still my soul
Thy best, thy heavenly friend
Through thorny ways
Leads to a joyful end
Be still my soul
Thy God doth undertake
To guide the future as he has the past
Thy hope, thy confidence
Let nothing shake
All now mysterious
Shall be bright at last
Be still my soul
The waves and winds still know
His voice who ruled them
While he dwelt below.
I thought of my mother, of the day we learned my father had been unfaithful to her. 20 years had passed since that day. She was happy and settled with my second dad, her prior pain only a memory. Had God guided the past to get her there. Would he guide my future?
Aaron was waiting for me as I entered the parking lot. He stepped into the van, irritation evident on his face.
"I don't know why I had to leave work," he said gruffly.
"What we have to talk about is not something I'm comfortable talking about over the phone where a dispatcher might be listening."
I told him what Ivy had shared with me. His face turned dark, and he spoke accusingly. "And you believed it."
"I came here to give you a chance to answer it. Maybe I believed it or maybe not. But before two weeks ago, I would never have believe you'd be willing to stay out all night and get passed out drunk on the floor of a night club, and you did that. I have no idea what to believe about you anymore. I don't know what you're capable of."
"I'm not having an affair. The woman they're talking about...we talk. She's separated from her husband and she needs someone to talk to."
"Well," I said, "whatever's going on, you're obviously not using the best boundaries, because your coworkers and your staff think what they do."
"I don't care what they think. I know what I'm not doing. I'm not cheating."
"Okay." I believed him. I still believe him. If he were to tell me today that it was all a lie, that he really had been having an affair, I don't think it would hurt, but it would surprise me. The rumor had not really rung true from the start. He was a lot of things, but unfaithful was not one of them.
"We do need to talk about something," he said. "I guess we might as well do it now."
My lungs, which had just begun to relax, constricted again.
"I've been waiting to tell you this. SHA told me we should wait...that I needed to let you down gently...that you weren't ready to hear it.
"I'm done. I want a divorce, but we can't afford it right now, so I'm waiting until February when we get our tax money. I'm hoping we can do it without lawyers. I want to work together. Until then, I guess we'll just live together like we are now, but in February, I'm going to use the tax money for a divorce."
The sword had descended. The words had been spoken. My greatest fear was real. It was over.
But it wasn't over. What's that he had said? February? He would wait until February? We were to live together as if for four more months, all the while knowing he planned to take the tax money and run? And what was that he had said about SHA? Let me down gently? This was gently?
I dropped him back at work with my head in a fog. I had just enough time to get back to St. George to parenting class, so I drove with a purpose. My tears had dried. My heart was cold. My head was swirling with Aaron's announcement.
I entered parenting class in the middle of a discussion on birth order. SHA noted my arrival with a meaningful look before breaking up the students into groups based on their places in their respective families. I sat on the edge of the middle child group and pretended to listen, but I felt like my body was made of stone.
Without looking too conspicuous, SHA made his way toward me, then leaned forward and asked with kindness in his tone how I was doing. I turned my stony gaze on him and related what Aaron had told me, telling him I didn't appreciate his remarks, that letting me down "gently" was the worst thing anyone could try to do, and that I would have appreciated honesty from him if he'd really thought my marriage was beyond saving. My voice was ice, and I wanted to piece him with it.
Somewhat taken aback, SHA held up his hands and said, "I'd like you to put all of these feelings into an email to me tonight and then we'll discuss them all during our visit tomorrow. Will you do that? Please, tell me exactly what Aaron said I said and exactly how you're feeling." I agreed to do that and we both went back to the business of class.
Afterward, Ivy and Cori hurried to me in the parking lot, and I shared what Aaron had said to me. The ice in my heart melted in the presence of these friends, and I wept new tears and shared all my feelings. I made my way home that night having cried out all the tears I had. True to my word, I sat down before my computer and wrote out a frustrated email to SHA, unloading a torrent of feelings meant for Aaron onto him instead.
The next day, I appeared in his office, stony expression back on my face, prepared to sever ties with the man while feeling heartbroken at the prospect.
"Your email was pretty angry," he said.
"I am angry," I responded. "I don't like hearing that you..."
He raised a hand before I could finish. "Did it ever occur to you to maybe talk to me and check out whether or not I actually said any of that, and if I did, what I meant? Were you even going to give me a chance?"
I was at a loss. It hadn't occurred to me. Not in the slightest.
SHA went on to explain that he still believed wholeheartedly that our marriage could be saved, but that he needed to buy time. His approach with Aaron was about keeping him married long enough for us to do the work that would turn things around.
Looking back, I don't envy SHA that position...meeting with a husband who wanted to use his therapy sessions as a way to leave and a wife who was using hers for the opposite. Just as I believe that Aaron was being honest when he said he wasn't cheating, I believe SHA meant what he said. He had faith, even then, that we could make it work, and everything he did, with Aaron and with me, was toward that goal.
This was the first day SHA mentioned his group therapy sessions. Friends from parenting class had mentioned being a part of them, so I knew something of them. They were tough and amazing, a chance to work and help others work, a place where maybe, Aaron and I could find success.
I left SHA's office chastened and humbled and hopeful. We set up a couple's appointment with the intention of talking to Aaron about joining the new 6 month group session that would begin in January. I went home to a man who believed he only had 4 months left of the misery of living with me. I went as a wife who was back to believing that could change.
We had entered limbo.
Daily Gratitude: Jeremie and Cori
My dear friend, Cori, lost her husband this weekend after a long and valiant battle with leukemia. As Jeremie's disease progressed, Cori kept family and friends updated on the ups and downs of their journey via a blog. Jeremie passed away Saturday night, and today Cori posted her goodbye.
I met this couple through our midwife, Ivy. I was pregnant with my 4th child, Evelyn, and Cori was expecting Phoenix, her fifth. Those babies were born just 2 days apart, and Cori and I became fast friends, sharing happy and sad times together. She is and will always be incredibly special to me...someone who etched her name quite firmly into my heart years ago.
It's sad and strange to think of Cori without the usual "Jeremie and..." tied to it, so I won't. Cori's sweet husband may be gone from this earth, but I know him to be as much a part of her now as he was in life. Today, I am grateful for Jeremie and Cori, together in spite of death, together in my heart.
I love you both.
I met this couple through our midwife, Ivy. I was pregnant with my 4th child, Evelyn, and Cori was expecting Phoenix, her fifth. Those babies were born just 2 days apart, and Cori and I became fast friends, sharing happy and sad times together. She is and will always be incredibly special to me...someone who etched her name quite firmly into my heart years ago.
It's sad and strange to think of Cori without the usual "Jeremie and..." tied to it, so I won't. Cori's sweet husband may be gone from this earth, but I know him to be as much a part of her now as he was in life. Today, I am grateful for Jeremie and Cori, together in spite of death, together in my heart.
I love you both.
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