Anniversary

Anniversary: a date on which something important happens that is noted in some way each year thereafter.

Five years ago today, something important happened. My marriage ended.

As I sit here reflecting I can’t really reach back farther than five years and recall much of my life in detail. The past has merged with time and feels like a story from long long ago when I was someone else.

Divorce isn’t something readily celebrated or readily understood by those who haven’t had to endure its tricky pain. I had no idea what I was walking into, only what I was walking out of. Years and years of turmoil and rejection made me disappear into a dark hole deep inside myself. My personality turned inward, hibernating in the protection and safety of an inner fantasy world I constructed to cope with rejection, neglect, shame and humiliation that came at me everyday just for simply being myself.

As the years dragged on I felt compelled to “fix” these problems, staying to face the consequences of my choice in a mate and lie in the bed I had made for myself. The thought of seperation, or a time out, wasn’t even an inkling of an option, and divorce was taboo vocabulary. Like a dog observed in shock studies I became like the ones unable stop the shock, and learned to be helpless, losing sight of the big picture, unable to change. The fear of believing I couldn’t make it on my own, coupled with guilt and control trapped me in the walls of my own making.

Weekly counseling became my “social life”. A place that was supposed to be just mine to unwind was hijacked by pressure to “fix” all the things that were wrong with our marriage, that I bore sole responsibility of, one problem creating two rather than two problems trying to merge into one. Pressed to excel by someone else’s standard of perfection with no empathy for my humanity, I ceased to matter. Each intention of affection was consistently rejected, the words “I love you” said with less depth than “good night” or “see you later”. Demonstrations of affection never moved beyond obligatory hand holding in public. The shame I felt from being rejected and ignored by the person beholden to my life as my spouse kept me from sharing my pain-better known as shame-with others. Isolation of the worst kind became by best friend and I unplugged from the world burying my heartbreak deep inside myself, becoming numb to every fight, exhausted in my attempts to become likable, acceptable, and dare I think, lovable. I became a zombie, the dead among the living, functioning throughout the day with surface emotion. Until I broke.

It is possible to break a person. It is possible to get to a place so devoid of care that numbness becomes your name and the bottom swallows you whole. You are no longer a person, you are dead. The choice to remain longer is nothing more than a choice to die.

Five years ago today I remembered how to breathe. The shatter of the end broke the glass cage I lived in and I finally could breathe and stretch out in my bed with space to be me. In the five years since that shatter of breaking free and learning to breathe, I realize that I have journeyed rather far and learned a few other things on my way.

1.       Life is good, Life is breath.

I started going to yoga years and years ago and I couldn’t quite find the freedom in the movement that everyone else seemed to grasp, lost in their breath. I would lay on my mat, my eyes closed to the sky as the instructor lead the class in breath work “breath in, 2, 3, 4, hold at the top, and let it all go”. Feeling connected with my eyes closed I understood how to breath, but “let it all go!?” oh please! I couldn’t imagine it, someone could hear me! The very idea that I should be so loud and share all that I just held inside myself with the room full of strangers, filled me with fear, how private and dangerous that felt! Used to skirting the room and remaining small, unnoticed by all, content and invisible in my shell. I realize now that instead of breathing out I was holding my breath, stuck in the holding too afraid to stand out. Frozen in time and unable to breathe. Is this how I was living? Always holding my breath? Life stood so still and I didn’t know how to feel big, how to be present, or even how to ackowledge that, yes, I took up space. Internally, growth still felt far far away.

My exterior changes were much more noticeable by friends and family who all frequently commented on how my countenance had drastically changed. I was happy. I was funny. I was free. The elephant was banished from the room and no longer sat atop my chest. His absence, a contrast that left me light as a feather, let me move easily from one place to another. Living life with such ease was a drug of comparison. Choices were mine and mine alone to make. Joy was available in every conversation, spontaneous adventure and new friendships made. Like stepping out from the shade and into the sun, my life was full of light. It filled me and bounced off of me. With so many years of forgetting myself the discovery of self unfolded surprisingly easy. I made plans to move out of state, a long held dream made by my 10 year old self, choosing to actively chase the dreams that for years lived only in my fantasies. Buying a bike I reacquainted myself with the kid still inside, playing once again with my 7 year old self. Life was not on pause but full and alive and that life that I dreamed of once upon a time quickly became real, and it was called mine, no longer lost to one sided sacrifice.

In yoga once again, I found myself lying flat on a mat, eyes closed to the sky breathing in to the top. “Let it go” said the instructor with breath resounding through the room full of strangers. And this time I actually participated, breathing loud for all to hear. Joining with those who also chose life, today and tomorrow. To breathe is to live. I am big. I take up space. I have breath. I am alive.

2.       Grief is a smuggler

Merging life into Part Two took up its own momentum and moved quickly toward new things. Those in my world were quick to support my moving forward. The world was ready for me to move on, yet blind to the actual divorce process that I was living in. I walked alone through paperwork, legalities and fiscal separation that wasn’t pleasant, easy or kind. Friends listened to what I faced with care and concern, but no one really knew all that I was holding. I knew that no one could do it for me, but wished that someone could do it with me. The end lingered on for a bit with left over words flung in my face that didn’t hurt much since I could no longer care, but still had to put down, while society was more than ready to welcome me in to the future they decide I was more than ready to accept. I felt isolated by everyone in my circle, everyone still married and seemingly happy, I needed single friends.

The world encouraged me to date, sew wild oats, and chase new and better things, but I felt bereft and stuck in a crack dividing the two worlds unable to see to which I belonged. Caught in a whirl wind of feeling, I grieved alone with a few friends to hold. Initial grief is like nothing I have every felt, loss of death itself, personalized to me and what was called my marriage, and all the dreams and expectations I thought it would be. This unsharable grief that was just for me.

Wracking sobs of apology for being unable to save it choked on lament that it didn’t deserve saving, dropped me to the floor soaking the carpet for days. Unable to climb into bed or move from where I fell. There was no end, no breath to catch just a pit in my stomach, a gag so deep, purging that hurt deeper than sit ups for days and days.

Blending joy with grief I got through my days, light mixed in shadow, the sun and rain came at me in every way. No day was “good” no day was “bad” just a mix of feeling all over the map. The lows were never as dark as the life I once lived, with new highs to contrast, joy seemed profound and it carried much of the pain. In my naiveté I thought that a year was long enough to grieve the life I once had, little did I know life had other plans. The sudden loss of my aunt shocked me to my core, just before moving away from family now states away. Compounding my grief of losing life as I knew it, the description of “family” fell apart and felt ruined.

Distance and loss added to my grief as it grew bigger, multiplying outward, my circle got bigger. The loss of my aunt was not just my own, and the sharing of that brokenness helped build a bridge to repair damaged relations with my parents who were affected during the period I was lost in my marriage. Grief and repair, who knew that joy could hold hands with the darkness.

Grief seemed to cool, a least in my head, finding tears on my face in disconnected moments. Trying to collect my tears and hear where they’d been, I found myself struggling to explain my feelings to new friends who had no idea of the life I once lived and the person I’d been. The depth of hurt and years of pain that couldn’t be purged in just a year like I’d planned. And the anger of conversations and actions left to the past, with no resolve to be had, I had to fight them alone, release their tension, surrendering and letting go of them.

Feelings of loneliness often over powered the day, unsure how to reach out, who would help me feel understood instead of trapped in my head. Were these tears for the present, or the past once again? So much of this grief was feeling misunderstood by those who hadn’t been there, divorce was just paper stamped with an end, shouldn’t my feelings jump in line with that end? Was there no one who got it? No one who understood the inexplainable and continuous loss that I still felt in my chest. More recently I found a group of friends who knew of the place where I struggled to stand. Their offered “me too” tossed me a thread that let me stitch up the gap dividing the worlds I lived in.

Grief turned a corner with validation and an outlet to express the ongoing confusion and lingering dread. The loss of a marriage, dreams I once had, my identity and the years that got chalked up as worthless, unloved and alone and tossed in the trash. The feeling of loneliness stretched out into the future the same distance as its roots dug into the past. Having the space to share helped dump out the grief that still haunted me.

I had no idea that grief lasted so long wrapped up in successive layers. I lived life overly sensitive to hurt seeing loss at every corner. Until waking up a few months ago something felt different and undefinable. What is it that’s missing? I feel light on my feet, the corners aren’t scary and tears don’t run deep. I’ve reached the moment, the end of my grief. It’s all been poured out, now claimed by the past as just another part of my story.  

3.       Regret reborn makes peace with the past.

The biggest regret I faced in my healing was coming to terms with the years I had wasted. I couldn’t see a way to validate all the years of living in death, I felt cheated and angry that I was unable to see clearly back then, regret that I waited too long to change the name of my story. Grappling with years of sequestered feelings, making choices without choosing, trapped in a battle only cleared up by hindsight.

Forgiving my ex for all of his misses was drastically easier than forgiving myself. Still reeling in self-loathing that was slow to burn out, I wrestled with time lost while growing from the inside out. Regret hung heavy in my self-talk, punishing words in my thoughts rang out until I realized that no one said those things to me out loud. My world had changed, the abuse had stopped, why was I still carrying those words for myself? Looking back with perspective on my 19 year old self, the girl too young to realize just what she was doing. Lacking life experience and knowledge I realized she simply did the best she could, that girl made hard choices and she tried when she should.  My 30 year old self struggled to comprehend its own youth, words and actions accepted as truth at the young age of 19 are hard patterns to break. Repeated rants of self-punishment and blame with frequent laments “How could I have been so stupid!?” “How could you do this to me?” It took work on myself to find grace for the girl who back in that day was still known as me. Slowly we grew together and the softness of forgiveness so easily extended to others, was finally extended to young and old seasons of me.

Another level of healing came from hearing from friends and family who openly expressed their personal opinions. It was hard to hear their perspective of watching me fall and the loss that they felt from my withdrawal. The distance created and the sadness they saw, the inaction they were left with watching my flatness. One more place to find grace without my anger, wanting to yell “Where were you then to help pull me out!?” Making attempts to find fault somewhere else, to lessen the blow of disappointing more than just myself. But I wouldn’t listen, I had no ears to hear, it was too hard to listen unable to cope with others feelings when I barely understood my own. Paralyzed by my fear I only pushed harder to distance myself from their dissatisfaction. But when I was ready, the second I was done, I shattered completely and all that was inside fell out. I found the opposite of lonely holding me up. Friends with no idea how lost I had been, supported me in my wracking sobs as it all spilled out and I came apart. My family stepped in, never really gone, and our relationship improved, still building yet strong. So much to forgive inside myself. The ways I had distanced without even knowing, so much repair and restoring still to do.

It felt heavy, more tears and old thoughts of despair, but instead of blame cast down the only thing that fell were tears that were shared for all the lost years. I began to see it all with a bigger perspective, all the hurt caused found real healing together. Emerging as whole, an individual person with enough value in believing that was enough in my skin alone with myself. The years “wasted” relabeled as the time I needed to grow into myself. Facing my flaws, my nature, my true self. Extending grace for learning to like and to love myself, extending the respect I only reserved for others to myself, and finally the hardest thing of all, finding the way to forgiving myself.

Owning my choices and crafting authenticity to become a person of action and integrity. Owning my space and ability to say “I’m sorry” for the things that were truly mine and not covering up others with over extension, leaving the sorry out of my mouth when those words were meant to come out of theirs. Finding the boundaries I needed to allow reciprocity in the people I would chose to let into my life. Those with capacity to support and build up, to challenge my growth in a mutual reflection with the ability to express much needed affection. Practicing my boundaries over these years has chased out my fear that I will end up with the wrong company back in the same hole once again. I have done well passing on those who are unable to met the criteria of my entrance fee.

4.       The present is truly a gift.

Finding balance day to day is the biggest challenge I still face. Looking one way for too long I find myself off balance. I have come to the realization that there is no perfect stance that enables long the endurance of balance. Change is constant, stress accumulates, and chasing a problem over here leaves no time for that one over there. Finding pace and intention to catch up with myself is the only way I have been able to try and claim or regain a moment of balance. Now that my grieving season is done, I still have pings that ring out from the past, that catch me off guard and color my life. Little battles in moments that sing of “Forever” or jolts from the void of unshared moments waging war in the future, confused by the desire for now, while lacking control to change the unknown. With forgiveness ongoing within myself, a dialog unfolds for reshaping regretful choices that didn’t pan out with acceptance as the counter measure for each of those moments. I have learned to live with softness that gives room for my humanity to show and my flaws to fall out without judgment. Accepting what’s been done and learning to move on.

Making peace with the past and speaking kindly to myself has given me these moments to catch up with my inner self regularly. If everything I endured, all the grief and the pain, the fun and the joy of learning to feel once again was all for the sake of getting here, to this place of pause to connect with myself, I would do it all over. Today I am me, a representation of my past and all of my choices, accumulation of rewards and consequences, all the highs and the lows I have endured over time pulled together in one space stretched out toward the future. Staying linked to the present no longer afraid of my feelings, I have found a precious gift. I am not made with the ability to hold my feelings as captives, tucked down in a hole or carried on my back , ignored repeatedly in the hope that they will just go away. Feelings are measures of one single moment, crafted by intention meant for just that second. Yet sometimes a second can feel rather imploded by too many feelings fighting to fit in the same tiny second. Feelings have ripples that tie to the past like a bouey afloat bookmarking the sea, with others stretched out long a wide into the future with a fingernail pinched into the air barely holding on. They have their own name, their own face and signature, with a unique purpose their self-expression adds color to life. Learning to listen I can hear what they say with no agenda for how long they might stay, but trust that when they are done with their moment they take their leave and kindly fade away.

5.       Sketches mark the future

In the last five years of living bigger than survival, I feel grief’s reprieve and only just now can I taste the future. Running here and there in the last five years, chasing time to catch up with the places I had lost. I feel connected and centered with multiple intentions. Simultaneously leaping in joy, chasing adventure, growing skills and new hobbies, crying or grieving just as it’s needed, still growing I feel like I measure out too thin. The pace I had started with unsustainable now. Expectations have withered down to baseline and I finally feel caught up with my life. I am here. I have wings to fly, a bird out of its cage with a new song to sing. I have roots that tie me to a place I call home, and connected to friends that I deeply rely on. I see the future called North that a compass can track, but the destinations still undecided on which direction I’m headed. The clock keeps ticking like a metronome keeping pace, mindful of speeding or slowing my pace. Living with breath for as long as I have it, and able to face the counter of death as it comes in the future, unknown as of yet.

The sketch of my life painted in feelings, the past, the present, and somewhere in the future. Caught up with now, I can start to see a few shapes and ideas that I might want down the line . The values I shape today will reflect on tomorrow’s choices and draw different lines based on how I react.  Relationships are central with emotional depth and boundaries, guarding the line for authenticity’s actions and words spelling out L-O-V-E in both directions.

Work still defines a passion traded for money to grow deeper roots in the place I call home, with an eye for adventure of any size to refresh new dreams and allow time to flee. Reordering values to align with my actions as a consumer and citizen, broadening my worldview to include community, activism and changing to align with the priorities and values that I claim as mine.

Standing here with a view of the past, it’s hard to see how I got here so fast. Five years seems too quick and yet it took forever. So much of the past was hard to un-render, the growing pains and endless seasons of tears that ran on and on into each other. I don’t really know the shape of my heart after all its’ adventures being torn apart and re-pasted together. Perhaps it merely deflated and now it’s pumped up looking brand new. After all the care that I have spent tending its wounding and learning its value, I am rather selective in a potential audience of one. I have yet to meet a “one” interested in its story, with worthy intentions and potential plans with the desire to hold it. Dating feels rather disposable in its view and I find myself disinterested in pretend productions. Perhaps there is a sketch somewhere in the future that allows me a chance to try again at sharing life with someone else. It’s hard to have hope when faced with the past and “trying” for nothing in the loop of endless dating.

The loneliness I face is bearable most days. Falling asleep with myself some nights I leak tears, but being alone is still a bit of perfection when compared with the loneliness I curled up with sharing my bed with an absent spouse, a I fate I wish upon nobody else. This life that I have chosen to live reserves space for the unknown to still be filled in. It’s beautiful and so much more than I could have imagined with all its color and defining black and grey thrown in.

Today marks a day worthy of a note. The beginning from something else at its end. Breaking wide open and rebuilding my life, remembering my footsteps, the breaths in and out, letting go of it all to be here just now, the day marking the anniversary of starting over in life.