It's All Rather Anti-Climactic
Thursday, April 13, 2006 at 10:47PM In Canada, it takes only one to get divorced. It can be curiously inexpensive, relatively hassle-free, and incredibly quick. It will never be painless, I don’t care which side you’re on. You’re either the one in pain, or the one denying your pain, but either way, there is an incredible pain. And it goes on.
It arrives in your mailbox - the divorce order. It’s two pieces of paper and despite that it contains few words. It leaves you wondering - is this it? There’s nothing to sign. It only takes one. It’s all very strange. It’s all very strange. I wasn’t sure how I would feel. I felt nothing - not joy, not relief, not empty, not anything really. Well, a wee bit of confusion in trying to determine if that was actually it, all of it, or was there more to come. Once it sunk in, it just sort of sunk in. I’m still in denial about my ability/inability to save my marriage. I still wonder what could I have done, what should I have done, what if I had done … psychology says it takes six months for every year of marriage and I don’t have to wonder why. It takes a long time to get so established and rooted in your own life that you essentially forget about the other non-life, the one you were wishing would give you a do-over. For me, I think it might take a lifetime to actually forgive myself. Sometimes that concerns me - sometimes being pretty much only when I think about it, which can be often or not often depending on what else I have going on. It’s not that complex, it just seems impossible to let it all go entirely - I can find lots of things to numb it - alcohol, shopping, friends, food, chocolate, friends, life, busy-ness … but in the quiet stillness, I think of him and I and where and why it all had to go so wrong. And it only takes one …
The culture of hate. Divorce breeds it. Not just hate of each other, but the hate of oneself, of one’s own human-ness. I can see my friends cringing - “oh no, we’re not going here again”, I’m not, I’ve learned to manage it, but it’s still tucked away down there and I’m not sure it ever goes away. Not without some serious distraction, and even then, is it really going away or is it just being more effectively ignored? Kind of akin to the nagging child, non? Pain management of sorts. At one time, in one rant or another, I might have thought that it would be easier, life that is, if I just went ahead and hated him. That’s problematic though, because I still have to talk to him about things like daycare, soccer games, skating lessons, and poop (preschooler, for those that don’t know - the kid, not my ex-husband, but sometimes I’m left wondering). Ever try to have a nice conversation with someone you hate. It’s not fun.
“Hi - how are you? Did you have a nice day?” (with your fucking slut of a trollop girlfriend - is resonating in the back forty of your mind somewhere, you manage to push it down).
“I am great.” he responds, followed by the long pause that means - “Please don’t say anything else, at least not until I get the TV onto the game and muted so that I can watch the hockey game while you are nattering away about how I’m a useless putz who’s surely going to hell for my inability to love you.”
“That’s good, I’m glad to hear it,” you lie. A lot of restraint, and a lot of lying, I’m fine, life is great, I’m great, I love me, all lies you tell somehow someway in the 2 minute conversation that you wish wasn’t happening.
It’s not fun. At least now that I’m divorced, I am free to pursue other men to distract me from myself. There’ll be that flurry, that flutter that comes with the excitement of a potential new relationship. Surely it’ll be followed by some nausea, mostly at the perplexing thought of what one should wear, and then there’ll be all that pretentiousness. Gag. Maybe it’s best to just stick it out a little while longer …
… and it’s all rather anticlimactic.
The day before it became official, I drank champagne and gave a toast to endings and beginnings … and wondered at the miracle of time … life just keeps going with our without me. And I accepted that I am happy, scarred, but happy - and happy is okay … happy is most definitely allowed and okay … in spite of it all.
And that took two. Me and God.
It’s good, but it is all rather anticlimactic … and it’s good.
Norma Jean Barrett
Dorothy Nevill – a historian and fancy-shmancy hostess from the late 1800’s is said to have said …“The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing at the right place, but to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment.”
There was a time in my life, when I absolutely could not leave anything unsaid. I almost felt it was my duty to say something … anything … if there was something to be said – I had to say it … and it usually was at the absolute disregard of how others might perceive it, react to it, or even feel about it. I will admit, that sometimes … sometimes I even got off on it. It was satisfying to exude my intellectual capacity … my rightness … onto others. It was pretentious buffoonery and I’m glad I got knocked down significantly enough to consider growing up.
Over time, I worked at developing the ability to discern when to make a fuss and when to just let things go. It’s a process we all go through … one oft learned through trial and error. And sometimes there is more error …
Writing about me and my experiences is the one activity I’ve undertaken in my life that seems to flow simply from within – how could it not, it is about the subject I know best … me. I have a well-admitted envy for artists … true artists, those that do because they simply have no choice but to. I cannot pretend to be an artist, but can relate on that one aspect only. I have little fear of failing at this. It’s the one expression that requires only time from me … when I take the time, when I pause to reflect, when I consider a subject … the words come … and if they don’t, I simply don’t write. Sure there is editing and naturally I have a common rhythm … but there is no method beyond putting my hands to the keys and letting things come.
In the process of allowing things to flow, I wrote the truth of my experience trudging along towards destination-divorce. I wrote about the reality of the swirling thoughts in my head. My only promise to myself when I entered the blogosphere was to stay true to the experience. I do not generally swear out loud, but fully admit to swearing often in my head or through clenched teeth. I’ll admit that when I wrote the comment in the above article even I cringed slightly. I contemplated taking it out, but chose to let it stand, because it was true to how I was feeling at the time and in my opinion true to how anyone would feel in similar circumstances.
“We don’t do name-calling” was embedded in the response to my apology.
I don’t either, which is what the article indicates that this particular thought is a thought that occurs in my head … a thought I manage to suppress by biting my tongue. The published diatribe about biting my tongue apparently bit her … the one person I couldn’t imagine would even be bothered to read about my perspective. I’m aware that my only lens through which to see her is tainted by my own offence. I can conjure up all kinds of nice things to say or think about her, but the truth is I really don’t know her. To date, I have only known her as the woman who interfered.
When offence occurs, it so often occurs at the expense of context. There is a failure to appreciate why something is said, and a forceful pull to focussing on how what’s been said has made us feel. As is the case with many of us, when I got offended in the past, I was simply offended and tended to dwell in the place of hurt until I forgot about it or reconciled with my offender … cowardly, I usually forced myself to forget about it. And so go the steps of growing up – I’ve learned my truth, I’m happy with my truth, and so I now let go with the wind those things said about me that I know not to be true.
My little guy has an issue with being called “stupid”. He rapidly and passionately reports it when it happens.
“Are you stupid?” is my usual retort …
“No,” he says, generally followed by a rapid string of “but … but … but … he (or she) said …”
I question - “Well … were you doing something stupid?”
… the response to that one is usually debatable … you get the point though. He’s not stupid. He knows he’s not. He just needs an occasional reminder to believe in himself. Don’t we all.
Nobody can be responsible to change someone else’s mind or opinion about them … I know it’s not my job to change “their” minds. My only job is to keep my mind in check and to keep being me – hopefully an ever evolving and improving me … and that’s gotta be enough. In time, perhaps we will grow to see each other through different lenses. I’ve learned, it’s best not to force these things.
I apologized for the offence. I hope we have reconciled. And while it might not change the feelings, I hope it changes the actions. I’m only responsible for my own … and those I know are changed.
And from my angle … that’s the last of that.
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