Lessons Learned

The other day, it occurred to me that while money doesn’t buy happiness, if I had the money right now, I could buy some peace. I would hire the contractors necessary to come and finish all the projects that need to be finished before the house goes on the market. Just thinking about how much stress that would relieve is tear inducing. It also leads me to thinking about advice that I would give my son: Don’t ever limit your independence and your options. Don’t let yourself be trapped. I learned many lessons about marriage and relationships in the past twenty years. Since sharing is caring, here they are:

Flexibility is crucial to keeping options open. If you can’t be flexible, it might be best to live alone. That way, you can have your home the way you want it. You won’t need to compromise or be conflict with another person. Granted, your tradeoff is that you are alone, and when you need someone, you may have trouble finding someone. Living alone, however, does allow you the most independence and options.

The other option is to recognize what it takes to make a relationship work: communication and compromise. You have to be prepared to listen, really listen, and you have to be prepared to negotiate. These things have to be done earnestly. The goal isn’t just to get your way…it’s to do what’s best for the relationship, and your family unit, overall. No doubt – earnestly communicating and compromising are the hardest parts of a successful relationship. Not getting your way can hurt, it can rip open old wounds, and we end up feeling like small, pathetic losers. If you find that you need to have your way or you feel like you’re constantly losing, you might need therapy before you go into a relationship. Ego is a bitch to tame.

The consequences of not putting aside our individual agendas and opening up to honest conversation and earnest compromise are worse than having to set aside ego. It starts with a coldness between the partners, and a “no-go” zone. We stop talking about certain topics because those are the ones that turn into arguments. It’s easier just to let the sleeping wolf lie. Resentment creeps in, because invariably something happens and then all the talking that should have been done earlier, is now forced into the open, but too late. Now, it’s a problem, not a plan. Now, it’s triage, it’s not compromise.

I think the worse marriage advice I was ever given was, “You do what you want, and let the other person do what they want.” That’s probably fine advice for dating, because if you’re doing what you want and the other person is doing their thing, and you keep finding that you’re doing compatible things, great. The problem with that advice for a marriage is that it assumes several important conditions that may not be there.

The “do what you want” theory of marriage assumes that both partners want to be a loving marriage, not just a marriage of convenience. In a marriage of convenience, you can be happy on your own; it just makes things easier if you have someone to share the workload. Great. Awesome. You do the laundry this week and I’ll cut the lawn. You cook; I’ll do the dishes. That sort of thing. But…what if that’s not all you want from your partner? Or, what if your partner feels that doing what they want is a one-way option? What if they feel they’re “thing” is more important than your “thing”? It’s very difficult for both partners to be working toward a common good when one partner feels entitled to choose what they or won’t support.

In a loving marriage, you may not like sushi, but every once in a while, you’re going to make sure that you say yes to the sushi bar because your partner loves it. You don’t say, “You go do that with your friends because I won’t eat sushi” every time your partner asks. Sometimes, you choke down some tempura because while it isn’t your favorite, your partner is relishing that salmon nigiri. Or, maybe you compromise and offer to pick up the take out from two separate places because then everybody does get what they want. In a real partnership, you’re not going to protest going to Lowes and looking at tools then bitch because someone doesn’t want to hit up TJ Maxx with you. Their drill bits are your cut-price purse. However, going along but pouting the entire time is just as bad. Go, smile, and hit TJ Maxx on the way home. That’s not to say you have to run every errand together.

 If you find yourself saying no just because it’s not on your agenda, be prepared to hear no in return. For a marriage to be real, for a partnership to be a partnership, you have to both want to spend time with other person. If you want to be in the relationship with that person, some of the stuff you’re going to want to do is going to boil down to “be with that person.” If it’s not, and you see the time you spend doing things that person wants to do as a personal sacrifice, you’re in the wrong relationship, friend.

So, if I were to take the “do what you want” advice and apply it to a marriage, I would say, “Be honest about the things you want to do, talk about them, and be ready to compromise, keeping in mind what’s most important. If having it your way is most important, it’s time to reconsider why you’re there.”

On the flipside, if you find that you’re suppressing what you want, or, you’re giving up on things that are important to you to keep the peace, it’s also time to reconsider why you’re there. There has to be balance, in all things, or the when the scales tip back the other way, it’s going to be a steep drop. Trust me; I learned this the hard way. 

Embracing My XX

Sometimes I wonder if I’m too old for this gig. I wonder if I should bother trying to make it as a writer or just go back to working a nine to five office job. Then I remember, oh, yeah, I’ve been out “the regular workforce” for at least four years now, so, uh, yeah, anywhere I go, I’m starting at the bottom. Why not start at the bottom of something I love doing? If I don’t make it as a writer, if I can’t afford to pay my rent and utilities writing, then okay, I’ll have to go get the job I would be looking at now anyway. I wouldn’t know if I could have made it, would I?

Financial security is a great thing, but for me, who has always wanted to write, financial security came at the cost of not doing what I loved. And guess what? I didn’t get rich from not doing what I loved.

I’ve seen a few blog posts lately about what advice I’d give my twenty-something self. There’s one thing I would say to my newly adulted self: Just be you.

The realization that I’m smart enough, talented enough, good enough, and strong enough to do what it is that I want to do, is coming slowly. I wish it would come a little faster because my twenties are long gone, and if I’m going to make up for lost time, I need to get on that…rapido. 

Yes, history is filled with examples of people who achieved great things once they’d passed forty. Frankly, I’m not looking for greatness; I just have a few milestones I’d like to hit. I have some goals I’d like to check off and I’d like to try some unfettered happiness for a while.

Just before I started at college, I was told, “Teaching is a good job for a woman.” That statement has pained me for many years, and the pain of it has changed as I’ve changed. At the time, I was eighteen, and what I wanted to pursue at college was writing. “You have to do something that pays the light bill,” was the reason I was given for not pursuing a degree in creative writing. I was young and insecure. I believed what people told me. I didn’t value myself and wasn’t able to summon enough strength to do what I wanted. I was unprepared to navigate alone.

At eighteen, what bothered me most about the teaching statement was that it said I wasn’t worth the risk of pursuing something extraordinary. The person who said it to me didn’t have the faith in me that I had the talent to achieve my goals. I needed to be someone ordinary to pay the light bills because I would never be extraordinary enough to be a writer. I wasn’t good enough.

The statement also denigrated teachers, many of whom I had and still have a lot of respect. “Teaching is a good job for a woman,” as opposed to “Teaching is a good job,” says that men are better used in another, better capacity. That teaching isn’t a job that requires strength or dedication, so let the women be teachers. When I finally did become a teacher, decades later, what I found was that teaching is a job that requires an inordinate amount of strength and dedication, no less than any other job, and more than so many others.

As I gained consciousness of bigger issues, I realized that the statement perpetuated a belief about me as a person that was also painful: as a girl, I wasn’t as a good as a boy, I wasn’t good enough for a man’s career. The belief bar, the expectations, had been set low from the outset because I was born female. When I helped my double econ-finance major apartment mate, two years my senior, with her papers and at her part-time job, as I wondered what her issue was. I did not recognize my own ability. When my Foundations of Education teaching assistant asked if he could publish the midterm I wrote in iambic pentameter, I shrugged it off, thinking it was clever but not that I was intelligent. As successive attorneys encouraged me to go to law school, I chose marriage instead because it was safer and what I was supposed to do, as a woman. I let the limiting belief that my gender diminishes me limit my belief in myself. I had accepted that belief unconsciously for a very long time, and when I recognized the truth behind it, the realization was wrenching. It remains painful to this day.

To raise myself, I needed new gods to foster belief in my inherent value. Gods that would reveal the truth: it has nothing to do with my gender; there is nothing wrong with having matching chromosomes. It’s not about deserving, because I deserve every good thing. It’s about belief. It’s about believing that I can meet expectations; no matter how high the bar is set, because being a woman isn’t a limiting factor. The limits are only where I set them. If I choose to put the work into writing, then my success stops when I do. I am every bit as good as a woman as any man, and frankly, better than some. I don’t have to accept a lesser life because I have a vagina.

Going back to the question of what I would tell my twenty-something self, I know what I would say: You go, girl. Don’t look back. Don’t ever doubt that you have what it takes. You just keep going.

Good Things will Come.

          I missed yesterday’s scheduled blog post because my kid had his tonsils out. The removal of said tonsils is a good thing because they’ve been an issue for him. He’s going to college in August, and really, anything that helps him be healthier and more successful is something I can embrace. Less sore throats in his future is a good thing. Today, he’s dealing with the discomfort, the medicine that makes him nauseated, and the boredom of having to take it easy. Not talking isn’t a huge problem thanks to our cell phones. Overall, I’m choosing to see this surgery as a good thing and an analogy for the future.

                Right now, there is pain and some discomfort. However, this is temporary, and I believe these things will pass. Once they pass, I believe good things will come back. This temporary detraction is part of the set up for a life to come. One filled with opportunity and the pursuit of happiness.

                When my son goes off to college, he will have the opportunity to make a life for himself and pursue happiness on his own terms at an ever-increasing rate. Over the course of senior year, we’ve talked about how there always seems to be a period of “stalling” before the next phase of life begins. High school ends with a year when the class load pales in comparison to the previous year, the goal being to keep your grades up so that if you have a conditional acceptance, you’ll meet those conditions. Sure, there are Advanced Placement classes, and not slacking is important, but, honestly, the pressure of senior year compared to junior year isn’t nearly as intense. The relaxed pace slows the year and creates gaps that are filled with other thoughts. Right now, he’s experiencing the anticipation of having to wait to begin the next phase of life, along with some anxiety that he’s leaving behind what is familiar.

                The anticipation is worse than the anxiety. He’s been to six schools in 13 years, so he’s learned how to navigate. The anticipation is worse because he has no control about how slowly time passes. He can mark off the days, keep up with his homework, and do the things high school seniors do, but he cannot make the days go faster. In that respect, we are in the same boat.

                The last few weeks were very difficult, and I spent much of that time lamenting my situation. I want to be done with that.

My intention now is to move forward by looking forward. I have a full To-Do list, and a son to help heal. I could spend my efforts moaning and worrying, but that only propagates the emotional weeds. Outside my office, I have three rose bushes, some bleeding heart vines, and a couple of coreopsis planted. Spring is coming. I would rather see blossoms than weeds.

                Intuition is telling me that buds are forming and waiting for the right combination of sun and warm temperatures to burst out with flowers because the rain has come down sufficiently already. I’m going to keep fertilizing, and weeding so that my Oklahoma roses will be Sooner red and the hydrangeas in front of the house will bloom soccer ball size.  

                Good things will come. Flowers, freedom, success. I’m happy with the progress on the book, and I’m working to find an agent who will see goodness in that, too. The days are getting sunnier and longer, so I’m able to get outside more. Before I leave Pittsburgh, I plan to explore a little more by walking in the city. I don’t want to look back and think that I should have done more, on any front, because when the good things do start coming, I want to know that I’ve earned them, that I brought them to fruition.

                The day my book is sold to a publisher will be a huge day for me. I’ve worked on this for years, starting with other manuscripts for which I apologize to anyone who suffered through them. I’ve had to learn vast amounts, swallow some pride, pick myself up from time to time, and keep going. When I say that the call from an agent telling me there is an interested publisher will be a life changer for me, I regret that words cannot capture true experience. It’s cliché to write that my heart races some, and I shake a little just thinking about that call. Cliché as that is it is no less true for the hackney of it.

The call will come; I feel it as certain as I feel the change in the air – the warmer feeling even when the temperatures don’t reach sixty degrees, even when the sun is still backlighting a cloudy sky. Graduation will be a warm, hopefully sunny, day. This summer will be filled with transition. Before Fall arrives, we will all move on from this place, this point in life. Moreover, good things will come. Good things always come, I just have to remember to make them welcome.

Worthless and Weak

              I just wiped out six hundreds words of my original post. I’ve been writing around the subject again, and the writing just sucks when I do that. The problem is I’m frightened. I’m scared to write what’s really in my head because I don’t know if I’m going to get into trouble for it. I don’t know whose reading my blog.

My blog was supposed to be a place where I could empty my “non-novel” thoughts that were taking up space in my brain. Often, I need to clear out the distractions in my head so I can work on my novel. Writing the blog helps me get to a place where I can flow with the book. But I haven’t honestly cleaned out the brain space because I’m worried that if I wrote what’s really in my head, I may lose everything. At the very least, there could be a very ugly argument. Right now, I’m just so tired of fighting, I try to keep things calm.

Maybe I’m paranoid and suffering under the tension of where I am right now. However, it’s so very possible that my blog is being read with the idea that later, it can be used as a weapon against me. It’s a trapped, helpless feeling and I’m nervous, and anxious. I dance on glass, hoping it won’t shatter under my bare feet.

Some days, I am full of bravado and don’t care. Most days, I fear what isn’t being said aloud.

We’ve never been good at calmly discussing things. As the years have passed, we’ve discussed fewer and fewer issues. When we cannot easily agree, we generally let things just fall as they will and deal with the consequences, without an attempt at planning first. I am choosing less and less to engage, and more and more to just acquiesce. Without any agency in the relationship, my thoughts and ideas are irrelevant and it is best to just agree and move on. Cross off another day on the calendar and breathe again.

I have been thinking about all the “should haves” lately, and I’m doing a lot of mental self-flagellation. I am my own best whipping girl. When I think about my list of “should haves,” I can boil them down to one overarching lesson: I should have been stronger.

Years ago, I was told that I should marry someone with a strong personality who could handle me. I wish I hadn’t listened. I wish I hadn’t let that idea sink into my brain and act as a filter. When I think of the nice people I knew, whom I saw as weak, from whom I walked away because they weren’t “strong enough” to be my friend or colleague, let alone my partner, I realize what I tremendous mistakes I made. I chose to place myself in this position, where I’ve sublimated myself to keep the peace, because the truth is I was weak. 

It’s taken me years to figure out that just because you made the bed you lie in; it doesn’t mean you can’t change the damn sheets.

I don’t really know what he’s thinking at this point. I think he’d give his right arm to walk away from me tomorrow and never come back. I am horrible in his sight. I am turning my back on almost twenty years of marriage. In his mind, I’ve said unforgivable things. I have asked for this divorce and to him the contempt with which he treats me now is what I deserve. Maybe so.

Maybe I am a horrible person for walking away. Maybe I’m a quitter and the loser that I was once called. Maybe I’m a bitch. Maybe I’m a terrible mother. Maybe I deserve to be poor and homeless, to be without a car and the independence that transportation brings. Maybe I am all of this and more. Maybe I should give up my writing and go work at Home Depot or Wal-Mart so that I’m not living off his money.

On stronger days, I tell myself that I work every day on my writing and I’ve even picked up a freelance job that pays. It’s not a lot of money, but it’s proof that I can make money from writing. I remind myself, despite what he says to the contrary, that we decided together that I would stay home to raise the kid, take care of the household, and work on my writing because, frankly, when I did work outside the home, we fought more than ever. The laundry was always behind, there were dishes in the sink from when I did cook, which wasn’t often enough, and dammit if I didn’t once forget to pick up the kid at school. Now though, I am just living off his money, proving how worthless I am.

This hurts. This whole damn situation hurts like broken limbs and failing organs. I wish I could convince myself, “You tried, you worked hard, but there’s no way you can be happy here, so you have every right to go.” There are moments when I can say those words, but belief is a different level of being. I wish I believed that I deserve to be happy. When I can, I release myself saying, “You did what you were told you had to do – you got your kid through high school with his family intact,” I feel a little better, because those are facts. I have done what I was told I had to do. My kid will graduate from high school before his parents separate. That’s a hollow victory though, because I feel like I could have done so much more, been so much more, and still have been a good mother. That line from On the Waterfront comes back to me every now and again, “I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am, let's face it.”

I’m hard on myself, I know. I’m hard, and I’m cruel, because there’s a part of me that says I don’t deserve better. Have I tried? Yes. I tried to be everything I was supposed to be, everything that was going to make everybody happy with me. I did what you asked, I did what you wanted, and none of this has worked. So here I am, another Monday, thanking the gods that the weekend is over, and feeling very guilty that I am wishing away the next weeks and months until the day dawns when I am free again.

     I’m still frightened, not that I don’t know where I’m going to live, how I’m going to get there, or if I’ll have enough money to make it long enough to find a place to live and a job. I’m not frightened of those unknowns because if I make it to that day, I won’t have to be scared again. Not that I am physical danger, I don't believe that I am. The danger is that I am too weak to walk out the door. That I will turn back and beg to stay. But if I can stay strong enough the day will come when I will write what I want, publish what I please, and I have this feeling, the words will be happy ones. And that’s all I want, to be happy again.