The Unreal Never Is

For the past two days I have thought about how to write about an experience.  On the one hand, I have my safe, fairly anonymous blog in which to share.  On the other, I am encouraged to connect this space with my Facebook, with the people I actually see in my life.  The two have been mostly separate, so far.  That was intentional, starting in the days when safety was a very valid concern.

Here it is:  the other day, I took my boys to a funeral in their dad’s family.  It wasn’t long before I realized that no one knew about the divorce, and in fact had heard different stories about the boys going to a private prep school, and about me being out of town for work.

I don’t know if the creative representations are outright lies or the result of an inability to face things as they are.  I went knowing the potential for it to be awkward.  There is something paralyzing, though, about showing up where no one knows the real you, where there’s this part for you to play without your agreement to play a part.  I felt like a prop, not a person.  Still, I decided it was not a place to make a scene, and I was primarily there for the boys.

I did speak with a handful of people, and let them know that it’s been five years since the divorce.  I opted to stick with the plain truth as it pertains to me.  It wasn’t my objective to expose someone else’s fictions or fantasy life, but it sure isn’t my obligation to participate in them, either.

The Unreal never is, the Real never is not.  ~ the Bhagavad Gita

I’m waiting for the fallout.  I fully expect to be asked why I had to say anything. As if I need a defense for the plain truth. I remember those days, of being unsure if I knew what was real and what wasn’t.  Too often a simple reference to ordinary pieces in life brought on arguments because it raised questions.  The accusations of deliberately trying to cause embarrassment.  Wondering if I had done something wrong.  Worse, I would wonder ,if there could be two completely different representations of how things are, if I might be the one who was deceiving myself.   It took a long while to trust myself again.

It was a little bit like a visit to a past I’m glad to leave behind.  I thought about the days when my counselor would remind me that the small, small steps that were needed to start the journey might seem to be going nowhere, but after a while you look back and see that you have come a good way.  It is a good way.  Maybe I won’t link the blog to FB today, but soon.

No matter how difficult and painful it may be, nothing sounds as good to the soul as the truth. ~ Martha Beck, Leaving the Saints

This Sort of Life

“And yet, – it is rather curious, you know – this sort of life!” (Alice in Wonderland)

This sort of life is different. For me, at least. First, I’m divorced. And I like it. For most of my life, I had thought that getting a divorce would be the worst thing that could ever happen. I am sure it makes a difference that it was my choice, and any feelings of love and attachment that I had ever had for my exhusband were steadily eroded over the ten and a half years that we were together.

Beyond that, I have suddenly realized that I am seeing my life from my own perspective. Instead of seeing mere reflections of me as someone else (or everyone else) sees me, I am looking out at the world. Sometimes it is scary and I feel a little lost. For the most part, it is awesome. Here I am not anyone’s victim, worrying constantly about making ExMan angry. When occasionally I start to worry, I remind myself, you know what? If he gets angry he can get over it. Or, as one friend used to say in high school, “are you mad? are you? then scratch ass and get glad!” It never made a lot of sense but it did make me smile.

In this sort of life, I hope to share the strength I have garnered and the experience that brought me here. My marriage had, from the beginning, emotional and sexual abuse that grew exponentially worse as the ExMan developed complications from diabetes and dependency on pain meds. It was necessary for me to start a new blog here that allows me to be somewhat anonymous. I don’t mind if you know who I am, but my exhusband would occasionally read what I had to say, and however neutral and respectful I tried to be, it became a problem.

Here, I can tell the truth. I hope that in some way, it helps someone else as much as I know it will help me. It has been an incredible, sometimes horrific journey. But this sort of life, well, it is rather curious. I can’t wait to see where it goes from here.