It’s been an interesting month. After climbing hand over fist out of a big dark hole that consumed me in December, I’ve been enjoying life and the bright spots.  I’ve been able to do this even though my finances are in the worst shape they’ve been since I was 24, which is saying quite a bit. 

Please don’t tell me to get a job or other brilliant and cliched pieces of advice.  I’m working on it as best I can.  I’m working on it as fast as I can.  Talking about the job search over dinner, Arden reaches over and holds my hand.  Looking deeply into my eyes, she says, “Mommy, I don’t want you to go to work.  You already DO work.  We are your work and you need to be home with us.  Is this so you’ll have money for Disney?  Cuz I can give you my piggy bank money . . . ”  Man, when Arden pulls out the sweet side of her personality, it slays me.  Her ability to articulate (when she wants to, which is never when she’s mad about something, and just growls and grunts like a cave-child) blows my mind. 

Thankfully most of my hobbies these days don’t cost much.  All the running makes me burn through shoes at an uncomfortably quick rate, but other than that, all my races through July have been paid for and all I have to do is keep training without getting injured and all will be good.  Training is free (except for the shoes) and it makes my brain think better.  Writing is free.  Reading is cheap as well, especially now that most of mine is done on the Kindle. 

This weekend, I crawled out of a warm and exceptionally comfortable bed in order to attend the kick off training session of the Sportsbackers Intermediate 10K training team.  I’ve never been so cold in my life, and yes, I AM from Michigan.  I was under-dressed and since it was “only” 2 miles I couldn’t get warm.  I don’t think I was warm by the time my Sunday race came around, aptly named the Frostbite 15k.  Thankfully the sun was out and I was perfectly fine for the majority of the run.  By mile 7 I was stripping off my running jacket, and the sweat on my face had frozen to a cheery white residue. 

My stressful start to the race bears discussion.  It goes back to a longstanding issue with me:  I hate asking for help.  I don’t know many people who love to ask for help, but I loathe it.  I feel weak and needy when I do.  However, I’d booked Windsor to come babysit for this race a while in advance, and Windsor never lets me down.  I was running the race with my friend Sarah and it was only going to be the two of us running together at our pace.  Not showing up to the race would mean Sarah’d be running alone and that’s not something I like to do to people, nor have done to me. 

Anyway, Windsor was supposed to be here at 7.30.  When she hadn’t arrived by 7.45 I knew something was up.  She wasn’t answering her phone or text messages.  I was getting desperate.  The race started at 9.  In a moment of panic, I called my neighbor and she was thankfully awake. She came down and watched the girls until I could beg my dad to come up and take over, in the hopes that Windsor would show up eventually.  It was very difficult turning off my phone and running that race, not knowing what was going on, trying not to feel guilty, trying not to think about how hard this single parenting gig can be.  Windsor showed, my dad went back home, and everything was fine in the end (she took some cold medicine that knocked her out, literally).  Without my family and my friends, I am not going to say I couldn’t do this, but it would definitely be even more challenging than it already is. 

I often wonder if I’m projecting or really picking up on vibes from certain people.  These vibes lead me to believe that I am being selfish for making running such a priority in my life.  To this I answer, it’s the one thing I consistently do for myself and no one else.  It’s part of my overall health, both mentally and physically, and I think having something that is one’s own is a beautiful thing.  I do it for me.  Secondly, I think it sets a good example for my own children.  I put health as a priority and they know it.  They want to run the Disney Fun Run before the half marathon when we’re there.  Both signed up for an extra program to run 26 miles over the next 3 months; in exchange for tracking their progress, Sportsbackers gives them cups and badges to commemorate each 5 mile milestone.  Who knows if they will like running in the long term.  I just know that growing up, physical activity or sports were NOT important or stressed to me.  I already have two geeks in training - they are both smart and they have plenty of mental calisthenics to keep their brains strong.  I just wish that I had started my own physical challenges earlier (much earlier).  I listen to my friends who have been running for years talk about their glory days.  It’s funny that my glory days include breaking a 10 minute mile or running 13.1 miles without having a stroke.  My glory days are right now, as I’m about to hit 40. 

All this being said, if it’s selfish, it’s selfish.  Everyone has their crutch.  For some it’s a glass of wine every night.  For me, it used to be food.  I prefer my newest crutch.  It’s a lot more rewarding. 

December was a cold, hard month.  I still feel somewhat frozen from everything that happened, and the thawing process has been slow.  I’m getting there, though.  I smile a lot more now.  I laugh about stupid things.  I am starting to find fart jokes hilarious again, always a good sign, and I can sit quietly in a room by myself without feeling like my heart is going to pull an Alien move and burst out of my chest, just to run around the room looking for the next victim.  In one week, I’ve seen two people I’ve been avoiding because they know me too well and could see through any smokescreen I put up.  I wanted to be able to tell the truth, to be able to say, “I’m doing well” and mean every word of it. 

And I AM doing well.  I’ll go out on a limb and say this:  I’m pretty content these days.  I like my life.  I’ve found a way to dislike my situation but still be happy with where I am.  Do I love this rental house that is sucking all the money out of my bank account and costing me dearly because no one has ever bothered to insulate it properly?  Nope.  Do I love being broke all the time?  No.  Do I love having no idea what to do with my businesses if I do break down and go back to work for The Man?  Definitely not.  But when I look around, everything I see is mine and it feels genuine without any artifice or pretense.  The journey seems worth it today, especially when I look in Lily’s eyes and see that she is coming back around, out of her own dark place.  I hope Arden’s healing is not far behind, but in the meantime we band together in weird ways and offer comfort as we can.  Arden holds my hand and offers her piggy bank; Lily gives me her DS-i and tells me that I can play the hardest level on Mario Brothers.  I make them pancakes for dinner and sing stupid songs in a falsetto voice, which surely annoys the neighbors and makes Thora shake in fear.  We’re doing our best and you know what?  It feels pretty good. 

(Cameron, me and Sarah at Frostbite . . . soon to all be running the Disney Princess Half!)

I must be getting stronger/healthier because I used to dread the weekends.  Too much time without structure, too much time to think.  My energetic persona refused to let me be lazy, so if I wasn’t packing the weekend days full of activities for the kids, I was spending my child-free weekends running because I run, running errands, running around town, running to dates with friends.  I rarely stopped until my body and brain finally gave out and I’d pass out face down in my bed. 

My weekends are still busy but without the frenetic need to do - finish - tackle - complete.  I don’t dread the weekends anymore.  They used to remind me of how different my life is today from my life “before” - before I was separated, before I was divorced, before I had kids, just before.  Now it doesn’t take me an entire day to clean my monstrosity of a house.  I can clean my rickety old rental in less than 2 hours.  Different isn’t always bad, but different for me is always a little scary at first. 

My mom came over on Friday and we fed the kids dinner.  After, they watched a movie with her and I met a friend for dinner.  We both have kids and it seems we rarely are free at the same time, so we took advantage of babysitting and loaded up on “healthy” food (minus the buttered rolls) as we were both running the next morning.  I was home and asleep by 10.30.  The next morning, I got up and met my running group for a planned 7 miles.  The bridges were sheets of ice, but the roads were fine.  All of us managed to stay upright.  I ran with a couple of new people.  I love what running does for conversation (when I’m not racing, that is - I can’t talk and run fast at the same time).  Many times, running strips away the lengthy polite conversations and more often than not you end up talking about real things.  That might be my favorite part.  And the runner’s high I get when I’m done. 

After the run, the girls, my parents and I headed to Williamsburg to see my aunt and uncle as well as Mike, Anja, Mia and Nik.  We had a great time, especially when the kids got to swim in the bathtub-temperature water at the indoor pool.  They were exhausted Saturday night.  Sunday the three of us went to see Megamind (yeah, I know, I’m about 3 months late with that, but I found two theaters still showing it) with Sean and had dinner in Carytown.  I was pretty tired because I took advantage of the darkened theater to nap for about 30 minutes. Ooops.  Lily elbowed me and whispered, “Mommy, wake up!!!”  End nap. 

Last night I ignored laundry and work. I stretched out on the couch and watched some DVR’d episodes of my guilty pleasures.  I went to bed early.  I once again fully appreciated the glory of flannel sheets.  The marital bed never allowed for flannel; Mike was too hot.  The benefit of sleeping alone is not just having the whole bed to myself.  I get flannel, too.  Sometimes it’s the tiny benefits of divorce that keep me going. 

I’m not going to sugar coat it.  Christmas afternoon was eerily similar to a September day over a year ago. Thankfully my day ended differently than my September experience.  Instead of hitting rock bottom, I hit a very long run followed by a very quiet evening with a very close friend and a good movie.  Stanley, as usual, I owe you.  It was especially helpful to hear how he’s gotten through quite a few holidays alone and that now it’s almost easy for him. 

Even though Kevin is perpetually perky (and it’s so very annoying), I knew he was struggling too.  He had to have been because for him to run 10 minute miles on purpose means something.  I used every ounce of strength I had to get to the run.  After the effort it took to get out of bed, cry my way to the stadium, and pull it together before Kevin showed up and laughed at my puffy face, the run seemed easy in comparison.  The run course was unfortunate as we ran by The Camel, the VMFA, and some downtown landmarks I had just visited with Philip.  I was missing all my close friends on that run, but especially him.  At this point, anyone who makes the days easier to swallow is a good friend of mine. 

My sister sent me an amazing Christmas present.  It’s a necklace from Waxing Poetic and one of the charms on it is this one:

My friend Christina sent me a necklace too - with a stone that was all about recovery and inner strength.  I need to wear both of them at the same time.  Between the two I feel like the entire last year is synopsized into silver and stone.  Running, strength, friends, family.  I’m clinging onto all of them.

I’ve been struggling with New Year’s weekend for quite a while.  I finally figured out what I’m going to do and it feels right.  I might even do the Resolution Run for “real” instead of for fun - meaning, I’m going to run a hard 4 miles.  The 5K Saturday can be my fun run, especially since it’s going to be followed with mimosas and brunch.  My weekend is not at all what I thought it was going to be, but I’m adapting and still working hard to let go.  I’ve learned a lot from Jennifer and now when I’m faced with a situation that feels terrible, I can see the lesson in it.  In this case, it’s that I have no control over others, or where they are in their life, or what is important to them.  At the end of the day, we are all very much alone and you have to stand on your own two feet or spend your days face down in the mud.  No one is able to hold my hand 100% of the time, no matter how much they want to.  I’m FINALLY okay with it.  I know that I can curl up and shriek and cry and hurl things around because I also know it’s going to pass and tomorrow something amazing will happen. 

Someone asked me today how I was surviving.  She looked so sympathetic, like someone had just run over my cat.  I was taken aback.  My life is supposed to be pretty good now.  I got what I “wanted”, so therefore all should be well.  I took a deep breath and said, “I’m not surviving.  I’m doing great - and survival sounds like drudgery to me, so I choose to not think about it as survival.”  (I actually got to use drudgery in a sentence - go English majors!!!)  I was probably lying, but I resent pity and I don’t like feeling my weakness is painted over my face like Ke$ha’s bad glitter. 

I knew my blog posts were going to be depressing (reading drudgery!) this week, and I’m okay with it.  I want to be able to look back next year and say, “Good God woman.  Did you not see through the fog that life is exactly as it should be, and everything’s gonna be ok?  You are so short-sighted sometimes . . . ”  I’ll be chuckling at my depression and fatalistic views while watching Lily paint a masterpiece and Arden rock out on her piano while penning her first novella with her toes.  The warm arms around me will belong to my Wall Street slash Writer slash Recovering Emo slash Social Media Junkie and the chai will be perfect, I’ll be six inches taller and rocking a beautiful pair of Blahniks I paid cash for.  Ho ho ho, I’ll say to the me of right now.  And you were even worried that things would work out!  Aha hahahaha.

Seriously though, I’m okay with hanging on by my fingernails.  Each time I make it through one of the valleys, I’m amazed I’ve done it when I stop being so scared I was in that place to begin with. 

My divorce was final on December 16th.  I didn’t find out til December 17th, and mercifully I was sitting in the waiting room for a therapy appointment.  I was shocked at my reaction.  I thought I’d feel something closer to peace than what actually happened.  Reading the email from my attorney was like being kicked in the guts.  I couldn’t breathe.  I called a friend who understands; after wiping the snot on my sleeve (apparently lot of people have been crying in that waiting room because there wasn’t a tissue to be found), I headed into Jennifer’s office where I eventually calmed down. 

I’ve reading this book with a terrible name but a helpful message - it’s called “Your Defiant Child”.  One of the lessons is that instead of trying to shut down an emotional outburst, you help your child find ways to express it and get it out.  There’s a lot to the theory and the best way to do it but I’ve decided that perhaps applying it to myself is a good way to learn it.  Instead of my usual knee jerk reaction (suppress the feeling, run, hide, distract), I’m trying to sit WITH the feeling. It reminds me a lot of the Bradley Method for labor and delivery where you trained your mind to relax into the pain instead of tensing and moving away from it. 

My homework this week from Jennifer is to figure out what the hell I’m going to do after my kids leave on Christmas Day.  Part of me wants to curl up in a ball; the other part wants to make some new traditions.  I have a shadow box that needs to be finished from the half marathon; I have no idea what I’m doing but I figured Christmas would be a good time to mess that project up.  I can go for a run, a very long one, which is about the healthiest way to deal with emotions for me. 

I am more concerned about New Year’s Eve and weekend, which has never been about partying for me but more about self-reflection and an honest glance back at what I did and didn’t do in the previous year(s).  I won’t have the kids or the dog, and that’s a lot of free time.  There’s the typical ways to deal:  the Resolution Run on New Year’s Eve, a hot date with the Green/Junkermann family later perhaps - but after that I just don’t know.  I’ve considered heading out to the Eastern Shore and doing what I said I would do - spending a day/night on my own, no schedule, no distractions.  It’s a monetary thing right now so it’s going to be a last minute decision. 

Lily saw me crying today.  I simply told her that even adults get sad and it’s okay.  She wanted to know if it was because I wasn’t with daddy this year - I told her that yes, I was sad about our family not being together even if it was better this way.  I hurt for my kids, but I know the worst is over. 

Philip’s divorce was final yesterday.  The day was significant in a couple of ways.  First, I was able to focus on someone else’s issues instead of my own, and channel my energy into helping.  He came here.  Those of you who come from small towns will understand that while comfort is gained from knowing everything and everyone, it can be oppressive and terrifying when going through something ugly.  Sometimes space between the place you associate with pain is the easiest way to get through the hours you expect to be miserable.  We did things I don’t normally get a chance to do, like appreciate Richmond from an outsider’s perspective.  Realizing how beautiful the James is, because I’ve spent so long wishing it was the Great Lakes instead.  Being able to point out the Jefferson as where I was married without feeling anything negative attached to the statement.  Looking at art with someone who knows more about it than I do.  Walking instead of running, and taking time to look at things I normally blow by in my quest to improve a 10 minute mile, like frozen trees or footprints.  I’m always in a hurry to get somewhere and for a day or two I just stopped being rushed.  Sharing a therapy session with someone who needed it as much as I did.  Thinking about the things I wanted for myself when my divorce was final, like affirmation that I will survive and bloom into a better, more honest version of myself. We ate at Comfort, a local restaurant serving what else - comfort foods with high price tags and strange ingredients - and although the service was typical Richmond (i.e., not very friendly or customer-focused), I felt like I was storing up some reserves to make it through the next two weeks. 

For the last 15 months, I’ve spent a lot of time writing about the separation, divorce, the kids, the ups and downs.  I’m hopeful that now I can start writing about my recovery from it, and get better about sharing the amazing bright spots I’ve had and will continue to have.  Someone told me recently that divorce defines me only if I let it.  I never felt like divorce would define me.  I think marriage defined me more than anything else.  Call it weakness or stupidity or just the inability to really be objective, but I lost a piece of myself every year I stayed married until I no longer recognized myself in the mirror.  That wasn’t Mike’s fault.  It was mine.  I stepped away from everything I loved about myself because I felt like I couldn’t be that person and still be a wife and a mother.  My sister saw it happening for years.  Friends who only knew me as married now see another side of me, and in most cases, they like it.  In the midst of despair and worry, friends have said that I am happier, more grounded, and more laid back than ever.  This is my reassurance that I am on the right path.  It is stupidly earth-shattering to me to realize that I can be a mother and a partner and maybe even a wife (someday far far away) without giving up or repressing the parts of my personality that make me unique.  I’d rather write than lead the PTA.  I don’t want to date people who will learn to deal with the fact that there is something tiny in my nose - I want to date people who don’t think anything of it.  I will gladly trade quantity for quality, in friendships and relationships. 

In the meantime, I’m learning how to be alone without being lonely.  It’s pretty cool when it works. 

I feel like I’m in limbo right now, waiting for the elusive email from my lawyer to pop up in my inbox.  I’m fairly certain I’ll get it before Christmas - this notification that I’m legally divorced - but the not knowing is driving me crazy.  Michigan divorce law is different. Philip’s divorce will be final Monday.  There is a date, the lawyers appear, the judge rubber stamps it, and done.  It reminds me of scheduling a C-section as opposed to waiting for natural labor to begin.  You can rally the troops, make sure there’s food in the house, and ensure that you have plenty of support when you know it’s coming. 

In my case, I’m trying to provide my own support.  I’ve lowered the bar in general for the past 8 months.  The house doesn’t stay as clean and organized as I like it to be.  The laundry sometimes sits, unfolded, for 3 days before I get around to taking care of it (usually when Lily complains she is out of long sleeved shirts, and there is a pile of clean ones sitting in the family room).  I still haven’t made specific plans for Christmas, mainly because I don’t want to think too much about it.  My New Year’s Eve plans are not the ones I wanted, but they may be the ones I need.  I’ve lowered the bar on my expectations for what legal divorce is going to feel like.  Someone asked me last night if I’d be crying tears of joy.  I said no.  No matter how you look at it, divorce is still divorce.  The word is ugly because it is the end of something entered into with hope, or faith, or a combination.  Whether you are the one being left or the leaver, no one wins.  I won’t be crying tears of joy, but I will be glad it’s “over” and it’s another mark in the sand.  This means I have to start moving on, no matter how much it scares me.

I think one of the worst side effects of the bitter divorce pill is the huge dent it puts in the ability to trust.  I’ve talked extensively with friends who have gone through it, and most recently Philip.  Divorce pulls the rug out from under you in a few sinister ways.  First, it has made me feel that I have no judgment, that I will always make the wrong decisions and I will hurt others because of my bad decisions.  My therapist says that everyone chooses the person to bond with based on the current needs, so therefore it’s not like we go into marriage thinking it’s short term or that our needs will change.  Yep, I get that.  But how do I guarantee my needs won’t change again?  This is why my off-the-cuff response to whether I’ll ever marry again is “No way in hell.”  I don’t trust myself. 

On the other side of the equation, I don’t trust men in general anymore.  I am hoping this is temporary.  I’ve got a few good ones in my life that give me hope (hi Dan!).  Although people may disagree, dating has been good for me in the sense that I’ve seen how vulnerable I am.  It’s a weird vulnerability.  The few people I’ve cared about have done an odd sort of dance with me.  Most of them were suffering their own splits or divorces, and we would draw close, then freak out, then drop walls just to see how fast they could be erected again.  When one of us dared to trust, the other withdrew; when one of us allowed ourselves to feel happy, the other would close the door. Newly divorced people are almost funny to watch, when you aren’t crying over the personal disaster that is yourself, your self-esteem and your confidence.  It’s important to date because until you work through all your kinks, you’re doomed.  I hate to sound cynical, but my view of dating in the months or even years after divorce is all re-training and practice.  As in sports, practice makes you stronger, but people also get hurt. 

All of this being said, I am facing my first set of holidays without a husband.  I won’t be alone, so I can’t say that, but it feels icky and too large to handle at times.  Putting up the tree was hard.  We collected ornaments, and so many of them were stories of our past.  Lighthouses from numerous trips to the Outer Banks.  An ornament from Vegas.  A sea turtle, purchased during our honeymoon in Kiawah.  I am hit when I least expect it, like yesterday when I unpacked a box looking for a platter.  I collected reindeer plates, buying one or two every Christmas since we were married.  It hurts to look at them, but I still love them. 

Those plates are my life right now.  It’s painful looking at myself, or my life, but I still love my life and my decisions.  Every day I remember how much easier my life used to be, how much happier my kids were, or how I didn’t have to worry about all the things that worry me now.  After I allow those thoughts to run through my head, I let myself feel okay with the decisions I’ve made.  The other side of pain is the pleasure of opportunity or possibility.  I have plenty of both.