There's a part of me in the chaos that's quiet
And there's a part of you that wants me to riot.
~ "I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight" by U2
Seeing the other side
A woman sent me an e-mail in response to my last post. It was supportive, but she wanted to give me a different perspective on the lack of open conflict in my marriage. She is also married to a man that does not fight or seem to get angry, and she finds it frustrating at times. I almost put the line "maybe the fact that I don't get angry pisses off my wife" in my last post, but it seemed a little flip. But I don't doubt that it is true.
Though we never really fought, J did come to me occasionally (maybe every year or so) in tears because she was upset about something in our relationship.While she cried, I shouldered the perceived blame and turned inward, letting the shame wash over me. I was torn up inside both by her tears and my failings, but on the outside there were no tears. This is something the e-mailer mentioned frustrates her. When her husband does not show emotion, she interprets it as lack of caring about the subject.
Of course in my case at least, nothing could be farther from the truth. Just because I seemed calm on the surface does not mean I wasn't emotionally connected to the conversation. Part of it is also a male, or maybe human, reflex to be strong while someone else is breaking down. It is a pattern of behavior to be strong in the moment to support the ones you love, only to break down later when the pressure subsides. And in truth, I doubt I was all that good at hiding the shame I was feeling in the moment.
It is no secret shame has distanced me from not only my wife but from my friends as well. I would beat myself up over failures great and small, eventually walling parts of myself off from the view of others. Overcoming this was one of the first things that had to happen to have any hope for personal growth, or the possibility of saving our relationship. I am still my own worst critic, and occasionally slip into the bad habit of berating myself, but I think I have done a better job at keeping the walls down and showing my emotions.
Actually, that is an understatement. I cry like I never had before. In the past, the only thing that would set the tears to falling was emotional triumphs in movies and finish lines. I wouldn't break down and cry for things in my own life, at least until I experienced the death of a friend. My emotions were kept safely behind a wall, but once I started removing the bricks, the stored up torrent was hard to control. I still have moments where the tears well up when I think back on everything, but there is less water pressure of stored emotion.
An interesting observation from my personal therapist early on in our time together - often couples in marriage counseling will switch places. Usually one spouse is more concerned and emotional about the marital problems, and is the one to push for counseling. Once the couple begins counseling, it is not uncommon to have the one who resisted counseling to embrace it, while the one who pushed for it retreats. This is what happened to us. J was the one who suggested/demanded that we go into counseling, but once on the couch, she began distancing herself from both the process and me.
And we also traded places on the amount of emotion we would show. I was now the person to wear his heart on his sleeve, and she seemed to take on the stoic role. I got a taste of what she was going through when she came to me in tears before. And it was not pleasant. On the outside, she now seemed to be completely distant from me and the moment. I know from my own experience that this may not have been true, but it is hard to fight that perception.
I have some indication that she went through her pain long before I did, but I have no honest idea of what she was feeling in the moments we were talking things through in and out of counseling. I did ask her, but I never got a straight/satisfactory answer. But it was important to keep asking. I now know that silence can easily be misinterpreted, and lack of emotion can be construed as not caring. And when you fill in the gaps for other people's thoughts, instead of asking them straight out, your guess can be far from the truth. And moving forward with bad information can lead to some pretty disastrous results.
Though we never really fought, J did come to me occasionally (maybe every year or so) in tears because she was upset about something in our relationship.While she cried, I shouldered the perceived blame and turned inward, letting the shame wash over me. I was torn up inside both by her tears and my failings, but on the outside there were no tears. This is something the e-mailer mentioned frustrates her. When her husband does not show emotion, she interprets it as lack of caring about the subject.
Of course in my case at least, nothing could be farther from the truth. Just because I seemed calm on the surface does not mean I wasn't emotionally connected to the conversation. Part of it is also a male, or maybe human, reflex to be strong while someone else is breaking down. It is a pattern of behavior to be strong in the moment to support the ones you love, only to break down later when the pressure subsides. And in truth, I doubt I was all that good at hiding the shame I was feeling in the moment.
It is no secret shame has distanced me from not only my wife but from my friends as well. I would beat myself up over failures great and small, eventually walling parts of myself off from the view of others. Overcoming this was one of the first things that had to happen to have any hope for personal growth, or the possibility of saving our relationship. I am still my own worst critic, and occasionally slip into the bad habit of berating myself, but I think I have done a better job at keeping the walls down and showing my emotions.
Actually, that is an understatement. I cry like I never had before. In the past, the only thing that would set the tears to falling was emotional triumphs in movies and finish lines. I wouldn't break down and cry for things in my own life, at least until I experienced the death of a friend. My emotions were kept safely behind a wall, but once I started removing the bricks, the stored up torrent was hard to control. I still have moments where the tears well up when I think back on everything, but there is less water pressure of stored emotion.
An interesting observation from my personal therapist early on in our time together - often couples in marriage counseling will switch places. Usually one spouse is more concerned and emotional about the marital problems, and is the one to push for counseling. Once the couple begins counseling, it is not uncommon to have the one who resisted counseling to embrace it, while the one who pushed for it retreats. This is what happened to us. J was the one who suggested/demanded that we go into counseling, but once on the couch, she began distancing herself from both the process and me.
And we also traded places on the amount of emotion we would show. I was now the person to wear his heart on his sleeve, and she seemed to take on the stoic role. I got a taste of what she was going through when she came to me in tears before. And it was not pleasant. On the outside, she now seemed to be completely distant from me and the moment. I know from my own experience that this may not have been true, but it is hard to fight that perception.
I have some indication that she went through her pain long before I did, but I have no honest idea of what she was feeling in the moments we were talking things through in and out of counseling. I did ask her, but I never got a straight/satisfactory answer. But it was important to keep asking. I now know that silence can easily be misinterpreted, and lack of emotion can be construed as not caring. And when you fill in the gaps for other people's thoughts, instead of asking them straight out, your guess can be far from the truth. And moving forward with bad information can lead to some pretty disastrous results.
We never fought
"That's why God created marriage - so that people don't have to fight with strangers."~Garrison Keillor from Prairie Home Companion
We never fought - never even argued really. The only time I remember raising my voice to J was when we were dating. It was very brief, and I was just venting my frustration for the fact that she had made us late for the fourth day in a row. Pet peeve of mine.
As I've mentioned previously, neither of us have a combative personality. I have been around several couples that argue regularly. It is not just difference of opinion being expressed, but fighting with some venom. And fighting unfairly - bringing up unrelated grievances, exaggerating wildly, and attacking personally. I can't imagine having a relationship like that. I'm glad that J and I did not act that way.
When J called one of our friends to tell her that we were getting a divorce, the friend didn't pick up the phone the first time because she was in the middle of an argument with her husband. When they connected a day later and the friend explained why she didn't pick up, I guess J said "at least you were arguing!" I guess she felt like she/we weren't able to do that.
It's not like we didn't talk about things and have differences of opinion, it just never got heated. But of course I am finding out that she wasn't being entirely open about her feelings. I kind of knew that she held on to resentments, like when she'd bring up a slight from a friend or co-worker that had happened (to me) a long time ago. I just didn't know she was holding them against me. I guess I assumed that if something was really bothering her, that she felt close enough to me to tell me about it. Or at the very least it would be blurted out in a moment of frustration.
An incident that came up in counseling - J and I were discussing getting a flat-screen tv for our anniversary. It was her suggestion and she asked what I thought. My opinion was that we already had two working tv's, so it wasn't something I wanted to spend money on. I also mentioned something about the only place to mount it was over the fireplace, and that it didn't really help the already awkward layout of the room. It turns out she was, in her words, so spitting mad that she thought she might say something she'd regret, so she said nothing. So I guess we were having arguments, but I just wasn't invited to them. Or too clueless to notice.
Later on, I asked J why she said "at least you were arguing" to our friend. I haven't argued with women I've dated in the past either, so I asked J if it was something that I was putting out that made her feel like she couldn't voice her opinions/frustrations/resentments. The only thing she said was that I was almost always right and that she found that very frustrating.
What do I do with that? No one likes to be wrong, and I am no different/better. Stupid mistakes bother me much more than getting facts or answers wrong. And I don't feel a compulsion to tell the world when I get something right, and I never try to make anyone feel bad when they're wrong. And anyway, in matters of opinion no one is really wrong - its just an opinion.
I think I am a rather rational person and my thought processes tend to run along that line. I don't really have arguments with anyone, least of all my significant other. I am interested in how other people think and what their opinions are. When I talk about things, I'm more interested in learning than proving a point. I prefer to discuss rather than debate, and I don't feel that it is important that people think that I am 'right'. I don't think I hang on to resentments either. If something bothers me enough, I will say something, but I generally just let the little things slide. I wrote something about this last year. I'm no Zen master, and things still get to me, but the failings I carry around with me are mostly my own.
I asked J what she thought I would say if after listening to my opinion on the flat screen tv she said, "this is important to me and I really think we should get it." I can say with lots of confidence that I would have agreed. She was bringing in a majority of the money to our household at the time anyway, and really, who wouldn't want to be talked into a fancy tv?
But clearly there was something between us that prevented open communication. So I need to look at myself and how I behave when I discuss things. It is of course possible that I am deluding myself in thinking I am so fair and balanced. Another friend said that in discussions and matters of opinion with his wife, he defers to the person who has the stronger feelings about the subject. That sounds like a pretty good place to start.
One more story. A man goes to a pastor about difficulties in his marriage. The pastor asks the man, "how long have you been lying to your wife?" The man gets indignant, proclaiming that he has always been honest and would not lie to his wife. The pastor just sits back, letting the man play out the rope. When the man finishes his rant, the pastor says, "when your wife asks what is bothering you and you say 'nothing', you are lying to her". Oh.
Arguing and fighting are certainly not the goal, but of course communication is so critical to any relationship. So be honest and open, learn from each other, stand up for what is important to you, trust in their understanding, don't let resentments grow, and if you must fight, fight fair. Give yourselves, each other and your marriage a chance.
More on running and spouses
As a follow up to my Finding Balance post, the current Runner's World (April 2010) has some interesting articles about running and non-running spouses (as well as being a running mom). The articles are excerpts from a book titled, Run Like a Mother: How to Get Moving - and Not Lose Your Family, Job or Sanity
by Dimity McDowell and Sarah Bowen Shea.
From "The Two-Jock House":
From "The Spouse: Married to a Nonrunner":
Interesting articles, worth grabbing a copy of the magazine or picking up the book.
by Dimity McDowell and Sarah Bowen Shea. From "The Two-Jock House":
"My husband likes to sweat. Exercise is like a toy both are kids are yanking at; somebody can play with it now, somebody has to wait to play with it later."
From "The Spouse: Married to a Nonrunner":
Husbands fall into two camps: those who run, or do similar sweaty endeavors, and those who don't...How do I know? Because I've had one of each. (her second husband is the non-runner).
When our marriage broke up unexpectedly (to me, anyway), I was bereft of a running partner as well as a life partner. Both were tough losses. so I daydreamed about replacing both by meeting a supersporty guy, someone with even more get-up-and-go than I have...
And then I met Jack. A guy who had last sprinted while trying to catch the El on his way to work...
...Like so many mommies, I run on weekdays while the rest of the clan is still deep in sleep. But on weekends, I head out after the sun has risen, and that leads to resentment.
Interesting articles, worth grabbing a copy of the magazine or picking up the book.
Transitions
I recently finished the book, Transitions: Making Sense of Life's Changes
by William Bridges. It had been recommended by my counselor, and it was quite good.
A friend asked recently for my thoughts on some of the books I have been reading. Her comment was something to the effect that most self-help books sound great when you read the brief synopsis, but turn out to be mostly common sense. I can't really argue with that, but often it is in the way someone tells you something, even something you already know, that helps bring understanding. Whether it is a person or a piece of reading, we sometimes just need something outside ourselves to dust off our lens of vision.
In the book the author explains that we go through many transitions in our lives, great and small. He says they largely follow the pattern of - an ending, followed by a neutral zone, and then ultimately a new beginning. Common sense right? But the book does a great job of helping you understand the path through transition.
Endings are difficult. Most of us avoid them and their discomfort whenever possible. Some also ease the pain by beginning something new before the ending takes place, like beginning a new relationship before ending the current one. And the pain of the ending is not always related to the apparent importance of the change. "One person may be brought to a complete standstill by a divorce or a job loss, but another person may take it in stride. Someone else may come to terms with a debilitating illness and then be demolished by the loss of a beloved pet".
But it is important to experience the ending, to take the time to mourn. We shouldn't fight the experience or let others talk us out of it. "You are not the first person who ever lost a job (or moved or had heart surgery), but telling you that is of no help." Of course we need to try to keep things in perspective, and not imagine that there is no sequel, but we should not gloss over it like it is nothing. Your pain is your pain, and it is legitimate.
The second stage is the neutral zone, and it is probably the most important. Most people rush through this stage because it is a time of vagueness and uncertainty. It is a time when it feels like nothing important is happening, where we feel lost. It is a common reaction to change external things rather than work on the internal changes that need to happen. Many people distract themselves with shiny things and filling their lives with busyness.
But it is in this neutral time where most of the work is done (even if it doesn't feel like it). It is in the fallow time that the soil is renewed, and during sleep when our body repairs itself. The neutral time is like a "fertile time-out" where we can turn down the noise to listen for those quiet voices of healing to appear.
But it is difficult to be patient. We want to feel like we are "going somewhere". And it is also difficult to explain this time to friends and family. "'I want to think things over, I guess,' we say a little lamely. But then it turns out that once we are out there, we don't really think in a way that produces definite results. Instead, we walk the beaches or the back streets. We sit in the park or movie theater. We watch the people or the clouds. 'I didn't do much of anything,' we report upon on our return. And we feel a little defensive, as though we failed to deliver on our promise".
But the author assures us we shouldn't feel defensive. It is in the neutral zone that we get a angle of looking at things we don't get anywhere else. It is in this time of "attentive inactivity" that we see beyond the "reflected light of the familiar surface of things and see what is really there in the depths." It is a time of reorientation and realignment as you move from one phase of life to another.
Reading this book has helped reaffirm that what I am doing right now is important, and that I am making progress even if I can't point to something tangible yet. I am fortunate to be able to take this time away from things through the support of family, friends and even J. I don't know what I will find, or even if I will be able to explain it, but I believe that this time in the neutral zone will prepare me for what comes next.
I have only stepped away for a while, and I will still be "me" when I return. I have more reading and discovery ahead, and there will be plenty of work as I move toward a new beginnig. As the author says, the neutral zone is a "great place to visit, but you wouldn't want to live there.," And as he quotes in the book "As a wonderful Zen saying expresses it, 'After enlightenment, the laundry'."
Transitions: Making Sense of Life's Changes
by William Bridges. It had been recommended by my counselor, and it was quite good.A friend asked recently for my thoughts on some of the books I have been reading. Her comment was something to the effect that most self-help books sound great when you read the brief synopsis, but turn out to be mostly common sense. I can't really argue with that, but often it is in the way someone tells you something, even something you already know, that helps bring understanding. Whether it is a person or a piece of reading, we sometimes just need something outside ourselves to dust off our lens of vision.
In the book the author explains that we go through many transitions in our lives, great and small. He says they largely follow the pattern of - an ending, followed by a neutral zone, and then ultimately a new beginning. Common sense right? But the book does a great job of helping you understand the path through transition.
Endings are difficult. Most of us avoid them and their discomfort whenever possible. Some also ease the pain by beginning something new before the ending takes place, like beginning a new relationship before ending the current one. And the pain of the ending is not always related to the apparent importance of the change. "One person may be brought to a complete standstill by a divorce or a job loss, but another person may take it in stride. Someone else may come to terms with a debilitating illness and then be demolished by the loss of a beloved pet".
But it is important to experience the ending, to take the time to mourn. We shouldn't fight the experience or let others talk us out of it. "You are not the first person who ever lost a job (or moved or had heart surgery), but telling you that is of no help." Of course we need to try to keep things in perspective, and not imagine that there is no sequel, but we should not gloss over it like it is nothing. Your pain is your pain, and it is legitimate.
The second stage is the neutral zone, and it is probably the most important. Most people rush through this stage because it is a time of vagueness and uncertainty. It is a time when it feels like nothing important is happening, where we feel lost. It is a common reaction to change external things rather than work on the internal changes that need to happen. Many people distract themselves with shiny things and filling their lives with busyness.
But it is in this neutral time where most of the work is done (even if it doesn't feel like it). It is in the fallow time that the soil is renewed, and during sleep when our body repairs itself. The neutral time is like a "fertile time-out" where we can turn down the noise to listen for those quiet voices of healing to appear.
But it is difficult to be patient. We want to feel like we are "going somewhere". And it is also difficult to explain this time to friends and family. "'I want to think things over, I guess,' we say a little lamely. But then it turns out that once we are out there, we don't really think in a way that produces definite results. Instead, we walk the beaches or the back streets. We sit in the park or movie theater. We watch the people or the clouds. 'I didn't do much of anything,' we report upon on our return. And we feel a little defensive, as though we failed to deliver on our promise".
But the author assures us we shouldn't feel defensive. It is in the neutral zone that we get a angle of looking at things we don't get anywhere else. It is in this time of "attentive inactivity" that we see beyond the "reflected light of the familiar surface of things and see what is really there in the depths." It is a time of reorientation and realignment as you move from one phase of life to another.
Reading this book has helped reaffirm that what I am doing right now is important, and that I am making progress even if I can't point to something tangible yet. I am fortunate to be able to take this time away from things through the support of family, friends and even J. I don't know what I will find, or even if I will be able to explain it, but I believe that this time in the neutral zone will prepare me for what comes next.
I have only stepped away for a while, and I will still be "me" when I return. I have more reading and discovery ahead, and there will be plenty of work as I move toward a new beginnig. As the author says, the neutral zone is a "great place to visit, but you wouldn't want to live there.," And as he quotes in the book "As a wonderful Zen saying expresses it, 'After enlightenment, the laundry'."
Transitions: Making Sense of Life's Changes
From unexpected places
I have recently moved from Washington to California to try to "learn the points of compass again" as I begin a new life. I felt that a new place would open me to experiences I might not attempt in the relative comfort of home. I am staying with some wonderful friends and the first month has gone well.
Instead of tv, they watch a fair number of movies. As they pull DVDs from their shelves or from Netflix pouches and ask me, "have you seen this one", it has become clear that I woefully behind on the cinema. We have seen some good films together including some smaller hits like: Spellbound, August Rush, and The Sandlot (now I get the reference of "you're killing me Smalls!").
Last night's flick was the 2009 remake of Fame. It's not exactly going to stand as a classic, but it was decent. There was a scene toward the end that I thought was good/poignant. The student Malik carries a lot of anger from his past, and throughout the film, his teacher Mr. Dowd reaches out to try to help. In their final scene together, he says:
"All that your ashamed of,
all the parts of yourself that you keep secret,
everything you want to change about yourself -
it's who you are.
That's your power.
Deny it, and you're nothing.
And you'll never be much of an actor.
Now you're good Malik,
but you've got to start breaking down those walls
and accept your circumstances.
Just tell the truth."
Instead of tv, they watch a fair number of movies. As they pull DVDs from their shelves or from Netflix pouches and ask me, "have you seen this one", it has become clear that I woefully behind on the cinema. We have seen some good films together including some smaller hits like: Spellbound, August Rush, and The Sandlot (now I get the reference of "you're killing me Smalls!").
Last night's flick was the 2009 remake of Fame. It's not exactly going to stand as a classic, but it was decent. There was a scene toward the end that I thought was good/poignant. The student Malik carries a lot of anger from his past, and throughout the film, his teacher Mr. Dowd reaches out to try to help. In their final scene together, he says:
"All that your ashamed of,
all the parts of yourself that you keep secret,
everything you want to change about yourself -
it's who you are.
That's your power.
Deny it, and you're nothing.
And you'll never be much of an actor.
Now you're good Malik,
but you've got to start breaking down those walls
and accept your circumstances.
Just tell the truth."
Finding balance
There was an episode on the podcast "Running with the Pack" where they talked about what they called "mixed marriages" - those with one spouse who runs and one that doesn't. The woman on the podcast is recently divorced, and her husband was not a runner. They were discussing if it was more difficult than if both partners run, logistics, and the pressures to fit everything in.
When J and I met in 1999, I wasn't doing anything active beyond working in construction. She said she used to run regularly, but wasn't by the time we met. I started biking in 2002 and running in 2005. I kept it up as a way to challenge myself and stay in shape. It became an important part of my life and a great way to spend time with friends. Running has also been a great thing for my state of mind, a time to quiet the inner chatter and leave problems at the side of the road.
But both the events and all of the training took up a fair amount of time. Our time. J toyed with running and biking, which would have been great to do together, but neither of them stuck. So it ended up being mostly a solo pursuit.
But J was definitely involved. She bought me my first books about running, supported me at many of my events, and helped make my bike trip down the Pacific Coast possible. When she flew down to meet meet me in San Francisco, I said "we need to find a two week adventure for you, something I can support and help make happen." Unfortunately, she never decided on anything.
I participated in more and more things, and by 2007 I entered 16 different events. J was there for many of them to support and cheer me on, and I was very appreciative to find her in my corner. I thought things settled down a bit in 2008, but as I look back it turns out it was just as busy.
It is funny how your perceptions are so different from reality. I thought that J had been schlepping out to nearly all of the events, and that I had cut way back in 2008. It turns out that I had 17 events in 2008, an increase not a decrease, and that for the events she wasn't participating in, J was actually there for a bit over half of them in 2007 and 2008. In my head, I was giving both of us a bit too much credit.
I found out in counseling that she grew to resent being the "running wife". At the peak, there was at least one event every month. Too many weekends spent doing something that was almost entirely about me. I know I said a few times that she didn't need to be there, but of course she felt an obligation. The running and biking may have been doing me a lot of good, but it put a strain on our relationship and marriage. Both of us valued our "alone" time, and weren't one of those couples that felt we had to do everything together, but the training and events definitely cut into our "couple" time.
In 2009 I only participated in seven events, and planned to do my weekend training in the wee hours before she got out of bed so we could have the day to spend together. But these changes came too late. Like so many things, I wished she had spoke up long before it grew into resentment, instead of waiting until counseling to make her feelings known. Of course I should have been more considerate, and I suppose not accepted her answer of "I don't mind".
As counseling went on, it appeared that this was not one of our major problems, but it clearly was a source of frustration for her. And it was something tangible to point to that represented our lack of communication and understanding of each other's needs.
I certainly don't regret that running, biking and exercise have become a part of my life. I feel better both mentally and physically for having gone out on the roads, and I think that carries over to my relationships and the rest of my life. But I definitely could have done a better job of managing the negative impacts. In the end it becomes a balance between taking care of yourself, and taking care of your family. A balance I didn't strike very well.
When J and I met in 1999, I wasn't doing anything active beyond working in construction. She said she used to run regularly, but wasn't by the time we met. I started biking in 2002 and running in 2005. I kept it up as a way to challenge myself and stay in shape. It became an important part of my life and a great way to spend time with friends. Running has also been a great thing for my state of mind, a time to quiet the inner chatter and leave problems at the side of the road.
But both the events and all of the training took up a fair amount of time. Our time. J toyed with running and biking, which would have been great to do together, but neither of them stuck. So it ended up being mostly a solo pursuit.
But J was definitely involved. She bought me my first books about running, supported me at many of my events, and helped make my bike trip down the Pacific Coast possible. When she flew down to meet meet me in San Francisco, I said "we need to find a two week adventure for you, something I can support and help make happen." Unfortunately, she never decided on anything.
I participated in more and more things, and by 2007 I entered 16 different events. J was there for many of them to support and cheer me on, and I was very appreciative to find her in my corner. I thought things settled down a bit in 2008, but as I look back it turns out it was just as busy.
It is funny how your perceptions are so different from reality. I thought that J had been schlepping out to nearly all of the events, and that I had cut way back in 2008. It turns out that I had 17 events in 2008, an increase not a decrease, and that for the events she wasn't participating in, J was actually there for a bit over half of them in 2007 and 2008. In my head, I was giving both of us a bit too much credit.
I found out in counseling that she grew to resent being the "running wife". At the peak, there was at least one event every month. Too many weekends spent doing something that was almost entirely about me. I know I said a few times that she didn't need to be there, but of course she felt an obligation. The running and biking may have been doing me a lot of good, but it put a strain on our relationship and marriage. Both of us valued our "alone" time, and weren't one of those couples that felt we had to do everything together, but the training and events definitely cut into our "couple" time.
In 2009 I only participated in seven events, and planned to do my weekend training in the wee hours before she got out of bed so we could have the day to spend together. But these changes came too late. Like so many things, I wished she had spoke up long before it grew into resentment, instead of waiting until counseling to make her feelings known. Of course I should have been more considerate, and I suppose not accepted her answer of "I don't mind".
As counseling went on, it appeared that this was not one of our major problems, but it clearly was a source of frustration for her. And it was something tangible to point to that represented our lack of communication and understanding of each other's needs.
I certainly don't regret that running, biking and exercise have become a part of my life. I feel better both mentally and physically for having gone out on the roads, and I think that carries over to my relationships and the rest of my life. But I definitely could have done a better job of managing the negative impacts. In the end it becomes a balance between taking care of yourself, and taking care of your family. A balance I didn't strike very well.
Kids
Whenever I tell someone I am going through a divorce, one of the first ways they try to console me is, "well, at least you didn't have kids." I 99% agree with this, but not entirely.
When I was young, I just assumed I'd be married by 25, and have a couple of kids when I was around 30. I bought into (what used to be) the typical American story. Then when I was in my mid-twenties, I dated someone who did not want kids. It made me question why I assumed I'd have kids, and whether or not I actually wanted to. I've never had the driving need to have kids, and for a time, that was my answer. Why bring a kid into the world unless you can't imagine life without them.
When that relationship ended, I went back and forth about how I felt. In the end, I figured I would wait to see who I married and we'd figure it out together.
J and I delayed the decision to have kids for a long time. Most all of our friends and family already had kids, so there was the thin cloud of pressure to "join the club". When talking with friends about kids, we always talked about our "hypothetical kid" and the decisions we would make. It became a running joke, and our hypothetical kid was "practically perfect in every way" due to our incredible parenting skills. But beyond the joke, it seemed we were on the same page in our beliefs about raising children, at least on paper.
But we weren't getting any younger, so we had to decide whether or not we wanted a child. During our "hypothetical" stage, we had agreed that we wanted only one child. It just seemed right to both of us. Though I had not previously had the driving urge to have a child, once J and I started talking more seriously about it, my views began to change. I had never been drawn to children (nor they to me), but once we started moving past hypothetical, I started seeing children everywhere and in a new light.
Financially, it made the most sense for me to stay home with the child, at least initially. My job in real estate and lending offered me some flexibility, and J had the larger, more dependable salary. I had not envisioned myself as a Mr. Mom, but the more I thought about it, I was starting to look forward to it.
We started talking about it seriously in early 2008 and made the decision to have a child that summer. Not long after that, whatever thread was holding the marriage together for J unraveled.
Over the past couple of years, as thoughts of children started to take shape, I grew really close to the two kids of some close friends. They were so excited to see their "uncle", and it was a whole new world for me to spend time with them. We all went on a camping trip over the Labor Day weekend with a couple other friends. It was there that I finally opened up to the friends there, sharing all that had gone on while we stood around the fire. It was one of the first times I was able to talk about the divorce and all the feelings surrounding it without feeling overwhelmed emotionally. It was a nice moment and made me feel like I was starting to get my feet underneath me again.
When we were packing up to leave, I was sitting on a picnic table talking to my friend. Then her daughter came up to me with a flower and said, "Give this to J for me." It was so sweet, but it cut right through me, and I had to stop talking for a bit to try to keep it together. Later, when the cars were packed and it was time to leave, I was talking with these friends in front of their car. At some point, their daughter leaned out her car window and shouted, "say hello to J for me." Then her brother leaned out the other window and shouted the same thing. It soon became a chorus, and it broke through whatever facade of strength I had that weekend. Before it all spilled over, I mumbled a quick goodbye and jumped in my truck.
And now I am facing the reality that I will likely never have a child. I will be 43 this year, and though the clock doesn't tick as loudly biologically for a man, time is still running short. And I am coming to terms with what that means. And what I have been struggling with isn't that "I" won't have a child, it is that J and I won't have one. That unique person that would be more than a sum of our parts will never exist.
As I was intentionally on the fence until I met the woman I would marry, I am back to feeling unsure of what I want. I cannot think in the hypothetical anymore, and imagining a child without first knowing the mother makes no sense for me. Now that J is gone, I no longer have a clear picture of that life in my head.
So yeah, it is (mostly) for the best that we didn't have children. I can't imagine how difficult the divorce would be with children involved. But there is still that sense of loss, of what/who could have been, and I don't know if that will ever go away entirely. I don't know if our child would have brought us back from the brink to see love in an entirely new way, or the added stress would have accelerated the unraveling.
And as a strange twist on things, both J and I are living with other people's children right now. There are still wistful thoughts occasionally, but those are mostly taken over by the joy of the moment. For the time being, I will try to be the best "uncle" I can be.
When I was young, I just assumed I'd be married by 25, and have a couple of kids when I was around 30. I bought into (what used to be) the typical American story. Then when I was in my mid-twenties, I dated someone who did not want kids. It made me question why I assumed I'd have kids, and whether or not I actually wanted to. I've never had the driving need to have kids, and for a time, that was my answer. Why bring a kid into the world unless you can't imagine life without them.
When that relationship ended, I went back and forth about how I felt. In the end, I figured I would wait to see who I married and we'd figure it out together.
J and I delayed the decision to have kids for a long time. Most all of our friends and family already had kids, so there was the thin cloud of pressure to "join the club". When talking with friends about kids, we always talked about our "hypothetical kid" and the decisions we would make. It became a running joke, and our hypothetical kid was "practically perfect in every way" due to our incredible parenting skills. But beyond the joke, it seemed we were on the same page in our beliefs about raising children, at least on paper.
But we weren't getting any younger, so we had to decide whether or not we wanted a child. During our "hypothetical" stage, we had agreed that we wanted only one child. It just seemed right to both of us. Though I had not previously had the driving urge to have a child, once J and I started talking more seriously about it, my views began to change. I had never been drawn to children (nor they to me), but once we started moving past hypothetical, I started seeing children everywhere and in a new light.
Financially, it made the most sense for me to stay home with the child, at least initially. My job in real estate and lending offered me some flexibility, and J had the larger, more dependable salary. I had not envisioned myself as a Mr. Mom, but the more I thought about it, I was starting to look forward to it.
We started talking about it seriously in early 2008 and made the decision to have a child that summer. Not long after that, whatever thread was holding the marriage together for J unraveled.
Over the past couple of years, as thoughts of children started to take shape, I grew really close to the two kids of some close friends. They were so excited to see their "uncle", and it was a whole new world for me to spend time with them. We all went on a camping trip over the Labor Day weekend with a couple other friends. It was there that I finally opened up to the friends there, sharing all that had gone on while we stood around the fire. It was one of the first times I was able to talk about the divorce and all the feelings surrounding it without feeling overwhelmed emotionally. It was a nice moment and made me feel like I was starting to get my feet underneath me again.
When we were packing up to leave, I was sitting on a picnic table talking to my friend. Then her daughter came up to me with a flower and said, "Give this to J for me." It was so sweet, but it cut right through me, and I had to stop talking for a bit to try to keep it together. Later, when the cars were packed and it was time to leave, I was talking with these friends in front of their car. At some point, their daughter leaned out her car window and shouted, "say hello to J for me." Then her brother leaned out the other window and shouted the same thing. It soon became a chorus, and it broke through whatever facade of strength I had that weekend. Before it all spilled over, I mumbled a quick goodbye and jumped in my truck.
And now I am facing the reality that I will likely never have a child. I will be 43 this year, and though the clock doesn't tick as loudly biologically for a man, time is still running short. And I am coming to terms with what that means. And what I have been struggling with isn't that "I" won't have a child, it is that J and I won't have one. That unique person that would be more than a sum of our parts will never exist.
As I was intentionally on the fence until I met the woman I would marry, I am back to feeling unsure of what I want. I cannot think in the hypothetical anymore, and imagining a child without first knowing the mother makes no sense for me. Now that J is gone, I no longer have a clear picture of that life in my head.
So yeah, it is (mostly) for the best that we didn't have children. I can't imagine how difficult the divorce would be with children involved. But there is still that sense of loss, of what/who could have been, and I don't know if that will ever go away entirely. I don't know if our child would have brought us back from the brink to see love in an entirely new way, or the added stress would have accelerated the unraveling.
And as a strange twist on things, both J and I are living with other people's children right now. There are still wistful thoughts occasionally, but those are mostly taken over by the joy of the moment. For the time being, I will try to be the best "uncle" I can be.
90 days
So the papers were filed today. I'm not sure what was going on for the last two months, since we had already agreed on all the details, but now the process is moving forward. There is a minimum 90 day waiting period before the divorce can be made final.
The reason, or "grounds", listed on the filing was "This marriage is irretrievably broken". I was pretty sure this was boilerplate, but the phrase bothered me. I did some quick Google research, and it turns out this is only grounds for dissolution allowed for the state of Washington.
I'm not sure what grounds should be listed, but this phrase doesn't seem right or accurate. But with only one phrase to choose from, I guess no one is really interested in the real reason.
The reason, or "grounds", listed on the filing was "This marriage is irretrievably broken". I was pretty sure this was boilerplate, but the phrase bothered me. I did some quick Google research, and it turns out this is only grounds for dissolution allowed for the state of Washington.
I'm not sure what grounds should be listed, but this phrase doesn't seem right or accurate. But with only one phrase to choose from, I guess no one is really interested in the real reason.
Signs
I had my last counseling appointment a couple days ago. Last for a while at least. On the way home I saw a bald eagle and a rainbow. That's got to be a good sign, right?