Life After Leaving, Part 3: It’s okay to be happy

What’s wrong with being happy?

A lot of websites, well-meaning people, and marriage ‘fixers’ (especially of the religious variety) will often say that being happy shouldn’t be your end-goal. That marriage is hard, and when you get married you should be in it for the long haul. I don’t entirely disagree, but those comments applied to all marriage relationships (particularly abusive ones) can be extremely problematic.

I should know, that’s one of the reasons I stayed so long, regardless of how miserable I became. It’s also one of the reasons I left and stayed gone, because when I was in… I was ALL in. And when I was out… I was ALL out. One benefit of working so hard at that relationship, I suppose, was I didn’t have any regrets.

In conversations, the same exact words may have different connotations to different people. Sometimes people mistake ‘Happy’ as people wanting to ‘live the high life’. But for me, and I suspect many others in abusive relationships, being happy means I have the freedom to be responsible for myself, own my mistakes without fear, and have what should be ordinary and everyday respect from the people in my life. I suppose what makes me happiest, is feeling fulfilled by my choices, my relationship, and my work.

Being born into a religious family, I think sometimes there is this idea in the Christian faith that anything worth having should be difficult. That to be valued, we must sacrifice. That we shouldn’t care so much about what we have in this world, but what we have in the next. These were all beliefs that led me to stay in an abusive and difficult relationship. If I’m honest with myself, it’s probably a part of the reason I ended up in that relationship to begin with, along with a lack of healthy boundaries.

Although I do still have faith in God and consider myself a Christian, I think some of the church culture nowadays romanticizes service and puts on expectations where our worth and standing is dependant on how much we sacrifice.

This is what I meant, when I said “I want to be happy”.

Before I left, I knew something was missing, a big black hole in our relationship that I struggled to fill. Everything I put into it seemed to be absorbed with nothing to show for the trouble. I didn’t know exactly what I meant when I thought, “I just want to be happy” and I never really felt I could verbalize that thought without people misunderstanding. So when I was finally ready to leave, I told my mom I “didn’t care if I was happy, I just want to be able to sleep.” For me, happiness seemed like a selfish goal, while sleep seemed like a practical and acceptable one.

Now I’ve learned that life can be fulfilling and full of joyous moments as well as difficult ones. If you’re never happy, struggle to find contentment, I think that is a sign of something needing some consideration. Just like physical pain helps us key into problematic physical issues in our body that may need to be addressed, a life absent of pleasure probably means we could use an emotional check-up. For me, that meant rooting my abuser out of my life, and doing the necessary work on myself to heal from that experience. My beliefs and expectations and views on boundaries needed some heavy consideration before I truly found contentment and ‘happiness’ again. It took me about 9 months before I smiled again, after leaving my ex. A genuine smile, not a strained one.

In my abusive relationship, the bar for being ‘happy’ was pretty low. Especially towards the end, to get a ‘happy’ moment was more along the lines of a sense of relief of not getting yelled at or feeling frightened or dealing with a suicidal spouse.

I can clean up just after myself, without being put-down and called lazy.

I can look at my bank account (regardless of positive or negative balance), and know what is going to be in there without any surprises.

I don’t have anyone angry at me, because they bought something expensive and now we don’t have money to pay the electric bill.

No one threatens to kill themselves or slit their wrists if I disagree with them.

My happiness-metric

Being happy doesn’t mean I am always comfortable,  but it does have a lot to do with my feeling content. Happiness for me, is safety in my relationships. The freedom to be my authentic self. To recognize I can’t make everyone happy, and to let go of that expectation. I can be considerate, without making myself responsible for other people’s reactions and feelings. Honesty isn’t always easy, when it leads to difficult discussions, but having the freedom to be honest is part of what makes me happy now.

How do you see happiness? Do you agree or disagree with anything I’ve shared? Would love to hear from some of you. 🙂

Confessional

Forgive me readers, for I have sinned. It has been two months and two days since my last post…

It’s easy to forget sometimes, that this blog is just for me and no apologies are required or expected for my periodic absences. Those of us who write here float in and out as the moods (or muse) takes us, and that is okay. It’s the writing version of being a snowbird – one of those retired kinds of people who heads south to Arizona in the winter, and returns to the frigid north in the Summer.

Apologizing, however, is something of an ongoing struggle for me, particularly when I’m feeling on edge. I’m not sure if this is a product of my gender, as I am a woman, or something I picked up from childhood. Walking on eggshells for ten years certainly didn’t help. Regardless, lately I’ve been considering that phrase “I’m Sorry” , usually right after the words drop from my lips. My reasons for sharing it vary, but if I shake them together and sift them out, it seems like I am often apologizing for… well… being me.

Last year I worked harder to be authentic, and while I think I achieved some of that – I think the next little step in this journey is to be unapologetically authentic. Not that I need to go out of my way to cause others annoyance, or lose my empathy, but instead to own who I am without that momentary hesitation.

This goes so much deeper than the words. Perhaps it touches on something I heard in Brene Brown’s ‘The Power of Vulnerability’. “Guilt,” to paraphrase her, “is when we make a mistake. But Shame? Shame is when we feel we are a mistake.”

Ever since hearing her lecture series on audible a few months ago, I’ve noticed more when touches of shame rise in me. And when they do, inevitably, I find myself apologizing for situations beyond my rational control, or apologizing for me. Apologizing for being such a mistake.

The truth though? I’m not a mistake. I am a person who has made plenty of them, will continue to make them, certainly. But those errors don’t define me.

I’ve never graduated with my Bachelor’s. I’m not a failed college student. I’m a successful professional who’s moved up in my work despite my lack of degree.

I am a divorcee in her mid-30s. My relationship status doesn’t define me. I am learning better how to communicate in all my relationships – friendships, familial, romantic – and have healthier boundaries. Healthy relationships are a part of a good support system.

I “live” with my parents. I am not mooching off their generosity, I am working hard to be financially stable. My parents and I are room-mates, sharing responsibilities and each pulling our fair weight.

Working through and confronting my fears of self is a little arduous at times. But now that I can pinpoint when that needs to happen (often when I am apologizing for existing and being myself) I am able to remind myself that I don’t exist just to accommodate others and bolster them at the expense of myself..

The road goes ever on and on…

Revelations are curious things, and sometimes the most profound of realizations to some are ones that are so obvious to others. But I suppose, the path to understanding ourselves is more about the journey to the destination than the destination itself.

A recent run-in with my ex, who decided it best to get arrested rather than obey my protection order, left me opening mail from the Domestic Violence Advocate and the Prosecutor’s office. In it, was a request for a Victim’s Impact Statement.

Although the request sent me to my Google Docs and I wrote several pages on several different days, none granted me the words I wished to use. I wanted to achieve a few things:

1. I wanted to be cognizant that anything I write will go into the public record.
2. I do not want to be weak, but I want him to understand I will utilize my protection order to the full legal extent I am allowed.

Though I still don’t have anything down I feel comfortable sharing, I discovered some things about myself through this process.

Rest Stop

Sometimes I forget it is not possible to be in control of everything, all the time. Or that, even if I am in control, my choices do not always lead to the best results. Or, even if my choices don’t lead to ‘the best’ results, who determines what is best and worst? Me. And sometimes those determinations are a little arbitrary, or based on other peoples’ expectations.

The last few weeks have brought with them an overflow of information, a few realizations, an incident with the ex, the Flu, a heart to heart with myself, time with friends, preparation for a long-planned minor surgery, and some heavy considerations regarding my priorities, relationships… pretty much the whole nine yards and then some.

Procrastination and priorities

To the tune of Anticipation, by Carly Simon… “Procrastination, procrastination…. Is makin’ me late… Is keepin’ me waitin’.”

Something I wrote a while ago keeps coming back to me, and it has to do  with this feeling of fragility. Intangibility. Perhaps it is kin to that feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Kin to the feeling of balancing many spinning plates on the ends of long sticks. Everything is going well, really, but sometimes I still feel the anxiety of being one unlucky tip away from shattered glass at my feet.

(Upon writing that sentence, the snarky part of my mind suggested that maybe it was time I started using heavy plastic instead of glass. Then that led me to rabbit trail down the practical considerations of whether or not plastic (however dense) might spin comparative to ceramic. All up to the point where I reminded myself, this was only intended as a visual example. I share this, because it shows how abstractedly distracted my thoughts have become, lately. Maybe you’ll get a chuckle; I know I did – sometimes all I can do is just laugh at myself and move along.)

Codependents Always Hope Things Will go Their Way

When I first got out of my abusive relationship, I spent a lot of time trying to figure out and understand my Ex. I found things like the ‘Cycle of Abuse’, and Narcissism, and those things helped me understand myself and my own reactions.

Now I’ve been researching more about myself, and learning that I have my own tendencies that make me vulnerable to Narcissistic partners. This is an excellent article worth considering, and I think it is important that we grow from researching everything about our abuser, and begin focusing on ourselves and how we can become stronger, more whole people.

FREE FROM CODEPENDENCY

Of the two extremes, codependents (unlike narcissists) are generally seen as the warm and fussy ones. Self sacrificing and eager to please, they are an absolute delight to be around if you are the kind of person who likes to freely take and accept all they have to give and there are many who do.  Codependents get involved with a certain type because like a jigsaw puzzle they fit together nicely. One constantly gives, one constantly takes. A perfect dysfunctional meeting and matching of ideals. Of course this situation is normally doomed to failure and when the house comes crashing down, the codependent suffers more than most. The reason being they have invested heavily in the relationship and stand to lose much more in their view. This is usually because they have lost themselves in the relationship and identified themselves through their partner. The idea of splitting such intensity (not…

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I am.

I am worthy. My values and beliefs matter, as well as the manner in which I convey them. Every person is due respect, even if we disagree. It is okay to pick my battles. Having the last word isn’t necessary, so long as I feel confident in my last words on a topic. I don’t have to be friends with everyone, and I do not need everyone to be happy or approve of my opinions.

A New Leaf

When I started this blog, it was a way to process my fears, hopes, struggles the best way I knew how. Through my words.

I didn’t know what I was doing.

I had no answers.

I only had a story. My story. A story that I had kept bottled up behind many different masks for nearly nine years. The good Christian wife mask. The happy daughter mask. The slighty-weary-with-life-but-handling-it mask. The helpful-friend mask. Now, I don’t really feel that a blog about ‘masks’ really fits me. I am considering changing the name, but want to really explore different ones that fit.

For weeks before writing, I scoured the internet looking for blogs, articles, and anything to help me better understand where I found myself – a woman facing divorce, living at home, recently emerging from a situation of domestic violence. I was lost. And struggling. I saw a lot of articles about abuse, but I didn’t see many that showed any one person’s personal journey. I’ve always connected most to a person’s story, the path from brokenness to redemption. So, I decided to share my own. A flawed, struggling work in process.

A year ago I was preparing to face my abuser in court, hoping to be granted a protection order. (I was). I had no car. I was drowning in bills. I was paralyzed by fear – of my ex, of the possible judgments of people around me, that my struggle to focus at work might ultimately lose me my job. Sleepless nights were not uncommon, and my health was poor due to physical pain as well as stress and anxiety. I hardly smiled. Anxiety followed me as closely as my own shadow.

A year later? I am up for a promotion. I’m writing again, creatively. I’ve met someone, who respects my boundaries and isn’t rushing me. My counselor and I are tackling more than simple coping strategies. One of my best friend’s is a new mom, and I get to be an auntie. I’m returning to school in a month, to finish the last few courses of my degree. More than one person has mentioned that even my eyes are smiling now. I am physically stronger and more able than I have been in 4 years. Hope has found its place in my heart: hope for the future, for health, for my career… for an identity I thought I had lost.

If you have only recently found me, these are a few of the posts that I think convey my state of mind throughout this past year. I’ve been through a lot, and I’ve come out ahead, I think. Early on, I shared so much with so little confidence in myself, and reading through the many posts I seem to hear the growing confidence, determination and certainty as the months go by.

• To Speak or Not To Speak – 3/19/2105
• Insomnia – 3/22/2015
• Fitful Anger – 3/26/2015
• Aftershock (…and Ramblings) – 4/5/2015
• Quaking – 6/3/2015
• Empty – 6/14/2015

My turning point:

• Worthy – 7/9/2015
• Finding Reality – 8/10/2015
• Fits and Starts – 8/24/2015
• Waiting for the Other Shoe to Drop – 11/4/2015
• “Getting to know you…” – 12/8/2015
• Through the Storm – 1/15/2016
• “I get knocked down, but I get up again…” – 2/4/2016

Healing is definitely a journey, and a process, and I have a long ways to go. But just think, if I’ve come this far in just a year – while still battling through a messy divorce – how much farther can I go?

Love Letter to Me

An article I read recently, while sitting in my therapist’s waiting room, mentioned that it takes 5 positives to offset a negative. Apparently our brains our wired to process negativity, perhaps as a coping mechanism, perhaps as a stimulus to change or avoid the things that cause negativity. I recently read a post by Hurricane Heather, where she openly shared a list of those negative things she struggles with and feels vulnerable about. I could relate to so many of those items, but challenged her to write a similar list describing the awesome things about herself. And she did, and challenged me right back. Follow up to Letter’s I will never send (but already sort of did): Dear J. Response: Dear Heather.

Heather? Challenge accepted.

So here goes – in letter form. A love letter to myself, because if we can’t love ourselves, how are we going to be able to love others?

Not normally my kind of music, but this Fifth Harmony song, “Brave, Honest, Beautiful” is pretty inspiring.

My challenge to you? 50 things that make you you, and make you awesome, OR a love letter to yourself. If you accept, please post here and link your article so I don’t miss it. 🙂

Waiting for the other shoe to drop…

Over two months since my last post, encapsulating work emergencies, new friends, a possible new relationship, and many moments of challenging myself to heal.

As I posted in a reply to a comment someone left me today, I realized that as of today it has been 9 months. Three quarters of a year, and each moment more fulfilling than the last. Most days I wake up contented, my days are filled with happy moments and an easy resilience that I though impossible 9 months and a day ago. There are the occasional nightmares, dredged up by triggers, or by slowly re-engaging people where before I had placed barriers.

And believe me, I can appreciate the irony of meeting someone not long after my ‘single and not looking’ post. It’s been interesting, being courted by someone who shares many of my own interests, who spent about eight weeks maneuvering that fine line of consistent interest, friendship, and yet not being pushy.

Ownership

While I never sought to be abused, that doesn’t mean there aren’t things that need to be addressed. Whatever spurred me towards selecting the man who would cause me so much emotional turmoil is yet to fully heal. I was vulnerable in my own damaged way before, and now I have the years of marriage to deal with on top of that as well.

There were good moments. The cycle of abuse, which ebbs and flows throughout the passage of time, helped bind me even midst the darker minutes.

Perhaps, as well, there was a little bit of arrogance. I took pride in the sacrifices I made, early on. Perhaps it was because there was so little else for me to take pride in. Something in me, based on my childhood of caregiving for my family and siblings, felt uniquely qualified and prepared to be in a relationship like ours would be. I needed to be needed.

My mistake was believing he cared about my needs, too.

Freedom to be Exhausted

The trouble is sometimes I have too much to say, and yet too little. Feelings churn, revelations slip into reality between one moment and the next. Then, when faced with a blank screen, a keyboard, and the desire to find words to express these matters – nothing comes.

I’m not sure where this hesitance comes of late. Perhaps some of it is being a little self-conscious. Who am I, and why would anyone care what I thought about life? It’s not like I have any answers, or any plan, or any real direction. All I know is I am moving forward.

Forward means taking care of myself. The embarrassing things like remembering to put on deodorant in the morning. Which requires me to get up when the alarm first goes off in early pre-dawn hours, which, in turn, requires me to ensure enough sleep and getting to bed at a decent hour.

Showering. Eating. Getting to work. Making the medical appointments to keep me healthy. Going to counseling.

This is my life right now. It isn’t necessarily an unpleasant one – my last tweak of my anxiety meds seem to have given me that littlest oomph I needed to be able to push myself over the hump of whatever barrier stood in my way. I’ve been making it to work, been accruing leave again instead of lurking dangerously near empty.

I didn’t know what to expect when I left six months ago, but I didn’t really expect myself to transition so quickly to this need for actual sleep. Now, I am tired if I only get 5-6 hours of sleep. Back in February, a good night’s sleep was 4-5 hours, as I was lucky to get more than 1 to 3 a night. What amazes me is that I was able to function at all.

Part of it I have to attribute to God. Though I’m not active in a church, and struggle with certain things about Christianity/churches, I still hold onto my faith. Part of it I have to attribute to my German heritage – that side of the family is irrepressibly stubborn.

But you know, best of all? I don’t have to function, and be responsible for everything anymore. I can have an off day, or a down day, and be ok. I can cancel plans with friends, though apologetically, and they don’t disown me or get angry. It’s still hard, there is a lot of physical and emotional fatigue. Friends are making sure I stay safe. People are stepping up and standing up for me. Even if I have very little to offer them right now. But for the first time in a long time, I’m beginning to accept that. I’m realizing there are people I can actually rely on, who won’t resent me as a nuisance or burden. It’s freeing.

Finding reality

While I was chattering along with a friend via the phone, she mentally and verbally began grasping for a word. I fell silent, my own thoughts frozen by a sudden uncertainty over whether or not to supply my idea of the word she’d been about to say.

“You’re not helping!” My friend laughed, teasing. “What was I going to say?” An awkward chuckle was my only reply, and the conversation moved onward.

But awareness of that moment lingered for far longer than that late night conversation.

Brittle strength

So many moments of powerlessness envelop my memory, and it is easy to feel ashamed, or discouraged or foolish. Ashamed that I covered up so much. Foolish for protecting my family and loved ones from the intensity of my Ex’s childishness and mood swings. Discouraged that I spent so many years of my life struggling forward on a path I had chosen for myself, only to give up on it, in the end.

Early on in my counseling sessions, my therapist mentioned that it can be healing for people in my situation to look back at their life and pick out moments of empowerment. To find the moments of strength in history.

I can more easily point to days and weeks and months and years where my focus was just on getting through the day. There were many times I made concessions. Catered to his moods. Kept silent. Refrained from sharing information I knew might stir him to anger or upset.

And yet… there were times I drew a line, and dared him to cross it. And usually he would back away.

The biggest threat to marriage….

The biggest threat to marriage? It comes from within the marriage itself.

Lack of communication. Verbal and emotional abuse. Trust issues. Fear.

I consider myself a Christian, but in the face of my own divorce – how can I throw stones? My job is to love God, and love people. Having been through the last decade of a marriage that was never really stable, safe or secure, I can’t help but think all this energy and fear over the LGBT collective now able to marry is being misplaced.

Because frankly? Having two people who love and are committed to each other seems rather a stabilizing force on society, when marriage seems to be less popular among heterosexual couples. I genuinely cannot find a rational explanation for what is so dangerous. I’ve read the Bible, many times. My next step seems to be to try and get the word studies and understand the pre-translated meanings of the words to see if that sheds any light. But in the end, I don’t really care. I’m going to love on people and support those who have supported me.