Suburban Goddess

I had to drive my niece home this afternoon, which means I had to drive past my old neighborhood. It’s no surprise that I had to take a couple of steps down with the loss of my husband’s income; he made twice as much as I did. But it was difficult to drive through there and realize that I once called that beautiful neighborhood home.

Somehow, when I lived there, I just knew I didn’t belong. The women there were different; not bad, they just had different priorities. I mean, if you grow up and your biggest problem is that your dress doesn’t cost the most at the high school prom, well, you’re just not going to understand where I’m coming from. Manicures and cheerleading weren’t my life; my FAMILY was. Chip would get so frustrated with me because I just couldn’t fit in… he didn’t understand the conversations were simply something I had no clue about. I cannot justify spending exorbitant amounts of money on a cashmere sweater or designer shoes when I wanted camera equipment or a Wacom tablet. Mention CSS to these women and they had NO CLUE what I talking about. I was trapped in Stepford.

But it was so beautiful. I loved the clean lines of the matching brick houses with the immaculate BMW’s and Lexus sedans. People took pride in their belongings and took such good care of them. And driving through it was a reminder of all the material things I lost. Part of me thought for a moment; “I should have raked him over the coals.” I could have. I knew about the adultery the day my papers were filed; I could have filed an injunction. But I didn’t; I didn’t care. I didn’t want to be with someone who didn’t want me, and I wasn’t going to beg him to stay.

But the feeling passed quickly, and I was left with just a dull sadness for a life lost. I wish I could have kept my house and my car, but honestly, I wouldn’t have been happy there surrounded by those people. It’s strange, it was the house I had always dreamt of… everything I ever wanted since I was a little girl. And my dream house ended up being a complete nightmare. Money couldn’t save me, and it certainly didn’t make me happy.

That thought comforted me as I drove away. I have much less now, but I’m on a path that makes me happy. I’m living a life with people who understand what I’m talking about for a change. And money really has nothing to do with that, because they come from all walks of life; it’s just the fact that I’m finally taking an active role in my life instead of a passive one.

Now to carry that principle into all aspects of my life.  I think I just might find what I’m looking for.

Me:  I need a lifestyle change

D: Going to play for the other team?

Me: Hell no. Women are more annoying than men. Men are easy. Sex, food, ego. Women have hormones. UGH

D: But they have boobs and vaginas, so we put up with them

There’s only so much a heart can handle. Joy, depression, happiness, loss… the rollar coaster of life seems to gain speed as time passes. I’ve come to accept the low times, learning that their heartache gives way to immeasurable joys. And in those joyful moments, I try to embrace that time and not look ahead to the impending lows.

Through it all I continue to grow, to change, to learn and accept what I am capable of, to stretch the limits where I can. I will not settle, I will not give up, and I will not quit.

But I will change my situation.

The nice thing about so many failures in a lifetime is that you learn to, for lack of better terms, take a punch. Life has a mean right jab. I’ve taken a few… as well as a few roundhouse kicks, a couple of leg sweeps, and quite a few uppercuts. At this point, I stare back with defiance, sometimes maniacal laughter.

Hit me again. I’ve been knocked out, knocked down… but damn it, I’m getting back up. JUST TO SPITE YOU, if nothing else. Pride: my tragic flaw.

I’ve spent the past few years waiting, waiting, waiting. Waiting for something to change, waiting for life to hand me the things I want. Guess what? Life doesn’t hand you anything; Life only gives to those willing to fight for it. Well, I’ve fought. I started fighting fair, but was knocked to my knees… at that point, it became pure survival. Hair-pulling, kicks to the groin, anything, anything to get out with some semblance of a life imagined. But sometimes I feel like the whole thing has been for nothing.

What the hell am I fighting for? Am I even fighting for the right thing? What if I’ve been fighting the wrong fight all along? Maybe it’s time to move on… save the strength for something worth fighting for.

Or for something willing to fight for me.

The past few months have passed in a gray haze; the hands of the clock spiral quickly around, seeming to increase in speed exponentially. I find myself looking into the eyes of a five-year-old child where a helpless baby used to be.

Five years.

March marks five years since Alex came into my life and turned it upside down. The irresponsible, reckless, fearless woman that was once me was replaced by a woman with a purpose, a dream, and a priceless responsibility. That new woman is so drastically different from the old one, that the old one is a distant memory. The change was so drastic that my then-husband no longer recognized me…. but neither did I. Our paths no longer coincided; his went in a different direction, but I knew my calling.

I was a mother now.

The past three years have been harder than anything I’ve ever experienced in my life; without the kindness of friends, family, and perfect strangers, I say I couldn’t make it through… but I would have. For the sake of my daughter, I would make it through on sheer force; when the duct tape no longer worked, brute will would hold it together. It’s been a challenge for me; God likes to remind me that I’m not in control. Never has that become more obvious until he placed this miracle in my life.

But with the challenges and the hardships have also come an unspeakable love, unwavering strength, and renewed faith. When you lose enough, you start to realize that life-changing risks aren’t so scary anymore. I find myself WANTING to jump, where in the past, I’d cower as far away from the edge as possible. Those success stories, when you hear about people who fail miserably or lose everything before they make it big; I can relate now. I’ve lost everything twice in my life, and look! I survived!  I keep coming out better each time, too… maybe I’m not a financial powerhouse yet, but the friends I’ve made and the experiences that these paths have led me to, I can’t tell you how amazing the journey has been so far! And I know, I KNOW that some really hard times are in my future… possibly my near future… and yet I’m not afraid anymore. Of course, I have my moments, but I know that with every valley comes another peak. And I’ve even learned to embrace the lows; never do I sleep more soundly until grief completely wreaks havoc. You cry, you sob, you scream, you throw: then you sleep, a quiet, dark, dreamless sleep, and when the light comes in the morning, you may have puffy eyes, but it’s a little easier.

But the time…. it just keeps getting faster. And each moment is more precious, yet harder and harder to hold on to. Today, she’s almost five.  Tomorrow, almost 25.

Hold on, hold on, hold on.

For years I’ve persecuted cheaters. I’ve run them through the ringer, cast my judgement, thrown my poison pen at them… called them out for the dogs they are, and spit venom on them at every chance I was given. Which is kind of funny, because that makes me a big, freaking hypocrite.

It’s not like I never cheated. I have. I’ve cheated little and I’ve cheated big. I’m guilty of the “harmless” emotional cheating, and I’ve physically fallen into the arms of other men. I always had an excuse; some well-crafted sob-story played out in my head so that when I was caught (and I ALWAYS got caught), I could play the victim. Sometimes, I even BELIEVED I was the victim. And it was all fun and games until it happened to me.

Your perspective changes when someone you believe in hurts you that way, especially when you never see it coming.  A candid conversation with an ex taught me how much damage you can truly do. His words hurt, cut me to the ore, but I deserved them. I wish I could take it back. I can’t. Our lives traveled in two different directions at that moment; there was no way for our paths to coincide after what I’d done. They’ve crossed many times since then… but that mistake still haunts us, and what could have been something truly special is nothing more than a Christmas card once a year and some happy memories of a life less complicated or a life that could have been.

It’s been on a mind a lot lately because so many lives close to me are touched by it. Cheating. It’s so easy these days. Emails, text messages, social networking. In Houston, it’s ridiculously easy; blame your tardiness on traffic. The moral fabric seems to be unraveling, one thread at a time.

“It’s just a harmless text.”  No, it’s not.

“Nothing’s going to happen, we’re both married.” Something IS happening. And people are watching.

“She’ll never find out.” God, I hope not.

Because once it’s broken, it’s broken forever. I remember Chip holding up a photograph of me, happy and laughing on our wedding day. “I want THIS girl back. Where did THIS girl go?”

“You KILLED her.”

There was no more true statement then that, and he’s not the first to say it to me; I could never go back to that happy, carefree, loving person after his level of betrayal. How could he expect me to? And the worst part is that he refused to take responsibility for his role; in his mind, he was justified in leaving me. I wasn’t the same girl; he didn’t sign up for a life with a girl who might change.

But she did.

I’ve been with people who have been cheated on, too. After a while, I began to understand why their girls cheated. It’s not that they weren’t truly great guys… but they were so disconnected that they emotionally starved those women to death. One in particular gave me a story about how his ex said hateful things to him constantly. Like, “I hate you.” There were times in our relationship that those words hovered on my lips as well, but I recognize them for what they are; a desperation tactic. Because nothing else seems to get through the wall….

You hit a point where you are so lonely, so desperate, that you give up hope of change and just start looking for a way to stop the pain. Maybe it’s simply bailing out; maybe it’s looking for comfort in another person’s arms. Maybe it’s pushing every button you can to evoke some response; rarely is the response the one you want. More often than not, it’s more damaging than the silence would have been. Certainly it’s easier to fall when someone else is there to catch you… and that’s easier than the alternative. Confrontation. Communication. Work, work, work…. Constantly working at something for the rest of your life…

I look for the happy endings. There are many, but not enough; people who have learned from their mistakes. People who truly respect their significant others. People who recognize that love takes a little effort, but it’s worth it. People who can fight the temptation.

Those people give me hope. Maybe, just maybe there’s a happy ending in it for me.

A man jumped out of the car and ran to the passenger side; with a grand flourish, he opened the door and a petite blonde stepped out with a giggle. He took her hand and pulled her close; the two of them oblivious to the traffic nearby on 290 as they locked together in a deep kiss. I watched with a tiny ray of hope.

Maybe they will make it.

There’s a point where so many bad things happen that you begin to just expect it. You steel your resolve and accept the inevitable… something bad is going to happen. It just does.

It’s a horrible way to live. You’re constantly dialed in to the bad, and you forget to experience the good because you’re too busy bracing yourself for the next blow. I could go down the laundry list of crappy things that have happened since the start of the year… but I stopped myself, because I discovered I was looking for things to add to the list.

“Oh, and this happened, and THIS, and don’t forget THIS…”

The sad thing is, I was so focused on that negative list, that I didn’t even stop to think about the good things. At the beginning of the year, I had a Good List; good things that were going to happen this year. Things to look forward to. Things that were going to make me happy.  Then it became a competition between the lists, and the Bad List started to grow longer, eclipsing the Good List and drowning out the hope that I started with. It’s so hard to pull yourself out of it, though, when you feel like you’re drowning but people keep handing you bricks. So many facets of life trying to pull me under, pull me down…. and I’m tired.

But what can you do? You can’t give up, it’s just not an option.

So something inside of you disconnects; it’s like an emotional plug has been pulled, temporarily turning out the lights until you can get back on track. You go through the motions, praying for the meaning to come back, praying for change, praying for something to believe in again. I need it to change. I need things to be different.

This is not the life I was meant to lead; there is something greater out there waiting for me to find the path that leads me to it. I just wish there was a damn map.

“Your little passive-aggressive barbs are duly noted, thank you.”

“Oh good. I was afraid they might be mistaken for kindness.”

B:  I’ve met more women who have been the victims of philandering husbands than I care to count. These are, like yourself, the walking wounded, and frankly they’d NEVER break up a happy family. They’re the poster children for Burn the Bastard. However, what men do, and you know this so darned well, is to somewhere point out how their relationship is missing something, and they’re just not happy. That gap, that single chink (and I declare it’s not sometimes even conscious on the part of the female), is more of an aphrodisiac than, well anything I can think of.  It’s the “My God, she understands me!”

Me: HA! DIRECT QUOTE FROM THE EX!!

B:  I’d say that most of the time there’s no intention to wreck anything that one or both parties didn’t think was ruined anyway.

Me:  Well there you go. You can convince yourself of anything if you’re selfish enough.

B: There are vixens out there who are looking for a better life. There are women who are miserable and are so tired of being alone, but let’s think about it, if we’re really looking at someone who’s a Good Man, and is unhappy, why wouldn’t we be sympathetic to his sad tale of woe.

Me:  HA! DIRECT QUOTE FROM THE HOMEWRECKER!

B: And guys LOVE to play the knight in shining armor. Hey, I’m there. I recognize that in myself.

Me: You’re scary, B.

B: It’s called having compassion. And if the focus of the compassion happens to be nicely built, well there you go! And once that train starts, even with two very principled people, it’s darned hard to get it off the tracks before you’ve hit the bedroom, and that’s just a stop before the station at Divorceville.

I went to pick up the remains of my cat yesterday at the vet. Alex was with me when I dropped her body off in a rather large box wrapped in a towel; needless to say, the box returned was substantially smaller.  Alex immediately began to ask questions.

“Mommy, is Kasha in that box?”

“Yes, baby.”

“How did they get her in there?”

This is the point I should have had some amazing Mommy answer, some magical and wonderful explanation that I’d researched for this very moment. I, however, am a procrastinator, and thereby failed miserably in trying to explain cremation to a four-year old.

“Well, when you die, your spirit goes to heaven, but your body stays here on earth and you have to do something with it or it starts to smell funny. Sometimes, you bury it in the ground, or sometimes you cremate it.”

“What’s cretate?”

“CreMATE. It’s when you burn the body and make ashes.”

“How do they do that?”

(Dear God, yes, I said this to a 4-year old.) “They put it in a big oven.”

“They put Kasha in an oven????”

“Yes baby, but she was gone already. Her spirit is in heaven. She didn’t feel anything, because she was gone already.”

“But I thought you said she was in the box?”

Abstract concepts such as spirituality and transcendence are probably best explained to a 4-year old after a bottle of wine, I think. A few moments passed before Alex spoke again.

“Mommy, is Bubby going to die, too?”

“Yes, sweatheart. Eventually, everything dies.”

“Are we going to put him in the oven, then?”

DOH.