Leaving Forsaken

This July I  met the first man in 11 years that I would call my boyfriend, and 4 months into the most wonderful, kind, healthy relationship of my life he tells me he applied to his dream job clear across the country. This was not the first time this scenario has played out in my life. It was the third time in an important relationship, probably the twentieth in lesser ones. I knew this abandonment, this feeling of being forsaken, disposed of, done with, disregarded for some other choice that did not involve me. For 2 days after I learned the news that Jason was looking to relocate, I sobbed those familiar hot tears that come out of a spinning head- bewildered by how this could possibly be happening again. And very unsure if I could muster up the fortitude to be alone again, and put myself out there yet one more time looking for someone to finally create a life with.

The first major time this happened was with my high school sweetheart. I was a sophomore and he was a senior. We spent that year together, falling in the swirling vortex of teen love. He taught me to drive. He carved our names in the cement of the steps in the back of school where we would smoke. Older girls who were in his grade would tell me we were the best couple- they voted for us for the yearbook. And while we were away with his classmates at his prom weekend, he cheated on me in the car my mother lent him, and got very annoyed at the crying rage that ensued when I found them. For the last few weeks of school that we had to see each other, he denied me any recognition for what he had done, or any closure on what we had. He was just done- graduated from high school and starting his adult life.  And I had to deal. The next two years of my high school career was a dark cloud of depression and self doubt which pretty much trailed me into college.  Enter the next string of relationships that end with no explanation, no regard- no civility.

Then when I was 30 I met Christopher, where in a short 6 months time we had already begun talking marriage. Turns out Christopher was also cheating on me- or it would be more chronologically accurate to say he was cheating with me- on his fiance that he had been committed to before, during, and after our time together. When I found out this truth, Christopher tried to do damage control and convince me what I learned was false and he really loved and honored me. But when it was clear that that was not going to work- and I was just left confused and in a ditch, he walked away without an explanation, a word of sorrow signifying his regret in what he had done, or some kind of reparation that would make me feel regarded or account for my pain. Here again a man decided when he was done with me and whatever I needed to do to move on was for me to deal with. Not their problem.

But Jason was not like this. I spent 11 years single, working on myself so much so that I would not chose a man like this again. Jason was considerate and giving and honest. I was so sure. Not selfish and careless and caring for only his needs like all the others. When he told me about the job in Portland that he applied for, he was reluctant. I sensed he had news and I pried it out of him. He said it was too soon to worry. He doesn't know if he will get the job. But I know how miserable he is with his job here. I know that this past year he had moved back to NJ after 15 years living out west and working in his dream environment, teaching artists woodworking, only to be with his mother in her last months before she died. I knew he didn't belong back in NJ and was just here out of obligation to family. I recognized this so well because that's why I have been here in NJ, raising my daughter close to family for the past 17 years. I too loved living out west. And one day I said I would like to go back. But not alone. With a partner. A partner like Jason. But he is looking to leave now, not in 2 years when my daughter graduates high school. We've only been together 4 months, and the places he wants to work are not here.

So when Jason told me this news, I was back to being fifteen years old and seeing my boyfriend in my mother's Buik with another girl. I was thirty again,  reading the love note Christopher's fiance left in his apartment. I wanted to let out those fat, soaking, ugly-cry tears that make your mouth gluey with sticky saliva and your eyes so puffy you can't see. I wanted to call him an asshole for letting me fall in love with him. Using me for my companionship to keep him warm until he was ready to set his sails for other seas. Passing the time with me for his amusement and expecting me to just go away when I was no longer needed. But there was nothing in me that could line up those thoughts with this man that sat before me. This was Jason and he was different.

But he was pulling away. I sensed it all week. For the first time in what had been a very satisfying sex life, that weekend before, he was unable to maintain an erection. Then he told me of plans he had for that upcoming Sunday to go mountain biking with some people I didn't know, when we usually reserve weekend mornings to be with each other for those rare precious hours where we didn't have to rush off to work. Plus he had promised to teach me to mountain bike and he knew I was very eager to go. But I was not included in these plans.

In the moments after he told me the news about the job I was in this suspended space, where I couldn't let out my rage on this person who I knew did not deserve it, and yet I couldn't feel safe with him either. In that limbo, I got out of his van, saying I was tired and needed to go home- leaving the conversation for another time- or for all I knew, to be undone forever. Walking away, I didn't know if that was the beginning of the end. If my tears would put guilt on him that he just didn't need. If my pain was a burden he just did not want to deal with. So all I could think to do was get to my car and release that cry that had been burning my face from from the inside trying to maintain myself in front of him. In my efforts to keep my balance of composure and denial, I was not able to acknowledge something he said. A phrase that was delivered like a little cushion along with the ton of bricks he just dropped. That maybe if he gets the job three thousand miles away,  it doesn't have to mean the end for us.

I couldn't acknowledge it when he said it, because I was not in a conversation with just Jason. I was in a conversation with every man that had ever hurt me and they were all liars and cowards who would say anything to avoid my scorn. But when I sat in my car and I hid my face while the tears gushed out, waiting for Jason to pull away, and he instead showed up wrapping on my window, I started to see just him- Jason who would not walk away when I needed him. Jason who did not toss people away like damaged goods, but who made people better for having known him. I was still too afraid to have him see me cry, but we hugged and I told him I was okay. He asked if I would follow him to the highway and he texted to make sure I got home. His texts were without the "sweetie" and "baby" that I usually got, and so I assumed he was just being the nice guy he is. And he did call the next day to make plans for the weekend, although he sounded tentative about doing so. I knew he could hear the tears through my voice and was nervous about how things would be between us.

The next 24 hours I spent going between nausea and utter breakdown. Bouts of crying intermittent with numb exhaustion from all the crying, all the while desperate for something from the past decade of self-help work to kick in. And slowly it did. Instead of seeing Jason as another guy doing something to me, I knew this only seemed like all the other situations in my life because I was comparing it to them. When I isolated it away from all the others, I could see just Jason. The man who showed up at my car window. Who let me know he still cared by making sure I got home ok. That did tell me on that tentative phone call that he did want to see me that weekend and he hoped I wanted to see him. In my onslaught of sorrow, these small gestures seemed small compared to the fact that he applied for a job three thousand miles away from me knowing I can't move anywhere for a couple years. But they were there. And I respected Jason enough to value them. And it was at some point of being huddled on the bathroom floor picturing this wonderful man walking out of my life, that I decided I had a choice. I could choose to feel abandoned and victimized. Or I could see his side: a man who just lost his loving mother. Who has been working at a job that was the nearest available in his field, but that is dimming his light with each hour and half long traffic-congested commute, and lackluster workday- but that he gives his all to anyway. A man who has never let me down or gone back on his word in any way. Who calls and apologizes if he will be even fifteen minutes late. A man I love and whom I want to be happy. A man who was meant to teach and share his art. And fell in love with me along the way. And I saw that his love for me and his need for a fulfilling career could both be true at the same time. And if I treated him like some scumbag that was hurting me, instead of a human being with good intentions who is figuring out his path just like I am, then I could expect to be deserted. And still with the tissue in my hand, sitting on that bathroom floor, I realized there are more possibilities for this story than me being foresaken and abandoned.

I had learned about the universal law that keeps patterns cycling in our lives until we change the frequency on which we are transmitting. Some people call it karma. You keep getting faced with the same lesson until you learn it. In doing shadow work I decided that one of my soul's purposes is to accept love. In all my past relationships, including that with just about every single member of my family, I see how I have pushed love away- and then blamed everyone for leaving me. And here I am, faced with getting left, and my first instinct is to shut down and accuse.  But here is this ray of sunshine man that does not fit the bill of accused. At this point, I did still want to blame him though. I was scripting in my head what I would tell him when I next saw him- how everyone I have cared about has left me and I can't go through it again. And that it is unfair of him to expect me to handle this well, and how was I supposed to just carry on, knowing he was seeking a way to leave? I know when he had last called me to make plans he sensed my loaded ammo just waiting to be unleashed. But what if his tentativeness wasn't cowardice or, admission of guilt, or avoidance of dealing with me, but just a person who was unsure of how to proceed? Who didn't have the answers and was just trying his best? Why would I want to use our time together to put him on the defensive, instead of giving him a safe space to work out where he is- which would give us space-  to be with each other, our true selves exposed, naturally and whole.
 
And so I spent the next 24 hours meditating on my soul's purpose: Love and Joy. On opening myself to receiving love. Accepting love that comes to me in any way it is offered without judgement. Practicing self-love, reminding myself that I deserve to be loved. Remembering that I cannot control what my joy will look like, but to trust that it is the journey, the peaks and valleys in equal measure, that are always taking me to where I need to be. I don't know what will happen with Jason and me, but I can stay open for all the possibilities that can happen. And accept whatever scenario does occur.

The following day that Jason was coming over, I awoke with the peace of having surrendered. By the time he arrived, I was feeling so light being released from my anger and so grateful for the love and joy we do have. I was able to greet him the way I truly wanted, with an encompassing embrace, instead of accusations. I felt the tension leave his body, as he must have been braced for what could have been an uncomfortable day. As we ate in the kitchen and talked about our evening plans, I saw his eyes linger on me longer than I ever had before. We had only known each other four months, and I still had not fully been able to let myself go around him. But this weekend I had reached a new level of looseness and levity that I knew was in me but I even hadn't seen in a long time. And I saw the delightful surprise on Jason's face when he finally saw what he always suspected was there.  When he left me early in the morning to go mountain biking, I felt secure being able to tell him I was sad he chose to go with other people instead of me. When he explained that this was a more advanced trip and he really did want to take me out another time, I believed him. When he asked if I would meet with him later to go to his grandparents' house and then his brother's for dinner, I was honored for the invitation and accepted with pleasure. When we kissed goodnight after dinner I felt him need and want me more than I ever had before. I  did also feel his weariness, faced with the start of a long workweek that he does not enjoy. It's still there- the possibility of him starting a life on the other side of the country. But who knows. Maybe I will be a part of that life. But one thing I can know, and that is, of all the possibilities that can happen, I can chose to have them come from Love and Joy.

Deep in the Red

I became a mother at 24 years old with a man whom I was not married to and I did not love. I never said it, even to myself, but I was so lost and scared at this time. But I didn't dare even shed a tear and instead put all my energy to battening up my defenses from the attacks of "how could you do this?," that came from just about every family member. If they weren't saying it outwardly, they held an air that said, "this is what we expected of you- to mess up your life." And so I defiantly held up my chin, and told them all, " this was what I wanted, to have a child with this guy at  this time, and we will be fine." I couldn't even let the shock of my pregnancy hit me, and that I was bound forever to man I didn't even want to date any more. There was no one I could admit my mistake and confess: I was actually devastated. 

It was a very miserable pregnancy, pretending to build a life with my daughter's father. We lived very separately behind closed doors, and outwardly planned the arrival of our daughter. I lived with Bill until P was one and a half. Up until that time, I had not considered admitting failure and moving out and hearing the chorus of "We knew it" that would come when everyone heard that I couldn't  remain a couple with the guy that was providing for me and whose child I had born. I did not see any alternatives, until I befriended a young man I met randomly on the street and got to talking to. He told me that even though his parents were together only for one year after he was born, they remained friends and he always felt well adjusted and stable in his back-and-forth life. The key to this, he said, was how they made each other welcome in one another's homes. His dad would sit and have a beer at his mom's, his mom would have some dinner when she picked him up from his dad. I now had a respectable model for how I could raise my daughter as a single mom apart from her father.  We would go into each other's refrigerators and help ourselves. This was my only plan to finally get out of the shadow of my mistake, and I would prove finally that I was a person who knew what she was doing and had it all under control. My life was not a mistake, and it could be even better than those who married the loves of their lives, planned their children, only to end in bitter divorces with judges dictating how often they see their kids, and who got what of the possessions. Bill and I were going to be above that. We would be flexible with scheduling whose house our daughter went to, he would provide me with whatever child support he wanted, and mi refrigerator would be su refrigerator. All Fixed. 

It was about four years that I deluded myself in pretending that such a friendship with Bill existed. I would indeed help myself to a snack from his fridge when I came to pick up our child. But I felt his scathing annoyance at my presence and I became very good at ignoring it. And he never stepped foot in my home and would instead wait on the doorstep for me to hand her over- always leaving the car running. I would call him constantly and tell him stories about our day, or ask for his help fixing stuff around the house, or to weigh in on decisions regarding discipline,  but I never stopped to notice I was the only one talking or that my phone never rang back when it was his weekend with her. And still, I told everyone what a great relationship we had. My spiel went something like: if two parents can't be together happily, the next best thing is to be great friends separately." I convinced people of this so much, that I was told more than once that I should write a book on the topic. (This was years before Gwyneth Paltrow became the icon for Conscious Uncoupling. But now you know, I had the idea first.) 

I gave up the act when there were no more delusions to hold on to.  I met a man that I thought I would marry when my daughter was five. When I told Bill this news, all this hate and vile came out that I did not see this coming. I thought the "friendship" with him  was so well established that he'd be happy for me, albeit maybe it would be awkward at first. But surely after he saw what a great guy Chris was, and how respectful he was toward Bill as Prairie's father, he would have nothing to worry about. Chris even latched on to my fool-proof plan of simulating friendship and spoke of how he'd like to get to the point where he and Bill could crack open a beer and watch a game. But Bill made it very clear that this was not going to happen and that he would not be any party to my fantasy lovefest where we all got along and sang Kumbaya (his actual words). But not only wasn't Bill open to this idea. My family never accepted that I could be in a relationship with anyone besides the father of my child. It was selfish and trashy and dangerous. And here I thought I was finally making grown up decisions, creating an open dynamic where we all were comfortable and mature- and happy!! But really I was just making yet another big mistake.  It was less than one year later when I found out that  Chris was astonishingly deceptive and engaged to someone else since before he met me.  And so here I was again: lost and devastated, looking like a complete screw up- and now deeper in the red on my mistake quota. DeeSo I wasn't together with my child's father, I hadn't managed to form this utopian friendship with him either, and the first new man I brought into my home and our life was a hands-down sociopath. If I had no room for error before, now my head was pressed against the ceiling and the walls were completely caved in. And in this position it was really hard to move. So for eleven years (and counting), I didn't.

In these past eleven years, my daughter has grown from a soft-spoken, sweet child, to a confidant, self-assured young woman. I have made quite a few career moves, constantly trying to find a work life that provided a good income and time to be home. We made tons of new friends and developed a wonderful community around us. And I did date, here and there, very briefly guys who I saw no future with (i.e. guys that were not a threat to me and I had no desire to introduce to my child).  But as far as me attempting a real relationship- or even drawing the possibility of one to me- nothing. I completely gave up any thoughts of getting married and creating a family with someone. And that became ok. Throughout my thirties I watched people pair up. I was like that kid in gym class with the bad attitude that never got picked to be on a team, but it didn't matter, because I didn't want to play anyway. Marriage was for suckers who couldn't stand strong on their own. Who were afraid to be alone. I actually wrote essays on why marriage was not for me. I sought out movies and books where women chose a life of solitude and  single-parenting. I surrounded myself with as many examples of why it was better, easier to be alone. I perceived every married couple I knew to be miserable or living a lie- and I would diagnose their circumstance. "Oh, that husband is misogynisitic." "I bet that one is abusive." "There is no way he is not gay." I felt above the fray. I was not needy and weak. I was not diving into a train wreck of a relationship out of fear of being alone. I was stable on my own. Better yet, I was free. Free to raise my daughter how I wanted. Free to make new friends and travel wherever I wanted. Free to not shave my legs 8 months out of the year. 

It's now, that my daughter is looking at colleges and planning where she will go after high school (yeah, time travels FAST), that this freedom is petrifying me. I always said I would move out of New Jersey once she graduated. In two years I will be free to do that. And I have no idea where to go. My freedom does not feel freeing. It feels lonely.  Alone at one time felt good. It seemed so easy and uncomplicated.- smart even.  And now that is turning on me, too. The safe, unfettered life I had strived for in order to be sure I would not make another giant mistake is coming full circle back to what I was trying to avoid- loss and devastation. In working so hard to avoid another mistake, I made no choices, took no risks, and let no one in. I painted this all as being strong and free, but now see it as afraid and small. It is occurring to me that freedom is not freeing when you struggle so hard to uphold it. When you are bound to one particular idea of it, and feel you have to defend it at all costs, even if those costs are joy, security, and love. Freedom isn't free when it costs so much. It's actually quite constricting. 

And now here I am, soon to be as free as a bird, and really only wanting to be tethered.