Going through a divorce is an experience that can and does up-end the most grounded of people. The ricochet of emotions, thoughts and moods can be overwhelming. I felt I had erected a NASA-caliber padded wall up and down my insides to protect me from the collisions, but when The Genius showed up on Monday morning after his weekend with the Happy Dance Car Rental Chick he reminded me that I had a long way to go. His anger preceded him by about 20 paces. I could sense if before he turned the corner.
I was still walking through the house with my arms outstretched, pretending I was soaring above Mt. Tamalpais, pausing every now and then to kick one leg out behind me, tilt parallel to the floor, arms like wings and practice my rudder control. I was all about the flying. It’s no wonder. Who wouldn’t want to be in a cocoon, surrounded by white noise, taking control of a flying machine as it sliced through the atmosphere? I guess people with Pteromerhanophobia, but you know by now that’s not me.
I did suffer from Arachnophobia, but I kicked that eight-legged black cloud to the curb long ago. Now I actually dig the little guys. And some of the big guys. When they’re outside. When they’re inside I overkill them, and then suck them up in the Dyson, leaving it on until it whirls them into oblivion. Then I have my son empty the canister. I’m totally cured, for sure.
The Genius normally tries to kick up a conversation with me when he drops by his former home, hoping that I’ll throw him a bone so he can feel better about himself. Not this time. He was a cold, dank wall of pissed-ness. Since he wasn’t making eye contact with me I could steal a glance. I hadn’t looked at him in weeks. Beard shaved, hair growing long. There’s some major recede going on. A full head shave is about 5 years away. I expect he’s about mid-way through his mid-life crisis. Which for him will last till he’s 80. Or dead.
My high from flying evaporated. Being in the presence of The Genius flattened me. And it felt so familiar. He’s done it again. He does something wrong and takes it out on me. It took a few days for it to become clear, but I got it. He wants me in the gutter with him. He wants me to share blame for his affair and now for his ‘meet and greet’. I created the void that allowed him to let someone in, and I introduced the boys to a friend which made it acceptable for him to frolick the day away with the boys and his married mistress. Yep. It’s all me.
For the next three days I let it happen. My head became filled with negative thoughts about The Genius, his “Adultery Works!” family, and the chaotic, untethered world in which I lived.
Then I smacked the crap out of myself and moved on. Two hours on the treadmill at an 8% incline helps to accomplish the smacking.
Negative thoughts make my stomach hurt. They take me off my game. They become a crutch so I don’t have to look at myself and focus on what I need to do to live my life NOW.
Even as I was getting sucked into his pathetic, moral-less world I could sense that the centered joy I felt when I finally accepted the need to divorce The Genius was still inside, patiently waiting for me to find it again. All it took was a few minutes in front of the mirror smiling at myself.
“I am strong. I am beautiful. I am deserving of a joyous life. I can flow through change. I am proud of myself. I love myself.” I pivoted, tilted parallel to the floor, arms outstretched, rudder activated. I will fly again.
Mr. Jackpot once said, “The whole point of living is you go out and try stuff and see if it works for you. You live it. Because you feel it’s right.”
So what’s right for me? What stuff should I try? Just how vulnerable am I? I feel strong, but I wonder if I’m on the Hilary Step with a leg cramp and the shakes, and not a Sherpa in sight. Will I summit or fall short and suffer the ‘what if’s’ in my porch-rocker days?
I have to summit. The Genius has given me a gift. (Please don’t tell him I said that – he’ll expect a thank you note.) When I unwrapped it I set myself free. Now, without a net, I am being summoned to live my life. I shouldn’t hold back.
But those padded walls were getting in the way. Could I demolish them without demolishing myself? Could I remain grounded and fly at the same time?
I wish I had been born a Praying Mantis. Then I would have eaten The Genius four years ago.
I love your flying analogy. Even when we never expected or planned for a divorce, when it is inevitable, all we can do is fly. Hopefully above the need to jump into another relationship, above second-guessing what we did to cause it, above doubting and not trusting. It is a second chance and it is a gift. Great post.
Tx,
You see it the way I do. Even though divorce can be ugly and sad, there’s a reason why it’s happening. And it’s not to punish anyone. It’s to set one off on the next journey. To help start the next chapter. And it’s a wake-up call for all involved. Which is way better than a pocket call. But The Genius getting busted over a pocket call after keeping an affair secret for 4 years is pretty freaking hilarious and amazing.
Love yourself,
Cleo
The pocket call was clearly my favorite part. And the him denying that it was him. Classic.
Tx,
To be undone by your own cell phone is truly magical. If I ever need to smile I will think of that. Four years of careful planning, crafty lying, super secret hiding, and it all comes apart because the Universe couldn’t stand it anymore and had his cell call me.
…and that’s why we call him The Genius.
Love yourself, Tx…cuz I do!
Cleo
Yeah, but if you’d eaten him 4 years ago as a good praying mantis female would’ve, you wouldn’t have all this amazing material that’s making me sound like a wack job ’cause I’m laughing out loud as I read! (Thank you for this bl’og, by the way — your outlook is inspiring and amazing and just what I needed to hear right now in my own life (tho my own life crises are totally unrelated and compared to you I’m not dealing w/them nearly as gracefully! But
P,
Mr. Jackpot just told me this fascinating tidbit about the female Praying Mantis: she eats his head and then continues to mate with him before finally finishing him off. Man, that is some way to romance
a personan insect! You’d think the male Praying Mantises would share this little nuance about the mating ritual they embark upon with each other. You’d think.I love that I make you laugh. There is nothing greater for me than laughing myself, laughing at myself and making others laugh. Thank you. Do not go far…we’ll plod our way through this muck together.
Love yourself,
Cleo
except the male praying mantis is not around after it is over in order to share it. . . .planned that way, I guess, if planning there was (don’t really think so, but can understand why some can)
except the male praying mantis is not around after it is over in order to share it. . . .planned that way, I guess, if planning there was (don’t really think so, but can understand why some can)
S,
I wonder how much planning goes on in the insect world…I wonder if they get hurt feelings. Or if they are ever disappointed. Or do they just focus on hunt, gather, reproduce and die?
I’ll have to save that kind of pondering for a vacation.
Love yourself,
Cleo
I have walked this path twice (except for the divorce bit-yes, you may call me stupid), complete with discovery of 5 year and 3 year affairs, and I really admire your strength. However what has me transfixed is the fact that you overcame arachnophobia – I know, really. I have a morbid fear of caterpillars of all shapes and sizes(even typing the word makes me come over all peculiar). I am too sacred to look up the name of the phobia lest I encounter a picture of one, that’s how bad it is. The spring months are a misery for me so I would be absolutely liberated if I were to overcome this phobia. How did you do it? If you can help me with that you will really be my hero – you are almost there alraedy but that will clinch it.
N,
I adore you. A fellow phobia sufferer. I feel your pain. I know how unbelievably frightening it can be to be held hostage by a phobia. For years and years – until I was 31 – I feared the arachnid. I would faint, hurl, or simply go into shock if I encountered one.
My cure came in stages. First, I wanted to hike the Nepali Coast and knew that certain death awaited me if I were to allow a ‘der (that’s how I get around saying the name) to frighten me off the trail. Hiking became so important to me that I had to come to terms with them. I spoke to them saying, “I am coming in to your world. I respect that. Please let me pass through without negative consequences.”
The second stage was having children. I used to fantasize about how I would respond if I saw one in the crib. How do I overkill a ‘der in front of my child? I can’t. I didn’t want to pass along the curse of arachnophobia.
The final stage is one that I am in now, and it’s fascinating. Since the Pocket Call two very strange things have occurred: I no longer need to take melatonin to sleep (I have used it for years.), and I don’t mind having spiders in my home. Now, the big guys still freak me out, but I have developed such admiration for them.
Here’s my very-Cleo conclusion: I wasn’t the engineer of my reality. I was allowing it to be engineered by someone else, and I’m not just referencing The Genius. Spiders are epic engineers. Perhaps I knew they could see right through me, and I was afraid of being called out for my complacency. For disrespecting the gift of life by allowing another to determine how mine unfolded.
Talk to them, N. There is a very important message they wish to share. And keep me posted. On a less ‘ethereal’ plane, I also participated in systematic desensitization. That helped, too.
Love yourself,
Cleo
About the spiders? Just cuz you’re afraid of something doesn’t give you the right to kill it. I am not afraid of spiders but like you, I don’t especially want them in my house. So here’s what I do when I find one. I take a clear drinking glass, and a sheet of paper (thicker is better, but not cardboard – maybe fold it over and double it). I put the drinking glass over the spider so it’s trapped inside. Then ever so slowly, I tip the glass up at one edge, just a millimeter, and I slide the edge of the paper under it. Then I keep sliding the paper under the glass until it completely covers the glass. then I slide my hand under, so I have one hand on the bottom of the glass, and one hand under the paper. I press the paper against the glass and then I walk the whole thing outside and just let the spider out of the glass.
I mean, all things else being equal, wouldn’t you rather let a spider live than kill one when it costs you so little to let it live? I can’t see it making much of a difference to you YOU way or the other, whether a spider lives or dies, but I can guarantee it makes a huge difference to the SPIDER. It wants to live, as much as you want to live.
I feel almost spiritual about this. About reverence for life, and just – not killing a fellow living thing unless you have no alternative.
A,
You are so very right. It may not make much of a difference to me but it sure does to the spider. You will be proud to know that I have let dozens of the little guys live in peace as the meander around my home. But, thanks to you, spiders of all shapes and sizes will now survive a trip through the House of Cleo. No matter how large, I will resist the urge.
But I have to ask…what if it’s a Black Widow?
Thank you so much for taking the time to talk me through this. I don’t want to take the life of anyone.
Love yourself,
Cleo
I discovered your blog via a link from A.V. Flox on G+, and instead of getting anything done around the house, I have started at the beginning and read every entry and every comment up to now, and I don’t intend to get out of this chair until I finish however many are left.
But I had to stop and say that black widows are not the end of the world. I kid you not when I tell you my yard and garden are full of them. You can barely turn over a brick or a piece of wood without finding one beneath. I’m an avid gardener, and I see a dozen or more per week this time of year. But I have never been bitten by one, and I’ve never knowingly killed one. The only precaution I feel obligated to take is to avoid picking up armloads of stuff and carrying it against my body – I have a very nice garden cart to transport it in. Oh, and I avoid rolling naked in the tall weeds (inevitably, there are tall weeds in some corner or another) during the warm months.
Far be it from me to judge anyone on how they react to their fears when confronted with them, but I also recommend the drinking glass/paper slide technique, and a release out in the far corner of the yard.
I wish you strength and peace on the remainder of your journey, and the knowledge that those not-yet-men of yours will grow up to be their own men, and they will look at the world with their own eyes, and they will see their parents and their childhoods with a clarity you might not think they’ll ever be capable of. I know it hurts to see them hero-worship an anti-hero right now, but they’ll grow out of it, and be the better for having been allowed to have their innocent childhoods. I remember the Other Woman, and having had her introduced as a friend. Everyone knew there was more going on, but I’m glad no one made an issue of it to us, or in front of us, and we got to come to terms with it in our own time.
A,
Thank you so much for taking the time to comment. I have to admit, if my backyard was as, shall we say active from an arachnid standpoint, I would have to move. I can be all brave and stuff, scoot a jumper out the door. Heck, I left two of them on the ceiling today while I was cleaning. But if they were all around me? As in, if I put on special night vision glasses and saw thousands of Black Widow eyes staring back at me form my yard I might regress. A bit. Or massively. I might actually drop dead.
I’m a work in progress on a variety of fronts.
This sentence has been especially helpful:
“Everyone knew there was more going on, but I’m glad no one made an issue of it to us, or in front of us, and we got to come to terms with it in our own time.” It reminds me to stay centered, to respond not react, to allow the lives of my children to unfold with gentle guidance. It will all work out exactly as it is intended to.
Thank you, A. I really appreciate your insight.
Love yourself,
Cleo
You are a great writer, but is this story real? Did this really happen to you?
It seems you are writing excerpts from a book. I’d like to know that this is real because that is the way I started reading it. It changes the way I relate to it, if I think of this as being a story you have created.
-Cherie
C,
Yes, m’lady, it’s real. I’m living it daily. Sometimes I wish it was all make-believe, mainly for the sake of my children. But it’s not. And I have to be okay with that. I appreciate you asking. Made me chuckle.
Love yourself,
Cleo