Anxiety..You bitch..

 

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Divorce–reality. Here I am. 4 1/2 years later. Can you believe that?

I woke up in a cold sweat this morning… 6 am on a Sunday. Anxiety you bitch…I can always count on you…always by my side. Money…kids…work. How to change the lightbulbs in the Chandelier over the stairs. Who the fuck put a Chandelier over the stairs that requires a 12 foot ladder, accident insurance and maximum flexibility to change the bulb? Let’s safely assume it was a man. But anyway…I shall lay here worrying about it. That will help. I will worry…and feel anxious and lament my current circumstances. This is a perfect solution! Then I will get up and eat some of my kids old Christmas candy for breakfast.

Here is a short run down of what my current circumstances entail.

1. 42ish year old divorced mother of 3 with 10 extra pounds and anxiety issues . Single white female. Working mother…blah blah blah.

2. I have currently no lights on my stairs because I don’t have a ladder that will reach…. And somehow while laying in bed at (now) 6:30 on a Sunday morning after eating chocolate for breakfast and going back to bed- my ‘lightlessness’ is a direct result of my divorce. (It’s like that game I heard about one time where everyone in Hollywood can be linked to Kevin Bacon in 3 steps. But in my life- the divorce is Kevin Bacon…) Rationale as follows- 1) Husband leaves me for his lawyer girlfriend 2) get divorced 3) move to new house with chandelier over stairs and no ladder.

I know that many will tell me to move on and move up. Or whatever… And I am! I’m trying. I’m moving. Constantly moving. Sometimes forward. Sometimes backwards..a lot of times in circles. But I AM moving.

Divorce is a process. Divorce is ‘the gift that keeps on giving.’ It gives you anxiety. It gives you regrets. It also gives you hope for something better to come along. An ongoing process for a woman who finds herself maneuvering life as an unexpected Uno. And that process is my life.

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The Fabulous Four

 

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We are a team now. The Fabulous Four! Or maybe it’s the fabulous three..

With divorce things in your family change. It’s not what I planned- but it has been an interesting transformation. There are no longer two parents to take care of everything.. Now there is one. And she’s tired. And overwhelmed. And anxious. And did I mention tired??

At first I actually believed I would take care of everything. I’m the adult. The parent. My kids didn’t ask for this. In fact it was the opposite. They begged for no divorce. Please don’t! That was their vote. However we all learned pretty quick that it only takes one yes vote..then poof. Divorced.

I have 2 teenagers (boys) and a preteen (daughter)…and somehow we have worked out a system. I couldn’t do it without them. Now don’t get the wrong idea…not everyone is always willing..they are regular kids. They aren’t running around here asking for chores. “Quick mom! Tell me something I can do to make your life easier..” (They actually have perfected the art of ‘laying low’) Sometimes they pout. The always sigh and roll their eyes. They aren’t exactly happy about it.. But by God-we are a team- and when it comes down to it they always take their place on the field. That’s part of being a divorced kids. You grow up faster. No time to sit the bench.

My oldest is 18. He drives!! This is obviously his gift to the family. He drives a truck..so did I mention he is in charge of the trash? Naturally. He also is the best at moving furniture and lifting heavy things. He checks the oil in things. He changes lightbulbs. He jumpstarts dead batteries.. He’s our muscle. He will also have my back when I am checking out creepy noises in the garage.

# 2 is smart. Like seriously smart. He can do math. He helps with homework. He is technologically inclined. He resets the router-hooks up electronics- fixes my computer.. He also reads directions. So anything that requires more than 2 steps to put together- he’s your go to guy. He is responsible (and patient) enough to wait for the cable man. He’s the kid I call with specific requests like ‘go to the mailbox and see if my check from your dad is here’ because 1) he will answer the phone and 2) he will do it.

My daughter is mini me in training. She knows what’s going on. She makes everyone’s business her business. She eavesdrops as a hobby- and that can be quite useful. She loves all of our pets..so she naturally gets to assume all pet care responsibility. She feeds them and let’s them outside without being asked. She also passes out fashion advice (sigh) as needed. She knows how to make brownies and macaroni and cheese. She will make everyone breakfast. She is learning to sew. She can find stuff (because she is a girl..) She is happy and that reminds the rest of us to be happy too.

My kids have bonded in a way that I never expected. The 3 of them maneuver between 2 households, and all the chaos that comes with that, together. It is an experience that is uniquely there own. They have supported each other with the complete understanding that only they can provide for one another. They are each other’s ‘constant.’

We are a team… We mutually respect each other as team members do. It’s how we deal..how we cope. I have to I am admit I didn’t expect to see how the we would all pull together. It makes me proud. This experience has forced us to deal with things differently than we ever would have if there was no divorce. My kids are on the front lines of this family… And they are fabulous.

Hey, Are You Divorced??

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I think when picking your divorce lawyer you should choose someone who has actually been divorced. In fact…I think this should be the first question you ask.

“Hey, are you divorced?”

This did  not actually occur to me when I was choosing an attorney. I had no idea what I was doing and was still a little bit in denial about the whole thing.  I didn’t want to get divorced.  It still felt a little bit like a bad dream that I would wake up from. So this genius revelation never occurred to me until close to the end…

My divorce was a long (in my opinion) messy affair. Money was at stake. Visitation schedules. Holidays. Hourly rates. Back and forth. Emails and faxes. Distribution of property. Maintenance. Child support. Health insurance. The family silver needed to be divided. Who gets the tea service (not joking). He said she said. No fault divorce.

Blah..blah..blah…

I was sitting in my attorneys office preparing for our upcoming trial. Yes- trial. I hadn’t slept for months. I hadn’t been able to actually swallow food for weeks. The knot of terror in my throat kept getting in the way. My attorney is late. When he finally gets there he’s cranky. Perfect. He begins to tell me about the HORRIBLE morning he has had. Apparently his dishwasher had overflowed or leaked or something.. I’m having a hard time following in my current state of terrified, sleep deprived, malnutrition.  So I feel like I’m fighting for my life- and my lawyer is talking about kitchen appliances. You see his dishwasher malfunction caused water to leak onto his floor, and he had to help his wife deal with the catastrophe. His wife. He of course was happily married to a lovely woman. He had 2 adorable kids. (Picture the Christmas Card.) So at that very moment when he was lamenting his shitty morning to me- it hit me. This man has no fucking idea… He has no idea how this FEELS. He isn’t divorced. He probably thinks (like I used to) that divorce is something that happens to other people. And he probably thinks (like I used to) that they probably did something to deserve it. Divorce is a job to him. Not a feeling. And to me divorce is all about the feeling. Anger, rejection, grief, embarrassment, shame, exhaustion, uncertainty. It’s 100% fucking feelings. And those feelings are only understood by someone who has been there.

That is something they should put on their business cards…

Mr. John Doe

Attorney at Law

DIVORCED

Snow Day….Go Day….

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Happy Snow Day…Or Go Day as I not so enthusiastically call the days my kids leave to stay at the X’s. Every other Wednesday/Thursday…1st and 3rd weekends..a complicated array of holidays and vacations. Even after all this time it totally pisses me off. Maybe not for the same reasons it used to. My reasons- like my divorce- have evolved. But what bothers me the most at this point is probably my kids constant inconvenience.

Look at today for example. It was a Snow Day! How great is that. A day to wear Snow Boots!  Sledding and sleeping and snacking. Since I work at the schools I was home too. My daughter was invited to a friends house mid-afternoon..what fun! On the drive over she blurted out–“Mom..I’m supposed to be going to dads tonight. I forgot! I’m not packed.” I assured her that I would take care of things and told her to have fun. But you know what. I’m pissed. For her. For all 3 of them.

How many adults would be ok with dragging their shit back and forth between two different houses? Suitcases..laundry..book bags..a Saxophone. Constantly balancing two different worlds. NOT BY ANY CHOICE OF THEIR OWN. It must be exhausting. It is exhausting. Leaving behind pets and teddy bears. Favorite pillows and video games. Wondering which house you left your football jersey at. Constantly forgetting something- because you know…you’re a kid. Where’s my laptop charger? I can’t find my Star Wars t-shirt! I only have one shoe…the other one must be at dads! I’m sick- I don’t want to go-can’t I please stay home mom? The constant “where am I this weekend?” question. If I were them I would be furious. Hell, I am furious. I am pretty sure they will NEVER thank us for this carefully constructed schedule that is their childhood. As a parent I feel ashamed…

One of my many regrets during my divorce is letting myself be bullied into mid-week visits by my X and his lawyers (yes there was an S on the end of that..) I let lawyers and a man who cheated on me for years convince me that any Judge would grant him 50/50 custody (or more..) if I pushed my luck. The X deserved to see his kids, right? Not at their convenience but at his. Midweek visits in MY OPINION are wildly inconvenient and intrusive to my children’s lives. It’s chaotic. They don’t like it.(And that doesn’t mean they don’t love their father..because they do..but that’s not really the point.) The kids resent it. But they have no choice. And I feel pissed…and sorry…and guilty. No matter what happened or whose fault it was..I can tell you who is paying the price. And I’m not talking about me…

Divorce Shoes….

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My divorce shoes… I had divorce shoes. I still do! They were heels. After my X moved out I was devastated. It took me months to even begin to wrap my head around what was happening. As I began to fight my way out of the fog… I discovered my divorce shoes. I don’t remember how it happened- but it might be one of the all time hands down best accidental discoveries of my entire life. I wore high heels. Everywhere. Black ones, blue ones, even red. Wedges. Boots. Fancy ones. All kinds! No discrimination here. If they were heels I wore them. Leopard print and patent leather. Sparkly and suede. Some were expensive…most were not. I remember seeing a friend one time who mentioned that another friend had seen me at the grocery store….’WEARING HEELS.’ Yes- my shoes were that noteworthy. They were receiving third party sightings.

Divorce is always hard. When your husband leaves you for his lawyer girlfriend…brutal. I felt the rejection deeply. It hurt. I felt fat and frumpy and pathetic. I was invisible. My shoes made me feel better. They were one high heeled step in the right direction. They helped revive that tiny spark of pride buried deep inside. I wore those shoes with determination. The worse I felt the higher they got. No more house wife uniform of sweat pants and sketchers. No way… This chic was wearing heels to Walmart! At one point I would have ran a friggen marathon in those shoes. I actually wore them around my house. For no reason. By myself.  On Sunday afternoons. I held my head high and got dressed with purpose. No more slouchy comfortable shoes for me. My life was no longer comfortable…and I had the shoes to prove it. By God if I can survive a divorce with 3 kids- I can wear 3 inch heels at the f***ing mall. Bring it. Comfort isn’t always the most important thing- sometimes its survival- in whatever form that may be.

Divorce shoes…I love you. You were always there for me…