Saving

I'm having a bit of a meltdown today.  Trying to put groceries away, the blueberries fell and spilled on the floor. I screamed 'FUCK' and needed to walk away for a moment as I felt hot tears well up in my eyes.  I am well aware this has nothing to do with the blueberries. This has to do with the fact I'm not living the life I want. 

I hate the refrigerator in this apartment.  It is small and the wire covered racks make things slide, tip over and fall out. I hate not having a garage. Getting into a car that is too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter makes me cranky. I hate that I can hear the neighbors upstairs. They aren't loud but I resent them because they live upstairs and I don't want to live in a place with upstairs neighbors. I hate that my bedroom has a twin bed.  I feel like I am relegated to the bedroom of a child (because I am). The housing market is such a seller's market right now and prices have overinflated tens of thousands of dollars. So I have resigned myself that I am stuck here for now. And I hate feeling stuck.

But really, I hate the I can't find joy in my life. I don't know what I like to do for fun. I feel my obligations in life right now (school, exercise, meal prep) and more school) don't allow much time for pleasure. I comfort myself with food. It is such an healthy cycle. 

Wednesday will be the start of another round of counseling.  Four EAP sessions, which I don't feel will be productive ,is the starting point. I want action and I'm inpatient.  So when the therapist had to call to reschedule my appointment before the first session because the receptionist scheduled it during her vacation, my confidence waivered. And then, since the therapist will be on vacation the following two weeks, it will be three weeks until I will have a second session. And while rescheduling, the therapist was not exuding a powerful stance when I mentioned an unhealthy relationship with food. My head is shaking with disappointment before we even start.

I feel like I want someone to save me. I've long given up on the 'knight in shining armor' analogy. But at this particular moment, I want to be rescued. I want another person to show up and fix things in my life. Fix all the things. There has to be a person who can solve my housing issues , push me to try new activities, and emotionally support me through the latest dip in my mental health .

So I'm going to have to save myself. I know I am responsible for my own happiness. No one else is going to make me happy. No one else is going to find my joy.  I've pulled myself by my bootstraps before. Maybe this time, I will pick myself up off the floor for the final time. I just hope those bootstraps are strong enough because I feel a lot of tugging in my future.

Lighter

My Reiki session was one week ago. While I didn't feel an earth shattering during the session, I am definitely interested in having another session.

We started out with a bit of a Reiki class.  We went over the chakras and what they represent, how it would manifest in day to day living. Then we got down to it. I wanted to be able to veg out and let my friend.....fix me. I had to be more present than I expected. As I lay on the table, it didn't take long until I felt like my hands were falling asleep. But not pins and needles, more of a pulsing feeling. So I wiggled my fingers and twitched my arms a little. I thought to myself "what kind of shape am I in if I can't even lie flat without problems"? Then it dawned on me. I only felt that pulsating feeling when she was doing the Reiki. When she stopped, my hands felt normal. All the other parts of the session were interesting but nothing life changing. So leaving the session, I felt similar to how I felt before starting.

I had very vivid dreams that night. Not necessarily pleasant ones, but they were very detailed. I was in Manhattan getting tickets to Broadway shows and theaters were half filled because people weren't venturing out as much (all of this is fiction because Broadway is still dark). So we could pick any row to sit in, and move around if we wanted.  We also could enter other shows (which were in progress?) and watch the end of those shows. Weirdness. And for the really weird part, the other people I was with were falling ill and we needed to get three ambulances for them. While completely unrelated to Reiki, it was a stressful dream.

The next day, exhaustion consumed me. Donna checked in with me and I said I was fine because I didn't want to draw attention or feel pity. It might have been self pity I was fighting.  I couldn't work out, I needed a nap, I didn't feel like doing anything. I tried to blame it on other factors. I now I feel like the only attribution would be shifting energy. 

What I've noticed this week, I feel like I'm not as slumped over. I've felt like I needed to work on my posture for months but I was blaming  the chair I had to use working from home. When I drove my car, I imagined I looked curved like a shrimp. Now I am sitting up straighter without having to consciously think about it. My shoulders feel like a weight has been lifted. I don't make this statement lightly. My breathing feels less restricted and easier. I feel less conflict about my life situation. I still have more work to do, and I think Reiki will be a part of it. But for now, I'll enjoy feeling lighter. 

Drastic times call for drastic measures

I'm a science girl. The scientific method should rule most decision making.  I like data to support hypotheses. So when Eastern practices are brought into play, I don't really know how to act.  You can believe what you want, but I'll stick to science.

Then you near the year anniversary when your life changed dramatically.  Anniversary makes it sound like something to celebrate, which it is not.  Having your husband tell you he wants a divorce is not a celebratory moment. Although in hindsight, while devastating, there were signs of a dysfunctional relationship that I ignored and rationalized as normal. Everything has worked out for the best, but I'm still feeling a bit emotionally dead inside.  The basics are okay- happy, sad, bored (pandemic and all). Some of the more complex- trusting, connected, loved- those are trouble spots. What most troubling is that I'm starting to doubt if I need those in my life. So I need to do something. Anything.

Enter Reiki. A friend of mine from ages ago- as in the word teen was still involved in saying my age- posted that she is a a Reiki master.  Kundalini Reiki to be specific, not that I know what that is. She mentioned putting the past behind you and going forward to your best life. I was sold. So I set up an appointment with her.  What's the worst that can happen?

 What to expect:  I can't even envision what happens in a Reiki session. I imagine lying on the ground and having someone wave their hands over me. I'm hoping that strong meditation isn't involved because when I've tried to meditate before, my mind wanders. Not just wanders, my mind takes a road trip. But I'm going to try it.

Why am I doing this:  I've got to do something. I'm action oriented. There are probably far more people that believe Reiki is healing and the way to go than people who think it is crap.  All those people who believe can't be wrong. I'm keeping an open mind but not telling my sister.  She is of the "it is crap" camp. I've imagined walking away from this experience feeling lighter. I would like to feel open and accepting.  And on the drive home, I'm going to treat myself to some ice cream, so it won't be a total loss of an evening. Don't worry, I'll report back.

Reality TV- A Judgement Call

During the pandemic of COVID-19, I discovered reality TV.  I had watched the odd marathon of Hoarders, but it was never something I consciously sought out. Specifically, TLC became my lifeline. Each week, I could hardly wait until 90 Day Fiance.  My 600 Pound Life fascinated me with the levels of denial and dysfunction. Dr. Pimple Popper was something to tide me over. Working as a medical assistant, I saw some real life pop-age, so it wasn't as novel to watch the show. This summer, sMothered makes me wonder how these adult women have never cut the cord from their own mothers.

90 Day Fiance is the series that really has me engrossed. It was amazing to me that there were seasons I missed and different variations (90 Day Fiance- The Other Way; Before the 90 Days, Happily Ever After?). Who knew? The thought processes of seemingly sane people was so irrational. I could sit on my sofa with my little dog (who likes to have his neck scratched for no less than three hours at a time) and judge their relationships. I could spot the pitfalls a mile a way. Hindsight is great like that. In a single episode, the desperation was palpable. The end result of each show was the same; a lot of drama, usually some yelling and storming off, and a sense of my own superiority.

Yes, I felt great about myself after each episode. Even when I watch Pillow Talk, I felt better about myself.  I didn't need to be co-dependent to feel worthwhile. People who are searching on another continent for someone to date must have some serious issues.  So that makes me seem so much more normal. I mean, my only issue is my nine pound dog who is overly attached to me and put his little canine cheek against my mouth to get kisses at night.

The thing that killed me each time someone got on a plane to fly across the world, there was usually a statement of "I'm finally meeting the love of my life".  I'm going to meet the love of my life- like it is a destination.  The ticket they booked had a layover in some random airport but the final destination was Love of My Life. But you know what, it never had a happy ending. There are a few, but the majority of couples implode long before the last week.

The number of couples that get pregnant in the early stages of their relationship boggles my mind.  Early- like the first month they are together. Uh, how did they NOT know that might happen?  I truly don't understand that. And of course, a baby doesn't stress a relationship to the brink. Someone you barely know, probably haven't lived with is now trying to establish work, a support network  and now you are trying to raise a child together.  That is the recipe for drama and disappointment. And I should know, because I have no children, only the nine pound chihuahua mix who continues to steal my socks from the clean laundry before I put it way and cry with joy when he shows them to me.

You would think that all of this judgement would be exhausting. I'm amazed I have the energy to complete anything else during the day. And yet, I'm able to keep increasing my self-esteem at an alarming rate all the while making witty comments about the actions of others.

So here is the self-reflection for the day: All of this relationship watching, is this a signal that I'm considering venturing into the world of romantic relationships? To find the answer, I went to the ultimate source.  Match.com. Just reading profiles has me convinced that I'm not. I've said in the past that most profiles are looking for the same thing.  Men are looking for someone active, who likes what they like (be it motorcycles, skiing, hiking, cooking, going out to eat, shooting pool, NASCAR, running triathlons) but attractive, fit, funny, a good cook, a social butterfly.  They want a man with a vagina. They rarely look for someone witty, intelligent, ambitious, straight-forward, a little chubby.  Never do they ask for someone who works hard or gets shit done.  Because let me tell you, we are a rare breed. So until I read a profile of someone who is looking for that, I guess I'm not going on any dates.

Am I done?

Since my last post, and while I walk trying to clear my mind, I've thought of random ideas for my next post. At earlier points in time, I've thought about entire posts of annoying things about my ex. I've thought about listing every idiosyncrasy that drove me crazy. I've considered highlighting the dysfunction of his oddly enmeshed relationship with his daughter. But I don't think I care anymore.

There are still flickers of anger but the seething hate is gone. I don't care enough to spend the time to outline these atrocities. It's not worth my time. If that's not healing, I don't know what is!

I have one final hour of professional development to complete before my official summer break. I'm planning on powering through and wrapping it up tonight. I haven't had a summer off for a few years. Working a limited part time job will be barely working. In actuality, I find I do better with a schedule. So I'm going to try that. Schedule tasks to be accomplished by a certain date. Sounds easy.

Lower your expectations, I know I have. When I start reading for pleasure, all bets are off. At times, nothing else happens until I finish that page, that chapter, get to the ending. The only benefit of this summer is that I don't have any lavish vacations planned to distract me. I don't have any day trips, weekends away, road trips. Nothing. Only taking my mom to some doctor appointments. The good part is now I have an excuse to wait in the car since doctor's offices are not allowing anyone but the patient in the office. And I can read while I'm waiting.

Living with hate in your heart

Last night, I took a walk. It takes me about an hour to do three miles in my development so I have lots of time to think. I had just completed an hour long professional development for social and emotional learning. For the breakout sessions, we were tasked to discuss what do we do to love ourselves, what steps do we take to do that and what are the ingredients to a healthy relationship.

My personal struggle may be a bit backwards than most.  I already think I'm pretty awesome. I'm smart, funny, competent, thoughtful, caring. At work, I feel I am at my best. It's at home, especially during the summer, when I feel a bit lost and underwhelmed. I like having structure to guide my day. For years, my mantra has been "If I have nothing to do, I get nothing done."  So yeah, I'll work on that.

On my walk, I tried to appreciate my surroundings. I listened to the birds singing. I even turned off my music to hear them better, at least for a little while.  Then it was back to Hamilton and Dear Evan Hansen. And while the songs allow me to visualize theater I've never seen, I still find time to think.

Last night in particular, I was still lamenting that we aren't in 'green' yet.  If Berks County is still in 'yellow', I can't get a pedicure. York County is green, I could go there.  And then I started to think about my next door neighbor there who wanted to have a party for her son who is five years cancer free this summer.  And then I imagine a confrontation with my ex.

I plan the conversation. I hear the words coming out of my mouth; I'm almost practicing what I will say. It's not a violent, or even loud conversation. It's a stinging list of insults that are passive-aggressive. And I mean list. How I feel sorry for him that he is a self-centered egotist. That I forgive him for that because he can't help himself. That I forgive myself for my poor judgement in marrying him. How he couldn't help it he wasn't able to adapt to allow someone else in his life. That it was wrong of me to expect him to change. That is when I realized how much hate I still carry in my heart. I know I have to wish for him the same things I wish for myself. Peace and contentment. Happiness. Comfort.

I can't wish him happiness yet. I don't wish him misery, but I'm not on board for comfort. I will start with peace. If I find my own peace, then here's hoping those other things follow.

Putting a plan into action

I have to give them credit. My sister and my mom were rock solid as my world crumbled. As I nearly hyperventilated retelling the events of the previous 24 hours, she quietly listened. She made sure I was safe. She calmly asked if there was chance of reconciliation. And then we moved on.  To relive this one more time; for my mom.

Without missing a beat, my mom started a plan of action. And for an 80 year old, she hit the ground running which is no easy feat with her cane! Ok, we'll find a place to live.  Call Apartment Complex A.  No answer, left a message.  Call Apartment Complex B. We'll be there in 45 minutes.  Our requirements were specific.  First floor (mom doesn't want steps), two bedroom, allows dogs, available by the end of the month.  That night we completed the lease application online.

In the next two and a half weeks, a whirlwind occurred: packing, selling some larger items through Facebook Marketplace, setting up movers, a large donation to Goodwill.  Since my mom was planning on moving to York and had been spending time there already, I packed my belongings and what she had already moved. All this time, I continued to work full time and tried to emotionally hold it together. I'm no hero, there were pharmaceuticals involved.

The communication with my soon-to-be ex-husband was tense and a bit surreal. I really couldn't understand his surprise that I filed for divorce and hired movers.  He told me I had to move out. He told me I should file for divorce. Why was he surprised I did those things? Certainly, I am a person of action. I've never been one back down from conflict. He must have realized I would follow through. Not that I hadn't considered reconciliation but I spent a lot of time living in 'angry'. And remember, I had surgery scheduled one month after the implosion. I knew packing and moving boxes wasn't an option for a few weeks after that.

What got me was the night before the movers were scheduled, he said to me, "So as of tomorrow, you won't live here anymore." He said it in a sad, almost wistful tone. That was almost a tipping point. I'm proud of myself that I didn't scream. I wanted to scream- a scream so loud and full of profanities that it would jolt him out of his self-centered world. In my frustration I admitted, "I can't do this anymore. I can't have this conversation with you. I'm done."