I was given a couple of trashy mags this week - neither are titles I have ever bought, and having idly flicked through them, I can confidently say I never will. Ugh - dodgy fashion, crass Hollywood gossips stories with grainy photographs, and horror of horrors, interviews with vaguely famous local celebs 'confiding' in their loyal readers. They are quite old, so the story is no longer newsworthy, but I think my reaction to them is still valid.
Thus, after a long long break from blogging, here is today's post.
According to the article, a couple of weeks earlier a 'personality' told her listeners on air that she was separating from her husband of 30 years (whom she also worked with). The audience, I'm told, held their collective breath, and then 'cried with her' as they heard how there had been no tears at the breakup, that they remained friends, nay, still loved each other, and it was 'no-one's fault, she just lost herself'. And tonight, I read her 'very personal' account in the magazine.
Call me judgmental - and you can because I know the whole story because she shared it will ME, the reader, in the magazine;, right?...but...REALLY? You confide in 30000 people you've never met, after making announcement of epic personal proportions ON THE RADIO?
I feel almost embarrassed. I am sure there are people who do have relatively amicable separations, where they drift apart (or whatever soft touch we put on it), in fact probably as many as have loud, tumultuous endings where neither party wants to let go (or one does whilst the other hangs on for grim death). I get that its possible that the couple in question felt that by making a public announcement they could quash rumours before they started, and present a united front to their listener ship.
I also suspect that the separation was - or at least will be - a power of a lot more painful than the version they are sharing with the world. And this I know because I absolutely believe that any breakup just is. No matter whose 'fault; it is, or isn't. No matter who initiated it. No matter how long or short the relationship. It's the ending of something. Something that once, meant something...everything...to the people involved. My questions are many...does the world really need to know this? Surely one of the things about intimate relationships is that they are, well, intimate? Is a radio announcement or press release really a great way to share this news?
oh yeah - and Conscious uncoupling my arse. It's a breakup. It sucks. Just say it like it is.
I feel incredibly sad for this couple, and all who they are close to. Whatever the circumstances, it's not going to be easy, even if in the first instance it feels that way. (There's be horrible people like me judging them for a start...). There'll be do-gooders sharing advice and opinions but probably not ACTUALLY supporting them. But most of all, after 30 years there will be a lifetime to change direction on, and that just isn't easy, no matter how much they still love each other.
She is describing it as a 'break' - and I sincerely hope it is. After 30 years its going to be one hell of a ride to singledom if it's a permanent thing.
Showing posts with label pain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pain. Show all posts
Butterflies
I've been reading a lot this week about living in the moment, embracing the now. Initially I thought that this meant ''seizing the day'', making things happen and changing what needed changing fearlessly and without regret. But the more I read I realise it is really not about that at all. It's about stopping and feeling. About being in A moment and feeling it - acknowledging it for all it has in it, the good the bad and the ugly. Not comparing it to what was, or what might or could be. But owning and feeling the moment for whatever 'the moment' is.
Right now, I'm really not enjoying living in the moment. Exactly one year ago today I was engulfed in more sadness that I could have imagined possible. A few people knew about it - and a few more thought they did - but almost no-one knew the actual details, save one or two trusted friends, and the Doctor who was urging me to start taking medication (I lasted two days before deciding it made me worse not better, and will not go ''there'' again - for how can you truly live in the moment if the moment is dulled by chemicals?)
My 'seizing the day' action was to choose to be continue being searingly, bravely honest with someone, and asking them to be the same with me, and, as a result of that, I came out of those depths and moved into a new way of normal. A few weeks earlier it would have been incomprehensible that I would have been in this position at all, and so today it seems absolutely beyond belief that I am here again.
The details of what happened in the ensuing year, and how I came to be in a place of sadness again are kind of irrelevant - the purpose of my writing is to simply try and make sense of how I feel today. And today I feel...the sun is too bright, the night too dark, voices too soft, music too loud. My mind is full and yet empty, I feel everything and nothing. I have clarity and total fogginess. I am, curiously. both insanely happy and insanely sad. There's a sense of inevitability and normalcy about where I am in life now, and yet also the feeling that my world has been knocked off its axis and literally onto another one.
I understand that this will pass. It has before. These feelings will, most likely, happen again - that's life right? We live, we love, we lose, and we gain again.
To risk love of any kind, and to be vulnerable means to risk pain and loss. That I understand. There are no guarantees in life, no matter how much we want them, offer or promise them, or even endeavour to deliver on them. Believing this is also a part of living in the moment, because it has to be. It's the price we pay for being human.
But for today, thoughts really are like butterflies...
Right now, I'm really not enjoying living in the moment. Exactly one year ago today I was engulfed in more sadness that I could have imagined possible. A few people knew about it - and a few more thought they did - but almost no-one knew the actual details, save one or two trusted friends, and the Doctor who was urging me to start taking medication (I lasted two days before deciding it made me worse not better, and will not go ''there'' again - for how can you truly live in the moment if the moment is dulled by chemicals?)
My 'seizing the day' action was to choose to be continue being searingly, bravely honest with someone, and asking them to be the same with me, and, as a result of that, I came out of those depths and moved into a new way of normal. A few weeks earlier it would have been incomprehensible that I would have been in this position at all, and so today it seems absolutely beyond belief that I am here again.
The details of what happened in the ensuing year, and how I came to be in a place of sadness again are kind of irrelevant - the purpose of my writing is to simply try and make sense of how I feel today. And today I feel...the sun is too bright, the night too dark, voices too soft, music too loud. My mind is full and yet empty, I feel everything and nothing. I have clarity and total fogginess. I am, curiously. both insanely happy and insanely sad. There's a sense of inevitability and normalcy about where I am in life now, and yet also the feeling that my world has been knocked off its axis and literally onto another one.
I understand that this will pass. It has before. These feelings will, most likely, happen again - that's life right? We live, we love, we lose, and we gain again.
To risk love of any kind, and to be vulnerable means to risk pain and loss. That I understand. There are no guarantees in life, no matter how much we want them, offer or promise them, or even endeavour to deliver on them. Believing this is also a part of living in the moment, because it has to be. It's the price we pay for being human.
But for today, thoughts really are like butterflies...
Gasping for air ( my response to yesterdays guest post)
It's amazing how your life can be literally turned on it's head with barely a moment's notice...(a bit like a traffic accident really....)
After I read the guest post yesterday, I was struck by a sense not only of deja vous (for surely if it wasn't for a few traffic incidents this blog wouldn't even be in existence) but also the stark reality that is this: for most people who are post-coupled, they're going to end up under more than one bus.
Back when my parents separated in the early 70s - about the time that divorce was fairly uncommon, the usual scenario was that people would separate and then within a couple or three years, repartner and then remain with that person for good. My parents have each been remarried 35 years or more, and the majority of the friends in similar situations then are the same. Certainly they were younger, closer to 30 than 40, and the principal of being ''not yet fully formed adults'' perhaps made it easier to grow together than it does when you're in your 40s or 50's (more on this here)
But certainly my experiences over the past 6 years seem to be that recoupling and staying recoupled is a rarer and rarer occurrence. And I can't figure out why. Is it that all this self-awareness we have makes us choosier? That we feel a right or expectation of perfection and when it doesn't materialise after 6 months, or a year, or more, that we start looking elsewhere? Is it that people are simply more damaged now and haven't ''got their shit together'' enough to actual form healthy relationships? Are we too hasty, too slow, too picky, not picky enough, over committed, under committed? Is it cos there's just so much darn choice out there now, with so many more singles, that its impossible to just be happy with what we have? We say we will not settle for anything less than perfect...that we have paid prices, done the work, learned lessons.
Is life just a whole lot more complex now? Back then it was an expectation that there'd be not much money, a bunch of extra kids, and a whole heap of sacrifice. My parents bedded in for the long haul from day one. There simply was no ''let's see''. And I suspect very few even considered their ''personal needs'', they just got on with recoupling. I'm not saying that's necessarily a good thing, but since nowadays we add in adventure, better assets, couple time, alone time, chemistry, shared interests, common friends, obliging blended families, our own feelings of rights and 'what we deserves' - expectations are a whole lot bigger.
And so the bus metaphor. We end up being 'thrown under the bus''. And mostly, we get up, and have a go at catching another bus.
And there's another thing - once you have managed to get out from under a bus, and all the visible cuts and abrasions have healed, it can be months...years...and another bus will race past you and the fumes will remind you of times past. And of course, the seemingly healed injuries might only show themselves when you decide to climb on board again - or worse when you find yourself under another one. And as long as you keep getting up again, there's a risk of an accident. And if you don't understand, or worse, ignore the road rules, it's almost a given that you're going to get run over again.
I'm pretty sure that the buses that have had the misfortune to collide with someone probably have a few dents as a result. But they too, bravely trundle on, sometimes getting the damage repaired, and sometimes doing a bog job and hoping for the best.
Some days I'd like to write a letter of complaint. Because stand up again I do. And each time I stand up and look around I am struck by this: I don't want to be run over again. (I don't think anyone does). It feckin hurts!!! .
The older I become, the fewer buses seem to be travelling the route that I want to take. And it seems the less chance there seems to be that one will want to stop and take me to it's final destination. I can only hope that I haven't missed the bus altogether.
After I read the guest post yesterday, I was struck by a sense not only of deja vous (for surely if it wasn't for a few traffic incidents this blog wouldn't even be in existence) but also the stark reality that is this: for most people who are post-coupled, they're going to end up under more than one bus.
Back when my parents separated in the early 70s - about the time that divorce was fairly uncommon, the usual scenario was that people would separate and then within a couple or three years, repartner and then remain with that person for good. My parents have each been remarried 35 years or more, and the majority of the friends in similar situations then are the same. Certainly they were younger, closer to 30 than 40, and the principal of being ''not yet fully formed adults'' perhaps made it easier to grow together than it does when you're in your 40s or 50's (more on this here)
But certainly my experiences over the past 6 years seem to be that recoupling and staying recoupled is a rarer and rarer occurrence. And I can't figure out why. Is it that all this self-awareness we have makes us choosier? That we feel a right or expectation of perfection and when it doesn't materialise after 6 months, or a year, or more, that we start looking elsewhere? Is it that people are simply more damaged now and haven't ''got their shit together'' enough to actual form healthy relationships? Are we too hasty, too slow, too picky, not picky enough, over committed, under committed? Is it cos there's just so much darn choice out there now, with so many more singles, that its impossible to just be happy with what we have? We say we will not settle for anything less than perfect...that we have paid prices, done the work, learned lessons.
Is life just a whole lot more complex now? Back then it was an expectation that there'd be not much money, a bunch of extra kids, and a whole heap of sacrifice. My parents bedded in for the long haul from day one. There simply was no ''let's see''. And I suspect very few even considered their ''personal needs'', they just got on with recoupling. I'm not saying that's necessarily a good thing, but since nowadays we add in adventure, better assets, couple time, alone time, chemistry, shared interests, common friends, obliging blended families, our own feelings of rights and 'what we deserves' - expectations are a whole lot bigger.
And so the bus metaphor. We end up being 'thrown under the bus''. And mostly, we get up, and have a go at catching another bus.
And there's another thing - once you have managed to get out from under a bus, and all the visible cuts and abrasions have healed, it can be months...years...and another bus will race past you and the fumes will remind you of times past. And of course, the seemingly healed injuries might only show themselves when you decide to climb on board again - or worse when you find yourself under another one. And as long as you keep getting up again, there's a risk of an accident. And if you don't understand, or worse, ignore the road rules, it's almost a given that you're going to get run over again.
I'm pretty sure that the buses that have had the misfortune to collide with someone probably have a few dents as a result. But they too, bravely trundle on, sometimes getting the damage repaired, and sometimes doing a bog job and hoping for the best.
Some days I'd like to write a letter of complaint. Because stand up again I do. And each time I stand up and look around I am struck by this: I don't want to be run over again. (I don't think anyone does). It feckin hurts!!! .
The older I become, the fewer buses seem to be travelling the route that I want to take. And it seems the less chance there seems to be that one will want to stop and take me to it's final destination. I can only hope that I haven't missed the bus altogether.
Life under a bus (guest blog)
The following letter was written by a friend and fellow wordsmith, following a marriage breakup. My response will follow in another post.
Buses are big, smelly, noisy things but sometimes you just don't see them coming. Seriously, In spite of the tremors and the unrefined noise they make, they can still sneak up on you and catch you unawares.
And when you're pushed under it from behind, the impact is even greater, You're left dazed and confused, numbed and bewildered, gasping for breath. The impact has winded you, and you feel nauseous. Sometimes the will to go on is knocked out of you, along with the air out of your lungs. You feel that you want to die - right there under the bus, hidden from view and in the dark. It's also a confined space - there's little room to move or to assess the damage done. You certainly can't stand up, and you're at best forced to your knees; sometimes you're just forced face down into the coarseness of the road, and made to endure all the abrasions, grazes, and cuts that ensue
It's a disorienting place to be. With all the confusion and chaos that goes with it, you can't really tell which way is up any more, or left from right. Your view and memory of the 'outside' world becomes distorted, along with your view of yourself. It doesn't help when you're being assailed with false accusations that imply that you deserve to be under there. The lies are insidious; they can take hold in your mind and in your heart and you start to believe them. All the time the bus is parked over top of you, and shows no intention of moving off any time soon. And it stinks being under there. It's dirty and uncomfortable, After a while you start to think that perhaps this is actually normal, and you need to adapt to this new life under a bus.
But the new 'normal' is not normal. It's not right. It's not justifiable. Or just. It's just plain shite. And you need to realise this and not become inured to it. Don't accept it as being an alright place to be. That's when you need to stick an arm (or a leg) out and ask for help. That's when you need your friends to rally around you, pull you out, and dust you off. To wipe your cuts and bruises, and to sit with you, because you probably won't be able to stand, not for a while anyway. They need to sit with you, and not necessarily say much. Just being, and being present with you is enough. Because sometimes there are no words that will assuage the pain that you are feeling. And words, even when spoken with the best of intentions and utmost thought, can seem empty and hollow.
It will take time to find your bearings again - to rediscover which way is up, left, and right. To see yourself in the mirror as you really are, not the distorted mishapen person that others think and have made you out to be. It's not easy recovering from the all out assault that is "the bus" - but it will happen. We don't have to stay under the bus - that's just not normal. But it's essential that we have friends that we can call upon to help us in our hour (and days and months) of need. And it's essential that we be honest and open with those friends - even if it does hurt to lay bare our woundedness and our frailties. It's in doing this that our strength is rebuilt, and our sense of value and of worth re-established. We start to see ourselves again for who we are, and start working on the ugly bits along with strengthening our weaknesses.
I would say pray lots - but that in itself can be fraught with peril depending on how and what we pray. Sometimes, it's just better to sit, and wait quietly. Say nothing. Just be. It's easy and understandable to be really pissed with God at times like this. I know I have been, and I suspect I'm not the only one. Yet, strangely, in spite of all my ranting and raving, my railing against God, my accusing and challenging, I felt like he knew that I didn't really mean it - that I was not much more than a small child having a massive tantrum, and beating my fists furiously against him - the solid, immoveable, wilderness that is God. And when I was spent, and had nothing more left to scream, there started to come the peace. The Pax Christi - the peace of Christ. Quietly it came, unannounced and uninvited, but still it came. We become part of the "slow and inefficient work of God".
So my friends (you know who you all are!), I thank you - for the coffee, the beer; the late nights, the listening ears and the understanding hearts. For being there - even if you haven't said much, your presence alone has made it all the more bearable. Just the knowledge that you have my back has helped me, little by little, to crawl out, dishevelled and bloodied, from under that bus. It has taken time to start getting my bearings again, but I am making sense of things now. There are still unanswered questions, and things I want closure on. There are things that sometimes keep me awake at night (sometimes it's passing trains that keep me awake but I digress) but I will no longer be held to ransom by them. I feel as though I have turned a corner. There are days when I'm still a bit wobbly on my legs, and days when things conspire to set me back and drag me down. But they are getting fewer now, and the impact of them is lessened. I'm not so naive to think that I am over it all - it will go on for some time to come yet. But I know that I am, at present, better equipped to handle this now.
You have helped me tremendously, but your work (and mine) is not yet done. There are still hurdles and obstacles that will need to be cleared, and each one of those will be a challenge of varying degrees, but again, let me offer you a resounding thank you.
Buses are big, smelly, noisy things but sometimes you just don't see them coming. Seriously, In spite of the tremors and the unrefined noise they make, they can still sneak up on you and catch you unawares.
And when you're pushed under it from behind, the impact is even greater, You're left dazed and confused, numbed and bewildered, gasping for breath. The impact has winded you, and you feel nauseous. Sometimes the will to go on is knocked out of you, along with the air out of your lungs. You feel that you want to die - right there under the bus, hidden from view and in the dark. It's also a confined space - there's little room to move or to assess the damage done. You certainly can't stand up, and you're at best forced to your knees; sometimes you're just forced face down into the coarseness of the road, and made to endure all the abrasions, grazes, and cuts that ensue
It's a disorienting place to be. With all the confusion and chaos that goes with it, you can't really tell which way is up any more, or left from right. Your view and memory of the 'outside' world becomes distorted, along with your view of yourself. It doesn't help when you're being assailed with false accusations that imply that you deserve to be under there. The lies are insidious; they can take hold in your mind and in your heart and you start to believe them. All the time the bus is parked over top of you, and shows no intention of moving off any time soon. And it stinks being under there. It's dirty and uncomfortable, After a while you start to think that perhaps this is actually normal, and you need to adapt to this new life under a bus.
But the new 'normal' is not normal. It's not right. It's not justifiable. Or just. It's just plain shite. And you need to realise this and not become inured to it. Don't accept it as being an alright place to be. That's when you need to stick an arm (or a leg) out and ask for help. That's when you need your friends to rally around you, pull you out, and dust you off. To wipe your cuts and bruises, and to sit with you, because you probably won't be able to stand, not for a while anyway. They need to sit with you, and not necessarily say much. Just being, and being present with you is enough. Because sometimes there are no words that will assuage the pain that you are feeling. And words, even when spoken with the best of intentions and utmost thought, can seem empty and hollow.
It will take time to find your bearings again - to rediscover which way is up, left, and right. To see yourself in the mirror as you really are, not the distorted mishapen person that others think and have made you out to be. It's not easy recovering from the all out assault that is "the bus" - but it will happen. We don't have to stay under the bus - that's just not normal. But it's essential that we have friends that we can call upon to help us in our hour (and days and months) of need. And it's essential that we be honest and open with those friends - even if it does hurt to lay bare our woundedness and our frailties. It's in doing this that our strength is rebuilt, and our sense of value and of worth re-established. We start to see ourselves again for who we are, and start working on the ugly bits along with strengthening our weaknesses.
I would say pray lots - but that in itself can be fraught with peril depending on how and what we pray. Sometimes, it's just better to sit, and wait quietly. Say nothing. Just be. It's easy and understandable to be really pissed with God at times like this. I know I have been, and I suspect I'm not the only one. Yet, strangely, in spite of all my ranting and raving, my railing against God, my accusing and challenging, I felt like he knew that I didn't really mean it - that I was not much more than a small child having a massive tantrum, and beating my fists furiously against him - the solid, immoveable, wilderness that is God. And when I was spent, and had nothing more left to scream, there started to come the peace. The Pax Christi - the peace of Christ. Quietly it came, unannounced and uninvited, but still it came. We become part of the "slow and inefficient work of God".
So my friends (you know who you all are!), I thank you - for the coffee, the beer; the late nights, the listening ears and the understanding hearts. For being there - even if you haven't said much, your presence alone has made it all the more bearable. Just the knowledge that you have my back has helped me, little by little, to crawl out, dishevelled and bloodied, from under that bus. It has taken time to start getting my bearings again, but I am making sense of things now. There are still unanswered questions, and things I want closure on. There are things that sometimes keep me awake at night (sometimes it's passing trains that keep me awake but I digress) but I will no longer be held to ransom by them. I feel as though I have turned a corner. There are days when I'm still a bit wobbly on my legs, and days when things conspire to set me back and drag me down. But they are getting fewer now, and the impact of them is lessened. I'm not so naive to think that I am over it all - it will go on for some time to come yet. But I know that I am, at present, better equipped to handle this now.
You have helped me tremendously, but your work (and mine) is not yet done. There are still hurdles and obstacles that will need to be cleared, and each one of those will be a challenge of varying degrees, but again, let me offer you a resounding thank you.
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