Day 0483

One thing I find endlessly attractive in a fellow human being is trying. As in, watching them and supporting them to keep trying to be themselves, to figure out who that is, to navigate rough times.
That was one of the things I found attractive about Halfman. He was struggling (little did I realise with how much) and certainly gave me the impression he was working hard on being true to himself and to the various people in his life even through a particularly difficult time (the separation that turned out to be a marriage).
But regardless of how much of a Wizard of Oz Curtain his struggle turned out to be, it made me feel privileged to share that time with him – to listen to him think things through, be frustrated, be elated, question himself and realise what he did and didn’t like about relationships.
That’s hard, meaty stuff.
I’ve said too many times already that most of us are good at the easy stuff, the happy times and times of plenty; it’s when the going gets tough that you can measure a person’s depth of character.
But again I find myself at the point where my evaluation of myself is quite unkind.
Somehow I expect to do everything the best way possible, but I only expect – and am sometimes impressed to tears by – other people’s failed attempts.
When I observe these failings short, I feel proud of these people just for trying and for continuing to try. When I fall short I tell myself off. It is in these weird instances that I sometimes wish I was my friend rather than Me. I might be kinder to myself that way.

Day 0413

I like to be in control but I would never classify myself as a Control Freak. I’m pretty sure I can let go and let Life take over when I need to.
For 15 years I lived with a man who is a control freak. He didn’t control himself, of course, he controlled those closest to him. I suppose it was some desperate desire to ensure those he cared for most didn’t leave.
And, of course, that kind of thing tragically creates the opposite effect.
I’ve been loosening that control, cutting the nerve filled strings one by one during the past three years.
I can almost envision myself tangled in a flesh-string web in the months before I decided to separate from He Who shall Not Be Named, finally realising I could cut the strings and detach.
I’ve sawn through an awful lot of those strings in the nearly three years since that Day of Freedom.
But there are still so many.
Most aren’t controls of practical things – mainly my emotions which can be controlled through a seemingly endless supply of in-built reflex reactions I acquired over that decade and a half.
But there is still one practical string he has tied to me. And it prevents me from moving on completely, from digging myself out of the escape chute I happily landed in three years ago and on to A New Beginning that has a solid floor under my feet.
I never before thought of finances as something someone could use to control me, to push me into choices I wouldn’t otherwise make, to make me feel helpless and so on.
I guess that just goes to show how luckily middle class I’ve been my entire life.
Maybe the only way to win this at this stage is to not let his ‘control’ make me fall apart, to stand up in spite of his behaviour the past couple of years and say ‘I am not worried because I know he will do The Right Thing now even if he has resisted it for so long. To show No Fear.
Is that how I win in the end?
Or is just bloody hard work?
And foolhardy in the extreme?

Day 0380

Watching my child grow up is simultaneously the most beautiful, prideful feeling and – at times – also the most gut wrenchingly horrid and heart breaking entertainment a girl could ever have.

Humans can’t live life like it’s a Disney fairytale for ever. All I can responsibly hope as a parent is to let him be a kid for a reasonable amount of time and not contribute overly much to the eventual sense of disappointment he’ll feel about humanity from time to time.

But wouldn’t it be nice if you could live in a Happiness Bubble for longer? 

I watched my five year-old son’s heart break in front of me when his dad and I told him that we were separating. He only just understood, but somewhere deep inside we broke some gossamer string of a ‘life’s perfect’ feeling he had at that age.

As happy and free as that moment made me after years and years of trying to salvage things, it is that moment and the look on my son’s face that I remember the most vividly. 

And although I am certain he knows in his heart of hearts that I am a much happier being and his life is easier in many ways because of that separation, I know he still preserves a place in his dreams where we’re all together under one roof and exist like the happy family we never were.

To save someone from something that is yet to come is a much harder thing to hold up high than snatching them out of the jaws of danger when it has already sunk a tooth into their skin.

My son was too young to see the jaw full of teeth we were living with, but I saw it coming at him; had seen it bite him and had flung myself further into its jaws to try to fix things.

I couldn’t have left it any later than I did.

And, I suppose it’s one of life’s ironies that in taking action then to prevent something really horrific, I’ve allowed my boy to preserve that dream of perfection. Is that better for him than being frightened and aware of what we escaped? 

I like to think so.

Day 0285

Have you ever noticed those couples who do projects together all the time?
I don’t mean normal project type things, like renovating a house, getting fit, all that kind of stuff. I mean a strange bastardisation of that normality where they have a project to redecorate swiftly followed by a project to snorkel, followed by a project to write a book together, followed by … Etc.
I’ve know probably four of these Manic Project people over time and the only other thing they have in common with each other is that they know their marriages aren’t happy. Some of them interrupt their projecting with divorce, others wander and then return and take up even more projects.
There’s nothing wrong with exploring new things and doing stuff together of course and I can’t quite manage to articulate what makes the Project People different in how they approach doing things together. But there is a difference: like it’s a way to distract from unhappiness or put off the inevitable (she won’t leave while we’re still learning life drawing together: that kind of thing).
Maybe I’m the only one who considers this A Thing?

On Freedom

When I first separated I was handed a load of graphs that were meant to help me understand that there would be an end to the odd spongy way life felt.

This one was particularly interesting. And I think it makes a lot more sense in retrospect with almost three years of space between me and the ‘maelstrom’ of trigger feelings. It’s also seriously interesting having watched a former friend go through something similar.

I was advised to head for Freedom! (I think it must be said with the exclamation mark!). This apparently involves ’emotional maturity’?! And ‘Life satisfaction’ yup, I’ll buy me one of those, thanks.

Of course I immediately headed for Flight because I’ve got to tell you it sure was nice to have someone pay attention to me and tell me I was purty after years of being alone next to someone and being told I’m stupid and unsophisticated. But I wised up fairly fast, thankfully, got what I needed and left with my apparently annoying ‘1950s values’ intact.

When Halfman appeared I’d almost imagined I’d reached ’emotional maturity’ but maybe he cancelled that one out?

Anyway, this former friend took the lower road – I’ve no idea if he’s on the path to Fight or Freeze but I’m guessing it’s the latter as drifting and withdrawal are kind of his signature moves.

And I have that feeling of survivor guilt where you feel horrified at that other person’s missteps, their loss, but so very relieved it’s not you.