Tomorrow it all begins again. After two delicious weeks off of work, tomorrow I go back. Tomorrow my daughter goes back to school. I am anxious. Not because I dislike my work or because there is something especially stressful but because of the schedule. Rather than getting up when we are rested, eating when we are hungry, doing what interests us at the moment, we must conform to the rigors of a schedule. Up in time to get to work and school, eat when there is a gap in your schedule to do so, doing what is prescribed for that moment, there isn't much of an option for each day.
Not that I dislike routine. I really appreciate routine and pretty naturally establish routines, but that is different than a schedules. Routines are more like gentle suggestions. Schedules are cruel task masters. The sad thing is, my schedule is so much easier than it used to be and it is much, much easier than what most people deal with. No wonder stress is a national epidemic.
Historically, when I have started to feel out of control, I attempt to exert control over my external circumstances. It is often still my first impulse. My initial thought after I identified feeling anxious and the source of the anxiety was to get a bunch of stuff done. If I get the laundry or housecleaning done, I have less to do in the upcoming week. That sounds logical. However, I often just work myself into a frenzy and become exhausted.
Instead, I am going to focus on cultivating inner peace. I know that sounds Zen-like and you may have visions of meditating on a mountain top. Unfortunately, inner peace and I are not really close personal friends. We are acquaintances. I am going to use my current anxiety as an opportunity to develop a closer friendship with internal peace.
Which is why I am writing this blog, why I will walk my dog, why I spend time playing with my daughter and watching football with my husband. Those things help me feel calm and grounded. Those things will help me have an easier week because I will be balanced, not exhausted. Hypothetically, I could have a spotless house and exert perfect control over my circumstances. (I have a St. Bernard and a six year old, so you know this is really only a hypothetical!). I am pretty sure I would still be anxious though. My anxiety is not actually based what is done or not done. It is not even fully based on what I do every day. It is based on how I think about my life and how I treat myself.
Life with a schedule, life with expectations other than to be, create opportunities for failure. One of my hardest tasks, emotionally, is to be accepting of myself when I make mistakes. I have always been a perfectionist. Rather than attempting to achieve perfection in my week, I am going to focus on balance. I am going to focus on self-acceptance. I am going to focus on listening to why the anxiety is present and address that, rather than attempt to control external circumstances. A closer friendship with peace and letting go of perfectionism is on the agenda and my schedule is going to help get me there.
Thank-you horrible schedule. Thank-you anxiety.
Sunday, January 5, 2014
Saturday, January 4, 2014
Resolved
I am not much for New Year's resolutions. Life is constantly changing, every day and even every minute if you look at the cellular level. I figure I need to resolve different things at different times depending on what is happening in my life. However, on two instances, in my memory, have I made a New Year's Resolution. The first was December 31st, 2004. I was with my dad, step-mom, first husband and four younger siblings. I had just finished graduate school and my husband and I had moved to the Pacific Northwest. I resolved that year "To grab life by the horns."
And grab I did. Five months after that I determined that my marriage was dead and, in fact, had been dead so long that it was rotting. I left the marriage and started dating someone new approximately 30 seconds after that. Five months after that I moved in with the someone new and 7 months after that I was pregnant. I am still with the someone new. He's not so new, now, but it feels like it was just yesterday, so he's new to me! We got married when our daughter was 8 months old.
Also, during the last six months of 2005, I did the following: I studied for and passed the licensing exams to be a licensed clinical psychologist, I went on 4 weekend get aways, got a puppy, grew a garden, dyed my hair, made new friends, filed for divorce, updated the someone new's house so I could move in, got two pet rats and got two pet mice.
Fast forward to 2011. I hadn't made a resolution since New Year's Eve 2004. I determined that it was time to "Grab the bull by the horns again." In 2012, I didn't as much as 2005, but it was a lot, nonetheless. For financial purposes, my husband and I got a legal separation that year (you can read a little about that here). I left the group practice after 9 years and started a smaller solo practice. I also stopped adding children to my client load because I was burned out. My daughter started Kindergarten. My husband and I finished paying off $40,000 in credit card debt ($36,000 was accrued when I was pregnant because I was very ill but that is a very long, separate story). We also bought a house and moved.
I didn't resolve anything for 2013 except to adjust to 2012's changes! I also haven't resolved to do anything in particular for 2014. I need to exercise more and I plan to write more. But those two resolutions are not new, I've been working on those for the last 12 months and will continue working on them. Otherwise, I am going to continue with the day to day resolutions. I figure I can leave the bull alone for 5 years give or take!
And grab I did. Five months after that I determined that my marriage was dead and, in fact, had been dead so long that it was rotting. I left the marriage and started dating someone new approximately 30 seconds after that. Five months after that I moved in with the someone new and 7 months after that I was pregnant. I am still with the someone new. He's not so new, now, but it feels like it was just yesterday, so he's new to me! We got married when our daughter was 8 months old.
Also, during the last six months of 2005, I did the following: I studied for and passed the licensing exams to be a licensed clinical psychologist, I went on 4 weekend get aways, got a puppy, grew a garden, dyed my hair, made new friends, filed for divorce, updated the someone new's house so I could move in, got two pet rats and got two pet mice.
Fast forward to 2011. I hadn't made a resolution since New Year's Eve 2004. I determined that it was time to "Grab the bull by the horns again." In 2012, I didn't as much as 2005, but it was a lot, nonetheless. For financial purposes, my husband and I got a legal separation that year (you can read a little about that here). I left the group practice after 9 years and started a smaller solo practice. I also stopped adding children to my client load because I was burned out. My daughter started Kindergarten. My husband and I finished paying off $40,000 in credit card debt ($36,000 was accrued when I was pregnant because I was very ill but that is a very long, separate story). We also bought a house and moved.
I didn't resolve anything for 2013 except to adjust to 2012's changes! I also haven't resolved to do anything in particular for 2014. I need to exercise more and I plan to write more. But those two resolutions are not new, I've been working on those for the last 12 months and will continue working on them. Otherwise, I am going to continue with the day to day resolutions. I figure I can leave the bull alone for 5 years give or take!
Friday, December 6, 2013
The Thanksgiving Vow
A year or two ago, I made a vow that when we finally got out of the
trailer park and into a "real house" I was going to take the entire week
of Thanksgiving off with the goal of cooking everything for the holiday from scratch. Which might sound reasonable for most people. I am not most people. Those who know me read those last
lines with disbelief and alarm because this was the first Thanksgiving that we are in our "real house."
My best friend of twenty-five or so years, Lisa, likes to joke that I can burn water. While I haven't studied physics since 1994, I am pretty sure that burning water is against the laws of nature. I have burned hard boiled eggs, however. In my defense, I was pregnant & quite addled for a variety of reasons. It was incredibly confusing when I heard loud popping sounds emanating from the other side of the house. I had so completely forgotten about the eggs that it didn't even occur to me that the sounds could even be related food. It was quite a shock to find exploded eggs as I waddled into the kitchen. In my defense, that is not bad cooking so much as it is forgetfulness.
That's the only kitchen mishap I have any defense for, though. All other disasters, I have no option but to take full responsibility! I misread tablespoons versus teaspoons, I am impatient and put the heat up to high consequently burning whatever is supposed to be gently sauteed, stuff boils over, stuff implodes, explodes, falls limp. I still cannot make an omelet. Lisa has seen it all after spending in two years of home ec with me and then the remaining 20 some years riding shot gun in my life. A recent quote from Lisa regarding my cooking skills, "I remember a girl that let a pan boil dry..., and wrecked canned soup!" How does one wreck canned soup? I am not sure but I have done it dramatically enough to stick in someone's memory for a couple decades!
Given some other viable option, I would not have taken home ec, but I went to a small private school and you could take home ec. or shop. Taking shop was frowned upon because it would not equip me to be a good wife. I wasn't especially interested in being a good wife, but whatever, it wasn't algebra and I figured it couldn't be that bad. No one was permanently injured, primarily because the tissues in the mouth regenerate rapidly. I am sure that the home ec teacher didn't quite know what to do with my ineptitude and my 16 year old feminist grousing. I really wasn't interested in being a good wife, especially if it involved cooking. Or sewing, I wasn't impressed with sewing either. Too many little pieces of thread tangling into knots and jamming up the sewing machine.
I have occasionally forayed into the cooking realm, with increasing frequency across the years, attempting such feats as boiling eggs. This required a phone call to my step-dad because I wasn't quite sure how long they were supposed to boil and it was before I had access to the internet 24/7. I managed to keep myself fed, but it was never skilled or graceful!
Once my food allergies kicked in post-pregnancy, I pulled it together enough to take care of the basics and figured out baking. A few years ago I was allergic to corn, wheat and soy at the same time, and the only way to get sweets is to make it myself. Desperation truly is the mother of invention! An unfed sweet tooth is not to be argued with, so I figured it out!
This context, then, is why my vow to cook from scratch so alarmed my nearest and dearest. My husband, bless his heart, who has an insane level of confidence in my ability to do what I set my mind to, wasn't so worried. He wavered, a bit, I think, when the water & honey mixture was boiling over onto the stove burner as I was attempting to make marshmallows. Here's a tip: when boiling something that contains sugar, remember that sugar expands, so use a large pot! My cooking abilities are akin to driving on ice, you have some control of the direction of the car, but barely and disaster can strike at any moment.
Disaster did not strike! Overly salty crust in the pumpkin pies struck our palate and then one pie promptly struck the dog dish while the other struck the garbage can. That was easily remedied by making two more pies. Those we happily ate. We also had the honey & water mixture boiling over on the stove, but neither that nor the pies count as disasters. My idea of a kitchen disaster is something involving smoke alarms going off or someone gagging. I successfully served my family two pumpkin pies, cranberry sauce, apple pie, pumpkin spice cookies, brownies, sweet potato casserole with homemade marshmallows, mashed potatoes and biscuits.
My home ec teacher would be so proud! I know Lisa and the rest of my nearest and dearest were pretty impressed!
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| My refrigerator waiting for the big day! |
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| My kitchen helper |
That's the only kitchen mishap I have any defense for, though. All other disasters, I have no option but to take full responsibility! I misread tablespoons versus teaspoons, I am impatient and put the heat up to high consequently burning whatever is supposed to be gently sauteed, stuff boils over, stuff implodes, explodes, falls limp. I still cannot make an omelet. Lisa has seen it all after spending in two years of home ec with me and then the remaining 20 some years riding shot gun in my life. A recent quote from Lisa regarding my cooking skills, "I remember a girl that let a pan boil dry..., and wrecked canned soup!" How does one wreck canned soup? I am not sure but I have done it dramatically enough to stick in someone's memory for a couple decades!
Given some other viable option, I would not have taken home ec, but I went to a small private school and you could take home ec. or shop. Taking shop was frowned upon because it would not equip me to be a good wife. I wasn't especially interested in being a good wife, but whatever, it wasn't algebra and I figured it couldn't be that bad. No one was permanently injured, primarily because the tissues in the mouth regenerate rapidly. I am sure that the home ec teacher didn't quite know what to do with my ineptitude and my 16 year old feminist grousing. I really wasn't interested in being a good wife, especially if it involved cooking. Or sewing, I wasn't impressed with sewing either. Too many little pieces of thread tangling into knots and jamming up the sewing machine.
I have occasionally forayed into the cooking realm, with increasing frequency across the years, attempting such feats as boiling eggs. This required a phone call to my step-dad because I wasn't quite sure how long they were supposed to boil and it was before I had access to the internet 24/7. I managed to keep myself fed, but it was never skilled or graceful!
Once my food allergies kicked in post-pregnancy, I pulled it together enough to take care of the basics and figured out baking. A few years ago I was allergic to corn, wheat and soy at the same time, and the only way to get sweets is to make it myself. Desperation truly is the mother of invention! An unfed sweet tooth is not to be argued with, so I figured it out!
This context, then, is why my vow to cook from scratch so alarmed my nearest and dearest. My husband, bless his heart, who has an insane level of confidence in my ability to do what I set my mind to, wasn't so worried. He wavered, a bit, I think, when the water & honey mixture was boiling over onto the stove burner as I was attempting to make marshmallows. Here's a tip: when boiling something that contains sugar, remember that sugar expands, so use a large pot! My cooking abilities are akin to driving on ice, you have some control of the direction of the car, but barely and disaster can strike at any moment.
 |
| A kitchen without a flower explosion! |
My home ec teacher would be so proud! I know Lisa and the rest of my nearest and dearest were pretty impressed!
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| My first attempt at pumpkin pies. |
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Becoming Sunny
"Sunny Day Sweepin' the clouds away, on my way to where the air is sweet." I've also heard "Keep on the sunny side always on the sunny side, Keep on the sunny side of life, It will help us every day it will brighten all our way. If we keep on the sunny side of life" a lot!
My mom named me Sunny Elisabeth Clark. Everyone assumes that my parents were hippies but they were not. First, they were a little bit too young to be hippies. Second, they lived in the Midwest and attended religious boarding academies. There wasn't a lot of cultural "room" be a hippie. They did have long hair and bell bottoms, but I think pretty much everyone under 30 did prior to 1980.
However, there was Avon. My mom happened to be flipping through an Avon catalog, browsing the jewelry, perfume and lotions when she noticed the president of Avon was named Sunny. My mom really, really liked that name. So, I became Sunny.
It's a funny thing growing up with the name Sunny. I get complimented on it all the time, people want to meet me because of my name and I have endured endless jokes about it. The most common joke was "Is your brother's name Moonie?" My somewhat snotty reply was usually "No, he is not a naked butt." At least that is what I said starting at about age 11 when I was annoyed by whom ever was making that joke for "like the MILLIONTH time." And singing, as you have probably guessed, I get serenaded a lot. I am always super impressed when someone knows a song with my name in it that I haven't heard before. I have had thousands of comments like "Oh! How sweet, you must be just like your name!" Um, no. It is one of the great ironies of my name that I am not always like my name. In fact there have been significant periods of my life, long periods of my life where I was completely unlike my name.
I have depression. If you want to be specific, I have Major Depressive Disorder, Recurrent, Moderate to Severe (atypical symptoms), With Full Interepisode Recovery, With Seasonal Pattern. Depending on who is doing the diagnosing, though, my diagnosis can also be Bipolar Affective Disorder, Type II, Moderate, With Melancholic Features, With Seasonal Pattern.
You probably didn't notice, because you are not sitting here with me, but I just took a giant psychological leap back, put myself into doctor mode and distanced myself from the pain of having all that while having the expectations associated with my name. And by admitting that, I stepped back into the pain. It is very, very painful.
I have two types of depressive episodes- lethargic, sad, guilty, tired, self-hatred, crying, hyposomnia (sleeping lots and lots), avoidant, ahedonic (not feeling pleasure), and amotivational (not motivated). The second type is agitated, irritable, restless & angry added on top of the symptoms of the first type with out being so tired. I have the first type of depression in the fall and winter. I have the second type in spring. How the party doing the diagnosing categorizes the second type of depression, determines if they think I have Major Depressive Disorder or Bipolar Affective Disorder, Type II. It's a grey area and is open to interpretation. There is a lot of stigma attached to Bipolar diagnoses because those are the people that are often considered "crazy." I am aware of the stigma but the diagnosis isn't what is painful, it's the experience, so I don't care what label I am given. Plus, I am a doctor so I get that it is all from a chemical imbalance anyhow.
Did you see how I did that again? I went into to doctor mode. It's easy, it's safe and I am much more comfortable in it. When I am in my doctor mode, I am Sunny. I am bringing help and hope and relief to people. In fact, I am most comfortable in whatever mode I can avoid certain parts of myself. When I am interacting with friends, I am Sunny. When I am with my daughter & husband, I am Sunny. When I am with my extended family, I am Sunny. When I am with my coworkers & colleagues, I am Sunny.
If I am not managing my symptoms or I hit that self-critical piece of myself, I would probably be better named Stormy. Even when I am managing my stuff or I am in place of greater self-acceptance, I am never, ever a morning person. Moonlight or Starshine would be much more appropriate. My brain chemistry has also gifted me with a couple sleep disorders, which set my biological clock to be a "night owl" and create a need for at least 9 hours of sleep a night. My name is a misnomer on multiple levels!
I recently received feedback from someone I am acquainted through a Facebook group. Part of the feedback included a comment about how I didn't match my name because I was critical of myself. Well, yes, exactly.
I generally do a pretty good job of leaving that aspect of myself out of my day to day life. It hurts when it is noticed. It makes me feel anxious and ashamed. And when I write, it leaks out. It leaks out all over the place. And while I like writing and I want to write more, I avoid it. I don't make it a priority. I do so because writing creates leaks for areas I need to work on. Greater self-acceptance, creating space in myself for something just for myself, feeling like it is okay to have something in myself just for myself, all come to mind. For someone who was taught that self-sacrifice was the greatest form of love, doing something purely for myself creates a lot of angst. I already have a lot of angst to begin with. A lot of un-Sunny-like angst.
Some of that self-criticism derives from the chemical imbalance in my faulty, amazing brain. The rest of that is because of ingrained attitudes about myself that I picked up in my childhood. I can explain the origins of some of those attitudes and I believe that some will forever remain a mystery.
Regardless of the cause between my mismatched name and myself, the current struggle is that developing as a writer means putting stuff out there. Well, that's not so fun, when you are leaky. It requires courage and determination and willingness to be vulnerable. I am not always super willing to be vulnerable but I am courageous and determined. So, I will use those things to push me into vulnerable places, which will force me to confront the leaky stuff, which will then move me to a better place. I will inevitably hit other areas of vulnerability and continue the cycle. My life will always be a process of becoming Sunny and letting Stormy go.
My mom named me Sunny Elisabeth Clark. Everyone assumes that my parents were hippies but they were not. First, they were a little bit too young to be hippies. Second, they lived in the Midwest and attended religious boarding academies. There wasn't a lot of cultural "room" be a hippie. They did have long hair and bell bottoms, but I think pretty much everyone under 30 did prior to 1980.
However, there was Avon. My mom happened to be flipping through an Avon catalog, browsing the jewelry, perfume and lotions when she noticed the president of Avon was named Sunny. My mom really, really liked that name. So, I became Sunny.
It's a funny thing growing up with the name Sunny. I get complimented on it all the time, people want to meet me because of my name and I have endured endless jokes about it. The most common joke was "Is your brother's name Moonie?" My somewhat snotty reply was usually "No, he is not a naked butt." At least that is what I said starting at about age 11 when I was annoyed by whom ever was making that joke for "like the MILLIONTH time." And singing, as you have probably guessed, I get serenaded a lot. I am always super impressed when someone knows a song with my name in it that I haven't heard before. I have had thousands of comments like "Oh! How sweet, you must be just like your name!" Um, no. It is one of the great ironies of my name that I am not always like my name. In fact there have been significant periods of my life, long periods of my life where I was completely unlike my name.
I have depression. If you want to be specific, I have Major Depressive Disorder, Recurrent, Moderate to Severe (atypical symptoms), With Full Interepisode Recovery, With Seasonal Pattern. Depending on who is doing the diagnosing, though, my diagnosis can also be Bipolar Affective Disorder, Type II, Moderate, With Melancholic Features, With Seasonal Pattern.
You probably didn't notice, because you are not sitting here with me, but I just took a giant psychological leap back, put myself into doctor mode and distanced myself from the pain of having all that while having the expectations associated with my name. And by admitting that, I stepped back into the pain. It is very, very painful.
I have two types of depressive episodes- lethargic, sad, guilty, tired, self-hatred, crying, hyposomnia (sleeping lots and lots), avoidant, ahedonic (not feeling pleasure), and amotivational (not motivated). The second type is agitated, irritable, restless & angry added on top of the symptoms of the first type with out being so tired. I have the first type of depression in the fall and winter. I have the second type in spring. How the party doing the diagnosing categorizes the second type of depression, determines if they think I have Major Depressive Disorder or Bipolar Affective Disorder, Type II. It's a grey area and is open to interpretation. There is a lot of stigma attached to Bipolar diagnoses because those are the people that are often considered "crazy." I am aware of the stigma but the diagnosis isn't what is painful, it's the experience, so I don't care what label I am given. Plus, I am a doctor so I get that it is all from a chemical imbalance anyhow.
Did you see how I did that again? I went into to doctor mode. It's easy, it's safe and I am much more comfortable in it. When I am in my doctor mode, I am Sunny. I am bringing help and hope and relief to people. In fact, I am most comfortable in whatever mode I can avoid certain parts of myself. When I am interacting with friends, I am Sunny. When I am with my daughter & husband, I am Sunny. When I am with my extended family, I am Sunny. When I am with my coworkers & colleagues, I am Sunny.
If I am not managing my symptoms or I hit that self-critical piece of myself, I would probably be better named Stormy. Even when I am managing my stuff or I am in place of greater self-acceptance, I am never, ever a morning person. Moonlight or Starshine would be much more appropriate. My brain chemistry has also gifted me with a couple sleep disorders, which set my biological clock to be a "night owl" and create a need for at least 9 hours of sleep a night. My name is a misnomer on multiple levels!
I recently received feedback from someone I am acquainted through a Facebook group. Part of the feedback included a comment about how I didn't match my name because I was critical of myself. Well, yes, exactly.
I generally do a pretty good job of leaving that aspect of myself out of my day to day life. It hurts when it is noticed. It makes me feel anxious and ashamed. And when I write, it leaks out. It leaks out all over the place. And while I like writing and I want to write more, I avoid it. I don't make it a priority. I do so because writing creates leaks for areas I need to work on. Greater self-acceptance, creating space in myself for something just for myself, feeling like it is okay to have something in myself just for myself, all come to mind. For someone who was taught that self-sacrifice was the greatest form of love, doing something purely for myself creates a lot of angst. I already have a lot of angst to begin with. A lot of un-Sunny-like angst.
Some of that self-criticism derives from the chemical imbalance in my faulty, amazing brain. The rest of that is because of ingrained attitudes about myself that I picked up in my childhood. I can explain the origins of some of those attitudes and I believe that some will forever remain a mystery.
Regardless of the cause between my mismatched name and myself, the current struggle is that developing as a writer means putting stuff out there. Well, that's not so fun, when you are leaky. It requires courage and determination and willingness to be vulnerable. I am not always super willing to be vulnerable but I am courageous and determined. So, I will use those things to push me into vulnerable places, which will force me to confront the leaky stuff, which will then move me to a better place. I will inevitably hit other areas of vulnerability and continue the cycle. My life will always be a process of becoming Sunny and letting Stormy go.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Reconciliation vs. Refrigerator
Time for a confession...my husband and I are legally separated. Yep, as in one step prior to divorce type separation. And at this point, we have opted to wait on reconciling. There are more important things on our agenda. If I were to pause and ask what those other priorities might be, guesses would likely be to attend couples therapy or decide if we really love each other or something maritally relevant.
Nope. Mainly we are delaying our reconciliation for a new refrigerator. So, my husband and I are choosing a refrigerator over altering our marital status. Based on that snapshot, we totally sound like people who should just go straight for the divorce! What kind of people want a refrigerator instead of reconciliation? Very, very romantic people. People who got married for tax purposes in the first place! People who got legally separated to buy a house! People who have a new house with a very old, leaky refrigerator!
Well, technically, I do not own this house. My husband owns this house and the leaky refrigerator. I live in this house and we call it "our" home but that is a big fat lie. It's totally my husband's house, I own all the furniture. That's how we divided it up in the legal separation. Except we didn't actually have the house when we separated, just the furniture. Technically, he got nothing in the separation. He was however, able to rid himself of my horrible, horrible credit.
Are you thoroughly confused? So was the realtor and loan broker. The family law lawyer wasn't confused at all. She totally got that I was an ignorant, my person who didn't get a lawyer in the first place when I got a divorce from my first husband. Because I made a stupid choice, my divorce documents were not written out correctly. They were correct enough to ensure that I was no longer yoked to my first spouse but not correct enough to remove me from the mortgage of the house I owned with the aforementioned first spouse. Which wouldn't of been a problem for my credit, except for the lovely human being that is my first husband decided it was good idea to stop making payments on the loan. The bank didn't think it was a good idea and my credit score dropped by about 400 points. That was an exciting time in my life!
So much for the plans to buy a new house. There was no way that was happening with my credit score. At this point, having a wife was more of a ball and chain than usual for my poor second husband. Not only could he not date other women, my husband was stuck in a less than desirable abode. No wonder we separated!
Seriously, though, we couldn't buy a house when we were married. My poor credit made it look like I was "too risky" for a bank to approve a loan for me and because of the laws in Washington, my husband couldn't buy a house without my credit being taken in to consideration. So, we figured out a work around. The work around was to get separated and have my husband buy the house. We could of just gotten a divorce, but despite being incredibly reluctant to get married in the first place (i.e. hands gripping the steering wheel until the knuckles were white and focusing on my breathing as we were driving to the court house to get married kind of reluctance, reference first marriage), I didn't want to get a divorce. I felt sad and as it turns out, I liked being married the second time. Choice of spouse obviously makes a huge difference!
People were kind of horrified. Initially, I was kind of horrified too, but it beat the heck out of getting a divorce. Especially since in my county divorcing parents have to take a parenting class. How fun! Local child psychologist in a parenting class! It sucked having to make major life decisions based on the fact that I was dumb (as in ignorant) 6 years prior when untangling myself from a very unhealthy relationship. It sucked that my ex-husband was intruding on my present life. It sucked to have no control over my credit. It sucked. The whole thing just sucked.
Enter the work around. Separated in September 2012, husband was pre-authorized for a loan in October 2012, house hunting commenced November 2012, offer on house accepted December 2012. Move in date: December 31, 2012.
We have the house now and the house I owned with my ex-husband that was ruining my credit sold in a short sale (hallelujah!). All the reasons for separating are now gone. People keep asking "Are you married again, yet?" The answer is, "No, because we want to buy a refrigerator!" It costs about $400 to file the paperwork to reverse the separation. That goes a long way towards defraying the cost of a new fridge! It seems like it is in the better interest of the family to go with the appliance. Our anniversary is November 29th, I suppose I could always file the paperwork as a surprise anniversary present! Because, I am romantic like that, right?
Moral to this story- 1) Lawyers are important, 2) Lawyers are important, 3) Lawyers are important. Well, no, not just that. While I don't believe that all things happen for a reason, I do believe that good can come out of anything. This whole scenario forced me to be patient, to develop greater trust in my husband, confront issues related to my ex-husband, and educated me regarding laws about marriage, divorce & property. It also caused me to delay gratification, which has heightened my appreciation for our new house. I really, really like our new house.
Of all of those, developing more trust has been the greatest gift. By virtue of being the second, my husband got handed a lot of baggage that wasn't his to begin with. I didn't have much faith in marriage in the first place, given that the divorce rate in my family was about 80%. I didn't want to deal with divorce as an adult. I was pretty full up being a child of divorced parents. I took a risk on my ex-husband because he seemed "right." I had developed this idea that if I did everything "right," I could end up with a good life. The "right" spouse was someone who was from a family with no divorce, well educated, good work history, long term friendships, no substance use, shared interests and shared beliefs. My first husband matched all of the above. He looked good on paper and his family looked like something straight out of Norman Rockwell. What he kept hidden rocked my world and shook my faith in everything, including my ability to make good judgements. What I had left was a pile of rubbish.
Enter my second husband. We started dating approximately 30 seconds after I left my first husband. (What can I say? When I am done, I am done.) I had so much baggage I needed a pack mule, so dating wasn't the wisest choice on my part, but I was done with doing everything "right." I had so very carefully attempted to live my adult life "right" and got burned. So, I was just going to start doing what I wanted to do. What I wanted to do is date the total sweet heart that is the man who became my second husband. I decided to screw what what was "right" and so called "reasonable." So I jumped, both feet first, into a relationship toting all this baggage and a pack mule.
Lack of trust was probably the biggest of the bunch. Lack of trust in marriage, men and most importantly, myself. When your judgement has been so epically poor it is hard to have much faith in yourself. I came to terms with the idea that I made the best choice I could with the information available to me. When I got more information, I made another choice. Those choices brought me to a life I love. So, I did gain confidence in myself and in my husband. Confidence enough to have a baby with him and then marry him when the baby was 8 months old. But, not enough confidence to be entirely anxiety free, remember the white knuckles on the steering wheel? I shed much of the baggage and no longer needed a pack mule, but like a miser, I hung on to bits and pieces.
Back to the house and the work around. This, clearly, is not the "right" way to buy a house. It is not wrong in the illegal sense, but it is certainly non-standard! Getting separated allowed us to buy a house, but it required that I relinquish all control of the process and have faith in my husband's decision-making. I wasn't involved in (read: in control of) the loan process, the real estate stuff, home inspection, nothing. My role was only to offer opinions on properties. Control is something I have used to alleviate anxiety in the past and it wasn't going to work here. Control as a coping strategy has limited utility, as I learned in my doing everything "right" phase. It is a place that is easy to slip back into, however. I needed to let go and go with the flow. And I did, and we landed in our awesome house, where I sit now.
Okay, I guess I should say my husband's new house. But, remember, it's my furniture, so the combination makes it our home! Now, if we could just find a darn refrigerator....
Nope. Mainly we are delaying our reconciliation for a new refrigerator. So, my husband and I are choosing a refrigerator over altering our marital status. Based on that snapshot, we totally sound like people who should just go straight for the divorce! What kind of people want a refrigerator instead of reconciliation? Very, very romantic people. People who got married for tax purposes in the first place! People who got legally separated to buy a house! People who have a new house with a very old, leaky refrigerator!
Well, technically, I do not own this house. My husband owns this house and the leaky refrigerator. I live in this house and we call it "our" home but that is a big fat lie. It's totally my husband's house, I own all the furniture. That's how we divided it up in the legal separation. Except we didn't actually have the house when we separated, just the furniture. Technically, he got nothing in the separation. He was however, able to rid himself of my horrible, horrible credit.
Are you thoroughly confused? So was the realtor and loan broker. The family law lawyer wasn't confused at all. She totally got that I was an ignorant, my person who didn't get a lawyer in the first place when I got a divorce from my first husband. Because I made a stupid choice, my divorce documents were not written out correctly. They were correct enough to ensure that I was no longer yoked to my first spouse but not correct enough to remove me from the mortgage of the house I owned with the aforementioned first spouse. Which wouldn't of been a problem for my credit, except for the lovely human being that is my first husband decided it was good idea to stop making payments on the loan. The bank didn't think it was a good idea and my credit score dropped by about 400 points. That was an exciting time in my life!
So much for the plans to buy a new house. There was no way that was happening with my credit score. At this point, having a wife was more of a ball and chain than usual for my poor second husband. Not only could he not date other women, my husband was stuck in a less than desirable abode. No wonder we separated!
Seriously, though, we couldn't buy a house when we were married. My poor credit made it look like I was "too risky" for a bank to approve a loan for me and because of the laws in Washington, my husband couldn't buy a house without my credit being taken in to consideration. So, we figured out a work around. The work around was to get separated and have my husband buy the house. We could of just gotten a divorce, but despite being incredibly reluctant to get married in the first place (i.e. hands gripping the steering wheel until the knuckles were white and focusing on my breathing as we were driving to the court house to get married kind of reluctance, reference first marriage), I didn't want to get a divorce. I felt sad and as it turns out, I liked being married the second time. Choice of spouse obviously makes a huge difference!
People were kind of horrified. Initially, I was kind of horrified too, but it beat the heck out of getting a divorce. Especially since in my county divorcing parents have to take a parenting class. How fun! Local child psychologist in a parenting class! It sucked having to make major life decisions based on the fact that I was dumb (as in ignorant) 6 years prior when untangling myself from a very unhealthy relationship. It sucked that my ex-husband was intruding on my present life. It sucked to have no control over my credit. It sucked. The whole thing just sucked.
Enter the work around. Separated in September 2012, husband was pre-authorized for a loan in October 2012, house hunting commenced November 2012, offer on house accepted December 2012. Move in date: December 31, 2012.
We have the house now and the house I owned with my ex-husband that was ruining my credit sold in a short sale (hallelujah!). All the reasons for separating are now gone. People keep asking "Are you married again, yet?" The answer is, "No, because we want to buy a refrigerator!" It costs about $400 to file the paperwork to reverse the separation. That goes a long way towards defraying the cost of a new fridge! It seems like it is in the better interest of the family to go with the appliance. Our anniversary is November 29th, I suppose I could always file the paperwork as a surprise anniversary present! Because, I am romantic like that, right?
Moral to this story- 1) Lawyers are important, 2) Lawyers are important, 3) Lawyers are important. Well, no, not just that. While I don't believe that all things happen for a reason, I do believe that good can come out of anything. This whole scenario forced me to be patient, to develop greater trust in my husband, confront issues related to my ex-husband, and educated me regarding laws about marriage, divorce & property. It also caused me to delay gratification, which has heightened my appreciation for our new house. I really, really like our new house.
Of all of those, developing more trust has been the greatest gift. By virtue of being the second, my husband got handed a lot of baggage that wasn't his to begin with. I didn't have much faith in marriage in the first place, given that the divorce rate in my family was about 80%. I didn't want to deal with divorce as an adult. I was pretty full up being a child of divorced parents. I took a risk on my ex-husband because he seemed "right." I had developed this idea that if I did everything "right," I could end up with a good life. The "right" spouse was someone who was from a family with no divorce, well educated, good work history, long term friendships, no substance use, shared interests and shared beliefs. My first husband matched all of the above. He looked good on paper and his family looked like something straight out of Norman Rockwell. What he kept hidden rocked my world and shook my faith in everything, including my ability to make good judgements. What I had left was a pile of rubbish.
Enter my second husband. We started dating approximately 30 seconds after I left my first husband. (What can I say? When I am done, I am done.) I had so much baggage I needed a pack mule, so dating wasn't the wisest choice on my part, but I was done with doing everything "right." I had so very carefully attempted to live my adult life "right" and got burned. So, I was just going to start doing what I wanted to do. What I wanted to do is date the total sweet heart that is the man who became my second husband. I decided to screw what what was "right" and so called "reasonable." So I jumped, both feet first, into a relationship toting all this baggage and a pack mule.
Lack of trust was probably the biggest of the bunch. Lack of trust in marriage, men and most importantly, myself. When your judgement has been so epically poor it is hard to have much faith in yourself. I came to terms with the idea that I made the best choice I could with the information available to me. When I got more information, I made another choice. Those choices brought me to a life I love. So, I did gain confidence in myself and in my husband. Confidence enough to have a baby with him and then marry him when the baby was 8 months old. But, not enough confidence to be entirely anxiety free, remember the white knuckles on the steering wheel? I shed much of the baggage and no longer needed a pack mule, but like a miser, I hung on to bits and pieces.
Back to the house and the work around. This, clearly, is not the "right" way to buy a house. It is not wrong in the illegal sense, but it is certainly non-standard! Getting separated allowed us to buy a house, but it required that I relinquish all control of the process and have faith in my husband's decision-making. I wasn't involved in (read: in control of) the loan process, the real estate stuff, home inspection, nothing. My role was only to offer opinions on properties. Control is something I have used to alleviate anxiety in the past and it wasn't going to work here. Control as a coping strategy has limited utility, as I learned in my doing everything "right" phase. It is a place that is easy to slip back into, however. I needed to let go and go with the flow. And I did, and we landed in our awesome house, where I sit now.
Okay, I guess I should say my husband's new house. But, remember, it's my furniture, so the combination makes it our home! Now, if we could just find a darn refrigerator....
Monday, October 14, 2013
Poem #2
Run, child, run!
With freedom nipping at your heels
like a mongrel dog.
Joy coating you like dust from the gravel road,
left with imprints from your little feet.
Dance, girl, dance!
With intensity twining around your arms
like fingers of smoke.
Uncertainty dangles like jewelry from your mom's bureau,
left with imprints from your young hands.
Love, woman, love!
With anticipation pulling at your mouth
as if by magnets.
Passion stripping you clean to the bone, your body
left with imprints from a man's lips.
Birth, momma, birth!
With strength emanating from your womb
the inner super nova.
Dedication cloaking your soul,
left with imprints from her little feet.
-S. Clark 10/05/13
With freedom nipping at your heels
like a mongrel dog.
Joy coating you like dust from the gravel road,
left with imprints from your little feet.
Dance, girl, dance!
With intensity twining around your arms
like fingers of smoke.
Uncertainty dangles like jewelry from your mom's bureau,
left with imprints from your young hands.
Love, woman, love!
With anticipation pulling at your mouth
as if by magnets.
Passion stripping you clean to the bone, your body
left with imprints from a man's lips.
Birth, momma, birth!
With strength emanating from your womb
the inner super nova.
Dedication cloaking your soul,
left with imprints from her little feet.
-S. Clark 10/05/13
Liquid Breath
liquid breath of the Pacific Northwest
paused, for a moment
falling drops, drizzle, downpour
begins again, drenching
autumn leaves
glistening ruby, russet, rust
drift down, dressing
forest floor
softening land, loam, loess
sit silent, absorbing
liquid breath
paused, for a moment
falling drops, drizzle, downpour
begins again, drenching
autumn leaves
glistening ruby, russet, rust
drift down, dressing
forest floor
softening land, loam, loess
sit silent, absorbing
liquid breath
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