On loving again, living again

Many people are afraid of getting involved again after the collapse of a marriage. Some people would call them embittered, but beneath bitterness is fear. We have been hurt. We are afraid of being hurt again so we stop trusting men, or women. It's a simple equation.

I don't want to be one of those persons. This is not to say that I don't have my own fears. I do. Sometimes my fears are so huge they feel as if they will engulf me. But I'm willing to sit quietly in the center of those fears until they become something else, even if I chicken out the first hundred times and have to keep coming back to them.

I know enough to look at the world and see that it is made up both of people who are incredibly generous and open-hearted, as well as those who, in their woundedness, have chosen to turn their pain outward upon others. And these two types of people are not divided up by gender lines. And to recognize them you don't look at their faces or listen to their words, but look at their actions and listen with your heart.

Sometimes I read blogs written by my friends and they talk about the deep love and friendship in their marriages and I think, "How beautiful. I've never had that. I've never known what it feels like to be supported like that." It's true. I felt very alone in my marriage.

I could tell stories from my marrige that would illustrate this, but I won't. I must have been okay with it on some level, because I stayed. Then again, when you have babies and no job, and then you are diagnosed with cancer, it's hard to walk out. But I tried to make it work and sometimes I believed it could and sometimes I wasn't sure.

Two years ago I started seeing a counselor because I was unhappy and felt I needed to make some changes in my life. Six months later a friend and I traveled to Australia for three weeks. Alone, no kids. The following month I started writing again after a ten year hiatus. I started Wanderlust. I was becoming myself again, remembering myself.  Then things moved fast. My husband and I started marriage counseling, our marriage erupted, I was assaluted. Then one day three men showed up to search our home and confiscated many of my husband's belongings, at which point I discovered he was under criminal investigation. "You're going to need to get a restraining order, ma'am."

Bam. Welcome to your new life, Kristin.

So, where does that leave me? Have I been betrayed? Truly, madly, deeply. In ways I can't quite wrap my mind around. But not by all men. Just one man. Does it hurt? Fuck yes. It hurts so much I haven't even allowed myself to feel it all yet, because I still have to feed my kids and pay the bills and stand upright and I can't do all that and feel the full impact of the pain at the same time. I have to take it in doses.

But I'm still full of hope. I may not be as young as most, but I'm young enough and I still want to get it right.  The good news is I'm no longer afraid to be myself, to speak my truth, to use my voice, to enforce my boundaries and, most importantly, to be vulnerable. Perhaps that is the gift of getting it wrong.

There is a quote by Hafiz that I have up on Facebook: "I wish I could show you, when you are lonely or in darkness, the astonishing light of your own being." I love this quote. I often think of it when my friends are in turmoil or I read blogs about someone struggling with insecurities. You know, someone writing about battling depression or maybe they were treated poorly by their parents or spouse. Because I look at them, each of them, and I think, "my god, you are so incredible, why can't you see how fucking incredible you are? You are afraid to reach out and take the littlest bit of happiness and yet you deserve the world!"

Even though I can see this beauty in others sometimes I still struggle to see it in myself. Sometimes I catch a glimpse and then it is gone. Maybe that's what we're all here for. To hold a mirror up to each other. If there is anything I could wish to accomplish with my writing it would be that, to hold a mirror up to each of you that reflected back to you your greatness.

Today I was laying in bed and feeling like shit. I was thinking of all the things in my life that are weighing me down, and they all have to do with my husband's criminal investigation and the vast repercussions it has had on my life.  It has stalled our divorce and interfered with my ability to move on with my life; it has been financially devastating, and has compromised both my health and my safety. My usual way to process and heal and garner support is to write but if I write about this, I fear backlash and so waver between speaking up and remaining quiet.

When I say it was weighing me down I could actually feel it. It felt like all this stuff was a web of dark energy that sat over me.  I hated it. I was sick of it. Today something rose up in me and just said no. I said it out loud: "NO!" I said, "I want to be free," and I felt it. I felt it all the way through to my core. I started crying because when I said it out loud I saw myself, in that mirror, and I knew that I mattered and my life was worth more than this, so much more. It felt powerful, like a rush of energy going through me, so I just kept talking and naming everything that I wanted in my life: love, joy, safety, freedom. It was liberating. In that moment, I felt like I could reach out and touch God. I felt something like a fire rising within me and I smiled and cried at the same time.

And then the doorbell rang.

The sacred and the mundane.

I got up and went downstairs. It was a package from Victoria's Secret. I had ordered a new bra for my trip to Sydney. It is turquoise with an overlay of navy lace and rhinestones. Gorgeous. No one will see it but me (and perhaps Nikki and Mrs. Woog, since they are taking me shopping). But it makes me feel sexy.

A new life, a new bra. It's a simple equation.