Strength and weakness

One of the biggest things I worked on in therapy was cognitive reality. Basically the person I was in my head didn’t match my actions.

I would constantly say, “I’m weak.” And he would respond, “Do you get out of bed every morning? Go to work? Take care of your kids?” I did but I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay in bed, I wanted to pull the covers over my head and drown in my pain. I wanted to start drinking in the morning and forget all my cares by noon. I wanted to give in to the depression that perpetually lurked in the shadows. My therapist would always ask, “But what do you DO?”

The reality was – no matter what I wanted to do – I still got out of bed in the morning. I didn’t just pull the covers over my head, I didn’t start drinking, I kept struggling against the current that threatened to pull me under. The me in my head didn’t match the me in reality.

These days I’m not questioning my strength, I question who I really am. I spent ten years in an unhealthy marriage, the real me got lost. For two years I’ve been looking for her.

Since leaving my ex I have come to depend on my friends. I only have a few friends that survived my marriage. Some friendships I lost I have rekindled. And I have made new friends. Since my divorce I have come back out of my shell.

I love my friends but I live in constant fear that they will discover the “real me”, that I’m not really the person I’m “pretending” to be. Back to that cognitive reality thing, the person I really am is the person who holds her friends hair back while she’s puking. I really am the girl who works hard and gets good grades. I really am the mother who helps her kids with homework and volunteers up at school. It doesn’t matter that sometimes the still small voices in my head tell me I’m a fake, what matters is what I’m really doing.

What I have been doing is working on this post for the last week, I have written and rewritten. edited and deleted. Then this morning I read this post from my friend Melanie. And what I began to ask myself was, where do my still small voices come from. Where does this belief that I am a fake come from? The answer made me cry.

Ex. I loved him but he judged me unlovable and walked away. In reality I know that him leaving was him, not me. In reality I am so much better off without him. But sometimes, in my head I ask myself “why didn’t he love me?” And with that recognition I was forced to face the cognitive reality.

That just because I’m scared on the inside I still get out on the dance floor. I’m not that girl who sits in the corner, I’m the one out on the dance floor. I’m am lovable. I am THAT girl.

forgets sometimes and looks back…

I care about him. As much as he has hurt me, as many times as we have tried walking away from each other, as much as I know he cannot be my future. I still cannot seem to say goodbye.

We were sitting on bar stools, side by side. Circumstances had drawn us together at a smokey little home town bar. Whispering and laughing, we sat with our heads together. And then he kissed me. Those old feelings, as much as I have tried to fight them, are not gone. I stood and walked toward the door, not looking back as he called. I couldn’t, walking away from him was already too hard.

I was lying in bed when I heard the familiar sound of his truck in my driveway just an hour later. I met him at the door but didn’t have the strenth to send him away. It feels right, to have him there, in my home, in my kitchen.

He opened my frig to find a beer that wasn’t his brand. It wasn’t his business whose it was but still he asked. There have been other guys, who have pressed their lips to mine but there hasn’t been another in my bed, in my heart.

He was sorry for the way he treated me, for the things he had done, I deserve much better. I listened to the words I had longed to hear. I didn’t respond, there was no response I could give. “Can we try again? Can we start dating again?” Again I kept silent. It was everything my heart wanted and nothing my head would let me take. ”Bobby…” He knew the answer, knew tonight would be all I could give and he kissed me.

In the morning, when he was gone, I cried. This man that holds my heart does not hold my future. I have come so far, I cannot go back but sometimes I forget and look back, just for a moment.

You’re a good man Charlie Brown

Today I said goodbye to a man I have admired since my youth. Charlie practically built my small towns little league program from the ground up. He served his country in the Army. He was a strong Christian, with a solid faith. He loved his family and he loved his wife.

The service was beautiful. People stood up to tell stories to attest to his character, his daughter in-law spoke of a man who loved.

Then they rolled pictures. And my tears began to roll.

There were pictures of him when he was younger, when he met his wife, when his children were little, when they got married, when his grandchildren were born. Throughout the show what I noticed the most, the genuine smile when he looked at his wife.

That is what strikes me. You can tell me how great his service to his country was, how great his contribution to society was, how much he loved his children and grandchildren. And that is all impressive. But what hits me, what really speaks to me -this man loved his wife.

They were married for 45 years and still he smiled when he looked at her. Their pastor told a story of waiting with Charlie during his wife’s major surgery several months ago. Charlie did not pass the time talking sports – he’s a baseball fanatic – or making small talk, he told the pastor about his wife. He told her stories about them when they were younger, about the kind of mother she was and finally he confessed, “she is my life, I cannot lose her.” He didn’t, instead she lost him, suddenly, with only a few weeks warning. Perhaps God knew it was Charlie who had to leave us first.

As a woman who walked into the service with a hurting heart, I left with hope that out there are men who know how to love. So thank you. You were a good man Charlie Brown.

Note to self

My dear heart-

I know you are hurting. And so for that reason I won’t lecture. I will leave that for another day.

You are a hopeless romantic. You cry at sappy movies. You see the best in people. You trust until it is broken. You give until it is taken for granted. You hope for the best until the worst is realised. You see the glass half full.

And I wouldn’t change that about you. It makes you who you are. It makes you special.

That is the thing I want you to remember most. You are special. You are a catch. You are the mom who volunteers to be the room mom. You are the girl who makes friends with the bank teller. You are the girl who is sitting in the pew on Sunday morning, even if you’re sitting alone. You are the girl who your friends can depend on. You are the girl who hears music in her head and dances in the middle of the grocery store aisle. You are THAT girl.

My dear heart, trust yourself. When there are warning signs – heed them. When you see writing on the wall – read it. When you start to settle – remember where that got you last time.

Because heart, I do not want to see you broken again. I have seen the pain of true heart break. I know what it did to you, to us. I want so much for us. I want to be happy, both of us. I don’t want to be alone forever either but I’m also not willing to settle for anything less than someone who sees us for the special catch we are. I’m grateful we know the truth and can move on.

But for now I will just say I’m sorry you’re hurting my dear heart.

With warm regards,

The brains of this operation

The last kiss

We were alone, sitting on his couch, facing each other, talking. There was a pause in the conversation, the last words hung in the air and I knew he was going to reach for me. I closed my eyes and felt his lips press against mine. Then I felt his arms move around me to hold me. I waited to get swept into the kiss but it never happened.

I opened my eyes and watched him kissing me. His eyes closed. Still I felt nothing. Finally I broke the embrace and pulled back.

What was I doing here? Alone. With him. Months ago a call from him sent my heart aflutter. Weeks ago his kiss had the power to draw me in. Weeks ago I cooked in his kitchen and spent the night in his bed. But then he broke my heart.  

He still had the power to pull me in. Our texting had led me to his doorstep. As we talked what I realised is that I care about this man. I can accept him for who he is. I want him in my life. But as my friend.

  “We both need to move on.”

   ”You don’t mean that.”

   ”Bobby, I think we work best as friends. Don’t you?”

   ”Is that really all you want from me?”

   ”You aren’t ready to be the man I need. And I’m not ready to settle for anything else.”

We kept talking, about friends, about the kids, about life. He even tried again to move towards me but I dodged. It’s a funny thing, to actually see the realisation come across his face that his actions had finally pushed me far enough away he could no longer draw me back.

When I stood to leave, I kissed him quickly and walked away. This time he didn’t say ”I’ll call you” a promise he had no intention of keeping. And I no longer had any expectation, any question of “I wonder if he means it THIS time.” I had broken the pattern. I felt nothing in his kiss and that felt good.

If you only knew

You know when you are having one of those moments that you really, really want to write about on your blog. But you can’t because your stalker ex reads your blog.

Ummm… yes. Having one of those!

On a completely different subject. My post about Keith was less about him and more about me. Things with him are moving slowly and  that is a good thing.

Recognizing the hard truth

I was in my kitchen, wiping down the counters, thinking about Keith. When it hit me, I was bordering on obsessive. And it’s not just about Keith. I do this with every relationship I’m in. I think about him constantly, pick apart our last phone conversation or his last text message. “He called me his ladyfriend. What DOES that meeeeaaaaaannnnn?” Seriously! Elisabeth!

Enough!

That’s it. I started crying, right there in the kitchen. What is wrong with me?

I have a good life. A full life. Kids. Family. Friends. School. Homework. A research project. Full social calendar. Birthday party to plan. A house in desperate need of cleaning. And all I can think about is a boy? AHHHH!!!!

What does this mean? I suppose it’s time to start overthinking this one.

First game, first win

Unless you were hiding under a rock – or ignore sports all together – you know that Tom Brady and the Patriots put together a brilliant comeback Monday night for the win. Since I’m a Pats fan I was pretty excited. What excites me even more? I won week one in my fantasy football league.

This is my 3rd year playing fantasy football. Every year I play in The League of Extra-Ordinary Mules moderated by my friends brother. Both years previously I made the playoffs – mostly by dumb luck! But that hardly matters to me.

To me fantasy football is a symbol of my freedom, my independence. It may seem silly to you but playing fantasy football was one of the first things I did on my own. By myself. Me alone.

When you are a girl who has lived years with no confidence in yourself, when you are so beaten down you actually believe yourself to be worth very little, the simple act of playing fantasty football is intimidating. I actually remember thinking to myself, “you cannot do this, everyone in the league will know how stupid you are, you are exposing yourself.” Instead I fought back my insecurities and signed up.

So this year when I got my annual email invitation about the league I just smiled and accepted. I no longer stress about the others thinking I’m stupid based on how my team does. After all it’s only a game. But more than that, to me it will always be a symbol of stepping out on my own, taking a leap of faith and enjoying this game called life – whether you win or lose the day. Because at the end of the I win no matter what.

My redneck

He listens to bluegrass music, has hunting dogs in his backyard and drives a great big truck with a tool box in the back. And I cannot stop thinking about him.

He came over last week to help with a home improvement project I was working on. My hair in a pony tail and shapeless paint clothes on, we had the best time. We talked and laughed. And I learned that this country boy was a whole lot smarter than I gave him credit for and I actually like bluegrass music (some of it.)

Monday night he called to invite me over for dinner but I had the kids. So on Wednesday while the kids were gone I invited him to dinner. When he arrived I had just put the chicken on the grill. He took over the grill and we talked while dinner was cooking.

Talking to him is so natural and even the silence is comfortable. After dinner we sat in my backyard, looking up at the stars. Eventually he rose to go, saying next time he would cook for me. Then he kissed me. Twice more he moved towards his truck but came back to kiss me. And his kisses. Nearly knock me on my butt.

There is no pressure. He’s not pushing for more than I’m willing to give. My redneck is also a gentleman. And that is so refreshing.

Best Days of Your Life

Have you heard this song by Kellie Pickler? You really should listen!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xd7l7_D0y-k

Sorry I couldn’t get it to embed.

Tonight as I was putting sponge curlers in my daughters hair this song was playing. She says, “mom, I don’t understand this song.”

I explained, “it’s a girl telling a boy who has left her – your days with me were the best days of your life – but you left me, so the best days of your life are over.”

She says, “oh like the best days of Daddy’s life were with you but now they are over?”

Oh internet, out of the mouthes of babes!