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I sometimes feel as if I am divided into myriad parts and pieces, like a puzzle once built and then torn apart. I remember my Mother used to have one particular puzzle where the pieces were cut into many odd shapes, and once it was assembled, it was a fantastical garden. That puzzle reminds me of myself.
There’s a piece of me that’s desired by one person, another piece that’s needed for my work, yet another that’s needed as a mother, and another that’s needed as a friend.. and on it goes. But somehow, I am missing someone who wants all of me. I feel like I am only wanted in bits and pieces. It’s an interesting feeling, and not necessarily pleasant. I wonder if I will ever have that. I really don’t know. Perhaps it is only up to me to want all of me.
Tonight, I read through some pages written by a lover, pages he sent to me, not necessarily wrote to me, or about me, but about himself. I was mentioned in them, as I was such a large part of his life and world and heart – or so it seemed at the time. I miss that feeling of being such a large part of someone’s love, even if I was fooling myself at the time about our future.
It just makes me feel that much more fragmented on this cool spring night.
The Rec Center where I work out (almost daily now, like a very good dog!) had a little handwritten sign up the other day:
Widow’s Potluck
with a little arrow pointing down a dingy hallway.
It got me to thinking, which, as we know, can be dangerous.
If I were married and my husband died, I would not want to be identified as a widow. What a sad status. Sad because you are identifying yourself by what you have lost. Sad because it places you in an exclusive club that you never wanted to join.
And that got me to thinking even more. Almost every form you have to fill out asks you for your “status”, with “status” being defined as:
— Married
— Single
— Divorced
— Widowed
Now why should anybody care? Is it really anybody’s business? Why should we clump ourselves into these categories? It’s not as if this question provides any insight into your emergency contact information or mental state. Don’t they realize that there’s a judgement involved in each of these categories? The boxes might as well read:
— I have not been successful in finding a mate.
— I’m better than you because I did find a mate.
— I failed at making my marriage work.
— My life is defined by the death of my spouse – hell, I might as well die too.
Honestly, how rude. And doesn’t this leave out those of us who may be in love but do not want to be married? We don’t exactly define ourselves as single. We’re in a committed relationship. We have a life partner (which unfortunately also implies that we’re gay.) We just fall outside the check boxes.
Can’t someone please come up for a word for those of us who are “of a certain age,” dating and totally committed to a man, but not really interested in marriage? I hate using the word “boyfriend”. It makes me feel like a middle-schooler.
Why do we define ourselves with these terms? Isn’t it the same thing as defining ourself by our relationship (or lack thereof) with someone else? Why can’t we just define ourselves as ourselves?
Alternatively, we define ourselves by our jobs. This identifying label makes losing one’s job that much more difficult. Not only have you lost your income, your self-esteem, your routine, and a big chunk of your social network, you’ve lost your identity. When strangers ask you, “What do you do?”, what can you say? “I exist”? That just implies failure or laziness.
I have a British friend who told me that in England, you must know someone fairly well before you ask them what they do for a living. Asking such a question is essentially the same thing as asking how much money they make, and heaven knows we never ask about that – it would be entirely too vulgar. Yep, that’s us, shockingly vulgar Americans. Just think about the John Goodman movie “King Ralph”. Gotta love the scene where he’s wearing the crown in the bathtub.
I suppose this was a mini-rant. It’s not a battle I’m willing to spill blood for, but it is an interesting set of thoughts, at least to me. Now it’s back to the drawing board for coming up with that word for my relationship – and checking to see if there are any goodies leftover from the Widow’s Potluck.
You know you’ve got them. We all do. C’mon, admit it. Fess up….
What lurks inside you that is just dying to get out sometimes? And that sometimes you find yourself expressing even when you don’t mean to?
We’ve all heard the talk of (and jokes about) your “inner child” All those sayings such as, “My inner child is a bitter old man”, “Excuse me while I change my inner child”, and (a personal favorite) “Pardon my hormones, I’m nurturing my inner child.”
But what else is in there? What else emerges from your subconscious? And how does it express itself?
I’ll go first. Here are my innards (in no particular order):
My inner Mae West
Motto: When I’m good I’m very good, but when I’m bad, I’m better.
Profile: Lusty and buxom, usually dressed in a marbou-feather trimmed silk robe, Mae is shameless and seductive. She’s also now private stock, reserved for my gentleman friend (aka GF) only. But she’s a hell of a lot of fun when she wants to play. Come up and see her sometime, Mr. GF.
My inner Scarlett O’Hara
Motto: Men may flirt with girls like that, but they don’t marry them.
Profile: Exactly what you’d expect – Southern, charming, flirtatious, cat-esque, and essentially guilt-free. Men like her. Women don’t. No one was off-limits unless they said so themselves. Thankfully, Scarlett has retired behind the portiers. I don’t miss her. Between them, Mae West and Scarlett added up to Nobody’s Girl. And Nobody’s Girl has gone. I have fortunately retained the Southern-ness and the charm.
My inner ADHD Sufferer
Motto: They say I have ADHD but they just don’t understand….look, a chicken!
Profile: Talking to myself in the car, babbling about nothing alone in the kitchen, mind flitting from one space to another. Where did I put my phone? It’s impossible to JUST do one thing, and only one thing. Poor ADHDS amuses me and exhausts me at the same time.
My inner Fury
Motto: If you tell me to smile, they will need an autopsy to figure out everything I’ve done to you.
Profile: She’s been known to put bikers in nasty bars in Aurora in their place. But the Fury doesn’t pop out like she used to, and that’s a good thing. I don’t know if I’ve mellowed or if it’s been helpful just being away from the stress of my former marriage. Still, there are those who can attest to her – E-bro, for one. And a few broken windows, bruised hands, and smashed flowerpots, to name a few others. She’s still in there, though, biding her time. And she comes forth when she needs to.
My inner Island Girl
Motto: The lower the latitude, the better the attitude.
Profile: This is the true me, and on the road to full emergence. Perpetually on island time. Breathing slow. Barefoot. Unacceptably tan. With that particular beachwalk sway of the hips that makes me easily recognizable from a distance to those who know me. Comfortable. Warm. Happy. The Island Girl comes out to play any time she can.
My inner Pirate
Motto: Never Surrender!
Profile: Fun, adventurous, slightly dangerous, and willing to do almost anything. The raucous side of Island Girl. She does like her rum.
My inner Beagle
Motto: Untrainable and proud of it.
Profile: If you know beagles, no explanation is needed. They are perfectly happy to take their time, barking at air, and smelling everything along the way. Generally adorable, trying to get them to do what you want is like trying to braid water.
My inner Wolf
Motto: There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls.
Profile: The Wolf connects with nature and animal spirits. He is a powerful soul, and one I am only just becoming re-acquainted with. There was a time in the past when he was younger and strong. As I learn about him now, he is wiser and growing strong again.
My inner Bedbug
Motto: If we were meant to pop out of bed, we’d sleep in toasters.
Profile: I’m not a morning person. Nope, nope, nope. I recall my sister-in-law telling me she felt a frisson of fear when I came downstairs early one day. Guess E-Bro had been telling tales. Nothing better than snuggling into a big, soft, warm bed with squishy-perfect pillocity, and staying there until you’re ready to get up. I could stay in bed for weeks, especially with proper company. And I have given birth to a mini-bedbug in Kelsea.
My inner Cowgirl
Motto: This ain’t my first rodeo.
Profile: Boots, hat, country dancing, whiskey. My boots are 25 years old and perfect, made for my very own feet. One straw hat and one black one (summer and winter). Dancing? Yes, I can two-step with the best of ’em. And whatever whiskey is in the well will do – neat.
My inner Old Lady
Motto: No! Damn you! Get the hell away from me!
Profile: I am always every age. The inner old lady parallels the inner child. She can be a real grump – sulky, pissy, and set in her ways. I am working with her in her present incarnation to be sure that she gets younger and pleasanter as I get older. Mr. GF will thank me for it.
Well, that about does it. Sounds like there’s an awful lot of people in there, doesn’t it?
Now it’s YOUR turn….
Today is a Blue Day. I guess that’s to be expected. I mean, you can’t just get divorced and be fine – can you? Maybe some people can, those people who took marriage cavalierly in the first place. But not me. I really tried. Now, I’m really lonely. I don’t miss the man as much as I miss ….. what? I don’t know, perhaps just the concept of “belonging to” someone. There’s a difference between belonging to someone and being someone’s possession. I felt more like a tool, a possession in my marriage, but I love the idea of belonging with someone. Note, that’s WITH, not TO.
There are some days that I just feel insecure. I have hopes, dreams and am trying to shape goals for myself. But it’s tough. I am so tired, so burnt out on all my work, on all my feelings. I just want some peace, laughter and love. I sound like an old hippie, don’t I? Oh, for the days when I didn’t wear shoes…
Things seem to get out of my control so easily – the house, work, my head in general. I need to cut myself some slack and realize that what has happened in the last week (last month, last year, last four years) is a big deal, and it is normal for it all to consume my rational mind, albeit unconsciously, in a fiery swirl, so that I can’t function with the same efficiency and joy that I have come to know in myself. It’s as if I am a different person.
I suppose I have been reshaped. That’s not a bad thing, necessarily. Perhaps it’s an opportunity to select the qualities I like and discard those that no longer serve me well. Sounds good, but I don’t have the wherewithal to pull it together right now. Right now, I just want to be held, and listen to the waves crash on a beach, and feel the beating of someone’s heart against my cheek. (One happy thing – I have been “keeping company” on occasion with a very, very nice man. While he has his issues, we seem to be good for each other. But the ocean is still missing me.)
Divorce shakes your world, shreds your soul. Even when you’re the one who wanted it, initiated it, or took the actions that led to it. Your sight becomes focused on your losses, and your future seems impossible — impossible to imagine, impossible to achieve. How can you have a future when you feel like you’ve lost everything? How can you start all over again at 47? I’ve lost my perspective on what my past was and what my future can be. It’s just been consumed by the sadness and weariness of my present.
Today, I suppose the full moon is not making things any easier. I had a good cry in the parking lot before going into work. Feeling sorry for myself.
It will just take time. Time to let go, and time to heal, time to adjust, and time to see the reality of the future, not what it looks like in my fears.
That shoulder to sleep on, that someone who, whether right by my side or a million miles apart, I can always feel within my heart (to borrow from Kenny Chesney), feels very important to me now.
First things first – today is Mad Hatter Day. You probably haven’t heard about this holiday, but I love the concept. Read more about it here: http://www.cs.cmu.edu/~ari/madHatter.html. It’s a day for seeing how silly our reality actually is – and best of all, it originated right here in Boulder, Colorado.
Honoring the explorer in all of us, today is also Thor Heyerdahl’s birthday. I remember that E-Bro loved his books when we were young. Kon Tiki’s voyage was successfully recreated in 2006 on a raft christened Tangaroa, and Thor’s grandson was among the crew for that vessel, which I think is very cool.
How and at what age do we define our identity? Do we define it only once in our lives or many times over? I’m sure it differs for different people. Many of us fall into the trap of identifying ourselves by what we do – by what our work is. Losing that identity upon retirement may be a strong contributing factor in the phenomenon of people failing and dying soon after retirement. I can’t find any statistics to support this on a quick search, but anecdotally, we all know it happens. People whose identities are tied up in their work seem to lose purpose once they retire, and just fade away.
The same can be said of women who only view themselves as mothers. Perhaps I draw fire from some for doing a lot of things that focus on me, and not on Kelsea, but I am NOT just her mother. I am a person in my own right, with goals, dreams and an identity that I am trying to define in this stage of my life, an identity that is independent of anyone else. Being a mother, a worker, a writer, a photographer, all play into who I am as a whole, but I am not limited to one of those roles. It’s as if I am a self-contained melting pot. What an interesting concept. And to Kelsea’s benefit, it probably keeps me from smothering her and sets a good example for independence. (Maybe too good an example – we’ll see how the teenage years go.)
While you never stop being a mother, many women whose identities are completely enmeshed in maternal duties must experience a small death as their children become independent, and find themselves at a loss as to who they are and what they are supposed to do, which must put a strain on both the individual and the marriage (if it still exists).
So, with that said, does an identity need an anchor? Or does that once again lock you into some prescribed, pre-defined role? Some people find comfort in an identity based on their religion. Others base their identity on their political beliefs or where they come from. Is the anchoring identity only useful as a reference point for others, or is it also necessary as a reference point for oneself?
I suppose a parallel question would be, “If I have no name, what do I say when someone asks me who I am?”
Thought fodder for the day…
My daughter, whom many of you are somewhat familiar with through these writings, is 12. She’s wonderful. I wouldn’t change a thing. Everyone says “Oh, just wait! She’s almost at those teenage years where she’ll do an about face and you won’t recognize her.” I’ve always figured that would happen. I remember how obnoxious I was at 13, 14, 15, and I can’t expect any less from her. It’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop, and I’m sure my Mother will be smiling down on me when it happens. Kelsea and I talk about it; I figure it’s better that we keep it out in the open as long as we can.
I”m too old to have any more kids, even if I wanted them, which I don’t, which is a relief all around. But last night, I was out to dinner and watching parents with kids, multiple kids of various ages, and I started wondering about why people have kids. I thought I knew why I had one. I wanted one. There wasn’t much rational thought behind it at the time (or so it seemed). Just a biological instinct that had lain dormant for years – I had NEVER wanted children – and then kicked in one night in New York City. I was on a business trip and had just gotten in from a late night at the bar next door to my hotel. I looked in the bathroom mirror and realized I needed to make some big changes in my life. My options, in my head at the time, were to quit my job or have a baby. I picked door number two, went home, and told Pat. He had never wanted kids either, but he was agreeable enough to the idea. I think he didn’t really believe that we’d be able to conceive. But, first crack out of the box, we conceived Kelsea. That period in our marriage was, we agreed during marriage counseling, one of the best – when I was pregnant. We got along well, he was considerate and solicitous, and we were working on something together as partners. With many years distance on that decision, I must accept that some of my motivation was to improve my marriage, which I knew even then was very rocky, although I didn’t admit it outright. And it did improve my marriage for a while. Even though we disagreed on some parenting styles and issues, we did agree that we would do our best for her, as a couple and individually. Even though we are now divorcing, we are still both determined to continue to do our best for her.
But why do other people have kids? And why more than one? I am sure there are many kids who were conceived to improve a marriage. Why else? To distract the couple from their own incompatibility? Because they were bored with each other? Because they wanted little “mini-me”s running around? As an expression of their need to perpetuate their genes, their lineage? Because, as a couple, they did not feel like a true family – or as an individual, a truly complete person? Because they were careless (or the birth control failed) and they didn’t believe in abortion? I wonder how many reasons there are – and I wonder how honest people can be about the reason they chose to have children?
And why have more than one? I have been criticized for having an only child, but she hasn’t seemed to suffer from it. Yes, for some years, she wanted a brother or sister, but that wasn’t her decision. It seems as if people have more than one so the first won’t be alone. For me, it was a “been there, done that” thing – no need to do it again. And after our experience of getting a second dog that wasn’t as magnificently perfect as the first, we figured there was no reason to push our luck, since we had drawn a good kid in the first go-round.
The reasons really doesn’t matter. It’s just something I was thinking about. Most people who have kids are happy to have them and wouldn’t give them back (most of the time) if they could. But when you watch couples with kids, they so seldom seem to interact with each other. It’s all about the child. Even when they are not with the child, the conversation is about the child. Is there nothing left of the two individuals, or the couple, that these people were? What about when the children have grown up? What happens then? Statistics show that even when the overall divorce rate was dropping, the divorce rate among couples who had been married 30 years or more (the typical empty-nesters) increased by 16%. It seems many couples are unprepared for the reality of being a couple again, and having only one another to focus on once the kids are gone. They may realize that they have nothing in common. They may no longer even like each other that much.
It’s sad. It points to the wisdom that we each need to maintain our own identity and individuality at every phase of our lives, whether we have no children or nine children. No person can “belong” to another. If you depend on your children for your identity, you are destined to find yourself without an identity when those children succeed at doing what you have raised them to do – find their own identities.
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