Divorced Scaredy Cat
I stood with sinking legs, at the threshold of my ex’s new house. Inside was silent and cave-dark against the light from the doorway. His large figure, daunting, challenging, between me and the sun.
I wanted a hoodie. I needed a bathroom. I desperately wanted to compliment him. My kids, 6 and 7, were still inside, looking for guidance. My tongue was stuck; lead feet ensued.
Geeeeeze, people, stop getting ahead of yourselves! This is not a story about violence. But when my ex gets angry, it’s like his eyes sink into his head and turn all black – like the black-oil people who get infected with the alien virus in X-Files. Get what I’m sayin?
Pre-divorce, my immediate response to his anger was either:
- Act like my dog: roll over and show my belly. This usually entails apologies for things that aren’t mine, all work shirts ironed, and chocolate chip cookies, or
- Distract: Compliment, offer a rum and Coke, or show my new organization system for the kids’ large instrument collection. (also known as slowly getting rid of the instruments without the kids realizing. I mean, what twisted mind would give a 2 and 3-year-old a drum, a miniature piano, AND a recorder? Aren’t toddlers loud enough on their own? Who’s kind of sick joke is this?)
It’s easi-er to belly flop through marriage…
Post-Divorce, I sadly came to the realization neither flopping or distraction worked. The kids’ needs and our values were, well, divergent. I needed a way to stay and listen. And stay and speak. I found a local co-parenting class. 3 takeaways:
First, communication post-divorce is based on its quality during the marriage. While the 11 yrs of marriage would be in my favor, let’s just say this: I’m screwed. Like, I almost quit going. BUT there were free m&m’s and…
Next, I learned to be assertive. (This means no more flopping. And I can no longer call flopping a superpower. More like kryptonite.) Last, talking with my ex can be like panning for gold. Here’s an example:
- I get a new email from my ex. I’m standing next to the river with my pan.
- I get nervous. (This means at least 2 bathroom breaks with possibly some plucking of eyebrows.) Same, but in a mountain setting with a trowel and less plucking.
- I avoid opening the email for a week. The garbage disposal has never looked better! I run away and pretend I don’t need the gold. I whittle myself a new butter churn!
- I realize the email has info I need. I invite my girlfriend over for moral support. I realize I need gold to buy food. I get a fellow cowpoke to throw me back in the river.
- Repeat step 2.
- Girlfriend opens the email and pre-reads it for me. Summarizes it. I take my first breath in a week. My fellow cowpoke assures me that the rocks in the river are not piranas. I drink some fresh mountain water.
- I read the email, skim over the items that are not about the kids, and take notes on the rest. The golden nuggets of information are finally moved from email to notebook. Eureka! I pan for gold and find some. Eureka!
- 3 days later, I respond to the nuggets. I take the gold and buy food.
- I finally sleep. The kids and I eat our mountain meal of fish, cornbread, n beans.
Back in the Cave
He laid into me. My legs shook. I forced myself to look at the black-oil eyes. I took a deep breath. I am in the river, and I am looking for gold nuggets.
EX: Hello? When are we going to decide this? Why can’t you just answer?
ME: (Breathing) We will continue this when we are calmer. Another time.
I grabbed the kids and led them out of the door.
EX (sarcastically): So, never then?
ME (over my shoulder): By the end of the week.
In the car
DAMN, that sucked. Well, I stood there for at least 2 minutes. No belly-flopping. I said something. I have 4 days to get my pan back out for the river. And maybe my fellow cowpoke won’t need to throw me in!
Poem: But I love my hoodie
Every day you get a choice. You can hoodie and hide, or use your voice. You say that your voice is too weak to be heard? Let's listen instead, you mumble and groan. Too late in the game; let's just go home. Girl, that's your shame Duct taping your mouth. Shame says you're the only one who gets the time out. Enough is. enough. Your words, YOU, matter. Time to baby-step your heart up her ladder.
The SoulJourner Question
PROMPT: Tell about a time you bravely said something. Or tell about a time when you were scared. What did you do? How did you respond?
Did you feel like it took as much energy as a spaceship exiting the atmosphere? Yea, me too. It takes a lot of energy the first few times.
UPDATE: After 10 years of divorce, I am happy to say I read emails from my ex THE SAME HOUR that I get them.
Want another story? Try this one on for size that ALSO has m&ms!
