Interesting...

Not trying to be serious or super-reflective on this blog, overall...but it's going to come out that way right now. I'll be goofy in a moment, promise. :)


Had an interesting evening, last. Masoud wanted to meet up at Fred Meyer, "for groceries". Now, this is code for seeing Emma. It's been a darn rough month financially and another one coming up, so I agreed to drop other plans to meet off the cuff like that. It's been awhile since he and Emma have visited, he's been out of the country for several weeks and hadn't seen her for a few prior to that(really, you would think that he lived terribly far away instead of a mere 1/2 hour), and she wasn't particularly pleased about having to see him. I know that she may not realize it now, but someday she will be glad of a relationship with him that is more positive than not. At least, I sure do hope that she will be. That's why I try very hard to not talk negatively about him or what has happened, just matter-of-factly when anything comes up that can't be avoided.


Emma and I are always there on time, but always much earlier than he is, so we get started right away, meandering around, planning and talking about meals, school snacks, etc. When her father gets to the store, I send them off on their own and make myself disappear. The visit isn't about me, and I don't want to be the one that they both hang on to because it seems easier than dealing with each other.


Here's the thing that I want to talk to somebody about...and since there isn't anybody, it becomes this blogspot.


I've noticed that the past few times that we've met up(over the course of the past several months), I feel nothing. Really.


After the seperation, when we first moved out(at his request), it was the most painful thing in the world. I couldn't call him any of the endearments or nicknames that had been accumulated over the decades, I couldn't touch his arm or stand nearby as we had always done. I just didn't know what to do or how to "be". Afterward, I'd be a shaking, shivering mess and cry for the rest of the night from the overflow of emotion. It just wasn't worth the toll, for me alone, but Emma needed that contact with him and I could be a big girl and suck it up...somehow.


During this time I kept up with my therapy, working very hard at overcoming the pain and growing through it. There wasn't any avoiding it anymore and I'd given up that foolish thought, so it was clear that moving through the situation was the only way to go. Hopefully, I'd drop the negative emotions and pain along the path so that when I came out of the darkness they would no longer be my companions and I would find that I had opened up doors to accept new and positive thoughts and feelings. I'd been meeting with counselors over the years to deal with the issues that had always been alive during our marriage, but I needed something different, something that could help me to identify root issues and rid myself of them. The therapist that I found was working with an approach called T3 magnetic therapy, and it involved a certain awareness and open spirit in order to be effective. Very interesting, something to go into more depth here about another time. But to nutshell it, core issues are uncovered and then removed through a particular approach, new belief systems are found and sort of implanted through the use of very powerful magnets. There is a very definite physical and spiritual reaction, it takes a few days for the system to re-balance and re-set. During this time sleep patterns are disrupted, thought processes are a bit more scattered, or more highly focused. It depends on the the situation. I know that it sounds rather hocus-pocus, hoodoo voodoo, but it isn't. Definitely not for the person who isn't wholly invested in the outcome, however,  as it was a tough haul emotionally over the time that we took. But in the end, the results were just what I had hoped for. I felt, each time, a complete release from the negative thought patterns that had plagued me for my life, and to this day cannot recall them to me. They are gone.


How did this help me heal from the divorce? Well, I knew all along that the marriage was not a good one. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't be the person that he needed for me to be. Nothing was enough, ever. This played into patterns from my youth and I knew no other way for life to be. I can say this now without anger or blame. He did not love me, nor did he like me. There was a certain depth of responsibility that he felt toward me, after so many years, but the other had not ever existed for him. The truth was that our marriage was, to him, a business arrangement. It was to help bring his family here, and once that had been accomplished in full, the exit began. I sensed it for several years before but put it away, not wanting to deal with the issues in myself.


So now I had released old core beliefs that were flawed and incorrect and held positive and more correct ones in myself. And I found that the pain was almost gone...just like that.


Do I miss my old life? Yes. I miss the home on Camano. I miss the gardens, the space, the simplicity of growing our food, raising the children, the feeling of purpose...I miss the luxury of spending a summer's day in the gardens, planning and cooking with the foods that I harvested, washing the clothing and putting it out on the line to dry in the sun, exploring and walking with the girls, caring for the animals. I miss it quite desperately at times. It was a lovely time and I can at least say that I appreciated it at the time as much.


But...Do I miss him?


No.


I miss what I had hoped we could be, but never were, so is that missing, really? I don't think so.


We weren't close, ever. I wanted to share thoughts, feelings, dreams, goals, interests, joys and sadnesses as they came along. We didn't.


After we found out that Emma was coming along, we shared nothing else as well. And that was for many, many years before our marriage ended legally.


So where is all of this going?


This is the interesting thing to me...after all those years of living together, when I see him now I feel nothing. Nothing. I feel more when I look at a stranger and wonder about their life than I do when I see this man. Just, nothing. Not anger. Not loss. Not sadness. Perhaps a hint of pity, because I know in time he will miss his children and what he does now will pave the way for any possibilities in the future...and I see him blowing that away.


I can honestly say that, except for how he went about it, I am really glad that this has happened. I am me and I like me, for the most part. I know that I am a good person and I know that I am trying to do my best. I am not complacent by any means. Just not beaten down anymore by the thought that I am of no worth. My friends, my hopes and dreams, interests and hobbies are no longer ridiculed and I am free to love them and grow through them, to use them to do good things.


Some people expect for me to be quite sour on men or marriage, given the traumatic way that all of this occurred. It WAS brutal, yes. It didn't need to be, but it was. I still can't talk about it all, people only know small pieces and their shock is enough to just stop me. Nothing else needs to be said at this point, and if it ever comes up that anyone needs to know it all then that will be a different situation. BUT, I'm not sour on men. NOT AT ALL. And I'm not against marriage, AT ALL. And I'm not gay, for crying out loud. I like men quite a bit, thank you very much! I actually think that they are pretty wonderful, in fact. :)


So, the real upshot here? T3 is fantastic, and so is a pantry full of groceries!!! :)
Thanks for "listening". Helps to get it out.

Just finished working Camelot

I am working as costume manager with Lyric Light Opera again! Say YAY (yay). Thanks. I'm really grateful to be able to be back with them, to have theatre be a part of me once more. Didn't know that anything had changed? That's understandable. It's been awhile.


2 years ago, when my marriage was falling to ruin around me, I began desperately trying to "fix" it, any way that I could. I removed from my life anything and everything that was ever mentioned as an irritation in an effort to be whoever it was that he wanted me to be. Funny thing, though, is that I had spent over 2 decades doing the same thing and it hadn't helped, but I couldn't see it at the time. I was in the middle of costuming The Sound Of Music for LLO when it was spoken of as an issue and I decided that I needed to pull it out of my life. Just as I was doing that, however, I discovered just how far things had deteriorated and there was no hope of salvaging anything. I pulled out of the show anyway, knowing that I would be of no good to anybody, and I had to begin survival strategizing.


During that time I dumped most of my friends, withdrew almost completely from everything and, unfortunately and unintentionally, offended everyone that I knew. They wanted to talk and to understand what was happening, to give me love and support, but I couldn't say a word to anyone, and with my obliterated heart I couldn't feel anything other than the searing pain that ruled my life. I thank God for the girls, they needed me and that got me moving everyday.


Fast forward to today...I've spent alot of time in the past year-plus, reconnecting, apologizing, being very transparent and open about everything. I have begged forgiveness for hurts that I caused that I never meant to do, and in most cases all is well. The hardest of all was to go to Debbie and Brenda, after all that we had been through, and explain what had happened. I knew that they would have understood at the time, had I been able to verbalize anything. But I couldn't, and I hope that someday I will forget the look on Brenda's face when I quit on her during that show. Being the beautiful women that they are, with their gracious hearts, they allowed me to return and in doing so have given me such a gift of life that I can never repay them.


Theatre, for me, is a necessary part of life now. I have beautiful, happy memories(during an unhappy time) of being a child in North Carolina, allowed to run freely through an old theatre house while my mom did costuming for the local company. It must have been their tech weeks when these fabulous adventures occurred, because there were always alot of starts and stops and people moving lights around and hustle/bustle going on. I remember watching my mother, through an open doorway, on her knees with pins in her mouth, fixing the hem on a dress. I also remember her marking the back of a suit jacket, and I was shocked. SHOCKED! I was most definitely NOT allowed to mark on my OWN clothes, what was she doing, to somebody ELSE'S clothes???


I wasn't allowed to talk to her during these times(good thing, given that whole suit situation, which she explained later after discovering why I was pouting and giving her the silent treatment), but I could go anywhere in the building that didn't have a locked door. I watched a record being made once. Actually made. Wax, turntable, grooves, sound...it was so cool! I used to sit in as many seats as I could, to see which was the best one. I played critic, scribbling squiggly lines on paper (cursive writing, you know), chewing on the eraser, nodding my head sagely or tsking every now and again. I remember the director asking me once, as I sat in the very back of the house, if I could hear a particular line. I also remember a young man singing "Mr. Bojangles" and kicking his heels together, so high in the air that it looked like he was flying!


But what I remember with the greatest clarity, is how the theatre smelled and how the sound was so different there, held and contained...a song freely sung, yet captured in it's real state. Not like a recording, which is only a piece of itself. It's hard to put into words.


During dress rehearsal, I wasn't allowed to run the house. I was plopped in the center seat of the front row, with snacks, my blankie, my pillow and my stuffed pony (uniquely named Horsie...I still have him). Warm in my jammies, I would put my head on my pillow, which was always on the left armrest, pull my blankie around me, Horsie under my chin, and settle in, a captive audience. Sometimes the cast would wave or wink at me from the stage. There was a dreamlike, other worldly, feeling to those nights. I remember that I felt enclosed inside the hold of the house, smelling the light mustiness of the seats and curtains, the wood, the paint from the sets. I remember the shuffle and stomp of the dancers across the stage and the solid way that everything sounded. There was nothing light or wispy, it was secure. And warm. And safe.


I would wake up briefly as I was being carried to the car, usually by one of the young men in the cast. And then I would need to wait until the next show to be back there.


And that's what hits me, all at once, everytime I walk into an empty house during tech week. That's why I love tech week, known as Hell Week to most. As soon as I can, I walk to center stage and just stand there, alone, saying hello to my memories and welcoming them back like the precious friends that they are, pieces of my heart returning to home, after weeks of preparing for them during planning and rehearsals. I feel my mother there and I understand her. Even though the whole experience of the theatre was very short in comparison to the rest of my life, it was powerful.


My voice isn't reliable enough since my throat was damaged by a severe case of whooping cough a few years ago to allow me to perform(ensemble only, of course), but I give my gift through serving those who can. With each one of them, a part of me enters the stage and participates in the story. I stress on opening night, attacked by nerves so much so that I am completely sick to my stomach. I dance with them offstage, my heart soaring and singing with them so loudly I wonder that no one can hear it. I want to explode with happiness when they are pleased with their performances and I want to hold them when they are upset. I doubt that they ever know, or could ever guess, how deeply I care for them, how much it matters to me. I am certain that the ones who never leave my heart are unaware. I feel frozen and unable to share what I feel...so I try to show it in ways that are likely never recognized. But I know and with that I take satisfaction.


How could I have shoved this from my life? How far down into despair had I fallen to think that it would help to destroy myself? I was in hell, yes. I rehomed animals, I left my gardens, I gave away all of my possessions except what I needed to function each day. I stopped writing, I stopped dancing, gardening, star gazing and beach walking. I denied myself of everything that brought me happiness before I realized what I was doing.


But coming out of that darkness, back into the light of living, back into the arms of my life, is a sweetness that I would not have known without that journey. I have faced my greatest fears, walked down the path that I didn't choose, and what gifts have I been given? As far as theatre is concerned, never before did the house smell so much of me in all of my memories, never before had the songs been sung so sweetly...never before did I not worry about the jabbed fingers or the lost sleep. Never did the shed tears at success bring such a cleansing joy, even when spilled in private, away from eyes that couldn't know how right it all was. And a story such as Camelot...what could have been more perfect? It was a gift to me, the final closure on a sad book and the affirmation that this was part of a new beginning for me.


I have been finding home again, the home in myself that brings me peace and happiness. In nature, which will surprise nobody who knows me, in simple little things like frogs, tiny flowers, the laughter of those that I care for. In music, in friends, in laughter, in the subtle sharing of selves, in hard work and in the quiet times in between.


And I have found... But that is another post, for another time.