Ambivalence, Part 2

Today I am feeling ambivalent.   Part of me wishes to never see Jack again.  The other part had a panic attack I woke up and he wasn't home.  He was at the hardware store buying plumbing supplies to install our new dishwasher.

Independence Day

Back in 1993, I broke up with Jack after having dated him for several years.  He was a resident and working untold hours.  I was tired of having him gone one night, exhausted the next, calm the following and then panicked again about the upcoming night of call.  His general unavailability coupled with my frustraiton with his general lack of communication was not a good mix, so I broke it off.  While I loved him, being attached to him was difficult.  I was lonely.  We broke up for a year before I groveled back on my belly, begging him to have me back.  "Anywhere you go let me go to," was my line, borrowed from Phantom of the Opera.  We were engaged within weeks.

During the break-up, I began to exert my independence in areas I never had before.  Jack was a self-taught bike mechanic, in addition to begin a doctor.  He got his first job at Evanston Schwinn back when we were in college.  Before I met Jack, I had to take my bike to a shop for a repair when I was a freshman. That was the last time my bike was ever repaired in a shop.  Jack took care of all of my bike maintenance after we met.

Jack was an avid cyclist who had built his own bike from scratch, which appealed to me when I was nineteen.  I admired his bike before I ever met him, as I was friends with John's roommate and had been in their room for parties when Jack wasn't there.  Biking was one of my favorite pastimes growing up.  When I was in elementary school, I'd ride around my subdivision in suburban Chicago.  During the school year, I'd ride after school every day for about an hour, covering the same ground again and again.  In the summer, I'd ride the morning before the cars were out and the air was still clean.  I kept riding every day after school through high school.  I'd ride fast up and down hills.  My thighs were solid.

During the year of our breakup, I was itching for a new bike.  Instead of calling Jack to ask advice, I took my tax refund to Cycle Smithy on Clark Street in Chicago and bought a purple Cannondale mountain bike.  What did I love best about that bike?  It was light weight so I could carry it up and down stairs taking it to and from my apartment's basement?  Its sturdiness riding up and over curbs and potholes in the city?  Both were true, but I loved it for the color.  It was a wicked awesome dark purple with tiny metallic flecks.  It was the only bike I test drove.  I rode it around the neighborhood and came back and wrote them a check.  I decided all by myself.  I still have it.  It was my main bike for years.

That summer, the bike needed some tweaking.  I had ridden it a little bit in the spring, but in the summer I was riding more.   I packed up a small collection of bike tools, and went to the park.  I adjusted the seat, the pedals and the handle bars.  I made some adjustments to the shifting and brakes.  I felt fearless and strong fixing my own bike after having someone else do it for so long.  It was my Independence Day.

This past week, I discovered that Jack's duplicity was deeper and broader than I thought.  I am frightened and scared.  Before the recent discovery, I has thought that we could fix things with hard work and compassion.  Before the recent discovery, I had asked him to write me a letter of why we should stay together.  He did.  Six and a half pages handwritten.  I was beginning to be swayed, and thought he was serious.

Now I am not so sure.  My pain and suffering has been unbearable.  I am grieving the loss of something that I thought I had, but really didn't.  I am reminded of my friend Michelle's quote, "You can't really lose something you never held in the first place."  I think of myself and that summer, fixing my bike in the park, independent.

Ambivalence

ambivalence |amˈbivələns|nounthe state of having mixed feelings or contradictory ideas about something or someone: the law's ambivalence about the importance of a victim's identity |government ambivalence toward the arts.

I used to think that ambivalence meant that you felt kind of neutral or beige, like the french word for so-so: comme ci, come ca.

Now I understand that one can both love and abhor the same person at the same time.

Should I Stay or Should I Go?

Note:  This is an old post that I had written in February and never posted.  Thought I'd share now.  I didn't think then that I'd be revisiting this question so soon and in such an immediate fashion.  

My husband and I were at a New Year's Eve party this year at our neighbor's house.  I told two of the guys there the story of how I got a $25 iTunes gift card for Christmas a few years ago.  I was pissed.  Now I love iTunes.  I download music all of the time.  I hear a song on the radio I like, and with few clicks and $1.29, it is mine.  My husband makes a decent amount of money and we've known each other for a long time.  I am not high maintenance and I don't need fancy jewelry (see the post "Pearls"), but for crying out loud -- he got me a Christmas present the day before in the checkout line at the grocery store.  It required as much thought as buying a box of Kleenex.  I spent the whole f--ing month of December running around town buying gifts for him and the family, writing Christmas cards, baking, etc.  I cried for two days after I got the gift card.

The following Christmas, we went to Maui.  The trip was Jack's idea and he planned the whole thing.  "Now no one can complain they aren't having a good Christmas because we are in Maui," he reminded us after an awesome day of walking the black sand beach and settling in for a marathon session of Monopoly after dark.

At this New Year's Eve party, I also told the two guys a story from 1992 about how Jack (my then boyfriend) got drunk, got in a fight, and then threw up in my kitchen sink.  Jack and I had gone out for pizza with his friend Chris.  They were having a boys night out, and I decided to call it a night and go home.  Which was fine with me.  I like Chris.  He is a good guy.  I knew Chris before I knew Jack, and I was happy to let them hang out.

I was at home in my apartment in Lincoln Park reading a book.  We lived in a yuppie part of town, filled with recent college grads working in the Loop or going to graduate school.  It is a pretty quiet and safe part of town.  Imagine my surprise when I heard out the window.

"Fuck you, asshole."

"No, fuck you."

Wait, one those voices is Jack's, I thought.  He was a medical student, and swearing like a sailor.  I open the door the apartment, and I heard some ruckus.  Chris comes up the stairs with a bloody nose.  Another drunk guy was trying to get back into a party upstairs, and Jack wouldn't let in him.  Fists flew, and Chris was the victim.  Jack's face was drained of all color.  He said he was getting a drink of water, and walked to the bathroom.  I said he could get a glass of water in the kitchen.  He came back to the kitchen, and then vomited in the sink.

The next day, I said to myself, "I am done.  I don't need this in my life."  I took the El up to Evanston to get my haircut.  At the time, I was working at consulting firm where we were doing market research on a new cell phone.  I had a phone to test as part of the study, so I called my friend Kelli to see if she was available to dinner that night.  She wasn't home, so I got on the train and headed back into town.

As I was walking to the train, I got a phone call.  It was Jack.  He had scored two tickets to the Bulls game for that night and asked if I wanted to go.  He was working part time at a running shoe store and the owner had season tickets in row 12, center court, right behind Michael Jordan's father's seats.

I said yes.  And things were fine.

This was not some "I am going to be a total doofus and bring my angry girlfriend to a lame sporting event to make amends."  The Bulls were the hottest thing in town.  These tickets were a huge score.  Jack later said when the boss gave them up for grabs, he thought, I really really need these tickets.

Above and over the top seems to win me over, although I'd prefer not to get an iTunes gift card for Christmas or to watch my then drunken boyfriend get in a fight and puke in my sink.

Fast forward to the New Year's Eve party, 2013/14.  There was a new neighbor there, and he listened to both stories.  At the end, he said, "In one story, you said you were really pissed, and in the other you said 'I don't need this.'  As a guy, I'd like to understand the difference between the two.  I can understand pissed off, but at what point does a woman say, 'I don't need this'?"

Note again from today: I didn't finish the story, which is probably why I didn't post it.  When I wrote this back in the winter, my thoughts for an answer were simple:  Now we have two kids and a mortgage.  It is much harder to leave.  But now that I have been and am going through a much harder test, saving a marriage just for the kids and mortgage doesn't seem reasonable when you sincerely question your spouse's commitment to the marriage.  "Should I stay or should I go?" becomes much more complicated.  Yes, kids and house are two big factors.  Economic disparities are another.  Back in the 1990's, I was his rich girlfriend and later rich wife.  I really wasn't rich, but relatively so.  I had a reasonable income and had almost no debt except for a very affordable and manageable student loan payment, while he had a small income and oppressive student loans.  We had no kids and other liabilities, so I could easily choose independence.  Aside from not having a steady companion, the day-to-day part of my life wouldn't change.  Divorce at this stage would be an altogether different animal.

So, at what point do I stay or go?  What are the decision points?  A week or two ago, Jack asked me what I wanted.  "I want to love someone and be loved in return."  He was stunned and shocked by the simplicity of my request.  Chris, the same Chris who went out drinking with Jack in 1992, gave me some advice in recent days.  I told him the status quo was intolerable.  How would I know when to call it quits?  His reply: "Will he change?  If he can't, you know your answer."

Things I Wish for that Cannot Be, and What I have Instead

Dear Laurie,*

Here are some thoughts based on the past few days.  Please take care of yourself.

Love,

me

What I wish:  I wish I was born a man so I would not have the responsibility of raising children.  I wish I was a man because men rule the world and women ask permission.  

Do I have the power to change this:  No.

What I have instead:  I am a woman.  I have a womb and I have carried children.  I have a tribe of wonderful women friends.  Men aren't so lucky.

What I wish:  I wish Ada hadn’t died.  I had beautiful baby girl who died and robbed my innocence.

Do I have the power to change this:  No.

What I have instead:  I have two wonderful children who are smart and passionate and challenging and stubborn and alive.  

What I wish:  I wish my brother was sane and did not have schizophrenia.

Do I have the power to change this:  No.

What I have instead:  A great sense of empathy for all people, including myself.  I used to be the golden girl: smart and fun.  Then tragedy after tragedy came.  I have dear and loyal friends.  Bad things happen, no matter how hard we try to be good.  A loyal and supportive spouse and friends  helped me through difficult times.

What I wish:  I wish I had a husband who put his family before his job.

Do I have the power to change this:  I do not have the power to change Jack.  I do have the power to make a decision and take control over my life, either with or without him.  I can determine what I need, tell him, and see if he is willing and capable of change.

What I have instead:  A husband who has made his job and work a priority over his family for the past few years.  I have been impacted by his workaholism, as I have single handedly taken care of the kid while he works.  I need to move forward on my own life while I am waiting for him to pull his head out of his tuckus.

* Laurie is my childhood nickname.  Jack, my parents, high school friends, and a few college friends call me Laurie.  My given name is Lauren, and I started using it in my sophomore year of college.  

A Note from a Friend: Disaggregate and Blaze Your Own Trail!

My friend Jane wrote me a note last week.  (Jane of "The M-Word" post.)  These themes have been kicking around in the back of my mind.  

Lauren:

I say disaggregate (what we always tell the school district!).  It is so daunting to address the John-as husband-as workaholic-marriage-self confidence-job marketability-mid life questions about purpose as a single monolithic challenge!  It always makes sense when people say break down a problem into smaller pieces.

Recently, nearly everything is focusing like a laser beam on John (his workaholic tendencies, his choices, his emotional availability, etc.) and what impact his behavior and choices have on you, your marriage and your family.  This is a central relationship and person in your life, so of course it--and he--deserves a significant amount of your attention, but perhaps only a portion!

There are plenty of other pieces to this puzzle that have more to do you with you and just you than they do with the people with whom you live, and I think that part of this deserves as much--and, really, more--attention.  It seems like you are finding yourself in a somewhat unexpected place: you are a stay-at-home mom and you aren’t sure if the dividends have been what you anticipated or wanted or thought you agreed to.  You have been an extraordinary volunteer, but again, it isn’t clear if that is the right fit for you going forward--does it produce the outcomes you want?  In both cases, maybe this is a good time to take a new look at what is right for you.  What do you want?

There are a number of potential outcomes.  You could, for example, decide that you want to be the primary care provider at home and you want to stay out of the work force until the kids are in college.  If you made that choice now, you would be doing so with a clear understanding of what the “returns” are.  You might have new demands of the people involved if you were to make a conscious choice to do this.  My primary point is that the choosing would be in your power, and you would have some influence over the terms.  And, knowing what you know now, you might negotiate a little differently!

Similarly, you might choose to go back to the paid work force.  That might become a priority focus of yours.  It would involve different trade offs.  You would derive some of your “returns” from different sources (co-workers, bosses, etc.) and in different forms ($$$, different types of satisfaction re: work products, etc.).

I hope you will feel empowered to stop and consider the choices before you and not feel that John is calling the shots on all of the above.  He has a full plate of things he has to work through.  Those things don’t have to dictate how you feel about yourself and your choices.  You deserve to be your number one priority right now, Lauren.  You have been through an incredibly rough experience.  With the help of your friends and people whose opinions you respect, you can put the pieces back together and craft a way forward of your choosing.

Your friends are one source of that support.  I just said to someone today, “if you aren't feeling confident about yourself professionally, perhaps you could borrow some of the confidence that I have in you”.  Similarly, a friend of mine is at a major transition point where she wants to change jobs (and coasts), but she doesn't expect any support whatsoever from her husband (he is content in his situation and doesn’t really have an incentive to make changes).  I told this friend to look to others that will support her in this endeavor (if not her husband). 

Rather than thinking of you at a dead end, I think of you at the beginning of a totally new and different road.  Terrifying not knowing what is around the corner, yes.  But, the opportunities are plenty.  You are smart, you are capable, you are caring.  Even more than recreating your trust in John (which is important; just a separate issue), I hope you will recreate trust in yourself.  Believing in yourself will help put some of the other stuff in perspective, it will give you a strong foundation from which to navigate these complicated waters, it will help give you the strength to move forward.

How?  By doing exactly what you are doing.  Borrow some confidence from your friends.  Remember that these are people whose opinions you value and respect (know that we are right when we tell you that you are awesome and capable and that you can do this).  Put yourself first in a way that you have not done for some time.  Allow yourself to think about what you, just Lauren, wants and not what the other people in your household need or want.  And, go after it!  Blaze your own black diamond trail.

Fondly,

Jane

Burned by the Flame of Love

This is actually a funny story.  (It has been a very up and down week here.  Mostly down with a few ups, but more on that later.)

Last night, I went and bought a steak for dinner from Bill the Butcher.  I had never been there before, but a friend recommended it.  My daughter and I went to the Farmer's Market on Saturday and bought Swiss chard and shiitake mushrooms.  The Big E (nickname for my daughter) looked up a recipe and made the chard by herself.  She started the mushrooms, Jack cooked the steak and the Boy helped with the mashed potatoes.  I put the dining room back in order after painting the walls yesterday and then set the table.  Jack had calmed down from his usual drill sergeant self in the kitchen, and the kids were happy.

Earlier in the day, I had asked Jack to write a letter telling me why I should stay with him.  He said he didn't have time.  It was 6:20 a.m. when we were talking, and I said, "You have time now.  Start writing."  And he did.  He produced six handwritten pages of why he loves me.

I was feeling nice after several days of deciding whether or not to kick him to the curb.  As the dining room was taken apart for the painting, I saw our wedding candle and decided to light it and put it on the table during dinner.  The candle is about ten inches high and maybe six inches wide.  We have been married for eighteen years.  We burn it once in a while, but there is plenty of room to go.  There are pressed flowers in the outer layer of wax, so it kind of glows when the candle has a good flame.  Sometimes, the flame is small as it sinks into its pool of wax.  It needs to get going for awhile in order to get a strong flame.  (I am kind of a pyro, but that is another story.)

After dinner, I grabbed a steak knife and started poking at the burning wick to raise it out of the pool of melted wax.  I sometimes use a knife to move the melted was around a candle, and wipe the melted wax off with my fingers before it sticks to the knife.  Last night, the knife tip was covered in wax, and I wiped it off with my thumb and forefinger.  Usually, I am fine.  This time, I got a blister on my thumb.  The knife was much hotter than I expected.

Oh well.  Burned by the flame of love.  Literally.  Not a metaphor.  Otherwise, we had a nice evening.

Memorable Quotes

The other day Jack asked me what I wanted.  I replied to love and be loved in return.

"If you want a friend pal, buy a dog."  -- Gordon Gekko.

While I am lucky to have a great dog, I am lucky to have wise, insightful and caring friends.  They understand that life and marriage are hard, and are not calling Jack rude names.  (I get the prize for that.)

"The only thing worse than dogs are dog owners."  Jack's dad

"Death by a thousand cuts will sabotage your recovery."  -- Susan

"You can't lose what you never held in the first place."  -- Michelle

"You can't undo the past, but you can avoiding fucking up the present."  -- Susan

"Go at it with grace."  -- Michelle

Quotes from a website my dad found on the meaning of "I Love You" by Dave Willis

http://davewillis.org/the-4-meanings-of-i-love-you/

1.  I am committed to you.

2.  I will protect you.

3.  I will believe in you even when you struggle to believe in yourself

4.  I will prove my love by actions.

Dave Willis is a Christian blogger, which is fine.  Here is the final quote from my friend Susan:

"Come to Jesus or go to hell."

My writing teacher said I should try to post a picture with each blog post.  She is right, but I couldn't find anything for the most recent posts.  Anyway, here are some pictures.

A piece from the Berlin Wall on exhibit at the Pacific Science Center.  Hey, if East and West Germany could reunite, is there hope for Jack and I?

A tree in my neighborhood.

Something The Boy made out of random Legos at BrickCon last October.

A blurry picture of Fox.

A view of a pineapple island in Vancouver, B.C. Picture taken on the bike path in Stanley Park last summer.

Finding my Tribe

Note:  I am doing some blog maintenance and finding old posts that I never bothered to publish.  This one is from May 7, 2014.  As I mentioned in a previous post, this is my mid-life crisis happening.  I talked to a dear friend today about the collapse of my marriage.  She asked, "What are you afraid of?"  Not in a bad way, but in the philosophical sense.  This is a question for me to ponder.  It turns out, I am becoming less and less afraid of life in general.  

I suppose I can also add "Workaholic Husband and Subsequent Collapsing of Marriage" to the list.

+ + + + +

What happens when you don't belong in the tribe that you aren't sure you belong to?  Technically, I am a

Mother.  Daughter.  Sister.  Wife.

I am also

White.  Upper Middle Class.

In many ways, I've lead a charmed life.  I friend of mine was giving me shit the other day about it.  I recently applied for a job and I didn't get it.  I was crushed because I thought I had a decent chance at getting it.  Before she gave me shit, she gave me a pep talk.  She asked to me remember other times I failed, thought the world was ending, and picked myself to get back on the horse again.

"A good friend of mine from grad school said to expected to be rejected twenty times before you land a job," she told me.  "You've not gotten a job before, right?"

"Before I graduated from college, a consulting firm found my resume, interviewed me and then gave me a job," I replied.  "That job found me.  And when I left that job, I went to my college alumni office, and looked for who was hiring.  And I got a job again."

"Okay," she said.  "Think about a time when you were dumped by a guy."

"There was one guy in college, but I am not sure that counts as an official break-up because he moved to another state.  So it wasn't like I was really dumped.  He just moved away."

"You have never experienced rejection before," she said.  (This was the giving me shit part.  She was otherwise empathetic about not getting the job.)  She was kind of shocked.  Another hard part is that also really don't need a job, so I really can't cry too hard about that.  I would like something meaningful to do and to accomplish something, but my family doesn't need the money.  We could always use more to save for retirement, who couldn't?  My husband has a good job with long hours and we are fairly frugal and live within our means.  (Frugal to a fault, but that's another story.)  My being gainfully employed is optional.  Before I let her think of me as some kind of sheltered princess, I reminded her of the piles of tragedy and challenges in my life.

My first child died.

My brother has schizophrenia with a tragic outcome.

My mother has Alzheimer's.

So where do I belong?  I grew up with a bunch of lovely feminist elementary school teachers (thank you, Sharon Kolin) who taught me girls can do whatever they want.  Hellen Keller, Sally Ride, Susan B. Anthony and Eleanor Roosevelt were my role models.  Nancy Reagan was not.  Yet, here I am, 45, and my life is closer to Nancy's than the others. 

What the hell happened?

I married a doctor.

My first child died.

My brother has schizophrenia with a tragic outcome.

I had two kids.

My mother has Alzheimer's.

I sank.  I would never say I was depressed, because I wasn't.  I was able to escape the hell of losing a child and move on.  I withered as I watched mental illness ruin lives.  It took everything I had not to fall into the abyss, to stay sane.  My life shifted into neutral.  I am dog paddling in purgatory.  I got tried to write a book about my daughter and one about my brother.  I got a volunteer job to keep me busy, but also as penance.  Or maybe restitution or an offering to the gods.  I knew I couldn't make things back to the way they were, but maybe I could make or find peace.

Where do I belong?

The Toughest Job in the World

Note: Here is another blog post from April 23, 2014 which I didn't post at the time.  My marriage was in mid-collapse, but I had no idea at the time.  Welcome to watching my MLC (mid-life crisis) appear in real time.  I was looking back at the fourteen years of being a stay-at-home and trying to re-enter the workforce. 

+ + + + +

You might have seen by now the viral video from American Greetings on the toughest job in the world.  As of now, 15 million people have watched this on YouTube.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HB3xM93rXbY

The toughest job in the world is 24/7, no breaks, standing, lifting things, little sleep, and knowing medicine, finance, and culinary arts.  This job requires extra work on holidays, "with a happy disposition."  It requires giving up your old life.  All for no pay.

** Spoiler:  The toughest job in the world is being a mom.  **

Like anyone else with a heart, I cried when I saw this.

This video was circulated amongst a group of stay-at-home moms who are now deciding how and when to return to the paid workforce.   I have no intentions of debating whether or not to stay at home with kids.  I know many women have little to no choice if they work.  Other women choose to work, that this is fine, too.

I belong to the camp of women who "decided" to stay-at-home with my kids.  "Decided" is a tough a word for me.  My husband works night and weekends, and the job I had at the time my daughter was born required extensive travel, at least three days a week out of town three weeks a month.   One year I traveled so much that I paid income tax in California even though my home was in Chicago.  Given my husband's and my combined schedules, either one of us needed a new job, or we would need overnight childcare several days a week.

Before all of that, my pregnancy history was complicated.  I had a full-term stillbirth followed by a miscarriage.  My third pregnancy with my daughter was complicated.  While she was fine, the pregnancy had its problems, including a subchorionic hemorrhage, which meant I bled throughout the first trimester.  At the end of my third pregnancy, I had been pregnant for 92 weeks with no baby.

Dogs & Honesty

Note: This is a post written on April 23, 2014 which I never got around to posting.  At the time, I didn't know my husband was keeping secrets from me.  My brain didn't know, but my heart did.  I thought I'd post this as is, in its incomplete state.  Even though this is about a job I didn't get, honesty (or lack thereof) was a theme in my life at the time.  Interestingly, I never considered honesty an issue to ponder before now.  For my first 45 years, most of my life was face value.  Since then, it has become increasingly more complicated.  

+ + + + +

Dogs are honest.

When Fox is content, he wags his tail.  When he is scared, he barks or hides.  When he is hungry, he does the hungry dance.  When he is tired, he sleeps.

People are so much more complex.  Oy.  People have to act happy when they aren't.  They drink coffee to stay awake when they are tired instead of taking a nap.  I am not saying I want to be dog, but life would be simpler.

I applied for a job that I didn't get.  I know the hiring manager, and friends say I should call her and ask why I didn't get the job.  I trust the woman, but I am not sure I'll get an honest answer.  I don't think she would lie to me, but I am guessing she might try to spare my feelings.  I don't think she'd say:

"You are overqualified!"
"You haven't worked in 14 years!"
"Some people in the organization think you are a pest!"

Dad

Happy Father's Day, Dad!  Better late than never.

In addition to being a dedicated father, my father is a dedicated spouse.  He is working so hard to take care of my mother during her decline into Alzheimer's.  My biggest fear is not that something will happen to my mom -- I've read about the downward spiral and am expecting it to be bad.  Death by Alzheimer's is a slow death by a thousand cuts, with minor and major insults and injuries along the way.  This weekend, my mom got in a car and drove off to visit her friend.  She isn't supposed to drive, but she did.  She was lost for an hour, which caused panic in my father.  No one was hurt and no damage was done except to my father's nerves.

My biggest fear is that taking care of the woman he loves will kill him, wound his heart, break his spirit.  What they were looking forward to as their golden years will be much less, marked with challenges and difficulty.  I hope he takes care of himself.