Heat Wave and Prayers and Driving

Seattle has just had two of the hottest days ever recorded, and I don't have central air conditioning. I have a portable AC to cool off my bedroom, which is helpful but not sufficient. At 4:00 a.m., the temp in my townhouse was 83 degrees. I am sitting in my living room with all of the doors open to the cool night air and the temp has dropped to 76 degrees in fifteen minutes, hopefully making it bearable inside for tomorrow later today. Opening the doors and windows at night is my work-around, and it works well enough, except for being awake at 4:00 a.m. when I have a presentation at work at 9:00.

So Pedro is living with me after being "sent away" for two years. I feel my old anxiety creeping back, hoping that he is okay. Prayer and mediation is part of my recovery program, so last night I decided to pray. Technically, we are only supposed to pray to know our higher power's will for us. Instead, I made a laundry list of what I wanted. Pedro starts his first job this week and will apply for his drivers license, both which cause my anxiety to rise. I swear to god that parenting a young adult is the most stressful phase of parenting ever. He is off on his own to work, to drive and then to live.

So I prayed last night, "Please don't let anything happen to the Boy."

Right?

Thankfully, my higher power/inner voice kicked in and said, "You can't be serious."

Please don't let anything happen to the Boy. That is the worst prayer ever. That is like asking for him to be sealed in wax and made into a statue and never leave my house. Just to sit there and let nothing happen. How boring and selfish. Maybe I could have asked to keep him safe from harm, that might have been better.

Better an even better prayer would have been "Please help me to chill the fuck out as my kid goes out into the real world."

Why am I worried? 

Because I am a mom.

Because he has been gone for two years and I have missed so much of his growth.

Because he drives like me.

Let's dig a little deeper into that last one, shall we?

I drive a high performance car, which I love. It is fast and it has great maneuverability and acceleration. The Boy sees me zipping in and out of lanes on the highway, passing people who dare to drive close to the speed limit. He swears at slow moving cars and drivers who make dumbass moves like making a left turn from the right lane. Just like me.

Oy.

So this weekend I was driving with Pedro and I decided to exhibit extreme amount of patience and serenity behind the wheel. I was on 520 behind a few cars and a FedEx truck going 45-50 mph. And I didn't pass the line of traffic. I patiently sat behind the slow moving vehicles. I didn't swear. I didn't fuss. I even said aloud that I was going to be patient.

And it paid off. The next time he drove, he drove like the improved me: calm, steady and not maxing out the capabilities of my car.

I need to revamp my prayers to be a better example to my son. Then maybe I could chill out.

Not Ordinary Time and Work from Home

The Catholic Church has three seasons: Lent (before Easter), Advent (before Christmas) and Ordinary Time. Ordinary Time is the non-holiday part of the year.

Pedro is home, staying with me at the condo. His return home has not been Ordinary Time. In many ways, it feels normal to have him back in my life, around for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Yet, his transition back home and my return to motherhood feels like a holiday, a cause for celebration. I feel like the parents in the Prodigal Son, killing the metaphorical fatted calf upon his return. 

"I feel like I am spoiling him. We are eating out all of the time and getting carry out," I told my friend Ellen whose daughter was "sent away" a few years ago.

"Of course you are," Ellen said. "That is perfectly normal." For a situation that isn't normal to start.

For once I am glad I am working from home. I get to see Pedro during the day and eat lunch with him. We chat between meetings.

So far, so good. I am enjoying his company. I like having him around. I am comfortable emotionally, not stressed or obsessing. The fact that I don't have a lot to say is a good thing.

In fact, it is wonderful.

Sleep

I've been in Montana now for more than a week and my major "accomplishment" (which is not the point of vacation) has been catching up on sleep.

Last night I slept for 10.5 hours. I went to bed at 11:15 p.m. and woke up at 9:38 a.m.. Most other nights on this trip, I've gotten at least eight, often nine, hours of sleep. I had two nights of insomnia, but those weren't that bad. One morning, I woke up a 6:30 a.m. to go fly fishing.

I've really enjoyed catching up on sleep. At home, I started a new job about three months ago and I start work at 8:00 a.m. compared to my old job which started at 9:00 a.m. Getting up and ready an hour earlier than usual has been an adjustment.

Why the restfulness? Am I more tired than usual? Am I exhausted? 

The past two years (and more) have been exhausting, stressful, and depleting. The time has been spent recovering and learning more about myself, how I tick and why I act the way I do. In some ways, the time has flown by. Life was easier knowing Pedro was being cared for and learning to care for himself. At times, I felt like a failed mom, that I had to outsource parenting to an outside organization. Other times, I felt like the challenge of raising Pedro more than most parents could handle, and there was no shame in seeking help. 

Why the restfulness? Am I more anxious and depressed, and therefore sleeping more? Is my body preparing for the stressful weeks ahead of having Pedro home?

One of the symptoms of depression is sleeping more. I can't say I feel depressed, but I know I am stressed about bringing Pedro home. I know there will be hard times, that I will have to exercise setting boundaries in ways that I never had to before. This will be hard. Before when I set boundaries with the Boy, I feared alienating him, that perhaps we would be estranged forever. In the past few weeks, I have set some hard boundaries. I did not rescue. I did not rush to jump in and save him.

And it was fine. He didn't hate me for setting boundaries.

Why the restfulness? Am I more at peace, so sleep comes more easily? That after more than two years of helping my breath, I can finally relax?

Perhaps this is the best answer.

I feel good about my progress and the Boy's. He worked so hard for the past two years, taking his therapy seriously. I give him credit for all of the work he has done. I give myself credit, too. I have done quite a bit of inner work, and I have grown in ways that I have not expected. Most of all, my mind has stopped spinning. At times--often actually, I am thinking of nothing. My mind is quiet, still, something I don't think I have ever experienced in my life before. At first when the spinning stopped, I felt dull. When I told my therapist my mind stop spinning, he said, "You are feeling calm. That is normal."

Perhaps the best analogy is I feel like I have come back from a long and arduous trip, and I can finally sleep in my own bed again. I remember coming home from camping trips as a kid, and crashing into sleep. It felt so good to rest.

And so I feel the same now. It feels so good to sleep.

Bookends

Thursday night, the night before Pedro graduated from high school, I dreamt he died. He was out somewhere and I went looking for him. I knocked on a strange door and I said "He's dead, isn't he?" The person who answered the door didn't reply. I assumed that her lack of response and the expression on her face meant it was true, but I never actually saw him dead. I was startled and woke up, completely freaked out. His graduating from high school is a big deal, and I should be happy. Why am I having such crappy and horrible dreams? My therapist loves talking about dreams. He thinks they are like poetry--open to interpretation.

I digress.

The graduation was lovely. I cried through most of it. Afterwards, I was exhausted.

Saturday, the family went to Glacier National Park and hiked to Avalanche Lake, the same hike Pedro and I did on his first family pass in October of 2019. This hike bookended Pedro's experience in Montana.

Both he and I commented on what a difference there was between the hike this weekend compared to where we both were in 2019. This was my first visit to the Boy at his boarding school, and, by his own definition, he was "an angry douchebag."

On the 2019 hike, the late fall weather was cold and dreary, pouring rain for more than half of the hike. The Boy marched ahead, not talking to me and not telling me why he was angry. I felt helpless and frustrated and sad and angry. I didn't know what to do. When we got to Avalanche Lake, the Boy skipped stones for twenty minutes in the rain, trying to burn off some unspoken emotions. Looking back, I probably should have not tolerated that insolent and dismissive behavior. I probably should have have taken him back to campus and then driven back to Seattle.

This year, Pedro was much more enjoyable to be around. He walked along side me for most of the hike. He even commented on the change between the two hikes. At one point, he told me to hurry, but like "It is okay to take your time and get some water, but don't sit and meditate for twenty minutes." Which was fine as it was clear and direct communication. When we got to the lake, we both sat on a log. I told him this is where he could scatter my ashes when I die, if they allow that kind of thing in a national park.

"I can get a little boat and drop them in the middle of the lake," he said. "But I'd have a hard getting a boat out here."

"Maybe you could take a stand-up paddle board," I said. "You could strap the urn with my ashes to the front of the board and row out to the middle." We laughed.

In movies and books, things often come full circle at the end of a journey, but rarely does it happen so neatly in life. Yet, here we were, in the exact same spot, two years later, both changed people.

Maybe my dream of Pedro dying means that the old Pedro died, the one who was angry and hostile and sad and isolated. Perhaps this is where a new Pedro emerges. I know there is so much more ahead for both of us, so many good times and times again where he will be "an angry douchebag."

Perhaps I missed something in the dream. I didn't die in the dream, but the person I was on that hike two years ago is mostly gone, too. My spinning and obsessing about everything has dramatically slowed down, and I am getting comfortable in this new way of being. I am trying really hard not to try to control everything I cannot control. I am letting things evolve instead of trying to manage them.

Final Exam

Two years.

I hope I am ready to have Pedro home.

For the past two years, I have been in deep introspection, spending ten hours a week in therapy, recovery groups, or talking to Pedro on the phone. 

When we flew to Durango, Colorado two years ago to drop Pedro off at Wilderness, I didn't have any idea of where this would lead me. I have been on quite the journey. I feel like Bilbo Baggins, and now I am coming home from wrestling with the dragon. What have I been seeking?

Today, I finally got to the answer to two questions that have been driving my crazy, plaguing me since the Boy left for Wilderness. Today. Right under the wire.

What is the difference between ranting/raging and venting?

• Ranting or raging is when someone is displacing their emotions and taking their anger out on someone else. Denial of the feelings is a necessary component of ranting and raging.  
• Venting is when you are feeling your feelings, and letting them out is a safe place. There may be some denial is place, but the person who is venting is seeking to release pressure and to understand their feelings, not bury them or take them out on someone else. Venting this the ugly stage before curiosity and acceptance arrive.

This has been an epic dilemma for me for years and I finally figured it out.

Which directly leads me to my next question: What is the difference between enabling and empathy?

• Empathy is when we are listening to someone tell their truth, quietly and without interruption, saying "I hear you and I stand beside you as you go through this challenging time."
• Enabling happens when someone is displacing their emotions, and we let support them in their denial. Enabling is allowing people to not be accountable or responsible for their actions.

- Aho

Disaster Recovery & Grown Ass Man

I got a new job about two and a half months ago working in Disaster Recovery at a large corporation. The idea is that all IT applications need a plan so that they can be recovered in case of a disaster. Maybe there is a fire, or a major power failure where the computer systems needed to run the organization are shut down. Each team needs a plan to restore their applications. The next phase of this work is Business Continuity: How do you keep your systems up and running even in the face of a disaster? How can you avoid or prevent human caused disasters? Are your servers three years past end-of-life? Then why are you shocked that they failed?

I digress.

Pedro is graduating this week and returning to Seattle this summer, as you all know. Before he could come home, Jack, Pedro and I have been doing our own Disaster Recovery and Business Continuity planning. Over winter and spring, Pedro has been planning his MAPP -- Montana Academy Post Plan (MAPP) and his Relapse Prevention Program (RPP). Likewise, as parents Jack and I have been preparing ourselves for Pedro's return. Pedro can be changed, but if we don't change as well, the whole system will fall back into its old patterns. 

Planning is easy. Disasters are messy. I discovered that this weekend. The Boy had this habit that Pedro needs to get rid of.* The Boy would not feel his feelings and then express his hostility and anger towards me. Which I hated, but didn't know how to manage with him (or Jack for that matter when he would get all rage-y.) 

The Boy's therapist recommended I preemptively write the Boy and tell him that I don't like it when he takes his unfelt feelings about the world out on me. So I did. I told the Boy I don't want to be his emotional garbage can. He needs to clean this up, not just for me, but for any future relationship he has. His significant other doesn't deserve to be his emotional punching bag, either. And anyone with a solid sense of self will not put up with it for very long. If he doesn't fix it, he will find himself alone or in toxic and unhealthy relationships. Neither is good.

A week ago, we had a call with the Boy where he was hostile and angry for about two hours. It sucked and I was exhausted. This was not productive venting where he was actually talking about what he was feeling, like "I am really frustrated when....and I want to resolve this issue." This rant was "everything sucks and everyone is stupid." As the Boy called it himself, it was an emotional dumpster fire. Recognizing the problem is the first step.

Wednesday, he called again, but he was kind and gentle and apologized for his shit mood on Sunday. 

Apologies are nice and all, but what people also want from an apology (meaning me) is that the toxic behavior stops. The apology is meaningless if the same stuff keeps occurring. Now, this is where the Boy/Pedro gets a wee bit of slack. I would like to see progress and improvement, not perfection.

This weekend, the Boy called again and was hostile. 

And I was different. I was telling/asking him about plans for his graduation week, and he got pissy. I asked him why he was hostile. He continued to rant. 

"Why are you hostile?" I asked. 

To which he replied by hanging up the phone.**

I cried for ten minutes, thinking that I might be permanently estranged from my son. Once I felt my feelings of sorrow and talked about it, I felt better. I was able to settle down and then go to sleep without ruminating about it like I used to do.

Yay! Go me! Perhaps the weekend at the ocean helped prepare me to weather the storm.

The next morning, Pedro texted and meaningful and sincere apology. He called again last night to recover and repair.

Disaster recovered. 

Finally. 

He's a grown ass man. 

Treasures from the beach.

* The concept of switching his name within a sentence is perfectly appropriate. Sometimes my son is a boy, and other times as one of my dear friends would say, "He's a grown ass man." 

** To those born before cell phones were invented, "Hanging up the phone" is a phrase where you would take the phone handset and put it back in the cradle. The little button in the cradle would then disconnect the phone. Slamming the phone down was quite cathartic. Pushing the little red dot on the phone seems so much less so.

Cramming vs Chilling

My last blog drifted away from its title, "Cramming or Comedy." My initial thought was to write about how I feel like I have to cram to get ready for Pedro to come back to Seattle, to finish reading all of the books I bought about how to deal with your anxious and depressed teen, like this one.

Instead of cramming Thursday night, I decided to watch "Girls5eva," a comedy about middle-aged women who used to be in a one-hit-wonder girl band twenty years ago and how they try to get back on stage.

This weekend, I invited myself to my friend Anneliese's beach house on the ocean for the weekend, which is the perfect escape I need before going to Montana. This past week at work, I was struggling. The background music in my mind--tracks about Pedro returning home--were playing at full volume. I didn't have the bandwidth to deal with the regular crap of daily life. Friday, I was so wound up I wasn't fit to be around other people. I needed to turn that down that soundtrack and take a break.

This was a good break. Walking along the ocean and being miles and miles from everything and everyone was healing and restorative, necessary before I embark on the transition of bringing Pedro home before he goes to college. I read somewhere that watching waves of the ocean is like meditating. It calms our minds just by being the ocean.

But what and where is his home? His current home is Montana. He's lived with the same guys for two years. He loves the land, the rivers, the mountains. I know he will miss Montana, and I am glad he will. 

We miss what we love.

I know Pedro has grown, as have I. I have learned more about myself in these past two years than I have at any other point. It was painful at times, but that is okay. The capacity to feel is the capacity to feel. I don't want to be numb again. Feeling pain and sadness and sorrow also means I can feel joy and happiness and serenity.

I don't need to cram to feel that. I need to chill.

Cramming or Comedy

One week from today, Pedro graduates from high school and from his therapy program at the same time. He will have spent two years to the day in a structured program. I am vacillating between grief and gratitude, fear and joy. I am delighted to have him home this summer, but I am also scared. Will I be able to hold my boundaries? What will I do and how will I react when he regresses or relapses? Am I helping or hurting the situation?

I am worried. I am anxious. I am afraid.

I have missed him for two years, and I am afraid of my feelings when he comes back home, that the grief and sorrow and sadness that I have been holding in will all fall out.

Why would that be a bad thing?

I read somewhere recently (probably on my diet app) that the secret to happiness is feeling all of the feelings, not to think of them as good or bad, but just as they are. Emotions are indicators, signals from our heart to our head.

If I don't feel my feelings, they will come out sideways, which is never good.

So, I am sitting here crying, thinking about the two years that I missed with my son. And I was crying, I visioned him in a few years, with his own family, hoping for his future. The two years I lost were likely traded up for years in the future that I otherwise might not have.

I have no idea if that vision or dream will come to fruition. It is one of many possibilities, but it is likely now, more so than it was two years ago. I loved him so I had to let him go.

Okay, I am done crying for now.

In other news, I was walking Fox this morning and I got smacked in the back of the head by a crow. Kind of weird. Maybe the crows were happy during the pandemic that some sort of quiet Armageddon took place and now they ruled the land. Perhaps now they are annoyed at the humans for coming back. Or the bird didn't like Fox. 

Anyway. 

I am feeling better. Thanks for listening.

People

I was walking Fox early this morning through the park. Given I was outside and I have both vaccine doses, I took my mask off as I left the courtyard of my building. At the park, I saw a young couple standing on little pillars stretching their arms to the sky. At first, I thought they were doing yoga (people in Seattle do that kind of stuff). Instead, they were taking selfies with Elliott Bay in the background. They saw me with my dog, said hello and asked if I lived in Seattle. 

They were visiting from South Carolina on their way to Alaska via the ferry. In the before-times, it wasn't uncommon to see visitors from the East Coast out in Seattle at 7:00 a.m., with their bodies are still in a different time zone. 

I said visiting Alaska was on my post-pandemic trip list, along with riding motorbikes through canyons near Moab, Utah, and visiting rainforests in Central America. We talked about how cold it was in Seattle this morning, and how hot it is in the south.

"There will be long hours of daylight now in Alaska, the midnight sun thing. How long are you going to be there?" I asked. 

"Three years," they said.

"Three years? Wow," I said.

"We are in the military and will be stationed in Fairbanks," they said.

Wow again.

"It was on our bucket list to live in Alaska," they said.

This was the first conversation I've had with strangers where I could see their faces. This was the first conversation with strangers who weren't selling me food or were another dog owner walking their pet. 

I saw their smiles and felt their warmth and an ephemeral friendship as we emerged from the other side of the quarantine. I read ages ago that it is these small connections we make with people who are outside of our inner circle that bring us a necessary kind of social interaction and comfort. They were from another part of the country, heading off to adventure, and I was one of the many people they will meet along the way.

Stuff I Got Done Today v Stuff I Did Not

As I am getting ready for bed, I started to think about all of the things I didn't get done this weekend. I didn't:

• Email or text back the other moms from Pedro's school. They wrote to me Friday and I have been a slug. I love these moms and feel bad I have't connected with them.
• I didn't do my Noom homework. I've done my diet homework diligently and faithfully since I've been in the program in March. Today I didn't get it done.
• I didn't exercise today except for a quick walk through the Market. 
• I have 23 ideas for blog posts that I haven't gotten around to writing yet.

Just as I was kicking myself for all of the stuff I didn't get done today, I decided I need to step back and congratulate myself for what I did get done.

I finished getting making the drapes and railing skirt for the landing so Pedro and Claire-Adele can have some privacy when they visit the condo this summer. My friend Erica came over yesterday and helped me pick out fabric and plan my sewing. She was sooo helpful and was such a great sanity check. She wanted to make it Insta worthy and worried that she was giving me bad advice. I just needed to get it done.

I love the fabric for the curtains, but given more time, I would have found a fabric I like better for the railing skirt. Time and the quarantine were not my friends as a several fabric shops have closed in Seattle. Those that are open have very limited hours. I could order fabric online, but that takes a lot of time to order samples and then wait for the fabric to arrive. I am becoming more used to the idea that nothing is permanent, that I can change my mind, and in a few weeks or months, I can get new fabric that matches "perfectly" to make the landing Insta worthy. (I'll give a plug to "The Fabric Stash" in Pike Place Market. I've been in there four times in past week. I am on a first name basis with the owners Gary and Deborah.)

But here we are. Pedro will be home in a few weeks. I needed this project done before I leave for Montana.

Today, I put everything together. And yes, I did a fabulous job on the curtains. Notice how the pattern is exactly level on both panels. Yes, I am impressed with myself.

Railing skirt. This is a term I just invented to describe this cloth thing.

The Nest & We Can do Hard Things

This morning in my recovery meeting, the speaker asked the question, "When we are spinning out and our minds are full of chaos, what can restore us to sanity? What are we avoiding?"

This weekend I have been spinning out. What am I avoiding?

Pedro will be returning to Seattle this summer before he heads off to Colorado State in mid-August. He graduates from his program June 4. He will have been gone for two years, which I can't even grasp. Two years. I sent my kid away for two years. That was a hard thing to do, and as Glennon Doyle says, "We can do hard things."

Other moms with kids Pedro's age are getting ready for an empty nest. I am getting ready to briefly have the bird fly back, rest and then take off again.

And he won't even be staying with me at the condo. He will be staying with his dad at the house in Ravenna. Or maybe?

Pedro's therapist mentioned to me that Pedro was looking for summer jobs all over the city--up north and downtown. "He can look anywhere and he is excited about that."

Downtown? Huh? I had spent a lot of time mentally preparing myself for and accepting that the Pedro won't be living downtown with me. Pedro thinks of the Ravenna house as his home, not the condo. He has his 75,000 piece Lego collection there, along with his bikes and trampoline. Why would he want to live with me in a one bedroom condo where he has to sleep in the landing? Now, there is the idea that Pedro might spend time downtown, which I had not entertained.

I need to adjust, both emotionally and physically.

What will that look like if the Boy lives with me? How will I react? How often will I see him if he isn't living with me? Will it be easier to have Jack deal with Pedro now? I had Pedro from 0 to 16. Surely, his dad can handle him for a few weeks at age 18. Right? Jack and Pedro can figure out how to live together without me as the intermediary. I was actually looking forward to that.

Before the kids were born, I nested. For Ada, Jack and I were living in an apartment in Chicago. I bought clothes, a crib and a few small toys. For Eleanor, I didn't do much. I was terrified that she might die like Ada did. I think there was one baby shower, but I blocked it out. Plus, I already had a majority of the stuff I needed from Ada.

When Pedro was born, I was in a different place, physically and emotionally. We lived in a three story, five bedroom house. My friend Gwen, an artist, painted Eric Carle murals on the walls. There was a lion above the crib, a giraffe and a peacock. Maybe an elephant? We ripped out the old, blue shag carpeting and cleaned up the floors. It was a great room, but we moved to Seattle a year and a half after Pedro was born.

Now I am finding myself in the same spot of nesting, carving out space in my condo for my son. I am not expecting a new baby, but my old one to come back home, and it kind of feels the same. I'll need to re-arrange the landing to make space for him. Right now, the landing is my work-from-home-office, storage space for the mattress and place where I keep my spare fabric and piano keyboard. I'll need to move my desk and my monitors to a new location so Pedro will have a place to sleep. I need to get curtains for the giant window, so the sun won't wake him up in the morning. I've cleaned out sections of my closet for him to keep his clothes so they don't have to pile up on the landing next to the bed. 

Like when I was pregnant, I feel an urgency to get this done, to have everything ready when he comes home. 

He's coming home. He's coming home.

Part of the reason I sent him away was because I didn't have the skills to take care of him, and he couldn't take care of himself. It was a no win situation. While I was gone, I did a lot of work on myself, going to  therapy and recovery group meetings. As I learned to change my own behavior, I learned a lot about the crazy and isolating environment Pedro grew up in. I started to blame myself--"If only I had started my own self-work ages ago, maybe the Pedro would have been fine."

Yesterday, I listened to Glennon Doyle's podcast, "We Can Do Hard Things." She discusses her own battle with anxiety and depression. She's been sober and in recovery for nineteen years, she goes to therapy, is in a loving and supportive relationship, she is on medication, and STILL she has panic attacks.

oh.

I guess anxiety and depression are real. Not that I ever thought it was pretend or fake -- god no! Rather, I thought that the Boy was depressed and anxious because I was somehow a shitty mom, that I didn't do enough, that I wasn't well equipped or serene or whatever, that if I had been better, the Boy wouldn't have needed to get shipped off, sent away, that he would have been happy and joyful and not suicidal.

no.

That is not the case, I am realizing one year, eleven months and one week into this progress, this journey. I knew when I shipped him off, that I couldn't take care of him, but that is different than me thinking that I am not to blame.

He is coming home. He is coming home. 

I was never truly "ready" to be a parent. I had to make it up as I went along. I did the best I could. Likewise, I will never truly be ready to have him home. I can do the best I can, where I am at today. 

And I can do hard things.

Melinda & the Second Book

Dear Melinda,

I am so sorry to hear about your divorce. Or, should I say "Congratulations!" Since I don't know you personally, I am not sure how you feel about it. Maybe I should say both? Nevertheless, I am sure there was much pain and heartache that came with this decision, even if you are doing this ultimately for your own personal fulfillment.

I imagined you talked to Mackenzie Scott about her divorce, and how that went down. I feel like her divorce just happened yesterday, and now she is married to a Lakeside teacher! Good for her!

For some reason, the story of your divorce is compelling to me, and I am not sure why. I was rooting for Mackenzie's recovery after seeing Jeff jetting around with a botox bimbo. Perhaps that was the whole plot: billionaire dumps Seattle frump for Malibu Barbie. And by "frump" I mean Mackenzie looks like every woman walking around Green Lake. Unlike the Bezos divorce, yours seems more complicated, and therefore I am more curious.

I read somewhere about your divorce being a "celebrity" divorce, which doesn't set well with me. I understand that you are well-known and famous, but "celebrity"? No. You are not famous for the sake of being famous or for being superficially glamorous. Part of the reason I can't think of you as a celebrity is because we live in the same city, and Seattle (and environs) is a small town. I feel like I kind of know you in the "friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend" way, that we have lots of overlapping connections. Our kids are about the same age, and I have several friends whose kids went to the same private schools yours attended. The University YMCA was around the corner from your kids' elementary school. I would often run into other mom's there when I was taking yoga classes and whatnot. I have dozens of friends who have worked at Microsoft and at the Gates Foundation.

Are you American royalty? No, you were not born or bred to be the wife of the richest man in the world. You were smart, educated, ambitious, hard-working and caring. As such, you landed on a path surrounded by others like yourself, and along that path was the guy who was leading the largest software company in the world.

Here is why I am writing to you: I want to read your next book, the one still unwritten where you tell us how you really feel. While I haven't read your first book yet, I am guessing it is full of bullshit. I am sure your first book is well meaning and you firmly believe in feminism and support human rights around the globe. I don't doubt your sincerity.

Instead, I imagine your first book to be layered with the lies you told yourself in order to stay in your marriage. I am thinking of Glennon Doyle's first two books, the ones where she became sober and then fought to recover her marriage after her husband's infidelities. I never read those first two books, and I don't intend to. I am sure those books are fine, but in those Doyle was lying to herself, denying her affection she felt toward women. When Doyle faced that truth and put pen to paper, the result was brilliant.

Everyone lies to themselves about something. Sometimes it is big stuff, sometimes it is small. Part of the human experience is uncovering these truths, and then deciding what to do about them. Somewhere along the way, you figured out that truth, and acted upon it. I am guessing you decided your marriage didn't match what your heart wanted. I am sure you loved Bill and cared for him, but that is different than wanting to stay married to him. What was it that switched, that flipped, that made you change your mind? Was it slow? Was in sudden? How did you find your truth, and what was it?

Why, Melinda, do I care about your divorce? Is it because I am a middle-aged woman about to launch my youngest and have been in marriage-limbo for more than two years myself as my son was recovering from anxiety and depression? Is it because when I was younger I considered myself a feminist, yet against my intentions found myself in a very traditional role of stay-at-home mom? Is it because traditional gender roles tell women to marry the smartest guy they can find, that marrying a workaholic is a good thing? I am not saying Bill or Jack don't have big hearts, but for both their intellect and ambition lead when they walk into a room. I have other friends who are married to intellectual giants who are assholes. I have another dear friend who felt she had to marry someone smart than she is. She has a PhD in chemistry and an MBA. How many guys are smarter than her in her town?

Maybe this is what feminism needs to address next: you don't need to marry the smartest and most ambitious guy in the room. This is a myth that women have been drinking up for centuries in various forms, in part because they had to in order to survive. Maybe look for the nicest guy, the kindest. The one who makes you laugh and smile and think. The one who challenges you to be a better person, who nourishes you emotionally and spiritually. The characteristics might align with the smartest guy in the room, or they might not.  Maybe women don't fully trust ourselves to be our own providers. As Miley Cyrus sang in her revised version of Santa Baby: A woman's best friend is equal pay. Maybe we need better childcare options, lower college costs and less student loan debt. I know you have written about women's rights, but where does this touch you on a personal level? 

Marriage is hard. Being married to a powerful man who dedicates his life to his job is hard. You lived with that since the day you were married. What changed? What is him? Was it you? What did you want that you weren't getting? Are you healing? Are you at peace with your decision, or are you plagued with doubt?

Thanks for listening, and I wish you well.

Lauren