The first person who lectures me after reading this post gets virtually punched in the nose.

And with that warm welcome…

The old adage says that I’m “burning the candle at both ends”.

In reality, I’ve got a freaking candelabra burning up in here.

And not a pretty, dainty, simple candelabra like this:

Oh, no.  No.  That would be too easy.

My proverbial candle burning more closely resembles something like this:

In other words, I have a lot going on right now.

For example:

>> I’m hosting a party for Nintendo in less than two weeks – and have yet to get the final invitations sent out.  I’m really excited to do this because I get to give a bunch of my friends a party and free stuff, and I get to give away something really, reallllly cool on this blog pretty soon because of this party.  But also?  I kind of want to pull my hair out with the planning at the moment.

>> I’m officially getting paid to write on four separate blogs now.  Which is AWESOME.  I’m thrilled.  It gets me closer to one of my ultimate goals.  But also?  Four. Separate. Freaking. Blogs.  Not counting the two blogs of my own that I maintain just because I like to.

>> The fourth and most recent blog that I’ve been hired to write on is Babble’s FameCrawler site.  It offers the largest income potential of all of my current writing gigs and I am so, so, so grateful that I’m actually starting to earn something resembling a living through writing.  But also?  It’s a site about celebrity parenting.  I actually tagged a post I wrote recently as “celebrity parenting advice”.

>> Have I mentioned yet that I just started a new writing job?  The thing about any job is that it requires a lot of work and focus and attention when you start out.  And while I am still grateful and am having a lot of fun doing it – OMG THE STARTUP PROCESS FOR NEW JOBS IS DRAINING.

>> I’m turning 30 in January.  I’m planning a big celebration of some kind for my friends and family.  I’m hoping to use some of my connections as a travel writer to turn part of the big celebration into work.  All of that?  Is good.  But also? OMG I HAVE TO WRITE A FREAKING PROPOSAL NOW.  And by now?  I mean, it probably should have been done yesterday.

But, you know, that’s it.  That’s all I’ve got going on here.

I mean, unless you count the kids and the marriage and the friends and the regular 9-5 full time paying full time job and the  OH!  RIGHT!  The MARRIAGE.  Because, ya know, THAT is requiring its own mountain of work and focus and attention right now.  And those things – the kids and the marriage, specifically – are balls that absolutely can. not. be. dropped.  They can’t even be tossed around, you know?  They have to be held on to and appreciated and polished up as often as possible.

Because in the end, those are the two lights that keep everything else burning.

And I’m not even bitching.  Not really.  The mass chaos right now is temporary.  The party will come and go; the new job will become one of the old jobs soon enough.  And, by the grace of God, every single one of the things on my plate at the moment are things that I adore and am grateful for.

I’m just saying… um… I have a lot going on right now.

And also?

Best. Post. Ever.

Wow.  Yeah.  Hi, my name is Britt and I get paid to write.  And this post is a stunning example of why.

Clearly.

Photos by Brenda Starr and choctaw ridge, because it’s not nice to steal.

It’s a miracle she didn’t immediately denounce me as her nemesis.

Instead, she exploded out of the elevator and into the hall of the Philadelphia  Sheraton with more life and animation than I had ever seen in another human being.  (Which is saying something, because I’d already met Becky.)  The woman is more of a walking party than I am – and I don’t think I’ve ever said that about another person in my life.

She permanently cemented herself into my heart that weekend.

Now, almost two years later, she is living in my neighborhood, and has become the girlfriend I longed for since moving to Florida.  No, she doesn’t have kids like I do, but she happily walks along behind mine while we all go trick or treating together.  And sure, she’d probably kill me if I dropped by her house without a forewarning phone call or text, but she walks into mine without knocking and has shown up more than once in her pajamas and Homer Simpson slippers.

She has permanently cemented herself into my family over the past six months.

She was the person my husband called when we separated.  She’s the friend who stays with our kids on Thursday nights.  She’s the girl who cried on my couch and let me cry on hers.  She’s one of the few people I called out for on my very worst day, and she came to my rescue without hesitation.  She sits on my back porch and endures my secondhand smoke while we laugh and laugh until one of us (usually her) snorts or (usually me) pees.  She talks sense into me when I need it and shuts the hell up when I don’t want to hear it.

A part of me knows that it won’t be like this forever; neither one of us has plans to die in this subdivision in Central Florida.

But we both know better than to guess or worry about what the future will bring.  For right now, she’s here, and I am more grateful for her presence in my life than she will ever know.

Happy Birthday, Hilly.

And thank you.

For all of it.

“Ohhh, shit,” Jared and I realized in unison that we had scheduled the appointment for a half an hour earlier than usual, and that we were late rather than a few minutes early.

We stood in front of the locked door to the building that housed her office and I flipped through my phone to try to find her number.  I noticed a missed call from 40 minutes earlier.  I called and she confirmed that she had long gone and we’d have to postpone our appointment until the next week.

“Is it stupid that I feel like crying?” I asked Jared.

“No.  I mean, I kind of do too.”

We got back into my car and began to retrace the route we’d just completed.

“You wanna go do something instead?” he asked.

I sighed.  “We asked Hilly to babysit so we could go to counseling.  We can’t just leave the kids with her if we’re not where we said we’d be.”

“Damn,” he muttered.

“Want to stop and get ice cream on the way home?” I offered.

“You can’t eat ice cream,” he reminded me.

“No, but I could watch you eat it.  I mean, I guess.”

“Really?” he perked up.  “Would that make you feel better?”

“Would watching you eat ice cream that I can’t eat make me feel better?  Hell no.” His face fell.  “But I will!”

He smiled.  Apparently knowing that I would was almost as good as actually getting to eat ice cream.  We drove along in sulking silence for several minutes.

“Do you want to try to talk about some stuff on our own?” he asked, quietly, not really sure, I think, how he wanted me to answer.

“Yeah, um, no,” I chuckled.  “I don’t think we’re really ready for that.  And then we’ll have to call to tell her that the whole thing is off because I accidentally killed you the night we missed a session.”

“Or we’ll have to call and tell her that we did it on our own and we were so awesome that we fixed everything and now we don’t need her anymore,” Jared countered, “and that would just make her feel bad.”

“Exactly.  That’s probably totally what would happen.  Let’s not hurt the poor woman’s business.”

“Good idea.”

We drove along further, holding hands and silently agreeing to leave the big stuff alone for another week.

“Hey!” I piped up, “I might go to Africa in the spring!”

“What?”

“Yeah!  There is this group of writers that I kind of got invited to maybe join to go to Africa and -”

“You?  And Africa?” Jared was practically snorting from laughter.

“Listen, asshole, it’s for charity.”

“You have always said you have absolutely no interest in going to Africa.”

“Well, OK, fine,” I conceded, “but that was before I was going to go to Africa as part of a group of writers who were going to write about orphans and orphanages and help people.  Now I am totally interested in going to Africa.”

“Why would you write about orphans?”

“It’s for a Christian organization that -”

His laughter was now impossible to talk over.  “Oh that is even better.  You would be perfect for them.”

“I know!”

“You’ll be all ‘these fucking bugs!’  And ‘I am HUNGRY!  And I haven’t had anything to drink in fucking days!’ Oh, yeah,” he snorted again, “this is a great idea.”

“They would feed me, Jared.”

“Britt, you are scared of alligators.  You won’t even camp in Florida because you’re afraid of getting eaten.”

“There aren’t any alligators in Africa!”

“No, there are lions!”

I rolled my eyes in the dark.  “I’m not going to get eaten by a lion.  Now you’re just being stupid.”

“I bet you more people get eaten by lions than alligators.”

“No way.”

“I’m going to look it up,” he pulled his iPhone out of his back pocket and started to google lions vs. alligator deaths while he continued to drive my car.

“OK!  Fine!  Lions eat people!  Jeez.  Watch the road.”  He put his phone away and I continued to make my case. “It’s not like I’m going to be in a campground where lions can eat me.”

“So someone is going to pay you to go to Africa and write about orphans?”

“Um, well, no.  Not exactly.”  He raised an eyebrow.  “Technically it costs about $3300.”

“You’re going to pay $3300 to go to Africa to write about orphans?”  I was beginning to suspect he was mocking me.

“Noooo,” now was my chance to prove the how much sense this plan made, “it’s for charity.  So you raise support for the mission.”

“You’re going to ask people to give you $3300 to go to AFRICA?!”

“Well -”

“What the hell?  Why don’t you ask someone to give me $3300 to go to Spain!?”

“That is just -”

“Hey, I’ll bet you anything there are poor people in Spain!  I’ll take pictures and you can write all about it.  Poor, Poor, Poor People in Spain!”  He began crafting headlines for me.

“You suck.”

“No, you know what, never mind,” I could see the wheels turning in his head.  “Amsterdam,” he was triumphant.

“Who are you going to -”

“Hookers!  There are so many hookers in Amsterdam!  Yes!  I’m going to start a fund – here, write this down, you can do it on your blog – we’re going to raise money to help the hookers in Amsterdam!”

“Jared, you cannot have sex with prostitutes and tell them that you’re saving them.”

“Means they’re not prostitutes anymore, doesn’t it?”

“Jared, seriously.  You are -

“Genius!  Fucking genius.”  He reached over and patted my leg.  “Thanks babe, this is a great idea.  We’re going to do some real good here, I can tell.”

My marriage counselor owes some hookers in Amsterdam an apology.

After they had endured more time than anyone should ever have to endure in a Wal-Mart, I took them to the nearby party supply store that had been converted into a costume shop for the Halloween season.

Emma had known for weeks what she wanted to dress up as for Halloween.  No, she assured me, she had not changed her mind.  Yes, she repeated, she was sure.

It took us less than five minutes to find exactly what she wanted.

For those of you who don’t have little girls (or boys), that is the Red Power Ranger.  Not the pink.  Not the yellow.  Oh, no, not either of the characters that are girls.  We had to have the Red Power Ranger.

I’m pretty sure I can go ahead and throw out that princess dress up set I bought her for Christmas.

Devin had no idea what he wanted to be, unless they sold kits to make solar cars, in which case he would go as the guy who invented the solar car.  They did not, surprisingly enough, sell solar car kits at The Party Store.  (And I think he talked me into promising him a trip to Detroit as some sort of consolation.  So thanks a lot, Stupid Party Store.)  Instead, he and Matthew wandered up and down the aisles touching every single freaking prop, hat and pretend weapon, before deciding on a big plastic stick and some face paint.

He said he was going as A DEVIL! RAWR!! I told everyone he was going as a goblin, because what kind of good Christian woman lets her nine year old son go trick or treating as Satan?

I bet I have a Jehovah’s Witness on my doorstep by 9 am Monday morning.

I did not buy Matthew a costume, because, well, he’s not my kid.  Instead I promised that he would have to hold my hand in public if he touched one more god forsaken thing.

Fast forward to Saturday, Halloween night.

I’m kind of starting to think it’s bullshit that I only get to claim two children on my tax returns.

ANYway.  Jared, Hilly and I got all three kids suited up and ready to head out trick or treating.  We then realized it was only 6:00 and no one else was out yet, so we made the kids sit around in their costumes while I watched last week’s episode of America’s Next Top Model.  There is nothing better than Tyra Banks to get you in the mood for the scariest night of the year.

And then we went trick or treating.

Those glow sticks are for safety.

And speaking of safety, you know what is not safe?  Running across the street without looking for cars no matter how many times your mother warns you not to.  And do you know what happens if you insist on running across the street without looking for cars no matter how many times your mother warns you not to?

You have to walk by three whole houses while your dad holds your hand. And smokes a cigarette. And pulls his shirt up to rub his belly and say “Whussa matter with you boy?  Don’t you love yo daddy?”

Oh yes I did.

And no one ran across the street for the rest of the night.

ANYway, blah blah blah, candy candy candy, blah blah blah, I want water, blah blah blah, we had Halloween here, too.  The end.

We came home and let the kids sort through their candy while Jared, Hilly and I sat around and talked and laughed and compared notes on personal hygeine.  We eventually put all three kids in bed and sent Hilly on her merry way, and then Jared and I went to bed.  The end.

Except…

As I climbed under the covers and prepared for our counseling mandated nightly ritual of using The Dialogue to tell one another what we appreciated about each other, it struck me that all of this almost didn’t happen.

Yes, there would have been costumes.  There would have been candy and face paint and hundreds of pictures and, in all likelihood, Matthew.  There would have been trick or treating, and Halloween would have come and gone just like it does every year.

But when Jared and I separated at the beginning of September, the plan was to stay separated for 3 months.  Which means, there wouldn’t have been this:

- which is the terribly scary haunted house that one of our neighbors puts on for free every year that I absolutely will. not. go into, but that Jared gladly took the two boys through while Emma, Hilly and I cowered on the sidewalk.

And you know, that probably would have been OK.  There still would have been candy and costumes and trick or treating.  And maybe Hilly would have taken two black robed boys through a neighborhood Halloween house.  And, yes, Halloween still would have come and gone the way it does every year.

But it wouldn’t have been the same.

Because there wouldn’t have been this.

And there’s absolutely no replacement in the world for that.

After much consideration and ample poking and prodding from Jared, I’ve decided to apply for a temporary travel job from TheBigTrip.com.

The deal is, basically, that you spend 3 months traveling – all expenses paid – and you earn a $50,000 salary for those 3 months.  Part of the submission process includes a video application.

I made mine today.

If you can’t see the video player, the direct link is here.

This was, apparently, the proper setting for The Dialogue.

That’s what our counselor keeps calling it.  “We’re going to learn The Dialogue” and “hopefully you’ll use The Dialogue at home” and “The Dialogue provides the framework for what we’ll do.”  It took about five minutes for The Dialogue to sound funny, like if you say bowl or helicopter or Neil Diamond over and over again.  I don’t know if it’s because she puts the word “The” in front of it every single time or if it was just a simple matter of repetition.

But anyway, The Dialogue.

She explained the rules of The Dialogue.

The first step is mirroring.  Your partner - because that’s what you call your husband or wife during marriage counseling – will say something.  Then you will repeat it.  You don’t repeat what it means or what they’re saying, you just parrot back what they said.  She emphasized that it didn’t have to be repeated perfectly, but the closer you got the better your partner would feel.

The next step is validating.  Validating, she explained, is not agreeing.  It’s simply affirming that your partner is not crazy.  You confirm that you can logically see how they could be thinking whatever it is that they’re thinking.  I was particularly elated at this description.  I thought it was about damn time he admitted I wasn’t crazy.

The final step is empathizing.  This is where you try to understand what your partner is feeling.

It sounded simple enough.  I nodded my head that yes, of course I understood.  Jared shrugged, indicating that yeah, sure, OK.

“Jared, I’d like you to speak first,” she said.  “I get the feeling that Britt does most of the talking in this relationship, and it would be good for you to talk.”

I hate it when people say this.  It might be a simple and possibly accurate observation, but it feels like condemnation.  It sounds an awful lot like “Jared, you poor thing, you can’t ever get a word in edge wise with this mouthy broad, can you?”  I resisted the urge to explain to her that someone has to do the freaking talking, thank you very much.

Instead, I settled back into my chair and prepared to mirror.  Jared shifted in his.

“I guess… um… I feel like…” Jared began.

I bit my tongue.  What he felt like was bullshit, I thought.  It seemed like it took him five minutes to explain how much it made perfect sense for him to lie to me last week.

“You said…” she prompted me.

I looked at her for confirmation that he was obviously doing this wrong.  She looked back and offered no such validation.

“Do I have to repeat the ums and the ‘I guesses’?” I asked.

Without so much as a smile she shook her head and told me to do the best I could.

“You said…” I began, and proceed to repeat the absolute crap he had just said to me.  I’m pretty sure I failed miserably at keeping the disdain from my voice.

“Is that right?” I asked.

“Did I get it,” she corrected me.  “We try to keep right and wrong out of this.  You’re just repeating what he said.”

“Did I get it?” I asked again.

“Yes,” Jared nodded.

“Is there more…” she prompted again.

“Is there more?” I asked.

Jared looked nervously at me and then again at her.  She nodded.  He looked back at me.  I sat stone still and refused to roll my eyes.

“Well, yes.  I also feel…” he went further.

I clenched my jaw.  This is bullshit, I thought.  Utter and total bullshit!

“You said…” she prompted again.  I wanted to remind her that I was a fairly intelligent person and was capable of remembering my part.

“You said…” I parroted his words back to him, choking on a few of them.  “Did I get?”

He nodded.

“Is there more…”

Jesus, Lady.  How much more of this are we going to listen to?  I took a deep breath.

“Is there more?”

He looked again at her, and then at me, and then back to her as if to say “really?  I’m getting away with this?  I can just keep going and she can’t say anything?”  His shoulders relaxed a little and I could feel him winding up.

I seethed.  Just you wait until it’s my turn, I thought.

“I’m afraid that you…” he went on again.

His sentences were getting longer and it was getting harder to concentrate on mirroring and being defensive.  I had to lean forward in my chair a little to focus better on what he was saying so that I could remember and repeat back.

“You said…” I parroted perfectly.  “Did I get it?” he nodded.  “Is there more?”

I was rocking The Freaking Dialogue.

And of course there was more.  He went on for what seemed like forever.  I braced myself every time I asked if there was more because dear GOD there was always freaking MORE.  I started to wonder if we’d ever get to Step 2, let alone Step 3.  He was settling into the role of speaker quite nicely and I worried that he’d completely forgotten that we had to get through more steps before our session was over.

“Is there more?” I asked again.

He rolled his eyes up, searching the ceiling for more he could possibly add as long as he had the floor.  I prayed to God that the white popcorn texture wouldn’t provide him further inspiration.  “Mmmm….” I waited, “nope!  I think that’s it.”  He seemed terribly satisfied with himself.

“OK, Britt,” she turned to me, “I want you to summarize what Jared just said.”

“You want me to summarize all of that?” I asked incredulously.

“Do the best you can.”

I took another deep breath and proceeded to repeat again most of what I’d heard.  I found myself choking on words again.  The last sentence was especially difficult to get out.  “And you’re afraid that…”

Afraid.  That was the word he’d used.  I knew because I had been paying very close attention in order to get my part right (because, bullshit, there is totally a right and wrong way to do this.  Clearly.)

“Did I get it?”

“Yes.”

“OK, now, Britt, can you validate what Jared is thinking?”

“Uh…” I didn’t say any more than that but I shot her a look that clearly said “are you freaking crazy?”

“You don’t have to agree,” she reminded me.  “But is there something in what Jared said that makes sense?”

“Uh….” I stuttered again, thinking about how much of what he said sounded like illogical excuses that no, as a matter of fact, I could not understand.

“Knowing Jared, what did he say that you can logically understand that yes, you can see how he would feel that way.”  She was clearly not going to give up and affirm that he was avoiding the truth while I was obviously the only one thinking rationally.  I was going to have to do this if we were going to get through the steps.

“OK..” I thought about what he’d said again.  I thought about what I knew about Jared and how his mind works and I thought more about what he’d said.  I squirmed a little in my chair as I felt myself get into his head and realize that this was not a comfortable place for me to be.  “OK,” I met his gaze, “it makes sense that you would think…”

It sure felt an awful lot like I was agreeing with him, regardless of her previous assurances that validating wasn’t the same as saying you agreed.  If nothing else, I certainly understood, and it made me squirm a little more.

“OK, now, Britt, what I want you to do is guess what he’s feeling.  And this time, I want you to guess three things you think he might be feeling right now.”

I thought about the things I understood.  Afraid.  There was that word again.  But it wasn’t just a word anymore, it was a feeling.  I choked again, but this time on my own tears.

“I think you’re feeling…” God, this was hard, “I think you’re feeling scared.”

His eyes reddened.  My God, he was scared.  He was 6 feet tall and fumbling with his fingers and thumbs and pulling on the soles of his shoes, and he was scared.  My heart melted and broke simultaneously.  I felt, for the first time, the full weight of how scared he was about what was going on in our marriage.  I hated that he was feeling this way.  But more importantly, I knew that he was feeling it.

I gave two more adjectives to describe how he might be feeling and he confirmed that, yes, those words were accurate.  We stared at each other from our facing chairs, me crying openly and him not crying but having difficulty keeping his eyes from getting redder.  He forced a smile and I looked down at my feet.

We sat there like that for an eternity.  One of us reached out and squeezed the other’s hand, and I wanted nothing more but for this session to be over so that I could hug him.

“Now, Britt,” she broke the silence, “I don’t normally do this in one session, but in this case I think it’s important that you each have a chance to speak.  So, you’re going to be the speaker and Jared is going to mirror you.”

Finally! I thought.  I was already triumphant, thinking about how now I would get to explain how much of what he had said was dead wrong.  Now I would finally get the chance to unleash all of those thoughts I’d bitten down on for the last 30 minutes or so.

“OK!”  I sat up straighter in my chair, prepared to set the record straight.

“Here’s the thing,” she interrupted before I could start.  “You just validated and empathized with what he said.  You can’t take that all back with ‘yeah, but’ now.  If what you said just now is true, you can’t immediately turn around and disagree.”

Shit.

It took me a few minutes, but I finally got out my first statement.  With the “you said” prompt from the counselor, Jared repeated back what I said.

Kind of.

“Did I get it?”

I said nothing and looked at the counselor.

“Did he get it?” she asked.

Is she deaf? I wondered.  “Well, um, no.  Not exactly.”

“OK, tell him again.”

I clarified.  He repeated.  Kind of.

“Did I get it?”

“Um, well, almost.”

We went back and forth like this three times before she stopped us.

“Jared, you are doing a great job,” she assured him.  “Every sentence, like every person, is different.  And you are doing a great job of listening and mirroring.  But some people have different levels of the need to be understood.  That’s all that is going on here.  Let’s try again, but this time, Britt, say it in smaller chunks.”

I thought that was interesting.  I’d never heard that before, that the need to be understood wasn’t exactly universal.  I wondered if maybe I hadn’t parroted perfectly so much as Jared was OK with the idea that I got the gist of what he was saying, whereas I was desperate to have him get it just right, down to the subtle nuances because the nuances mattered and changed the specific meaning of what I was saying.

We continued on in smaller chunks and worked through Steps 1, 2 and 3 until we had both been validated and empathized with.  She congratulated us both on staying present and being committed to the process, and I handed her a check as we walked out the door.

It was hard.

I realized that maybe I wasn’t the great listener and communicator that I had thought I was.  The image of Jared relaxing and opening up in a safe place stuck with me, and I remembered it later in the week when I found myself trying to convince him that he had nothing to worry about when he tried to talk to me about an issue at work.  “You said that you’re nervous because…”, I reverted to The Dialogue, and while he laughed, he seemed to appreciate it.

Of course, a few days later I insisted that “I have been working my ass off to listen to you and it would be nice if I got a freaking turn here!“  “You said…” he responded, and while I laughed, I appreciated it.

I highly doubt that we are rocking The Dialogue.

But we’re trying.

******

I decided to write about this, as discreetly as I could, because walking into counseling blind is really scary for a lot of people.  You have no idea what the format will be or how a stranger could possibly help you, or even where you’ll begin.  When a relationship is so convoluted and there are layers and layers of resentment, it’s hard to know what layer to start with.  Maybe knowing a little more about what we’re going through will make it a little less scary for someone else.

Also, my husband is totally not scared of anything.  Ever.  And he tears apart trees with his bare hands.  He’s totally manly.

See the entire set here.

Once that is done, there may be pictures. In the meantime…

Thanks to Kim for capturing this moment from the party, and to Maria and Heather for allowing me to be your back up.

You see, here in central Florida it’s time for Avitaween – Avitable’s ginormous Halloween party where about 100 people, including about 30 bloggers who I happen to adore, gather in costumes for a night of fun and ridiculous behavior.

See? Ridiculousness

See? A completely rational reason to be anxious, right?

The thing is, things have been more suck than not suck around here lately.  (You may have picked up on that.)  And while this weekend promises to be a fun time for many, I’ve been looking forward to it with more than a little trepidation.

Because those 30+ people who I happen to adore who are coming into town?

They know about the suck.

They know more, I’m sure, than they’d like to know about the suck.  They know that my husband has made me cry.  I’m sure they’ve speculated that there’s a pretty good chance that I have also  made him cry.  They know enough to know that they don’t know everything but that what they don’t know is probably, in all likelihood, filled with even more suck.

And they’re coming here for a party.

I don’t want to be the elephant in the room that makes everyone stop laughing.

I don’t want our friends – both mine and Jared’s – to feel awkward and uncomfortable when they sit at a dinner table with us.

I have had exactly three drinks since this whole mess with my marriage started.  I don’t typically drink all that often anyway, but I’ve avoided alcohol like the plague for the past several weeks.  I still haven’t decided if I’m going to have a drink at this party, but I’d really, really, really like to let go and just have fun for a little bit.

I want to have fun without feeling guilty about all the suck in my life.

I want just one weekend to let it all go and enjoy the moment.

I picked up Becky from the airport last night, and it’s almost impossible to be around her and not enjoy the moment.

This was at a black tie event. Classy.

And, you know what?

I’ve decided.

I’m going to enjoy the next few days with people I hardly ever see.  I’m going to set aside the suck, knowing it will be right where I left it when I’m ready to dive back in, and just not think about that right now.

And while it might still be awkward for people to be around me… screw it.

Bring on the sun.

He asked for one more chance, and I counted up all the one more chances that had already been given.  And blown.  I sat in the dark with the fear and the doubt and the uncertainty.  I got lost inside my own head, because nothing outside of me was offering me any hope.

I prayed.

And when I felt sure that God had answered, I leapt.

I knew that trust was an issue.  I knew I had no reason to believe.  I knew that all evidence pointed to the fact that being lied to would be a part of my immediate future.

I leapt anyway.

It’s hard not to feel stupid about that right now.

I made a list of the things – the important but surmountable things, I called them – that needed to be worked on.  Lying and trust were at the top of that list.  How can you hold in your hand a list that says “lying” in your own handwriting, and act surprised when “lying” materializes in real life?

How can you justify shock when you had to know that it was coming?

I wrestled all night with the familiar feeling of being stupid.  In an effort to avoid the fact that there are things beyond my control that can hurt me, I looked inward at what I had done to cause the hurt.  If I had been stupid, if I had made a bad choice, if I could be blamed for the pain I was in, then I could still maintain some sense of security.

If I broke it, then I could fix it.

Except, I didn’t break it.

Not this time.

Yes, I made a decision to trust despite a history of mistrust and nothing to suggest that the future would be any different.  Yes, I hoped.

But hope is not equivalent to stupidity.

I am doing my part.

The truth is, I only hold one part. A marriage is made up of more than one part.  And, despite my best efforts, there is absolutely nothing I can do to control the other parts.

I type those words and the cursor blinks at me.  What comes after admitting you don’t have control?  I’m standing here defenseless, having been stripped of my most reliable coping mechanism.  My one defense against the outside world has been revealed a fake, and nothing tangible has been put back into my hands as a replacement.

I’m paralyzed.  Again.

The world, and this relationship, is a dangerous and scary place.  It hurts.  It wounds.  It stabs at my flesh and I am left now with no armor.  How can I possibly move from this spot and navigate the thorny underbrush with no armor?

Trust is about knowing that you can survive if and when someone hurts you.

I’ve said these words.  My therapist has confirmed them.  But I look at them now and think “I don’t know how much more I can survive.  Wouldn’t it be easier if someone would just. stop. hurting me?”

But I can’t control their part.

So I look again at my part.

I’ve committed to marriage counseling.  I am desperately hopeful that a professional will have answers that I don’t.  I have to accept the fact that in the meantime, I’m in a holding pattern.  I’m in limbo, stuck in a temporary space of wait and see.

And in that space, there is no trust.