Sarah...Phenomenally

Daily Gratitude: Writing again

2011-12-15T08:47:00.000-08:00

There's not much else to say than that. I'm writing again, and it feels like Heaven. I hadn't forgotten I was a writer, but I'd forgotten what it felt like when there was time to write. I finished school a few days ago, and all I see before me in the next year is time...beautiful, wonderful time I can fill with writing.

It's an amazing feeling.

Daily Gratitude: Treatment Center Girls

2011-11-23T10:01:00.000-08:00

Do you know? Do you know how proud I am of you? Do you know how much I miss you? Do you know what it means to me to see you rise above your struggles, your challenges, your tough lives and succeed?

Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your lives. Thank you for being a part of mine. There are people who tell me they could never work in a treatment center, never work with kids like you. I always tell them that that's okay...it's not for everyone...but it's definitely for me. It is the one place (outside my own home) that I could be the most me, and the fact that you loved and appreciated that made my time there rewarding and worthwhile.

It is my privilege to watch you all growing up, getting married, becoming mothers. I wish I could tell you every single day how proud I am of you all. I know so well how hard life can be, and I know so well how hard so many of you have had it, and yet here you are, making it work...and shining in spite of trials.

To the girls we've lost...I love and miss you. My heart aches that life got too much for you. I hope to see you again on the other side, to wrap my arms around you, to tell you how loved you always were.

To those still here...stay here. I'm here. You have support when you need it. You are loved. You are worth it. You are an amazing miracle on this earth, and there is someone out there, probably many someones, who needs you to be an influence and help them through their tough times. They need you to say, "Hey...if I can do it, you can do it."

Ladies, you can do it.

Thank you for that.

Divorce and Metamorphosis: Transfusions

2011-11-22T13:56:00.000-08:00

(This is the eleventh post in Divorce and Metamorphosis, the story of my 2006 divorce and the personal growth that followed it.)

When I suffered my hemorrhage in 2002, the emergency room doctor hadn't thought a blood transfusion was necessary. It wasn't until two years later that we learned the full impact of that decision. I was pregnant again and battling low blood levels that had never recovered from the previous miscarriage, plus the blood disorder I'd had since birth, plus a new round of iron deficiency anemia. Ivy sent me to see an obstetrician, who sent me to a high risk pregnancy doctor, who sent me to a hematologist, who exhausted every other strategy before finally determining that a transfusion was in order.

I called Ivy that day, and she expressed the kind of relief only a midwife could feel. Having had a blood transfusion following the birth of her oldest child, she told me what I could expect when I entered the hospital the next day. One thought stays with me to this day: "You never know how sick you were until suddenly you start to feel better."

The next day, as two units of some healthy person's blood began to mix with my own, I felt those words. I laughed and realized I hadn't laughed out loud in months. I sprang up the stairs at my house, where previously I had only been able to manage a slow shuffle as I leaned on the wall for support. My face was back. My color was back. I was me again, but I hadn't realized before how much I'd stopped being me. It was an eye opening experience to find the me I hadn't known was lost.

As I left SHA's office a year and a half after that transfusion with his words, "You're bleeding" ringing in my head, and I thought about my transfusion and about finding the healthy me so quickly. I looked closely at the woman I had become in all of the pain and stress of my marital problems. In many ways, I was better for it. More open. More forgiving. More willing to compromise and more willing to support my husband.

But I was small. In some ways, I had become weak. Insignificant. And the word that is hardest to type, something I had never in my life allowed myself to be...I had become a doormat. Disrespected. Trampled upon. Forgotten. Used. And thank you, sir, may I have another?

Even that measure of introspection didn't show me the whole picture of where I, Sarah, of the vivacious, shining, courageous personality, had gone. As with my hemorrhage of years past and its eventual healing, I wouldn't know how sick I was until I suddenly started to feel well again.

My first transfusion would occur on a rock in Zion National Park, where I finally felt ready to take up the challenge SHA had issued that first day of Parenting Class. Telling Aaron what I intended to do, I left him to care for the kids on his own for the first time in much too long a time and drove the hour to Zion, ready for whatever quiet, stillness, and nothingness could teach me.

I later wrote the following about that experience:

The rock assignment was a challenge issued by the teacher of the parenting class I was taking at the time. When I heard it, I was intrigued. When he mentioned that in 19 years of teaching the class, only a few had successfully completed the assignment, I was resolved. I would meet that challenge. I would be one of the few. I would do what most people were not willing or able to do and stand, in all my superiority, above the rest.

Oh, the arrogance of ego.

The truth is that as I climbed that path to that flat-topped rock, it was not with the march of the conquering hero, but the halting step of the broken-hearted. Crushed beneath the weight of a marriage that was crashing down around me, my ego was all but gone.

That was a good thing. There was no room for ego on that rock. There was no room for superiority or arrogance or worry or fear or doubt or any of the varied clutter of my life. There was only room for stillness, breath, God, creation, truth.

In that stillness, I sat, the splintered, disconnected me melting away into a rebirth of being. Sarah, who was mistreated, forsaken, gave way to the Sarah who was part of all things, connected to all things.

I sat on that rock and prayed for a miracle, for my husband to find his way back to God and to his family. In the stillness, my Father in Heaven answered that I would have that miracle. The surety of that answer buoyed me up in my darkest moments. It was going to be all right.

It would be 2 more years before I saw the evidence of that miracle, and it would come in the form of another man who was finding his own way back to God and found and loved our family along the way, but for that time, belief was enough. I knew, no matter what, everything was going to be okay. I was going to be okay.

Had it not been for my sojourn to that rock, I might not have had the courage or the conviction to complete the second part of my metaphorical transfusion.

Certain of my online friends who lived outside of the state of Utah were coming to Salt Lake to visit family for the holidays. This prompted the women inside the state to declare the need for a GNO, or Girls' Night Out, so that long time friends could meet in person and share some laughter and fun for an evening. The date was set for a day late in November. The venue would be Salt Lake.

Somewhere inside of me, a deep longing for a night with these friends began to throb. My rock sitting experiment had given me peace and hope. My friends would bring me life. I knew it with everything left in me. I needed to get to Salt Lake. I needed to be there...needed all of them. Heidi, Lara, Emily, Tisha, Sara...every other friend who planned to be in attendance. I needed them like I'd needed those two units of blood those years before, healthy angels who could share their light with me and bring me back to who I knew I should be.

Broaching the subject with Aaron wasn't easy. Months of doormat living had wounded my ability to ask for what I needed. Months of ill treatment from him left me little room to hope he'd agree. Going to Salt Lake would mean money...for gas, for babysitting, for dinner out with friends and food on the road. It would also mean rearranging schedules and leaving him in charge of five children overnight. Consequently, it would require him to forgo any plans he had with his new friends to allow me a night with mine.

He wasn't mean, but he wasn't supportive. We just didn't have the money. There was just no way. How would we pay for Christmas? Could I really justify it if it took money away from Christmas?

Of course, I couldn't. I got online and let my friends know it just wouldn't be possible. I put a brave face on my post and wished them all well, said I hoped they'd all have a great time. Then, I stepped away from my computer and cried a torrent of tears.

It was Corey, an online friend who was then living nowhere near Utah and would have no way of attending the GNO, who stepped up first to say that my post would never do. She, like all of these friends, knew how much I needed that trip and that evening. "I have $27 in my paypal account. I don't need it for anything. I just talked to my husband, and if it can help get you to Salt Lake, it's yours."

Suddenly, women all over the country were pledging similar help. Heidi said she was paying for my dinner. Emily said I would be staying at her house in Provo. This friend was pitching in for my gas. That one was had $10 she could spare. Before my tears were even dry, my trip to Salt Lake was covered. My babysitter, very aware of the struggles Aaron and I were facing, offered to keep the kids late for free and encouraged me to go and have a great time.

Having the money to go bolstered my lost confidence, and when I approached Aaron again, it was not to ask about the trip, but to tell him I'd be going. To his credit, he didn't fight me...until I told him I wanted to take his shiny, new car.

"Why can't you take the van?" he asked, visibly agitated at the thought of being apart from his Mazda for 24 hours.

"The van has two bald tires, engine problems, no heater, and gets terrible gas mileage. It only makes sense for me to drive the car."

"But I need the car to drive to school."

"Can't you drive the van to school?"

"The van doesn't have a parking sticker."

"Is there nowhere else you can park?"

"There are places I could park, but I'd have to walk farther, and I just...really don't want to drive the van." He said this as if our GMC Safari minivan was a rusted bucket of junk he couldn't possibly be seen driving.

As he dug in his heels, the months of pain began to give way to something new. I felt...annoyance...indignation...and humor? No, not just humor...hilarity. It was a strange feeling, this angry, ridiculous laughter in my heart. Was this man for real? Was he really fighting me on this? Was I really going to allow it? It was like the old Sarah was waking up and shouting, "No more!"

In that moment, I felt the best characteristics of the old Sarah merge with the best characteristics of the new. I kept my weapons buried, I did not lash out, but I stood firm. And in so doing, I found my vision becoming sharper. I was standing before a man who was acting like a spoiled and coddled teenager who couldn't possibly be asked to drive the family car. So often in the preceding months, he had acted in just this way, and my fear of an impending divorce had caused me to give in, to spoil, to coddle him. Today, I saw him for what he was, and I was having none of it.

"Are you really going to make me drive 5 hours one way in November in the freezing cold in a car that has no heat and that might not even make it there without breaking down or blowing a tire?"

He threw his hands up in the air and gave in with an exasperate sigh. "Fine," he said, "but my car had better be clean when I get it back."

"Do you want me to clean it with my tongue?" I said, with a good natured smiled.

He laughed in spite of himself and agreed that I should lick the car clean.

I felt my eyes fly open and my heart begin to race in excitement as I said, "Aaron! Do you know what we just did? That was called a repair attempt! SHA's been talking about those in Parenting Class. We were having a conflict and getting upset, and we were able to pull out of it and make the situation lighter with some humor! We did it! Isn't that cool?"

Aaron looked at me like I was crazy and rolled his eyes.

"He doesn't want this to work out," I said later that day in SHA's office. "I told him how excited I was about that repair attempt, that we had communicated so well and done something so many people can't do, and I realized...he doesn't want things to get better."

"How does that feel?" SHA asked.

"Funny," I replied. "I don't care if he doesn't want things to get better. I'm going to keep doing what I'm doing, and we'll see what happens."

SHA's smile stretched across his face, and in that smile, I knew something was fundamentally different. I wasn't bleeding anymore. Everything else was the same, but I I had staunched the flow of blood somehow.

A few days later, I grabbed a few favorite CDs and a small suitcase and drove away from pain and heartache and into love and sisterhood in Salt Lake. I drove the car, his car, with the heat on high and the music even higher. For the next 24 hours, my friends transfused me with their light, their love, and their words. At dinner Thursday night, I found my laugh again. At a walk around Temple Square, I found the spring in my step I hadn't known was missing.

As I drove home, I popped in a favorite Will Smith CD. As he rapped about being knocked down and getting back up again, I began to feel like he was rapping about me. The words "I got my swagga back" hit me square across the chest. I had left St. George as an erstwhile doormat. I was driving home with swagger.

Tisha, one of the friends I'd met for dinner, had talked to me about her own feelings on my situation. "It's time to stand in your majesty, Sarah," she had said, her stern brown eyes daring me to disagree, her 4 foot 10 frame so majestic she might have been 10 feet tall. "You are majestic, and you need to stand. Your husband will do one of two things. Either he will take his rightful place beside you and be majestic himself, or he will not be able to abide your presence, and he will leave. Either way, you need to stand in your majesty, Sarah. It's time."

I drove home majestic and ready to stand.

Daily Gratitude: Homecoming

2011-10-24T16:20:00.000-07:00

Last Tuesday was a day simply overflowing with joy and gratitude. Our oldest, Aaron, had his first trip home since going to live in a therapeutic group home last year. While Richard and I have enjoyed weekly visits with Aaron, it had been just over 18 months since Aaron had been able to spend time with his siblings. The excitement at our house was palpable as we waited for him to arrive at our door with his therapist, and when he finally arrived, all was right with the world for a moment.

We spent a couple of hours with him the following Saturday, carving pumpkins together as a family. The goal now is to slowly build up the length of the visits and transition him home. I can't begin to express my gratitude for his transformation, his growth, and for the people involved in his care.

At our most recent therapy appointment, Aaron's therapist told us that he considered us the ideal family to work with and Aaron the ideal client. I don't know if he'll ever know what those words meant to me. Richard and I have spent the last year and a half praying for, loving, supporting, and working with my son and his caregivers...not because we hoped to hear praise like that, but because he is a part of our family and always will be.

I know there are many out there with children who struggle. Whether they suffer from disabilities like our son or they've just taken a wrong path and don't know how to get back on the right one, I would say there's hope. There's always hope. I'm so grateful I didn't lose my hope through this process, even when it seemed none was forthcoming.

I'm grateful for dear friends who supported and loved me so I had the energy to support and love my son. I'm grateful for a therapist who knew just how to approach him, who took his disabilities seriously and adjusting his therapy sessions and goals accordingly. I'm grateful for a case manager who kept me always in the loop, spoke to me like I was a valued member of a team, and treated my son with dignity and respect even when he struggled. I'm grateful for group home staff members who mentored him and welcomed us into the home like old friends. I'm grateful for a niece and her husband who made a noble effort at helping him prior to his move to the group home.

I'm grateful for a husband who treats my children as his, who never missed an appointment, who made visits a priority, and who never missed an opportunity to tell Aaron how proud he was of the progress he was making. Richard, I learn from you more than anything that fatherhood is not conferred by the mere rules of biology. It is earned. It is cultivated. It is chosen.

Finally, I'm grateful to my children...to my son for his willingness to work hard to overcome his struggles. To my other children for praying for him during family prayer, for caring about him from afar, and for welcoming him back with genuine smiles and happiness.

To whomever is reading this...I'm grateful you're here. I'm grateful you care.

Daily Gratitude: A Cohesive Marriage

2011-09-29T10:39:00.000-07:00

After some hemming and hawing over the summer, I decided to follow through and finish my minor during my last semester at the U. Both of the classes are interesting and helpful and make me glad I didn't abandon my minor in favor of fluff classes.

Tuesdays and Thursdays, I attend "Strengthening Families," and spend an hour and a half at a time learning about what a great marriage I have. The more statistics and case studies my professor shares, the more I realize that this go round, I've got the marriage I struggled and failed to create the first time.

Today, we talked about the different types of marriages: Pursuer/Distancer, Disengaged, Operatic, Cohesive, and Traditional. As Dr. Herrin described the characteristics of a Cohesive marriage, I couldn't help but wonder how long he'd been hiding in my house and observing us.

According to our reading, by E Mavis Hetherington,

"...a cohesive/individuated marriage, characterized by warmth, respect, equity, mutual support, autonomy, and relatively low instability — a feminist ideal. These couples felt comfortable disagreeing, but did not resort to coercive, hostile strategies in resolving their differences. Although they were emotionally and sexually satisfied in their relationship, had many shared interests, and enjoyed spending time together, they still permitted each other considerable autonomy to work and pursue their own goals and to have their own friends."

This is my marriage, and today, this is my gratitude. I'm grateful to have it. I'm grateful my children get to see it. I'm hopeful they'll have the same for themselves.

How did I get this lucky?

Divorce and Metamorphosis: Hemorrhage

2011-07-25T17:05:00.000-07:00

(This is the tenth post in Divorce and Metamorphosis, the story of my 2006 divorce and the personal growth that followed it.)

The days that followed Aaron's revelation of his plans for divorce were clouded in pain and hope. He was leaving, but he was still there. I had four months to turn this around. Surely, if he really meant to leave, he would have done it already, right?

According to Aaron, he really did intend to leave. But I was to tell no one. He wasn't ready for his family to know where we stood. I held his secret inside me, afraid to speak it anyway.

He didn't grant me the same respect. Within days of our talk in the car, I received a phone call from a disgruntled employee on his crew.

"Is this Sarah Wilson? Aaron Wilson's wife?" said the unfamiliar and angry voice.

"Yes," I replied.

"Well, I work with your husband, and I just think you ought to know that he's planning to file divorce on you in February with his tax money."

"I know that." What else could I say to this?

The man sputtered for a second and then said, "Well, I just thought you should know." He finished by calling Aaron a name I won't print, then hung up.

I wondered if I looked like a complete fool to this man, knowing my husband planned to leave me and letting him stay in my home anyway. I wondered what his coworkers thought of him, of me. Would they all agree with this angry person, spitting Aaron's name out as a profanity like it was poison? Or did more of them sympathize with his plight, their poor supervisor and his...what? crazy? mean? terrible? wife?

With the cloud of divorce hanging over us, we continued to live as if things were fine, at least in front of the kids. As was his new way of being, Aaron wasn't around much. School was still in session, and work had picked up so much that he had guaranteed overtime each week. He continued to spend as much time as possible with friends, all but ignoring me and his kids in the process.

A week after his revelation, we met together with SHA as planned. I had asked Aaron if he was willing to continue working on the marriage, just in case things could change by February. While doubtful that would happen, he had agreed. I arrived at our session ahead of Aaron, and SHA asked me privately how I'd like the session to go.

"I'd like to hear what Aaron doesn't like about me, so I know what I can continue to work on."

Aaron entered shortly after, and SHA began the session, leading it in the direction I'd noted without letting on that I was the one who wanted things that way. Aaron looked at me with a little nervousness, as if wondering if I could handle what he was about to say. Inside, I almost laughed. I'd been listening to him tell me what a crappy wife I'd been for months now. I could certainly handle specific complaints in the safety of SHA's office.

While acknowledging some of the changes I'd already made, Aaron told me he didn't like that I was clingy...suddenly clingy. I tried to touch him too much, hug him too much. I was too emotional. He couldn't handle it. I wanted to talk too much.

I nodded through this. This was productive. This was what I had wanted.

SHA talked to Aaron about withdrawal and pursuit, suggesting to him that I was suddenly clingy because he was suddenly withdrawn, that I had been used to a certain amount of affection from him, and he had removed it. He shared that my response was a normal one, but that he was likely pulling away even more in response to my clinginess, and that that would only make me more clingy.

I did a lot of listening during that visit. My ego was still all but obliterated. I was teachable...open.

And I still wasn't really looking at his faults. SHA's words about withdrawal and pursuit gave some of the responsibility for that dynamic to Aaron, but I couldn't comprehend it. In my mind, I was still a perpetrator, a predator, the terrible person who had brought all of this on myself. My husband was acting in cruel ways, and I deserved it. Didn't I?

It was the first time I began to question that belief.

Life, for me, was a never ending roller coaster of exhilarating highs and devastating lows. There was Aaron, hugging all of us, including me, before leaving for school each morning. There was the day Aaron had playfully run away from me with something I needed, laughing and hiding and slapping my bottom when he finally gave it to me. Then, there was the day he approached me saying he wanted to spend a good portion of Thanksgiving Day with his friends watching football at a bar. Thanksgiving...my favorite holiday.

I stared at him blankly and then simply said, "Who ARE you?" before bursting into tears in front of him. Rolling his eyes at me, he tried to backpedal out of the situation. I took some breaths and regained my composure and agreed that if he wanted to leave on Thanksgiving, he should go and have fun. He offered a compromise, saying he'd watch the Dallas Cowboys game with me. In my shock and disorientation and my need to avoid conflict, I accepted but still encouraged him to go.

He left for work shortly after that exchange, and I got online to a message board of friends who had no idea how bad things really were in my marriage. I posted a one line thread: "I need to talk to someone on the phone." My friend, Pamela, was the first to post with her phone number. I hadn't known she was exactly the person I needed to talk to until I saw her name there.

Pam and I spoke for two or three hours. I paced in front of my home, unloading everything I hadn't shared with everyone else on the message board. I shared every fear, but I shared something new. I was angry. I was tired of being hurt. I was getting tired of keeping my weapons buried. I wasn't ready to dig them up, but I was done carrying this pain alone, bearing it alone, pretending it didn't hurt.

More than anything, I was confused. I was angry he was going to leave us on a holiday, yet I'd encouraged him to go. Why had I done that? What was wrong with me? I had asked him who he was. Who was I?

I emailed SHA on Thanksgiving night, and the anger and fear poured out like a hemorrhage...

I’m angry. So, I guess that means I’m afraid. So what am I afraid of?

I want to start with anger. I’m angry because I’m sick and tired of feeling like I’m the only responsible parent in this home. I’m sick and tired of Aaron coming home, “putting in hours” as a father, and then taking off to party, play games, do whatever he wants to do and I’m in charge by default. I’m angry that he hasn’t been in charge of the kids alone in months. I’m PISSED that he would even consider partying on Thanksgiving appropriate. I’m tired of feeling like we’re his sloppy seconds...like we’re being tolerated...like when he’s here, he’s just passing time until he gets to be with his friends again.

So what am I afraid of?

I’m afraid of being left. I’m afraid of having to raise these kids alone, of having the responsibility for them left on me for good. I’m afraid I can’t do it. I’m afraid of the baggage they’re going to have to carry over feeling abandoned by their father. I’m afraid of being overwhelmed and distant as a mom. I’m afraid that he’s going to string me along for the next three months, and I’ll spend all that time working and hoping and praying and thinking things are better and then he’ll leave anyway. I’m afraid there’s someone in particular he’s going out to see, and all the recent smiles and positive interactions are just a cover to keep him housed and fed until he’s got the money to leave. I’m afraid of feeling like the world’s biggest fool come February. I’m afraid I’ll lose my composure, forget everything I’ve learned and changed and kick him out the next time he goes and I’ll spend the rest of my life feeling like it was all my fault. I’m afraid he’ll leave and realize later that we didn’t deserve this, that his family really was the most important thing in his life, but it will be too late to come back.

I don’t know what the next step is. Do I embrace my fear or diffuse it? Is it enough just to name it? Is this the time for a plan B? It’s time for a plan, anyway.

What will I do if I’m left to care for the kids alone, except one evening a week and every other weekend?

I will choose to feel sad and hurt and disappointed. I will continue in parenting and work HARD to be a loving and involved mother. I will lean on friends and church members to help me when I need it. I will take passion time for myself to avoid becoming overwhelmed. If I do become overwhelmed, I will have a plan in place, and I will be kind to myself and understand that single parenthood is hard. I will continue in therapy and do work on my own to become stronger and able to carry the burden alone. I will expect Aaron to be the involved father he claims he will be, but I will leave that choice to him. I will choose to remain friends with Aaron, even if that takes a lot of work on my part toward forgiveness.

What will I do if I learn all this niceness was just another act, and he serves me with divorce papers despite all I’ve done to change?

I will choose to feel devastated. I don’t think there’s any way around that. I will choose to feel disillusioned for a while. I may feel at fault for awhile, and I will choose to be kind and forgiving to myself about that. I will come to accept that he made his choice, and I will be honest with myself about whether or not I did everything in my power to change and be a better wife. I will choose to be grateful that our last few months together were kinder and not hostile, because the kids don’t deserve hostility.

What will I do if there is someone else?

I will scream the scream of the discarded wife. I will choose to feel the incredible pain. I will work to heal any resulting trust issues in therapy. I will know that this choice was not about me. I will choose to feel sad that he would make such a choice, but I will leave the responsibility with him.

What will I do to avoid losing my composure and kicking him out?

I will continue to listen to my inner voice reminding me of the work I’ve done. I will continue to read my scriptures every day and pray continually when I need added strength. I will recognize when I am being reactive and will take a step back and start over, praying for guidance and help. When I do well, I will give myself positive reinforcement by writing it in my 7 principles log. (Give credit: When I reacted to his desire to leave us on a holiday, I stopped myself, acknowledged to him that my reaction was not the best, prayed mightily for guidance, and remembered my Anti-Nephi-Lehi strategy).

What will I do in the months between now and February to avoid being overcome by this fear?

I will concentrate on myself. I will continue to follow my plan. I will pray daily and retain my hope and confidence in the Lord. I will make my choices based on the future I hope for and revert to the above plan if I’m presented with the future I dread. I will choose to feel everything, and I will recognize that my desire to fight back or ask him to leave is a product of the intense pain. I will remember that the pain will not go away if I kick him out. I will choose to have faith that things can change for us, and that if I endure this pain, I can receive a stronger measure of joy as my relationship with Aaron heals. I will frame new developments as opportunities to negotiate rather than as betrayals. I will remember NOT to allow Aaron to put me in the position being his parent, and I will choose not to put myself in that position. I will remember that Aaron is responsible for himself, and I have choices in every situation. I will probably ask SHA for ideas on how to avoid the parent role. I will accept his new kindnesses and be grateful for them and work to avoid distrust or seeking for the motive behind them. I will tell him what I appreciate and like about the things he does.

I will seek for guidance from the spirit to tell me when I need to assert myself and when to let go.

(credit for Aaron: I like that he asked me what I thought about him leaving today and he initially decided he wouldn’t go if I had a problem with it. I was the one who encouraged him to go, because I didn’t want to have to deal with resentment if he stayed. I don’t think that was entirely clean on my part...it felt a little codependent. I like that Aaron compromised by watching the Cowboys game with me and that he does make time for us. I like that he’s going to stay with the kids while I hike on Saturday and has said he will keep better track of them so they don’t trash the house.)

SHA's answer came quickly:

Sarah,

this will be short, cuz I don't have a lot of time, but we will talk about it further if you want later. . . sounds like part of your fear is how you are feeling "set up". . .if you tell him you are fine with him partying today, you are giving permission and are becoming part of it. . .if you don't and react then he has more evidence that he can't be with you. . . or maybe you will get pushed far enough that you step in and file on him to relieve the pain and take control (which you don't have much of right now). . . it sounds excruciating the way it is structured right now. . . he may be letting you gather more and more evidence that you'd be a fool to want to be with him and then you step in and do the "dirty work". . .or if you don't then you just take it on the chin over and over till February. . .it's a no win for you (at least in the relationship). . . if being the benevolent observer gets too old then you may have to shift focus to taking really really good care of yourself (whatever that looks like), because frankly right now, you aren't going to have many other people that will/can (Aaron). Have you got Crazy Times by Abigail Trafford? It's probably a little premature, but might help you if you don't have it yet. . .it's about what goes on in the divorce process as far as emotional stages and processes. . . the first couple of chapters could really help you. Hang in there and please be gentle, kind and caring to yourself. . . remember Nathanial Brandon's quote about "no one is coming". . .well you at least have your faith to support and clarify some things for you. . . there can't be fear when faith is preset. . .remember that please. .

talk to you soon

SHA

When Aaron returned home that night, I went for a walk alone and talked to God. I told Him that I didn't know how much longer I could do this, how many more offenses I could lie down and take. I had covenanted to not fight, knowing divorce was a possibility. I hadn't expected the death of my marriage to happen so slowly.

God spoke back. When I returned home, I spoke with Aaron. In the morning, emailed SHA once more:

Thank you for your reply. I think you got to the heart of it.

I did some praying and thinking on my walk last night after Aaron came home. I've decided to tweak my strategy a bit. I thought again about the story of the Anti-Nephi-Lehis and realized I wasn't applying it entirely correctly. My strategy is to bury my weapons and not fight back, but I've come to realize that there is a difference between not fighting back and encouraging Aaron to hurt me. The people of Anti-Nephi-Lehi did lie down and allow themselves to be killed, but they didn't hand the Lamanites the weapons to do it...they didn't say, "Here, let me help you with that arrow." And they didn't run and hide either. They faced the Lamanites first and THEN they lay down and were killed.

So, burying my weapons and refusing to fight back for me can mean refusing to be the one to file or ask him to leave, but it doesn't have to mean that I become completely passive in the relationship and lose the part of myself that I really admire. I can change the way I frame complaints, letting go of judgment and working toward acceptance, but I don't have to agree with everything he does.

When he got home last night, I let him know that encouraging him to go had been dishonest on my part. I told him that I hadn't agreed with it, and that I was hurt by it. I told him I didn't feel like it was a responsible thing to do. He reframed that as me calling him an irresponsible person, and I clarified the difference between a complaint and a criticism, told him I had intended it as a complaint about one specific action, and that if it came off as a criticism that I was sorry, and that's not what I meant. He wasn't happy to hear any of it, but I felt peace for the first time yesterday.

You summed up my choices in your email, and there is peace in at least knowing I have choices. My choice is to take it on the chin over and over until February. I can't be the one to walk away, no matter how hard it becomes. My choice is to make it incredibly HARD for Aaron to walk away from his family by being kind to him and loving and respecting him despite what he chooses. The only difference now is that I'm more committed to loving and respecting myself in the process.

Sarah

SHA and I had a private therapy session a few days later, and SHA told me how he saw Aaron's actions.

"He doesn't just hurt you. He asks your permission first. It's like he hands you the knife and asks you to plunge it into your own chest and twist it for him." He made a gesture that mimicked his words. "I understand you want to stay in this marriage and keep working, but Sarah, you're bleeding...to death. What can you do to stop the bleeding?"

I had no answer for him. The visual had stunned me in its accuracy. I felt that knife, and I felt my own hands on it. I felt the blood coursing from my body.

I knew hemorrhage. I had been rushed to an emergency room just a few years before when a late miscarriage became a life threatening hemorrhage while I was at work one day. I knew what it felt like to have blood gush from a wound deep inside me, to feel my life leaving me as it spread on the floor beneath me.

I knew he was right. I was bleeding to death. Maybe it wasn't a literal hemorrhage this time, but I wouldn't survive this emotional hemorrhage any better than I would a physical one.

I needed a transfusion.

But where would I find it?

Divorce and Metamorphosis: Rumors and Truth

2011-07-25T14:54:00.000-07:00

(This is the ninth post in Divorce and Metamorphosis, the story of my 2006 divorce and the personal growth that followed it.)

November began with a rumor.

The first day of the month was a Tuesday. I arrived at Ivy's house at our appointed time to assist her with prenatal appointments throughout the day. I loved the aura of Ivy's house and was happy to lose myself in the care of others for awhile.

It was not to be.

I couldn't know when I arrived that Ivy was struggling under the weight of information that might crush me. We made it through a few appointments before she could no longer manage it, and in a break between pregnant mothers, she sat me down to talk. I think of that moment as the beginning of the end.

Ivy's oldest daughter had recently begun working at the Wal Mart Distribution Center in Hurricane, UT, where Aaron worked as a supervisor. She, of course, knew Aaron through me. Whether or not his coworkers knew of their connection before sending gossip her way is unknown to me.

A few days into her new job, Steffany came home to Ivy upset. The distribution center was abuzz with a rumor. Aaron Wilson, the supervisor, was cheating on his wife with a coworker. Did Ivy know? Did I know?

Ivy watched me closely as I took in the news. I was a jumble of emotions. I was shocked and not surprised at the same time. I reminded myself that rumors didn't necessarily mean truth, but some part of me wanted to accept it as such...the truth that might explain the past 5 months, anyway. I don't think the tears came until later, until Ivy and I had agreed that I should take the rest of the day off and I had left her home, with Ivy wondering if she'd made the right decision in telling me.

Getting into my car, I prayed for strength and direction and knew where I wanted to be. I dialed my friend, Cori's number and managed to explain what had happened between sobs.

Cori is the kind of person you go to when you have news, the good kind and the bad. A naturally empathetic person, she has a gift for mirroring your emotions, enhancing them, sharing them. As tears sprang to my eyes, I heard them begin to fall from hers. Her sympathetic voice told me to come to her home, to get there fast. I obeyed.

I was there for hours...or was it just an hour? Or was it a day? Time had no meaning as I sat in Cori's bedroom and tried to make sense of what Steffany had heard about my husband. Minutes and hours dissolved around me as I wondered what to do next. Cory listened and cried, touched and held me, comforted me, bore my heavy burden as best she could.

At some point, I called SHA and left a message. My call was returned quickly. I think he could hear the tone of emergency in my voice. I broke down as I told him what I had learned. His soft, "Oh, Sarah..." felt to me like the greatest safety. This man hurt for me. He knew how hard I had worked, how badly I wanted to stay married, and he hurt for me.

We set up an emergency appointment for the next day. I told him I was going to go out to the distribution center and talk to my husband, give him a chance to answer the accusation. SHA seemed to think that was a suitable plan. He may have told me to wait until our appointment to do anything rash. Maybe I just told myself.

I left Cori's embrace reluctantly and then got into my car and onto the road toward Hurricane. The kids were at the sitter's house, a usual occurrence, since Tuesday was prenatal day and the night I attended parenting class. I called the distribution center and was put through to Aaron, telling the dispatcher it was an emergency. I told him I was on my way, that I needed to talk to him, and that I would take him to get some dinner in Hurricane. When he protested, I stood firm. However he could manage to leave work, he'd have to make it happen.

As I drove the 30 minutes to Hurricane, the full impact of the day began to hit. I began to feel the air leave my lungs and struggled to maintain my position in my lane while powerful, dry, and hopeless sobs shook my whole body.

Speaking a desperate prayer in my heart, I begged for help from my Father in Heaven. Immediately, I was reminded of the words of a treasured hymn, found my voice, and began to sing.

Be still my soul
The Lord is on thy side
With patience bear
Thy cross of grief or pain
Leave to thy God
To order and provide
In every change
He faithful will remain
Be still my soul
Thy best, thy heavenly friend
Through thorny ways
Leads to a joyful end

Be still my soul
Thy God doth undertake
To guide the future as he has the past
Thy hope, thy confidence
Let nothing shake
All now mysterious
Shall be bright at last
Be still my soul
The waves and winds still know
His voice who ruled them
While he dwelt below.

I thought of my mother, of the day we learned my father had been unfaithful to her. 20 years had passed since that day. She was happy and settled with my second dad, her prior pain only a memory. Had God guided the past to get her there. Would he guide my future?

Aaron was waiting for me as I entered the parking lot. He stepped into the van, irritation evident on his face.

"I don't know why I had to leave work," he said gruffly.

"What we have to talk about is not something I'm comfortable talking about over the phone where a dispatcher might be listening."

I told him what Ivy had shared with me. His face turned dark, and he spoke accusingly. "And you believed it."

"I came here to give you a chance to answer it. Maybe I believed it or maybe not. But before two weeks ago, I would never have believe you'd be willing to stay out all night and get passed out drunk on the floor of a night club, and you did that. I have no idea what to believe about you anymore. I don't know what you're capable of."

"I'm not having an affair. The woman they're talking about...we talk. She's separated from her husband and she needs someone to talk to."

"Well," I said, "whatever's going on, you're obviously not using the best boundaries, because your coworkers and your staff think what they do."

"I don't care what they think. I know what I'm not doing. I'm not cheating."

"Okay." I believed him. I still believe him. If he were to tell me today that it was all a lie, that he really had been having an affair, I don't think it would hurt, but it would surprise me. The rumor had not really rung true from the start. He was a lot of things, but unfaithful was not one of them.

"We do need to talk about something," he said. "I guess we might as well do it now."

My lungs, which had just begun to relax, constricted again.

"I've been waiting to tell you this. SHA told me we should wait...that I needed to let you down gently...that you weren't ready to hear it.

"I'm done. I want a divorce, but we can't afford it right now, so I'm waiting until February when we get our tax money. I'm hoping we can do it without lawyers. I want to work together. Until then, I guess we'll just live together like we are now, but in February, I'm going to use the tax money for a divorce."

The sword had descended. The words had been spoken. My greatest fear was real. It was over.

But it wasn't over. What's that he had said? February? He would wait until February? We were to live together as if for four more months, all the while knowing he planned to take the tax money and run? And what was that he had said about SHA? Let me down gently? This was gently?

I dropped him back at work with my head in a fog. I had just enough time to get back to St. George to parenting class, so I drove with a purpose. My tears had dried. My heart was cold. My head was swirling with Aaron's announcement.

I entered parenting class in the middle of a discussion on birth order. SHA noted my arrival with a meaningful look before breaking up the students into groups based on their places in their respective families. I sat on the edge of the middle child group and pretended to listen, but I felt like my body was made of stone.

Without looking too conspicuous, SHA made his way toward me, then leaned forward and asked with kindness in his tone how I was doing. I turned my stony gaze on him and related what Aaron had told me, telling him I didn't appreciate his remarks, that letting me down "gently" was the worst thing anyone could try to do, and that I would have appreciated honesty from him if he'd really thought my marriage was beyond saving. My voice was ice, and I wanted to piece him with it.

Somewhat taken aback, SHA held up his hands and said, "I'd like you to put all of these feelings into an email to me tonight and then we'll discuss them all during our visit tomorrow. Will you do that? Please, tell me exactly what Aaron said I said and exactly how you're feeling." I agreed to do that and we both went back to the business of class.

Afterward, Ivy and Cori hurried to me in the parking lot, and I shared what Aaron had said to me. The ice in my heart melted in the presence of these friends, and I wept new tears and shared all my feelings. I made my way home that night having cried out all the tears I had. True to my word, I sat down before my computer and wrote out a frustrated email to SHA, unloading a torrent of feelings meant for Aaron onto him instead.

The next day, I appeared in his office, stony expression back on my face, prepared to sever ties with the man while feeling heartbroken at the prospect.

"Your email was pretty angry," he said.

"I am angry," I responded. "I don't like hearing that you..."

He raised a hand before I could finish. "Did it ever occur to you to maybe talk to me and check out whether or not I actually said any of that, and if I did, what I meant? Were you even going to give me a chance?"

I was at a loss. It hadn't occurred to me. Not in the slightest.

SHA went on to explain that he still believed wholeheartedly that our marriage could be saved, but that he needed to buy time. His approach with Aaron was about keeping him married long enough for us to do the work that would turn things around.

Looking back, I don't envy SHA that position...meeting with a husband who wanted to use his therapy sessions as a way to leave and a wife who was using hers for the opposite. Just as I believe that Aaron was being honest when he said he wasn't cheating, I believe SHA meant what he said. He had faith, even then, that we could make it work, and everything he did, with Aaron and with me, was toward that goal.

This was the first day SHA mentioned his group therapy sessions. Friends from parenting class had mentioned being a part of them, so I knew something of them. They were tough and amazing, a chance to work and help others work, a place where maybe, Aaron and I could find success.

I left SHA's office chastened and humbled and hopeful. We set up a couple's appointment with the intention of talking to Aaron about joining the new 6 month group session that would begin in January. I went home to a man who believed he only had 4 months left of the misery of living with me. I went as a wife who was back to believing that could change.

We had entered limbo.

Daily Gratitude: Jeremie and Cori

2011-07-25T11:40:00.000-07:00

My dear friend, Cori, lost her husband this weekend after a long and valiant battle with leukemia. As Jeremie's disease progressed, Cori kept family and friends updated on the ups and downs of their journey via a blog. Jeremie passed away Saturday night, and today Cori posted her goodbye.

I met this couple through our midwife, Ivy. I was pregnant with my 4th child, Evelyn, and Cori was expecting Phoenix, her fifth. Those babies were born just 2 days apart, and Cori and I became fast friends, sharing happy and sad times together. She is and will always be incredibly special to me...someone who etched her name quite firmly into my heart years ago.

It's sad and strange to think of Cori without the usual "Jeremie and..." tied to it, so I won't. Cori's sweet husband may be gone from this earth, but I know him to be as much a part of her now as he was in life. Today, I am grateful for Jeremie and Cori, together in spite of death, together in my heart.

I love you both.

Daily Gratitude: Singing Scat

2011-07-19T09:54:00.000-07:00

I once took a personality test that aimed to answer what type of thinker I was. The four possible dimensions of thinking were Concrete, Abstract, Random, and Sequential. Some people had a mix of all four. Others were very firmly entrenched in their thought processes. I was one of the firm ones.

The teacher of the class pronounced me a Concrete Sequential thinker. A big one. I like order. I like predictability. I like routine and rules and steps and sequences that makes sense.

"So why do I like jazz?" I asked the teacher that day. "And why do I like writing free form poetry? Neither of those is concrete or predictable or sequential. They just are. They form from moods and feeling and passion."

"I think there's a part of you that wants to break free from the rules and the routine," he said. "Jazz and poetry are two ways out...two opportunities for you to be free and explore."

It was that need to break free that lead me to sign up for the Vocal Jazz class at Music, Arts, and Technology Camp this week. I wanted the freedom and the challenge. As a singer who craves the safety of structured music, I longed to break free of the rules and learn to sing the way I write poetry.

Certainly, there are rules jazz musicians follow. But there are moments in jazz when a sheet of scribbled music suddenly contains six bars of blank staff, and the only instructions for the soloist are the handwritten words "Improv Vamp Jammerino."

You see that, and if you're new to jazz, you think, Are those even words? Am I supposed to know what this means? If you've been listening to jazz your whole life but never got the nerve to try and sing it, you think, Oh no. Oh no no no. If you're me, you pretend you're one of the former and crack a joke about it being the name of a dessert.

I knew what those 6 empty bars of music meant. I knew it and dreaded it.

Scat.

I can't. I thought. I'm a concrete sequential thinker. I need notes. I need words. I need DIRECTION! I can't just sing whatever comes out of my mouth and make it sound good. My brain doesn't work that way.

And then my turn was up. And I did it. I'm sure I sounded like someone who had never attempted scat before, but HOLY ELLA AND LOUIS, I did it! When the teacher nodded at me, my brain stopped begging for structure and my voice broke free into nonsense...melodic, cool, syncopated nonsense.

And I was free for a moment.

Daily Gratitude: The BIG DAY!

2011-07-18T15:54:00.000-07:00

Nearly 16 years ago, I entered the temple to be married for time and all eternity to a man who covenanted to be mine forever. Forever lasted about ten years, and that was that. The story of the dissolution of that marriage is a work in progress. I know many are waiting for the next post, and it will be coming soon. They're heavy, unbelievably heavy to write because I walked into that temple ready and willing to commit, to work, to do whatever it took to make that marriage eternal. I thought he had too.

When that marriage ended, many of my hopes ended with it. What did forever even mean if one person in an eternal relationship could just walk away?

I remember telling a woman who had been my mentor and is now my sister-in-law that if I ever got up the nerve to date again, and if I was ever insane enough to remarry, I didn't want to do it in the temple. By my brokenhearted logic, if I remarried and it didn't work out, at least I wouldn't have lost eternity.

"But Sarah," she said, "if you get married outside the temple, you've already lost it."

Three years ago, I married my sweet...not in the temple, in the backyard of the beautiful home where we now live. I can say I chose to marry him outside the temple for a number of reasons. Remarrying in the temple after a divorce is sometimes a difficult and time consuming process. We were counseled by our bishop to not prolong our engagement while waiting for the process to be completed. I can say that was the reason, but I would be lying if I said the location of our wedding wasn't a relief to me.

I wasn't ready for forever. There are many who would disagree with that decision. I feel peace in my heart about it. I would not enter the temple and make a commitment that great until my heart could handle it. I had gone in fully committed the first time, and I had lost. I would not be sealed until I knew I would mean it...all the way...no more fear...no more hurt...no holding back.

A year into this marriage, I knew I wanted this man forever. I was ready to make those covenants again, and he was too. We scheduled a meeting with our bishop and got the paperwork to start the process.

It would be another two years before the process was complete...because it was a year and a half before the process could actually be started.

The first step for our bishop involved sending a certified letter to my ex-husband, so he could respond to my request that my sealing to him be canceled and so he could confirm that I didn't have any unmet financial obligations from our marriage. Thus began a year and a half of hardship for him which included multiple moves and a long stretch of motel living.

Did you know you can't send a certified letter to a motel? I do now. You also can't send a certified letter when you don't have an address, and when requests for such go unanswered. There were times I spoke bitter prayers to God that my eternal happiness seemed to rest in the hands of the man who had cared so little about it the first time.

This is where I note that we were able to catch up with him on at least one occasion, but because life was stressful at the time, we didn't jump at the chance we'd been given. By the time life had settled a little bit (a month or two later), he had moved again...and then he moved again.

Our miracle came in November 2010, when his father emailed an updated family address list, and we raced to the bishop to get the letter sent. By May, we'd gotten his response and had everything in order to send on to the presidency of our church. All we could do then was wait. We made a promise to each other that we would go to the temple every week until their decision arrived in the mail.

We only got to go once.

A week and a half after the paperwork was turned in, we got our letters telling us we'd been approved to be sealed. I held those papers in my hands and wept...in gratitude...in relief...in love for the man who would be mine always.

Our sealing was Saturday, July 16th, a beautiful, sunny day filled with family and flowers and happiness. I'm not sure how much of my feelings can adequately be expressed with words. I just know it was right...it was perfect.

Daily Gratitude: PROGRESS!

2011-04-14T18:53:00.000-07:00

Today, I am grateful for my oldest son. We made a breakthrough today, a hard one, and it felt like the first, big step on his path toward health, happiness, and peace. Aaron is currently living in a therapeutic group home, and his absence from my own home has been felt deeply. While I won't share the details of today's progress because it was shared in a therapy session, I will say that our understanding of him and his struggles has grown by leaps and bounds in a single afternoon. His revelations today made me incredibly sad and overwhelmingly hopeful for him...a dichotomy of emotions I'm still trying to process.

The pictures above show other progress for him. Velo Cardio Facial Syndrome (you've likely never heard of it but know someone who has it) caused a significant delay in social skills for Aaron. While I have many pictures of his smile, they are not easily obtained. Cameras used to illicit a growl or hiss from him (not an exaggeration...an actual growl or hiss). In these pictures, he made "eye contact" with the camera and gave me a winning smile. No silliness, no tics or noises, no trouble at all.

This is happiness. This is joy.

Daily Gratitude: Ode to My Gay Sister

2011-04-13T18:21:00.000-07:00

It's my younger sister's birthday! Carla is 33 years old today, an ever present reminder that no matter how old she gets, I will always be 15 months older and likely 50 pounds heavier. I'm okay with this.

Carla is talented, goofy, creative, funny, and kind. She's a survivor, a fighter, a friend.

And she's gay.

Some people will interpret that sentence as one of shame, repeating it in their minds in hushed tones. Others will say it with some kind of shock or astonishment. If you knew me, you'd hear the matter of fact tone I put on it. Carla is my sister. Oh...and she's gay. Yeah? And? Uh huh?

I remember distinctly the day she came out to me. She looked at me expectantly, and I kept waiting for the rest of the big announcement. Why was she telling me what I already knew? I kept waiting for the verbal ellipsis, the pregnant pause in the conversation to end in, "...and I killed a man," or, "...and Mom told me years ago that you were adopted." There was so much in the air at that moment, and it all seemed silly to both of us, I think.

I like to joke that I responded with, "Carla, you've been dressing like a lumberjack for the last 7 years. It's kind of obvious." In truth, I said nothing of the sort. To her credit, Carla thinks the joke is funny.

What I do remember was that she had expected my reaction. She had known the big reveal would not be a reveal at all to me. And I think (at least I hope) she knew that no matter what, she was always going to be Carla to me, and no scary revelation about her sexual identity was going to change that.

So yeah. My sister is gay. But she's a lot more than that. She's caring and fun and courageous. There were moments growing up when I counted her as my best friend and other moments when I thought she might be my worst enemy. Thankfully, the latter were short and infrequent...the kind of occasional sisterly enmity you find in most families.

Gay people illicit strong negative reactions from much of the populace at large, especially here in Utah. There may be those in my readership who believe I should shun her or look down on her for her homosexuality. There are those of my religion who might expect that of me. I can only say that that's not what I learned from my faith, and it's not what I know of my God. She is no less my sister for not sharing my beliefs. I'm glad I'm no less her sister for having them.

To Carla, happy birthday. I love you. Through every move, every change, every new path and challenge, you are my sister and my friend. I would not trade you.

Daily Gratitude: The Chrony

2011-04-12T18:04:00.000-07:00

My first opinion column at the Daily Utah Chronicle ran yesterday. The "Chrony", as the paper is known by its staff, is the award winning student newspaper at the University of Utah. It's been a year and a half since my 9 year run at the St. George Spectrum & Daily News ended, and it feels SO GOOD to be published in a newspaper again.

I love blogging. I'll keep blogging. Book plans are very much in the works. But right now, my gratitude is for The Chrony, its staff, and my editor there. My one column a week takes an amazing amount of work for a very small amount of pay, but I would pay for everything I'm learning there, so I feel pretty blessed to be paid at all.

My first column was on sexual harassment accountability at the U. Next week's will be on LGBT equality. It's serious stuff, and I'm loving every minute of it.

Daily Gratitude: My kids, the veggie lovers.

2011-04-11T15:02:00.000-07:00

So, I've lost 20 pounds in my quest to eat better and move more. I have about 80 more to go. My kids? Not only are they proud of me and eager to cheer me on, but they're completely on board with the healthy eating thing, too. Richard is also supportive.

I have friends who struggle because they want to lose weight but would have to serve themselves a separate meal in order to do so. It never occurred to me to do that, but then, my kids have all been veggie lovers from the start.

The picture above shows our contribution to the end of year party put on by the girls' children's choir. I wondered for a moment if they would think it was lame or embarrassing, seeing as how all the other kids bring junk food and sweets. Not my kids. They were excited and proud to bring healthy food to the party, and they had a really hard time not eating it on the way.

I am a proud and grateful mom. :)

Daily Gratitude: Easter eggs in the snow

2011-04-09T20:15:00.000-07:00

Today was the Easter activity for Bridging the Gap, a group for families with children who have Velo Cardio Facial Syndrome. My son, Aaron, was born with this genetic deletion, and the Bridging the Gap group is a place where, to put it in Richard's words, "We just feel like people."

Snow did not deter the kids from collecting hidden eggs. The disorder does not deter us all from sharing fellowship, support, and information at these meetings. Where would our family be without Cassaundra Gertsch and her awesome group? I don't want to know.

Daily Gratitude: A night off!

2011-04-08T15:21:00.000-07:00

What will I do? What will we do? I could work. I could write. I could catch up on the laundry, but I won't. Tonight, we're going to relax. We're going to have fun. We're going to catch up on us and just be a family.

Don't call me. Don't text. Don't even think about asking me to DO anything. You're on notice, world. This is my time, our time, and we're going to rock it.

Watch out!

Daily Gratitude: Ugly couches

2011-04-07T14:52:00.000-07:00

Have you ever noticed that the ugly couches are the most comfortable and sturdy. Ugly couches were made during a time when people who made things actually made them so they would last. This is good for sitting...not so much for adding to the beauty of your room.

I have an ugly couch. I'm sure it was beautiful in its day. That design of gold flowers on a cream background must have made its first owner proud. But fashion is a fickle beast, and the gold flowers are less retro than regurgitation.

And I love it.

It's the best thing to happen to my front room in 3 years. It was an unexpected hand-me-down from a family member, a piece of furniture we didn't know we needed until it was offered. Our much-too-big-for-this-house sectional is now piled in the front entry, waiting for the day I actually remember to call the thrift store and have them pick it up.

We grabbed a couch cover from Wal Mart the day we got our ugly couch, so now we have a lovely couch that is as comfortable and sturdy as the ugly couch it is. I'm grateful for that.

Daily Gratitude: New commitment

2011-04-06T19:57:00.000-07:00

I know that being grateful every day helps me see things clearly and keep a positive outlook on life. I know this, and then I neglect my gratitude posts. Some days, it seems easier to be mad or bitter or tired or stressed. In the long run, of course, life is harder that way.

So here's the new commitment: I will post one of these every day for the rest of the year, and I will receive into myself all the light and peace that comes from that. "Count your blessings, name them one by one, and it will surprise you what the Lord has done." I'm ready to be surprised, and deep down, I know I won't be. I know I have many more blessings than I see each day.

Today's blessing was a free lunch with my husband, courtesy of Chipotle and one of the partners at Datawise who won a business card drawing that entitled every employee to a free entree. I love lunches with my sweet. Those stolen moments in the middle of the day bring us close together. Being able to do that today for just cost of drinks meant not hurting a budget that is stretched a bit tight right now.

Thanks to Shane for entering a drawing. Thanks to Chipotle for a great offer. Thanks to Datawise for employing the both of us. Thanks to Richard for being my man.

Thanks to my readers for listening. Here's to the rest of the year of gratitude.

Daily Gratitude: And they dance, dance, dance, and they dance, dance, dance.

2011-03-07T13:45:00.000-08:00

I had a conversation with a sister-in-law once that I return to in my mind from time to time. She's not an animal lover in any sense and has no desire to ever be a pet owner. I would hold this against her, except I like her too much.

In that conversation, she questioned why I would want to have cats despite it being obvious to her that I have a mild allergy to them. She knew me as a teen and remembered my continually stuffy nose and my pretty, white cat, Gan. Asking what seemed an obvious question to her, she said, "You would breathe so much better without them. Why don't you get rid of your cats?"

"They may make my nose stuffy, but I can't replace what they do for my blood pressure. I'll take a stuffy nose any day, if I can have stress relief and happiness they bring me."

I spent ten years without cats in the time between my teen years and the onset of single motherhood. There was a hole in my life that I don't think I comprehended was there until it was suddenly filled by a stray the kids named Buster who just decided to make our home his without so much as a "May I please?"

My nose became stuffy again, but my heart melted at this furry creature who loved us. When he died, I was with him, incredibly sad and so very grateful that when my little family needed comfort the most, this cat found us and gave it in full measure.

A few weeks later, the kids and I headed to the shelter to find a couple of cats who needed a home. Richard's foundling, Isis, was struggling without Buster, wandering the house looking for him and crying, missing her playmate. We met Quill and Psyche there, a matched pair in danger of being split up, and knew at once they were ours.

Today, I'm grateful for cats, the three I have now and the many cats I've had before them. There will never come a time that I will be without cats. Not ever again.

Divorce and Metamorphosis: Burying my weapons

2011-02-09T23:53:00.000-08:00

This is the eighth post in Divorce and Metamorphosis, the story of my 2006 divorce and the personal growth that followed it.

I don't know how I got through the week that followed Aaron's first trip to the club. He was gone so much...to work...to school...to sleep...to work...to school...to sleep. This was our life. I think it helped. I didn't have to face him much. I went about my business, being a mom, being a midwife's apprentice, being a newspaper columnist who was supposed to make everyone laugh once a week.

I survived.

Shortly after that worst day, I came upon a story in the Book of Mormon. It was a story I knew well...the story of the people of Anti-Nephi-Lehi. They had been a people who had seen many wars, and after being converted to the gospel of Christ, they made a covenant that they would never again shed the blood of others. They made their covenant and they buried their weapons to seal it. They became a peaceful people.

These people were not without enemies, though, and it wasn't long before an army of their enemies came to war with them. The people of Anti-Nephi-Lehi had to make a choice. Would they take up arms and defend their lives, or would they die in order to honor their covenant? As their enemies approached, these once war-like people stepped forward and prostrated themselves before the armies and called out to God praying for help but also rejoicing in Him. Many were killed where they knelt, but they had not broken their covenant.

As the people of Anti-Nephi-Lehi fell, a stirring in the hearts of their enemies began until they could no longer kill these people who would not even defend themselves. This stirring became stronger and the bloodshed ended. The enemy was converted. In the end, more were converted than the number they had killed.

I closed my scriptures after reading that story and I knew, knew more than anything I'd ever known. It was time to bury my weapons. Divorce was my enemy, and it was coming for me, but I would not fight it. I would not fight my husband. I would bury my weapons and return love for anger, kindness for contempt. I would prostrate myself before my God and beg for mercy, for a miracle, for Aaron's heart to soften, but if that didn't happen, I would go down, succumb, meet divorce without a fight, and I would also praise my Father in Heaven's name to the end.

I met with my bishop at church to discuss the developments in my marriage and how I was handling them. I found a willing ear in him, a steadiness, a mirror.

"Sister Wilson," he said, using the standard form of address between Mormons, "If you had come in here and told me you were ready to pack his bags and change the locks, you would have had my support in doing so."

"I wanted to," I responded quietly, "but the Spirit told me not to, that it wasn't time for that yet."

He cocked his head to the side, looking thoughtful. I would see him do that often over the next few months. I would come to call it his "listening face." He was listening to the Spirit, and I could feel that Spirit envelope and comfort me.

I shared my new strategy, my new covenant to bury my weapons, and we discussed all that that would mean. He ended our meeting with a prayer for my marriage, for me, for my children. I left the church and walked to my home feeling humbled and resolved.

I would prostrate myself before the impending storm, and I would not fight. I would pray, I would smile, I would continue to work on the things I needed to change, but I would not fight.

The next time I met with SHA, I shared my strategy. A once member of the LDS church who had chosen a new path for himself, SHA knew the story and understood its meaning for me. I will be forever grateful that he chose to respect my religion and its significance in my life. I was safe to discuss these things in his office, and he threw his support behind me.

During that meeting, SHA reiterated his feeling that my marriage did not need to end, and he expressed hope that this new way of being would be helpful in saving it. To bury my weapons would be to remove any excuses from Aaron, to put the ball of change and responsibility for his choice firmly in his court. If I didn't fight him, he could not say that his choices were a reaction to me.

I didn't discuss what I was doing with Aaron. I just started doing it. I remember he seemed off balance about it at first. He'd been off balance since the morning after his night of drinking and dancing, when he'd come home and had not found his belongings all over the lawn, when I had told him I loved him and had invited him to join the family at church, when I had continued to remain married to him despite the fact that he had done just what he thought would finally break me.

He said as much during a conversation we had in the weeks that followed.

"When I left the house, I knew I might come back to the locks being changed and my bags on the porch. I was willing to live with that."

I had thought my heart was broken completely. When he said that, I realized it wasn't because it broke a little bit more. Still, I remembered my covenant. I prayed for strength and did not return hurt for hurt. I nodded and simply said, "I wasn't willing to do that."

The next few weeks were about Aaron testing the water, looking for the behavior that would make me crack, that would get him out of this marriage without having to do the walking away. He went bowling with some friends and didn't come home until morning. He said more mean and demeaning things. He stayed away, coming home only to sleep and finding excuses to be with his new buddies when he might otherwise be home.

Through it all, I was quiet. I did not fight. I did not push. I did not show him anger. I did not shout for justice.

I did, however, continue to work with SHA, in Parenting Class and in private sessions in his office. I craved assignments and wrote out everything I could, detailing the things I didn't like about myself and ticking them slowly off my list as I transformed. I delved into my superiority, my defensiveness, my depression, my hidden perfectionism. I looked at the ugliest parts of me, lanced the wounds, and healed them one by one.

All of this made my pacifist approach to Aaron that much easier to continue. I could see the pain he had felt for 10 years, and I accepted my responsibility for my part in it. I could attack him for not sharing that pain with me, but my Anti-Nephi-Lehi outlook led me to focus inward and let those old habits go.

More and more, I was not the woman Aaron wanted to divorce. More and more, his behaviors escalated as he lost hold of all the "reasons" he needed a divorce. In my stronger moments, I saw this for what it was. In my darker ones, I took the blows hard, embracing his cutting words as if they were my own, owning his single life as if I deserved it.

As October passed, the elephant in the room for us became our 10th anniversary. I found myself thinking and eventually asking what the point was. I didn't want to celebrate. Aaron was still paying lip service to wanting to work through our problems even though his every action said otherwise. In Anti-Nephi-Lehi fashion, I did not fight him when he said we should celebrate our anniversary. The tiny part of me that still had hope thought this might be a good sign.

The question of how to celebrate our anniversary loomed before us. Ten years...such an accomplishment to so many. Surely something bigger than a dinner out was in order, right? Robotically, I began to look around at overnight options. We began to talk about a room and spa package in nearby Mesquite, Nevada. Couples massage, the mineral pool, a night away. It all seemed strange and pointless to me, but I made the reservations, because I would not fight.

The following day, I learned that the church was putting on a "marriage conference" the weekend of our anniversary. They had secured expert speakers and entertainment. There would be food and fellowship and advice. All of it was free to members of our stake, the cluster of congregations in our geographical area. I met with the bishop once more, and he urged me to do all I could to persuade Aaron to attend the conference with me.

We attended the conference and spent the night in Mesquite, but not because of any real persuasion on my part. It was because of a car.

Aaron had a habit of offering gifts or other things I might want in order to get what he wanted. I often called it "Even Steven Syndrome." He skipped my level 2 ultrasound during my last pregnancy in order to go with friends to see a Spiderman movie and had come home promising the world to me to make up for it. He'd buy me a piece of jewelry only to turn around and buy himself something equally expensive a week later. So, I can say he attended the conference with me, but really, Even Steven did.

His sudden turnaround occurred in a car dealership, where we'd gone at his urging to replace rather than repair his broken vehicle. I sat in that office feeling like a freight train was running me over. I kept repeating to myself, "Bury your weapons. Do not fight," but I felt like a weight was on my chest. Here we were, possibly on the verge of divorce, signing our names to five years of debt.

As I write this, that car has been gone now for nearly 4 years, repossessed for non payment after Aaron and I separated. My credit is marred by that black mark. The outstanding balance owed after the car was sold has still not been paid. Aaron was given the responsibility for the payments in our divorce, but my signature is on the loan, so that car is a weight on a my shoulders that will not be gone anytime soon. But I signed. I chose that weight, at least in some part.

I chose it because of that marriage conference. Because when I hesitated, when I asked about how we could commit to 5 years of payments if he couldn't even commit to another 5 months of marriage, he told me if I let him buy the car, he'd go with me to the conference. I signed my life away on the off-chance he'd have some overwhelming change of heart at the conference and suddenly want to try for real. It was the greatest mistake of my divorce.

And, of course, there was no mighty change. There was no sudden insight. He didn't beg my forgiveness and resolve to be the husband I deserved. In fact, once the keys were in his hand, keys he would refuse to copy for me, he seemed to be less married than ever. I saw that car for what it was and I hated it from that moment. It was his getaway car.

Still, I kept my weapons buried. I kept my heart inside. I showed him love to match his indifference for me.

The enemy grew nearer, and I lay down before it. I could feel the blade of impending divorce pierce me.

And I bled.

On Donuts and First Kisses

2010-09-21T11:18:00.000-07:00

Today is the third anniversary of a first kiss, one that was made possible, in part, by donuts. Well, by a man who sold them. Today, I want to express my gratitude to that man.

This time 2007, after a long year of seemingly unrequited love for a best friend who was too afraid to "mess with perfection" by trying a more serious relationship, I was ready to move forward with my life. It was time to date, and if the man of my dreams wasn't going to step up to the plate, I was willing to move the plate and start dreaming different dreams.

With more than a little trepidation about what might or might not be available to a young 30-something with 5 kids, I signed up with my friend, Jamie, to attend an LDS singles conference. What followed was a weekend of terrific highs and unexpected lows. There were men who made me laugh out loud and seemed to enjoy my humor and my company, but there were also men who couldn't make their escape fast enough upon hearing my status as a mother of many. I tried to take it all in stride. I didn't dwell on the sad moments. There were plenty of nice guys to speak and dance with.

But none of them were Richard.

Each day of the conference, my mind was overwhelmed by that thought. You're nice, but you're not Richard. You're funny, but you're not as funny as Richard. You're sweet, but no one could ever be as sweet as Richard.

As much as I tried to shake his presence, Richard was with me everywhere at that conference. No man would be good enough, sweet enough, smart enough, funny enough. What man could? Richard was my best friend, privy to a thousand memories, inside jokes, secret words. There was simply no competition.

Until Sunday.

Sunday was the last day of the conference, and I'd signed up to sing soprano in the choir for the Sunday meetings. As I moved into my seat prior to the service, I noticed a man I hadn't seen at the rehearsals. He was sitting directly in front of me, his seat slightly below mine due to the positioning of the choir seats. I recognized him from the previous night's dance, but I hadn't spoken to him or danced with him.

At some point, he turned around to chat, and when his eyes met mine, I saw a recognition there. It was the kind of recognition that happened often in St. George, the kind I never got used to. "Do you write for the Spectrum?" he asked. I'd been expecting that and smiled an embarrassed smile and nodded.

"I love your column. I read it every week. I knew it had to be you. I love looking at your picture. You have great eyes."

I don't think I had much time to be taken aback by this sudden compliment because the service began shortly after this exchange. There wasn't much time for talking afterward, as all the singles hurried to their cars to attend the picnic lunch that would mark the end of the conference. As Jamie and I headed to her SUV, I found myself hoping this man would be there.

He was. We shared a few glances and smiles across the pavilion while I worked up the nerve to ask him to come sit at our table. All I managed was a quick jerk of my head accompanied by a grin. It was enough. We spent the next half hour getting to know each other, joking, laughing, and...could it be?...flirting like teenagers.

I learned his name was Joe, he was 40, a divorced father, and the owner of a donut shop located just feet from where I worked every day. As he walked me to my car, we exchanged numbers. Texting began almost immediately, and within minutes, he'd asked me out.

As I headed home, on a bit of a high, I realized that Joe hadn't gotten the Richard treatment. He wasn't Richard, but it hadn't mattered. He was Joe, and so taken was I with the "Joe-ness" of him, I hadn't thought to notice his deficits in "Richard-ness." This was good news! This was progress! After a year of longing and sadness over what would not be, I was really moving forward.

There was nothing to do but share my good fortune with the best friend who had been cheering this effort on, who had expressed his wholehearted desire for me to be happy, settled, involved...with someone else. There was a dancing quality in my voice as I excitedly shared with Richard the way Joe and I had met, our flirtatious encounter at the picnic, our silly texts and the proposal of a date that followed.

Richard said all the things I thought he'd say. He expressed pleasure at my excitement, happiness at the way my personality had seemed to mesh with Joe's, hopefulness over the prospect of a date. His words were there, but is tone was flat, mournful, tragic, even. There was a tightness in his breathing, a restraint I wasn't used to.

"Richard? Are you okay?" I asked, concerned.

"Sarah...you know how I said I wanted to have a serious conversation with you when you come up to visit in October?"

"Sure."

"I think we need to have that conversation now. I'm really sorry about this. I thought I had more time. I didn't mean to wait until someone had already asked you out..."

"Richard, what's going on?" My heart had begun to pound.

"Sarah, I think I'm in love with you."

And there it was. The dreams and hopes of a year...maybe more...were crashing into me with a force that knocked the air from my lungs. I'd spent a year thinking he MUST be in love with me. It had shown in the way he looked at me, the way he thought of me all day and waited to talk for hours each evening. It had been there in the way he tensed when I'd touch his shoulder or arm, as if fighting to keep from pulling me into a long kiss, and in the way held me close each time our visits came to an end, releasing me from his embrace only when to hold me longer would be to reveal the entire contents of his heart to me.

I'd loved him for a year, and here he was, loving me back.

We talked for hours. He'd known his feelings for weeks now but hadn't dared share them. How could he? He'd spent a year dismissing talk of love while showing in every action that he loved me completely. He'd broken my heart, pretending to himself and to me that those feelings weren't possible between us. Who was he to perform an abrupt about face and beg me to love him? These feelings had plagued him and silenced him, but he'd resolved to share them with me...later.

But he hadn't accounted for Joe. He hadn't accounted for a suitor who could stand on equal footing with him. Suddenly for Richard, the fear of losing his chance with me had overcome the fear of sharing his feelings. And so here he was, loving me, begging forgiveness for his cluelessness, asking for a chance.

I took Monday to breathe and think, visiting the donut shop at Joe's request and feeling conflicted over this very nice man who made me laugh and read my column every week and thought I had great eyes. He was still charming and funny and so very Joe. But what of Richard?

On Tuesday, after more flirtatious texts and another invitation to the donut shop, I knew I had to let Joe know what was going on in my life. I was heavy hearted, maybe a little afraid, as I stepped into his shop and saw him smile at me over the counter. He noticed.

I think I told him the whole story in one breath. For his part, he took it well, joking that if there was anything else he could do to make Richard jealous, he'd be happy to oblige. I laughed at this, and he said if this relationship was meant to be, he wouldn't stand in the way of it, and if I didn't choose to pursue things with Richard, he'd be ready and willing to take me on that date. I left the donut shop feeling lighter. Joe seemed to be stepping back.

Not so...

The next few days were filled with Joe. He called and texted, never in an intrusive way, just doing it enough to keep himself in the forefront of my mind. He found ways to see me, too. He'd had a slow day at the shop. Could he bring the leftover donuts to us? He'd made a huge pot of homemade spaghetti sauce. Would the kids and I like some? He was about to close up, could he stop in and say hello?

My conflicted feelings grew as Richard also called and texted, his voice and his words now fully expressing the love he felt for me. I was no game player. I had no desire to play with the hearts of these two men. I craved resolution, so I planned a trip to Salt Lake to discuss things with Richard.

It's amazing how clinically I spoke of the plan to myself and others. "We're going to talk things over and see what we should do about this." I spoke as if Richard's newfound love for me was an illness that needed to be treated or a business deal that needed to be looked over by our respective attorneys. My heart told a different story. I was going to Salt Lake to the man I loved with everything I had, to be received as a woman who was loved in just the same way. I could say it like it didn't really matter what the outcome was, but deep down, I knew what I wanted.

I arrived in Salt Lake close to midnight, and Richard and I headed to the neutral territory of a restaurant to relax and eat. There was no relaxation for me there. Every muscle in my body was tense. He kept the conversation light, afraid of what was next, terrified of this love...of what it might mean...of trying and failing...of hoping and losing. The more he avoided the subject, the more tense I became. By the time we'd returned to his apartment, I was fairly lost in emotion, desperate to get it out onto the table, to say all we had to say and decide what was next.

His love for me was everywhere. It was there in his eyes, in the gentle way he placed his hand on my back as we walked to his front door, in the way his voice broke a little as he suggested we sleep, me on his bed, and him on the floor in the living room.

I couldn't let the night end that way, without saying all I'd come there to say, without knowing what was to come, without defining what it was we were doing. I needed to talk. I needed to know. As he walked toward the door of his bedroom to leave me for the night, I found my voice.

"Richard?" He turned back. "I know you're tired...but if you don't kiss me really soon, I am going to completely, totally, and 100% explode."

Immediately mortified by this outburst, I turned away from him and hid my face in my arms. His response was gentle, as was his hand on my face.

"Don't hide, Sarah. I'm scared too." His eyes held mine as he took my hand and kissed it. He leaned closer and kissed my forehead. I tilted my head and kissed his cheek. Barely breathing, he gazed at me for what felt like forever, and then finally, softly, his lips found mine at last.

We fell asleep shortly after, me curled up in the comfort of his bed, him stretched out on the floor in the other room. We woke up smiling the next day, feeling as though life had just begun.

On Sunday, just before it was time to leave Richard and return to St. George, I knew it was time to tell Joe what had come of my trip. My text was simple: "I am off the market. I am his." Joe's response was characteristically kind. He congratulated me and told me Richard had gotten himself a wonderful woman. I knew I'd gotten myself a wonderful man.

Three years, and many gentle kisses later, I am overwhelmed with gratitude for Joe. I could say I'm grateful he scared Richard to the point of revealing his love for me, but it's more than that. I'm grateful to Joe for being Joe, for being a man I didn't compare to Richard, for allowing me a moment to realize that there were other men in the world I could consider.

When Richard shared his feelings, I might have worried that choosing him was simply the comfortable choice. If no one could ever be Richard, then what other choice could I make? Knowing there was a Joe...well, that made it real. I chose Richard, not because I was unaware or afraid of something different, but because he was the man I wanted.

So, to Joe I say, thank you for that. Thank you for trying, for hoping, for courting, for flirting. Thank you for being Joe. Thank you for helping to make a first kiss happen and for stepping aside when it did. I wish you all the best.

Daily Gratitude: Relying on faith

2010-08-03T16:27:00.000-07:00

To be honest, this post probably should have been posted a few days ago, but I've been feeling the effects of this good thing in my life since then, so I'm still grateful for it today.

I've always been the type of person who wants to know "the beginning from the end." I often say that I'm always on my guard in order to prevent being caught off guard. To put it in terms of psychology, I suffer from the thinking error (or cognitive distortion...if you want to get fancy) of "fortune telling." I want to know how much pain and heartache is in my future so I can stop fearing it, start feeling it, and be done with it.

It speaks of a delicately balanced dichotomy that I'm someone who has seen so many miracles in my life that I can't doubt their existence, and at the same time, I want to know they're coming before I'm willing to believe there are more in store for me.

I battle with this side of myself often, and this week, I've found myself down in the fight again. Noticing my usual habit of keeping a close watch on signs and situations and the resulting consequence of more than a little insomnia, I took the matter to the Lord in prayer.

God. I don't know why I still do this when I've had enough therapy to heal a nation, but I need to stop, and I need your help. Please help me to walk by faith. Please help the present to be enough. Please quiet the winds and the waves and help me to settle down, to be still and know that you are God.

The days since that prayer have been ones of still peace for me. I don't know the future, and I'm okay with it. I know who I am...a child of a God who will not give me more than I can bear, but who will give me just enough to refine me. As long as I know who I am, I know I will be okay no matter what comes.

And I believe in miracles. And I believe there are more in store.

Today, I'm grateful for faith which leads me through darkness into light and teaches me to let go and just be.

Divorce and Metamorphosis: The Worst Day

2010-07-23T17:08:00.000-07:00

This is the seventh post in Divorce and Metamorphosis, the story of my 2006 divorce and the personal growth that followed it.

The morning of Saturday, October 15, 2005, dawned cold and cloudy. I woke up feeling the cold in every part of my body. This was the day it would happen. This was the day my husband would break my heart.

This was the day my marriage ended. Oh, it limped along for a bit longer; our separation would not occur until a few months, a few holidays, and a trip to Mexico later, but this was the day he made official the fact that in his heart, he no longer had a wife.

Of course, in my heart, I still had a husband, still loved and wanted him, still hoped it would all work out somehow. I was determined that I would not let this ship sink without every attempt to bail out the water that was rushing in on it. And so, even though cold fear had overtaken my body like a desperately vast and frigid ocean, I got up that day and tried to live as if it would be all right in the end.

Aaron was in high spirits. He was as excited as a teenager anticipating a big date. He smiled at me, sometimes a giddy, thoughtless smile, and other time the guilty one I knew so well. Each smiled took the temperature of my heart down a degree. He hadn't been this happy in months.

We'd had plans to look into fixing our old, virus ridden computer that day, so we bundled up the kids and headed out to a shop where we could ask some questions. Inside, there were posters on the walls advertising specials on rebuilt computer systems. The prices were surprisingly good. Before I knew what was happening, Aaron was talking to a salesman, not about computer repair, but about a purchase.

We'd recently received an inheritance, so our bank account was uncharacteristically heavy with money, and Aaron began persuading me that what we really needed was a new computer, a better computer.

"It would be so much easier to write your columns on a faster computer," he said. "It's a good deal. I think we should do it." In similar phrasings, he continued his sales pitch. He wasn't buying us a computer; he was buying me a computer. I was surprised, but the need was there and so was the money. I agreed, and the salesman prepared the paperwork.

As he and Aaron worked over the deal together, I found myself struggling to breathe. Using the kids' rambunctious behavior as my excuse, I left the store and we walked outside and wandered in front of the windows of various shops. I found myself overcome with some feeling, some terrible, awful emotion I couldn't identify, and, desperate to overcome it, I distracted myself by entering a consignment shop.

The kids and I walked through the store, looking at the various items on display: furniture, paintings, musical instruments. Before long, Aaron found us and walked through the store with us, his step light and airy, his face beaming. Again came the overwhelming emotion, but what was it?

During our time in the shop, I admired an oak coffee table and an oval shaped, oak, full length dressing mirror. They were two things I'd always wanted, and I remarked on their beauty. And then Aaron was surprising me again, offering to buy them for me.

"You deserve them, and you've always wanted ones like them. They're perfect. We can't pass them up." Again, he stepped to a salesperson and started negotiating a purchase. Again, I felt like there wasn't air enough in the room. Again, I used the kids as a means of escape.

We got home later that evening, after a surprise dinner out, and Aaron busied himself setting up our new computer, and I took a quiet moment to try to identify the feelings I was struggling under. It wasn't until he was showered and dressing for his big night at the club that I realized what they were.

My husband was about to dishonor our marriage, and he'd just tried to buy my approval with a computer and some oak furnishings. Simply put, I felt like a whore. I stared at my reflection in my new mirror and wanted to shatter the glass in it and rage and scream that I wasn't cheap enough for that.

But I didn't do that. There was a strategy. There was a plan in place. I was going to stay put, stay calm, stay in my marriage. And so I watched my husband ready himself and tried to beat down the dread that was building in my stomach.

Don't cry, I said to myself. Be strong and don't let him see you cry. Don't play into his hand. Don't let him think it's going to work.

My resolve crumbled instantly as he walked out the door, and I noticed he'd left his wedding ring sitting on his dresser. Gone was the woman with a plan. I ran after him to his car, the ring clutched in my hand, sobbing so hard I couldn't speak, and held it out to him with pleading in my eyes. He looked at me in what can only be described as exasperation. He took the ring, but he didn't put it on. He left me there on the sidewalk, driving off into the night without a backward glance.

I don't know how my kids got to bed that night. I remember lying on my bed. I remember weeping. I remember calling my friend, Katrina, for help. I remember her coming to my door and sitting with me on my porch until 2 in the morning, arm slung around my shoulders, talking and crying with me, helping me avoid the temptation to pack his bags and change the locks, something she would have readily done in my place, but something she supported me in not doing because she was a true friend.

After she left, I lay in bed and waited for Aaron's return. My tears had abated, finally. There just weren't any left. I prayed my husband would make it home safely. I prayed I wouldn't retaliate. I prayed it wouldn't end that day.

At 5:30, I heard his car and listened quietly as his footsteps passed our bedroom window, stepped slowly down our stairs, and came to a rest by our bed. As he settled in under the blankets, I finally let myself sleep, waking only hours later to get the kids up and ready for church. Shaking him awake, I looked into his hungover face and said, "We love you. Would you like to come to church with us."

"Not this day," he replied, sounding sick. I straightened and breathed and finished our preparations, and the kids and I left him there.

That morning in church, I was on the schedule to give a lesson in Relief Society, the women's Sunday school class in the Mormon church. The stress of the week and the day before had left me completely unprepared. I stood before a group of women who loved and cared for me and who were used to interesting and well prepared lessons and simply started to cry.

"I'm so sorry," I said. "I meant to prepare my lesson yesterday. But yesterday was the worst day of my life. I need your help. Will you help me teach this lesson?"

I don't know what they thought of me. I don't know if any, other than Katrina, had an inkling what might be going on in my life. I only know their eyes filled with tears too, and all of them nodded. I spent the next half hour standing before them and calling on them as they raised their hands and shared experiences relating to the lesson. They taught the lesson to each other, and I said a prayer of gratitude in my heart for them.

After the class adjourned, I found myself in a sea of arms and faces, being passed from one woman to the next as many reached out to embrace and offer words of comfort and encouragement. It was with that encouragement that I found the strength to walk home with the kids and face a husband I knew no longer saw me as a wife.

Divorce and Metamorphosis: Shards of glass

2010-05-31T23:53:00.000-07:00

(This is the sixth post in Divorce and Metamorphosis, the story of my 2006 divorce and the personal growth that followed it.)

Aaron was done...more done than either SHA or I believed. It was there in his eyes, in his words and his actions. The dead Aaron I had been living with for months was replaced by a different man, a man who, after nearly ten years of passive pleasing, suddenly had a voice and a will of his own, and he used those to say every hurtful thing he'd spent ten years not saying. My husband had gone from doting and devoted to numb to mean and withdrawn.

I found in the following weeks that my eggshell carpet was replaced with one of broken glass. The tension before each step remained, but the immediate result of most of our final steps together as a married couple was indescribable pain, a pain I was still bearing, for the most part, alone. Still stifling my fears under a heavy blanket of denial, I refused to tell my friends what was happening, even when his words and actions hurt me deeply.

At some point, I had decided to let close family members know what was going on, though I didn't give many details. My father and stepmother, drawing on painful experience, each wrote a heartfelt letter laying out the realities that come along with divorce and begging us to do everything in our power to work through our problems. They chronicled years of heartache, including many months in which they had little or no money after child support was paid (or not received), and their struggle to come to terms with the fact that divorce and remarriage had not magically solved all their problems.

These letters got a shrug from Aaron. He seemed to think that just because they had gone through financial and emotional stress, strained relationships, and a large amount of heartache, it didn't have a bearing on him and his situation. He also made it clear that he considered a chance to get away from me to be worth all of that if it came.
As a child of divorce who had seen firsthand the chaos and the heartbreak, I held no such illusions. Despite my denial, there was a part of me that had begun thinking practically. Steeling myself for an answer I wouldn't like, I proposed a two year plan. I asked my husband to give it two more years, if only so we would both be in a better position if he still wanted out at the end of that time. He would have been finished with school. I would have been well established as a midwife. We would have bought the home we were renting and would have had a large amount of equity to split and use to start our new lives.

Aaron's response was just another in a long line of cutting words. "Two years is a really long time." With those words, and with the nonchalance of his attitude when told, in no uncertain terms, just how trying life after divorce could be, he told me that nothing mattered except getting out. Education didn't matter. Our home didn't matter. How I would be able to support my children didn't matter. He wanted out.

And yet...he stayed. He stayed and he cut with his words and his actions.

Perhaps the deepest cut I received at my husband's hands was delivered on the 15th of that month. Having learned in parenting class about the importance of parents taking time out for themselves to pursue personal hobbies and passions, I had begun encouraging Aaron to get away from time to time to just have fun and do what he liked to do. I suggested he take up paintball again or go with some friends to play video games. A friend of ours who knew things were strained had offered to take him hunting. Aaron, however, had other plans.

We were in Wal Mart. I remember that.  I can see the magazines on the racks...Angelina Jolie was on one of them. I can hear the sound of the kids begging for treats. I remember the way the belt inched our groceries closer to the register, the way the world moved around us. I remember the way the air left the room when he said it.

He said it with a nervous smile, but with a matter of fact tone that makes me wonder to this day if he really believed I would be perfectly all right with the idea. He had found something he wanted to do for his "me time." He and some friends from work, women included, were making plans to drive to Mesquite, NV, to go dancing at a nightclub there. I was not invited.

It was a sucker punch to the gut I wasn't expecting.

The world of Wal Mart continued to rattle away on its track, but everything in my world had come to a sudden stop. I trailed behind him as we walked to our van, absorbed in the shock of the way in which he'd laid out his plans, plans that included him and other women I didn't know dancing in a place where I knew from friends that the dance moves were merely thinly veiled, alcohol infused excuses to simulate sex on a dance floor. And he had said it the same way he might have told me he was going hunting with our friend, Jon, or gaming with his buddy, Bill.

"Is that something you think a married man should do?" I asked when the kids were safely in their carseats and out of earshot. He shrugged his shoulders, grabbing the cart to return it to the cart stall...maybe buying himself some time.

"I'm not going to dance with women, and I'm not going to 'dirty dance,'" he said.

"Are you going to drink?" I asked, my Mormon heart in my throat at the thought of my husband, who had never had more than a sip of champagne in his life, drinking.

Again came that nervous smile.  "I don't know," he shrugged.

At home, I retreated to our bedroom, locked the door, and got on my knees. Slumping across our bed, I let my tears flow freely as I uttered one of the most humble prayers of my life. My Book of Mormon reading had recently brought me to a passage in which a king is taught the story of a savior who would atone for the sins of the world. This king responds to the man who is teaching him by saying, "I will give away all my sins to know Him." As I prayed in the quiet of my room, I told my Father in Heaven that I was willing to give away all my sins to know my husband and pleaded for help in doing that.

As I write this, nearly five years after that day, it is interesting for me to see how much I took on my shoulders. I was the sinful wife who had not treated her husband as he should be treated. I approached this situation and my husband's ongoing desire to leave me as a much deserved consequence for ten years of my needing to be right, ten years of my struggle with depression, ten years of just not being good enough.

Here's what I can say about that. I think of the woman on her knees, and I love her with all my heart. I don't fault myself for turning a blind eye to the many and various sins of my husband. I wasn't ready to see those yet. As my story progressed, I learned to see the true picture, the 50% he contributed to the downfall of our relationship. But on that day, all I knew was that I had not been the wife I wanted to be, and I was losing my husband. I prayed that prayer because I truly knew that the only person I could change was myself, and I needed that change more than anything.

A couple of days later, just a few days before Aaron planned to go with his friends to the club, I made an emergency appointment with SHA, but this time, I went alone. I shared with him the plans Aaron had made and my fears regarding them. SHA stopped me immediately.

"During our first visit, I asked you if you wanted to stay married. You said yes. Before we can go further, I need to ask that again. Sarah, do you want to stay in this marriage?" I nodded. Divorce had never been an option. What my husband was planning would break my heart, but I wasn't finished yet.

SHA nodded with me, telling me that as my therapist, he was not there to judge my decisions, but to help me create the life I wanted. If I wanted to remain married to Aaron, then he would do his best to help me achieve that until I told him otherwise. He applied the caveat that Aaron and I had a solid foundation, and that underneath the present pain, there was real love and real hope for turning things around.

We talked about the way Aaron had transformed from the numb man who had come into his office to the man who had no problem telling me how I embarrassed him, how much he didn't like me, or how much he wanted out. SHA confirmed my worst fears, telling me that Aaron had met with him privately, and that he was "much more done than [SHA] had thought."

"Aaron definitely wants out," SHA said, "but he's passive, so he doesn't want to be the one to leave. He's counting on you to do the dirty work. He's doing things that hurt you in the hopes that you'll be the one to end it. If he goes to this club this weekend, maybe you'll kick him out and the decision will be made for him, and he'll always be able to say you were the one who ended the marriage.

"So...if you want to stay married, you don't play into his hand. If he goes to the club, you don't react, you don't give him what he wants. If he's going to leave, you let him be the one to do it. You don't allow him to push you into doing something you don't want."

SHA then asked me what I was willing to do to save my marriage. Staying married would take more than just not reacting to Aaron's attempts at leaving by proxy. I would need to take a hard look at myself and make some real changes.

I shared with SHA my prayer and my wholehearted willingness to "give away all my sins" to know my husband, and I shared with SHA the specific "sins" I was willing to eradicate from my life and my relationship with Aaron. I sat before him without an ounce of ego left in me. I was ready and willing to erase the Sarah I had been for ten years and create the woman I knew I should be. I was looking to him to help make me able to do it.

From there, we set to work, a work that would not save my marriage, but that would transform me completely. To this day, I am grateful for that humble prayer and for the resolve I felt to change my life. At the end of my ten years with Aaron, I was able to say that I had changed. I had taken everything on his list of dislikes and had let those things go.  When he left, he could no longer say it was because I did this or that, and he could not say I hadn't worked hard to save my marriage. It was, however, not something he could say for himself. I received a great deal of peace knowing I had truly done everything I could.

At the end of our visit, SHA quickly spoke to me about assertiveness. While he counseled me to not react if Aaron chose to act as a single man and go to the club, he didn't expect me to pretend I was okay with it.  SHA encouraged me to share my feelings with Aaron prior to the date of his plans, using very concrete, specific, and detailed language with Aaron to help him understand just how much I didn't want him to go. SHA told me that if Aaron was going to dishonor our marriage in this way, he would have to do it with a full understanding of how much it would hurt me.

"The good news is that when you use truly assertive language with the people you love," said SHA, "95% of the time, they won't do the thing you've asked them no to do."

A few days later, I would become a five percenter.

Daily Gratitude: 2 years today

2010-05-30T22:41:00.000-07:00

Whenever I post a new segment in the Divorce and Metamorphosis story, I often get comments from friends (either here on the blog or elsewhere) that the story would be utterly devastating to them if they didn't already know how it ends...not with the divorce, but with the rebirth, renewed hope, and a renewed friendship that was given the time it needed to blossom and grow into much more.

Two years ago today, I married my best friend. So many people say things like that, but those who know us well know we're an incredible match. Today, more than anything, I'm grateful for Richard, for his friendship, love, and support.

Happy Anniversary, sweet.