Mavis: The Explain-It-All Email

I very recently reminisced on the demise of my marriage and wrote the following to a friend in an attempt to summarize what had happened into an easily digestible email.  The result was a cathartic experience for me - turning something that I'd examined on a microscopic level for so long into something that could be understood by someone who hadn't dissected it with scalpels and poked and prodded it to death.  But it still made me cry - I know it won't always make me cry, but sometimes it does.  So I guess this was one of those times I needed to do that.

"We'd gotten to a point of no return by late summer of last year. He and I had grown apart and it was impossible to disguise the resentment that we each had for the other in a lot of ways.  I still loved him and I knew that he loved me, but by the time it fell apart we just couldn't manage our life together anymore. There were just too many things that we each valued independently that were not valued in the same way by the other person and by August, the damage had become impossible to ignore or overcome.

So things were strained, to say the least, and I think we both wanted desperately to fix them but didn't know how. I quit my job in July and started working closer to home so I could cut down my commute and spend more time with him.  One of his major beefs with me working 45 minutes away was that because my commute was so long, it decreased the amount of quality time he and I could spend at home together during the week.  So when my boss took another job in Connecticut and a local opportunity presented itself, I took it.  

But it didn't take long for me to realize that my commute hadn't really been the problem at all.  The problem was, in my estimation, that no matter how much time we were together it was never truly "quality" time by the other person's definition.  "Quality time" to him meant something totally different than "quality time" to me.  I felt like I was spending way to much time helping him cope with job stress and giving him space to do the things that he liked to do - spending time at the gym, working from home, etc. and he felt like I wasn't interested in the same things that he liked to do and that those things were creating distance between us.  In the end, I think we were both right and it really just was an issue of compatibility."  

Some days, I can't remember whether or not he and I were always so different.  I know that in the beginning, we laughed more.  My memories of our 18 month engagement and the early days of our marriage are starkly bright & positive.  We enjoyed our home and welcomed our friends in and made the most of the town we lived in.  We went to church together on Sundays.  We'd spend whole Saturdays walking into town, sampling the local flavor, running into friends and planning dinners at home.  We'd listen to music with the windows open and fresh breezes blowing in.  I'd sing and chop vegetables and pull him in close to me and inhale; and I felt peace.  I thought I felt complete...

"What's incredibly sad to me still is the fact that I do attribute what happened to him professionally for a lot the pitfalls we had to endure as a married couple - I truly do not believe he would would have the stress that he has been battling ever since if that situation had been handled differently.  It changed him in a lot of ways - and it changed me too.  I went from being my husband's partner to his caretaker in a lot of ways and I think it doomed our marriage only shortly after it had begun - I really do.  It was such a harsh blow to be dealt at the start of a life together; we were very strong for much of it but damage had been done and over time, it started to show more and more. We'd never truly had a chance to construct the kind of foundation you need to have in order to build a life together.  So everything that we tried to put on top of that foundation ultimately collapsed. I didn't wait until age 33 to get married thinking that it wouldn't work out, and I'm certain he didn't get married for a second time thinking that it would fail either - it's just how it turned out I guess.

Having said that, there are certainly other things that contributed.  I compromised to the point of not recognizing myself in the mirror anymore ad I let my anger build up; we waited too long to seek marriage counseling; and ultimately we both felt so isolated and lonely in our own lives that it wasn't something we could realistically salvage.  We'd changed."

Mavis: Happy Restless

It's been awhile since I've written anything.  For a while I didn't think I could, and then, once I did have the urge, I held myself back because I didn't think I should write anything.  My thoughts were too chaotic and my heart was wary of the written word.

But just because I didn't write doesn't mean my life's been bad in the intervening months. Quite to the contrary actually - life's been pretty fucking good. Some definite bumps in the road, but I am without a doubt much happier and a more contented person than I was a few months ago and that's huge.  I've reconnected with my family in a more meaningful way, re-engaged friendships that had long been dormant, and established friendships with new people that have brought a lot of joy into my life.

So things are good.  And it's great.  It really is.  I have a lot to be thankful for.

Mavis: Morning's Light

Last night over tapas, we tried. We really gave it our best. Armed with a $9 martini and Asian meatballs, I was ready. Him, fresh off a wildly productive counseling session that had left him feeling strong and focused. We laid it all on the line. 

As so many things in our history had begun, things started out optimistically. We were happy that the car ride over had been uneventful and I could tell that we each were secretly celebrating the fact that maybe, despite everything that was abnormal about our new situation, we could somehow use it to our advantage and ultimately grow as people as a result of our new-found separation and circumstances. 

We were unscripted and raw. Hurt and wounded and open for the other to see. And as we each spoke our peace, it became clear that we never really figured out how to communicate with one another. A two and a half year marriage and a nearly 3 year courtship and we never figured it out. Never was it more evident that this was our most glaring shortcoming as it was last night.

Midway through dinner, we had reached our conclusion. That we were ultimately not the ones who were going to make one another truly happy. And as painful as it was to hear it last night, it's harder still to write it here... the ultimate white flag, flapping in the wind for the world to see.

And right there, it died.

But because we had to sit there and endure the public spectacle of it all, we felt compelled to attempt to breathe life into it. So we tried. We indulged one another's crazy ideas of weekend trips and made the exhaustive effort it would take to resuscitate the relationship seem like child's play; and for a few hours, we believed we could do it.

After dinner, he showed me his new apartment. And I genuinely liked it. I could see him there - I could envision him in the space, living his life... doing the things that he loves to do. So in my temporary madness I tried to make a joke about him finally being free of the torment of the cats and my incessant nagging. To which he responded that more than anything, he'd miss those things... "his family."

Crushed, we tried to sleep. Him in the disheveled and less than ideal bachelor pad he'd been relegated to, and me - the misfit estranged wife in a room that symbolized the life that I had willfully chosen to no longer be a part of.

Morning came and we both confessed that neither of us had slept. Consumed by our thoughts and restless, we'd both experienced simultaneously the awkward discomfort of having realized that it was over... together, but also alone. Without knowing what the other was thinking, we'd lay awake practically the entire night feeling terribly about the fact that we had given the other person hope when we knew it was hopeless to think that anything was salvageable. All of a sudden, we realized that any attempts to save the relationship were now more damaging than just letting it go. And so with the brightness and clarity of daylight, we were once again able to see the white flag; and instead of turning away, we faced it - sadly but bravely - and decided to let one another go. 

If I should stay 
Well I would only be in your way 
And so I'll go, and yet I know 
That I'll think of you each step of my way 

And I will always love you 
I will always love you 

Bittersweet memories 
That's all I have and all I'm taking with me 
Good-bye, oh please don't cry 
Cause we both know that I'm not what you need 

But I will always love you 
I will always love you 

And I hope life will treat you kind 
And I hope that you have all 
That you ever dreamed of 
Oh I do wish you joy and I wish you happiness 
But above all of this, I wish you love 
I love you, I will always love you. 

Mavis: Regret

About a week ago I had some buyers remorse on this whole separation situation. I'm not sure if what I experienced is part of what is natural for someone who is going through this to experience or not. I can't imagine there's a standard set of emotions/thoughts/actions that applies to every single person who goes through this kind of thing, but perhaps there are some things that are more "normal" than others. Here's what I'm talking about.

I'd been intent on this for awhile. I was confident that we'd exhausted all options and that if we stayed together, we'd be on a fast track to Nowheresville. I'd wake up in some college town in 15 years and be 50 years old, with no children, in a big, beautiful but empty house with nothing in my life, other than my partner,  resembling anything that I'd ever worked or wished to have within my reach. In short, I'd never have the life I wanted.

I needed a plan - I needed to be out. And fast. Life is short.

So I created a plan and followed through with it, which is 100% my style to do. I generally don't rest on my laurels when there's some action that needs to occur; if something needs a push to move forward, I'll make sure it happens. This is how I work and this is how I live.

But it scares me that I'm this way and this is where the regret starts to slip in.

Am I so non-negotiable in how I deal with things that any attempt at reconciliation never really stood a chance? Am I so rigid and so uncompromising that I killed my own marriage before it had a chance to get back on solid ground?

In short - can I stop this? Should I stop this?

So the voice in my head said, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a minute, wait a minute. Slow this train down. You don't have to do this; you don't have to walk away. Maybe all you need is space. Yeah... space. Not a divorce, no. What's really happening here is not that the marriage is the problem, but rather that the situation is the issue. So putting some distance between you and the situation is really what you need."

I present this idea during a counseling session like its some kind of revolutionary thinking - not the delusional ramblings of someone whose going on 45 minutes sleep and no nutrition and is basically insane from stress. Understandably, both the mental health professional and my soon-to-be ex-husband both looked at me like I was nuts, because it was nuts and made no sense.

"So what is this 'situation' that you're referring to?", they asked me quizzically.

It's the fucking marriage. Goddamn it. But I tried to salvage my precious idea, my golden nugget of hope. Because deep down, I desperately don't want to be the person who thrusts the sword into the belly of my own marriage; I want... sometimes, not all the time... to fix it. I have these moments where I think/convince myself that if I could just get some space to clear my head, and be in a place that doesn't cause me to have heart palpitations, that I could formulate an appropriate strategy to address this whole divorce situation and that I can fix it. I just need to be away from the situation...!

Mercifully, he wasn't having it. Its merciful because although it hurts that he won't even indulge the idea of attempting to work on things when we're living in separate cities, it's truly the most rational and practical approach to have. In the end, if I move away and then try to make it work, it would only be more stress, more resentment, more anger... and I can't tolerate any more of those things in my life, ever.

Stick a sword in me - I'm done.

Mavis: Woes

I want to scream. I really, really, REALLY do. 

"And then I want to hit someone; I want to hit them hard... until they feel as bad as I do!"

Lately, life has been nothing short of a disaster. The only things that have gone right are things that make me sad to do, but need to be done so I can "move on." I'm surrounded by people yet I've never been lonelier in my whole life. And I feel physically ill all the time for no reason.

I'm getting a divorce.

There. I've typed it. Publicly. 

I also recently reached the milestone of saying it out loud on a couple of occasions and not simultaneously sobbing/puking. I emote about my sadness at inappropriate times, like during staff meetings and when I'm in line at the wine store. I shuffle from one lost thought to another like a listless patient in a psych ward. Which would be fine except it can be like that for days on end, meanwhile I'm also trying to bare some resemblance to a normal, functioning person in our society, someone who does things like drive, talk and occasionally use sharp instruments to cut things like paper and grilled chicken. None of these things have been done safely for months while I've been in this impending doom coma.

I can't control where my mind goes. It's like the most depressing acid trip in the world. I go from being hyper-focused and determined to being instantly whimsical and unable to remember what I was doing 3 seconds ago. My face is in a constant state of "almost crying..." which if you're unfamiliar, mostly looks like the face you make when you're constipated, with the added bonus of an omnipresent wino's nose and ruptured blood vessels under my eyes that will probably never recover.

But I'm an adult. And there are a multitude of adult responsibilities that I still have to handle on a daily basis. Things like paying bills, showing up at work, not flying off the handle when I'm in my home with my estranged (yuck that term) husband, finding a way to sleep that doesn't involve chardonnay, and preparing for life after separation - managing the details of moving, securing an apartment and starting a new job. It's enough to make me circle the block for hours in my car listening to the Cranberries, praying for an accidental  drone strike.

There are major and minor disappointments throughout this journey. However, there is no joy. Nowhere is there joy. It's all sadness and fear and failure and horribleness wrapped up in pity. By no means do I think that I am the only person whose ever suffered a bad set of circumstances. Divorce is shitty. And I hate that I'm in this place.

Mission Impossible: How to be a lady at work for 8 hours straight

First of all, wow. It's been awhile since any of us have posted. Man... a lot has happened. We spent some time together in a sunny locale; have each gone through personal triumphs and challenges. But that's all I'm going to say about that right now. I have a couple of questions to pose to the universe that pertain to my lady status. Specifically, my office lady status. I need help.

My problem, simply put, is that I don't know how to maintain my ladylike appearance for a whole 8-hour workday. It's not so much my demeanor that I'm concerned about - I start off a bit gravely and soften as the caffeine levels in my body bring me nearly to the point of convulsion, and then I level off for the rest of the day. It's mostly my appearance that I'm worried about. For whatever reason, regardless of how ironclad I feel wardrobe-wise in the morning, the facade starts to wear thin shortly after lunch and then I'm basically professionally threadbare by the time I drag myself out of here at 5 o'clock.

As per usual, I will accompany my sentiments with related photos that I have dutifully searched for on Google. This is how I feel when I come in every day - note: this is how I feel... not necessarily how I look. Because I would never wear a suit jacket. Ever.

Cool. Confident. In control.

I consider it a small miracle that I am able to achieve this because I am not at all a morning person and usually am putting my "look" together while I am in a state somewhat reminiscent of this:

Coffee. COFFEE NOW!

If all of my barely functional synapses are firing at a reasonable rate, I am usually able to pull together an outfit that is acceptable. My make-up routine is rather rote so that doesn't take very long, hair is usually not complicated and then I'm out the door with a full travel mug of go-go juice, ready for another 45 minute morning commute.

After said commute, I typically arrive to work feeling pretty good. Kind of like this lady:

Sure my jacket is slightly wrinkled from the seat belt, but otherwise I'm good right?

Things tend to stay this way for a couple of hours and several cups of coffee, then it mysteriously, but without fail, starts to fall apart.

My job is fairly predictable, so I'm not usually running around like a crazy person doing things that require athletic wear during office hours. But at the end of the day, I feel - and more to the point, look as though I've been put through the ringer. 

"My god - what happened to you at work today? Were you fighting off crafty marauders again? Saving the world? Swimming with piranhas?"

"Nope. Just made a couple copies and sent some emails." 

So my questions at this point are:

1. Am I supposed to adjust my wardrobe in any way when I arrive to work? To account for the natural phenomena that will occur while sitting at a desk for 8 hours like wrinkling and coffee stains?

2. If aforementioned adjustments are necessary, what are they?

Now in addition to my clothing transforming magically into a hobbit costume once its been on my body for a few hours, there is also the issue of makeup. This, I suppose, may speak to a more Emily Post sort of issue, but regardless it raises an important question that needs to be answered:

Am I supposed to re-apply any or all makeup in the middle of a work day?

This is important because my face melts while I am at work. Apparently. Not my flesh, but basically everything that I put on top of it, which is not very much at all. Refer back to the first photo; generally clean, relatively light makeup, but enough. Then, around 3 p.m., I turn into this:

My makeup has fallen and it can't get up.

Sometimes, I will re-apply lipstick but not usually. Whenever I do this I think of that whole "lipstick on a pig" thing that our nation's most reviled hockey mom said a couple of years ago and I refrain, choosing Chapstick instead. And I never, ever, reapply any other makeup... ever. Sometimes I'll use those Clean & Clear Oil Absorbing strips to address any shiny areas, but nothing more. Am I supposed to be doing more? And if so, what?!?!

The reason why I care about this at all is that I've started to get called into late afternoon meetings and some after-work engagements where it would be nice if I looked like a decent human being rather than something that got scooped up by a street sweeper. I've purchased fashion magazines, watched online segments about fashion by people who have good fashion, and I still can't seem to get it right. I feel like I'm constantly being bombarded with a slightly different version of this outfit, which I find to be completely crazy:

Who's the woolly mammoth sitting behind that desk? 

I mean, OMG - I'm so sorry. I love your jacket.

Bottom line, I don't do this well. Office fashion is hard. As always, suggestions welcome and encouraged.

Mavis: Mother Nature on Notice

Dear Mother Nature,

You have seven days to fix this.

Get to work.

Hugs,

Mav