In last week’s newsletter, I asked readers to take a peek at my first article as guest author on DivorcedMoms.com. I was at 1,300 views and hoping to earn a bronze star on that site.
Fast forward (and I mean fast)… that blog was picked up and featured on the Huffington Post’s Divorce page, then picked up by HP Germany and today appeared in Australia’s IVillage.
The DM editor told me I’d gone viral. No wonder I’m feeling a little dizzy and having trouble catching my breath.
This blog originally posted on DivorcedMoms.com and was picked up by The Huffington Post U.S, Germany, and Australia. It’s an excerpt from my upcoming book. Please stay tuned for more!
This is not just another divorce story.
It’s about my journey of self discovery and finding the courage to be the person I’m here to be.
I just finished working with a wonderful story coach named Pat. We spent a month together shaping and defining my upcoming book. Pat was a pro about finding the arc of the story—the only hitch was that what I called the end, she said was the middle.
Ugh. Anyone who has tackled a long-term project knows that the last thing you want to hear is that you’re halfway there!
I didn’t want to write about my dad dying—too painful, or about the long overdue breakup with a boyfriend—too embarrassing.
Ryan is a busy, successful guy who just turned 50. He’s had a long career that allows him to travel, drive sports cars, and have a beautiful home in a posh suburb of Atlanta.
When Ryan and I spoke, he was stressed about his job. He said he felt like a “road warrior” and that he was expected to make his boss look like a “hero.” He was tired of “soldiering on.” He spoke of his need to achieve like it was a quest, and said that he didn’t want to be “the bad guy” by failing.
Ryan’s troubles had taken on mythic proportions; he wasn’t just carrying the weight of his own world, his word choices showed that he was taking on epic roles — we’re talking the stuff of legends
My smile on Christian Mingle caught his attention. His profile intrigued me.
The next few weeks were filled with 3-hour phone conversations between Alabama and Tennessee, and several days of in-person time, but I was determined not to fall for Terry quickly. I continuously critiqued everything he said – emotionally, intellectually, spiritually, and even humorously. Yet our commonalities began to draw me in and my emotional wall began to crumble.
Confused, one evening I raised my arms and prayed out loud – simply, plaintively, “God, I need help! I don’t know what to do!”
If you’re like me, you probably spent some time this month laid up in the house with the flu. But I wonder if you, like me, struggle with those housebound days becoming an open house for every fear and doubt you’ve ever had.
Rear Knocked at the door
Illness seems to hit me hardest in my emotional body. As I lay on the couch with my household falling down around me (my children eating popcorn for lunch and polishing off chewable vitamin C tablets like they were candy, the dog peeing on the floor) I don’t have the strength to keep my thoughts positive.
My poor old dog is in organ failure. How will I know when it’s her time to go? I hate that she’s dying. What if I’m dying? We’re all dying. Life is so sad. My children are growing up so fast. They hardly need me anymore. There’s nothing but barren branches out my window.
Louise had been wanting to clean out her basement for months. The last couple of years were rough for her; after her divorce, she suffered from depression and couldn’t seem to complete the tasks she started. She’d gained weight and wasn’t feeling like herself.
“If I clean that basement out, I bet I’ll lose 30 pounds,” she emphatically told me. My ears perked up because I do sooo love hearing that clear voice of intuition!
I continue to be amazed at the way life works; how seemingly random threads can begin weaving themselves into a perfect tapestry right before my eyes.
Recently I had an opportunity to take my daughter to Toledo for a voice audition. I spent several high school years just outside Toledo, and hadn’t been back in 30 years. My mother made the trip with my daughter and I, and after the audition we managed to find the house where we used to live.
Of course it looked small. And forlorn. But then this was the last place my family lived before my parents divorced. I remember a fight on the front lawn involving a wedding punch bowl that my dad was taking. Shortly after, my mom, sister, and I moved to a tiny apartment.
I was 16, and did not have a place I felt at home.
After learning of my husband’s multiple affairs and years of deceit, I chose to transform my pain by surrendering to it and living in “real time.” I was a spiritual seeker and life-long storyteller, but could I rise above my own story of betrayal to gratefully embrace the present moment?
My 7-year-old daughter loves to sing, and she recently had a chance to sing in front of a small group at a recital. The performance seemed to melt away any remnants of self-consciousness and free her inner chanteuse, because since then she’s been belting out Adele and Katy Perry and even Rascal Flatts at home. The other day she turned on an old favorite – Carrie Underwood’s Jesus Take the Wheel. Every time she launches into the chorus I have to laugh, remembering how she used to think it was Jesus take the Wii.