And we start a group. We have each other, our pastor and our baggage.
We joke about loving Jesus. Handsome Jesus. Is there a Jesus Vibrator? (I think there must be, since I KNOW they make a Jesus Toaster)
We try and keep it on the up and up about blame and angst with our (ended) marriages/partners.

We are reading a book about doorways as metaphors for life-stuff.
The other night we were asked to meditate on what the door to our heart looks like. What’s behind it, what does the door look like, what’s around it… And there were art supplies for us to gobble up with our hot little hands (I love it when my worlds collide. This is exactly what we do in my childbirth classes)

Of course I’m all crazy into this. Right Brain – Sing It! I already know that I’m going to draw a Secret Garden door. A door that is aged and weathered. Covered with earth and vines and flowers. One that creaks open with flecks of rust and a heavy, weighty handle. It will be dark and savage and beautiful in the garden of my heart. And the door will sigh with grief, and release, and pleasure. And it will smell earthy and moist.

And then I start.

A crude version of a realistic heart appears. Where is my romantic secret garden door? Oh. That door was in my head. What I *wish* my door would look like….

I keep going though. And there! There it is… a door that is so tiny in the heart. There are fireworks in front of the door, all around the door. And a circus! And a parade! And a marching band! All these distractions. Because the distractions are so fun. Stephanie is a party! She’s so Quirky! Unusual! (pay no attention to the door behind the fireworks)

And then the picture of what is behind the door begins to immerge… And it’s a figure on her knees, with her head tilted back, arms open at her side. Similar (for you yogis) to camel pose. Similar (for you BFW folks) to Inanna on the hook. Just complete openness with heart bared open. Flayed Willingly. And it’s quiet and still behind the door. There isn’t a party. No fireworks. No fancy food. Just me.

AND I BAWL MY EYES OUT.
The last time anyone looked past the fireworks, the circus, and saw the stillness and just accepted me, was the most incredible time of my life. It wasn’t just another person who did that, it was also the time where *I* was doing that for myself.

And then the door was left open. Neglected. Left behind. And it almost killed me.
Yet I kept searching, yearning to have that feeling back. Wanting to invite someone, anyone into that place again. But not really. I drew an Orange Tightrope walker in front of the open door and scrawled “Don’t Fall” I know that inside place is SO GOOD. To have it rejected though. Even potentially. Makes me want to curl up in a fetal position and never come back. So I balance, teetering. I *know* that to live authentically means to be open. To love deeply, you must… love deeply. To live in fear is to not live at all. BUT. BUT. BUT…..

I hear Maude in my head saying to Harold after he as professed his incredible love for her “Oh! That’s wonderful! Go and Love some more!”

And I want too. It means I could fall though.

I’m floundering with questions and puddling with grief.



Then one of the ladies said “Hearing you talk, I just realized that I have a fake door”.



And hearing her say that….. I swear my inner lightbulb exploded.



Of course.



We dived deeper into this metaphor for ourselves. And began to understand that my “fake” door, was of course just the first door. An entry, if you will, to the mudroom of my heart. With stunning clarity, I understand how by opening that front door, I initiate a process that felt like “opening” and it is/was, not in the deep, connecting way I imagined I was flirting with. And of course how there are people who are never even invited past the front door.



I also can see how it’s a relationship that moves together past the mudroom. Someone else may be ready to really see and open that tiny door, maybe I’m not though. And same – I could be ready to fling that door open, and perhaps they are still struggling to get their shoes off and are admiring the artwork – and not ready to cross that tiny threshold.



My tightrope walker has retired her tutu (despite how cute it is). The fireworks and the parade are still going on, they are a part of me too. I do love me up some slutty high heel shoes and dancing on tables after all. And I know that my tender parts, they are being kept safe. And rather than be scattered willy-nilly, they know they will be revealed with tenderness. Not trotted out like a show monkey.



I feel a sense of safety with this metaphor. I can see how to hold myself precious and protected, and yet still deepen relationships. I can see where to open, notice within myself what feels vulnerable. I can also hold others in the “holding tank” of my mudroom and see if I want them to take their shoes off, walk barefoot, into the stillness and depth of my heart. Where it’s not a party. It’s a deep, quiet, savage, strong place. Where I love deeply, sometimes scarily. Passionately. Where sometimes the laughter is so loud because it comes deep from my belly. Where I am held by Grace.

My Prayers

my prayers are not the


quiet

bowed head

focused

silent

murmuring prayers.

my prayers are not

sit.

butt in chair.

eyes lowered.

meditative prayers.

My prayers feel LOUD.

disjointed

jerky

scattered.

post it note prayers.

My prayers are interrupted

by wiggly, whispery

children.

Draw the Dot Game children

what is Hospice? children

Ants in the Pants children

I’m hungry.

Bored.

LOUD children.

SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

We’re trying to pray!!

the quiet prayers.

the formal prayers.

Dear god I have sinned

prayers.

The flower prayers.

The checklist for santa. I mean god prayers.

I’m grateful for… Can I please have…?

No wait.

I really am grateful. for real this time.

So. And….

Can you

please

heal. soothe. cure. miracle. cleanse. comfort.

IF of course it is your will.

if of course I got it just right.

the right amount of humble.

reverence.

self-deprecation.

gratitude.

my eyes are closed and I am still prayers.

my prayers ARE NOT THESE PRAYERS.

I don’t want to close my eyes.

my voice.

to murmur my hopes. fears. grief. joy.

for when I bow my head

close my eyes

I don’t see god.

I see.

my jr. high principal.

my dad

authority god.

serenity god.

long white beard god.

long white robe god.

and I know.

I’m not submissive enough

quiet enough

still enough

my grammar is not good enough

to pray those prayers.

My prayers

(when I’m honest)

are wide eyed.

hungry.

Wild.

Orange.

Passionate.

scared

My prayers ROAR

and rush my eardrums

beat my heart

make me crazy.

grief stricken.

vulnerable.

teary.

My prayers have no form

they lack structure

lack respect

they are selfish

my prayers are messy

My prayers call

GOD.

GOD.

GOD.

I scream:

How can I

Begin.

To.

Be.

In.

A.

Time.

Of.

Prayer?

if prayer means

quiet

focused

bowed head.

silent

murmuring?

Last night I had a dream about my husband.

And it was so nice.  Like really nice. 

He smiled at me.  And wanted to kiss me, and wanted to be in love with me.  I looked at him with open honest desire.  And still in my dream asked him if this is what he wanted to do.  He leaned into me and said Yes. 

I woke up sad and aching.

And then remembered that He Doesn't Actually Look At Me That Way.  that's just the way I would like to looked at. 

Over and over I remind myself that I'm not grieving our actual  relationship.  Because our actual relationship was not healthy and full.  I'm grieving the wanting of our relationship. 

The Dog. Or in my real mind... The Dawg.

I'm from the midwest.  My dad drove an El Camino and my brother and I remember road-trips where we sat behind the seats with the car jack and our snoopy sleeping bags.  We had a dawg dog named Lickety Split.  One year my family had hogs and it was my brother's turn to name them before we slaughtered them... He named them after me and my childhood BFF (They were delicious).  My first job (other than babysitting when I was like 10 - please note that the idea of my 9 year old babysitting another child in a year IS TERRIFYING.  And I was taking toddlers on my mom's bike - she had a babyseat on the back of her ADULT bike that I would borrow to transport another CHILD.  Made out of barbed wire flimsy plastic. - when I was like 11).  I digress.
My first job was as a corn detassler. 

Most people at this point say "Wha?"

And I say "yes."

So the last time I had a dog.  Well.  It's almost never.  I mean... My family had Lickety Split (let's be honest.  It was my Dad's Dog.  Not mine.  Not the family's).  Then later we had a little Bichon (and I will punch anyone in throat who dares to say she was not a "real" dog.  I mean really.)  But again... Not my dog.  I can promise you (and my mother will READILY agree that I never did ANYTHING to help take care of that dog.  ANYTHING).  In my lame defense, I don't think I was the driving force in getting that dog.  FYI.

But now.  NOW.  Guess who has a dog? 

A real dog.  (sort of.  I mean.  It's a terrier.  Still smallish.  I will still gladly punch anyone in the throat who disagrees.  And while we're talking about punching people in the throat - what a fabulous visual that is!  Don't you agree?  So violent.  So concise!  I doubt I could ever follow through, but with a toss out threat like that, you certainly don't want to find out do you?  Much better than "ooooooh.  stop it or I'll do something... eh.... oohhhh."  I am not a fan of bullying btw.  I am a fan of descriptive foreshadowing however)

So we have a dog! 

And today the dog got a bath.  Because the dog had rolled around in chicken poop.  Because we have chickens, and the door to the chickens was left open.  And the chickens got out and pooped on the back deck.  And the dog - who loves to roll around in chicken poop obviously - got poop ALL AROUND his neck. 

The real irony of this is that I have meant, been planning, threatening, been thinking about giving the dog a bath for several days now.  The chicken poop sent me over the edge, having me grab for the big red party bucket and my 2 piece in a matter of minutes. 

Equipped with the red bucket and some homemade oatmeal dog shampoo (I am not making this up.  Welcome to my world.  I do shit like make my own dog shampoo.  I swear I'm fun to be with though.  SWEAR)  I wash the dog.  And FREAKING laugh that I'm washing my dawg, in some daisy duke swimmy shorts because the dog rolled in chicken poop.

You can take the girl outta the country......  But she'll make some ho-made dog shampoo.....

Peeing on the Metophorical Stick

10 years ago, in the middle of the night, I peed on a pregnancy test stick.  I had had "a feeling".  You should know that I had been existing on beer and cigarettes prior to the peeing on the stick.  I was single, 26, and marginally taking care of myself.  I peed on the stick and promptly decided that it must be wrong.  Then I went out, had one last night of... well, shenanigans, woke up the next morning, peed on 14,000 more sticks and realized it was the real deal.  And then realized that everything.  EVERYTHING.  Was going to change.  Where I lived.  How I lived.  Who I lived with.  What I did for a living.  My body.  Everything.   And it did. 

10 years later The Husband and I have finally decided that it's time to change our relationship from being partners in marriage, to being partners in parenting the kiddos we brought into the world.  In other, less fancy words, we're seriously talking about divorce.   And here it goes again. 

We've told a few people.  On my side, the responses have been "well, god knows you've both tried for a really long time" and it's usually accompanied by a small sigh of Finally. 
I'm surprised by how emotional and crazy and roller-coaster this feels. For years we have both been unhappy and lonely in our marriage. We have each done things that have harmed the other. And yet, now that we are moving forward I'm petrified and ecstatic.

I'm crying a lot.  A LOT.  Which feels strange. 

Yesterday we went to create separate phone accounts.  This is great on so many levels.  And sucks because it's making it all true.

It was an Scary/Awesome Roller Coaster of Emotions that led to me bursting into gasping sobs in the AT&T store.  Fortunately our helpful lady took everything in stride.  I love her.  Thank You Ausha.  You made a crazy experience into a tolerable one. 
Here is a partial list of what I experienced in about 32 minutes:
1. For the most part I have been a housewife for the last 10 years.  My name is on virtually nothing.  I had to apply for a new account.  With a credit check.  And lots of verification of who I am.  And guess what?  I don't HAVE a  lot of verification.   Name on utility bill?   Nope.  Name on mortgage?  Nope.  Credit Card?  Nope.  Finally, luckily we did find one thing.    SCARY
2. I FINALLY will understand and have some context of my phone usage and data usage and text usage!!  Until yesterday I had no idea of our billing cycle and would randomly get texts saying that I had used 90% of my data usage, but have no context as to what that meant.  I didn't know what our plan was month to month, because The Husband took care of it.  AWESOME
3. It was horrific realizing how little I know and how little I have been a part of our money/bills/decision making/etc...  And I was full of weird rage and regret.  Regret because I am a fairly capable person.  While I know and understand why our bills and set ups were the way they were, it is a small,sad,crazy,impotent feeling when you realize you can't answer basic questions about the set up of your life.  SCARY
4. I can't wait and I'm scared to be in charge of my life.  I have asked repeatedly through the years to have a more complete understanding of our finances, for various reasons, it never happened.  SCARY/AWESOME

And it was sad.  Sad because I'm finally getting some understanding, but at this cost.  I still wish we could have worked as a team in our marriage.  And when I'm gasping for breath and grieving, I force myself to remember that I'm not grieving a marriage that was healthy and working.  I'm grieving the lost dreams of our marriage. 

Today was day one.  And I lived through it.  And just like peeing on a stick and getting horrifically overwhelmed by everything you don't know and you wonder howintheworldwillIpossiblyDOTHIS?  You do it one thing at a time.  Yeah, I'm going to have to re-learn how to do most things, just like I did when I had a babe-in-arms.  I didn't know how to be a mom or take care of a family.   I had to learn it.  And now I'll have to learn this too.  In my sad and feeling weak times, I can remember this.  I've done it before.  I can do it again.

scared and PISSED

Tonight I came home after teaching a class.  The Husband and I chatted a bit about our kids (kid 1 - roller derby.  kid 2 - not too annoying at roller derby.  Cupcakes for all).  Chatted about the class.  We made martinis.  (I love drinking a martini after teaching.  I don't know why) and then we watched an episode of our latest netflix obsession: Carnivale.  We're not sure if we like it or not  BTW.

After the episode (and it's getting kinda late - like 10:30 cuz we are old now) we chat a bit about the episode.  Then he leans his head back on the couch.  Me too.  Feeling cozy.  And I say "hey what's up" and he says "How long are we going to do this?" 

I'm in shock and disbelief.  I'm angry.  (no surprise says him.  I'm always angry) I can't believe it.  He's unhappy.  He thinks we should do something different.  He is surprised at my surprise. 

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? 

NOW?  Now he gets it?  Now that we have settled into something that looks like something we can work on?  Now he's thinking "Gosh.  He's unhappy.  How long are we going to do this for?"

I feel like we have time warped. 

We have a conversation about something I said.  And how if my presentation would have been better, more compassionate...  He tells me how he played this out with his therapist and I'm acting exactly like he predicted I would.  I asked what the therapist said then... His response "he said, maybe we're just not good together"

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

Did I make up the last few years?  Am I crazy?  I brought up our conversations in couples therapy where I was saying the same things...  but when I say them, I'm out of line, or not trying hard enough, or not giving it a chance.  But now he thinks these things... And now, now they will happen. 

I'm scared.  I'm scared I'm losing my mind.  I'm scared I'm going to lose my kids.  I'm scared that now, now that I've been on some more solid ground, the rug is getting pulled out from under me - and that I'm going to be told that it's my fault.  And I'm going to go back to that awful place of depression just when I've gotten out. 

And I'm pissed.  Pissed that we only ever get here when HE GETS IT.  And I let it happen again and again and again.

I have no social skills

I've been saying this for a little while now... Mostly in a light, joking way...  The thing is, is that it's true.  One of the casualities of my friendship with R is that I don't trust folks very much anymore.  And I certanly don't trust myself. 

After knowing many of the ends and outs of someone else's relationship and looking back at mine, it's a real struggle to spend "social" time with people I don't know very well and trust anything that they are saying to me.

My mom met R years ago and her one comment about him was "Well Gosh.  You can sure see how he is __'s husband.  He's so attentive to her!"

And he had licked my lips just hours before.

I meet men now, and if they look at me too long I feel naked. 
I meet women now, and I have no idea if I'm going to like them, wonder if they are telling me/themselves/anyone the truth.  Wonder if their husbands are going to hit on me later.