Tag Archives: divorce

100th Post!

Posted on April 24, 2014 by Christy Barongan

One of my favorite books of all time is What Alice Forgot, by Liane Moriarty. It was our most popular book in our Remedial Book Club; we actually had a meaningful discussion about it for the entire meeting. Ordinarily we talk about the book for 30 minutes–mostly about who would play the characters if the book were turned into a movie–and then we eat, drink, and gossip about people in the tennis community for 2 hours.

The book is about a woman who falls off her bike in spinning class and loses her memory of the past 10 years. In her current life, she is about to turn 40, has 3 children, and is going through a bitter divorce. After the accident, she thinks she is 29, madly in love with her husband, and is about to have her first child. The book also follows the stories of Alice’s mom, sister, and grandmother, all of whom are in the process of letting go of grief. In addition to being hiLARious, the book also makes you reflect on who you have become and what you thought your life would be like.

I am now in the process of filing for divorce, at my husband’s request. I am glad that I waited until he was ready, because now he understands why our marriage can’t work. I have a better appreciation for the significance of rituals. Even though it’s just a formality, since we’ve been apart for almost 4 years, the legal aspect of it has reawakened my grief about losing him. Of all the people I’ve been with, he is by far the one who was the most stable, reliable, and trustworthy. It saddens me that this wasn’t enough to make things work.

I will be 45 in a few months, and I would have never predicted that this is what my life would look like. Although it is still sad and scary to be alone at times, I am thankful for this opportunity to get to know myself better. I am still experiencing compassion fatigue from my last relationship, and I really want my next one to be different.

I’m currently reading The Art of Empathy, by Karla McLaren. It’s the first book I am aware of that teaches hyperempaths like me how to keep from burning out. I’m hoping that this will help me be more intentional about my next relationship. I’m hoping that it’s possible to break the pattern of relationships that you’ve grown up with and that you’ve followed all your life and to start anew.

Since I have reached my goal of 100 posts, I thought I would also take stock of my blogging life, which is much more positive. This blog is the first time that I’ve shared my writing with others, and I am so proud of what I have written so far. Even prouder than I was when I finished my dissertation.

I’ve been trying to write on and off for about 10 years now but only took it seriously a few years ago. Until then, I never realized how demon-filled the writing process was. Every time I sat down to write, Perfectionism, the Inner Critic, and the Drill Sergeant were all there to meet me, reminding me of how much I suck. So to commit to blogging 3 times a week–and to share the most vulnerable parts of myself in every post–is a huge accomplishment.

However, now that I’ve learned more about publishing, I am forced to accept that the odds of writing a best seller are not great, and even if it does happen, it won’t be any time soon. I’m not going to give up, of course, because I never give up, but I’m trying to focus more on the process of writing rather than the end result.

I’m trying to approach blogging the way I approach tennis. I’ve made $60 in prize money, which was several years ago when I won the 35 and over singles division of a tournament. (I was also the #1 rated 35 and over singles player in Virginia that year!) But I spend hundreds of dollars a month on tennis, so as a money-making enterprise, it’s a failing business.

But that’s OK. I’m not doing it to make money. I play tennis because it’s fun, because it challenges me, and because I have made wonderful friends. Although my romantic relationships have been a disappointment, my friendships have far exceeded my expectations.

Blogging is also fun and challenging, and I enjoy getting to know my readers and other bloggers. And it’s way cheaper than playing tennis. So I’m going to set another goal, which is to write another 100 posts by my blog’s first birthday, which is September 24.

Hope to see you then!

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Posted in Blogging, Mental Health, Sports and tagged blogging, book club, compassion, divorce, empathy, friendship, gratitude, grief, memory, perfection, self-criticism, solitude, Tennis, writing. Bookmark the permalink.

Memory

Posted on April 9, 2014 by Christy Barongan

I love the movie “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.” I love the idea that even if you take the memories away, the love between two people remains. And I like the message that we must experience pain in order to experience joy. But lately I’ve been wishing I could erase the painful memories from the past 10 years.

Let me first say that I am thankful for my memory, lest I be struck down with dementia for being ungrateful. It helps in my job because clients expect you to remember everything they’ve told you from the first session on. And when you see 30+ clients a week, that’s a lot of stuff to remember.

The most painful memories help me to have more compassion for other people’s suffering. When I was depressed, I could not conceive of any possible value that could come from my pain. But now that my brother is depressed, I am better able to help him because I know what he’s going through. You’re not afraid to sit with other people’s pain once you know firsthand how lonely it is.

My memory also helps me capture the intensity of my feelings when I write about my experiences, which hopefully makes my blog better. I am guessing that most writers have good memories and intense feelings. But sometimes it can be a tough combination. That’s probably why writers are so neurotic.

Lately there have been some memories that I wish I could forget. Or at least remember without feeling like it’s happening all over again. It’s almost like having PTSD, reliving these hurtful experiences every time they pop up.

Yesterday I remembered how my first husband told me while we were separating that I have a heart of gold. He said it was the happiest day of his life on our wedding day and the saddest day of his life when we signed the divorce papers. How can you feel that way about someone and still choose to leave them? What good does it do to have a heart of gold if it doesn’t help you make a relationship work? In a way I am thankful that he was loving through the entire process, but sometimes I wish I didn’t remember how I felt at all.

The letting go process in my second marriage has been just as painful. It hurts just as much now as it did 4 years ago. It still makes me cry. Every step we take away from each other renews my sadness. When will this grief subside? That whole one year estimation is a bunch of crap. I wish I could just forget the past 4 years–all the pain and all the stupid things I did to try to ease the pain that just made things worse.

The only memories I would miss from the past 4 years are the first trip when my mixed doubles team went to districts, getting Federer’s autograph at the Cincy tournament, and UVA’s basketball season this year. Which makes me seem like some superficial sports fanatic, but it’s true. In my defense, part of what made these experiences memorable is that I shared them with my friends and family. I’m sure there were other positive memories worth holding on to during that period of time, but I can’t think of any at the moment. Right now, all I remember is the pain.

The only good thing about this second divorce is that it helps me understand how you can love someone and still let them go, even when it breaks your heart. I’m not angry at my first husband any more for leaving. I understand why he did it. It doesn’t alleviate the pain of either loss to realize this, but I have a better appreciation for how complex love and marriage are. That’s something.

Today I’m not able to do the things I try to focus on in my blog–practice self-forgiveness, self-acceptance, and self-compassion. But maybe tomorrow I’ll feel differently.

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Posted in Relationships, Self-Acceptance and tagged blogging, compassion, Depression, divorce, family, feelings, forgiveness, friendship, gratitude, grief, love, loyalty, memory, self-compassion, Tennis, therapy, writing. Bookmark the permalink.

Whose Fault is It?

Posted on February 23, 2014 by Christy Barongan

I love playing games. One of my favorites is the Blame Game. Even though any couples therapist will tell you that you’re not supposed to do this, I’ll use every piece of evidence of every argument I can remember to prove that it’s not my fault. I have no doubt this has contributed in part to the demise of some of my relationships.

However, even though I don’t like being at fault, I also blame myself for everything. I’m one of those people who takes too much responsibility for problems. Maybe that’s why I am also willing to do more than half of the work to try to “fix” the relationship.

The whole blame and responsibility thing is even harder to sort out when you throw in mental illness. Lets say, for example, that you have an abusive alcoholic father. Is it his fault if he hits you while he’s black out drunk? Is it his fault that he has an addiction-prone brain and can’t just have one drink? What if he had been sober for a year but relapsed because a buddy guilt-tripped him into going to a bar to celebrate his new job? What parts of the alcoholism are his responsibility?

In my work, the Blame Game is the most problematic in a sexual assault. It is often the case that both parties were drinking. However, when friends are assigning blame, the perpetrator is seen as being less responsible because he was black out drunk. The victim is seen as being more responsible for allowing herself to get that drunk.

And when the victim comes to therapy, she also believes it was her fault because she had been drinking. The perpetrator usually doesn’t come to therapy. In rare cases, the victim will bring the sexual assault to our judicial system to get the perpetrator to take responsibility for his behavior. And the victim almost never wins.

The two most common disorders we see in the Counseling Center are depression and anxiety. These are disorders where the person takes too much responsibility for their problems. If they can’t will themselves to get out of bed and go to class, it’s their fault for being lazy. When I suggest that a client try meds for her panic attacks, she often says no. That’s a cop out. She should be able to do it on her own.

I don’t claim to know the answers for how much blame a person should assume. I do know that the split in assigning blame is rarely 100% to 0%. There is always some part of the problem that we can take responsibility for. And when we take responsibility for our part, it usually makes things better.

Sometimes no one is to blame. This one is really hard for people to accept. How can you play the Blame Game if it’s no one’s fault? But let’s say a typhoon hits the Philippines and causes mass destruction. Whose fault is it? There is power in blame because it gives us the illusion of control.

But there is also power in forgiveness. We can forgive the other person for wrongdoing, even if they haven’t accepted any responsibility. And we can forgive ourselves for our role in the problem. And forgiveness is much more freeing than blame, regardless of whose fault it is.

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Posted in Mental Health, Psychology and tagged addiction, alcoholism, blame, Depression, divorce, forgiveness, judgment, Mental Health, mental illness, sexual assault. Bookmark the permalink.

Starting Over

Posted on February 7, 2014 by Christy Barongan

In my post on breakups, I talked about how sad it is that at the end of a relationship, someone who you once loved and chose to spend the rest of your life with could become someone who you hate and don’t recognize anymore. How can both of those things be true? Was this other person always there, lurking beneath the surface of the person you thought you knew? It’s hard to reconcile.

But then sometimes those two people who hated each other are able to put the past behind them and try again. I am all about forgiveness, but if someone hurt me that badly, I’m not sure I would be able to give him a second chance.

First of all, there’s the issue of trust. As I mentioned in a previous post, I can be too trusting. However, once I have been wronged, I never forget it. And every time I remember what they did, I get upset all over again. Starting over would require leaving all of those past grievances behind, and I’m not sure my memory and my obsessive nature would allow me to do so.

Then there’s the issue of whether I could trust my judgment. If I thought I knew the person the first time and I was wrong, how would I know if I were reading the person accurately now? Ordinarily I’m pretty good at reading people. But sometimes I can be in denial–especially if knowing the truth would mean letting go of the relationship. Could I trust that I would go into it this time with my eyes wide open?

Granted, sometimes it’s not about an error in judgment. Some people are really good at hiding. But that’s scary, too. If he fooled me before, would I know if he were hiding now?

And then there would be the opinions of other people. Which I know you’re not supposed to care about, but I do. Would they think I’m foolish for giving him another chance? Even if they didn’t tell me that they disapproved, I would know. I would feel it. And it would be hard for me to share anything about the relationship with them. I would feel ashamed, even if I were trying not to care about their opinion.

Despite these reservations, If I had to make a prediction about what I would do, my guess is that I would give it a shot, because I’m an optimist. That’s what allows me to cheer for a losing team and to believe I can come back in a match when I’m down 0-6, 0-5. I believe in miraculous comebacks.

Sometimes people are afraid to try again because they’re afraid to get hurt again. That doesn’t usually stop me. If they hurt me once before, it’s not like it would be some big shock if it happened again. And if I survived it the first time, I could survive it again. And then I would know for sure that it can’t work.

Plus, no one can predict the future. No one knows for sure what will happen. Love requires a leap of faith. Yes, you may fall, but without taking that leap, you never get anywhere.

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Posted in Relationships and tagged divorce, football, forgiveness, love, Marriage, Tennis, trust. Bookmark the permalink.

Friendship, Part 2

Posted on February 3, 2014 by Christy Barongan

Warriors in Training

When I was in grad school, I didn’t have many visitors because it was a long drive and there was not a lot to do in the middle of Ohio. So I saw my family and friends infrequently, and every time I said good-bye I felt this overwhelming sadness–and not just because I wouldn’t see them for a long time. I was also sad because when I was with them, I was completely myself, and I rarely felt free to be myself.

Part of the problem was that the feeling of being different followed me well into my adult years. I wasn’t like the other grad students. I watched reruns of The Flintstones and Gillian’s Island rather than keeping up with what Koresh was doing in Waco. I wasn’t spending 70-80 hours a week on grad school stuff. I didn’t listen to the right music, didn’t hang out at the cool coffee places.

I moved around a lot during that time, too. While I was with my first husband, we moved almost every year because he was never happy where we were–which turned out to be more about him than our location. Still, I didn’t mind the excuse to not get too close to anyone.

When I finally moved back to Virginia and became a part of the tennis community here, I was a little freaked out. There was no way I could avoid being a part of the gossip, what with my failed marriages and all. Plus, I only dated tennis players, so everyone knew who they were. I had no place to hide; giving up tennis was not an option. I had to let people know what I was really like.

Of all the gifts that tennis has given me, my tennis family is the best one of all. These are the only other people who I can be myself around without obsessing afterwards about what I said or did. They have seen me throw up on the court. They’ve been there when I’ve gotten kicked out of restaurants for being too loud. They don’t judge me for always being hungry and constantly having to pee. They don’t expect me to make anything for potluck dinners because they know I can’t cook. (But I do bring the Karaoke and board games.) They even indulge my grandiosity by calling me the Queen.

Often the feedback I get about my blog is about how honest I am. In an I wouldn’t do it, but good for you! kind of way. I’m tired of hiding. I spent the first half of my life trying to be like everyone else. I want to spend the second half being myself.

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Posted in Relationships, Self-Acceptance and tagged blogging, divorce, family, friendship, honesty, Karaoke, midlife, normal, Tennis, vulnerability, warriorism. Bookmark the permalink.

Honesty and Trust

Posted on January 13, 2014 by Christy Barongan

I have often been accused of being too trusting. Like it’s a bad thing. And maybe it is. It’s caused a lot of problems in my relationships.

My first husband described himself as a poor, half-breed bastard. As a result, he had a less trusting world view than I did. He could spot a liar from a mile away. Once when I was making conversation with his brother’s girlfriend about her studies in nursing, he told me afterwards that she was lying. That people often lie while making conversation.

This was a foreign concept to me. I figured you should at least have a good reason to lie, even if it didn’t make it excusable.

Once my purse was stolen at Burger King on the way to a bowl game. I forgot to get it when we walked out the door. I realized it about a minute later, but in that small amount of time, they took it. My ex knew who stole it right away and he knew that the employee who took our order was in on it. He even went up to the guy and confronted him.

While there were some advantages to his street smarts, ultimately, his lies destroyed our marriage. I tried to trust him again, but he didn’t trust himself, so we agreed to divorce. That was one of the many lessons I learned from my first marriage: be wary of people who don’t trust others, because they probably lie, too.

I wish I could say I have been more careful about who I’ve trusted since then, but sadly, I have not. I seem to be pathologically trusting.

I dated someone who told me straight up that he had problems with lying. And I caught him lying several times right away. Like my first husband, he didn’t think he could be honest, either, but he wanted to change. I kept rooting for him. You can do it! I have faith in you!

My therapist would repeatedly tell me that if the person says they can’t do it, believe them. I guess this was the most honest thing they had said to me, but I didn’t want to believe it. I never wanted to give up on anyone.

But I finally get it: you can’t trust people who don’t trust themselves. You can’t will someone to have faith.

Some people have suggested that perhaps we can be friends down the road. Yes, he lies, but it won’t matter in a friendship. Except that it does.

In the second half of my life, I want to surround myself with people who are honest and trustworthy. I want to choose people who believe in themselves, so that we can believe in ourselves together.

I found a new art app that creates patterns using mathematical properties. Artsy and nerdy at the same time. How cool is that?

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Posted in Relationships, Self-Acceptance and tagged divorce, honesty, Marriage, Mental Health, midlife, trust. Bookmark the permalink.

Breakups

Posted on December 19, 2013 by Christy Barongan

I have always found it strange that you can be so close to someone that you know all their habits, quirks, and life history, and then you break up and you have nothing to do with them.

Before, you knew what they’re schedule was for the day, what they ate for breakfast, what deep and meaningful thoughts they’ve had, if any. Now you don’t know anything because you’re not there anymore, sharing the same space, sleeping in the same bed.

But you also find out that you didn’t know the person as well as you thought. The process of breaking up itself teaches you things about your partner–how they deal with loss, how important you are, how hard they’ll fight for something they believe in.

To me, the saddest thing of all is how cruel the other person can be in the breaking up process. How they can act like someone who never loved you at all. As though you had never made vows to spend the rest of your lives together. Suddenly they can become a person who despises you and your sadness.

I’ve had the good fortune of not being broken up with in this way, but I have to admit, I understand why people do it. Personally, I preferred the passive approach. I always had an exit strategy–a guy who conveniently fell in love with me and could help me leave. A guy whose needs I could focus on to drown out the pain of hurting the other person.

It’s shameful to admit, and it’s so inconsistent with the person I see myself as being, the person that I strive to be. But there it is, example after example of exit strategies in my relationship history.

In my second marriage, I toyed with anger and exit strategies, but in the end I decided that I was going to have to stay in the relationship until I could leave in a respectful way. I had to find a way to be loving to both of us, or I wasn’t allowed to leave at all.

I am proud that I did at least honor that commitment. But I can see why people don’t leave in this way. It’s easier to vilify the person to justify why you’ve left. Much easier than it is to hurt a good person who didn’t do anything to deserve it.

This is the hardest part of the empathy/pick me thing. Because no matter what happens, you’re still going to get hurt. To this day, it still makes me cry, even as I write this, knowing that I caused him pain. I think I might even be sadder about it than he is at this point.

The only consolation I can find is that if you at least try to leave in love rather than hate, you minimize whatever pain is in your control.

Grief

Posted on December 10, 2013 by Christy Barongan

Tonight I went to the memorial for the student who was killed in the car accident a week ago. I didn’t know the student and wanted to have a better sense of who she was and to feel more of the grief that the community is experiencing.

Handling crises is my least favorite part of my job. I don’t do well with things like grief. My emotions are naturally very intense even at baseline, so when there’s a crisis, I shut down. I guess this is my brain’s way of protecting me from being overwhelmed by my feelings. In a way it’s helpful, since I need to be there for the students, but sometimes I’m afraid I’m so emotionally removed that it’s affecting how much support I can provide.

I do feel bad for the parents. I don’t have children but I can imagine how hard it would be to lose a child, how unnatural and unfair that is. I wonder if they will celebrate Christmas this year, and if Christmas will ever be a happy time for them again.

And I feel bad for the driver. He may go to jail for drunk driving, and for the rest of his life he will have to live with the burden of her death. I hope that he finds a way to forgive himself for what happened and find peace.

Often my friends on FB will post something on the birthday of a loved one who has died and say how the sadness never goes away. It’s daunting to imagine living with never-ending pain–a hole in your heart that never gets filled. That’s why death scares me so much.

For awhile I was really into books about near-death experiences. I think I read them as a way to be OK with the idea of death. I found comfort in reading that all of the people who went to heaven and came back to earth thought heaven was so great that they were depressed when they didn’t get to stay.

My favorite part of these books is where they describe how entering heaven is like a pep rally where all of these people, including your loved ones, are there cheering you on and welcoming you. I don’t know if you get to pick your job when you’re in heaven, but I think I would be an awesome greeter. That makes the idea of dying a little easier, too.

The biggest loss I’ve experienced so far is losing my first husband. He didn’t die but we are not in contact and he does not wish to have a relationship with me, so it’s been like a death to me.

I know I’m probably taking this too literally, but sometimes I wonder, if it’s really true that your loved ones greet you when you get to heaven, would he be there to greet me, since we’re no longer married? Or would he just be there for his second wife when she dies? I imagine that when you are in heaven you can be in two places at once and you don’t have to choose which loved ones you will be with like you have to do on earth.

Even though it’s been almost 10 years since we’ve been apart, I still miss him. We shared so much together that every day I encounter something that triggers a memory of him. But at the same time, I am happy with my life and feel fortunate that I will get to know more people than I would have if we had stayed married. So it’s possible to be happy and sad at the same. It’s possible to miss someone but still go on with your life.

I guess since we all experience losses throughout our lives, these losses just become a part of who we are. I have always felt that if I had to do my life all over again, I wouldn’t change anything, because every mistake and every loss has played a role in the person I have become.

Plus I believe that our task in this lifetime is to experience what it means to be human, and suffering and death are a part of the package. Often in therapy clients want me to take away their pain, and I have to tell them that I can’t, but I am willing to sit with them while they are hurting. I guess that is the best gift we can give to anyone who is grieving. So at least I’m getting that part right.

This is my favorite doodle because it looks like a magical land, like Oz, minus the yellow brick road.

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Posted in Mental Health, Relationships, Spirituality and tagged Christmas, divorce, forgiveness, God, grief, holidays, love, Mental Health, therapy. Bookmark the permalink.

Solitude

Posted on November 16, 2013 by Christy Barongan

Solitude

I am about to share with you my most shameful flaw so please don’t judge me. And this post isn’t that funny. (Although I always think I’m kind of funny, even when I’m being serious). But it’s the truth, so I have to say it.

I have been in a relationship non-stop since I was 14. That’s 30 years of relationships, and not just to one person. So no pearls for me. That’s the 30 year anniversary gift, in case you didn’t know. I just looked it up.) And sometimes the relationships were slightly overlapping towards the end. And often they were not very good relationships. And I knew this at the time, but I stayed in them, anyway.

In my defense, the marriages were both relationships with two very good guys, but that doesn’t guarantee that a relationship will work, as I indicated in my previous blog. But most of the other relationships were not very good. I stayed in them because: 1) I’m drawn to guys who need psychological help and 2) I am terrified of being alone and am in need of psychological help myself. My attitude was that something was better than nothing. I didn’t have any empirical evidence to support this, but that’s how fear is. It feels true, even when it’s not.

So in addition to channeling all of my energy into my long-standing dream of becoming a writer, I have also decided to be alone for the first time.

A lot of my married friends say, oh I would love to be alone. I look forward to the times when my husband and kids are not in the house. I, too, appreciated my alone time when I was in a relationship. But it’s different when you go home and no one will be there, and you don’t know if or when someone will ever be there.

It’s different when you could fall and hurt your back and not be able to reach your phone and call for help and people might not notice that you haven’t been around until you stop showing up to work for a few days. Then they would have to send someone down to find you because you’re not answering your phone. That’s not the same thing as having a break from your husband and kids at all.

Last night I tried to change one of the flood lights in my bedroom, but I couldn’t reach it. I tried to use that thingy that allows you to reach light bulbs that are really high up but the floodlight was too big. I probably wouldn’t have been able to get the thingy to work, anyway. I considered getting out the ladder but that would definitely result in bodily injury and/or death. I don’t want to call one of my guy friends and ask them to come over and change one light bulb, so I’ll probably have to wait until several bulbs burn out and exist in semi-darkness in the meantime.

Don’t get me wrong–I know that in the grand scheme of things, I’m a very lucky person. I have a loving family and a great group of friends, I can support myself and I love my job, I have a nice place, and I am hopeful that at some point another relationship opportunity will present itself. Still, there’s no amount of self-talk that can change the fact that sometimes it sucks to be alone.

I’m a big proponent of learning how to sit with negative feelings. This is what I tell my clients all the time. I’m often amazed that they start doing it because I tell them to. They’re better at taking my advice than I am. I’m amazed that I can give them the courage to break up with their boyfriend or girlfriend, even though they were terrified of doing so. At those times I think, why is it that I can help them do it but not myself? It doesn’t work to be your own therapist, apparently.

But now I’m ready. I’m going to face sadness and loneliness and fear if it kills me. I am going to find out whether or not it’s true that it’s better to be in a bad relationship than none at all. Obviously it’s not true, but like I said, fear is not always logical.

And it’s going OK so far. Sometimes it does suck, but it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. Because when I was in a bad relationship, I still felt sad and lonely and afraid, but I also beat myself up for staying in a relationship just because I was afraid of being alone. It’s much better without that last part.

The thing I miss the most is having someone to talk to–someone to share how my day went, to talk about the book I’m reading, or to share any deep and meaningful revelations I’ve had. But now that I have this blog, I have all of you to listen to me. And that helps a lot.

And you know what else? My neighbor called me this morning to check on me because she hadn’t seen me in awhile and wanted to make sure I was OK. I was afraid she was going to tell me she hit my car or accidentally opened my mail again or try to get me to come to church with her. Because those are reasons she has called in the past. But no. She was checking on me.

I take that as a sign that God is looking out for me.

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Posted in Relationships, Self-Acceptance and tagged courage, divorce, normal, solitude, therapy. Bookmark the permalink.

Can Love Conquer All?

Posted on November 4, 2013 by Christy Barongan

My first writing assignment was accepted for publication! Woo hoo! I have to say, this is a lot like writing papers for English classes in college–something you wouldn’t think someone would willingly subject themselves to for a measly $2.50 an hour.

Here is the link to the article:

http://classroom.synonym.com/can-love-overcome-obstacle-relationship-10003.html

I did not write any personal info in this article, so I will give you some background on how I came to the conclusion that love is not enough to overcome any obstacle in a relationship.

My first husband and I were very much in love. I’m not sure I will ever love someone else as much as I loved him. The odds were stacked against us–he used to refer to himself as a poor, half-breed bastard–but neither of us was the type of person to shy away from a challenge. There were many people who thought that our relationship wouldn’t last, but there were also a lot of people who thought we were the ideal couple. We worked very hard to save our marriage, but in the end love wasn’t enough.

It was a sad lesson to learn, since I have always been a romantic. I believed that differences in race, class, religion, and family background didn’t matter, that stereotypes weren’t true, and that even though you had a crazy childhood with lots of traumatic events, you could still have a healthy relationship as an adult as long as you loved each other. And maybe those things are still possible, but they haven’t been possible for me.

But I’m not sorry that we tried. I’m not sorry that we got married. I believe that love is a gift, and there are no guarantees that you get to keep any gift forever. Some people never get to experience the kind of love we had, and I got to have it for 12 years. And for that I am still thankful.

And I am open to the possibility of loving someone like that again. I am not going to close my heart off because of how painful it was to lose him. Love may not be enough to conquer all, but it is still worth fighting for.

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Posted in Relationships, Self-Acceptance and tagged divorce, love, writing. Bookmark the permalink.