Before I go on with my story, I need to clarify something.
As I write, I usually speak of my “family,” either in terms of my husband, son, and myself, or my family of origin – my household growing up. And I try to be mindful to be clear who I mean in each specific instance.
But I will also sometimes mention the “family system,” and it occurs to me I never explained what I mean by that. So, before I continue the story, a clarification is in order.
(more…)As impossible as it may have seemed, we made it. Despite managing marriage, parenthood, jobs, caring for his parents, and fighting mine… despite all the odds, Ed and I stuck with therapy, and it started working.
In looking back at my journal entries and talking with Ed about all the things I’ve written here, we both just shook our heads. Both of us agree that we don’t know how we did it, and that it is flat-out amazing that we made it through those years. But we did. And we are both deeply grateful now.
As our love and marriage grew stronger, it would show up in small ways. It was especially telling on one occasion when we bought a new tree for the front yard of our home. Our son said that because the tree was part of our family, it needed a name. So he promptly called it “Ralph.” I have no idea why.
But then Ed spoke up and added to its name the words, “the passion tree.” Ralph, The Passion Tree. I looked at him, and he just said, “Ralph is a symbol of our growth…a testament to the changes that are happening in both of us, and in our marriage.”
(more…)The mid-90s were hell on wheels in terms of intensity.
Ed and I were doing the marital classes and working to build a new relationship between us. Our son was having trouble at school. There were stresses with bills and jobs. Ed’s parents were getting sicker, which required periodic trips home, and we were also doing regular therapy to focus on our specific issues and my healing from abuse. Oh, and yes, we were waging battles again with my dad about his interactions with the kids in the family. Then, my friend called.
I was about to step into the shower.
My husband stood in the bathroom doorway. “She’s on the phone.”
Every fiber in my body cringed. She’d been my friend. She helped nurture me when I was suicidal. She helped me over the hurdle of sex. But things had not been right for a long time.
(more…)It was the summer of 1985. I had resumed the dating service and met several generally nice men. I say “generally” because a few were just “non-starters,” but certainly not harmful.
There was the divorced man who spent all of our supper date talking about his ex-wife. No, thank you.
And the one who kept calling me to arrange to meet, but could never quite figure out if he wanted to because he also wanted to go play paintball with his friends. After several rounds of this, I told him to go play paintball and stop calling.
But the absolute “best” of the non-starters was the computer engineer who worked in the same company my father had. We met for lunch at a burger place. I’d been running around all morning and skipped breakfast, so when we met up, I was ready for my burger and fries.
As we talked, or rather, I TRIED to start a conversation, I made short work of my lunch. He was rather …aloof? No matter what I asked, it was one or two-word answers. I mentioned that my father worked at the same company that he did.
No response. Oh, he did note that I had finished my lunch quickly and said, “Gee, you eat a lot.”
(more…)After the chaos of the winter months of 1984, I’d like to say things quieted down, and I could then just proceed in therapy to full healing and live happily ever after. For sure, at the time I thought it worked that way — if I worked REALLY hard, fast, and fiercely, I could get over all of this quickly and be “normal” and healed. That statement alone indicates just how far from understanding myself and the situation, I really was.
Yes, I had stabilized and was no longer suicidal. And that was no small achievement. But it just meant I had finally landed at the bottom of that abyss, the crash hadn’t killed me, and I was now standing upright on two legs facing a mountain whose top was obscured by a heavy bank of clouds. I had no idea then just how high that mountain was or that I would still be climbing it today.
(more…)
Soul Mosaic 