Headlights ‘luminate the lane divide
As the cornfields turn to homes
Headed eastbound now he thinks of her
All the times he held her close

In those days when they’d meet up
In between his world and hers,

For awhile the distance broken
Holding on without a word

So much fun playing cops and robbers
No way it’d ever work
He’s all rules and regulations
She all poetry and verse

In those days they’d meet up
In between his world and hers,
For awhile the distance broken
Holding on without a word

Some days he aches for her Botero curves, DaVinci smile
There’s too much now for him to lose
He can’t succumb to his desire

So, late nights flirting ‘cross cell towers
Is all that there can be
There’s no meeting halfway anymore
Cause one plus one, plus one, is three

He’ll text hello when it’s him and her and his phone,
And she’ll say, “Goodnight, Sweet Man” awhile after
And she’ll go to sleep alone

And tomorrow when the sun arises
They’ll each stand beneath the steam
Separate showers, once were shared
Long ago in a dream

In those days they’d meet up
In between his world and hers,
For awhile the distance broken…
Holding on without a word

His new friend

offered to move him in,

Offered to support him.

She told him that if I had

Really Loved Him,

I’d be the one

Making The Offer.

That that’s

what love is.

Thankfully, I know

that’s not Love.

That’s

Manipulation.

I do love him.

And I love me.

And so, I said

No.

(Title borrowed without permission from The Nields. Hope they won’t mind.)

You are not my raison d’ etre.

No longer the sun that I orbit around

She has done for you in 4 weeks what I could not accomplish

in 4 years:

Get you sober

Get you praying

Get you work

I know it’s unfair because you did so much to heal me

And now that it’s your turn I am too healed 

To be your savior

For I love myself too much 

And my kids and my friends are too dear

For that sacrifice

Isolation. Complete devotion.

It’s what you require and now that I am here

You are there 

And I cannot be who you want

And I do not want to be who you need

I want to be me

Free

I want to fly solo 

Spread my wings and see just where the winds take me

For I know

It is my time to soar.

I am happy for you

And I will hold you in my heart

Deep, deep in my heart

For all of my days

For always. 

It never gets any easier, not when you’re 15 and you *feel* your body rip to shreds at the mere thought of *it* being over. Not at 22, when all of your life plans made around *that* relationship fall to pieces, and you spend an entire summer wailing along with Melissa Etheridge’s, “Like The Way I Do.” Not when you’re 51, and your long-deceased marriage is finally declared dead (that’s actually an entirely different sort of ache), nor four years later when your rebound “what-you-thought-would-only-be-a-2-week-fantasy-fling” flames out due to kids, and work, and politics, that pandemic puppy that you knew was not a good idea. They all hurt. But at 55, what compounds the pain, is the knowledge that you *will* get through it (because you always have). You can’t wallow in bed all summer, you can’t cry all night on the phone with your bestie (because *he* was your bestie,) you can’t even eat a pint of Ben and Jerry’s (because then you’d *really* feel like shit). Balancing the *knowledge* that you’re going to be just fine, with deep the pain of the heart is so completely unsatisfying. You might as well get over it already. Maybe, I’m a glutton for punishment. Maybe, I *like* wallowing, maybe, just maybe, being a grown up kinda sucks that way, and sometimes, what you *really need* is a sad, sad song on the radio and a drippy mascara cry while you walk the dog in the early morning light. (Even as the sun shines through the trees and you hear yourself thinking, “You’re going to be alright.”)

The man who has everything gives away nothing. The man who has nothing gives away everything.

I spent 29 years of my life dating and married to a smart man, an excellent provider, who could not even bring himself to tell me goodnight.

For four years now I have been with a man who barely escaped high school, but who chooses to warm both our plates in the oven until we both can sit down to eat, toasting glasses and sharing conversation.

The difference is astounding. 

Tomorrow I face the first man, my ex, in court, again. The 6th return to face off on what was his bogus and yet, successful, bid for child support and my hopefully, tied up soon, challenge for reimbursements and equity. I am not certain Justice will prevail, but I know I must fight, for myself; for my daughters.

A few days ago as I walked in the woods behind my house, I recounted all the things I hate about my ex. I made a mental list so that I wouldn’t forget. 1) the smell of his head and shoulders hair 2) the way he clicks his tongue in conversation 3) the way he chews m&m candies while watching a movie, loudly, with his front teeth 4) his never clearing his own dish, much less anyone else’s 5) his desperate need to account for every dollar spent at my weekly visits to Target. I could go on.

He has yet to share his tax return with me, an obligation for mediation, so I am nervous about what stunt he will try to pull in court tomorrow, what verbal tango he’ll perform in an attempt to manuever his way around the truth. 

He has everything. And he gives away nothing.

Civil war. “Everything we were went into that war, and everything we are came out of it.” (Johnathan Gill)

I thought I knew what I wanted, “Wooster, psychology, fall in love and be happy,” 

It took a long time to admit it, but I finally did: what I had was not what I wanted, and no, I was not happy.

And so I left. And one step at a time (and two steps back) I’ve made it. Here. To a life that’s mine. A house that’s mine. A dog that’s mine. A job that pays the bills, mine. A lover who makes delicious morning coffee, mine. A bed where I sleep with yesterday’s clothes at the foot, mine. A shower (lacking repugnant head and shoulders), mine. I clean when I want, I eat when (and where) I want, I sing and dance and cheer. I like candles (mine) and watch corny movies, I chat with friends (mine) and text with my daughters (ok, ours, but mine all mine when we take selfies on the deck (mine). 

I went into the war with everything that I was, everything that I had. I gave 3 decades to the battle and came out with scars. And though I gave all that I had to give, it wasn’t enough. It would never be. And so I surrendered. And now I am all that I am and more. I am mine. Everything I am now, came out of the war. I have won. I am me.

Hi Lynn, it’s Maura.

Last we exchanged notes we both were going through a tough time. My marriage was over and your old dog had passed away. Those scant three years ago feel like an eternity, don’t they?

Three years hence and I am no longer in Reston, no longer have my old lady dog, and am no longer with Mission BBQ…

I now own my own townhouse, have a brand new 10 month old crazy pup and a fledgling career in communications.

Lucy left yesterday for her senior year in college and Annie Rose began her last year of high school last Thursday. Both girls are doing very well. We’ve all worked really hard at forgiveness. I think our bond is stronger than ever.

Jace and I are still battling one another in court. The next appearance is Sept 14. He emailed me tonight to see if we could settle and then in true narcissist form, scoffed at my boundaries (to see his tax return). I am no longer victim to his bullying. I will not yield just because he tells me to.

I have found my voice. I have found my sense of purpose. On good days I am productive and happy. On others I take deep breaths, and strive to do the next right thing.

I am a work in progress. And that’s ok. I’ve got the rest of my lifetime to learn how to do and be me.

I’m getting there, one day at a time.

Hi Lynn,
It’s Maura. 

I hope you are well and that things continue to grow and prosper at the Center for Relationships. It seems like a million years ago, and yet like it was only yesterday that we were there, going to workshops, individual and group. You taught us so much back then. I wish I could say we’d learned enough:

I’m sorry to let you know that Jace and I separated a year ago, and have been in mediation since February. Our divorce papers were filed in Loudoun County yesterday. What a journey. I am incredibly sad that we couldn’t make it work, but I do feel hopeful about our futures apart. It was beyond time, and beyond necessary. 

I have a lovely apartment in Reston. I love the trees and the walking paths. I have a new old-lady-rescue-dog named Roxie. And, I have a new job as “Community Ambassador” for the Mission BBQ store that opened recently in Sterling. The job is the perfect mix of food and schmooze. I also earned a massage license four years ago, and continue to see a very small number of clients out of my home.

The kids are wonderful. Lucy will be 18 next week and is off to William and Mary in the fall. She wants to re-write all the healthcare policies for women and babies in this country. Annie Rose is 14 and will be a freshman at Potomac Falls HS. She’s arty and is super into musical theatre. Infact, she’s “Taylor” tomorrow night in a summer production of High School Musical.

I’d love to tell you that Jace and I really tried hard. I suppose we thought we had. But the truth is, as perfect as we are for one another on paper, in real-life, we just were oil and water. He’s a good person. I’m a good person, but we couldn’t find common ground anywhere. Our relationship was fraught with tension, resentment and a decided lack of intimacy. In the past few years, I strayed, just to get some desperately needed physical affection. I’m not proud of that, but it was the only way I could reconcile staying together, which we were stubbornly determined to do. 

However, last summer, we decided to “press pause” and take a 90-day separation. We were under the care of the “Center for Relational Recovery,” which I naively thought meant, “Relational Reconnecting,” but in our case, the relationship [we both] needed to recover was the one with ourselves. I’d become esteem-less, depressed and fully believing that I was not worthy of being loved the way that I was, that I was broken. I’ve learned now that that isn’t true. I am worthy of love and I was created the way that I am, and there is nothing “less than” about me. It’s been an unbelievable year. 

I wanted to share this with you, as you’ve been such an important part of our history. There’s a part of me that wishes we’d given up long ago, but then again, I wouldn’t trade my girls for anything in the world. 
So, here I am, starting over at nearly 52. It’s worrisome, but I’m not scared. Not every day will be easy, but as the song goes, “Every little thing is going to be alright.” Sending you so much appreciation for the work that you did with us, and the role-modeling you provided for me that there IS life after marriage.

All the best, Maura

“Sometimes I see myself fine
Sometimes I need a witness
And I like the whole truth
But there are nights I only need forgiveness…” (My Friends, Dar Williams)

“I have this friend in a bright and distant town…” the song starts. Dar singing about her friend, but what I hear is a message for myself: The version who loves and accepts herself.

“She says ‘He’s writing something,
Hey now, why don’t you talk about it?”
And he doesn’t make a sound
He’s just staring at his coffee
And I know there’s all this beauty
And this greatness she’ll defend,
But I think it’s in my friend.”‘

Man, that’s me. The old me, anyway. Defining herself by the reflection of her lover on her face. But I’m starting to learn that the glow I can absorb from the beautiful sun around me, is really so much more about MY OWN light.

Four years ago I left a miserable marriage. And for a long time I believed that I was a miserable person — just because someone else saw me that way. But in these past four years, I have learned that I do not have to be defined by what anyone else sees or doesn’t see in me. Or anyone else’s reflection passed off as my own.

I am whole and worthy just exactly as I am.

I came into this world, all 5lbs 2 oz of me, fighting for survival, umbilical cord wrapped around my neck. That cord is gone now.

I am independent, I am happy, and I am free.

“She’s found a common balance
Where you do your work, and you do your love
And they pay you, and praise your many talents.”

“And I’ll act like I have faith and like that faith never ends.”

‘She says “You know I think you remember every part of me…”‘

I do. Now, I do.

I just took a long walk and was thinking about a drawing I had to do when I was at the IOP for love and sex addiction. It was to be “of my childhood.” I drew a house with lilacs in the yard. But I was no where to be seen. I realize now, in the absence of all the meeting of other’s expectations of me, aka their reflections, I had/have no idea who I am.

Now, as I am healing, and deciding what my boundaries are, I’m beginning to take shape.