A girlfriend of mine says she’s fallen in love.  She’s met him only three times – he lives thousands of miles away in the United States.  She talks now of how she plans to move there at the end of the year.  She will find a new job.  Move away from her family.  Her eyes go soft and dreamy as she talks about their future… in her mind, he’s The One.

I love this woman.  I love her like a little sister.  She’s only 27-years-old.  I know how badly she wants to find the Real Thing, how much she wants children, and the family dream. 

Yet I am torn…

(Read more and add comments here)

Other Articles:

You’ve PROVEN You Don’t Need a Man,  Should Great Sex Be Top Priority In Relationships?,  Friends With Benefits: One Step Closer

Bookmark It

Hide Sites

I was at a public swimming pool with my three kids, playing in the toddler section.  A great big bucket of water above us was almost full and teetering to tip.  My kids squealed and we all huddled in, arms entwined, heads down…till finally, the much-anticipated water crashed over our heads and backs.

Laughing, I scooted back on my bum and pushed my long drenched hair out of my face.   

And that’s when I met his eyes.

He was sitting about ten feet away on a shelf in deeper water, arms outstretched to his sides. Dark hair, muscular chest, maybe 40.   And he was staring.  Not looking, not laughing, but staring.

Our gaze broke when my four-year-old suddenly jumped on top of me.  I continued playing with her and laughing…and I could feel his eyes on me.  I looked over at him again - and yes, he wasn’t looking, he was staring. 

“Mom, can you get me a life-jacket so we can play in the deep water?”  My six year old asked.

I looked over at the life-jackets strung on hooks poolside.  Figures I wore my bikini today.    “Of course honey,” I replied, standing up in the shallow water.  I felt naked as I pulled myself out of the water.

Two minutes later, in another section of the pool, he suddenly appeared about five feet away from me.  Jesus, he’s following me!  Pretty brazen!  This time, when our eyes met, he smiled.  Holy shit he’s cute!  I smiled back and my stomach fluttered.  Then, How bad is this to be ‘picking up’ when I’m out for a family swim!!!  Off I went on flipper boards with my kids, thinking Yeah, I’m open to talking to this guy…

Over the next ten minutes, I found myself looking around to see where he was …and he was always close by and looking/smiling at me.  I also saw him playing with a little boy, maybe three-years-old.  Must be a divorced dad with weekend visitation, I thought.  I love watching men play with kids….

Then, a woman appeared. 

She stood at the side of the pool talking to him.  He handed her his son and pulled himself out of the water.  I watched them interact…how his demeanor changed, how he focused on her. 

 Shocked, I thought:   Holy f***.  This guy is married!

I shook my head in disgust and continued playing with my kids.  Still, I remained a bit bewildered; this guy had been sending me the vibe BIG TIME; unmistakably. And his wife had been in the same room the whole time!

I then thought back to when I married and all the times we’d gone public swimming with our children.  And I wondered how many women my ex had brazenly stared at when my back was  turned; you know - back when I thought we were sharing wonderful “family time.”

Bookmark It

Hide Sites

Yesterday, I received an email from a man who’d read a bunch of my blogs (on here and elsewhere).  And though he was ultimately in praise of my work, my eyes kept returning to the word he used to describe my writing personality:  ABRASIVE.

When I first read that word, I panicked.  I had to fight the urge to immediately contact him and start explaining myself, if not apologizing…   (Read full article here)

Other Articles:   Survival Mode: Existing Post-Divorce & Infidelity,  True Love: What is it - REALLY?

Bookmark It

Hide Sites

This is hilarious - take a quick peek and have a laugh!

Why Women Get Divorced!

Bookmark It

Hide Sites

In the year 2000, my mom and Dad got divorced. He left my then 57-year-old mom for another woman. But this wasn’t the first time he’d cheated – his philanderings had begun back in the 70s.

“Why didn’t leave him way back then?” I recently asked my mom. “Don’t you wish you had?”

“Delaine, it was a different time,” she replied with a smile. “I know it’s hard for you to imagine, but women didn’t have the same rights back then and divorce was a scary option.”

She then explained that not only was there no spousal support laws in Canada, the social stigmas attached to being a ‘divorcee’ were hideous. In social circles where she moved, everything was done in couples, and divorcees were looked down on and seen as untrustworthy, immoral tramps.

When my dad’s first affair was exposed back then, my mom had sought professional counselling. “I was told I needed to be a better wife,” my mom said, shaking her head. “Our sessions were about what I was doing wrong, how I wasn’t meeting the needs of your Dad, and how I could improve.”

She continued: “I was brought to believe that my role at home as a mother and wife was the most important thing on Earth. And I vowed to keep my family together whatever the personal cost to myself.”

I sat there with my mouth agape, appalled, horrified, angry. How dare my mother, or any woman, be blamed for her husband’s cheating! And God, what a burden for my then twenty-something mother to have carried all alone as she went about caring for and managing a household of four children. Yet she had hidden it from us kids so well.

I hadn’t realized how restrictive our divorce laws were for women in Canada such a short time ago. Out of curiosity I researched our country’s history of spousal support and discovered that it wasn’t until the mid eighties that it became part of our laws. Prior to its implementation, the law only required a 50/50 division in property and assets/liabilities; but that meant many women were left scrambling to start a career from scratch, having committed most of their work lives to being a homemaker. No surprise then that studies showed that in the first year after divorce, women suffered a 42% decrease in their standard of living, whereas men experienced an increase of 73%. Changes needed to be made.

To further paint the picture of what life was like back then for her, my mom reminded me that it wasn’t until the mid seventies that women were allowed to have credit cards in their own names. They also couldn’t get a bank loan without a male co-signer. Moreover, it wasn’t until 1973 the first battered shelters for women opened in North America, giving abused married women a safe refuge.

I now have a huge sense of gratitude for all the women before me who fought so bravely against the laws and social backlash that divorce presented them with back then. I honestly don’t know if I’d have had their courage.

Other Articles:  This Divorced Single Mom is Having  a Hormone Attack!,  The #1 Thing I Wish Someone had told me about Divorce,   Casual Sex: Should I Pursue it More Regularly?

Bookmark It

Hide Sites

Out of the blue, my aunt emailed me this photo tonight.  I’m not posting it because I want you say I look cute.  I’m showing it because it made me burst out crying. 

Look at how innocent I was.  My God, the face of an angel with hair so white.  “What was I like back then?”  I ask myself.  I don’t remember.  I think I’m about four.  I think I was a good kid, always easy to get along with, always wanting to please everyone.  Yeah, mom always said I was a really good, easy child.

Look at my dress.  I don’t remember it either.  My mom used to make a lot of my clothes back then.  In that era there was a lot of wacky, tacky prints and frills.  But my mom dressed with me love and in my heart I knew I had a loving family, a safe unbroken home; that I was wanted and protected and taken care of.  Through the window in the background I think I see my mom, her younger self.  God, she must be younger than I am now.  What was she busy doing?  What never-ending line-up of motherly chores was she tending to?  She had a family of four kids.

In my mind’s eye, I age me and I see me at 8, 10, doing cartwheels around this 4-year-old me, so happy, so playful, so free to live each day unencumbered.  But I bring myself back to this 4-year-old me and ask myself again, “What were you like?  You were newly here from the Other Side, a soul of pure light, your conscious mind untainted yet by life.  What was your soul like?”

Still, I don’t remember.  I sit and I wait for the feeling of her in my skin.  And I can’t feel her.  All I feel is a pain in my chest and tears in my eyes.  How did I go from there…. her…

…to here?

My daughter is now four.  And I’m going to show her this photo.  She sometimes asks me if I was ever a baby or a little girl.  She comments on the lines on my face and asks me why they’re there.  “Because I’ve been here 38 years,”  I tell her.  “Everyone gets older.”  I know she doesn’t understand time and how much living was required for me to get here.  A part of me doesn’t want her to know, I want her to savor her ‘in-the-moment’ carefree happiness.  And yet another part of me wants to tell her about this earth school of hard-knocks, to prepare her for this journey of tough self-love.

So I’ve stared and wept at this photo for awhile tonight.  I feel the cargo I’ve added to my back over my lifetime, the heaviness that I am yet to amputate.  Yet this photo brings me pause.  It brings me back to the beginning, to my essence.  It takes my breath away.  And it makes me cry.  Cause I don’t remember.

Bookmark It

Hide Sites