Since separating almost three years ago, my leisurely reading has been very limited and very serious. We’re talking non-fiction and self-help only.   This was for a couple of reasons.  First,  the idea of anything make-believe or romantic repulsed me (I guess experiencing infidelity can have that effect).  Secondly, I had work to do – not only in terms of piecing me and my life back together, but in terms of rising into the role of single mom of three kids AND my new career as an author.  Truly, I felt like Delaine-The-Avid-Reader, who I’d been since I was a teenager, was gone.

But all that changed recently…yessiree, it did.  And you can laugh or roll your eyes if you want, but it was all because a friend of mine gifted me Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight Saga Series: Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse and Breaking Dawn.  That’s right – this pushing-forty, no-time-for make-believe divorcee got hooked and swallowed by characters and a storyline geared at ’young adults’. (read more here)

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So many feelings.  So many many feelings…that I don’t know what to do with.

So I’ll just listen to Meryl Streep.  Like she says, “I don’t want to talk.  Cause it makes me feel sad.”

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On our nights alone without kids, we have choices: what to do, who to talk to, and most importantly, how to feel.  I will be honest with you - for months after getting divorced, I spent many a night alone grieving. The stretches of time in front of me served as feeding time for my inner demons and the processing of my marriage’s death. But now, looking over my shoulder, mental snapshots of that Old Delaine only serve as reminders as to how far I’ve come, how strong a woman I am, and how I’m truly OK with being on my own.

Besides talking to few girlfriends on the phone tonight, I’ve been totally alone.  And I’ve felt good.  In part that was due to a couple of glasses of wine.  (And no - it’s not a habit) But tonight, since none of my friends were available to go out, I thought “Why not?”  I’ll have my own private party - just Me, Myself and I. 

So because this was a party and alcohol was involved, it had to include some dancing - done in my office, with a bunch of my favorites music videos cranked high.  If anyone was watching me they’d have thought I was a total butthead…but I didn’t care.  I sang along at the top of my lungs and shimmied like there was no tomorrow.  It just felt so good to move…and to be in my own skin.

But towards 3 a.m. tonight, I came across a sad music video that moved me a great deal.  It’s in Spanish (by Shakira) so I didn’t even know what she was singing. But something in her voice and her eyes, something in the melody of the song really resonated with me.  And I watched it about 20 times.  Seriously.  

And it was the strangest thing - cause I didn’t feel sad as I watched and listened to it; for I had no tears to cry.  And yet some soulful feeling kept tugging and pulling on me - there seemed  a sensuality to her pain, a movement in her sadness of heart, that to me felt tremendously empowering.

A woman’s ability to feel is her greatest gift - though at times it seems her greatest enemy.  All life, all movement and change, swirl around her and she blends with it, both breathing it in and feeding it.   And whether she is hurting, feeling dynamite, or anywhere in between, all is captured and reflected in her soul.  And I realize that the suffering I’ve endured these past two years hasn’t stolen from me, rather added to me, making me more of Delaine, more multi-dimensional, and more solidly the real Delaine. That alone is truly worth celebrating.

K, it’s now 5 a.m. and I can’t figure out how to embed this video - but here’s the link to Shakira’s song, “NO.”

Shakira, NO

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Don’t expect to be friends with your ex.  Not at the start anyways.  This is what I wish someone, or many people, had told me.

I’m not saying you should expect to be enemies; no, not at all.  I’m saying you should aim for something in the middle - like a ‘professional working relationship.’  It should be polite, somewhat distant, but functional.  No more, but no less.

“But why Delaine?”  You ask.  “Isn’t it in our best interest to be friends?  Isn’t it in the kids best interest?”

Because I’ve seen the same negative cycle repeat itself over and over again with me and my ex, AND other divorcing girlfriends:  We start getting along well with the exes, it feels good…we may go the ‘extra mile’ for them in some way like drive the kids somewhere far away to meet them, or invite them in for dinner…and then IT happens:  a mini-bomb, some kind of comment or event that hurts us, angers us, and leaves us spiralling for days, if not weeks. We all thought we were ‘moving forward’, that things were going so well, that we were ‘big enough’ to move beyond the enormity of the divorce crisis…

But we are human.  And we are grieving amidst a huge life transformation - ALL of us are, exes included. And even though it feels good to connect with our exes, even though it seems comfortable in some ways (though in some ways it’s also strange), the bottom line is our sensitivity levels are high, and people grieve in different ways.  Each person needs the time, space and consideration to grieve in his/her own way and if that isn’t offered, if time isn’t allotted to the recovery process, it’s a countdown till explosion.

I really wanted my ex and I to be friends at the beginning for the kids’ sake.  I wanted to ease the transition into their lives, as any good parent wants, of course.  But two things I MUST point out: first, it is very confusing for the kids to have dad at the dinner table one night, only to then have mom in tears for days and ignoring him the next time he comes by for ‘pick-up.’  It’s no good for the kids to have an unhappy mom, period.  And even though we do our best to hide our sadness and anger from them, little ears pick up on our phone conversations with girlfriends.  Little eyes see when we’re vacantly staring out the window with swollen eyes…. You get my point, I’m sure.

Secondly, in my opinion, young kids (which is what I and my friends all have) are less resistant to change than we give them credit for.  Many of the fears I had around the effects of divorce on my kids were just that: mine.  Yes, I had to work hard to ease the change, yes, I had to ’get in the know,’ read books, and always monitor their speech and action for signs of emotional damage.  But children respond to how WE ( us and our exes) are handling the crisis.  If tension, criticism, and anger abound, they feel it, even if they don’t see or hear it.  On the other hand, if they see mom and dad smiling at each other, talking politely, and acting ‘professionally,’ their world seems safer cause mom and dad are showing kindness and setting a good example of how life change can and should be handled.

So this is the #1 thing I wish someone had told me about the divorce process.  Am I a professional divorce coach or counsellor?  No.  Do you have to take my advice?  Not at all.  But I do believe women (and to some degree, men) learn from each other’s stories.   And if I were sitting having coffee with you, what you just read is what I’d have said to you as a friend; one warrior woman to another.

Other Articles:  Fairytale endings: Movies Are Programming My Daughter,  Cheating Spouse: REVENGE!,  I’m a Single Parent…A feeling I’ve always known

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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.

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