Even though I woke up this morning with the warmth and security of a man's arms around me, it still wasn't enough to stop the first vision that came to my mind, and the memory of the images that followed right after. And I'm going to darn well write about it here even if it makes all of you feel uncomfortable. Yes I am.
It was 4:45 a.m. As usual his alarm went off just as I was finally starting to fall asleep. I felt him creep out of bed and silently shut the door behind him. I knew he was going to be heading to the gym - an early morning ritual he was adamant about keeping. Desperately fatigued from what seemed like years of not sleeping, my weakened mind instantly started playing cruel tricks on me. Why couldn't I ever sleep? Why couldn't I seem to get on the same pattern as the man that I loved and shared a home with? Why couldn't I do anything the same as him, or nearly as well as him? What the hell was wrong with me anyways?
My stomach started to tie itself into tight knots, the way it does when my mind has a hold on me after a few nights without sleep. It was daylight already. I can't remember exactly, but it must've been about this same time of year, May or June. Another obstacle against me. A solid night's rest almost never seemed to happen when we were together. And that morning everything felt heavy upon me. All I wanted and needed was for the man I loved to just stay in bed with me for a change. I only wanted him to acknowledge how desperately I was trying to find that subtle harmony together. Why couldn't we get on the same page, the same clock, the same tempo?
I heard the front door of the apartment close, and I knew that I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. Something overcame me and I jumped out of bed and threw on my housecoat. "Please don't go..." I was saying to myself. I just wanted him to come back, I didn't want him to go to the gym and start yet another day without me. When I walked out our front door the elevator doors were just closing, so I swiftly moved to the internal stairwell, hoping to catch him when he came out of the elevators on the parkade level. He made it down before me, still unaware that I was following him. Tired, so tired, and feeling like a grown-up cry baby, I watched him walk intently towards our car. When he got to the driver's side he finally looked up and saw me standing in the parkade, pathetic, crying, disheveled, the dark circles under my eyes showing my anguish. First the look on his face was of shock. Then it was of realization. I saw him mouth "aww", and watched his eyes as they acknowledged the message his brain had just sent him: "You're not going to the gym this morning man, your lady needs you...". He threw his gym bag back onto his shoulder and walked over to me. Wrapping his arms around me he said "Oh baby...". He knew he didn't have to ask why I was awake, what I was doing standing in the parkade on the verge of delirium. He could tell. Maybe he was in sync with me?
He kept his arm around me as he walked me back to the elevator doors, up to the ground level where our home was, and through the front door of our apartment. Exhausted and unable to talk, I let him tuck me back into bed. Then he took off his shoes and crawled in beside me, spooning me tightly. I remember how comforted I felt with his arms around me. Then while the tears pooled in the corner of my eyes and dripped across the bridge of my nose, I finally drifted off to sleep for about an hour before I had to get up to go to work. Another day trying to function without sleep. Another day of crankiness.
We don't even realize how these little things, these minute details, can really turn into such a big deal when we're in relationship. It's like we think the struggle is totally normal, totally worth it. I now can admit to myself that I needed a lot of rest in my relationship with him, while he needed relatively none. We were just different that way. My question then is this: In relationship, do people really do anything to work out their differences? Or do they just ask the other person to accommodate their needs without changing at all? As if we can ever truly ask someone to be someone or something other than who they are anyways.
There are so many layers to this onion. Just when I think I've peeled back all I can, another layer grows in and forces me to keep on working at it. What I learned about myself today is how hard I am on myself, and how hard I was on myself during my marriage. And it's funny because I'm the one who is the first to say that being imperfect is absolutely perfect. I really do feel that two people who are in love with one another and really see one another for who they are do not need to always be in sync every single moment of every single day. God no! So why did I put pressure on myself to be some sort of Wonder Woman? The pressure made me feel frustrated all the time, which in turn just made me miserable.
So how much deeper does my understanding of my Self actually have to go before I hit the point where I simply turn my nose up at my own thoughts and say "WHATEVER!!" I mean, how many friggin' layers do I have to peel back before I'm fed up with this darn process? The practical part of me knows that it just is what it is. But another part of me still relentlessly asks the question: "How could he just walk away so fucking easily when I worked so fucking hard?" I really do feel like I worked harder on all our obstacles than he did. I know he wouldn't agree, but damnit that's just how I feel! And I'm allowed to feel it! The truth is that most women, in loving service to their men, do work harder at things. C'mon, admit it. We all personally know at least one woman who has held on to try to work it out long after those of us standing on the outside think they should have done.
Oh, to be a man! How easy you all have it.
So this morning with that dormant memory popping fresh into my mind like it happened only yesterday, and the mixed feelings of tenderness and bitterness that came with it, I quietly stole away from the tomcat who was sleeping beside me, threw on my gym clothes, grabbed my hand wraps and went to my gym for a kickass workout. Letting loose my pent-up emotions, every single one of my roundhouse kicks were delivered with perfection. My jab-crosses wholly connected with the bag, their slaps echoing across the gym and waking up the still groggy ears of the other women who had come to release as well. Kidney shots to Bob would definitely have done some major damage if he were human, my trainer standing behind me and encouraging me to keep it up, go Hard Hard Hard! At the end she patted my back and said "Wow, that was awesome! You had so much anger behind those hits!" And I replied matter of factly "Yes, I'm going through a divorce. I'm pissed." With that she high-fived me and said "Well way to go, sister!"
It's so great to have the support of other women behind me. :)
So I left the gym feeling centred and strong again, and well-aware of my true feelings. My Ashtanga yoga teacher would rather I stop going to kick-boxing altogether. He says I wouldn't be so angry if I just did yoga only. Well frankly, I kinda like being angry sometimes. It feels so much better than being sad, and it gives me energy. It helps me re-focus on my Self on the mornings when so many doubts and unanswered questions surround me and threaten to take all of my strength away from me.
At the end of the day, everyone needs to do whatever it takes to heal. Whatever. It. Takes.
I know I've started my day off right. A hard workout and then an organic coffee, coupled with just enough time to write a blog post. The sun is shining and I'm going to head out to Kate and Jeff's place for an afternoon BBQ. Tonight I'll lay low here at home so that I can make it to that healing, calming, and ever so challenging Ashtanga yoga class tomorrow morning. There I won't feel any anger. I will feel my breath and my blood run through my veins, and a surge of joy will replace any anger I had. And it will remind me that all my feelings, and however I choose to work through them, are totally good.
C xo
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