I dated a lot of guys before I fell in love with Darren.
I even turned down one proposal.
Ironically, it was that proposal that made me realize how deep and real my feelings for Darren were. With the other guy, I thought we were just having fun. I don't think he really loved me at all. I think he was just ready to settle down and get married. Truly.
I never dated anyone for very long. I think the longest one was 9 months, and that was only because every time I tried to break up with the guy (he was only 16), he'd threathen to kill himself. I felt like I was responsible for his very life. Wouldn't you know, when I finally had the guts to just end it, he had a new girlfriend within a week? crack me up.
I got bored easily, I suppose. I always bought in to the old adage, "Don't fall in love with someone you don't see yourself marrying, and don't date anyone you don't see yourself falling in love with." So if the guy got too serious, or if I just simply realized that I didn't want the relationship to mature too far, I got out and dated someone else for a bit. I didn't have many actual boyfriends, though. I just dated around a lot. I had a lot of fun. :)
I ran through jobs the same way. I was always eager and willing to try something new. The longest job i ever kept (until I was a bona-fide adult with a family) was 9 months, and that was only because I adored the man I worked for (Red Wing Shoes in Denton). He was like a father-figure. He went to my church. He had a daughter my age. When another job opportunity presented itself that I couldn't imagine turning down, I gave my two weeks' notice, and then I didn't show up for my last day at work. Imagine my horror when I learned later that he and the only other employee and their wives had planned a surprise goodbye party for me, complete with cake and balloons. I still reel from the guilt and shame of that no-show.
But then there was Darren. He was not my type. In fact, at first, we didn't even like each other. I was too crass and loud and bubbly. He was too quiet and nerdy and had brillo-pad hair. Yes, I was shallow. But then something curious happened. I fell in love with his spirit. With his heart. And he, mine. And along the way, our personalities met each other in the middle. I calmed down a LOT, and he opened up just as much.
And here's the point of this entry. He was always afraid that I would tire of him, and would want to move on to greener pastures. In the first years - even into the second decade of our marriage, he would periodically voice his concern that I would get bored with him. I assured him that I never could.
And then he went and fell out of love with me instead.
How unbelievably ironic.
Saturday, August 11, 2012
choice
The thing is, I could have loved him forever.
I WOULD have loved him forever.
Sure, he's selfish and condescending and flaky and lacks motivation. I really dislike those things about him, but I always looked at them as the trade-off. You know, the worse part of "for better or worse".What it came down to was that I loved him, and he loved me, and that's all that really mattered.
I found myself making excuses for him a lot. For his rudeness to others, for his indifference to people, for his intolerance of other people's children. He always fell asleep on the Thameses couch when we'd go to their house for dinner. Rude. He slept through a whole weekend at the beach with the Lamberts, because it was his vacation. Nevermind that the other 9 people in the house wanted to DO things, as it was also our vacation. He always slept at my parents' house, too. Even when we'd be having serious conversations about the impending divorce back in the spring, he'd fall asleep sitting there talking. I realize now that his sleepiness is a coping mechanism for when he doesn't want to do something. Selfish. Rude. It embarrassed me. I nagged him about it, which surely didn't help. But I loved him anyway.
He disliked being with his own extended family, too. I once asked his sister to sing in our wedding. Darren blew a gasket and said he would not allow it. I made him promise not to make me be the one to tell her. He said he'd talk to her. I found out a few years ago that he never did. I also recently heard that the family thinks I have pulled him away from them, that I avoid being with them. The opposite is true. If I hadn't made the commitments and phone calls and arrangements and hosted many of the get-togethers, we'd have never seen them. And he would've been okay with that. The one year I didn't hound him about calling his parents on their birthdays, he didn't call them. There was hell to pay. His mom's heart was broken, and his dad ripped him a new one. He didn't blame me, but I felt terrible. I love his family.
I'd always dreamed of renewing our vows on our 10th anniversary. When that time came, we were busy having babies and had no money. So we said, "We'll do it on our 20th." As our 20th approached and I brought up the subject, he pooed-pooed the idea in such a hurtful way that I didn't bring it up again. He had a way of shutting me right down. He knew exactly how to belittle me, make me feel inferior, make me feel silly and foolish and even stupid. But I loved him anyway. I always loved him.
I have always had a mouth on me. I wasn't a demure, whipped, sad little wife. I spat venom on him when he treated me like a child. I cried angry tears when he would shut down and refuse to engage. I can't hide my emotions - they kinda just hang out on my sleeve for all to see. And in general, I don't hold back words. Well, I didn't use to. Nowadays, I've become quite skilled at not saying anything. It has probably saved me a lot of heartache, to tell you the truth. Because Darren always hated that I argued and didn't back down from his bullying. He thought it was disrespectful. And I can acknowledge that indeed, it was. I meant to disrespect him a lot of times. I felt that respect should be earned, and much of the time, I didn't respect him. But I loved him. I always loved him.
I always told him that if he ever cheated on me, I'd be GONE. Then he cheated on me. And I didn't run. I didn't break completely. I fought for our marriage. Because I loved him.
When he grew distant again last year, and began treating me as though my very presence made him ill, I bristled. I'd been down this road, after all, and last time it led to another woman. And my bristling led to resentment on both our parts. When he complained of his leg hurting, I blew him off. To be fair, he has always been a huge, huge baby. There's the so-called "man cold", and then there's the Darren Cold. I really thought his hurt leg was nothing, based on his track record of over-reacting. Turns out, he really was injured. I will always wonder if my lack of concern in the beginning of that injury pushed him over the edge.
But I always loved him.
And I always would have.
I put up with a lot of crap from him over the years. More than I would ever advise my own daughter to put up with from any man. I would expect her to love herself more than that.
But here's the thing. Love is a choice you make. I believe that you can't help falling in love with someone. That just happens. But making the choice to KEEP falling in love with them after that initial stage wears off? Yes, that is definitely a choice.
And you know what?
I've been released from having to make that choice every day. And in so doing, my tolerance level of the rudeness and bullcrap I will take from him has plummeted. It's amazing what you'll put up with in the name of love.
And what sucks? I could have loved him forever anyway. I WOULD have.
I WOULD have loved him forever.
Sure, he's selfish and condescending and flaky and lacks motivation. I really dislike those things about him, but I always looked at them as the trade-off. You know, the worse part of "for better or worse".What it came down to was that I loved him, and he loved me, and that's all that really mattered.
I found myself making excuses for him a lot. For his rudeness to others, for his indifference to people, for his intolerance of other people's children. He always fell asleep on the Thameses couch when we'd go to their house for dinner. Rude. He slept through a whole weekend at the beach with the Lamberts, because it was his vacation. Nevermind that the other 9 people in the house wanted to DO things, as it was also our vacation. He always slept at my parents' house, too. Even when we'd be having serious conversations about the impending divorce back in the spring, he'd fall asleep sitting there talking. I realize now that his sleepiness is a coping mechanism for when he doesn't want to do something. Selfish. Rude. It embarrassed me. I nagged him about it, which surely didn't help. But I loved him anyway.
He disliked being with his own extended family, too. I once asked his sister to sing in our wedding. Darren blew a gasket and said he would not allow it. I made him promise not to make me be the one to tell her. He said he'd talk to her. I found out a few years ago that he never did. I also recently heard that the family thinks I have pulled him away from them, that I avoid being with them. The opposite is true. If I hadn't made the commitments and phone calls and arrangements and hosted many of the get-togethers, we'd have never seen them. And he would've been okay with that. The one year I didn't hound him about calling his parents on their birthdays, he didn't call them. There was hell to pay. His mom's heart was broken, and his dad ripped him a new one. He didn't blame me, but I felt terrible. I love his family.
I'd always dreamed of renewing our vows on our 10th anniversary. When that time came, we were busy having babies and had no money. So we said, "We'll do it on our 20th." As our 20th approached and I brought up the subject, he pooed-pooed the idea in such a hurtful way that I didn't bring it up again. He had a way of shutting me right down. He knew exactly how to belittle me, make me feel inferior, make me feel silly and foolish and even stupid. But I loved him anyway. I always loved him.
I have always had a mouth on me. I wasn't a demure, whipped, sad little wife. I spat venom on him when he treated me like a child. I cried angry tears when he would shut down and refuse to engage. I can't hide my emotions - they kinda just hang out on my sleeve for all to see. And in general, I don't hold back words. Well, I didn't use to. Nowadays, I've become quite skilled at not saying anything. It has probably saved me a lot of heartache, to tell you the truth. Because Darren always hated that I argued and didn't back down from his bullying. He thought it was disrespectful. And I can acknowledge that indeed, it was. I meant to disrespect him a lot of times. I felt that respect should be earned, and much of the time, I didn't respect him. But I loved him. I always loved him.
I always told him that if he ever cheated on me, I'd be GONE. Then he cheated on me. And I didn't run. I didn't break completely. I fought for our marriage. Because I loved him.
When he grew distant again last year, and began treating me as though my very presence made him ill, I bristled. I'd been down this road, after all, and last time it led to another woman. And my bristling led to resentment on both our parts. When he complained of his leg hurting, I blew him off. To be fair, he has always been a huge, huge baby. There's the so-called "man cold", and then there's the Darren Cold. I really thought his hurt leg was nothing, based on his track record of over-reacting. Turns out, he really was injured. I will always wonder if my lack of concern in the beginning of that injury pushed him over the edge.
But I always loved him.
And I always would have.
I put up with a lot of crap from him over the years. More than I would ever advise my own daughter to put up with from any man. I would expect her to love herself more than that.
But here's the thing. Love is a choice you make. I believe that you can't help falling in love with someone. That just happens. But making the choice to KEEP falling in love with them after that initial stage wears off? Yes, that is definitely a choice.
And you know what?
I've been released from having to make that choice every day. And in so doing, my tolerance level of the rudeness and bullcrap I will take from him has plummeted. It's amazing what you'll put up with in the name of love.
And what sucks? I could have loved him forever anyway. I WOULD have.
I'm just being honest.
It made me hold my breath.
For I knew that as soon as I breathed again, the tears would fall.
And oh, how I hate to cry.
I miss being held.
I miss cuddling. Oh my word, we were good at cuddling.
I miss having someone to hold.
I miss feeling a warm body against mine in the night.
I miss waking up next to him.
I miss the goodbye kisses he used to give me when he left for work - although it's been years since he did that.
I miss having someone to share my day with.
I miss having someone to share the joy of my kids with.
I miss having someone who knows me inside and out, who knows what I'm feeling and thinking.
I miss being a part of someone's heart and soul.
I miss having someone to laugh with, to sing with, to watch TV with, to road trip with.
I have a million and one friends, and I know I'm loved.
And yet, I find myself being indescribably lonely.
Friends have their own lives. Friends are parts of families and couples. Friends assume that because I'm such a strong gal, and so headstrong, and so full of faith, and so vibrant, that I'm probably doing fine. And so no one calls to see if I'm okay. Or if I'm lonely. Or if I might need to talk.
And part of that is my fault, because that's the image I portray, the personality I exude. I hate to be a bother.
But damn it, I'm lonely, and sometimes it hits me with such excruciating force that it knocks me on my ass and I don't know how to get up. And it makes me curse. And it makes me cry. And it makes me finally pull up this old journal and own it.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
triggers
One of the things I battled with at HeartQuest in January was my weight. Well, not my WEIGHT, per se, but the emotional baggage and bondage that contributed to it. I didn't really deal with it there, but for the first time, I confronted that it was an emotional/spiritual/
Flash forward to February. When Darren moved out, my friend Karen said, "You've always wanted to get surgery. Now's the time. It doesn't matter that Darren doesn't approve. It matters that you take care of yourself. And you need to do it while you still have his insurance." She made me promise to at least call and look into it. I promised.
When I pulled up to my office the next Monday, there was a new billboard going up right outside our doors featuring "Dr. David Kim: Get Your Life Back" and a picture of Nate Newton holding a pair of humongo jeans with the caption, "I lost 175 pounds with gastric sleeve!" This was cool for two reasons: 1) I'd just promised Karen I'd make the call and there was the number right in front of me, and 2) I knew of Dr. Kim because another friend had used him for her gall bladder surgery and spoke very highly of him and his office staff. Two signs. On a sign. ;-)
So I called. At the consultation appointment, Dr. Kim asked me why I was so hesitant to commit to the surgery. I told him that my husband very much disapproved because of the risks involved, and that I wanted to be cautious and not make an emotional decision. He said, "Let's talk about the risks if you DON'T get this weight off. Heart disease. Hypertension. Arthritis. Your knees could blow out. You'll develop diabetes. Feet problems. Higher risk of cancer. Stroke. Heart Attack. Death." Ah, yes. Perspective!
I still didn't commit to the surgery that day, but I did start nutrition counseling, and that has been amazing.
I've learned to recognize and identify my triggers - the things that make me need to stuff down and fill up. Most of my bad eating habits were learned in childhood. My unhealthy coping mechanisms were picked up then, too. A specific incidence in high school (a date rape) really sealed the deal: I made a subconscious decision to make myself unattractive so it would never happen again, and began stuffing more than ever. None of those triggers were surprises to me; I identified them immediately. But it broke my heart to realize that Darren, too, has always been a trigger. Coming to terms with that was difficult. I never would've realized it before, and certainly never would have admitted that he would be that for me, or that I would allow him to be. With a word, or more often without a word, he could belittle me, offend me, crush me, and make me feel inferior and unworthy.
I've learned that those feelings of unworthiness are key. My sometime-need to disappear and not feel what I'm feeling leads to stuffing. I've learned to recognize that trigger and the lies that activate it, and just keep reminding myself that I AM DEFINED BY GOD, and no one else. I've forced myself to move through those feelings and feel them instead of stuffing them down. Last month, I was shocked to realize that I am one of my own worst enemies in this battle. I'm a perfectionist and hold myself to very high standards in my work and in most areas of my life. As an example: a few weeks ago, I received a large bonus at work. The board initiated it and I gratefully accepted it. Then, the next week, I got two declinations for grants I'd written. I suddenly felt unworthy of the bonus. I felt like a fraud. I felt like I'd let the whole board and organization down. I literally felt sick about it. So I went through a drive-through and ordered lunch. After ordering, I panicked - panicked!- that one meal wouldn't fill me up, so I ordered a SECOND MEAL. As I did it, I recognized that I'd triggered my own dumb self. I paid for both meals, but dumped the second one in the trash can as I drove away. VICTORY! The next day, I got a $25,000 YES for a grant I'd written. God is so cool. :) (I'm still exploring where that panicky feeling comes from, and why. This isn't the first time I've felt that.)
I have a long way to go with this mental/spiritual battle, but I'll continue the counseling and will get it all figured out. In the meantime...
I decided to do the surgery. It's been a three-month process to get ready - so many insurance hoops to jump through to get approved! I gave up carbonation cold turkey in February. I started walking daily (and developed plantar fasciitis, so I bought good shoes. ;) I've had a stress test, an EKG, a sleep study, a chest x-ray, a millions viles of blood drawn, an EGD (esophagogastroduodenoscopy. google that!) and a psychological evaluation, all to determine what my internist has been telling me for a couple of years: I'm the healthiest obese person on earth. Before they'd administer the anesthesia for the EGD, they made me take a pregnancy test. I told them I knew I wasn't pregnant. How do you know? asked the doctor. I thought about telling him that I can't even remember the last time my husband told me he loved me, much less the last time we had sex. Then I came to my senses and just said, "I had my tubes tied ten years ago." He said, "Ok, I guess if you haven't gotten pregnant in ten years, it probably worked. You still have to pee in the cup, though.) I'm happy to report that I am officially not with child. ;)
There was a moment of worry two weeks ago when one nurse said I might have trouble getting approved since I don't have a single medical problem attributed to the weight. But when I asked another nurse, she looked at my chart and said, "Oh honey. When they see how high your BMI is, they'll approve you instantly." <insert embarrassed smiley here>
I started the required two-week pre-surgery liquid diet last Tuesday and have already lost 10 pounds! Surgery is one week from today: Tuesday, June 26th, two days after my 43rd birthday. I'm doing Gastric Sleeve, which is the removal of 90% of my stomach, leaving a stomach the size and shape of a banana, or a "sleeve". It's not reversible. I'll have three more weeks of liquid diet post-surgery, then two weeks of pureed diet, then real food again. Except, differently than I've ever eaten before.
The surgery isn't a fix-all, and I know that. It's a turbo-boost to getting healthy again. I can do this. I know how to. I haven't always been obese. I was denied health and life insurance recently unless I fork over the money for high risk, which I simply can't afford to do. Life insurance alone for someone my age, weight and height runs $200/month. No way I can add that into my budget. If I can get my weight down and keep it down for two years, I won't be high risk anymore. Besides all that, I'm ready to get my life back. I want to bike the Trinity Trails with the kids. I want to climb mountains, or at least tackle Enchanted Rock. I want to approach an airplane seat without spying the panicked look on the faces of passengers hoping I'm not assigned next to them. I want to cross things off my lifelong To-Do list that I've had to postpone, such as skydiving and flying in a two-seater airplane and horseback riding in the Rockies. I want to sit in a theater seat without my thighs being pinched in half. I want to not embarrass my boys as they get older and start noticing that their Mom is gross. I want to feel as good in my skin as I feel in my heart and soul and mind. I want my life back.
And it *IS* nice that I get to use Darren's insurance, which pays 90% of the cost, while I still can. ;)
Monday, April 30, 2012
the prayer
Saturday was difficult. We showed the house to prospective buyers first thing that morning. My house looked beautiful. It made me ache to realize again that I'm losing it.
Then we attended Aidan's last soccer game, and the after-party. As we sat at a table - Ian, Dani, Darren, and me - things seemed so normal, as if nothing had ever changed. Except that EVERYthing has changed. I began to get teary, so I abruptly left and walked to the car where I let myself cry. Darren appeared a minute or two later and said, "I'll leave so you can go back in." He was trying to be kind, but it pissed me off. "No, one of us needs to be in there to support Aidan," I said. "Go back in." I took another three or four minutes, then collected myself and went back in myself.
I just want him to be remorseful. I want him to say he's sorry. I want him to acknowledge my pain, and the kids' pain. I HATE THAT HE CARRIES ON AS THOUGH WE'RE A NORMAL HAPPY FAMILY.
At the same time, I'm glad he's being kind. I'm glad we don't fight. I'm grateful that he doesn't embarrass me or humiliate me in public. He is, after all, still a good and kind man. He just happens to not love me anymore. I just want him to say he's sorry for the many years of hurt and especially for the current devastation. Is that stupid? I don't care. It's want I need. It's what I want. I need some sort of emotional closure.
That evening, I began packing for the move. As I stood in the family room looking at our family portraits and wondering how to store those until the kids might want them someday, someone rang the doorbell. It was two young adults - college-aged, probably. They were nicely dressed. The girl wore a cute spring dress that hit just above her knees, and the guy wore hipster jeans with a button-down shirt. I opened the door, and they beamed. The guys said, "Hi. We're part of a big group who's out today canvassing the city praying for people. Is there anything we can pray with you about?"
I was a tad cynical. I guess they could tell, because immediately, the girl added, "We're not selling anything, not preaching anything. We just want to pray with people who need prayer. Can we pray for you?"
I released the tightness in my shoulders and said, "Yes. You can pray for my husband. He's decided to leave our family. Pray for him to be the man God called him to be 21 years ago."
The guy spoke again. "We would love to pray for your husband. Do you have kids?" I told him about all three of them. He asked for my name. Then he said, "Stacy, do you think it was a coincidence that we showed up today?"
"Nope," I answered. "Not a coincidence." He smiled.
Then the two of them held hands, took my hands in theirs, and in a circle of three on my front porch, we prayed. The guy prayed for Darren. He prayed for my kids. He prayed for me. He prayed for marriages all over the world. He asked God to continue to carry us. Of course, I had tears when it was over.
And that was it. They thanked me for blessing them with the opportunity to pray, and were on their way.
Back inside the house, I walked into the computer room where Ian was playing. "Ian, the coolest thing just happened..." I began.
He interrupted me. "I know. I heard. I got on my knees while he prayed."
Coincidence? Nope. Not at all.
Then we attended Aidan's last soccer game, and the after-party. As we sat at a table - Ian, Dani, Darren, and me - things seemed so normal, as if nothing had ever changed. Except that EVERYthing has changed. I began to get teary, so I abruptly left and walked to the car where I let myself cry. Darren appeared a minute or two later and said, "I'll leave so you can go back in." He was trying to be kind, but it pissed me off. "No, one of us needs to be in there to support Aidan," I said. "Go back in." I took another three or four minutes, then collected myself and went back in myself.
I just want him to be remorseful. I want him to say he's sorry. I want him to acknowledge my pain, and the kids' pain. I HATE THAT HE CARRIES ON AS THOUGH WE'RE A NORMAL HAPPY FAMILY.
At the same time, I'm glad he's being kind. I'm glad we don't fight. I'm grateful that he doesn't embarrass me or humiliate me in public. He is, after all, still a good and kind man. He just happens to not love me anymore. I just want him to say he's sorry for the many years of hurt and especially for the current devastation. Is that stupid? I don't care. It's want I need. It's what I want. I need some sort of emotional closure.
That evening, I began packing for the move. As I stood in the family room looking at our family portraits and wondering how to store those until the kids might want them someday, someone rang the doorbell. It was two young adults - college-aged, probably. They were nicely dressed. The girl wore a cute spring dress that hit just above her knees, and the guy wore hipster jeans with a button-down shirt. I opened the door, and they beamed. The guys said, "Hi. We're part of a big group who's out today canvassing the city praying for people. Is there anything we can pray with you about?"
I was a tad cynical. I guess they could tell, because immediately, the girl added, "We're not selling anything, not preaching anything. We just want to pray with people who need prayer. Can we pray for you?"
I released the tightness in my shoulders and said, "Yes. You can pray for my husband. He's decided to leave our family. Pray for him to be the man God called him to be 21 years ago."
The guy spoke again. "We would love to pray for your husband. Do you have kids?" I told him about all three of them. He asked for my name. Then he said, "Stacy, do you think it was a coincidence that we showed up today?"
"Nope," I answered. "Not a coincidence." He smiled.
Then the two of them held hands, took my hands in theirs, and in a circle of three on my front porch, we prayed. The guy prayed for Darren. He prayed for my kids. He prayed for me. He prayed for marriages all over the world. He asked God to continue to carry us. Of course, I had tears when it was over.
And that was it. They thanked me for blessing them with the opportunity to pray, and were on their way.
Back inside the house, I walked into the computer room where Ian was playing. "Ian, the coolest thing just happened..." I began.
He interrupted me. "I know. I heard. I got on my knees while he prayed."
Coincidence? Nope. Not at all.
telling the masses
I've always lived my life out loud. By that I mean that I've always been an open book - transparent and honest. It's been a little weird to keep so many secrets for the last few months.
But it's time to start letting people know.
I started small, with this blog, an email, and the people I trust most in the whole world.
Then along the way, I added a few more people here and there, as I felt more certain that this was going to be a permanent situation. Last week, I shared the news with even more people - a group of girlfriends I spend two weekends with each year and have chatted with online for 12+ years - my scrapbooking friends from across the state and beyond. I will be seeing many of them this coming weekend and I didn't want there to be any whispering about "did you hear about Stacy and Darren...", so I decided it was time to share.
Every time someone new finds out, the support I receive overwhelms me. It makes me weep every time, because I am reminded that I AM loved, I AM cherished, I AM loveable, I AM worthy of the promises God has promised me. I haven't yet regretted sharing the news. Everyone reminds me that yes, Darren DID love me, and this is his new truth, but not THE truth. It always helps to hear other people say that.
But now I'm faced with a decision I need help with. Facebook. I've thought all along that I would wait for Darren to change his relationship status before I say anything public, but I'm beginning to rethink that. (His bio currently states that he's been happily married for 19 years. It's been 21. ha)
The boys and I are moving this week. As I continue to share my life, it will become obvious that something has changed. A lot of people know, but obviously not everyone does. Most people don't, actually. I don't want there to be any gossip behind the scenes. I don't want there to be questions - people always assume that the truth is worse than it really is when there are questions. I think I want to state very simply and very frankly what is happening. Maybe something like this:
It is difficult to share this very personal news, but the time has come to let you all know. Facebook seems a rather odd way to share it, but I'd rather you hear it from me than through the grapevine. Darren has decided to divorce me. He doesn't love me anymore, and believes now that he never did. We are working through this very amicably, but it still breaks my heart. The boys and I are moving this week to a rental nearby, and our house will be going on the market very soon. The kids and I are hopeful and joyful in spite of the circumstances - proof that God is real and is walking with us through this heartache. Please hold us in prayer as we transition to this new way of life.
There are a bunch of people who need to know - people who would be hurt to find out later. People are going to be hurt either way, but... I need for them to hear it from me.
Advice, please.
But it's time to start letting people know.
I started small, with this blog, an email, and the people I trust most in the whole world.
Then along the way, I added a few more people here and there, as I felt more certain that this was going to be a permanent situation. Last week, I shared the news with even more people - a group of girlfriends I spend two weekends with each year and have chatted with online for 12+ years - my scrapbooking friends from across the state and beyond. I will be seeing many of them this coming weekend and I didn't want there to be any whispering about "did you hear about Stacy and Darren...", so I decided it was time to share.
Every time someone new finds out, the support I receive overwhelms me. It makes me weep every time, because I am reminded that I AM loved, I AM cherished, I AM loveable, I AM worthy of the promises God has promised me. I haven't yet regretted sharing the news. Everyone reminds me that yes, Darren DID love me, and this is his new truth, but not THE truth. It always helps to hear other people say that.
But now I'm faced with a decision I need help with. Facebook. I've thought all along that I would wait for Darren to change his relationship status before I say anything public, but I'm beginning to rethink that. (His bio currently states that he's been happily married for 19 years. It's been 21. ha)
The boys and I are moving this week. As I continue to share my life, it will become obvious that something has changed. A lot of people know, but obviously not everyone does. Most people don't, actually. I don't want there to be any gossip behind the scenes. I don't want there to be questions - people always assume that the truth is worse than it really is when there are questions. I think I want to state very simply and very frankly what is happening. Maybe something like this:
It is difficult to share this very personal news, but the time has come to let you all know. Facebook seems a rather odd way to share it, but I'd rather you hear it from me than through the grapevine. Darren has decided to divorce me. He doesn't love me anymore, and believes now that he never did. We are working through this very amicably, but it still breaks my heart. The boys and I are moving this week to a rental nearby, and our house will be going on the market very soon. The kids and I are hopeful and joyful in spite of the circumstances - proof that God is real and is walking with us through this heartache. Please hold us in prayer as we transition to this new way of life.
There are a bunch of people who need to know - people who would be hurt to find out later. People are going to be hurt either way, but... I need for them to hear it from me.
Advice, please.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Blessings, part 3: The House
The night Darren told me he was filing for divorce, I told him that if that was the case, I wanted him to move back into our house and I'd find a place for me and the boys to live. He has a million and a half unfinished projects to finish before we can sell the house, and we'd already discussed that we'd have to sell the house. He agreed. I immediately set out to find a suitable place for us to live.
My only criteria were that is have two bedrooms, and that it be in our school district. I don't want to uproot the boys' lives any more than I have to, and keeping them in Lily B and near their friends (and MY friends) was of the utmost importance to me. But the pickin's are slim in our neighborhood when it comes to rentals. I called on several, and the prices were way more than I could pay. In some cases, they were more expensive than our mortgage payment. There's no way I could do that.
I looked at a couple of properties. One was almost affordable, but was a complete dump. I'd have been scared to live there. The other was nicer, but would've cost half my monthly take-home, and it didn't have a spec of yard. (And since we're getting a DAWG...) I was getting discouraged. I considered the possibility of renting a 1-bedroom apartment and me sleeping on the sofa.
And then one morning, I went a different route than I ever go. I took Park Place down to University, past the zoo. I never go that route. And on the way, I noticed a sign in a side yard that said, "Luxury Duplex for Lease. Dogs Welcome." SIGN NUMBER 1. (Yes, a literal sign. haha! But a figurative one, too.)
I turned on to the street to get a look at the house from the front. My heart sank. Yet another place I wouldn't be able to afford. But then I thought, "Maybe the duplex is in the back yard." So I parked and called.
The duplex is the entire 2nd floor. 1500 square feet. 2 bedrooms. 2 baths. Private entrance and yard. And IN MY COMFORTABLE PRICE RANGE. Unreal. I couldn't believe my ears. I almost cried. I made an appointment to see the place that evening. SIGN NUMBER 2.
The boys went with me. They were nervous but excited. I was worried about my bad credit, which is a horrendous marriage story I haven't (and probably won't) talk about here. I reminded the boys to be on their best behavior. Ian reminded me that they always are. (Uh-huh.)
The Landlord asked me where I work, what I do there, and how long I've been in that position. I answered, and she said, "Let me show you the place." That was the extent of my credit check. SIGN NUMBER 2.
The place is gorgeous - just my style. Hardwoods throughout. Fireplace with black tile and beautiful wood surround/mantel. Cool architectural details and moldings. MORE CLOSET SPACE than we have in our entire house! A garage space for my car. A DOGGIE DOOR.
"Oh! A doggie door!" I exclaimed. "I was worried about how we could have a dog on the second floor and not be home all day."
"You have a dog?" asked the landlord.
"No, not yet, but we're getting one," I said.
"What kind?" she inquired.
"I don't know yet. But I've promised the boys a dog to help us with this transition."
"Well, I'll tell you what," she said. "I love dogs and every boy deserves a dog. I won't4. charge you a pet deposit." SIGN NUMBER 3.
"This is where the washer/dryer hook-up is," she said as she pointed to a corner of the kitchen. "Do you have a washer/dryer?"
"I do," I began. "But I'm not sure I'll end up with it...."
"Tell you what. I have one that just needs to be repaired. I'll get it fixed and have it moved up here for you."
SIGN NUMBER 4.
I wrote a check that night.
We move in the weekend of May 4.
Well, "we" is misleading. I won't be there.
I had a girls' weekend planned already. I was about to cancel it when Dani talked me out of it. She insists on moving me FOR me while I go play with glue and paper with my friends. I protested, but eventually, she won by saying, "Mom. It's going to be so hard for you to leave your dream house. To see your life dismantled like that. You need to just go away and come back to your apartment all set up for you to live in."
The next day, LivingSocial ran a deal for 2 movers, a truck, and 2 hours. I bought it.
SIGN NUMBER 5.
The landlord is painting the accent walls in my color choice - "Harmonious" by Behr. It's a beautiful, soothing light blue with a hint of teal.
Isn't that fireplace gorgeous? It has an outlet on top. Can't wait to decorate for Christmas in here. :)
Master bedroom with bath. I'm giving this one to the boys. They can pee it up all they want and it won't have to be the bathroom guests use. Except for their friends. They're friends will be required to use this one, too. hahahaha
Both bedrooms are a good size - 13x13.
My bedroom. Two closets. Might make more sense for the boys to have this room because of that, but wait... one closet for clothes, and one for.... MY ART SUPPLIES. WOO HOO!!
I ordered loft beds from Walmart for the boys' room. We're condensing two boys' bedrooms, a playroom and a computer room into one. The loft beds will help. So will the fact that they purged a buttjillion toys last week. :) I'm happy to have a space for my art stuff, too. Didn't think I'd get to have that. :)
The kitchen is dinky. That'll take getting used to. But it's doable. The door opens to a staircase that leads to our own backyard, separate from the landlord's backyard. (She lives on the first floor.)
I'll hang my pot rack above the dishwasher in front of that window. It'll help some with storage. Also, the hot water heater closet is in the kitchen, with plenty of shelving inside for the giant junk like big serving pieces, crock pot, etc.
Looking from the kitchen door through the dining room. There's room here for a round table, my kitchen dresser and matching armoire (more storage. yay!). On the left side of the room is a nice-sized corner where I can put my desk/computer/office area. Maybe an easel. Perfect. :)
The house is closer to school than ours. It's closer to three of the boys' best friends than ours. It's within spitting distance from the zoo. In fact, word on the street is that we'll be able to hear the lion's roar. SIGN NUMBER 6. :)
My only criteria were that is have two bedrooms, and that it be in our school district. I don't want to uproot the boys' lives any more than I have to, and keeping them in Lily B and near their friends (and MY friends) was of the utmost importance to me. But the pickin's are slim in our neighborhood when it comes to rentals. I called on several, and the prices were way more than I could pay. In some cases, they were more expensive than our mortgage payment. There's no way I could do that.
I looked at a couple of properties. One was almost affordable, but was a complete dump. I'd have been scared to live there. The other was nicer, but would've cost half my monthly take-home, and it didn't have a spec of yard. (And since we're getting a DAWG...) I was getting discouraged. I considered the possibility of renting a 1-bedroom apartment and me sleeping on the sofa.
And then one morning, I went a different route than I ever go. I took Park Place down to University, past the zoo. I never go that route. And on the way, I noticed a sign in a side yard that said, "Luxury Duplex for Lease. Dogs Welcome." SIGN NUMBER 1. (Yes, a literal sign. haha! But a figurative one, too.)
I turned on to the street to get a look at the house from the front. My heart sank. Yet another place I wouldn't be able to afford. But then I thought, "Maybe the duplex is in the back yard." So I parked and called.The duplex is the entire 2nd floor. 1500 square feet. 2 bedrooms. 2 baths. Private entrance and yard. And IN MY COMFORTABLE PRICE RANGE. Unreal. I couldn't believe my ears. I almost cried. I made an appointment to see the place that evening. SIGN NUMBER 2.
The boys went with me. They were nervous but excited. I was worried about my bad credit, which is a horrendous marriage story I haven't (and probably won't) talk about here. I reminded the boys to be on their best behavior. Ian reminded me that they always are. (Uh-huh.)
The Landlord asked me where I work, what I do there, and how long I've been in that position. I answered, and she said, "Let me show you the place." That was the extent of my credit check. SIGN NUMBER 2.
The place is gorgeous - just my style. Hardwoods throughout. Fireplace with black tile and beautiful wood surround/mantel. Cool architectural details and moldings. MORE CLOSET SPACE than we have in our entire house! A garage space for my car. A DOGGIE DOOR.
"Oh! A doggie door!" I exclaimed. "I was worried about how we could have a dog on the second floor and not be home all day."
"You have a dog?" asked the landlord.
"No, not yet, but we're getting one," I said.
"What kind?" she inquired.
"I don't know yet. But I've promised the boys a dog to help us with this transition."
"Well, I'll tell you what," she said. "I love dogs and every boy deserves a dog. I won't4. charge you a pet deposit." SIGN NUMBER 3.
"This is where the washer/dryer hook-up is," she said as she pointed to a corner of the kitchen. "Do you have a washer/dryer?"
"I do," I began. "But I'm not sure I'll end up with it...."
"Tell you what. I have one that just needs to be repaired. I'll get it fixed and have it moved up here for you."
SIGN NUMBER 4.
I wrote a check that night.
We move in the weekend of May 4.
Well, "we" is misleading. I won't be there.
I had a girls' weekend planned already. I was about to cancel it when Dani talked me out of it. She insists on moving me FOR me while I go play with glue and paper with my friends. I protested, but eventually, she won by saying, "Mom. It's going to be so hard for you to leave your dream house. To see your life dismantled like that. You need to just go away and come back to your apartment all set up for you to live in."
The next day, LivingSocial ran a deal for 2 movers, a truck, and 2 hours. I bought it.
SIGN NUMBER 5.
Isn't that fireplace gorgeous? It has an outlet on top. Can't wait to decorate for Christmas in here. :)
Both bedrooms are a good size - 13x13.
My bedroom. Two closets. Might make more sense for the boys to have this room because of that, but wait... one closet for clothes, and one for.... MY ART SUPPLIES. WOO HOO!!
I ordered loft beds from Walmart for the boys' room. We're condensing two boys' bedrooms, a playroom and a computer room into one. The loft beds will help. So will the fact that they purged a buttjillion toys last week. :) I'm happy to have a space for my art stuff, too. Didn't think I'd get to have that. :)
The kitchen is dinky. That'll take getting used to. But it's doable. The door opens to a staircase that leads to our own backyard, separate from the landlord's backyard. (She lives on the first floor.)
I'll hang my pot rack above the dishwasher in front of that window. It'll help some with storage. Also, the hot water heater closet is in the kitchen, with plenty of shelving inside for the giant junk like big serving pieces, crock pot, etc.
Looking from the kitchen door through the dining room. There's room here for a round table, my kitchen dresser and matching armoire (more storage. yay!). On the left side of the room is a nice-sized corner where I can put my desk/computer/office area. Maybe an easel. Perfect. :)
The house is closer to school than ours. It's closer to three of the boys' best friends than ours. It's within spitting distance from the zoo. In fact, word on the street is that we'll be able to hear the lion's roar. SIGN NUMBER 6. :)
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