A Necessary Season

I lost my composure the other day.  At Applebees.  Embarrassed to be crying in public but never-the-less unable to stop the tears.
It was about two months ago, I was having lunch with a pastor friend and sharing some of the struggles my son was having.  The reality that my failed marriage brings pain to the most important person in my life was more than I could handle at that particular moment.

My friend went on to share some of the wounds he's had to deal with as a result of his relationship with his own father.  My friend then shared something a counselor shared with him as he and his own son were working through some struggles of their own, "Your son doesn't need a perfect father, just the opportunity to understand you."

Dawson and I have been working on some things; I've been working to build my parenting skills and Dawson has been seeing a play therapist.  Our relationship won't be perfect, but neither is it going anywhere.  He's my boy, will always be my boy and I'm committed to improving our relationship.

Yet... fear still occasionally sneaks in.  Fear that I've done irreparable damage to my son and that our relationship will eventually devolve into something much less than the love-filled ideal I have for the two of us.  Fear that he'll feel abandoned by me.  Or even worse, that he'll feel compelled to abandon me.

It happened today, while jogging along to a 90's playlist, when the song "Father of Mine" came on my ipod.  Fear stabbed me in the heart and I had to fight back a few tears.   It was in realizing that I was creating a false scenario in my head that I was able to calm down and not give into the false fear.  That's what it was, a false fear manipulating me into a false future scenario in which I don't have a relationship with my son.

Which begged the question; if I can name and overcome the false fear induced by that song, what is there preventing me from naming and overcoming the false fear induced by certain romantic or break-up songs?  The false fear that often whispers, and occasionally shouts (like when certain songs come on) that my life isn't really complete if I'm not sharing it with that romantic partner.  Or the false fear that every good moment spent without her (whomever she may turn out to be) is a partially wasted moment.  Or, in the darker moments, that she and I won't ever actually connect, if she does, in fact, actually exist.

That fear pushed me to start dating immediately, at least I think that was my underlying motivation.  Or maybe it was just a desire to feel something good after years of pain and frustration.  Probably a combination of both.  That rather frantic season of dating certainly had some positives for me, though also some heartache.  The most important benefit to come from the string of dates (and there were a lot of them, let's be honest here) was the rebuilding of a confidence nearly strangled to death during the long, painful demise of my marriage.  Turns out that voice which continually told me, while the marriage was dying,"You're doomed to be alone.  No one will want a divorced man who claims to be Christian. No one will want damaged goods" was completely false.  I've been overwhelmed by just how wrong that voice was.

Yet I am actually alone right now.  It doesn't feel great, let's be honest again, but it seems to be a necessary season.

Part of this alone time is about realizing that I'm enough as a stand-alone person, by myself, as a single guy.  I won't really be able to have a healthy, long-term relationship with a high quality person if I don't, deep down, see myself as "worthy" of being with them.  I've seen this doom dating relationships from both sides, in my relatively short dating experience.

While I did write extensively about my rebound relationship (I believe I had to name it for what it really was, in order to peacefully move on from that relationship), I eventually took that post down because it was just too vulnerable. Or maybe the post is still up - kinda depends upon how vulnerable I'm feeling at the moment.  I am still rather haunted by one line I wrote in that post, though,
I wrote that she  "helped heal my broken heart.  N helped me believe again in the possibility of love between two people, even when those people felt betrayed by their first loves."

So I think the last sentence has a lot of validity, to be able to live into an attitude of abundance, that there are various wonderful people out there with whom you could (mostly) happily share your life.  The first line, though, doesn't sit well with me six months later.  While another person, particularly a romantic partner, can help numb the pain for awhile, no single person can heal your heart.  Once the emotions fade, the un-dealt with hurt will resurface and not only will you be back where you started, you might even be in a worse place than before, upon receiving the brutal realization that the other person isn't really going to heal you.

I recently went again to see the therapist who had helped me through a lot of the divorce process, the therapist who stated that our last few difficult years would be eventually understood as "years spent, not years wasted."  During our last session, she asked me to consider that just as my pre-divorce fears of God and those I love turning away from me due to divorcing my wife, my current post-divorce fear of always being alone will likely also not be true, though I realize there's no guarantee...
She also shared the two ways someone can enter into a relationship:
1) Coming from a place of strength in which they're okay with themselves and okay with being alone yet they choose to be with the other person or 2) Coming from a place of need, in which they have no choice but to be with the other person because they can't bear the idea of being alone and they need the validation that comes from being in a relationship.  She explained that starting a relationship from the second reason is like building a house out of 2x4's that are rotten on the inside.  At first, things look fine but eventually the house will collapse in on itself because no other person can really meet that need nor fill that role.

My "unpaid life coach" as I refer to a friend who talks me through every single dating experience and is himself a divorced and remarried Nazarene pastor, actually offering life-coaching services as a second job, has been encouraging me to go with the flow of the opportunities that present themselves because, if nothing else, I'll continue to learn more about myself and what I'm looking for.  Per the usual, his advice was solid as I've learned something from every single interaction, even from some of the stand alone dates.  The different types of relationships I've had over the past year have acted as another form of counseling, a giant mirror that has reflected back to me both positive and negative aspects of my character.   As I continued dating, a switch was eventually flipped in  my mind, a breakthrough of sorts, when a new relationship I'd been excited about quickly fizzled out.  Thinking I had something, only to painfully realize I didn't have anything, actually caused me to see that I'm okay without it and that I'll be okay until when (or if?) I ever do find that next long term and healthy relationship.

That's not to say, however, that being alone isn't difficult at times.

I'm not quite sure how to balance these two following ideas: the reality that our true identity is found only in Christ (as opposed to a myriad of other ways in which we value our worth) while also coming to realize that some masculine relationship qualities that I feared were lacking in myself are actually fully present. While I'm thankful for the positive things I've discovered about myself, I also want to be able to bring into a relationship the strength that comes from the ability to be alone while still choosing to be with someone.

So in response to my pastor's challenge to consider our Lenten fast; the giving up of one activity so as to better focus upon our relationship with God, I made some commitments for the Lenten season.

Who else found it slightly humorous and almost uncomfortable that Ash Wednesday and Valentine's Day fell on the same day this year?

1) I deleted the two dating apps I'd been using so as to avoid creating any future romantic possibilities, nor even the escapist fantasy of doing so.  As with any activity that creates a dopamine hit, it took a while to detox, but some peace eventually filled the space vacated by the constant questions of "what about this person" or "who else might be out there, just waiting for the two of us to connect?"


2) I ordered this book to read.

I will say, though that I find it slightly ironic that this book was recommended by someone I met on a dating app...  Again, every relationship or interaction is a chance for more growth.

Update:  The dress-replacing-the-letter-A gimmick should've tipped me off to the fact that this book was written for single women... oh well, it's still been worth the read so far.

Whenever dating does happen again, (I have no idea how long this current season will last) I'm thinking I need to take less of an Ed Sheeran approach and more of a Florid-Georgia Line attitude, at least in the beginning.  There needs to be some time before we progress toward some Taylor Swift.

Finally, here are some wonderful thoughts on dating that a close female friend of mine, whom herself has experience the ups and downs of post-divorce/mid life dating, recently shared with me.

Grief

How do I write this without once again giving into grief?

Or maybe that's not the right question because I haven't had many moments of grief over the past year.

But that's not to say I didn't grieve.  I grieved.  Deeply.  Most of that, though happened during the 2.5 years between The Declaration and The Move Out.  I already wrote about all the crying I did when  The Declaration first happened.  I wrote about sobbing in a therapists office, though that happened in other therapists offices, too.

One Sunday afternoon in October of 15, I was standing at the kitchen sink doing the dishes and listening to one of my favorite musicals, Once.  Keep in mind, this was 14 months before The Move Out

Part of me/ Has Died/ And won't return/ And part of me/ Wants to hide/ The part that's burned

Once, once/ Knew how to talk to you/ Once, once/ But not anymore

Hear the sirens call me home

Part of me/ Has vied/ To watch it burn

And the heart of me/ Has tried/ But look what it's become

Once, once/ I knew how to look for you

Once, once/ But that was before

Once, once/ I would have laid down and died for you

Once, once/ But not anymore.

Hear the sirens call me home

I moved out on a Friday afternoon.  I went to Ikea that evening to get some furniture for my new place.  The ride home was snowy and as a result of the guy ahead of me losing control of his vehicle, I got into a minor accident.  The frustration of that was tempered, though by the fact that I narrowly missed getting t-boned by another out-of-control vehicle.

The accident could've happened earlier, though as a few minutes before my car slid out of control, it was taking all my effort to simply keep my eyes on the road.  It was surprisingly hard to concentrate on the road as I was sobbing, pounding the steering wheel, yelling out F-bombs - all while listening to this song.



 I've only cried a few times since that day, though.

The most significant was the actual divorce hearing.  It took every ounce of strength I had to  continue to agree to the things the judge was asking of me and not break down and double over with sobs.  In looking at the judge and feeling the people around me, I kept having flashbacks to the face of the pastor who married us and the 300+ people who surrounded us that day.  The act of "undoing" my vows was one of the more difficult things I'd ever done.  During the walk from the courthouse back to my apartment, though I felt a wave of relief.
I did, though cry myself to sleep that night.

I still get blindsided by the occasional moment of grief.  While it's always unexpected, I can always pinpoint the reason.  A movie, a song, something that stirs some sort of emotional memory.

While we are both still breathing, we experienced a significant and painful death.  Not only the death of our marriage but the death of our ideals, our dreams, our expectations of what life would be like and the future we'd always assumed we'd experience.

Back in 2002, when we first set up our IRA accounts, we put everything in my name because it would be easier.  I remember telling stating, "it does't matter whose name the account is in, it's not like we're ever getting a divorce."

For the record, a divorce decree allows you to transfer money from an IRA tax and penalty free.  It's cheaper than a death tax but possibly more painful.  Either way, it will leave a scar.