I was sitting at my kitchen table, eating some excellent vegetarian chili and reading “Eat, Pray, Love”*.  The author was recounting a period of time at an Ashram in India where she is speaking with her friends about her guilt over her divorce and her inability to let go.  That night one of her friends takes her to the top of a tower, the tallest place in the Ashram - with a view that overlooks the entire valley below - and leaves her there with a list of instructions:

INSTRUCTIONS FOR FREEDOM
1.  Life’s metaphors are God’s instructions.

2. You have just climbed up and above the roof.  There is nothing between you and the Infinite.  Now, let go.

3. The day is ending.  It’s time for something that was beautiful to turn into something else that is beautiful.  Now, let go.

4.  Your wish for resolution was a prayer.  Your being here is God’s response.  Let go, and watch the stars come out – on the outside and on the inside.

5. With all your heart, ask for grace, and let go.

6. With all your heart, forgive him.  FORGIVE YOURSELF, and let him go.

7. Let your intention be freedom from useless suffering.  Then, let go.

8. Watch the heat of day pass into the cool night.  Let go.

9. When the karma of a relationship is done, only love remains.  It’s safe.  Let go.

10. When the past has passed from you at last, let go.  Then climb down and begin the rest of your life.  With great joy.

I got to the end of number three before the tears were flowing and I had to put down the book.  I didn’t cry much, I never do -probably less than a minute total – but I did cry, which is progress.  I am so shut down right now that I am yearning for the release that tears would give me, but somehow I cannot give myself over to them just yet.  Perhaps because there is nowhere I truly feel safe right now.  Nobody I really feel safe with.  I wish I had someone that could be that for me, where I could feel totally safe wrapping myself up in their arms and letting it all go.   I wish there was because I feel the cloud that is hovering over me growing larger, and I feel myself being sucked into the same darkness that consumed me last winter.  I don’t want to go there again.

Although I removed my rings this week, I am still clinging to the past.  I knew this as soon as I read that line;

 “It’s time for something that was beautiful to turn into something else that is beautiful”

I’m not really ready to let go yet, but I need to.  I am deeply afraid to let go, but I have to.  I don’t want to let go, but I must.  I understand now that this darkness I feel is the cloud of mourning.  I am mourning the loss of my marriage.  The loss of what I thought would be my life.  The loss of a partnership that has sustained me for over a decade.  I am mourning the loss an incredible man who I was sure would walk by my side until the day one of us died.  What if I don’t want it to turn into something else that is beautiful?  What if I am afraid to really know what that would be?

S. wrote me an amazing email this week and closed it with this:

“I miss my wife, her heart, emotions, closeness and affections.  No matter how much I want that back, even though I could still forget everything that has happened and settle comfortably in marriage with you, I know it is no longer possible.  It would be so easy to create distance and barricade myself from my feelings for you,but that’s not what I want.  I love you too much for that.  I will always love you.  So now I want build something new.  I want ‘us’ being together not to have to mean ‘husband, wife, married’ together because that is not the reality anymore.  I want ‘us’ being together to be’deep friendship, strong partnership, happiness that we are in each other’s lives, supportive, fun’.  Even though we can’t see what the future holds beyond that, that unknown path will be so much easier to travel if we are strong and comfortable in our new ‘together’”

And I see now that he is writing of the same thing that that list of instructions write about; letting something beautiful turn into something else that is beautiful.  In the deepest part of my heart I know that this is ultimately possible, because the bond that S. and I share goes so far beyond sexual connection.  I know we can be friends.  I know we can raise our children together.  I know we can find a new equilibrium for our relationship that will still be good and strong and vital.  But we won’t be us – and I don’t know how to deal with that.

I miss what was, and what can never be again.   I sit here and miss it until I feel my heart breaking into pieces for the millionth time this week.  I miss it as I push back the tears that just threatened to fall again, but that I just cannot seem to release.  I miss it as I go through my day feeling like I have completely lost my center.  I miss it when I feel like I have nowhere to turn for that ultimate comfort that always came from him.

Who am I, if not a part of ‘us’?  That might just be the most difficult question of all.

Addendum:

And it happens again, a couple of hours and just a few pages later.  I read:

“…find somebody new to love someday.  Take the time you need to heal, but don’t forget to eventually share your heart with someone.  Don’t make your life a monument to your past”.

And once again, tears start to spill as soon as my heart feels the words “find somebody new to love someday”.  Only three or four tears this time, and a few gasping deep breaths to find composure, but enough for me to fully understand just how close my emotions are to the surface.  They are just simmering there, bubbling away, waiting for someone or something to crack this ridiculous armor of mine enough that they might find release.

Find someone new to love?  How on earth is that possible?  Finding someone new to love means leaving this love behind.  It means releasing him to find his own new love.  It means starting over, from scratch – with a battle-scared heart and a soul weary with recent experience. 

I try to imagine her – this faceless, nameless person who could someday be my love.  I try to imagine me – healed and whole and owning myself on a level that would allow me to offer myself to someone the way you have to in order to truly find love.   I try to imagine myself trusting and believing again.  I know that it is going to take some serious, serious time before I am anywhere near ready for that.  I know that I need to walk alone for a while, find all the pieces of myself and take the time to learn how they all go together. 

Now I just need to reach deep in myself and find the strength and courage to do it.

______________________________________________________________________
*I am still working through not because it isn’t excellent, but because I have to stop every five minutes to write down something particularly wise in the little pink book that goes everywhere with me, or to meditate on a passage that seems to speak to me on a deeper level.  This is one of those books that came to me at the exact time I needed it, and I am savoring every last line.

“Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay.”

This was a part of our marriage vows, and the words I had engraved on S’s wedding band.  We said these words in unison, gazing straight into each others eyes, voices catching with emotion.  If you could have seen us on that day, you would have seen two people oh-so-young and full of love that we were almost bursting with it.  Full of hope and dreams of the future; flying high on pure love and gratitude to the universe for bringing us together.

Last night I took off my rings: Engagement ring, accepted through tears of joy over nine years ago.  Wedding ring, placed on my finger on a magical day in the summer of 1999 by a man who loved me more than life.  Anniversary band, given after five years of marriage while I sat on the couch with a horrid head cold moaning about how my illness ruined our plans to celebrate.

Eight years of marriage.  Almost eleven years as a couple.  A million memories of our life together.  The symbolic representation of all that love and commitment now carefully placed in the dark corner of a sock drawer.

Is there any wonder I am so deeply sad today?

S. removed his ring over a week ago.  I’ve taken my rings off briefly several times since this began journey began  - when I was out and wanted to escape my life for a while or when I was with someone and wearing the rings was a reminder of everything I was doing wrong -  but I’ve always put them back on.  Every single time, the guilt that made me place them back on my finger was a mirror image of the guilt that made me take them off in the first place.

It has been increasingly difficult for me to wear them recently.  They have felt heavy and foreign on my finger.  A reminder that I was a hypocrite, a cheater, a woman who betrayed every promise she made when those rings were accepted.   They used to be a part of me, something I wasn’t even conscious of most of the time.  Lately I have been aware of them almost every minute of the day – sometimes just with a sense of discomfort, other times with the feeling that they were burning a brand into my fingers, sometimes with a overwhelming sense of panic and fear, and always with such a depth of sadness that I lack the ability to reduce it to mere words.

But yet, there was a comfort that came from them too, and a reluctance to remove them for long.   This reluctance was born both from a desire to minimize the pain I caused (am causing) to my husband, and a reluctance on my part to commit to the next step in this journey.   An unwillingness to admit what this step really means.  I can choose to put those rings back on at any point, but I cannot take away the feelings inside me that caused me to remove them in the first place.   Both of the choices - the choice to take the rings off and the choice to put them back on - feel equally weighted and equally wrong.  One choice wrong because of what is, and one choice wrong because of what was supposed to be.

Last night, when I took them off, it was actually just a random moment.  When I started to remove them I wasn’t consciously aware of the decision I was making, but by the time I had twisted the final ring from my finger I knew.  I slipped them into my purse, and as they left my hand I felt the finality of the moment.  I knew that I couldn’t put them back on.  I knew that they were a symbol of something that I had already irrevocably damaged, a symbol of someone I could no longer claim to be.

That moment represented the first time I truly admitted to myself that there is no going back to what was.  I can’t go back and recapture what our marriage used to be.  I cannot go back and be the person I always thought I was.  There is no way to turn back the clock, to undo what has been done, to un-say what has been said.  And even if there was, I don’t think that I could make the choice to do it.  Not now, not after everything that has happened, not after all I have experienced and learned about myself.  No matter how much my heart is breaking into countless tiny pieces in this moment, I have to step solidly into this space – as solidly as I can when I feel like crumpling to the ground with every step I take.

I cannot go backwards into the comforting familiarity of the past and I cannot remain stagnant in the present.  It is the only authentic choice – but it is a choice that carries overwhelming heartache as its near constant companion.

This is where I am.  This is who I am.  This is not going to change.  This is reality, and this reality does cannot mesh with the vows I took eight years ago.   I fervently wish there was some way it could - I wish that right now with an ache in my heart, a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes – because I have no idea where to go from here.  I have no idea what to do next.  I thought I knew what my life would be, and now I don’t feel like I know anything at all.  I am frightened beyond all level of previously experienced fear.  I miss my husband.  I miss my soul mate.  I miss my best friend.  I miss my life.

I have never felt so alone.

And so here I sit today, on an otherwise ordinary day that is not really ordinary in the least.  As I type this post I am aware of the emptiness of my ring finger, just as aware of the absence of my rings as I have recently been aware of their presence.  It is almost as if the lack of their weight on my finger has carries a weight of its own. 

On random moments throughout the day, I feel their phantom presence, like the ghost of marriage past.  And I remember how my anniversary band always slid around because it was too big and we never got around to having it sized, how my diamond engagement ring always caught on my the edge of my pockets, how my wedding band had worn so unevenly thin in the back that I sometimes wondered if it would one day crack into pieces.  If I touch the spot where they used to be, I feel a ridge of smooth skin where they have left their imprint on my finger, and I wonder, how long it will take before that too is gone?  And what of their imprint on my heart?  Universe willing; I think I’d like to keep that.

Mostly I sit here and wonder how on earth I got to this point, and how on earth I manage to go on from here.

I could not resist posting this. I laughed so hard I almost peed my pants. There’s more on youtube too….

and then there is this one…sent to me by a friends husband of all people!

My life right now seems to be marked by a never-ending series of highs and lows – swinging so fast between them sometimes that I can’t tell which way is up and which way is down. Disorientation to the extreme.

Actually, I’m lucky. For the past little while I’ve been finding my way to that sweet spot of Zen that makes even my current inner turmoil seem manageable. Overall, I’ve been in a pretty good place with everything; optimistic, pragmatic, hopeful for the future. But still, given my reality, there is often darkness lurking just around the corner - usually when I least expect it.

I can handle the ups and downs much better than this empty feeling, the one I get when I let myself get so bogged down in all the drama that has become my life that I cease to feeling anything. Anything, that is, except for a particular form of numbness that starts in my center and extends outward until it permeates every fiber of my being, until everything feels stripped of life and even my eyes look vacant and empty. A protective mechanism, to be sure. I get that. It’s as if there are no feelings left in me to express. I’m just….done.

As of last night I’m just done. Yesterday was a day of extremes - so much good, so much bad. The good stuff? Personal and professional success beyond my expectations. Pride, in myself and in the people I work with. We did good last night, real good. Dinner with about 20 great people, some of my nearest and dearest and some I’d like to know better – four restaurant tables full of brains and beauty and kick-ass attitude. The knowledge that I am blessed beyond measure to have such people in my life.

The bad? Where do I even begin….

Hmm…A quick synopsis of the day: Got caught in a lie, tried to fake normalcy and failed miserably, felt trapped, distant and awkward with the person closest to me in the world, knew that I am fucking up my family in ways from which we are unlikely to fully recover, spent time with someone I have not seen in a while who always leaves me feeling a little unsure and off-kilter, watched another someone make destructive choices and was utterly powerless to do a damn thing to stop it.

I was pretty messed up already today, but it’s that last one that sent me over the edge.

Other people’s shit is never about me, always about them. No matter how close or how distant the relationship, how much or how little I care, how their actions confuse or hurt or sadden me – I’m never more than a supporting player. Life is a series of choices, and I can’t ever be responsible for anything but my own. Simple as it sounds, that is one of those truisms that I always seem to forget along the way.

I want to stop bad things from happening to people that matter to me. I want to save them from themselves. I want to have the power to make it all better. And I can’t and it sucks and it hurts and I hate that there is not a damn thing I can do about it, because it’s simply not about me. The only thing I can ever do is be clear on my own boundaries and needs, and to try to be available if I’m needed.

The end result of all the above, is that by the time I got home last night I just turned off, tuned out, shut down. I’m so deep in my body and so lost in my own mind that I can’t quite find the energy to climb out of it. Feeling this way is very uncomfortable for me. It freaks me out. I’m far more comfortable feeling sad or mad or scared than I am with feeling nothing. This sense of being totally and utterly vacant is unsettling, it feels wrong.

I know I just need to give myself time. Time and good music and the company of friends who always know just the right words, who understand that a long cuddle on the couch can make the day seem brighter and who are totally sure holding hands and skipping through the park is not a silly way to spend the afternoon.

I can’t fight my way out of this, or distract myself out of this….in fact; I can’t get out of it at all. The only way to the other side is straight through, and the only thing I can possibly do is love myself through it.

And so, here I go. Wish me luck.

Not surprisingly, I’ve done a lot of thinking about labels over the past few months. How I define myself has never seemed quite so important. At the same time, I’m beginning to learn that it isn’t really important at all.

I’m not a huge fan of labels. Labels can reduce us to archetypes, limit our growth, box us in. Reducing a person to a label often means we lose the chance to really glimpse the depth and breadth of their humanity, to connect with them in any real way. Labels can be dangerous - breeding ground for the misunderstandings, separation and generalizations that lead us on the slippery slope toward exclusionary behavior. They can be confining in their definitions – leaving us chafing to become more (or less, or something different altogether) than what our label says we should be.

At the same time labels are useful. We like to define people, to group like with like. It gives us comfort to know, ‘I fit with this group, but not with that one’. Labels can help us gain that sense of inclusion in a community that can be so vitally important to our wellbeing. They can be a security blanket, a safety net in a big crazy world. In a culture that sometimes seems defined by chaos and disorder, adopting a label can tell us where we fit, where to look for like-minded individuals, where to search for connection.

Some labels are with us for life, some we claim for only a short time in the midst of our journey of self-exploration, others shift and change day by day, based on our moods and relationship with the world around us. In this fluid world, it is much easier than ever before to adopt and discard labels as it suits us. I can be Vegan-Buddhist-Democrat one year, and a Carnivorous-Fundamentalist Christian-Republican the next. Not likely that I’d ever claim the second label, but possible, because anything is possible.

But enough of this esoteric bullshit already, what has all this got to do with me?

Labeling my sexual orientation seemed pretty darn easy most of my life. I liked men. Hetero. Straight as an arrow. Easy-peasy. It was all too easy to sweep whatever feelings I had for women under the rug (or into the closet, as it were).

Now, it’s not quite so clear.

When all of this first came to the forefront of my life - in early August - my first assumption was that I was bisexual. I loved my husband, was incredibly attracted to him. We had a solid, strong relationship – better than most. But….I was attracted to women too. A little bit of a mental adjustment sure, but we could deal.

I won’t try and minimize the turmoil I was in at that point, but all in all – it seemed like something I could come to terms with. Aside from the curiosity and longing for the opportunity to explore that part of myself, it seemed more than possible that I could accept the label Bisexual, and still carry on with life as I knew it.

Over time it became clear that, for reasons I didn’t even understand – bisexual didn’t feel right to me either. The more I acknowledged this, the more I moved into this space, the more I realized the level at which I was drawn to women - the more freaked out I got. I remember the night my friend M. first suggested to me that I might end up closer to the other end of the spectrum. I remember sobbing in her arms later that night, saying over and over that I didn’t ask for this, didn’t want it, wasn’t ready for it.

After all, happily married bisexual? Difficult, but certainly possible. Happily married lesbian? Things just got a little bit trickier.

I kept looking, inside and out, for some clear answer. I was sure that in order to find my answer I was going to have to explore, to experience the reality of being with a woman. Otherwise, how would I know if this was just a curiosity, something physical that would be satisfied by a casual encounter – or if it was something real and lasting? But….how could I have this experience without betraying my marriage?

It was the wise and wonderful M. who again provided me with her incomparable wisdom. She asked me…

‘If you were not married, would you feel you needed to experience being with a woman to have clarity, or would you already know?”

As always, she was dead on. That was one of those defining moments of this journey, as her question made me realize that I already had all the clarity I needed.

I wanted to be with women. I didn’t need to date a woman, kiss a woman, fuck a woman to know that. I didn’t need to do any of those things, because clarity never really comes from outside oneself, but always from inside. This wasn’t about anyone else – it was all about me – and right here, right now I want to be with women. I can’t talk about the future right now, because if this has taught me anything, it is that the future is one great big unpredictable mystery. I can only speak of now, and right now – I know exactly what I want. In this moment I already know exactly who I am.

Big picture – I believe that sexuality can very much be a fluid thing. In a perfect world we wouldn’t need to reduce it to something as narrow and confining as gender. In my perfect world, we could be with who we wanted to be with, when we wanted to be with them – without the stress and pressure of labeling ourselves at all. Sure, there would still be people who would exclusively be interested in one gender or the other, and to insinuate otherwise would be totally insulting to those people. However, I’m willing to bet that there are a whole lot more people out there who would fall somewhere in the middle, or who would slide along the spectrum of sexuality as they encountered people of either gender who they reacted too, physically, mentally and emotionally.

Am I a lesbian? I don’t know. Why am I reluctant to own that label? I’m not sure. If I’m not totally sure I’m a lesbian but I’m pretty sure I’m not bisexual, then what the heck am I? I still don’t know. Will I ever have a forever answer? Who knows. Does it matter? Some days it seems to be the only thing that matters, other days I think that it doesn’t matter at all.

At the risk of being cliché by quoting them twice in one week - I find myself singing the Indigo Girls again, “The less I seek my source for some definitive, the closer I am to fine.” Cliché perhaps (as this is probably the biggest coming out song ever) but so true. In the moments where I give myself over to the experience and trust myself without looking for the definitive answer, I find myself approaching some semblance of inner peace, of just being, instead of constantly searching.

If my reality was different I truly wouldn’t feel the need to label myself right now, or to define or limit this experience. If I were not a married mother of two, on the edge of potentially throwing away everything I always thought I wanted, I would be content to live in the moment. I would give myself the space to seek out the experiences I desired and to let time and life answer my questions.

But the fact is, this IS my reality, and somehow the idea of walking away from my marriage and my life based on a maybe (even a pretty solid maybe) feels more than a little bit scary.

What if I’m wrong? What if I change my mind? What if I make the biggest mistake of my life and I end up alone?

It is a strange place I am in, being so steady and sure in one breath, and being utterly dizzy and discombobulated in the next. All I can do is keep moving forward, keeping owning my experience, keep seeking my truth.

In the end, that’s all any of us can ever do.

I just started Elizabeth Gilbert’s book “Eat, Pray, Love”.  She begins the book by talking about the collapse of her marriage, but says that she won’t share the reasons why she didn’t want to be married anymore.   She goes on to say:

“I will also not discuss here all the reasons why I did still want to be his wife, or all his wonderfulness, or why I loved him and why I had married him and why I was unable to imagine life without him.  I won’t open any of that.  Let it be sufficient to say that, on this night, he was still my lighthouse and my albatross in equal measure.  The only thing more unthinkable than leaving was staying; the only thing more impossible that staying was leaving.  I didn’t want to destroy anything or anybody.  I just wanted to slip quietly out the back door, without causing any fuss or consequences, and then not stop running until I reached Greenland.”

Different people, different circumstances, different story – but as I read that paragraph I felt and immense feeling of relief wash over me.  It was the kind of relief you only feel when you come face to face with the evidence that you are not the only one who has been in this place.  That somewhere there is someone who has experienced what you experience, who knows your pain, who can relate to the narrative of your convoluted, crazy life.  It is the feeling of not being alone.

“The only thing more unthinkable than leaving was staying; the only thing more impossible that staying was leaving”

It was as if she was inside my head this morning, last weekend, for the past several months.  It was as if she has been watching as my brain twists and turns and tries to find a solution until eventually I feel like I’ve been ramming my head against a brick wall for hours on end.  Because although there are a million different ways to get through this situation - not one of them is neat and tidy.  Not one lets us walk away unscathed.  Not one lets us go back to ‘normal’ - whatever that was or might be in the future - without turning ourselves inside out. 

At some point during the past through months I remember saying to one of my friends, “It’s as if I have to make a choice between losing him or losing myself”.   

How does anyone make a choice like that?

There is no road through this that does not involve loss.  No path that does not include pain.  My head is spinning with the immensity of what lies ahead for me, for him, for us.  There are times when I feel so strong, so brave, so bold, and times when I feel so lost, so alone, so utterly and completely confused I want to curl up in a corner and cry.   The worst though, are the times when I am so emotionally and physically spent that I begin to shut down, the times where the numbness takes over my body and my heart – and just simple interaction seems like too much to deal with.  Those are the times when I want to slip quietly out my back door, and like Elizabeth Gilbert, not stop running until I reach Greenland (actually, I think I’d choose to run somewhere much more pleasant, even in the depths of personal emotional trauma I’m still sensible like that).

I do want to run away.  I do not want to be anyone’s wife.  I do not want to be anyone’s mother.   I want to have no responsibilities, to have nobody counting on me for anything.  I want to be entirely selfish, completely self-involved.   I yearn to have as much time as I need to retreat into solitude and meditate and wallow and take long, directionless walks where I can be deep in my self and way outside of myself at the very same time.  I want to sit on a rocky beach and listen to the waves crash for hours until they have driven every last thought from my head and I feel peace.  I want to be truly alone with myself for the first time ever.   I imagine that with enough time and space I would find the clarity I’m seeking, but maybe all I would find was time and space to experience more confusion.

I want all that, but I cannot have it.  My own need for self-exploration cannot come at the expense of my children’s well-being.  Although I cannot make my choices based on the needs of my husband, I cannot ignore them either.  I can’t take the time I so desperately desire to escape reality and float on nothingness until the answers become clear.  I can only muddle through this the best I can, trying my hardest not to cause too much collateral damage to the people who matter the most.

Somehow recently I came across the music of Leslie Nuchow.   I swear, reading the lyrics to several of her songs, that she has walked through the same space that I currently walk through.  There is one song in particular, “I don’t know what love is” that completely communicates the space I am living in right now.  For me, the ‘her’ in the lyrics is not any one particular woman, but rather just the pull I have to be with women in general – but otherwise, this song is my life.   Please listen to it if you have a chance.

I Don’t Know What Love Is – Leslie Nuchow
Lyrics `        

O…resurrect me
raise me from the dead
shower me with roses
fill my hollow head

send me an angel
a messenger, a sign
something to believe in
turn my water into wine

cause I don’t know what love is
I don’t understand
is leaving you courageous
or by staying will I reach the holy land

she covers me in blankets
and heals my aching heart
and swears this is forever
then why am I so blown apart?

cause I don’t know what love is
I don’t understand
is staying here courageous
or by leaving will I reach the holy land

o…hear this call…
o…life folds up into a tiny little ball
o…I’ll make believe
o…that I know what it is that you want from me

I don’t know what love is
I don’t understand
is leaving you courageous
or by staying will I reach the promised land
cause I don’t know what love is
I don’t understand
is staying here courageous
or by leaving will I reach the holy land
or by staying will I reach the promised land
or by leaving will I
staying will I
leaving will I
staying will I
leaving will I…