Category: Life, Travel, Women, Lifestyle

He Gave Me…

On at least three occasions since I have left the marriage, well-meaning people have asked me “Are you sure you want to do this? He GAVE you such a good life”. While I know they are the brave souls to speak these words, there are many more that don’t say it to my face. They say this because they did not know the true nitty-gritty of our marriage. I find these remarks extremely insulting, and they usually come from men.

It’s not like I was a kept woman in any way, shape, or form. I worked full time both in and out of the home. Yes, he was making twice as much money as I was, but I was still expected to keep up and pay my share of the bills. On top of that, I cooked every day, cleaned, did his laundry, all kinds of administrative duties, chauffeur, and was his gym and bed partner, even when I was exhausted from everything else I had to do. When we were dating, he told me he “was a traditional guy, but with modern thinking”. I understood that to be he was conservative in values but open to new ideas. Foolish me, I didn’t realize that was code for traditional gender roles, he had one job and got to watch TV while I held down two full-time jobs. Traditional wife with a modern full-time job.

When we were going these beautiful lavish vacations, I was expected to pay for hotels, part of the meals, and part of the attractions. I was also responsible for doing all the research. There were absolutely no free rides in this relationship.

When I managed to go back to school and get my bachelor’s degree, I did it on a dare from my children, and yet he took credit telling everyone that he encouraged me to go back to school and that he was paying for it. He didn’t bother telling people that I worked my tail off and got scholarship after scholarship for my good grades and that I would have to sign these checks over to him for advancing me to tuition money.

No one gave me anything in this relationship. I was an equal partner, and sometimes I put in more than my fair share, especially when it came to the emotional relationship side of things.

I think it’s really sad that even today in a society where most homes survive on two incomes, that people should imply that a man GIVES a woman a good life.

I had a life before him.

I had my own home, my own car, my own job, my own friends.

I was my own person.

Now that I am without him, I shall repeat that pattern. I shall have my own home, my own car, and will continue paying my own bills. Because in this society women aren’t really ‘given’ anything, we have to work for it.

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I Was Ready

There are moments when I have read of some abusive situations or speak to someone being abused, and I just want to shake them. I just want to yell at them “just walk away”… and I don’t understand why they stay.

The truth of the matter is that you simply can’t walk away until YOU are ready and different people are ready at different times.

Personally, it took me over 10 years to be ready, so honestly, I have no right to be frustrated or yelling at anyone or wondering why.

I knew early on in my own marriage that this was a bad decision, I knew early on that this would not end well. All the red flags were there, so many I could have made a scarf or something with them. Yet, I hung in there, I kept thinking I could make it work, I kept thinking if I tried this or if I tried that it might get better, and it didn’t. I was just fooling myself because we all know you can’t do the tango by yourself… and yet we try.

It was not just that I loved him or that I care for him, that was never really the issue. There were so many other things to consider. When I would think about it… There was family involved, a network of friends, colleagues, and all the other nitty-gritty of life, such as finances and health and housing. It was always a million and one reasons to stay and continue to try to make it work. Because leaving would cause havoc not only in your own life but in those around you.

And in the end, reality just set in … and I left. I left when I did because I WAS READY, not because anyone yelled at me, or anyone shook me. I left because there was more energy being spent trying to force a life that really didn’t exist, except to outsiders looking in. I left because I literally felt like I could not breathe anymore. I left because living a lie and pretending life is good is exhausting.

I left when I WAS READY…

So be patient and forgiving with yourself if you haven’t left yet. If you’re on the outside looking in and even suspect abuse, just be there to catch them when they are ready, and remember it takes some people longer than others, so be patient.

Written: August 5, 2020

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The Biting Hamster

Nina was not allowed to have pets as a child, according to her parents it was due to severe allergies she and her sister had. On one rare occasion her father caved and purchased hamsters for the two girls. Her parents made it very clear that they would have to take care of the hamsters themselves. If one of the hamsters died or got out they would not be replaced. Nina and her sister diligently took care of their hamsters. Each of them maintaining their own hamsters cage, feeding them and playing with them.

close up of woman holding a hamster
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While Nina’s sister was able to handle her hamster and play with him all the time, Nina was afraid of hers, you see her hamster liked to bite. He didn’t bite all the time, but he would bite, suddenly, without warning. Many times Nina would be petting him with a finger and hamster would seem all happy and content then suddenly turn and bite her finger. Other times he’d be happily crawling up her sleeve and bite her on the neck. His bites were small, usually a small amount of blood would be drawn, but it hurt like a bee sting and Nina would cry.

At first Nina would tell her mother, who would clean up the bite wound as she would tell Nina that it was her fault hamster bit her. Nina must have mishandled the hamster, she must have been too rough or harsh with him. So the next time Nina was ever so careful to be even more gentle in handling her hamster, but he would bite Nina again, and again. Each time she would go back and assume she was doing something wrong, it never occurred to her that it was just possibly the nature of this particular hamster. Maybe unlike her sisters hamster, he was just a biter by nature.

After a few more bites Nina stopped telling her parents. She knew that if she complained they would get rid of the hamster and then she wouldn’t have a pet. Nina continued to care for her hamster, handling him less and less each time. Just feeding him and watching him playing contently in his cages with the wheel and toys she provided. Her parents quickly caught on to this and one day when she came home from school her hamster was gone. They said he had escaped, that she must have left the lid to the cage opened or something. Now it was her fault that hamster was lost.

What struck the eight year old really odd was that not only was the hamster was gone, but the cage and all items belonging to it were gone also. Nina was alarmed and asked her parents why they got rid of the cage? What would they do if he turned up suddenly? Her parents assured her that hamster was gone and would probably never turn up again… and he didn’t. Her sisters hamster however lived on for a long, long time and Nina was not allowed to touch him or help care for him. She has been labeled as irresponsible and uncaring. As much as she wanted to pet her sisters hamster, she didn’t dare because she didn’t trust herself and did not want him to disappear also.

Truth is Hamster never left Nina at all… the experience stayed with her for a long time.

I’ve been thinking about this story a lot lately and how this experience actually helped shape the way that eight year old saw relationships and how she saw her own self worth. Many of us are led to believe that when relationships ‘bites’ us, we must be doing something wrong, we must try harder and if the relationship falls apart it’s our failure. When in reality some people, like a hamster, can just be biters by nature… always nipping and biting those that love them.

 

Home Is Where Your Heart Is

Written March 1, 2019

person giving keys on man
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My youngest son, Kevin, moved out this weekend. As I would carry his clothes from his car into his new place I found myself taking a long whiff of his scent, much like you do when you first bring a new born home. I know it sounds weird. Oh, how I will miss him, his smile and his bear hugs. Me giving him a pout sad face or shaking my finger when he would forget to say goodbye. Listening to him come in late at night and me getting up, circling to see if he wanted to talk or something to eat.

Don’t get me wrong, I have known this day was coming. He went away to college for four years, but his room was always here. I could always go in his room sit on the bed and look around when I missed him and suddenly it would be okay, because I knew he would be back.

When my oldest went off to school and then on to his own place I consoled myself thinking I still had a little one left at home. We rearrange Keith’s room into a guest/play room but there were still signs of him left behind. Toys he had passed down to his brother. A remnant from his first concert, a No Doubt sticker he placed on the mirror. On the wall was the faint outline of the Ghost-buster logo that had long been painted over. A dent in the wall, from a punch, when he found out something tragic had happened to our family.

Since we are retiring and selling the house, our youngest was able to take most of the furniture. He took the leather couches, one of which has a deep scratch. A scratch made by Alex when he came over for the first time and dragged his suitcase across the sofa. The scratch that I hurried to hide with shoe polish as I told him “it’s just furniture, no big deal kiddo” I think it was that moment that he realized I would not be the wicked step-mom. The sofa since has many more scratches but that one I would touch and think of him.

This will not be the case this time around. There are cleaners coming to the house this week to scrub and prepare the house for sale. I will not be able to go into this room as of next month and spot all the tell-tale signs of their previous inhabitants. I will not be able to see, touch and even smell these reminders, but these memories live within me. I carry those moments, good and bad, like golden nuggets of the wonderful young men that have blessed my life over the years.

It’s bitter sweet seeing these children grow up and move on, but it’s wonderful knowing that they are more than capable to spread their wings and move on.

Sisterhood of Tiny Living

While researching living in small spaces I ran into two Facebook groups of amazing women. One group is in the United Kingdom and another is in the United States. Both groups are exclusively for woman that have moved away from the traditional brick and mortar homes and have chosen an alternative housing choice. The woman in the UK live on narrow-boats and the woman in the US live in vans, small trailers or short school buses.

Many of these women reached this lifestyle change after ending bad marriages, raising their children and are now seeking out “their turn in life”, others just want to travel and see their perspective (or other) countries. Some are even volunteers providing services throughout their country of choice. One lady even supports a school in South Africa for girls. Many of these women run their own virtual business, sell crafts, or travel seeking work at campgrounds, fair grounds or large seasonal venues.

I have found a lot of these woman are to the point, very supportive of each other and have a passion for life. They have no plans on gracefully sliding into their graves in old age. They are living life to the fullest doing what they love and embracing their freedom like I have never seen women do before. I am blown away by the creativity they have in making ends meet, designing their tiny living spaces and putting up with the challenges of nomadic life. These women are a force to be reckon with and yet no one hears about them.

When they do come up in conversation words like homeless, unstable, mental illness tends to get slipped into the conversation and yet for at least 90% of these women these words do not apply.  I feel so blessed and inspired to have found them. I have learned much about small living and being creative. I have learned that no matter what life throws at you can, and will land on your feet. I have seen support and commonality like I have never seen before. I have seen true sisterhood.

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Wallets

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I have always been fascinated by wallets and their contents. Even as child I loved looking through wallets to see what pictures and bits of paper I would find (it really wasn’t the money). Wallets say so much about a person and their willingness to share their contents with you, tells you even more about them.

My favorite wallet has always been my Dads. As a small child, it seemed he was able to solve anything by pulling out his wallet. If my Mom needed a phone number, a small piece a paper would come out of the wallet with a dozen or so tiny hand written names and numbers.

My Mom would tell him “honey we need a new…” and out would come the wallet and he would send her off merrily shopping.

We would go out to dinner, all six of us, sometimes more and we would speculate what the bill was. But he would never let us see it. He’d simply pull out one of his three favorite cards and pay the bill. We would go to the doctor and out would come insurance cards and forms.

As teenagers, I really thought my Dad WAS an ATM machine. We would ask for cash, he would quiz us and then that magical wallet would come out with the right amount of cash as though he had been expecting us to ask.

Today, I had to handle my Dads wallet for what will probably be the last time. As I fumbled through its contents looking for his Social Security number, I found the Costco card and thought of how each Friday night, even as adults, he would call us and ask that we meet at the wholesale club on Saturday morning. It was a tradition for all of us to meet and do bulk shopping and get free samples.

There in the wallet, canceled months ago, were his favorite credit cards that had slowly over the years change to gold, platinum and other exotic colors. As free as he was with his money, he always paid his bills on time and believed in owing no one. “Cash on the barrel” I can still hear him say.

I found his driver’s license with a really robust picture of him right before he became ill 17 months ago. His faded AAA card that he used more for others, than himself. One year he used the AAA card so many times helping others, that AAA sent him a letter saying they would increase his rates because they knew he didn’t own 12 different cars in one year.

The worn out little pieces of papers with all the phone numbers of the people he cared about the most. His print over the years becoming bigger from failed sight and less phone numbers with the passing of relatives.

There was a hand written note, from a child, saying “I love you Dad”.

A piece of paper with everyone’s name and birthdates.

Then there were the pictures. A 23-year-old picture of my oldest son (his first grandchild) in the hospital the day he was born and another of me in the third grade, with pig tails, tucked right behind it. Pictures of my sisters and their kids, of my Mom, 50 years ago when he first met her at age 27 and she was only 22. I think that’s how he always saw her, the beautiful 22-year-old he fell in love with.

Why am I writing about this? Because sometimes it’s the smallest things that are most important and the least noticed. A man is not measured by the money he has, but by the contents in his heart. My Dad was a good man who really cared about people. His wallet was fat, not with money, but memories and good deeds. His wallet was just a reflect on his life and the people he loved.

Originally written 4/19/05