I have been on quite a journey of self-awareness. One might think it would be exhausting to realize all your strengths and weaknesses and how they play and feed off of each other simultaneously. It's actually not exhausting at all, it's liberating. How better to help one's self than to realize what you do wrong and what you also do very, very right. I think for most of us, it's painful to be accountable. To realize that we made the choices we made, out of hope, or desperation, fear or loneliness, pain or confusion. Whatever the reason, there is always a reason. I am a why person. I think I mostly annoyed my parents with my overwhelming curiosity and robust zest for life. My trips to the emergency room can attest to that. Years later, although I may be less clumsy and more self-aware my zest for life and my hope are unending. I want to do so many things, and I do! I have a million and one things I do right and a handful of things I generally struggle with. Stumbling blocks that knock me on my ass from time to time. I think the more I learn about myself and struggle and feel my way through the proverbial shit storm of life the better I can be. I truly believe that we are all human and we all have talents, dreams, hopes and fears. We limit ourselves because of our surroundings. We are limited by and limited to our experiences. We are only as aware as the things we have lived through.
Though I have been through my fair share of drama, broken hearts, fear and pain I haven't experienced all the grief life has to offer. I have never struggled with alcohol or drug addiction, I've never been kidnapped, I've never had a near death experience. My lack of experience does not prohibit my ability to understand the emotions acquainted with these experiences. I don't have to go through hell to know that it is a very real, very scary place. I don't have to become an addict to sympathize with someones struggle to overcome a life free from substance abuse. I do however feel a strong kinship with women who have endured, and are enduring the pain and heartache, loneliness and confusion of single motherhood. When I first got divorced I was 27, and my son wasn't even a year old. I was left, heart in hand, thinking: 'Uh, I got it from here?!' It was not part of my life plan to marry a man and only be married for a few short years before he decided to leave. It wasn't my intention to bring a beautiful child into this world---conceived of love, only to have his heart be broken by the continual absence of one parent. The ever present financial struggle, emotional break downs, heartbreak and loneliness wreaked havoc on my heart. I cried, I prayed, I sunk lower than I ever thought possible into the depths of despair. I looked for the light at the end of the tunnel, and like the popular Metallica song says, it is often just a 'freight train headed your way.'
Where was the justice in my situation? Why did it come to this? Why me? Why NOW? WHY? WHY? WHY? All I knew for certain is how I felt about the situation and how confused and alone I felt. The only other women I knew that were divorced were well in their forties, and we didn't exactly have much to talk about. The only single women I knew were well in their twenties and not too interested in hanging out at McDonald's playground with a toddler on Friday nights. That wasn't their idea of a good time. So I guess I made it my mission in life to befriend and find other people like myself. It wasn't until my Dad died, 3 years after my divorce that I felt I had found a real true friend. At last I had someone to relate too! Someone that knew my story, and shared my heartbreak and could relate to it, at least in part. I met Diana when I was a nanny for a very wealthy family. I met her at church at a popular vacation spot. She was married and must have sensed my awkward loneliness or somehow knew I needed someone to talk to when she approached me. I learned that she had family in the same town my parents. We had lunch, we laughed, a bond was formed. Fast forward two children, three marriages and divorces later, and we were living in the same town again. Her mother had worked with my father and she called to see how I was coping with the loss. I poured out my heart to her about all the pain in my life. I am not sure all that was said but I am sure collectively it probably could've boiled down to: "Woas me! THIS SUCKS!" Now it has been nearly four more years, and we have raised our children together, laughed, cried, screamed and yelled, experienced and related to each other over and over again.
Most of the women I come into contact with these days are all mothers, most of whom are single. Most of these women and I share a common bond, one that not many others understand. We know what it's like to make two dollars look like two hundred, to walk because we don't have the gas money, and to be grateful for food stamps and a good cup of tea (thank you health and welfare!). We aren't here to bitch and moan and cry, well, not exclusively anyway. We are here to hold one another's hands through it. To look one another in the eyes and say "I'm here for you." Just the other day I hung out with two good friends, Jenn A, who co-writes this blog, and a former co-worker( might I add hands down best cook I've ever known) Sam. We spoke about not getting walked on, pushed down, and standing up for ourselves when it comes to men. Not taking advantage of anyone, and not allowing anyone to take advantage of us. My chef-extraordinaire (Paula Dean you have been warned!) friend Sam mentioned a time when she was at a real low point in her life. She called me up one night truly upset about things that had been bothering her and I asked how I could help. She needed cigarettes and could not muster the courage to get them herself. I went and brought her a pack, and she hugged me. She in return has helped me when I was in a pinch for child care, taught me some fabulous recipes, and opened my eyes to different creative outlets, and helped me make some gorgeous jewelry (one of her other amazing talents).
When I was shopping with my friend Susan (mentioned in a an earlier post) I reminded her of a time when I had just moved into an apartment and had no money, because I had used it all to move and set up my utilities. She selflessly brought me groceries to fill my cupboards and fridge. When I reminded her of this, she didn't even remember doing it, just as I had forgotten about the cigarettes. We are natural caregivers. Our first instinct is to help others. I do not know many selfish women. Of course my viewpoint is a little skewed because the women I choose to associate with are incredibly strong and extremely giving. I can't tell you how many times I have reached out to the woman behind me in the grocery store line or next to me on the playground while we both push our toddlers in the swings. We touch on nearly every subject---our relationships, our children, our careers, the weather, the news, etc; and usually end with an introduction. "By the way I guess you know my life story but I failed to introduce myself. I am Jenn B, I hope to see you again at the playground." Sometimes we exchange numbers, sometimes we meet up for play dates, but more often than not, we give each other hope. Hope is my favorite drug of choice. Hope is infectious. Hope is relief. Hope is worn and weathered, tattered and torn. Hope is a belief, both an adjective and a verb. It requires action, and stillness, peace, and spontaneous combustion, relief, and response.
Saturday evening I attended a birthday party for Diana's children. I had every intention of helping her organize the chaos and calamity that is a child's party. I did help some, but not much. I ran into an old friend who I knew from a previous job. I loathed working for this particular company with every fiber of my being, and seeing this woman was a bright spot in many bleak weeks of monotony and torture. She had shared my story, she had lived through the pain. She was married for quite some time, ten or more years when her husband had an affair. I met her when she was in her mid thirties and was dating someone in their late-twenties. I have always thought this woman was extremely beautiful. She has three small children and they are also very beautiful. She ended up marrying this younger man and she just had another child with him a few months ago. We talked and laughed and nearly cried for almost two hours! We laughed because she said the last thing her husband said to her before she left was: "Don't stay and talk to anyone!" She had assured him she didn't know anyone at the party and would be right home, that is, until she stopped to listen, and give me hope. It's nice to know that I too can someday have a second chance at a husband and family, and possibly have another child. I want a second shot at the dream I have so long wanted to come true. I know that the second time around I will not be afraid, I will not expect perfection. I will work hard, and be fierce, and fearless. I will weed the garden and cry and laugh. I won't settle for a man who be-Little's me and tells me I'm unattractive. I won't settle for a man that thinks child-rearing is "women's work." I won't settle for a partner that pushes me to the breaking point and tells me my dreams aren't worth dreaming. I won't settle for someone who yells and screams and hits me or throws me across the room. I won't settle for someone who tells me how to spend my hard earned money, and won't allow me anything nice for myself. I won't settle for someone who watches porn and degrades my own self esteem. I won't settle for someone who doesn't understand that love isn't about perfection and marriage is not always bliss. I will keep fighting, I will keep surviving and I will work hard. One thing is for damn sure, he'll have to work just as hard and keep thriving and trying and laughing right along with me. There will be hard times, there will be sadness, and I am certain I'll probably need time away, time alone, and some nights I might even sleep on the couch. But I will no longer be afraid. I will not let my fears define me. I will rise up, rise above and soar above my own expectations. My future is waiting.
So the very next time you recognize the look of despair in a fellow sister's eyes, listen to what she has to say, and find that common bond. Hold her child while she looks for change, laugh at the situation of life, and offer hope. None of us exclusively holds all the keys to the locks that will provide the answers for another's life. We are women and we have a wealth of knowledge and are rich with influence and experience. We are the voice of reason, the solution to so many problems. I believe we have everything when we have each other. I believe the joy is in the journey and we need to learn how to sing the song in our hearts when we've forgotten the melody. We need hope, we need each other, and we can get through this together.
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