Monday, March 16, 2009

Journal Entry June 2008

I’m obsessed with my husbands affair. I’m obsessed with this woman. I look for her car. I have visions of them together. It coils around me like a life sucking python and squeezes the sanity, the dignity from me.

That's when I go to Bikram Yoga.
Ah. Yoga.

This is where I create my own healing crisis. Where I put myself in a 105 degree room and focus and work for 90 minutes and balance on one leg for an eternity while pulling the other leg straight behind me and listen to a stream of information from the teacher and connect my body with my mind and say over and over again, “thank you thank you,” even though I feel like I’m going to die.

But I don't die. I keep breathing and working and praying and sweating out toxins and pain and hate and soon my skin is glistening and my clothes are soaking wet and my body is listening to my mind and I am strong and I am calm all at the same time. And I do this TO MYSELF. I put myself into this insane environment. I honestly think if I weren't in such trauma already, there's no way I would even try it.

But I do. And in this way I control how and when I release my emotion, how I work out my pain. It's not my cheating husband or my dying dog or anything external pushing me to fix myself. I do it. To myself.

I say, Self. Today we’re going to yoga.
And my Self says, oh no. We can't go there. The yoga studio is right next to where Cheating Husband and Skanky Whore work together. What if I see them? I can't go near that building, near that part of town, I can't take it and besides I’m too tired and my knees hurt and my heart is broken and I just want to lay in bed and cry while the kids are gone and I need to bla bla bla

But in the end, the Me that’s determined to take back my life wins and I drive my excuse-making sad little self to the yoga studio and I look right at the building next door where my husband met the woman of his dreams and works there with her now in infidelity bliss and I sometimes cry and I sometimes get very angry but I always park and climb the stairs to the stinky hot studio. And once I’m there and I'm lying on the mat getting used to the heat and stretching out my hips and back, I remember why I do this.

Because here, I do extraordinary things. I learn to work hard and then quickly recover. I stand still and I control my mind and my body with my breath. I focus.

And I remember that can do the impossible.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

Trauma recovery advice tip #1

When in the throes of extreme emotional trauma, try not to be reactive and make "poor choices" you may later regret. Especially public displays of creative vengeance.

At the time you may feel as if you're taking back your power. Your friends may high five you and say, "you're my Hero!" but seriously, you should carefully think through any potentially stupid moves.

For instance, do not under any circumstances, post something like this on Craigslist:
Free
Cheating Husband

Very handsome, very muscular and very sexy. Very charming. Great in the sack. Gets so drunk he throws up out the car window. Screws stupid whores from work. Brilliantly turns everything around on you until you wonder why you were mad in the first place or how you screwed up.

Pretends to care about your feelings until you really need him, then he ridicules you for being needy. Makes you feel crazy for being insecure. Screws stupid whores he met through his friends.

Free. Available immediately. You haul.


Trust me on this.

Saturday, March 14, 2009

So, my husband had an affair

So, my husband had an affair. Ran off with some piece of shit he worked with. In fact, he brought her into our house while I was gone with the kids.

As soon as I came home, I knew there'd been another woman in my house. How? Because it's my house.

It was brutal. I threw all of his stuff out on the front lawn, called the police screaming that they better get over here because I didn’t know what was going to happen.

I’ll never forget that cop asking, M’am? Are there any weapons in the house?

I’M THE WEAPON, I screamed into the phone. NOW GET OVER HERE.

Of course by the time they arrived, things were much calmer. The neighbor kid had come over and stood glaring at my husband. I'll stay right here until you tell me you're okay, he said.

My husband picked up his clothes, guitars, shoes and anything else I could throw out our front door, and left. Then my neighbor kid said to me, you know you did the right thing?

I did? I said.

Yes you did, he said, taking a long pull from his American Spirit. Cause he was thinking with what’s between his legs and that’s all cool and shit, till you see your brown leather jacket laying in the front yard.

This from a 21 year old kid. Brilliance.

I thought I was going to die. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t drive, work or parent. And I had to see him just about every day because this it was summertime and we didn’t have money for childcare, so we swapped the kids often.

He moved 8 blocks away, took up with his new love and the two of them paraded around my neighborhood living it up. I had anxiety attacks every time I left my house. I had anxiety attacks thinking about leaving my house.

I woke up every morning with a crushing weight on my chest. I went to sleep that way too. But as time passed, I trained myself to refocus my thoughts away from him and her, and start sorting out how to take back my life.

Right after I busted him I remember thinking, “what kind of woman do I want to be?” I knew that right then was the time to make that happen.

I knew what I didn't want to be. I didn't want to be a victim. I didn't want to run after a man who obviously didn't want me.

And I knew I didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary feeling unloved. Unworthy. I've done enough of that. I wanted to take back my life.

So that’s what I did. I stepped out of the victim role. I became the kind of woman I want to be.

I fixed my life. And so can you.