16. Sliding Down that Mountain. Maybe calling it Glassading would make it a little fun?

Unbelievable. That is my catch word for the day. Here are the things that are unbelievable to me today:

1. Depression, especially at-work depression. This thing is tough! You think it's on its way out of your life finally and SMACK, it bitch-slaps you right in the face. How many posts have I made about this awful depression--this huge green-black, heavy, freezing wave? How many times have I thought, seriously, that I was overcoming my depression and dealing with my grief once and for all, that I'm finally getting over it, that I truly feel free? How many times has my Lord dealt with me about it, taught me lessons from it, and delivered me from it's icy grip?

2. Groveling. Today I asked Rob if I could come home. It's been ten weeks. I've decided to have rotator cuff surgery once again since I'm no longer motivated to continue with my holistic approach to these bone spurs, and my right shoulder is agonizing. The last surgery took four weeks to somewhat recover from. Rotator cuff surgery is listed among the top five most painful and debilitating surgical procedures. I'm not looking forward to it. Once again, I'll face my demons, my ANTs. Last time I had the surgery I had great motivation to recover and rehabilitate: once I got better I would be able to fly back to my home in Utah and my darling prince who loved me. This time I will spend the entire month of rehab thinking with this one: well Robby sure isn't waiting for you to get well and come home this time, is he now...

Wailing. Not just crying, sorrowful, sniffling little crying. Big. Loud. Wailing crying. I haven't cried this hard since the day I left for Spokane.

15. I give because I love.

Today is Friday. I bought, wrapped and shipped some gifts to Wenatchee. It was fun buying the gifts, but while I was wrapping them I began to think of Rob and wondering if he was going to do Christmas for his grandchildren. I ended up getting doused with a moderate wave of sadness, it was a little slip down the mountainside.

It's so dark here so early, because we are only 30 minutes from the mountain standard time zone. It gets dark at 4:30 pm. Today I got my gifts shipped, plus my Christmas cards, plus the slideshow copies I did for a friend of mine in Portland. I'm glad that's all done.

This is my first post written completely without any pain meds on board. I'm not having a hard time thinking of something to write, but I will admit to not feeling as chatty as normal.

14. Climbing a Mountain

I found this amazing quote today from Mrs. Charles Cowman's Streams in the Desert:

"He knows what is best for me. My environment is of His determining. He means it to intensify my faith, to draw me into nearer communion with Himself, to ripen my power. In the dungeon my soul should prosper...so, let come what will come, His will is welcome; and I shall refuse to be offended in my loving Lord."

Yesterday I had coffee with my friend Lori. I told her how excited it was to be finally in a position of actually seeing God work in this heart-wrenching journey. I haven't known Lori very long, but every time I talk with her she lends a generous pastoral ear, offers sound advice, and gently keeps me grounded in reality. Lori faithfully reminded me that I'll continue to have ups and downs, or ebbs and flows as I continue on towards Life After Divorce; that there will still be times of confusion for me, except now I'll no longer be floating meaninglessly in open sea, going nowhere. Now my ebbs and flows have a sense of purpose and are directing me toward shore.

It was really important for me to hear that. Last night my head cold deteriorated and I started feeling really lousy. That in turn opened me up to some back territory: little stabs of depression and self pity. What little sleep I did get was interrupted by bad dreams. I awoke several times with a fever and coughing, and just had an all-around cruddy night.

This morning I was reminded of Lori's counsel that there will continue to be ups and downs. Had I not heard that yesterday I would have awakened this morning feeling like all my earlier successes were shot; I'd hopelessly feel like I'm never going to find peace. Sitting at the table of reality is such a fine place to be! Of course there are going to be ups and downs in my future. Clearing one hurdle doesn't mean through with the race is through. The devotion above helps remind me that God is sending me UP this mountain slowly, one step at a time. Sometimes I'll slip and fall back but when I do I'll re-climb in steps already planted into the mountainside. These little slips backward only serve to nurture, fuel, and validate my climb.

I will never be offended that my Lord is doing what is absolutely best for me; that He has a plan for a much, much better life for me.

13. A Prayer, a Broom Bush, and a TURNING POINT!

Something strange and profound happened today. I made the realization that fat, lazy Sadness ANTs about Utah have no effect on me any more. The usual layer of dark blues that try to coat my little brain are losing their power over me. ALL my taunting memories from Utah have just sorta stopped bothering me at all. Huzzah! I'm taking this as a very good sign; a directional arrow pointing to the Big A (Acceptance!) Washington memories: you're next.

It's really weird, and totally out of my control: every single one of my memories of Utah, without exception, is being blocked by some kind of blessedly negative vibe that seems to be shielding my fragile self. For example: it's 5 degrees outside with frosty sunshine when I take Samuel to school. The six-weeks-ago Tracy would have shed a tear at the sight, being flooded with memories of Utah mornings crisp and bright with hoar frost shimmering everywhere. That in turn would have led to thinking about my happy little job at the ski resort, which would have led to meeting Rob for breakfast burritos at work... all snowballing into a big fat WAVE of depression.

Now I can't will myself to 'miss' anything about Utah. Even the very best memories seem to be blocked by some internal defense mechanism going UM NO, THAT WAS IN FACT NOT A GOOD TIME FOR YOU, REMEMBER YOU WERE IN THE THROES OF A DESPERATE WAITING GAME AND CONSTANTLY CRYING ABOUT BEING STRUNG ALONG??

Thank You God!! This is a gift. This is something from You. It all came about after I prayed a few days ago about the prophet Elijah. It seems he had been running for his life and was drop dead exhausted. He came to a lone broom bush in the desert and plopped his sorry, tired rear under it, saying okay Lord, stick a fork in me, I'm done. I can go absolutely no further, not one more step. I don't care what happens any more, I'm just too tired to go on. So this angel appeared and told him it was ok if he didn't want to run any more; that God just wanted Elijah to eat and drink something, and sleep. The angel provided some food and water and Elijah ate, drank, and slept until he was completely rested.

That's exactly where I was the other night. I was so weary from trying in vain to escape tormenting memories that were chasing me, and I finally pleaded with God, saying look, I'm like Elijah, here. I am exhausted and cannot run away any more. You simply must do something about these memories that are attacking me, because I don't have any strength left to fight them off.

And He said Tracy, rest. Rest assured, I give you My word those memories will no longer chase you. There I was, under my own dismal little broom bush, completely spent, and my Lord said OK you've had enough. I'm going to intervene now.

12. A.N.T.s: Automatic Negative Thoughts (Change Your Brain, Change Your Life by Dr. Daniel Amen, MD)

The ANTs are marching.
Today I'll be flying to Vancouver for a doctor's appointment. All morning I've been lying in bed, terrified to face this day. For eleven months my monthly trip to Vancouver has always been the exact same ritual for me: driving to Mom and Dad's in Rob's white truck, spending the night, seeing the doc early in the morning, then driving back to Olympia in time to get to work by 1 pm. Same thing. Same path. Every month. I could make the trip in my sleep.

Today I will arrive via the Portland airport. Kimi will thankfully be with me, as she is winding up a four day visit with us here in Spokane. Mom will pick us up, we'll drop Kim off, then head home. This time I'll pull into their driveway as a passenger, in my mom's car. My dad will be inside watching Fox News; he'll smile and say wassup kido when I walk in the door. I'll inevitably look out the window and Robby's white truck will not be in the driveway. It will hit me like a ton of bricks: tomorrow I won't be rushing off to hit I-205 northbound, I'll come back to this house; I'll be trying to just--breathe.

The next day the weight of yet another wave will crash down as I walk out to the driveway, sans white truck, and load my stuff into mom's car to head back to the Portland Airport. Finally, for the depression coup de grace, I will walk past the flights headed to Salt Lake City where I went so many, many times before, and will instead choose a gate whose flight is headed for Spokane, Washington.

11. It's Really Not All About Me. Really.

Today I woke up really, really low. It's just now 10:45 and I just got out of bed, after a sickening blow to the gut of depression, followed by two bouts of a good cry. And right now I have to ask myself: my gawd girl, what are you thinking? So much incredible pain out there right this minute and you're all undone over a five year relationship? A 22 month marriage? Really?

Right now a woman in Sacramento is grieving over the loss of her husband of 40 years. Jerry's twin sister, my former sister-in-law, and my friend for 23 years, is sitting alone in a big house filled with forty years of memories. Seven weeks ago her world came crashing in when her husband Kenneth was diagnosed, out of the clear blue sky, with a deadly brain tumor. He went quickly, and last week she became a widow. Five weeks before she lost him they were planning for Thanksgiving with their family and Christmas with their grandson. They had no idea those holidays would never come for them; that she would actually spend them as a solo mommy, a solo grandma.

Right now four families; three wives and one husband are in a daze, on their own private journeys of bitter alone-ness, weighed down under their own waves of loss so profound it makes my own loss seem pitiful and ridiculous. They are the families of the four Lakewood police officers who lost their lives in a senseless, shocking mass assassination while they sat innocently in a Pierce County coffee shop. They will not spend Christmas with their husbands or wife, dads or mom. They will watch little ones open presents, already purchased, from their lost relatives, and figure out how they're going to explain this glaring aberration.

Somewhere someone is dying, someone is getting a grim diagnosis, someone is on the phone calling everyone in the book because a teenager did not come home. The waves are cold, huge, dark. They are ripping open the hearts of good men and women who, like me, had no idea they even existed, much less were about to pound down on top of them.

Who am I, God, reader, to be so caught up in my little pain? My loss is miniscule, really. I hope and pray that this realization will help me battle the terrible fear of what lies ahead for me. How sad is that... me me me. God would You please, please take this pain I have for my own silly circumstances and turn it into pain for those suffering losses I can't even imagine?

I prayed this once a couple of weeks ago: Lord, break my heart, as You've done, not for my own life situation, but for others' pain and loss. Break my heart, God, for the lost.

10. Out of Meds: crushed

Tonight I swallowed what bit of pride I had left after all this and asked Rob for a little help with my December meds and doctor's appointment. Now that I live in Spokane I have to fly to see my pain doc rather than just drive down from Olympia. That's an extra hundred bucks on top of the cost of the appointment and the meds themselves.

I sent him an email outlining this, and reminding him that had I still lived in Olympia working full time I'd not need any help from him at all, but anything he could do to help me out would be appreciated.

He ignored me completely. This is a hurting night, knowing he is so calloused and cold; that his spirit is so black.

9. Out of Print: Books on my Reading List

WOW! There are some really fabulous books available about surviving, getting over, and recovering from a narcissist. I can't wait to purchase all the titles here, and will save diligently to get them. Might even clean an apartment or two to pay for them, totally worth it.

~ Malignant Self Love, Narcissism Revealed by Sam Vaknin. This is a large book, and expensive but I'm gonna keep my eye open for a used copy. This book has been described as the bible of narcissist-recovery.

~Why is it Always About You? The Seven Deadly Sins of Narcissism by Sandy Hotchkiss. A newer paperback (2003) that discusses how we end up in the crosshairs of narcissistic people, and how we get swept into their lair. My favorite excerpt from the book synopsis is this: "Explores how individuals come to have this shortcoming, why you get drawn into their perilous orbit, and what you can do to break free" I love that!

~Freeing Yourself from the Narcissist in Your Life by Linda Martinez-Lewi. This cool little book describes itself with this gem: "...a guide to recognizing, coping with, and ultimately overcoming the destructive behavior of narcissists.

~Narcissism: Denial of the True Self by Dr. Alexander Lowen. This is the book I want the most, yo. The thing I love about it is that it speaks to the reader as if he or she is the narcissist, rather than a victim of the narcissist. I think it will give me a better glimpse into what makes Rob tick, what may have contributed to this personality, and explores the possibility that there is healing for him. I was really drawn to Dr. Lowen's belief that "narcissists do not love themselves or anyone else." Huzzah! That's one of the notes I myself wrote in my own little paper about narcissists in my post Out of Order: Notes and Quotes. I think Dr. Lowen and I are going to get along fabulously.

8. Out of Order: Notes and Quotes

Things that make you go, oh.

Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD)

Signs/Symptoms

1. Reacts to criticism with rage or other negative behavior
2. Is preoccupied with feelings of success
3. Has unreasonable expectations of favorable treatment (from me, his daughters: women in general)
4. Disregards the feelings of others and lacks empathy
5. Pursues all or mostly all selfish goals
6. Expects to be noticed as a superior (especially from me, his daughters, his ex-wife, and women in general)
7. Is highly successful. Excessive ambition and confidence may lead to high achievement, but performance can be disrupted due to intolerance of criticism or defeat.
8. Sustained feelings of shame or humiliation (his own father: abuse, own narcissism, suicide [the ultimate narcissistic abuse])
9. Rejects and despises authority, is fiercely independent, controlling, self-centered, and aggressive.
10. Fears intimacy and is locked into cycles of hesitant approach followed by avoidance of commitment.
11. Poor team player.
12. Dreads his own weaknesses and tries to overcome them by projecting an image of success, self-sufficiency, and superiority.
13. Often high-profile or high-authority individuals.
14. 75% of classic narcissists are men, most of whom were raised by a smothering or doting mother. (in this case, sister, when mom passed away)
15. Narcissism usually does not include physical vanity. 

 

Just high self esteem? Um, no.

The difference between someone with high self esteem and a narcissist is that the person with high self esteem focuses on relationships, where the narcissist wants to know what others can do for them, without caring for others. The narcissist is not capable of having a close emotional relationship.

Low self esteem? Um, no.

People with low self esteem can be depressed but they are usually caring partners, even though they are usually insincere.

Narcissists are either 'cerebral' where they derive their narcissistic supply from their intelligence or academic achievements, or 'somatic' where they derive their narcissism from their physical looks, physique, strength, etc.

Classic narcissists' emotions and needs are buried under a thick layer of scar tissue which has hardened and coalesced during years of one form of abuse or another. They have visions of grandiosity, a sense of entitlement, and a lack of empathy, all which hide an ever-present insecurity and a fluctuating sense of self-worth. 

****************

High Tide, Low Tide

In one of my many listless, random internet searches for continued answers to this ongoing roller coaster ride I came across this gem:

"One of the most confusing things to the victim of verbal abuse is the transition from one abusive event to the next. Once the abused person has survived the insult, stonewalling, yelling, whatever, and things go back to “normal” (whatever that means), the victim clings on to the hope that, 'OK, Now we will build, we will work together to make a happier life for both of us…'. This ebb and flow is one of the things that keeps victims of abuse in the relationship."

***********************

Notes from Dr. England

"When you said your vows, what were you expecting? I suspect if you were like most women, you thought you were entering a partnership. You would enjoy shared power, right?

I bet you’ve discovered something quite different, though. I bet he likes to have power over you, isn’t that so? And to ensure he achieves and maintains this, he might well use emotional abuse, verbal abuse, economic abuse.

The thing is, you might not even realize that your relationship with your narcissistic spouse is filled with these forms of abuse. You might feel badly or experience emotional pain much of the time, but still not understand why. You might well believe your narcissistic spouse when he tells you how you are the problem, and if you just changed and did these things he wanted, well, life would be grand.

He keeps emotional abuse, verbal abuse, and economic abuse in his marital toolbox because they work for him. Meanwhile, you believe that the two of you have a partnership.*

Sorry, but a relationship with a narcissist is not about partnership. Those suffering from unhealthy levels of narcissism don’t know what that means. They are self centered. They lack empathy. And more than anything else, they are grandiose. Whether successful or not, they feel entitled to have what they want when they want it.
 

If you have kept asking yourself what went wrong, perhaps nothing did--at least not to your husband's way of thinking. See, you might have married this man before he had time to remove his mask or show you his true colors.

Sorry, but if you are married to a man who has Narcissistic Personality Disorder or NPD, or who displays unhealthy levels of narcissism even if he doesn't match the number of criteria required to be diagnosed with this personality disorder, he might have intentionally created a facade or persona to reel you in. That was his sole intent. 

Oh, I know. That isn't how you see him despite everything he puts you through. Indeed, despite the fact this man now shouts obscenities at you regularly, you probably make excuses for his bad behavior, don't you?

He probably suspected you were the codependent type who would bend over backwards to please him. Yes, you would forfeit your own needs and desires while he battered you with his emotional abuse and verbal abuse. It is probably because you are a caring and empathic person that you have trouble seeing the truth about your relationship, too.

I know, you certainly don't see him as the enemy, but instead, as the man you still love with all your heart. Nevertheless, he might well see you as the enemy despite the fact you do everything he ever asks.

Be honest here. Do you tell yourself that if you could only be better yet, things would be okay? Do you blame yourself for the fact he is not pleased--and secretly believe he has the right to belittle you because, indeed, you let him down once again when he was trying so hard to trust you?

It can be difficult to take off the blinders you are invariably wearing and stare the truth hard in the face. Just remind yourself how long it has been since your narcissistic spouse has come bearing flowers and gifts--including just the gift of kind and empathic words."

                                                       ***********************

Quote from Narcissistic Relationships thread of mentalhelp.net:

"Personally I think the fact that your husband wants a divorce is a painful godsend. Of course it hurts and you aren't crazy for feeling that way. You spent 15 years of your life loving and trying to please this man and all you get for it is a sudden divorce! And you bet he will insist that you are the reason for the break-up because that is what a narcissist does - being flawless he blames everything he does on everyone else around him.

Accept the divorce, join a support group for divorcees and get into therapy to assess your reasons for putting up with this jerk. You deserve so much better."

*******

"The narcissist inflicts pain and abuse on others. He devalues Sources of Supply, (spouse, for example) callously and off-handedly abandons them, and discards people, places, partnerships, and friendships unhesitatingly. Some narcissists – though by no means the majority– actually ENJOY abusing, taunting, tormenting, and freakishly controlling others ("gaslighting"). But most of them do these things absentmindedly, automatically, and, often, even without good reason."

~from Malignant Self Love, Dr. Sam Vaknin
                                                          ************

John Shore writes: 

“So why don’t you just leave him already!?”

If you’re a woman in an abusive relationships, that’s a piece of advice you’ve probably heard before. It seems so simple...

                                                            *Except its not*

A man beats you, and somehow you still love him. (Because:)

·      Your man is cute. He has adorable ways. You see that little boy in him, and you melt.

·      He needs you. He’s powerful. He’s got that charm thing some guys have.

·      He’s got that way of talking, of moving, of boldly taking control of stuff—he’s brave like that.

·      He does things in the world. He’s smart!

·      Underneath it all, he’s a good man. He was raised poorly. His dad never gave him a break. He tries.

·      He’s got those arms you love.

All of these sorts of qualities that you love in your man really are lovable: there’s no doubt whatsoever about that. If you’re a woman in an abusive relationship, though, here are two things that you must bear in mind about all the sorts of things that make you love your man in spite of the awful way he treats you:

1. Every man has all kinds of qualities that are every bit as attractive and lovable as any characteristic possessed by your man. You just don’t know any other guys like you know your man; you’re just used to your man’s lovable qualities. Your man’s qualities seem really unique because they belong to him. But you could love those same qualities (and a whole bunch of new ones!) in another man—one who doesn’t treat you like garbage.

2. Your man uses his lovable qualities to keep you hooked on him. "

 ~John Shore,  ( JohnShore.com ) Seven Reasons Women Stay in Abusive Relationships... 

                                                   ******************* 

                                         Is there a pattern here... ?

7. Out of Balance: Depression pwns Tracy

Today marks the one month anniversary of my break up. 31 days ago my world fell apart, my life changed, my faith grew. I faced grief head-on and sailed through its first three phases: denial, bargaining, and anger. Then early last week phase number four reared its ugly head. Depression came calling and planted itself firmly in the very front part of my brain, right where I would constantly see, hear, and feel it's presence.

I've always flirted with depression in one way or another. Two wonderful therapists, Rose and Gayle, have explained to me that this stems from being left behind by bio-dad, whom I remember as 'Daddy' from early childhood and 'Steve' from my adulthood. Abandonment by a dad, I learned, often leads women to seek out boys and men who are toxic, and to just love them too much. They tend to ignore warning signs of bad relationships.

Accordingly, I have been dumped before, by bad boys. I've felt this pain before. This time it's been a different journey, because this time of course, I was married. The man of my dreams and I spoke vows before our family, promising to stick it out through better or worse. I meant what I said. Rob, apparently, did not.

Today depression is telling me to kick back and hang out in memoryville. Memories which are so painful for me now that I cannot write about them. What's so ironic about my depressed, memory-obsessed mind is that I can't live with my memories and I can't stand to forget them. Sometimes when my memories of married life with Rob hit me it's as if someone punches me in the gut really hard. The wind literally gets knocked right out of me. My arms and legs feel a hundred pounds heavier and my hands go numb. My face freezes: no smile, sound, sniffle, or tear can escape. I become a lump of coal, completely dead to the world.

I've found that waves of depression can hit any time of day, but are most likely to assault me while I'm out of the house. Last Sunday I went with Courtney to the mall while she got her hair done. I thought it would be cathartic to wander around the shops. I grabbed a spinach salad and set out to roam the mall one floor at a time. There were people everywhere, laughing and excited for the holidays. Christmas decorated the entire mall; it was beautiful and cheery. I saw my favorite stores and a lot of sales going on. It was snowing outside and warm inside and people everywhere were smiling, laughing, sharing.

I never felt so alone in my entire life. I hated every step I took, every face I saw, and every song I heard. It took every ounce of composure I could muster to not burst into tears. I felt like everyone I came across felt sorry for me, somehow knowing my pain and humiliation --pshaw, she just got dumped, I know that look yo.

I went back to the salon and waited for Courtney's foils to develop, trying miserably to tune out the background music. (Why is it when we suffer a breakup that suddenly every single song ever released was somehow tied to "us"? I don't get that.) I tried praying. I begged God to take the overwhelming sadness sacked out on top of me, and when He did not, I begged Him to lend me some physical pain--arthritis, tendonitis, back pain, even a tooth ache--I begged my Creator to allow pain to bite me so I could take a pain pill to escape my incredible sadness.

I worry intensely about allowing my pain meds to become a crutch during this journey. So far I have refused to pop a painkiller purely for emotional needs. At this point I'm not sure what to do with them, I've been taking prescription pain pills for years. I was in the beginning phase of switching from pharmaceutical pain management to holistic pain recovery when I got dumped. My doctor has warned me that to wean off narcotics during an emotional dive bomb like my breakup could be disastrous. So, I dutifully take my pill every morning. That it faithfully delivers a false sense of euphoria and false hope is, frankly, a bonus.

The second wave of this great depression hit me just today, December 1st. I took my grand- babies to the park around the corner after naptime. This was an ill-timed plan. Had I taken them after morning snack we would have been blessed with the sun being fairly high in the sky, sending warm and cheery beams straight down on us at any angle. Instead, we went when the shadows were long, even though it was only two in the afternoon. That made the day seem lonely, gloomy, and dark in spite of the cloudless sky.

I was watching the kids play when Wave Number Two hit, and nearly had to steady myself lest I fall right over from its weight. The familiar numb face and hands, the heavy arms and legs, the dry throat all smacked me at once. The air turned 20 degrees colder, and the shadows got a lot longer as the sun seemed to disappear right out of the sky. This particular wave also brought its good friend and fellow wave nausea, accompanied by regret and pity.

I could almost see the oppression. I could certainly feel it. The babies played, shouted, and ran around, completely oblivious to my sudden onset of complete paralysis. Cold and loneliness settled on my shoulders and ran down my arms like thick paste. My tongue grew numb and heavy. My eyes closed a little. Next my knees buckled as the dark wave crushed the lower half of my body. I could hear the children, and was very aware of their presence but powerless against this unseen force to interact with them. Their laughter sounded like it came from a great distance through thick insulating fog.

After a full minute of utter aloneness in the middle of that playground I forced myself to snap... somewhere. Anywhere, just get out of that funk; I had babies to attend to! I reached into my coat pocket and found my cell phone, pulled it out and switched on the camera. Photography would save my soul as it had so many times before. I began taking pictures of my babies climbing, swinging, and running around. Before I knew it my techno-pic brain kicked in and I began walking around, chasing after them to capture them in the best light. It was a brilliant play on God's part to lift me up from the depths of that brutal wave that had pounded me into oblivion. By the time the kids finished playing and we were loaded in the car I had gotten myself fairly well removed from the dark wave. I looked back and thought geez I was in some sort of altered state of consciousness there, like a seizure patient in his postictal moments right after a convulsion. Seriously, scarily heavy.

6. Out of Energy: Lord, Sustain Thee. Please?

Four months into our marriage Rob got mad. Well, madder than his usual mad. We were remodeling the cabin, and I was pitching in fiercely. I learned how to hang drywall, and how to make a mean cornerbead. When I messed something up I tore it down and did it again. I'd work all day long swinging a hammer, mixing mud, demolishing walls, and tearing up carpeting, then clean up and have dinner hot on the table every single night. While I performed to these outstanding standards Rob appeared fairly happy. One day, however, I said or did something wrong--and Rob walked up to me and calmly announced this was just not working out, our marriage was probably a mistake. The cold, stoney look from so many engagement break-offs was back on his face. I was devastated.

Rob's main complaint about me was that I was a nag. I nagged him when I asked him if he really wanted to wear those wrinkled pants to his business meeting, or pointed out he was holding up twenty cars in the passing lane while talking on his cell phone. I nagged him by asking him to repair a leaky faucet or help me carry fifty pounds of dog food up the stairs. To top things off, I had the audacity to crack my knuckles. It's true this is a habit in which I'm eternally entrenched but Rob was well aware of my habit from the first day we met. Now that we were married, however, popping my knuckles was seen by him as an attack, a carefully orchestrated plot to drive him mad... a defiant show of disrespect and insolence.  I was becoming simply intolerable! Between the constant nagging and the knuckle popping... well I was obviously a total failure as a wife. 

Intimacy became obsolete. Rob began to come home from work, eat his hot meal and drop on the sofa in front of the TV, telling me to leave him alone while he unwound. After unwinding time was over it was off to bed for more unwinding with a good book. Absolute quiet was expected of me during this time... no talking, no throat clearing, no laughing, belching, popping, no noise-making of ANY kind; this was ROB's TIME TO RELAX AND DRIFT OFF TO SLEEP. Violation of the quiet rule often resulted in loud verbal reprimands, many times followed by him simply getting up and going to another bedroom.

I Don't Wanna See it. Ever.

I'm an amateur photographer. I take landscape photos and people portraits. Some of them are quite good, and I've gotten tons and tons of compliments on my work. In 2005 Rob bought me a digital SLR camera for Christmas. I bought myself some more lenses and gear and ended up with a pretty impressive collection of picture-takin' stuff. One of my favorite things in the world to do, next to shooting pictures, is retouching pictures. I took a class on Photoshop and excelled at it. With what I learned at school combined with the natural eye for photos that God gave me I've been able to create some beautiful images.

At first, I really wanted to show Rob my work; we were in Utah and I had no friends there, only Rob. I thought he would enjoy looking at my work and offering me critique. Especially images of his kids, his work, his house, his hobbies etc. Rob wasted no time in turfing me off to a friend of his whom was also a photographer, to show my work to and 'talk photography with'. I was a little embarrassed about this but respected Rob's desire to be left alone. In very short time I learned that I could only grab Rob's attention with my photography if the subject were exclusively his kids or his dogs, and then only very limited images.

In 2007 I bought myself a digital video camera. I taught myself how to take movie clips and edit them into stunning music videos. I was really proud of my ability to fit video clips with absolutely perfect music, throw in complex special effects and text and come up with really nice, professional looking music videos. Rob was agitated again: I had finally given up on showing him my photography and now I had this newfangled video stuff with which to bother him completely. I managed to sit him down many times to watch my little videos but it was always obvious that I was absolutely interfering with his winding down time, or his Simpsons time, or his quiet bed-time time.

Sometime in 2007 I discovered Youtube and thought, hey I could share my prince's interests with videos of stuff he loved: vintage dirt bike commercials and old enduro home movies, funny dogs, great bridges across the country he had worked on, music videos of his favorite old rock bands. I set about making my husband love me bunches by finding and showing him all kinds of cool Rob stuff.

My idea did not work out as planned.  One day Rob said he had to have a talk with me. He stood there and simply said Trace there's something I want you to know. If you ever have something to show me on your computer, whether it's samples of your photography, these stupid Youtube videos, even pics of my own kids-- if it's on your computer and you want to show it to me I DO NOT WANT TO SEE IT. EVER. I'M NOT INTERESTED IN IT, I WON'T BE INTERESTED IN IT MKAY?

I was crushed. I called my daughter Courtney later that night and told her what he said and she cried. She told me later she never felt so much anguish over such an inconsiderate remark from a man to his wife, and it broke her heart that her mommy had been cut to the quick by the man who had vowed to cherish her forever.

5. Out of Time: Will You Marry Me, for Sure This Time?

My daughter Kim caught an immediate flight to Utah and drove me home. I was a complete wreck, a limp rag. I downed some valium and slept through the drive home. Over the next four weeks I cried, prayed, begged, slept, threw up, threatened, and cajoled. Rob remained stoney silent. Then one day in January, out of the clear blue sky he called me and asked me to come home and marry him. Again. Thrice burned, I asked him to fly to Vancouver and marry me there, with my family. Rob was on a plane in two days, it was like a fairy tale. We were married by my son-in-law on January 13th in a lovely home ceremony. Rob was sure to bring the prenuptial agreement I had agreed to several months earlier, and we signed it at the same time we signed our marriage license.

Finally.... all my time waiting patiently, knowing, just KNOWING he loved me and really, truly wanted me for all time had paid off! We were married and it would last forever. I would live happily ever after with my handsome, darling prince. It was OK that he insisted I abide by his terms of absolute financial submission, after all he made four times as much money as I did. There was no way I'd ever be able to contribute equally to our household, so I was very, very lucky that this man was so gracious as to allow me to live under his wing! I would work very hard to prove my love to him by being a team player, attending all his outings and errands, never asking of anything for myself. Dinner would forever be hot on the table when he walked in the door just like his mom had done for him. His tee's would be bleached, the lawn would be mowed, and I would never, ever say a word about his dirt bike collection. I loved this man more than my own life. I loved him so much it hurt, and I'd give one thousand percent to our marriage.

4. Out of Despair: Lord, Seriously?

My First Red Flag: Ken 2004

Ahhh, Ken. The source of my first-ever red flag with Rob. His 29 year old ten-year-old. The guy three people in two states have taken me aside and asked politely 'is he mildly retarded?'

Ken is not retarded at all. He's not even developmentally disabled. What he is is career-challenged. That first red flag? When Rob and I were still just talking by phone, hadn't met in person yet, he told me about his son living with him. We were chatting away and Rob launched into how completely proud he was of his son for going out and landing two part-time jobs; one at Safeway and the other at Sears.

Cool, I thought, the kid sounds motivated! I wondered if he was saving up for a car or maybe college, and if this was maybe his senior year in high school. Rob was going on: Ken would be working 10 or 15 hours a week at each job and... he just couldn't be prouder of him! When I asked him Ken's age, the red flag that flew up and smacked me square in the face when Rob said TWENTYFOUR was huge and I should have paid IMMENSE attention to it. Thinking of my own daughter, who, at 22 was a college graduate and 911 dispatcher with her own 401k, I was astonished and, frankly, turned off at the pride that gushed forth on the phone that night over his 24 year old son's new career collecting shopping carts.  Oh, would that I have known then, that this adult-child would be a key player in the ultimate ruin of my life with my prince. He would win his daddy's heart and I would lose it.

The Red Flags Keep Rolling Out...
Rob first proposed to me in March of 2005. (I say first because it was the first of three marriage proposals. He kept proposing, procrastinating, and breaking it off.) We had driven to Eden, Utah to look for a house to buy. He had accepted a job there and wanted to have his house purchased before he began the new job. Anyway, he asked, I said yes, and the next morning I sang some silly song to him about taking me away to the mountain castle blah blah blah.

In May we talked about how hard it would be for us to be apart, he was leaving in June and I was not welcome to marry him until I had paid my car off and was completely out of debt. We ultimately decided it would just suck too much to be separated by two states so I would quit my job on June 1st and move to Eden with him. My dream was coming true! We still could not talk about the whole getting married thing, even though I had a ring I had no indication of a date. I had, after all, a car to get paid off before I could marry him.

Things went smoothly during the move, I was in heaven moving into this beautiful big house in the mountains of Eden with my Prince who would love me and cherish me forever. (Well, as soon as that little marriage thing was fulfilled anyway). Weekdays he worked at his new job and I unpacked and set up our new pad, cleaned and cooked. On weekends my prince would surely want to share our days off together, doing things he liked to do with me, as I would him?Wouldn't we run errands together, take little road trips, do stuff together? His stuff and my stuff? Wasn't that what couples did?

Well, we did stuff. We ran errands. We took little road trips. His stuff. His errands. His trips. Exclusively. A month or so after moving to Eden we drove into Ogden one day to run some of these infamous errands. Home Depot was on the radar. I really wanted a cup of coffee but Rob didn't so... we didn't stop for coffee. We did go to Home Depot and all his other places and he promised we'd stop for coffee, but we never did. Before I knew it we were on our way home.

I said nothing until we got back up to Eden, a little confused at the touch of selfishness I had just witnessed in my Prince. We pulled up to a four-way stop and I looked at him and said  'can I ask a question? Why do we always do your errands and side trips, but ignore what I ask to do?' and, I'll never forget this, Rob stared at me, sitting at that stop sign, and his face became very dark. And out of absolutely nowhere he spat out You know what Trace I listened to that for twenty years and I am NOT about to listen to it for another twenty years. I am NOT going to marry you. He drove like a maniac the last two miles home, slammed the door, and I didn't see him for the rest of the day. I retreated to the guest room I had so carefully decorated with all my worldly belongings and wondered what had just happened. Was this real? Surely it had to be a bad dream, my Prince would never go from loving me with all his heart to slamming me with a break up over a simple question?

Rob half-heartedly apologized a day later. My prince was back... he did love me! The incident was forgotten.  Over the next few months I worked hard to be a team player, to always be pitching in with 200% effort to show how much I worshiped Rob and wanted him to be happy with me. I got a job. I kept our house spotless and fixed all his favorite meals. In November his daughter moved in with us. She stayed for about a month and decided to move back out. On the day she left Rob returned from taking her to the airport and went straight to bed. It was around noon. I lay down next to him, just wanting to be there for him to cry on my shoulder about how much he would miss his little girl. After a few hours of dead silence Rob suddenly blurted out that he really didn't know where our relationship was going. No warning. No hints, just Trace I think I'm done with you. We both cried when I asked him if he still wanted to marry me and he said no.

I fell apart. I worked twice as hard to make Rob happy to have me living with him. Floors were spotless, dinners were hot and on time, snow in the driveway was shoveled. I tiptoed around the house; maybe I were invisible enough he would enjoy all my efforts but not be bothered enough by my actual presence to ask me to leave. Christmas was strained but I worked hard to be a good partner. I thought things were going to be OK when Rob bought me a nice camera for Christmas. Photography was my passion, I saw art in every tree, mountain, and snowbank and I wanted to capture it. I was good, too. God had blessed me with an eye for taking photos. Rob must have thought so too, otherwise why would he have given me such a nice gift, this professional camera?  

In January Rob agreed to attend a pre-marriage class at a local church. We went for six weeks, did our homework, talked about what we learned. Rob never showed much emotion so when he seemed kind of dry throughout the class I wasn't worried. It's just his princely demeanor I told myself. That very logic-driven brain, devoid of irrelevant feelings, was precisely what made him a brilliant professional engineer. Who was I to question his successful life?

In March I had the audacity to bring up a possible date, we had been engaged now for one year. Rob replied he just really didn't know, in fact he didn't even know if he wanted to get married ever. His reason this time: he was a selfish man, he said, and he wanted what he wanted, with no one to be accountable for it. He wanted to start collecting dirt bikes and was not about to have some wife give him grief for it. That was his great reason for dumping me. Again. I gave him his ring back and moved into my little room downstairs.

In May Rob announced he had purchased and closed on a house on the other side of the valley. He would be moving into it--alone. I could stay in this house, he said, until he sold it. I put on my bravest face and helped him pack and move his stuff out. I was fortunate, I told myself, to have such a generous boyfriend to let me live in one of his houses for free. Surely if I pitched in, gave more effort and kept a cheerful demeanor he would realize I belonged with him. So I helped him pack, move, and unpack his things. I cleaned his new cabin spotless. I put clean sheets on his new bed and prepared him a bunch of meals he could heat in the microwave for dinners. Then I went back to the big quiet house, completely empty now except for my little room downstairs, and cried myself to sleep.

In July Rob moved his son into his cabin. I cleaned house and cooked meals for them every week. If I ever spent the night I was instructed to sleep on the sofa. When I finally got tired of the big empty house I took the initiative to rent a little apartment. Bob visited occasionally and we courted as if we had just met. Five months into apartment-living I grew some kahonas and told Rob I would be moving back to my family in Washington if we weren't engaged by the end of the year.  On New Years Day he pleaded for a little time, I gave it, and in February, two years after his first marriage proposal, he asked me to marry him and stay with him in Eden. He still wouldn't commit to a date, but since my car was now paid off and I was out of debt with money in the bank, I was closer than ever to being in compliance as a fiance.

We were engaged again! I moved into the cabin with him. Spring came, then summer. Kids visited, grandkids were born, life went on. We went on many, many day trips to pick up old dirt bikes. I loved going with him. I loved being with him. I loved his nasty old dirt bikes, spiders and all. I did cringe inwardly when he rebuked me for daring ask if we might ever take a photo-shooting day trip, but I cheerfully went with him on every single dirt bike-buy, and that was ok. We got along, shared hours and hours of delightful conversation about politics, family, dogs and cats. I was deliriously happy with my prince. I waited patiently for him to bring up a wedding date but that conversation never came.

In December, ten months after my second dream marriage proposal, Rob dropped a bomb on me once again, saying wow he just didn't know if he really wanted to get married.  Shocked once again, I took hold of myself and stood my ground, and calmly said goodbye.

3. Out of the Fog: there is a road up ahead!

Tonight is the eve of the five year anniversary since we first met. It's not a night to go into details of that first glimpse, date, walk, or anything like that. Phooey to all that, it was all a lie anyway, just neither of us knew it at the time.

What tonight IS is a time to rejoice in the fact that my God has decided that through all this pain I shall grow strong, tall, and bold. Tonight I decided, after reading the fabulous, life-saving book Life, Laugh, Love Again: a Christian Woman's Guide Through Divorce, that I would write my own story. Like authors Michelle, Connie, Rosalind, and Carla I too will put to pen my experience, my highs and lows; the story of how my Prince Charming galloped up on his white horse (or in this case, wearing his white engineer's hat) and whisked me away, stealing my entire heart, mind, and soul. It will tell of red (or at least yellow) flags, some of which bore a great big black diamond in the center, but which blew so fast in the breeze of blind love that they were blithely ignored.

Like Michelle and her book, this is not about bashing Rob, and the intent of this journal is not to make him a monster. (In fact, his name, along with the names of his family members, was changed once I decided to publish this blog).  This is something I do to cope with my tremendous loss, and hopefully it will help me find my way to the end of this cold, dark tunnel, the most agonizing heartache imaginable. If that means writing about the scary, the embarrassing, the abusive; it's certainly not something I'm doing with any malice. It just is what it is.

I'm still too tender around the ears to go into any detail about the beginning; the how-we-met and when-he-proposed moments will have to wait until after I've cleared the Acceptance hurdle and am happily on my way to Life After Divorce.

Tonight I'm all about the negatives: the tales of woe (which should have been whoa!) the red flags, the betrayals, the signs, the hmmm that's odd behavior moments. Those are what strengthen me now, while I'm still swimming in this sticky tepid pool that lies somewhere between the third and fourth phases of grief. We all know those, right: denial, bargaining, anger, depression, acceptance. The five golden steps. Tonight I'm lolligagging between anger and depression. I'll be honest. I like the anger a lot better. Srsly. I gotta say I really have no use for this depression thing. Anger kicks ass. It gives me strength, and, very non-biblically, it gives me peace. I could camp out on the Anger step for EVAR.

I'm still standing pretty firmly on that step, but today, eighteen days into this, my little toe on the left foot took a tentative little poke out onto the Depression step. I didn't love it. I had to take a pain pill in fact. When it kicked in God said Write. Write it all down. Journal, Blog, whatever just put it down somewhere. So heeeer we go.

2. Out of Nowhere: Shock

"When I was just a little girl

I asked my mother, what will I be?

Will I be happy, will I be rich?

Here's what she said to me: 

Que sera, sera

whatever will be will be,

the future's not ours to see...

que sera, sera"

Typing this hurts. It hurts my fingers, my hands, my toes. There is no spot, not one atom of my body that does not hurt; is not broken.

"I lift up my eyes to the Lord. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, Maker of Heaven and Earth".

The kind of pain I feel is not comparable to physical pain. I've not been cut, or bruised. My skin is not hanging in a burned mess; my bones are not mangled. Physically I am whole. Light a few tears, but other than that, whole.

Did I really walk that roadway two days ago?  Did he really leave me abandoned on the side of the highway... is all this real, or just a bad dream?

The sting of this pain is beyond physical. It is the pain of self-torment; of rejection, regret, and disbelief. Somewhere in the mix, according to the medical experts, shock. Shock is our body's defense against unbearable pain or anguish. When the body is in shock blood is perfused from the limbs into the central body organs, to preserve them and nurture them with extra oxygen and nutrients. People in shock have described a feeling of numbness, or tingling, or 'deadness' in their arms, legs, toes, fingers.

Through the grace of my God and the miracle of pain meds for arthritis, I'm able to track my journey in writing. This is a new kind of pain, and it dwarfs any kind of physical pain I've ever felt. It is excruciating. Right now I don't want to survive it.

1. Hitting the Road: The Beginning of... the Beginning

How it all went down...

I had served dinner, and my husband Rob had retired early for our sunrise road trip to Central Washington. I packed snacks and water bottles for our trip, and put together food and bedding for the dogs, who were coming with us. Fed the cats, took out the garbage. When I was finished I stood at the top of the stairs and silently thanked God for the kazillionth time for blessing us with our beautiful home in the forest, and headed to bed.

Next morning I got up early, showered, and fixed breakfast. Ran upstairs and counted out vitamins for two days, grabbed our overnight bags and dashed downstairs. After giving the house one last glance-over I casually walked right out the front door. I had no idea it would be the last time I'd ever see my home-- my pets, my kitchen, my bedroom--again.

Our road trip that morning took a turn south with a simple, silly argument over finances.  Somewhere in the fray, in a less-than-brilliant defensive tactic I reminded my husband of all the money he had spent that month on his huge collection of dirt bikes. I knew the moment the words left my tongue that I had just committed a grave error, and braced myself for return fire: obscenities, pouring  freely like water through a canyon.

Our visit in Central Washington was less than perfect, and on our way home the next day my husband looked at me with rage in his eyes. 'Trace our marriage has been a mistake. I do not want to be accountable to anyone any more. I don't want to eat your (expletive) organic food, and I want to buy (expletive) dirt bikes when I want. I don't like being around you; I think you're a nag. When we get home to Olympia I want you to pack your stuff and move (expletive) out of my house. If you don't leave when we get home I will call the sheriff and have you thrown out."

We stopped for gas about twenty miles from Wenatchee, Washington and I got out of the truck, five years worth of obscenities, name-calling, and temper tantrums swirling around my head. I'll walk, I thought. I'll walk behind this gas station to show him how hurt and fearful I am of him right now. He will finish filling the tank, cool down, and then he'll come get me. Maybe he'll even apologize. 

I remember watching some branches on apple trees begin to blow around and thought how weird that was, because there was no wind. That was the last rational thought I would hold in my head for the next three months.  Rob Dyer drove away from that gas station with his dogs, his son, and a bottle of cherry wine someone had given us... but not his wife.   I never saw him again.

I walked for hours. Through the numbness, survival kicked in, and finding someone willing to let me make a long distance call became my first priority. I came to a small cafe where no one spoke any English. The woman behind the counter took one look at me when I walked in--and wordlessly handed me her telephone. I called Rob's daughter in Wenatchee and she drove out to rescue me, and put me up for the night. The next morning my daughter Courtney drove out from Spokane to pick me up; I sought refuge there for three months. 


It was in the dark, on the first morning in Spokane that God first spoke to me. He showed me Job 42:3, you asked 'who is this who questions My wisdom with such ignorance?' It is I, and I was talking about things I knew nothing about; things far too wonderful for me to understand.  


For several months I regarded that morning as the beginning of the end... I was wrong, for it was actually the beginning of the beginning. 

    I told myself on that drive to Spokane: one year from today you will turn 50, and on that day you will put this event behind you. I made a promise to myself and to God that I'd allow myself one year exactly to cry and grieve, then I would move on. I had no idea how difficult it was about to get.

This is my journey...