Liberation of All Beings Begins with Yourself

I'm feeling brave today. Know how I know? Because I want to do something that might make someone else uncomfortable. Maybe that doesn't sound crazy to you, but that's how I've lived a chunk of my life. Playing it safe. Not speaking up. Concerned that I might do something that makes others uneasy. Not always, but I can identify more times doing it than not, and I'm sick of it.

Fair warning, what I've just said may be a lie. Because I've sung karaoke badly, jumped out of planes, moved across the country, traveled alone and done many adventurous things that made others uncomfortable. Maybe what I'm about to do will simply make me uncomfortable.

It's funny because what I want to write about is such old news. It doesn't even matter anymore. It makes me question my motives, but I'll do it anyway. Maybe I need to process and release. Maybe I need the last word. Maybe I simply need to write this down for myself so it's not in my head anymore. I don't know what I'm actually going to say. That's something I've learned with writing — let go of expectations and be willing to go with what comes. It's always surprising.

Here I am, a happily engaged woman excitedly trying to figure out wedding or eloping details, and what I want to write about is my divorce. Which took place in 2009. Almost 10 years ago. That's ancient history with technology and levels of distraction where they are nowadays. I'm still afraid that my ex, his family and our (formerly) mutual friends will start fuming or resending hurt and hatred my way. I know I'm not on their radars anymore, and my ex has remarried… but this is how much fear and shame have held me back. They've silenced me. And, yet, I have nothing slanderous to say. The reality is that I only felt/feel misunderstood.

It helps that I read Brené Brown's book, "Braving the Wilderness" last week. It helps me see the times when I have braved the wilderness of speaking my truth and then felt totally alone. Her book helped me realize that I may have been alone but I wasn't lonely because I was being true to myself. I wish that felt better, but vulnerability is tender. It's a tough road. But like attracts like, so I'm willing and wanting to be vulnerable more because that's where the interesting conversations and connections happen. Especially if we can not take things personally, rein in the hurt and judgement, and move forward with open hearted curiosity.

I didn't have the tools then that I have now. I have them because of what I went through, so I'm truly filled with gratitude. And I've found deep, loving alignment with someone who's on an evolutionary path such as myself. We have the tough conversations. Life is sometimes messy. But we invite each other to step up to higher ground and put our roots there.

When I think back to the months before the D-word entered my world, life was good in a way that nothing major stands out about that time. There was a rhythm of sorts. Maybe a bit of an exhausting rhythm if I'm honest.

I was traveling a lot for art shows, but otherwise I tried to keep life normal. I had a husband, he had a good job, we had 2 dogs and a condo. I can see now that I was almost constantly in the grip of perfectionism. And I had heavy armor. I not only didn't know how to talk about feelings, but I also didn't know how to feel them. So, some parts of life were a bit numb, but overall I'd say I was content despite the striving. So much striving.

One day while driving home from an art show in the Midwest, with no other cars around me, I came across one of those bizarre highway sign moments. The highway was splitting into two directions in the middle of nowhere. One sign pointed to the right and said New York City, and the other pointed to the left and said San Francisco.

And there it was, plain as day, two totally different paths laid out. No mention of distance or points in between. It struck a chord in me. I hesitated. I became intrigued by this hesitation, not because I wanted to go to one of those places specifically, but because I wasn't totally eager to go back to Chicago where I was living at the time and didn't know why.

By the time I got home, I'd spent many hours with vague feelings and had a long driving conversation with a girlfriend. I was home and got into home things like loving up my dogs, laundry, and catching up with my husband in person. I always felt pressure when I got home. Pressure to perform, talk, cook, go out… or simply do anything other than rest and retreat, what my overtired, introverted self wanted most after an art show.

Sometime shortly after my bumpy return, I was using a foam roller to work out some kinks and conveniently avoid direct conversation. I casually brought up "possibilities." The specifics elude me, but I remember wondering aloud about why we never moved to the West coast as we dreamed and confronting that road sign and generally questioning things. Like rambling questioning things to the person who we swore we'd always talk to each other first.

My memory jumps to all of a sudden my husband full on reacting and responding — asking — are we getting a divorce? Do you want a divorce? The D-word was being said so many times when that wasn't what I was thinking at all. I was more musing and questioning and possibly looking for comfort. Or at least someone to listen, maybe ask some thought-provoking questions.

Instead I got thrown into this crazy place. Things calmed down enough for counseling — one session, maybe two? — with the counselor pronouncing that we were so good at communication that she didn't think we needed counseling. That maybe divorce did make sense for us. Inside I was screaming about all the things that were unsaid. The various feelings that hadn't been spoken about. I wasn't saying them, no one was. And no one was helping us say them. Looking back now, I think we were really good bullshitters.

Things unfolded to such a degree that life and divorce became a matter of logistics. I was told that I was the one who wanted to divorce — that was the result of my questioning life and choices and paths. I was labeled the bad guy. The one who left. The one who didn't hang in there.

All I became was confused. Curious, but confused. I remember the tough times, months of not sleeping while putting together one of the biggest shows of my jewelry career. And I remember the interesting times of moving in with my brother and his family, joining a 40-day worldwide meditation challenge (having never meditated before) and taking up rock climbing because I couldn't concentrate enough for yoga anymore. Oh yeah, and I ran the marathon I'd been training for, my first. Most days I ran more hours than I slept.

We decided we were civil enough to handle our own divorce through an online service. From there things went quickly. We sold our condo in 2 weeks, divvied up our possessions. He got a job transfer to NYC. It felt like all our friends took his side. People were more concerned about his well being. People were also afraid the D-word would rub off on them. No one understood how we could break up while things were "good." Even my husband said — But this isn't even the lowest point of our relationship!

I don't remember many of our friends asking me about what was up. Maybe people didn't want to pry, but it felt more like people didn't want to understand. Or maybe they feared they would understand and then wonder why they were staying married? People told me I was terrible for giving up on a vow. Never did I hear "we" — we were giving up on a vow. The whole thing felt like a joint process on the inside and made to look like it was my decision on the outside. And I went along with it.

It's not like I was a victim. I felt disillusioned and confused; hurt but also free to explore. I remember having to do a lot of exploring around the fantasy bubble of "marriage" being burst. There was heartache there.

I know my ex reached out to friends and shared his feelings, and their connections grew deeper. His was the easier role to support. He told me "Train in Vain" by The Clash became his anthem because Did I stand by him? No, not all all. Like one song played endlessly on repeat could erase 14 years+ of history. As various connections closed, I felt that's what I was supposed to do. Shut it down. Erase it. Forget all about it while being the fall guy.

The burden of guilt weighed on me. So much so that I was willing to hear about his online dating, fabulous new job and huge raise. I didn't know how to talk about my life in that same way. I wasn't being competitive.

Instead I did end up moving to the West Coast and taking time to piece together a life from what did feel a bit shattered. I no longer had the safe havens of home, school, college or marriage. During the month of my divorce, one of my dogs died and the economic crash of 2008 happened so I had to fire all my employees and close my studio all in hopes to cobble together enough income till I figured something out.

But the thing is, I was rockin' life. Things were raw and undecided. Friends helped me hold yard sales, opened their homes so I could experience their world in various parts of the country, and helped me move when things clicked into place. People did ask questions, and I practiced answering. Not rehearsed, pre-packaged, sounds-good answers, but vulnerable answers filled with doubt from an unfamiliar wilderness.

And from that place — that empty bank account, questioning, free spirited, willing to try new things place — I think I garnered some envy. I don't want anyone's jealousy or envy, but the shadowy side of me understands that it expresses a certain type of awe. Someone else sees that you're doing something that some part of them has always wanted to do. I somehow had the bravery to step away — to literally question and dig deeper and become a seeker. To find a level of comfort with the unknown.

For years this killed my faith in making commitments. I've had so many friends come and go, jobs come and go, homes come and go, money come and go. I wasn't sure I'd ever get married again, yet I truly love partnership. After entering into a business partnership with a girlfriend and continually studying relationship dynamics and communication skills, I remember proclaiming that our relationship had given me more confidence to navigate other relationships.

It's not about trying to calm the seas or always staying where things are known and comfortable, but rather learning better how to navigate. And staying curious. Never taking anything for granted. We're all growing and changing. Keep the questions coming, and keep the dialog open. Always be learning.

In that spirit I've found a great, loving partnership where we do want to get married. Marriage is a sacred container. It's a ritual that sets a tone. I feel braver, more well matched, and more loving than I've felt in my past. I'm excited and also feel part of a team where the two of us are co-creating something sacred while also continuing to work on ourselves.

I have no regrets about my past — actually, I have gratitude for it because that's how I got here to this wonderful place. My heart is more open, and I'm willing to be laid bare. Life feels more vibrant and unexpected. I feel lighter. Conversations are juicy. I feel connected to deeper waters. I still battle perfectionism, have doubts, and live with guilt at times, but I have a support network who's always willing to help me get those things in check. I have deep compassion for my ex, his family, and our friends because even though many of us were products of divorce, not many of us know how to handle, address or rumble with vulnerability around the awkward feelings that arise. I'm willing to release guilt and perfection around this and trust that we are each doing the best we can. I try to move through the world with kindness and love, and let those be the foundation of trust.

I feel lighter, and if that's the only result of this writing, it's worth it. I wanted to shake off some guilt, release the residue of the past and accept that there's hurt and confusion there, but I choose lightness. I choose freedom. I choose happiness. I choose love. I choose joy and wonder and curiosity. I choose magick and trust in the path as it has unfolded and acknowledge that I love it because I love my NOW.