Truth

When an emotional bomb blows up much of what you thought was your reality, the search for truth takes on a life-or-death intensity. In the months since my marriage was declared dead, I was inspired by a need to just figure out my Story – to understand and begin to define My Truth (because, ultimately, that is the only Truth I can really know - but that is another blog posting). In those early days, I was a bit lost, and I needed to fill in some important information gaps. And there were many. So I asked some people some tough questions to help me understand what was happening.

Along the way, I ended up being reminded of something fundamental in the human psyche: we tend to be emotional cowards, by and large. It is so much easier, it seems, to tell a lie in answer to a direct question, than to tell the truth and have to deal with the consequences. Call it Conflict Resolution. Call it Crisis Intervention. Call it Social Convention. Call it whatever you like. But the result, for the receiver of the lie, can be far worse than the truth would ever have been. I have known this for a long time. I always answer those tough questions when they are asked of me. But I didn’t realize just how pervasive this cowardice is. How easy it is for most people to just “avoid confrontation”, or, worse yet, “spare someone’s feelings” with that little lie, and think nothing of it. And ultimately, I fell victim to it.

Since January and the Bomb – which emanated from just such a lie – I had been carrying around a painful knot of anger and resentment, and needed to find a way to release it so that I could be free to move forward. I needed to heal. Once I had assembled My Truth, I found I was finally ready to reconcile with all the painful parts of my Story. I was ready for reconciliation. For me, that means being able to learn from and honour all the painful parts of my Story, while not letting it define what my future is going to be. 

To reconcile with Greg, and continue my healing, I first needed to know that I had been heard. So, working with our therapist, I focused on telling My Truth so I could begin to feel that Greg truly understood the pain I was experiencing. And through some wonderfully open and authentic conversations, I am happy to say that we came to a place where I could forgive him for his part in The Bombing, and let it go. 

And I can tell you that, in the very moment I spoke the words "I forgive you", I could actually feel my spirit lighten, and the tightness in my chest begin to loosen up.

Forgiveness. It is miraculous. Just like pain, anger is not a sustainable place to live in emotionally. I can’t imagine living in anger – or worse, hatred – for any extended period of time without it physically breaking down your body.

No, forgiveness is essential to healing. Letting go of the pain and freeing both parties from being tied to the Past. But there was one more big surprise waiting for me: in the event that you don’t feel heard, when you don’t feel the other party has acknowledged any responsibility, or when they simply don’t get you, that’s ok, too. Because my big revelation is this: I don’t need to be right. I just need to be heard. That is enough to let go. 

So I am now free of The Bombing. It has been fully integrated into my Story, and no longer has any power to hurt me.

I read somewhere recently that there are two kinds of forgiveness: the kind where you keep the person in your life, and the kind where you don’t. I have practiced both, and either way, by speaking my truth, I have been freed from that poison knot in my chest.

Forgiveness rocks.

It helps, too, having such a great circle of honest, authentic friends who are both brave enough to hear my truth, and courageous enough to speak their own. Thanks to this latest adventure on my journey, as an added bonus, I now also have the wisdom to know how important this is – and the discernment to choose accordingly who comes along with me from here on out.

The Power of Story

I am fascinated by story. But more than that, I am held together by it.

Story makes everything make sense for me.

Story allows me to Build Boxes when I need them.

Story helps me regain perspective.

Story enables me to reconcile with painful experiences and move on.

Story allows me to put judgement aside and replace it with Love.

Story empowers me to channel my emotions in constructive and creative ways.

Ok, I hear you: Story is also the work of Rationalization. The number one way to talk yourself into or out of things you maybe shouldn’t. Storytelling in times of extreme stress can – as I have experienced a few times now – be a hazardous game. I count on my audience feedback to sometimes call me on stuff (thank you). But it is a HUGE comfort, and great therapy.

I will be doing a lot of storytelling in the months to come, as our mental health campaign ramps up. Mine is a victory story: one of how a supportive employer, access to great therapy, and a gracious partner have helped me come through an experience that not so many years ago might have been much more devastating to me. I would likely have suffered in silence, too ashamed to seek help. I shudder to think of it now – and that is how far we’ve come in de-stigmatizing mental illness.

Hallelujah. All Power to the Story.

Furthermore...

The beauty of social media – immediate feedback – is that I gain important insight into the effect of my words. I need this now more than ever – my emotions are on full power, and I am not going to get many things right. This is one of those times.

In my last post, it appears that I insulted my in-laws and the entire clan. That was not my intention. In fact, one of the many beautiful things I loved about being part of this family was how everyone – everyone – was still on good terms. They are this huge, complicated, lovely family and they are living proof that what Greg believed to be true made sense. I thank them for that. They helped me finally Get It.

No, I do not mean to cast aspersions on anyone. I have learned that everyone must be free to be themselves, live their lives, and sometimes, things don’t work out. Sometimes, we disagree on things. It’s not about right or wrong. It’s just about Different. My anger came from my own place of hurt, and I wrapped it in a blanket of words that didn’t hit the notes I wanted.

This is still first and foremost my journey – it involves taking charge, probably for the first time, of my mental health. It involves exploring the self esteem issues I have accumulated over the years. It involves focusing on love and respect in all of my interactions.

Somehow, I needed to tell this story of how I am managing, perhaps as a way of having some control over the script of The End of Our Marriage. I still want this to be a story with a happy ending – like all of the other happy endings my husband’s family has demonstrated can be possible.

So I will stop talking about anyone but myself in this blog and elsewhere on social media. I am very sorry to have come across as judgemental. I love and admire the entire bunch of them, and miss them terribly. I still hope that that relationship also will survive. Only Time and Space will tell.

Space, Time, and Building a Box

My husband and I grew up in very different circumstances. My parents were the quintessential Partners in Crime, only to be separated by the death of my mother. Marriage for me was a Forever thing, featuring two people who together were stronger and better because of the partnership.

For Greg, the stories were quite different. Let’s just say that he was exposed at a very early age to a somewhat more fluid concept of “partnership” and “fidelity”. It’s a wonder, really, that he chose to try this little experiment with “marriage” at all.

Now that we are separated, Greg feels he is free to behave as a single man. So while we still live at the same address, committed to finishing what we’ve started with this house, he is living a separate life – moving on.

And this is where our difference in backgrounds has reared its ugly head.

I would never date anyone who was separated, much less married. Even as my last marriage was ending, I took Space and Time to heal before entertaining the thought of dating Greg. I wanted to come to my next relationship whole and healed, not broken and carrying baggage. But most of all, that is my value system.

Greg simply doesn’t get that. And why would he? His frame of reference is so different from mine. And in his mind, apparently, “the marriage has been over for years”.

So he is now dating – our bass player (sorry, I just threw up a little in my mouth). And this story just got messier. At this point, I had some options:

• Get really, really, angry, and throw him out (yep, thought about that one a LOT);
• Get really, really, sad, and throw myself in the river (that thought comes to me some nights instead of sleep); or
• Get really, really, smart, and stay focused on the Long Game.

After some good talks with our therapist, I am choosing the third option. In the grand scheme of things, Greg and I are still committed to getting through this intact. We don’t want to fight about money; we have clear agreement on our plans for finishing the house; and we don’t want to get ugly or mean with each other. So how do I get through this?

I see clearly that this is a matter of perspective. I finally understand that I can't apply my Expectations to someone else's reality. You see, I get that Greg truly believes he is not being unfaithful to me. From his perspective, he is right. So who am I to tell him otherwise? Seriously, at this stage of the game, it's small stuff.

It's up to me to find a way to reconcile it with my Expectations.

And I can only do that with Space, Time, and by Building a Box. Space and time are helping me accept this latest bump in the road, and I am working on building a box into which I will stuff the things that are lurking in the shallows to drag me down:

• Don’t think about it.
• Don’t think about it.
• Don't think about it.

Box-building is an interesting activity. It is an act of sheer will to say “get in the box!” when a nasty thought enters. With practice, it is getting easier. 

In the fullness of time, and with a little space, our friendship may yet survive. After 13 years together, that is the only option. I still see Greg as an honourable, sincere man, with whom I have shared so much that I will always value. I will not dishonor everything we’ve had over this latest clash in values.

So for the time being, I will Build my Box, and work hard to fill the time and space between now and when I’m ready to open it with love, no more anger. That's over.

Love and respect is where we started this chapter of our lives. With this Perspective adjustment, I can find my way back to that Centre - and to the healthier side of the Continuum... 

Let's Talk

For the first little while, I imagine this is exactly what shell shock feels like.

A deep ache, sense of displacement from one’s body,
a sucking swamp of painful waves of sorrow.

Stuck in a loop of sad. Over and over. 

TV helps distract from the roaring in my ears. 

But it does not substitute for Going Through It.

The hardest part is the inability to hold a damned thought in my head.

I open an e-mail window and forget why.

I pick up a tool, head into a room, and forget why.

I sleep for a few minutes, then I wake. 

I cry. 

I have never cried like this in my life. I have made myself sick crying.

My face is changing. Bags are appearing under my eyes. 

I look in the mirror and see Exactly Why He Left Me.

But in those few moments outside of my body, 

when I disconnect from the bruised Ego,

put aside words like Humiliation, Embarrassment, Disrespect,

for a brief moment,

I know that I am better than that.

I know that the Lea who is going to find a way to rise above 

even this cliche moment

is so much bigger than this.

So, I talk. I talk to my psychotherapist, yes,
but I talk to my family. My friends.
I am open with my boss and colleagues about my current state of brokenness.
And I am getting better.
Every day, a little bit. Every day, more focused on my future rather than my past.

Without talking, I would have shattered.
Without asking for help, I would have sunk.
The difference between now and eight years ago is stunning.
Now, it's ok to ask for help.
Now, I can be open about how I am coping.
Now, I can share my story - and keep going.

Thank you to the Bell's Let's Talk Campaign. Thank you to Do It For Daron. Thank you to I'm Not Myself Today. Thank you to the champions for mental health at the Royal Ottawa who have been reaching out to us for years to show us how this Revolution is going to save lives.

Talk. Share. Ask for Help. You are not alone. 

The Year of Feminine Power

When I started planning the Gathering of My Inspiring Women party, little did I know that I had picked the same day that many marches of solidarity were going to be taking place around the globe. There was something in the air on Saturday, January 21^st. The Feminine Spirit was out and making itself heard.

My party started innocently enough as an excuse to get some of my best, most inspiring women friends together to bash a piñata my kid sister had made for me. As the date grew closer, I realized that what made these women so special to me was what they had come to represent: values I respect and want to emulate in my own life. Here was the gathering of my Women Angels:

·         Christine: a compassionate leader, and woman of faith, she is SPIRIT.

·         Nancy: someone who lives life to the fullest, and shines light on all around her, she is PASSION.

·         Gabrielle: this woman has a wide-open heart, and is afraid of nothing. She is COURAGE.

·         Liza: my step-mother is the embodiment of GRACE. She is gracious, kind, and caring to the core.

·         Diana: her sister, a fine artist who captures the best in everything she sees, she is BEAUTY.

·         Cathy: my best friend, she has been through wars with her ex husband, and survived a cancer scare, yet through it all she is LOVE.

·         Sarah: her sister, with a smile that lights up the world, and a heart focused on helping others, she is LIGHT.

·         Heather: this young woman met me when I was teaching, and she symbolizes all of the best of our future generations. She is LIFE.

·         Jennifer: although we met through work , I connected deeply with this woman who has shown me how to bring INTEGRITY and intention to everything I do.

I wanted these women to know what an important part of my life they have been, and will continue to be, as I work on reinventing myself for 2017 and beyond. As I rewrite my life script, reshape my character’s back story, these are the qualities I will bring forward with me. Even as I struggle to reconcile with the pain and humiliation of an icky end to my marriage, I am going to follow Michelle Obama’s mantra and Go High. I will not let resentment and anger win. But nor will I roll over and play dead. I know what I need to get through this, and it starts with gathering my own village of women around to support me – they are the wind beneath my wings.

I encourage you to look around your circle of friends. Who are the ones who bring out the best in you? Who exemplifies the best qualities? Who are your role models? Make a list. See how you are surrounded by Angels. And yes, invite them over to your house one day for a little Diva Stew. The brew they will leave with you will strengthen and nourish you to face whatever may come.

The Clumsy Journey of a Storyteller Finding Her Voice

The film of my 2017 will have that as its working title.

I know my mission: to always go high. To leave everything I touch better for my having been there.

My mission informs my Story. But my Story currently includes all the drama attached to my personal mental health, my advocacy and my professional work lives. It also includes huge, unexpected and dramatic changes in my circumstances.

My self care regime as I have been working through this painful time - with a caring, compassionate husband, a great therapist, and a huge support network - includes the practice of mindfulness. This useful exercise has helped me understand and connect with my own internal Storyteller's voice so much better. In moments of extreme anxiety, sadness, or stress, the exercise of taking an observer's stance, acknowledging the thoughts but not being consumed by them, has been enlightening for me.

I begin to understand how important the concept of Character is to my world view.

You see, I had my own Character's entire back story written. Wife. Co-host of the Friday Night Open Stage. Musical partner to Greg, one of the finest men I know and a monster talent just waiting to be discovered. Co-owner of Meadow Lane Studio, with a vision to help other musical voices find expression. Step-mother to Marney and Grandma to Greg's Grandpa Werthman.

Suddenly, much of that back story is gone. So what Character am I now?

Things change. We are constantly rewriting our back stories. With my new perspective, this time, I am writing a back story featuring my best self. Someone who isn't putting anyone else first. Someone who won't be shushed any more. Someone who enjoys life, and cares for herself.

I began that rewrite sitting behind Leiren's drum kit. Who is Grandma Lea? She plays drums. She plays the piano - suddenly I WANT TO PLAY THE KEYBOARDS! Holy shit, I'm finally ready!

But make no mistake, this rewrite is going to be bumpy. I have recently been very clumsy in my attempts to Care For Myself. Rather than wonder about something (and worry, and let my imagination take me where I need not go), I asked for information straight from the source. It was a new tactic for me, speaking up for what I need. I was awful at it - I hurt the person's feeling with my clumsiness, and felt terrible afterwards. But I also felt like I had taken an important step in turning from Worry, Wonder, and The Past, towards taking charge of designing my Better Life.

Some day, I may approach you with a weird question. It may seem out of left field, or it may be something you never even thought about before.  I am still gathering the information I need to turn and embrace the Story of my future. So I ask for your forgiveness in advance - and thank all of the folks who have been gentle and gracious with me up until now.

My Story will come together, and I promise, it has a very happy ending.

Hiding My Light

As I continue to unpack my “self-esteem issue” (I should really give it a name – how about “IT” – picture a creepy clown hanging out under a bridge, whispering nasty things… yes, “IT”…), I realize that it doesn’t help that I have lived my entire life being shushed.

You see, I have a rather big personality. (“No shit, Sherlock!” says anyone who has even a passing acquaintance with me.) Throughout my life, my biggest asset has also been my biggest liability: my enthusiasm is HUGE when it’s lit with purpose. My mom found me loud. As a student, I was known to dominate classroom discussions.

In my time in The Service, I have heard more than once that my big personality is overwhelming, and have even been coached on how to harness my energy and keep it under “control”. And just recently, I’ve already bumped clumsily into a few people with my elephantine charge into this new/old Cause of mine.

There are times when my Big Personality work for me, though: playing the drums, singing (as I’m just starting to discover), teaching, and public speaking.

I am resolved in my battle with IT that, rather than worry about Bumping in to people, I shall find outlets where I can Be Myself unapologetically. One of those places will be here, on my blog. I will always be fully myself when I am storytelling. I just need to continue to be sensitive to keeping to my own story. 

Just in case I bump into you along the way, though: my apologies. I’ve always been a Big Girl. Sometimes I bump into things.

The Gift of Pain

I have spent more time crying over the last month than I can ever remember. 

As I write those words, I realize I’ve uncorked a bottle of sadness I’ve been topping up and carrying around with me for 35 years. My Big Bag of Pain. Pain from a litany of loss and abandonment. Pain from a sense of self worth that has barely ever registered, no matter what "accomplishments" I might have had. 

But the best thing about pain is this: it is UNENDURABLE. Eventually, you either find a way to cope, or you break in to a million pieces. It demands that you DO SOMETHING. And that, I believe, is its gift.

Meeting Megan’s daughter a month ago started turning things around for me. I chose to use that Moment to ritualize my letting go of the Pain of Losing Megan. And thanks to some advice from one of my many Work Family members who is caring for me, I realize that letting go is both spiritual and physical. So in the coming weeks as I sweat, drum, and spa the residual Pain out of my body, I will be better able to react and adjust to what’s happening now with Greg. If my Reconciliation Story is about integrating all the aspects of my Story, I can put a check mark beside “Pain”. My next, and most important task: to embrace the Wonder that is Lea. 

Now my real work begins - and therein lies the true Gift of my Big Bag of Pain.

Step one in the PR process: state the problem. 

Here’s the curious thing I discovered about myself: I look on Lea, the APR, Lea, the prof, Lea, the past President, Lea, the cool Grandma, as somehow outside of my real self. I’m quick to embrace my Sad Self, but accomplished Lea is somehow a show, a costume I put on. What the hell is that?? Yesterday, as I’m driving to my dad’s to have a good sweat in his sauna, I realized: this is a reputation management challenge - I need to do PR for/on myself! And I’m a freaking pro at that. 

I learned from my modest and shy mother to be invisible and put others first. She couldn’t take a compliment. Neither can I. But as I laboured over my application for membership in the CPRS College of Fellows, I couldn’t NOT notice my body of work - and be proud. If I am accepted, I shall be in Kelowna next year to celebrate it in person with my PR family. 

Dammit, I am (exceptionally) good at PR precisely because of who I am. I was made for this work. It makes me feel fully alive, gives me a sense of purpose, and puts me in a dynamic, creative community of people who want to change the world. I’m a pretty great drummer, too, with a lovely voice and lots to contribute to my musical family all on my own. I helped Marney buy her first home. I’m managing my Broken Heart in the best way I know how - to preserve what matters: my enduring friendship with one of the finest men I know.

Yeah, I have to learn to take a compliment. As my friend Christine said yesterday, “acknowledge the amazing person that you are right now”. 

Sophie Trudeau invited us to begin our Self Esteem reclamation journey by writing a love letter to ourselves. My friend and I looked at each other, with tears in our eyes - I whispered “I’m not even sure I could do that!” What a thing to realize about yourself!

So, the ultimate gift of releasing this Big Bag of Pain is showing me my true Reconciliation Story. In this next chapter, I hope to find myself falling in love all over again - with me.

Ripping off the Bandaid

For the last three weeks, my emotions have been very close to the surface. While intellectually I understood what was happening, I swung between the abject fear of losing Greg entirely (which would never happen), and indulging a secret hope that, if I "did this right", he'd come back to me.

In between, I've been making lemonade: seizing the opportunity my Story gives me to be a compelling Poster Child for how to address issues related to mental health in the workplace. It's given me a Story about my journey through Grief which actually comforts me - it somehow gives meaning to my pain. And boy, has there been pain.

Yesterday, Greg (finally) left me a carefully composed letter laying out his feelings in detail. He told me he was certain about separating, that the marriage was broken for him. I read the letter several times, looking between lines, and really reading his words. Slowly, something in me shifted. I actually felt lighter. Ok, the decision has been made. Now we just need to have a plan to get there.

I realize that I do fine with decisions. It's indecision that cripples me. My brain is so busy trying to follow every possible outcome, explore every point of view, that it's exhausting. But now, I can lean in to my organizational skills, leverage my practical side, and at the end of my little Grief Journey, I will accept my new role as Greg's friend.

I am so glad that Greg and I are both exceptionally kind people. We'll get through this intact. Changed, but intact. And now that the Bandaid has been ripped off, I can get on with reclaiming my place on the left side of The Continuum.