family

Breaking free(r)

I am the last person who should be writing about breaking free.

I have been separated from my abusive husband for nearly 7 years now, and I am just now taking a huge step to break free(r).

I did kick him out of the house years ago which took a lot of courage. This worked only because I knew he wouldn’t hire a lawyer. I had no legal right to kick him out of his own house, even though he promised he would leave any time I wanted to separate (which was a lie–I asked; he refused).

This weekend I am leaving this house, this town and this state to move near family (and away from snowy winters that isolate me further). I will be near my adult children and three grandchildren.

I will be mere hours away from my very sick mother and wonderful stepdad.

I will be only months away from enrolling in a 4-year college or university so I can finish my bachelor’s degree.

I will have access to unconditional love from my grandchildren (oh, the hugs they can give). My teenager will spend his last two years of high school surrounded by family (he is going to be one popular uncle).

This weekend I load up a truck with those belongings that I consider most precious:

  • kitchen stuff
  • personal library
  • knitting and quilting stuff
  • computer
  • my bed

Strange list, I know.

I have a well-equipped kitchen with old, functional small appliances: bread machine, flour mill, large Villaware toaster oven, 1950s Sunbeam Mixmaster, food processor and my cast iron and stainless cookware. I also have a decent supply of baking pans and dishes. I hope to regain enough strength to bake and cook once again.

Oh, my personal library. We have been separated for years. I packed up my books and put them away years ago because I have been waiting to move for years (and I had difficulty reading anyway — see below). I look forward to the day when all of my books are on shelves (that I picked out) where I can access them whenever I like. The joy!

I knit a LOT! It is something that I can do right now with limited strength and chronic pain. Knitting doesn’t hurt. I am keeping my quilting stuff, again with hopes that I will regain enough strength to make all of my grandchildren quilts.

My computer has been my connection to the outside world. Being isolated for years, the internet kept me sane when I was living in a nightmare world of a marriage to a mean, hateful man. When I got sick in 2006 with Lyme disease and then did not recover, I couldn’t even compose and type an email. I couldn’t write a sentence. I couldn’t read a paragraph.

My computer saved me. I joined an online gaming community. I started to reconnect with other people, nice people. I typed in chat occasionally (and used voice chat a lot).

I started by using my laptop while I lay on the couch (too tired to sit up).

After a few months, I was able to sit at my computer desk. I bought myself an inexpensive desktop computer. I kept hand weights on the desk and gained strength.

Eventually, my doctor ordered physical therapy which got me mobile again. I continued the exercises on my own and regained more strength.

A couple of years later, I found a Lyme-literate doctor who treated my chronic Lyme with antibiotics and supplements. She discovered B-12 and D deficiencies. After a few months on amoxicillin (which keeps my pain at bay but doesn’t seem to help me gain ground), she put me on clarithromycin (Biaxin). After 6 months, I had recovered my hearing, pain was minimal, I could walk without looking drunk, I lost 30 pounds, and I began walking 5-6 days a week. I recovered to about 60% of normal. This was a huge improvement. It was college coursework that helped my brain to heal.

My bed. I know that is a weird thing to put on a list of precious belongings, but there is a reason.

Months before the final separation from my husband, I had moved to the couch to sleep. He moved all night long (restless leg syndrome) and snored so badly that I could not sleep well. I wasn’t missing much. The bed we slept in was a freebie he had gotten from a coworker in St. Petersburg, Florida. It was at least 20 years old. It was bad.

What was really hard was near the end my husband had stopped coming home from work. He said he was going to the church to pray every night, often not getting home until 11 p.m. and even as late as midnight. He would then come home, stomp up the stairs (raised ranch), do his burping thing (he always burped when he came home and walked up the stairs), and wake me up because I was sleeping on the couch. He never offered to give me the bedroom so I could get one good night’s sleep. Not ever.

After my husband was gone, it took me a few months, but I finally made myself clean out our bedroom (with my sons doing the heavy lifting). I got rid of everything that had been ours. I threw away his broken, plastic headboard that he insisted we keep. I threw away that old, disgusting mattress. I got rid of every piece of furniture.

I went to IKEA and bought myself a bed of my choosing. I bought myself a NEW mattress. It was an act of rebellion against the husband-imposed poverty that I had lived in for nearly 20 years.

So, yeah, my bed is precious. It is mine. I picked it out and it is my restful sleeping place. [Amazingly, I began to recover even more of my health when I could get a full night’s sleep without interruption. Go figure.]

Of course, there is room on this truck for my teenager’s computer desk, his books, instruments, computer and clothes. He will get a new bed when we move into our new place.

The only other furniture we are taking is the kitchen table and chairs, the outdoor table and chairs, two IKEA chairs, an ottoman, a Singer parlor cabinet (treadle that I use for all my sewing machine heads – motorized and people-powered), and my coffee table.

Everything else in this house is either cheap, in bad shape or not worth bringing.

This move signals the recovery of a different kind of power: power over my own future.

I am so stressed that I am not sleeping well. I wake up all night long with adrenaline dumps, heart pounding. But I must do this.

I am moving out of a place that has been comfortable in some small part because it is known to a place full of unknowns. Yes, I am scared.

I am moving toward freedom to be myself in my own space.

I am moving.

 

 

 

 

 

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My favorite things: evening out with sons

On December 15th, I told my sons, 23, 20 and 16, that on Friday the 17th I would like to take them out to eat and then go Christmas shopping together.

On a normal day, I am lucky to get a grunt in response to questions and, if I am especially fortunate, eye contact.

Following my announcement, I got eye contact, verbal affirmation that it was a great idea, and a promise to be available.

It took a little bit of coordination to include my 20-year-old because he worked in Rocky Hill at the time, the opposite direction from where we typically shop and eat out.

Three of us headed to Waterford at 3 p.m. to get ahead of the Friday evening Christmas  horde. My 23-year-old was in contact, via text, with his younger brother letting him know where we were as we shopped.

We visited Books-a-Million first (great place to find interesting, unusual gifts) and Best Buy next, where my tall 20-year-old caught up with us. I saw him out of the corner of my eye and immediately smiled.

We were together.

We talked with a salesperson for a bit about the differences between XBox One, Playstation 4, Playstation Pro and Nintendo’s new gaming console that will release in a few months, then spent a few minutes looking at PC gaming peripherals.

I bought a hard drive docking station so I can access my collection of old hard drives. We headed to Buffalo Wild Wings for an early dinner.

It was approximately 5 p.m. when we arrived at a very loud restaurant, from the music, not people talking; the place was practically empty. I asked the host if there were any quiet tables. Thankfully, there was a side room where music was not piped in where it was bearable. I was there to spend time with my sons, not listen to bad music.

Since it was the first time for two of us, it took us quite awhile to figure out how the menu worked. It is unnecessarily complicated. Seriously.

We ordered three appetizers and drinks. I had to hit the ladies’ room, so I asked my 23-year-old to order me something dark or amber from the menu. He knows what I like.

When I returned, it was only a few minutes before my delicious amber ale arrived.  Yum.

The best part of the evening was that I was sitting with my sons around a table with fun, tasty, high-calorie food at hand. I didn’t cook any of it, and we shared everything. Stuffed mushrooms, fried mozzarella, spinach artichoke dip–we were all reaching over one another to taste everything, sharing dips, passing baskets and chattering away about unimportant, nonserious topics. We were all happy.

We were together away from a chronically messy house, distracting technology, and work.

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My three sons with me at the mall.

After dinner, we hit Bed, Bath & Beyond. We spent at least 10 minutes in the coffee making appliance department where I was looking for a stainless steel carafe (they had one kind only — ONE). I bought some replacement stoppers for my wine keeper system, got a wonderful massage in one of their display chairs, and enjoyed time with my sons.

Next, we walked all the way to the other end of the mall to check out what fun stuff FYE had in stock.

At my 23-year-old’s recommendation, I picked up Kubo and the Two Strings. Wow, what a wonderful movie!

We looked at all of the licensed merchandise, discussing which TV shows, games and movies were successes and which were failures.

Blu-ray in hand, we left the store.

And suddenly, everyone was exhausted. We are a family of introverts. Four stores, two in the mall, and over an hour at a loud restaurant had worn us out. We headed home.

Several times during the evening, I thought to myself that this might be the last time I go Christmas shopping with these three sons. My two oldest sons and daughter weren’t there because they have very busy lives and two of them live 1,800 miles away.

I enjoyed that evening while it happened and will treasure the memory the rest of my life.

Spending time with my grown kids is definitely one of my favorite things.

Pain Relievers

painI woke up with one of my raging headaches. It starts at the place where my skull meets the top of my neck in the back. The lymph nodes back there are always sore, but this goes beyond that. This is a deep, throbbing pain that is almost unbearable.

This particular pain episode caused me think about all different kinds of pain and what people do to try to stop their own pain.

I resist taking pain relievers.

I have pain in every joint in my body. This is, according to the experts who practice and specialize in infectious disease medicine, caused by a new-fangled condition called “Post-Treatment Lyme Disease Syndrome.” How’s that for a mouthful?

This is not a treatise or debate on the validity of such medical conjuring (yes, they magically created another syndrome to explain away patient suffering). This is about pain.

I know that I should take pain relievers every day, several times a day.

I have physical pain in my body all the time.

But I also have emotional pain, psychic pain, relational pain, and social pain. I think I just made up a couple of new pain types, but they help explain what I think about different kinds of pain.

Emotional Pain

Emotional pain is when we feel hurt by the words, attitudes, and behaviors of others, and sometimes even ourselves (negative self-talk anyone?). In my situation, I struggle with the pain of knowing that someone wants to hurt me. I think this is the root of most emotional pain. How do we come to terms with how others treat us when we know that treatment is wrong or hurtful?

Psychic Pain

Psychic pain — not sure this exists. As an introvert, I think about why I become so exhausted when in the company of others. I have wondered whether introverts are empaths, like Deanna Troi on Star Trek: The Next Generation. She doesn’t read minds, but instead feels what others are feeling. She has a highly-developed empathetic ability. I tune in to the people around me and sense their emotions. It is difficult enough to feel my own pain, but I often feel the pain of others deeply.

Relational Pain

Relational pain is really emotional pain, but I feel that it deserves its own category. I can feel upset or hurt by being unable to pay my bills and not being able to buy my son new school clothes. This is different than what I feel when I know my sister is talking about me behind my back. Relational pain comes from uncomfortable, dysfunctional and broken relationships. Children of divorce struggle with this for the rest of their lives unless their parents are extremely mature and put the kids before their own pain (which is nearly impossible to do — they are trying to grieve and process their own pain).

Social Pain

Social pain is not felt by all people. I honestly believe that there is a large percentage of the population that does not experience this kind of pain. Those concerned about social justice feel social pain. This is, again, brought about by a highly-developed sense of empathy. When I see a homeless person I can actually spend hours thinking about why that person might be homeless, what is wrong with society that we cannot provide basic housing and food for all. Or, as is my case, why a woman who stayed home with the kids for 20 years can be left with no money to hire a lawyer to get support for herself and her children when her husband abandons her. Domestic abuse is a social issue that should cause everyone pain.

So much pain…

How do we deal with so much pain?

I know not everyone experiences high levels of pain in each of the areas above. I know that not everyone sees the suffering of others and feels something. I know that many people can just shrug off pain and suffering, even the kind that they cause.

I honestly wish I could do this sometimes.

With the internet age, the pain of others all around the world is in our faces all the time. Rape, murder, religious persecution and the destruction of entire towns of villages is presented to us every day (ISIS). I read about it on Twitter, Facebook, Google Plus, online news sites, YouTube, and in the television shows and movies available 24/7 through Netflix, Hulu and Amazon Prime (cable TV is so yesterday).

Responses to Pain

Like a moth drawn to the flame, I am drawn to the pain of others. I can’t seem to shut out the world and just knit sweaters for my grandchildren. I want to know what is going on and then I want to help fix it.

That is my response to pain. I want to do something. The key word here is “want.” Being unable to do anything about all of the pain and suffering I witness causes its own kind of suffering where I end up feeling a sense of despair. Will things ever get better? I have a cycle.

But other people respond differently. Some merely withdraw and block out the source of the pain.

Some people use substances to numb the pain: drugs, alcohol, food, and so on.

Some people build beautiful and enviable facades. Their sense of superiority and entitlement helps them feel better for a time.

Some people lash out and hurt others.

Some people try to control those around them: they create rules by which all must live.

Most people create a little bubble world where they feel safe:  political bubble, ideological bubble, social bubble, relational bubble, economic bubble. They figure out what world view makes them feel better and stick with it to their dying breath.

Some people self harm: cutting, risk-taking, and ultimately…

Some people just give up completely. Suicide rates are high.

I would posit that most people practice a variety of pain-relieving techniques. I know that I shut down and shut out the world when it all gets to be too much. I enjoy a glass of wine and some coma-inducing desserts. I have my home where most of my personal world exists. I have political beliefs that make me feel comfortable. I have a world view that suits me. Over time, I do feel better and the throbbing pain begins to subside. It doesn’t last for long.

Curing Pain

Something that most of us don’t get to do is find the root cause of the pain in our lives and fix it. Just as I believe most of my physical pain is caused by an ongoing infection and my body’s wacky immune responses, and I know that when I stay on antibiotics I regain a lot of ground and experience a lot less physical pain, I also believe that  other types of pain can be cured, or at least managed effectively.

As a society, however, we seem to be content with merely relieving pain using temporary measures. This doesn’t cure the problem, and it doesn’t help long-term, but it is enough for now.

Just like my raging headache caused me to take a strong pain reliever — and, to be honest, I would have taken something even stronger if I had it in the house — profound emotional, psychic, relational and social pain drives most of us to seek some kind of relief, the faster the better. Instant relief! We cry out for it.

Pain Avoidance

I wouldn't have seen the double rainbow if I hadn't gone outside

I wouldn’t have seen the double rainbow if I hadn’t gone outside. Credit: Michele Haynes. Copyright 2014. All rights reserved.

I didn’t really address pain avoidance which can halt the healing process if it is the only response to pain or is used long-term. (And my tendency to shut down and withdraw probably fits more appropriately within this category.)

There is an argument for withdrawing for a time in order to heal. We rest our bodies after surgery in order to allow the body to heal. But if the patient remains in this sedentary resting condition long-term, it is more detrimental than beneficial.

Let’s Have a Conversation:

What kind of pain are you in, and what do you do to relieve it?

Please feel free to share in the comments.

Peace.