This time around, I wanted even less.  I was entitled to the bed, but I left it behind because, to me, it was sacred and to sleep in it alone was too painful a thought.  I also left my table and chairs, as well as my living room furniture.  I just didn’t want to deal with it: physically or emotionally.  And, I still don’t.

For the first week, my footsteps echoed inside my house, but then I bought myself a twin-sized bed (I am so not looking to fill the void) and two chairs for the living room.  The chairs were used and I got both of them for $20- a bargain seating arrangement for me and Bullygirl (although, she’s rather heartbroken too and these days she prefers to sit with me).  At this point, it’s all we need.

More and more, I’m discovering that I want less and less.  It’s quite different than when I got divorced and I was ready to start over and buy new furniture and knick knacks.  I don’t want to acquire anything… rather, I want to shed things.  I’d even like to sell my house.   The less stuff I have, the easier it is to move… The more clear my head, the easier it is to think… Oh, and the less money I spend, the more money I save.

At this point, I have no idea what is coming next.  I figure my need to purge is the process through which I am making room for whatever this new chapter holds.  I guess that means someday my life and my home will fill up again… and that sounds like a nice idea.

On December 5 of last year, Laura Campbell, founder of the D-Spot, held a teleclass about letting go and moving on.  It was an hour well-spent and I’m glad that I took the time not only to listen to the call but also to do the exercises she suggested.  I now have a list of the things I want to let go of as well as lists of intentions for myself moving forward.  I was surprised, as I sat with my pen and paper, how easily my intentions flowed forth… I had no idea they were there until the pen was positioned to give them life.  I’ve been reading my lists each day in an effort to stay focused and I strongly recommend this call (link to recording) to anyone who needs to make room for something new (hint: that’s all of us).

Today, my favorite word is “unencumbered”…

“I can’t do that,” I insisted.

“Why not?”  

“Because,” I paused as the words made their way from my heart to my mouth, “I’m not looking to fill the hole inside me.  I am broken and I have nothing to offer another person.”

Do you think that sounds pathetic?  Like, I’m just choosing to be miserable?  I think that’s how the communication was received.

My take on it is a little different.  As I noted when I said I was going to withdraw, I realize that I’m not exactly stable at this time.  The hysterical sobbing has subsided, but I’m still spinning quite a bit.  My emotional spectrum is in full bloom and I can’t focus on serious long-term decisions.  Yesterday, and again today, I opened a packet of oatmeal and poured the contents into my cup instead of my bowl (wtf?).  The message is clear:  I need to be still, and heal…

…Not long ago, I felt happy and fulfilled in my personal life.  I had an amazing partner who was my best friend.  He had children with whom I fostered loving connections.  It took many years, but our family finally found a natural groove in which we operated rather comfortably.  We laughed, we loved, we played Scattergories…  And now?   I’m typing from one of the two chairs that I own.  I can hear the furnace humming and occasionally there’s some noise outside.  There are no jokes to laugh at, no brotherly fights to break up, no snuggles, no hugs, no Scattergories (oh, how I miss that game!).  No human greets me as I come and go… there aren’t even enough dirty dishes to warrant use of the dishwasher.  Emptiness is everywhere.

Like I said, I don’t want to simply fill the hole.  I’d prefer to, instead, heal the wound.  And we all know that wounds heal best when kept clean and provided the proper mix of protection and fresh air.  I’m striving to find that balance and I think I’m doing OK.  I can sit in the quiet for hours without feeling lonely.  I can delight in the sound of rain on the windows.  I read (check out Love, Freedom and Aloneness:  The Koan of Relationships, by Osho).  I meditate.  I ponder.  I have a rockin’ support system (thank you:  friends, family, therapist and coach!) that offers me a lifeline back to Normal when I start feeling crazy.  Sometimes, I reach out.  Sometimes, I go out.  Mostly, I try to use this time to turn inward, ask questions and confront myself.  How else can I grow from this experience?  I know it doesn’t sound like fun.  It’s not fun.  Yet, I’ve considered other options, and “learning and growing” seems to be the most logical choice to make right now.

And so, I’m finding peace in the emptiness.  I’m sitting with the uncertainty.  Through self-reflection, I’m cleaning the wound.  In silence and sobriety (for now, I refuse to dismiss genuine emotion by use of chemicals), I’m protecting what remains tender and raw.  And, as I embrace the world, a fresh air exchange is taking place in the void.  I think the only thing left to do is keep listening and wait for time to do it’s thing.

“We form clay into a pot, but it’s the emptiness inside that holds whatever we want”-Lao Tzu

Another word for “emptiness“ is “space“, and space is a great thing to explore.  Within it, I hope to bridge the gap between “hole” and “whole”

“Wah… Wahhh…WAAHHH!!!”

Immediately, others come running with remedies: bottles, toys, bouncy seats, rocking chairs…

“There, there, Infant,” they tell him. “You are safe.  You are loved.”

The baby will then gulp their milk, inspect their toys and delight in the attention that’s paid him… Until he feels satisfied, and again goes to sleep.

As humans, we are programmed to make a fuss when something is wrong.  As we grow from infancy we become more verbal, however many times we remain unable to articulate our needs.  For most of us, the cry-for-attention dance persists in an evolved form throughout life.

Sometimes the cries are indeed crying- shrieks of helplessness.  Other times we cry out in the form of blog posts, Facebook updates, tweets, emails, arguments and angry words.  Regardless of the terms we use, the message is the same:  ”I am upset!  Something is wrong!  Attend to me at once!”

As requested, attention is usually granted in the form of comments, likes, re-tweets, replies, etc.  The verbiage takes many forms, but the message remains:  ”You are worthy of attention.  You are safe.  You are loved.  Consider yourself validated.”

Lately, I’ve done a lot of crying for attention.  I wrote blog posts and I published cryptic messages on Facebook.  I’ve sent a few snippy emails and I’ve written some tear-stained letters.  Honestly, it’s been rough and I’m having a hard time.  But I do recognize the process and I think I’ve done a good job of controlling myself (thank you, Buddhist therapist), considering the circumstances.

We all perform this dance at one time or another.  Do you recognize the pattern in your life (or at least your Facebook feed)?  Do you see it in yourself?  Your partner?  Your children?  Your ex?  If so, how do you respond?  If you are crying out, do you stop and instead look within?  If someone else is crying, do you offer validation or silence in hopes s/he will stop and reflect?

So often, especially in the divorce/blended family realm, the dance is one of anger and frustration.  When tempers flare and accusations fly in lieu of true communication, it’s important to recognize what’s happening.  And have compassion for that infant, he resides in all of us.

When my current personal crisis unfolded, I took Bully Girl and went to stay with my dad and Mary (not her real name, of course).  When I walked in the door, Mary was making dinner in the kitchen.  She asked how I was, and I burst into tears.  In that motherly way, she wrapped her arms around me, stroked my hair and held me while I sobbed on her shoulder (I should note here that hugging makes me a little uncomfortable.  Clearly, I was a mess!) .  Since then we’ve spent countless hours talking, listening, crying (that would be me doing the crying) and sharing stories of breakups past.  When I left their house and returned to my old abode (I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t sell it), she sent a Hallmark card and two containers of soup.

Last week, Mary’s father passed away and earlier this week I attended his memorial service.   As I pulled into the parking lot on Tuesday morning, an employee of the funeral home stopped me.

“Are you family?” he asked.

His question threw me for a loop and I hesitated.  “Um, kinda?” I replied.  “What counts as family?”

The attendant narrowed his eyes at me, shook his head a little and tried another approach.  “Are you going to the cemetery?”

That made it much easier!  I told him that I was not and he directed me to park at the far end of the lot.

I saw Mary right away when I entered the funeral home.  I gave her a hug and asked how she was doing.  She told me she was OK and immediately asked about my current state of mind.  I looked at her with a bit of confusion… she was the one who lost her father, and yet she was concerned about me?  She concluded that we were both going through similar emotions.  As we approached the casket together, tears filled her eyes and we embraced again.

“Thank you for coming,” she said.  “It means so much to me.”

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me,” I told her.

“Well,” she sniffled.  “You’re my daughter.”

“And you’re one of my moms,” I finished.

(I’m lucky to have so many moms.  At present count, I have four including the one who grew me in her womb.)

When the service concluded, I stood with my dad and Mary as I explained that I couldn’t go to the cemetery because I needed to get back to work.  At the same time, some people around us began talking about my dad.

“That’s her fiancé,” one woman told another.

“I thought he was her husband,” someone else said.

Mary turned around to address the confusion.  She and my dad aren’t officially married, but they don’t shy away from the terminology.

“This is my husband,” she said with a gesture towards my dad.  As she put her hand on my shoulder, she further explained, “And this is our daughter, Tara.”

My heart swelled.  Those of us with divorced parents are seldom addressed with the phrase “our child”.  It’s always “my…” or “his…” or “her…”  It was a first for me and it felt good.  Like… totally, genuinely real.

Leaving the funeral, I had a lot to smile about.  How much weight do biology and marriage really carry?  Once again, life has proven:  love makes a family.

(That was a nice line to end the post with, wasn’t it?  Of course, as most of us know, love isn’t enough.  You also need respect, time, emotional investments, dedication, compromise…and all that other stuff.  But, hopefully you know what I’m trying to say here. )

I realize that I’ve received an open invitation to the Bitter Women’s Club.  I’ve no intention of joining (although from time to time it might be nice to be a guest at the Club’s social hour).  Anger and bitterness solve nothing.  I say that all the time and I’m prepared to live by my words.  While it’s true that I hold many fantasies of indulging my pain, true strength lies in restraint and self-discipline.  And forgiveness.

I do not hate the man I so affectionately referred to as “Boyfriend”.  This did not happen because he’s a bad person, it happened because he’s a good one.  He’s a kind, compassionate, loving individual.  He has a beautiful soul and he’d do anything to help a friend.

My List Of Possibilities keeps growing.  I’ve considered relocating to multiple areas of New England and they are all worthy of further inspection.  Or perhaps I’ll stay where I’m at, refinance my house and wait out the real estate crisis while taking classes at the local community college.  There are many options (does that count as “optimism”?).

Thank you all for your support and generosity.  It has meant more to me than words can express.  I’ll continue to surf the scene and my email box is always open.

My broken heart has swelled with gratitude.  My “circle” is bigger than I ever imagined.  Thank you, friends and family.

Relationships are great (or at least I heard on an online dating site). Dating is fun or can at least make for funny stories.  Having a crush can make every part of your day seem more exciting. But in between romantic endeavors a lot of people become total downers. Suddenly being single is a prison sentence instead of a choice.  Being unattached seems to signify you’re defective in some way.  While finding love may in fact be the core reason we do everything we do, it’s not the only reason. There’s a lot to be gained from being alone for a while, so many advantages to the single life.  By living it up instead of sad sacking around, you’ll not only have more fun, but it’ll likely improve your next relationship.

1. Who do you think you are? It’s easy to lose touch with who you are when you’re in a relationship.  Even if you’re an independent person, being with someone else means compromise. At least half the time you’re doing things they want to do. You might like them to, but were they your first choice? Being single means doing exactly what you want to do. If this means lying on the floor listening to 90′s indie rock and crying about being alone, look further. The more cool, new things you figure out you like doing, the more fun you’ll have which means you’ll be more fun which means more people will be drawn to you because people like fun. They don’t like crying.
2. Invest in your friends. Hopefully you aren’t that person who got a boyfriend or girlfriend and quickly became too busy for your pals. But if you are, now’s the time to make amends. Ask everyone you’ve been neglecting and anyone you’ve ever found interesting or wanted to get to know out for lunches or coffees or drinks or whatever. Your calendar will be full and you’ll open yourself up to conversations, opportunities, and perspectives you can’t get from one significant other.
3. Be good to yourself. It’s easy to fall into a habit of self-improvement for the sole purpose of attracting or pleasing someone else. And while it feels great to get attention from another person, it’s not the strongest way to shine. What if you exercised knowing no one (in the immediate future anyway) would feel those hardened abs. What if you shaved your legs and did facial masks even though you’re sleeping alone? Doing things for yourself reminds you that you’re worthy of being taken care of regardless of your relationship status.
4. Yay, project time! Please don’t take this to mean scrap booking. Scrap booking is just living in the past masquerading as glue and borders. But surely there’s something you always meant to do or thought you might like to try that always seemed to fall to the wayside when there was someone else around. Paint your bedroom a new color (avoid deep chocolate brown – just trust me on that). Start writing your memoirs. Volunteer. Learn to make ice cream. Whatever. The point is doing something simply because it sounds cool because you can.
5. Dance like no one’s watching. And see, no one is, so it’s perfect. When you were attached there was always someone around limiting your private behavior. They didn’t do it intentionally but being in the company of another person naturally squashes your impulses. Now you can put on your terrible 90′s indie rock and dance (not cry) to it. You can walk around talking to yourself. You can practice singing while you cook. You can make faces in the mirror. You can google everyone you ever had a crush on and look at what idiots they are now. You can sit around in your underwear enjoying the cool breeze with the confidence that no sweaty dude is going to try to replace the remote with his… hand. What I’m saying is live it up. The faster you do the faster you’ll be attached and then you’ll miss these days.

Erin Whitehead is a writer and blogger for www.onlinedatingsites.net

While scanning the menu for something to watch, we stumbled upon the movie An Unmarried Woman.  Naturally, I found the title to be intriguing, so Boyfriend pushed the play button.

The flick follows Erica Benton, a New Yorker, through the end of what she thought was a happy marriage.  Despite the age of the film (1978), the content remains relevant as Erica struggles with her identity, leans on her girlfriends, reaches out to a therapist, experiments with men and grapples with her role as a mother.  Some of my favorite quotes were:

• “Depression has a way of making itself nice and comfortable.”
• “[Daddy] left me, not you.”
• “Do you think you’ll feel like this forever?”

“Thank you, Chopper Papa!”

Kyle over at ChopperPapa.com is selling some supercool “Chopper Couture” to benefit his local Big Brothers/Big Sisters organization.  I was lucky enough to win one of his Tshirts during a special promotion on the site and I wish I’d purchased one earlier (cuz my area of the country is now officially in Sweater Weather Season).  I love it!

Chopper Papa is one of my favorite sites- and I’m not just saying that because of the shirt, I promise!  I always enjoy hearing a male perspective and the site is a one-stop shop for topics ranging from relationships to daddyhood to sentimental music to, of course, choppers.  Kyle’s posts initiate as much laughter as they do thoughtful reflection.  His writing is engaging, his voice is genuine and his cycle is sick.

Check out the site and/or score some of your own Chopper Couture here.  You won’t regret it

A few weeks ago, I entered into a debate on Twitter about the usage of the term “stepmom”.  I questioned the assertion that “girlfriends” shouldn’t call themselves “stepmoms” unless they have the proper paperwork, ie: marriage certificate.

Now, before I go any further, I should note that I always feel somewhat fraudulent when using the S-word to describe myself, given the fact that I’m not married.  However, I still have to ask the question:  what difference does it make?  What does a marriage certificate prove?  That someone paid for a piece of paper?  What does “marriage” mean anyway?

Last weekend, I took the opportunity to discuss the topic with Josh (age 9) after he mentioned several people he knew were getting married.  The conversation unfolded like this:

Me: What does that mean?

Josh:  It means you live together.

Me:  Does that mean Daddy and I are married?

Josh:  No, you need a certificate.

Me: How do you know we don’t have a certificate?

Josh:  You need rings too.

Me:  Daddy and I have rings.

Josh:  But you have to engage first.

Me:  What does that mean?

Josh:  It means someone asks to get married.

Me:  Oh, so you can’t get married if you don’t get engaged?

Josh:  I guess.  And you have to have a big party too.

Me:  A party? I thought all you needed was a certificate?

Josh:  Well, that’s what Mommy and Stepdad did…. I don’t know.  What does it mean?

Me:  I was just wondering what it meant to you.

Josh:  What does it mean to you?

Me:  I don’t know.  I’m still trying to figure it out.

At some point during that discussion, Josh told me that married people can file their taxes together (Why does he know that?).  He neglected to mention anything about the quality of the relationship or those famous vows that we all know so well.  … Or did he?  Actually, he did state that the worst part of his mother’s wedding was when they stood up front and the minister talked.  I thought that was an interesting tidbit.

Personally, I don’t believe that a piece of paper can prove anything about a relationship: not the husband/wife relationship and certainly not the parent/stepparent/child relationship.  When it comes to my own stepparents, I have an emotional desire to refer to my dad’s girlfriend as my “stepmom” and an alternate urge to refrain from using the S-word when describing my mom’s husband.  Again, it’s about relationships; not paperwork.

What are your thoughts?  Does marriage matter?  Why?  Does certification govern the titles in your family?  Does anyone use more creative titles to describe blended family members?