Fackin Truth Blog

An Anonymous Blog Coming to a Computer Near You

I vomit a little in my mouth every time somebody paints a glossy fantasy of "the perfect relationship." Most of those stories reek rise from the pages of lame romance novels and ignore the true work required to live "the love of your life."

In fact, outside the realm of arranged marriages by the age of 12, the Great American Love Story features two flawed (and sometimes broken) people hanging on to a thread of hope that the dream of a soulmate actually exists. For hearts further marred by greed, betrayal, and The Jerry Springer Show, choosing to love and commit remains a leap of faith that even an atheist can appreciate.

In this age of maintaining "appearances," people will walk across 10-lanes of busy highway traffic. Naked. On a bed of glass. Or do any number of stupid pet tricks to hide the truth about anything from real age to actual salary. Those same folks offer canned answers to explain their perfect marriages. Oh yeah, we schedule date nights. Oh yeah, we never fight." One day you pull back the curtains and find the wife in the basement with her boyfriend and the husband upstairs with his boyfriend.

What happened? The formula failed? Or did somebody fail to mention that the bogus formula doesn't exist?

I remember all the times my mother attempted to offer advice, and started with, "Well my life wasn't perfect," or "I didn't always make the right decisions." So many times, I wished she would share the reason why her life wasn't perfect, or what decisions she wished she could "do over." That's where real life resides... inside the details of what went wrong. That kind of education is priceless, and only available when the curriculum is Radical Honesty. So my fiance and I decided to start an anonymous blog, detailing the source of our brokenness and revealing the work it takes for us to live the imperfect relationship made perfect by love.

And of course, that's the last you'll hear of it here, because anonymous means you won't be able to trace the blog back to our typing fingers. If you happen to find your way there, we hope you enjoy the roller coaster ride. And oh yeah, the content won't be suitable for anybody under the age of 18. You'll have to keep getting the "edited" version of life in our crazy zoo here, understand?

Verily Verily I Say to Young Women - Get it Together Now While You Have Life, Love and Youth Ahead of You

Rambo Feminism (as I call it) doesn't always liberate women. In this essay, one woman discovers unfortunate and potentially life-altering blemishes on the underbelly of the "feminist" movement. Originally posted by kellymac:

A Middle-Aged Princess Grows Up.

On the cusp of my 45th birthday, I made the mistake of looking in the mirror. It wasn’t the bathroom mirror, it was a photo I had from graduate school. I looked at myself 20 years ago and had a startling and clear epiphany. It wasn’t a happy moment. It was a terribly sad moment. It was so sad that I involuntarily burst into tears, something I haven’t done since the dark days of my divorce.

I looked at the photo and came to the conclusion that I had made a real mess of my life. I felt the utter misery of my life come in waves of sadness, regret, anger, and loneliness. For almost an hour I cried as I looked at the photo of a younger me. I was 24 with a fresh MBA from an excellent school. I was eager to conquer the business world. I was eager to prove that women could do anything. I was so much thinner. My clothes looked stylish, almost sexy. Of course the hair style was awful but that was the 80s and such styles could be forgiven. I saw the brightness in my eyes, the sparkle of life, of the great opportunities that were open to me. The world was there for my taking and I was ready.

But somehow, some way, it never came to be. My life evolved into something painful and difficult. But until that moment when I looked at my photo from over two decades ago, I always blamed someone else. It was never my fault for the bad decisions I made. Typically, it was the fault of men - my father, my boyfriends, my husband, my boss, my sons. Never, ever was it something that I had done. When I commiserated with my women friends, they always supported me. They even supported me when I had my affair, telling me that my husband was not giving me the attention that I needed. I read the women’s magazines and every article was about how women were always strong, intelligent, morally righteous, unable to make bad decisions. Worse, I believed that any of my needs, no matter how frivolous, no matter how many times I changed my mind, no matter how miserable I made the men in my life feel, were more important than anything - motherhood, career advancement, a healthy marriage, whatever.

I hate the world for teaching me those lessons. I remember complaining about how my husband never grew up. But as the tears streamed down my face, I came to the conclusion that I had never grown up. I never learned about compromise, trust, tolerance, niceness. I was a bitch, pure and simple. I know now that being a bitch is not about strength or independence. Being a bitch is about being repellent, unpleasant, unhappy, and lonely. Being a bitch is nothing more than being a spoiled princess who is too selfish or stupid to accept the joy in life.

I had become a fat, unpleasant, middle-aged princess because I had refused to grow up. Sure, I had taken on grown-up responsibilities (marriage, career, house, motherhood) but at the core of my psyche was a 13-year-old girl who stamped her feet and whined when she didn’t get her way. Of course, I had stopped whining years ago but I simply replaced the whining with emotional manipulation and ornery bitchiness. No wonder I was still single and my two teenaged sons spent all their free time with their father.

When I was growing up, being a dilettante feminist, I swallowed the standard line that women can have it all. I wanted it all and I wanted to make no compromises, to assume no sacrifices, and to feel completely validated in all of my lifestyle choices. The biggest mistake in my late teens and early 20s was to let other women - women whom I thought to be strong, independent, and intelligent - determine which lifestyle I was to follow. I was simply too spoiled and lazy to look inward, to embrace the kind of introspection necessary to find one’s own path in life, the path that could lead to real fulfillment and happiness.

I remember college well. It was a fun time and I thought, at the time, an enlightening time. The parties were exciting, the political debates intense, the string of boyfriends and casual sexual encounters pleasant. I studied hard and I played hard. I attended the campus feminist meetings and listened to diatribes from sturdy and self-righteous peers about the evils of masculinity. I learned to scorn men when I didn’t need them for selfish reasons - study partners, shoulders to cry on, willing sexual partners. But I was never hesitant to bat my eyelashes or let my skirt ride up on my then-slender thighs if I needed something from a man. Men were handy to have around occasionally, but certainly not required, as my female peers kept insisting.

Child Custody After Divorce

I must admit, there was a time I wanted to have the textbook step-family relationship with my ex-husband and his wife. In reality, my ex's attitude towards me was too crappy to hope for such an arrangement for very long. And now I'm too content to desire such a change.

When I think back to the time when the separation was raw, I remember how I hated for our son to go and visit my ex. Besides my son's fervent crying and fiery desire skip the visits, I simply didn't want to share my son with the man who marred my life.

As my mind traveled those roads, I'm glad that wisdom always prevailed. Besides the fact that I played my part in the breakup, I also kept grips on the importance of my ex-husband in my son's life.

Through the tears and protests of our young son, I was diligent about encouraging him to love his father and to be happy about the visits. Even as my son would come home with complaints about conditions ad dad's, I explained that the conditions weren't fatal and that his dad loves him. I thank my mother, who taught me as a child that having a father is a precious blessing. So even when I could have spit fire, I encouraged my son to love his absent father over and over again.

Since the divorce, I have paid attention to family law and the plight of fathers who lose touch with their children after divorce. Not only was that key in taming my emotions, but I have deep sympathy for my new beau, who lost touch with his precious ones after a bitter bitter divorce.

If this topic interests you at all, take some time and visit the Just Another Disenfranchised Father blog on a regular basis. The blog author does a wonderful job of maintaining balance while presenting the ugly facts (regarding Parental Alienation and flawed Family Law), filtered through his own horrific experience.

Now, my son experiences some enjoyment when it comes to his visits with dad. In spite of still protesting on many weekends, my son resolves to enjoy things like my ex's puppy and the new baby.

I'll never regret having a willing heart to make sure my own disappointment didn't turn my son into a pawn against the ex. And if you're a single mom raising a child after divorce, I encourage you examine the issues on the other side and do the right thing.

First Disposable Razors - Now Disposable Partners

If I'm brave enough to post a picture of Beyonce Knowles next to mine, I must have a dang good reason. Right now, her song Irreplaceable is my personal poster child for disposable relationships.

As a member of the divorce statistic, I'm fascinated by numbers and pop culture that reflect the current state of marriage, divorce, and relationship health. As the divorce rate increased at lightening speed, terms like "forever" were replaced with protective terms like, "leave him before he leaves you."

"And it's my name that's on that jag.
So come move your bags, let me call you a cab."

As I listened to Beyonce sing Irreplaceable, I became wrapped around the sentiment of the song. As she breaks up with her beau, not only does she express little emotion, but she's practically pushing him out of the door with his few belongings, and reminding him not to think too highly of his importance in her life.

"You must not know about me.
I could have another you in a minute.
Matter of fact, he'll be here in a minute"

I am especially drawn to the line about her own importance and her ability to have another "him" in a minute. While listeners are supposed to think low of the man, I automatically wondered, "What kind of woman even wastes her time with a man who can be replaced at the drop of a hat?" It says a lot about a person who chooses such a superficial relationship. As far as I'm concerned, if I give you the time a day, you better be such an original that your absence would leave a hole that can't be filled by some Joe off the street. I value my time enough to demand that of my relationships.

Don't misread this as an attack on Beyonce. Her music can rock me through a long rush-hour drive. What I'm truly questioning is our growing need to have disposable relationships for fear of getting hurt. By all recent accounts, the astronomical divorce rate is finally falling... because the marriage rate is taking a nose-dive. In spite of the statistics showing that most want to be in long-term loving marriages, people are saying "pass" to avoid the potential pain.

"I won't lose a wink of sleep.
Cuz the truth of the matter is
replacing you is so easy."

I don't know about you, but I'm holding out for a major win in this department. I may never have Beyonce's legs, but I also won't be packing boxes for a disposable man in my life.

I'm looking for a genuine article who can't be replaced, and he'll be getting the same.

Single Parenting: The Joy of Working Towards "The Favorite Parent"

In a candid chat last night, my 7-year old shared his dislike of spending regular visits at his dad's house. I was interested in how this topic fell out of the blue, meaning the issue was weighing on his little heart.

Somewhere near the end of the conversation, he made a simple request. "Mom. Don't yell at me anymore. Daddy and Jeffrey [stepbrother] yell at me all the time. I want somebody to not yell at me."

The good parent in me agreed to this experiment. I'd like to believe the agreement was 100% desire to raise a well-balanced, confident, and productive adult. Yet the tiny devious compartment of my brain secretly wanted the "Favorite Parent" award.

My past philosophy regarding voice volume essentially went like this: I ask you nicely the first time. If a second request is required, I'll give enough grace to believe you didn't hear me correctly. The third time around... you're playing me... and now I'm fiddling with the volume and bass knobs. "I. Said. NOW."

This morning, the trial was a success. I told him once to go brush his teeth. I told him again to go brush his teeth. On the third request, I talked softer, stroked his little chin and said, "Honey, I'd hate for you to get in trouble. You're not listening. Please go brush your teeth."

After a veeeeery pregnant and skeptical pause, he declared,

"You just yelled at me."

[even softer] "No I didn't."

His little face fell as he realized that I was right. I hadn't yelled. I was almost whispering. He appeared to be going into shock. "Are you breathing????"

The sheer miracle of my sweet third request compelled him to respond. He walked slowly, almost like his feet barely touched the ground. That's the first time in all of his life that my 3rd request wasn't a military command barked through an invisible megaphone.

I wonder if "Favorite Parent" comes with a trophy or an Island Getaway?

Contrary to Popular Statistics About the Reason for Divorce...

What are the main causes of divorce? Some studies highlight problem behaviors like drug abuse. Others declare money as the main culprit. Still others point to the trio of "time, sex, and money." And the truth is, if you asked me what happened in my failed marriage, my answers would have been similar. We often disagreed about the division of labor - in business and at home. And if I had to name the "biggie," sex would be it.

But last week, along comes Jimmy Evans, the co-laborer in the Marriage Today ministry, with an assessment that blew my mind.

"The reason for divorce is not sex or money or communication. It's disappointment."

"I wanted someone better. I wanted something better. Instead I got you... and I got this."

In my entire experience with divorce advice and general conversation, nobody has said this better. In fact, Jimmy's assessment rolls every other reason for divorce into a neat little package.

Looking back at my own marital disagreement, we weren't fighting with the issues. We were fighting against disappointment in each other - against the blind hope that we'd married the right person - and against the sinking feeling that our images and expectations of the other person weren't ever going to merge with the reality.

Our responses to the fight were like gas on a fire. I kept working to become who he said I should be. He withdrew and got a girlfriend. We were equally wrong. I was giving him a shell of a wife and he simply stopped giving.

I appreciate the time I've spent living single since November 20, 2003. Walking out the door was the best anniversary present my ex-husband ever gave me. I've learned a multitude of things about myself and about my pending journey in a new relationship:

1. Love wouldn't be unconditional if a spouse could live up to every expectation.

2. No perfect mate exists... just perfect relationships that exhibit committment through the fire.

3. Never, EVER try to change who you are at your mate's request. That's a huge sign that your mate is having a personal problem and wants to assign the problem to you - as opposed to taking personal responsibility for a positive change.

4. You can't fix-up a relationship that starts badly. Don't ignore red flags.

5. Leave at the EXACT MOMENT you're afraid to be yourself in a relationship. If you wait too long, it can be a long process back to appreciating who you really are.

Look out, world. I'm almost 100% back on my game.

Rock on.

Comeback?

Divorce has been a cruel foe. Unlike direct hits that can destroy all at once, I find myself discovering divorce-damage in layers that appear over time - like sailing a large boat with a small hole.

As I watched "Something's Gotta Give" over the weekend, I was drawn into Diane Keaton's experience of falling in love. She was an absolute mess after the relationship didn't work out, and I found myself crying with her. During her long period of tears-n-tissues, I was startled at the advice she gave to her daughter. 'Stop running from love because you're afraid to be vulnerable. In spite of the pain you see in me, I'm having the time of my life.'

For years, I assumed my "love thang" was the desire to be loved. But it isn't. Hiding under that layer, I really want to be in love and to give love freely without fear. I'm amazed to discover, at the age of 35, that I am - and have always been - more interested in the experience of giving love than receiving it. The slap-in-the-face of a husband walking out makes that desire seem impossible. But was that by my own design???

I've only been in love twice. The kind that makes you smile when you wake. The kind that makes you gush, giggle, get clumsy, and daydream at work.

Jay was my high school sweetheart. I met him as a senior - and we dated into my freshman year of college. I didn't believe for one minute that I deserved all he gave me. He always gave himself - without reserve and without apology. On the same theme, I didn't think I could ever give enough in return because **I** wasn't enough. To date, Jay is the best man I ever recall meeting. I broke his heart almost mercilessly because I had no idea how to accept what he was offering. Later, I searched for him for years. I suspect he didn't wanna be found. (I recently discovered that he married a woman who is cruel and crass with him and everybody else. That's not what I pictured for him, and a whoooole other story.)

P.D. Jr. was my second love. The full-grown stuff. The after-baby-after-college, "I'm on my grown thang and making my own money" love. Although we "dated" for about 8 months, he was unavailable on many levels. He had an on-again-off-again girlfriend at home, and was living in the state for a temporary internship. I often wonder if the entire ordeal wasn't "by design," because I found comfort in his temporary status. The end of his internship was an "out" for me. Low risk. Too bad I found myself asking him to stay in Jersey - and had to watch him go home and get married to somebody else. Face it, once you start falling, you have no control over the final impact.

Years of fear and failure played out in a marriage that should have never happened. I went in for security and came out with the worst case of insecurity I've ever experienced - and worse - feeling like I received the final evidence that love just can't happen.

So now I'm on a strange ledge, with the honest potential to fall on either side. I finally own my desire to love without fear. I thank Jay and P.D. for sparking that hope. But on the other side of the ledge lives my doubt that such a state can exist and flourish over time. I accept that I may have built the case against relationships, and deep down I regret what a convincing job I've done.

I pray for an experience to close the matter. I want to fall off the ledge. I don't care which side. I just want off because it's cold up here.

...An early prediction before I close the post: I will have an experience in the near future that confirms God's promise to hear our prayers. The experience will trigger a comeback and some lucky guy will receive every good thing that I have to offer. And of course, the poor fella will become a topic on my very-public blog. hehe

Technorati: Divorce, Comeback, Love, Relationships