“Do not let the behavior of others destroy your inner peace.” —- Dalai Lama
Sometimes when we are going through a crisis, we can’t see beyond it. Being born a happy person really just doesn’t cut it sometimes. Death, divorce, family tragedy, addiction; all of these things can make one feel like nothing can be worse, no one has it worse and one can often not be told otherwise. These things make us feel like happiness is far out of reach and we often no longer participate in activities that normally enhance our happiness. It would be good if we could all think and feel the tragedies of the world any time we started feeling bad about ourselves so that we could gain some perspective and use our thoughts in a more productive way. Wouldn’t it be great if when we found ourselves spending more than a certain amount of time feeling sorry for ourselves all of a sudden, a clip of a documentary on the Holocaust popped into our brain? Or how about if we spent too much time having negative thoughts we were transported to a foreign land where people were currently fleeing for their lives because of war and destruction? Perhaps then we would be better able to take charge of our happiness with the realization that someone else is always much worse off than us.
When I found myself newly separated and living in a brand-new townhouse by myself, my sister Colleen encouraged me to “spread out”. When my ex-husband left, I assumed he was going to just take the most important things and go. He was only moving across town to his parent’s house, surely, he wouldn’t need to take everything. But on that first day when I went to the house to begin my life alone, I was glad I had Colleen with me. He was gone. The only trace of my ex-husband was in the photos of us and our family and friends lining our bookshelves. It was as if he died and I’d packed everything of his and got rid of it. My sister immediately went into my walk-in closet and made it “my” closet by distributing my clothing everywhere. She suggested I even had room to grow and should go shopping. I will never forget what she said when she realized the severity of his leaving. Pointing at me with a very stern finger she said: “Do not let him steal your joy”.
I was shocked and disappointed. One thing I did over and over again from the beginning of the separation was look for clues or signs that this wasn’t really happening. While I realized that the separation was necessary after he had lived a double life for 3 years, I was also torn. How could this be happening? A friend of mine put it to me straight. She said, “Once shame on him twice shame on you.” I thought “what?!” She said it as tough as tough love is supposed to be. She held my hands, looked me straight in the eye and she even prepared me that perhaps I wouldn’t want to hear this. She then went on to say that this was who he was as a person and on some level we, as a couple, would probably struggle on many levels for the rest of our lives. She asked me if I thought that was how God intended me to live – in doubt and feeling slightly less loved than I should be for the rest of my life. She reminded me that I had paid my dues by the time I was 10 years old when my father left. She actually managed to make me feel like I deserved better.
Over the months that I became accustomed to being alone every day it was a challenge. My normal routine was to leave work, go to the gym, come home and start dinner. I exchanged this habit with leaving work, going straight home, taking a bottle of wine, a pack of cigarettes and the phone to the front porch and talk to someone until dark. My mother, my sisters and much of the time my girlfriends would entertain me on the phone for several hours until I was feeling so emotionally drained that I would drag myself to my bed. I never overdid it with the drinking and smoking during the week; I was simply too tired and knew I had to get up for work the next morning. I always managed to get up and go to work; often late, but I made it there and would get through the day always looking forward to the end of the day when I would only have a 15-minute drive until my next bottle of wine and pack of cigarettes.
One day when arriving at home and changing out of my work clothes I just couldn’t bear it. I began to sob. I walked from one room to the other crying like a starving baby. The weather was beautiful and all the windows were wide open, the curtains flowing in the breeze. I’m certain my neighbors could hear me. I didn’t care. Without realizing it, I added this activity to the end of my day; I just allowed myself a good cry. By the end of the week I was too cried out and was just looking forward to the weekend when I didn’t have to get up and go to work. This went on for at least several weeks. One day in mid-cry my phone rang which was unusual because I was the one always doing the calling once I was finished with my crying. It was my cousin Beth, so I decided to pull myself together and answer the call. What I heard on the other end was myself, someone sobbing relentlessly. It was an odd moment and I couldn’t make out if I was still crying or if what I was hearing was someone else crying. After a second, I reminded myself that I answered because it was my cousin Beth. I finally snapped to it and went into full concern mode. I asked her what the matter was and how could I help. She informed me that her sister, my other older cousin Patti, was just diagnosed with breast cancer and had to seek treatment …