The View From the Balcony (Updated)
Update is at the end.
During spring and fall, I tend to spend a great deal of time sitting out on my balcony. The busy freeway about a half mile away is just remote enough and sufficiently masked by homes to provide a gentle white noise, upon which are overlaid the chirping and squawking of birds and the rustle of tree leaves as either a fluffy squirrel or occasional breeze stirs them. From here, I overlook a small grassy knoll-like area with 10 different trees of varying sizes. I often sit out here in the mornings with my coffee, and again in the evenings with my dinner or something I am working on.
This morning I have both coffee and project. The project is me.
About a decade ago, I was "in therapy," meaning, I had a good friend who happened to be a therapist who was willing to treat me "off the books" as long as the appropriate Consent to Treat paperwork was tucked in a file somewhere. He was treating me for my depression, which wasn't all that bad on its own, probably not worthy of therapy, but it was being exacerbated by life situations that I simply had to address and live with. He encouraged me at rough times to write, journal -- a tried and true technique in the psychotherapy world. Write and then, if I so desired, destroy what I'd written. The act of purging thoughts was often enough to make them manageable, but when I'd also destroy them, it added to my sense of control.
Over the years, I've still returned to journaling every now and then. More than once I've referred to this blog as therapy. I had made a big to-do over taking an intermission from the blog, how I was going to post infrequently until something truly interesting and blog-worthy happened. Then Dr. Brene Brown reminded me via her book that people who write during difficult times have a significantly higher recovery rate.
So here I am. And I will warn you, this post will probably end up being "Pity Party, Table of One!" That's just where I am right now.
When it comes to the ex, there's nothing to report. I haven't reached out to him in almost a week -- it will be a week tomorrow -- and he hasn't reached out to me. I've certainly wanted to; yesterday alone there were two separate instances at school that I really wanted to share with him because I knew he, in particular, would find them funny. But, I didn't. Unfortunately, my subconscious seems to be quite intent on keeping him in the forefront of my nocturnal thoughts. Three nights in a row now, he's had a major role in my dreams. Two nights ago, it was all about him, and the subject matter, while faded with time awake, had to do with us reconciling -- as a couple again, not as friends. Last night, he had a slightly more secondary role, but he was still very much there.
I own a copy of Freud's writings, including the Interpretation of Dreams. Maybe that needs to be my next reading project.
Him aside, what I'm really struggling with right now is my singleness. I've said more than once, and I'll continue to say it: until I'm happy being single, I can't be happy in a relationship. However, those words are exceptionally difficult to believe at this moment. I feel like "Forever Alone" girl. (If you don't know that internet meme, stop now and Google it. Then come back here.) With spring shifting into early summer, as I go walk around my neighborhood and the local trails I often encounter couples out walking their dog or just enjoying some time together. Maybe it is just my kooky perspective, but it seems more couples are out running errands together, shopping, etc. Yesterday as I was driving back to school for graduation, as I was at a stoplight I realized every car around me -- sides, front, behind, even diagonal -- contained a couple.
I'm not worried about a zombie apocalypse. For me, the end times apparently will be happy couples all coming towards me, taunting me with their coupled-up happiness.
I've always been a people watcher. There's some fascinating things to be gleaned by simply observing. Sadly, though, my thoughts have been heavy on the, "how has s/he secured a boy/girlfriend/spouse and yet I'm alone?" I'm not talking about those seemingly mismatched couples, where one is super hot and the other a hot mess. I'm just talking about people in general coupled up and, by outward appearances, content if not happy.
This starts the list of self-doubt, self-questioning. Is it because I'm not pretty enough? Is it because I don't have a great body? Is it because I'm not interesting enough in conversation? Is it, is it, is it?
I have wonderful friends. They read this blog and then wrap their loving arms around me either literally or metaphorically. They build me up with phrases about how beautiful or gorgeous I am, how talented, smart, successful, how much they'd love to look like me, what a sweet, kind person I am. My kiddos at school often love on me every time I see them, saying things like, "Ms. H, you're so pretty!!" Last night when I arrived at graduation, one of my second grade boys said, "Wow, Ms. H, you're SEXY!"
Okay, that coming from a second grade boy is a little creepy. But, his intention is sweet.
The thing is, I don't doubt my friends or question them. However, hearing other women, gay men, and small children fawn over me isn't the same as having heterosexual men doing the same. I certainly do not expect any of my married male friends to be doing that; they need to stay happily married and telling a single woman that she's beautiful is most likely going to cause some marital issues. The fact is, of all the guys I've dated, only one has ever told me I was beautiful. Most would say I had a pretty face or I was cute, but only one ever said I was "hot," "beautiful," and "sexy." And, he meant it.
No wonder I miss him so damn much, the prick.
So, I obsess over my weight, which in the past few days has become a frustrating thing. After rapidly dropping about 14 pounds (according to my scale), I've seemed to have plateaued again. I'm eating, on average, 1400 kCals a day -- my daily needs to maintain my weight are supposedly around 2750 kCals per day -- and I'm doing some sort of exercise daily. Some days, I work out two and three times. Hello, overtraining.
Then, I add to that obsessing about my general appearance. The outbreak of zits on my chest (thank you, medication side effects). My hair -- is that a gray I see peering through the freshly-colored strands? My clothing -- is this outfit ultimately flattering? Am I completely rocking fashion? The excess skin hanging from my arms -- that wonderful dichotomy of having some pretty awesome (for me) toned arms on top, and this wibbly-wobbly bat wing underneath. Now that it is short sleeve and sleeveless weather, something else to worry about and yet not let the world know.
And I hide my struggles. Two of my medications cause lightheadedness/dizziness if you move too fast, such as from a seated or squat position to standing. I have become a pro at masking that, because let's face it, when you're working with small children, you don't get 15-20 seconds to wait for your inner ear to settle again. One of my yoga students, who is also a Facebook friend, often comments how glad he is that I'm feeling better. I finally told him I put on a good face.
In sum, the past few days I've really been struggling with whether or not I'm even supposed to be with someone. 37 years I've basically lived single and have been mostly content with that. Now, all that has changed. My heart is longing and yearning for someone -- and yes, I'm being honest when I say "someone" as opposed to simply trying to be open-minded when I really mean someone in particular -- and I have nothing, no prospects. In 6 little days, it will have been one year since I joined Match. For a year, I always had that to fall back on; even if there wasn't anyone in active interest, at least I had a place where I could "go shopping."
Right now, I know part of this funk is just the depression, being intensely fueled by the Depo. My head isn't on completely straight and having someone in my life won't instantly make things "all better." However, I have to admit feeling like those memes that often get posted on places like Facebook. You know, the ones that say something like, "Dear Lord, give me the chance to show you that winning the lottery won't make me a bad person" or "I know money doesn't buy happiness, but I'd certainly cheer up a lot faster drinking a margarita on the balcony of my oceanfront mansion.
Dear Lord, give me the chance to show you having a special someone won't make me a hot mess...
Update
My friend L called. She's the one who introduced me and the ex, and her church wedding is this weekend. Remember she called to make sure I'd be okay if the ex was invited? Well, he's declined the invitation, citing a graduation he has to attend. While I don't necessarily question the plausibility of that, I also think he is shying away from our mutual friends L & T.
As much as I may hate to admit it, this has taken a lot of the wind out of my sails. I've sunk another notch. I had more hope hanging on that than I realized.
Fortunately, L is a wonderful Christian woman and realized I was struggling. She prayed with me -- which set off some waterworks. Then she reminded me that the key is timing. In spite of her earlier beliefs that the ex and I would be married by the end of the year (HA!), she has now been saying for the past month that he is not settled or stable. She's right. He is great at walls, and has put more up since the breakup. Her and I agree if it is meant to be, it will eventually be. Until then, I need to continue to give him space. With that, I feel like I'm walking a fine line: too much space and will he forget me? Not enough space, and will he think I'm still psycho?
Meanwhile, I have three high intensity workouts scheduled for today. Perhaps that will help. The fact that one of them is at the gym that is literally across a grassy area from him apartment, where he can see the front door of the gym from his living room sliding doors, may be an issue.
Oh well.
During spring and fall, I tend to spend a great deal of time sitting out on my balcony. The busy freeway about a half mile away is just remote enough and sufficiently masked by homes to provide a gentle white noise, upon which are overlaid the chirping and squawking of birds and the rustle of tree leaves as either a fluffy squirrel or occasional breeze stirs them. From here, I overlook a small grassy knoll-like area with 10 different trees of varying sizes. I often sit out here in the mornings with my coffee, and again in the evenings with my dinner or something I am working on.
This morning I have both coffee and project. The project is me.
About a decade ago, I was "in therapy," meaning, I had a good friend who happened to be a therapist who was willing to treat me "off the books" as long as the appropriate Consent to Treat paperwork was tucked in a file somewhere. He was treating me for my depression, which wasn't all that bad on its own, probably not worthy of therapy, but it was being exacerbated by life situations that I simply had to address and live with. He encouraged me at rough times to write, journal -- a tried and true technique in the psychotherapy world. Write and then, if I so desired, destroy what I'd written. The act of purging thoughts was often enough to make them manageable, but when I'd also destroy them, it added to my sense of control.
Over the years, I've still returned to journaling every now and then. More than once I've referred to this blog as therapy. I had made a big to-do over taking an intermission from the blog, how I was going to post infrequently until something truly interesting and blog-worthy happened. Then Dr. Brene Brown reminded me via her book that people who write during difficult times have a significantly higher recovery rate.
So here I am. And I will warn you, this post will probably end up being "Pity Party, Table of One!" That's just where I am right now.
When it comes to the ex, there's nothing to report. I haven't reached out to him in almost a week -- it will be a week tomorrow -- and he hasn't reached out to me. I've certainly wanted to; yesterday alone there were two separate instances at school that I really wanted to share with him because I knew he, in particular, would find them funny. But, I didn't. Unfortunately, my subconscious seems to be quite intent on keeping him in the forefront of my nocturnal thoughts. Three nights in a row now, he's had a major role in my dreams. Two nights ago, it was all about him, and the subject matter, while faded with time awake, had to do with us reconciling -- as a couple again, not as friends. Last night, he had a slightly more secondary role, but he was still very much there.
I own a copy of Freud's writings, including the Interpretation of Dreams. Maybe that needs to be my next reading project.
Him aside, what I'm really struggling with right now is my singleness. I've said more than once, and I'll continue to say it: until I'm happy being single, I can't be happy in a relationship. However, those words are exceptionally difficult to believe at this moment. I feel like "Forever Alone" girl. (If you don't know that internet meme, stop now and Google it. Then come back here.) With spring shifting into early summer, as I go walk around my neighborhood and the local trails I often encounter couples out walking their dog or just enjoying some time together. Maybe it is just my kooky perspective, but it seems more couples are out running errands together, shopping, etc. Yesterday as I was driving back to school for graduation, as I was at a stoplight I realized every car around me -- sides, front, behind, even diagonal -- contained a couple.
I'm not worried about a zombie apocalypse. For me, the end times apparently will be happy couples all coming towards me, taunting me with their coupled-up happiness.
I've always been a people watcher. There's some fascinating things to be gleaned by simply observing. Sadly, though, my thoughts have been heavy on the, "how has s/he secured a boy/girlfriend/spouse and yet I'm alone?" I'm not talking about those seemingly mismatched couples, where one is super hot and the other a hot mess. I'm just talking about people in general coupled up and, by outward appearances, content if not happy.
This starts the list of self-doubt, self-questioning. Is it because I'm not pretty enough? Is it because I don't have a great body? Is it because I'm not interesting enough in conversation? Is it, is it, is it?
I have wonderful friends. They read this blog and then wrap their loving arms around me either literally or metaphorically. They build me up with phrases about how beautiful or gorgeous I am, how talented, smart, successful, how much they'd love to look like me, what a sweet, kind person I am. My kiddos at school often love on me every time I see them, saying things like, "Ms. H, you're so pretty!!" Last night when I arrived at graduation, one of my second grade boys said, "Wow, Ms. H, you're SEXY!"
Okay, that coming from a second grade boy is a little creepy. But, his intention is sweet.
The thing is, I don't doubt my friends or question them. However, hearing other women, gay men, and small children fawn over me isn't the same as having heterosexual men doing the same. I certainly do not expect any of my married male friends to be doing that; they need to stay happily married and telling a single woman that she's beautiful is most likely going to cause some marital issues. The fact is, of all the guys I've dated, only one has ever told me I was beautiful. Most would say I had a pretty face or I was cute, but only one ever said I was "hot," "beautiful," and "sexy." And, he meant it.
No wonder I miss him so damn much, the prick.
So, I obsess over my weight, which in the past few days has become a frustrating thing. After rapidly dropping about 14 pounds (according to my scale), I've seemed to have plateaued again. I'm eating, on average, 1400 kCals a day -- my daily needs to maintain my weight are supposedly around 2750 kCals per day -- and I'm doing some sort of exercise daily. Some days, I work out two and three times. Hello, overtraining.
Then, I add to that obsessing about my general appearance. The outbreak of zits on my chest (thank you, medication side effects). My hair -- is that a gray I see peering through the freshly-colored strands? My clothing -- is this outfit ultimately flattering? Am I completely rocking fashion? The excess skin hanging from my arms -- that wonderful dichotomy of having some pretty awesome (for me) toned arms on top, and this wibbly-wobbly bat wing underneath. Now that it is short sleeve and sleeveless weather, something else to worry about and yet not let the world know.
And I hide my struggles. Two of my medications cause lightheadedness/dizziness if you move too fast, such as from a seated or squat position to standing. I have become a pro at masking that, because let's face it, when you're working with small children, you don't get 15-20 seconds to wait for your inner ear to settle again. One of my yoga students, who is also a Facebook friend, often comments how glad he is that I'm feeling better. I finally told him I put on a good face.
In sum, the past few days I've really been struggling with whether or not I'm even supposed to be with someone. 37 years I've basically lived single and have been mostly content with that. Now, all that has changed. My heart is longing and yearning for someone -- and yes, I'm being honest when I say "someone" as opposed to simply trying to be open-minded when I really mean someone in particular -- and I have nothing, no prospects. In 6 little days, it will have been one year since I joined Match. For a year, I always had that to fall back on; even if there wasn't anyone in active interest, at least I had a place where I could "go shopping."
Right now, I know part of this funk is just the depression, being intensely fueled by the Depo. My head isn't on completely straight and having someone in my life won't instantly make things "all better." However, I have to admit feeling like those memes that often get posted on places like Facebook. You know, the ones that say something like, "Dear Lord, give me the chance to show you that winning the lottery won't make me a bad person" or "I know money doesn't buy happiness, but I'd certainly cheer up a lot faster drinking a margarita on the balcony of my oceanfront mansion.
Dear Lord, give me the chance to show you having a special someone won't make me a hot mess...
Update
My friend L called. She's the one who introduced me and the ex, and her church wedding is this weekend. Remember she called to make sure I'd be okay if the ex was invited? Well, he's declined the invitation, citing a graduation he has to attend. While I don't necessarily question the plausibility of that, I also think he is shying away from our mutual friends L & T.
As much as I may hate to admit it, this has taken a lot of the wind out of my sails. I've sunk another notch. I had more hope hanging on that than I realized.
Fortunately, L is a wonderful Christian woman and realized I was struggling. She prayed with me -- which set off some waterworks. Then she reminded me that the key is timing. In spite of her earlier beliefs that the ex and I would be married by the end of the year (HA!), she has now been saying for the past month that he is not settled or stable. She's right. He is great at walls, and has put more up since the breakup. Her and I agree if it is meant to be, it will eventually be. Until then, I need to continue to give him space. With that, I feel like I'm walking a fine line: too much space and will he forget me? Not enough space, and will he think I'm still psycho?
Meanwhile, I have three high intensity workouts scheduled for today. Perhaps that will help. The fact that one of them is at the gym that is literally across a grassy area from him apartment, where he can see the front door of the gym from his living room sliding doors, may be an issue.
Oh well.
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