Real Estate

Often in our search for God we turn our backs on darkness believing God is only found in light.

We relegate ourselves to one tiny room in the house where the light is already on and we let ourselves believe that one small section of the house will suffice.

But God isn’t found in light, He is light.

If the light is on in one room, the power to light the whole house is surely there.

Be not afraid. Walk the halls, find the dark rooms, and turn on the lights.

Take back your house, your true inheritance.

Oh No You Didn’t!

Um, yeah I did!

See the picture on this post? Those are the hands of a 40 year old woman mechanic!

Okay, so it’s a picture of my hand. And I’m not a mechanic. But, I just changed one of the headlight bulb’s in my car. ON MY OWN!

In six months I’m amazed at what I’ve done on my own.

  • I separated from my husband of 20 years
  • I made the decision to take charge of the direction of my life instead of letting someone else/others/societal expectations decide it for me
  • I moved out on my own – for the first time EVER in all of my 40 years
  • I signed up for a hydro account
  • I arranged rental insurance for my new place
  • I negotiated cable terms for a new cable contract
  • I bought furniture
  • I took my car in to get serviced and fixed
  • I bought winter tires for my car to ensure my own safety
  • I went to a conference by myself
  • I sought legal advice for myself
  • I went tree-top trekking and zip lining
  • I renewed my passport
  • I changed a light bulb in my car

And those are only some of the tangible things I’ve done.

Some of the intangibles include:

  • Taking ownership of my life
  • Growing in understanding of myself and my place in this world
  • Seeking out the things that make me happy and learning to follow my spirit within/listening to my divine inspiration
  • Finding value and worth and love from within

I cannot ever underestimate the power I hold to direct my own life. My thoughts are the only barrier to evolution and transcendence of self.

The question was not, “WHY CAN’T I change the light bulb in my car?” The question was, “HOW can I change the light bulb in my car?”

Question not the ability to do. Instead, look only at how it can be done!

Hey? Becoming Me? Guess What?

I want a fucking cigarette!

Right now! I’m tempted to walk out the door and go bum a smoke off some stranger off the street. I can feel the release coursing through my veins. Fuck!

I just got off the phone with my husband. Every word he spoke was laced with evasion. He tried to turn every corner so that I couldn’t follow to find the truth. But I see it, clear as day.

He said he wants 2 more months to make a decision. Fuck that. That’s avoidance. I called bullshit.

I think he knows. He said it himself – he doesn’t want to decide. Hah! There it is!

The conversation wraps up with the woe-is-me, just-know-that-if-I-get-hit-by-a-truck-tomorrow, “I love you” story of crap.

I’m not having any of it. I was thinking I needed to be patient but the more I listened to him, I realized it was all just an illusion, his denial.

I think he can decide by tomorrow. He wants until Sunday. Okay, fine. Sunday it is. What time? He says we’ll play it by ear. No. What time? Late afternoon, before dinner, I suggest? He doesn’t know. Maybe 3:00 p.m.? He won’t even commit to a time.

I push. I will see him at 4:00 p.m.

After seeing this, hearing this, I hang my head. I hope on Sunday he says he doesn’t want to get help. I’m not sure I can handle it – only because I don’t really think he does want to get help. If he says he’ll get help, I fear it’s just another way for him to prolong admitting a problem that he doesn’t really want to change.

I’m tired. I think it’s over. I’m sobbing. I’m weak. I’m human.

I want a cigarette.

Shot through the heart…

We had the post-week talk tonight.

He was calm and matter of fact through the whole thing. He told me he hadn’t had a drink in a week and that he was making changes.

I insist it’s not that easy. He insists it is.

I lay my cards out on the table and say that someone who has been an alcoholic for as long as he has doesn’t just stop being an alcoholic in one week.

He says this is a huge step for him and that he’s doing really well.

I know where this leads. I say that, sure, he’s fine now, and ask him what happens in two weeks, three weeks, four weeks when he’s still not had a drink. I know what happens – the deep issues re-surface, life goes back to the way it was, and eventually he will begin drinking again.

He insists he won’t. It’s different – this time.

He doesn’t need any sort of external therapy. He scoffs at it.

He’s done, no more drinking. Quitting drinking is easy.

Ouch! My jaw drops and I look at him with heartache and disgust. I call bullshit on that one.

You fuck!

I’ve been very verbal over the years about how I feel about his drinking. If it’s so easy to quit then you’ve just admitted that I wasn’t worth a fuck to you. You’ve blatantly ignored me and continued to do whatever it is you want.

He says I’m twisting his words. He’s not that bad of a person.

I’m done.

He agreed to meet with a therapist with me one time to at least see if we can find some mutual ground, a place to start. But I’m not so sure there is.

If I go back now, nothing will change.

He says his alcoholism is a demon. True, but moreover it’s a symptom. He doesn’t want to deal with the things that make it a demon.

I’m not going back anytime soon. This is going to take a while.

I book three more nights in room 225. Then, I’ve arranged to move in to a very small, short-term-lease apartment for a month. It’s in a beautiful, cozy home in the downtown core close to the lake shore. It’s small enough for just me. Me and my yoga mat. I don’t need anything else.

It’s pricey but I have some savings. I need to surround myself with beauty and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

In all my 40 years, I’ve never lived on my own.

Tonight shot me through the heart but I continue to shoot for the stars.

Why? Part 2


The end of the first week of separation is fast approaching and I’m not ready to go back. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.

We’ll have to talk at the end of the week. We agreed to.

Why, why, why? I’m searching for the reason, the right words that will accurately explain why I’m doing this. I can’t find them.

I can blame the alcoholism but that’s not pinpointing what the real issues are.

It’s me – I think I’m the real issue. It’s me stepping up to the forefront of my life and feeling exactly what it is that I want rather than agreeing to someone else’s expectations and feeling like a victim to what everyone else is feeling and thinking and saying.

I’m an open, carefree, caring spirit. I’ve always felt that. I love beautiful conversation, intimate encounters, new ideas, connection with like-minded souls.

In recent weeks I have been allowing myself to open and heal and connect to the world and I feel it coursing through my veins. I feel alive, truly alive and filled with lightness and breath. I’m ignited by conversation. I yearn to hear more from these lovely beings. Humanity is breathtaking. And I’m excited. I am bursting forth with energy.

I cannot explain this to someone who doesn’t feel this, who doesn’t understand this. The way I want to live and share myself with others is so counter to what he wants and how he is. I feel like my precious flame had been so neglected and suffocated that I was close to burning out. No more life. No more fire.

Yet here I am, more alive in many ways than I have ever been. And sadly, in light of the expectations of the world, it feels wrong.

I’m afraid I have to walk the limb alone on this one. No one will understand – not my husband, not my family, not his family, not my friends, not our friends.

Sure, I can say it’s because he is an alcoholic – that will explain everything. It’s funny how that works. All I have to do is explain that one bit of information and all of a sudden everyone nods understandingly.

And it’s not a completely false explanation. But it’s not the alcohol – it’s the ‘ism’ that’s the problem. And it’s the ‘ism’ that is the most difficult to explain. But I’m going to try. I need to try so that I can understand what it is I’m doing and why I’m making these choices. If I can’t explain it, it feels like an arbitrary decision to leave my husband. But it’s anything but.

I married an alcoholic. He was an alcoholic when we first started dating, I just didn’t see it at the time. We were both in our very early 20’s and the bar/drinking/partying weekends were still very much alive for us. And, at the time, I loved the drinking just as much as he did. As a shy introvert, alcohol was a wonder drug. Any inhibitions or social anxiety I had went right out the window.

A couple of years after we started dating, we moved in together and, over time, his drinking got in the way. There were countless times that weekend plans were made but got cancelled because he was sick and couldn’t make it. Sick means hungover. I’d be disappointed with either having to cancel plans or go by myself. But he insisted – he was sick, he wasn’t feeling well.

I didn’t see it happening but, over time, it spread through and into everything. This insidious, sneaky, sinister thing began to shadow out the light.

With the drinking, over time, my husband has become more negative and hostile and expresses more anger and irritability. He has become unable to participate in everyday activities and certainly not for very long if the attempt to surfaces. His patience is nearly non-existence. His ability to handle emotions or difficult situations is failing miserably. His memory, or lack thereof, is frightening, yet he has no conceivable notion that there’s anything wrong with his memory. He’d fight me tooth and nail to say that it’s fine. But, have you ever heard of Wernicke–Korsakoff Syndrome (WKS)? It’s a serious brain disorder that is caused by alcoholism. I wonder sometimes if it’s heading in that direction.

Let me share part of a description of WKS that I found (here):

Approximately 80 to 90 percent of alcoholics with Wernicke’s encephalopathy also develop Korsakoff’s psychosis, a chronic and debilitating syndrome characterized by persistent learning and memory problems. Patients with Korsakoff’s psychosis are forgetful and quickly frustrated and have difficulty with walking and coordination (17). Although these patients have problems remembering old information (i.e., retrograde amnesia), it is their difficulty in “laying down” new information (i.e., anterograde amnesia) that is the most striking. For example, these patients can discuss in detail an event in their lives, but an hour later might not remember ever having the conversation.

See the parts in bold? I can’t tell you how much this sounds like my husband.

I’d be told I was crazy if I mentioned anything like this. And therein lies another problem – with every thought or suggestion I make, I’m told I’m crazy. Hear that enough times and, well, you know what happens…you start to believe it.

Excuses, lies, escapism, neglect. It’s all there. I know it to be true – yet I still hear the criticisms of overreaction in the back of my mind.

I know when I explain this all it won’t be understood. I will be the one to blame for not putting the effort in to save a marriage.

Fuck you.

It’s serious. I try to justify what I’m doing by telling myself that this is like an intervention and that this will really be the best thing for him.

If nothing else though, it’s the best thing for me.

I don’t want him to depend on me for his happiness. It’s an impossible endeavour. He thinks I make him happy, but I only soothe his loneliness. Twenty years in and he’s still unhappy as ever, more so even.

So, that is why I do this. That is why I must stay away. This has to change both for his future and well-being, and for mine.

I am deserving of happiness. I am.