When my alarm went off today at 5:15, I was abruptly awoken. Some days, especially lately, I am already awake, just lying there dreading the ironically sing- songy tune I have selected from my iPhone to break my slumber. But today I was jolted-- profoundly in the midst of not just sleep, but a vivid dream.
While I showered, I debated whether I'd write this blog entry. I knew I wanted to write about what I had dreamt of, and the host of other issues it ignited in my psyche, but since my dream was about my ex- husband it seemed to be something I should keep to myself, or confine to text messages with a friend. The neurotic, paranoid side of me thought, 'What if he somehow knows you have a blog, and sees this?' That idea is far- fetched, since we are in no touch at all, and our mutual friend circle has dwindled over time. It's highly unlikely he'd know much at all about me, let alone that I write a blog, which uses pseudonyms about my personal life. But then I thought, even if he did know, or did see it, it's okay. Because I am not ashamed I dreamt of him. I have before too. He was a significant-- perhaps the most significant-- part of my life for 8 years. We were married for 3 1/2 of them. It's okay that he should sit in my subconscious.
We will call him Mack. When Mack shows up in the dreams I have at night, it's never romantic, and for the sickos out there, no, it's never dirty either. :) His appearances have been under differing scenarios but almost all of them have one thing in common: he is trying to respark things between us (which may seem presumptuous, so I will point out now that, no, I don't think Mack has any interest in trying to respark things in real life, and I know he is happily married-- dreams are just weird), and I am panicked, wondering where J is, terrified about going back to a life with Mack. In a couple of the dreams, I am married to J, and in a few we have Mabel. But each time, I am worried my current life is over and I have to return to my old one. So while these dreams freak me out a little and make me do the whole "Why am I dreaming of him?" analysis, they also reaffirm for me how glad I am about how things turned out.
I won't sit here and slander Mack. He wasn't a bad guy, he wasn't abusive, he wasn't a derelict. We were a bad match. We had been together since I was 20, and, as far as I can see from many other examples around me, being together since quite young is often a recipe for a downfall. Mack and I actually were too similar to be together (took me some years and therapy to see that). We were both too Type A. I need Type B to bring me any iota of balance. And so I was bad for Mack too, I think. I suppose most would say I was the one who ended the marriage. He liked to refer to it as my "walking out" on him. I know I didn't. We went to marriage counseling, and separated and got back together twice. It wasn't until after a solid year and a half of strife and comings- and- goings that we ultimately called it quits.
In March of 2007, when I went back for the third time for what he called a "trial run," he said to give it two weeks and if things weren't any better he would not stop me from leaving. On a Friday night, he sat me down and said, "You aren't happy, are you?" We talked and both sobbed for hours. Around 5 in the morning, he went into the guest room, saying, "I just can't watch you leave. But go." I packed up the few clothes I had brought in my old, ratty blue Vera Bradley bag and closed the front door softly behind me. As I drove to my parents' house, I thought, 'This is truly it.' And while I sobbed more, I felt the most startling empowerment and optimism I have ever felt while I drifted down the highway. And when my parents greeted me, my dad said, "Thank God it's over now. Really over."
The months from there brought a lot of pain. Not even two months later, Mack would go on a blind date, and begin a quite serious relationship with someone new. They would be living together by that summer, before I even had taken some of my clothing and personal affects out of the townhouse. They would become engaged in early 2008 (right around when our divorce was final) and would marry in May of 2009. They would give birth to a child in 2010. Through most of his life- revamping, I was alone and wondering how he could, despite our issues, replace me with the swiftness with which someone rips off a bandaid.
I would experience some of the most lasting and meaningful moments during those years too, though, forging new friendships, traveling, living on my own in great apartments in the city, and proving I could take care of myself. I would learn the immense power of the support of family and close friends. I would date lots of jerks and feel defeated and scared. And I would reflect a lot. Most significantly, I would meet J.
Six years after that Saturday morning in March when I rode down route 95, the memories of the marriage, the turmoil, the painful divorce, and the aftermath of it all are kind of blurry. Yet, these dreams in which Mack appears are always quite clear.
In the one last night, we were at his mother's house (his mom's real house-- strikingly accurate), and she had just had an addition put on. I was, for some reason, going to dinner with him. In his mom's bathroom was a baby bath seat, and in my dream I thought, 'That's for when his three kids come over,' a reflection of his real life. And as we walked down the street toward a restaurant, I started to wonder where J was and if I was going to be somehow pressured into staying with Mack. I don't know if Mack was divorced or something in this dream-- that part was not relevant, I guess. Suddenly, my uncle (who grew up in the neighboring town, so it makes sense) appeared, and I feared he would tell my other family members I was back hanging with Mack. All I could think of was that I wanted out. I was pregnant in the dream too.
When the alarm went off, I pondered the usual, 'Why did I have that dream?' I tried to analyze it all morning but fell short.
What I thought of next was what I always seem to think of after such dreams: will I/ we tell Mabel that I was married before her daddy? I am not embarrassed or ashamed. But I often wonder, at what age could she understand it? Does she need to know? if I don't tell her, am I dishonest?
My cousin was also married before she met her now- husband, S. C and S decided that, yes, they would tell their kids that C had been previously married. It's almost inevitable that it will come up, she told me. Kids ask about how their parents met, how old they were, what their lives were like. She told them that she had a husband before S but that he wasn't the right husband for her. They barely batted an eye, and then moved on from it. I don't know how Mabel will or would react, but it's probable she might not think much of it. Or maybe she will have all sorts of questions-- who knows.
J and I have time to think about these things, of course. But what is remarkable is how much time has passed since the last chapter of my life, and how much things have changed. On that hazy morning in 2007 when I drove home to the sounds of that song, "The rest is still unwritten" and couldn't help but think it a useful albeit cheesy metaphor, I wondered where I would be years later. I specifically remember thinking about that. I felt I would marry again, and hopefully I would eventually have a child. The prospect often looked grim as time went on, but I never really noticed how much was changing around me until I looked back over a several- year span.
Mabel and J aren't the only people or forces that have produced change in my life. They are the most important ones, yes. But a lot of stuff has happened within me over the years. I went through despair, heartbreak, and a "depression diet" that put me into teeny jeans (that I could only dream of fitting one leg into now) at one point. But I remember that on the day I found out Mack had moved on, my best friend M was at my parents' house with me immediately. My friend C came over later, and the next day, M came with me to meet my friend E at Legal Sea Foods for drinks in the town where I work. People rushed to my side. I will never forget that, or its impact. I changed by recognizing that even in the I- can't- eat sadness, there were glimmers of hope-- and the stability that people were not going to let me drown. I have always been hesitant to rely on people too much or put them out, so to speak. But in those vulnerable moments, I had to let people carry me.
And in the years that followed, when I got my own place and started to put some physical and emotional pieces back together, I learned the value of alone time. I spent time in my city apartments coming home and throwing my bags down and eating cheese and crackers for dinner. And watching reruns of "Friends." And sleeping on the couch, just because. And hearing the noise of nobody else. And I was completely content.
I dated, and struggled with dating, and cried a lot, bemoaning the dating scene and the fact that everything felt hopeless a lot of the time. I drank too much during certain periods. I spent too much money. I let things about myself go when I shouldn't have. But I am glad I did "bad" things along the way too. I needed to test things out and see where I was most comfortable just being, well, me.
So if Mabel asks why were you so OLD when you and Daddy met, as a naive kid might think about a 31 year- old, I don't know exactly what I will tell her. I don't know what I will leave out and what I will keep in. But I want her to know that I struggled. That I felt alone while also feeling shrouded by the close protection of my friends and family. That you can be alone or lonely and still enjoy it. That you can know what you want and feel like you're shouting it from the rooftops and still not have it and feel frustrated and have crying sessions, and still end up okay. That you can have the strength to say something isn't working in your life, even though you are deathly afraid of shame and embarrassment and defeat you might feel.
I want her to know that I am human. And to err is human. And to try things is human. And to be able to look back and shudder at some stuff, and smile at the other stuff, is human... and also very, very satisfying.
I don't know for how long I will continue to have dreams where Mack shows up. Maybe I always will. But the beauty of change-- and time, too-- has been that I don't think of him much anymore in the waking hours. I wish him well and feel no ill will. But if you'd told me in 2008 that there would be a time when I wouldn't ruminate on "How could he dooooo this??" I wouldn't have believed you. Now he is a foggy memory-- an often happy one, for some of our years. But the mind has an amazing capacity to filter. And to let you struggle, and then fight the struggle, and then just be you. Years later, Mack is not a key player, but a memory, and a figure who walks in and out of night dreams. And that seems perfectly ok to me.
