The Red Chair

 I am a seeker of truth, curious, queen of attention to details, an eyes wide-open kind of gal.  The one who notices the sky changing colors from subtle blues and greys to dramatic sweeping oranges, pinks and reds.  The one who can see a feeling as it shifts and changes through a person.  The one who feels even the subtle energy flow of a bird as she decides to fly . . . and then does.  I have come to love these parts of myself and utilize these gifts in my work.

 So, how did I miss all the warning signs that led to that September day that changed my world forever?  I remember it well.  I had just driven 13 hours with my wee companion, Louie.  Louie, my dog and I had driven to Utah 10 days earlier to spend time with family and learn the art of canning sweet Utah peaches.  I had driven so that I could bring dozens of bottles to my boys and husband who have an affinity for these juicy treats.  After 2 days driving I was so eager to get home and reconnect with my best friend, my husband .  The man who met me had a distant gaze and within minutes I learned that our marriage of 27 years was over.  He wasn’t interested in working on it or talking about it.  It was over. 

It didn’t matter that we had never actually separated or had serious issues in our relationship.  The words he used were so clear and so damaging that the relationship must have already been dead and somehow, the queen of attention to detail didn’t even get invited to the funeral. 

An implosion took place somewhere deep inside myself.  I cracked and then shattered.  In an instant I had gone from someone who had a plan, confident to handle any issue that came her way to someone who didn’t even know how to make the telephone work.

I’m not sure how many minutes or hours it really took to realize what was happening, but I felt every sharp jagged edge of the splinters that held pieces of myself.  The explosion had shattered a big part of my identity . . . who I thought I was . . . how life was supposed to be.  I later learned that this was the blueprint I had created for myself and it was running everyday in the things I said and actions I took.  It had been safely housed in my unconscious mind. 

I realized after all the personal work I had done that I still had a blindspot.  I was running my life around being someone’s wife.  His wife.  His needs and his thoughts were so wrapped into my psyche that I didn’t know where I ended and he began.  We had become a tapestry and now half of the threads wanted to extract themselves leaving a pile of just me left. 

Moment by moment over the next several months it was as if I would turn a corner of life and find another fragment of myself.  Sometimes those fragments were dangerously sharp shards of old memories and sometimes they were little piles of broken dreams and desires.  I realized that every choice I was making in my life had been with the thought of this man being in it.  Our family, our future, our traditions, our vacations . . . our plans.  My blueprint was well inked and well planned. 

I was on a downward spiral fueled by anger, resentment and deep sadness for loss of all I had worked so diligently to create over the past 27 years of my life.  I was so angry at this man for taking it all away, for hurting our beautiful family.  To fuel the fire I felt totally out of control, a victim to the choices of another who seemed in my opinion to have lost their mind. 

Somewhere in the depths of it all I surrendered. 

It happened one night, I was already raw and more fragile than I thought possible.  A strong breeze probably could have blown me away like ashes from a cold fireplace.  I had met my sons for dinner and through my tears I had tried to put on a happy face, but my tears just wouldn’t stop flowing.  It was more than they could bear. They just wanted the whole thing to go away and our happy family to come back.  I didn’t blame them.  My son said, “Mom, when are you just going to get over it?” I was devastated.  It felt as if I had totally let my boys down, failed them.  From my fragile state, these words were too much.  I was overwhelmed with grief.  I left the restaurant barely able to see my steps through the sobs and tears.  That night I hit bottom.  I lay in my bed wracked with pain, writing in my journal.  My words were raw and sharp and full of pain.  It was only when I read what my pen had written that I knew I had to make a choice.  My words said “I am so sorry boys . . . it is out of my control.  I am considering ending my life – the pain is so great. When will it f*cking end?” 

Reading my own handwriting was the wake-up call I needed.  The voice changed as my storyteller, the ego-self was overcome by my higher-self.  I’m not done with what I’m here to do.  People are waiting for me to support them, to love them to guide them to another possibility for living their lives.  I haven’t even scratched the surface of what I’m here to express to the world. I haven’t seen my boys grow into men with families of their own. I still have things to learn and so much to teach.  I still have to experience the epic romantic and passionate relationship I dream about, the partnership where I am seen and heard and loved for being me . . . someone who also wants to grow with me.  I am not leaving yet!

It was in that moment that I realized how many times I had told the Universe to “bring it on!” teach me, show me how I can be of greater service to the world.  Some things just have to be experienced to really understand and know.  I now felt the pain many of my clients talk to me about.  I know the depths of despair and grief, have danced with shame and know his scent.  It was time I made choices for me.

 I was always amazed how despite the blackness inside myself I would open my eyes to witness another stunning sunrise.  She never let me down with her hues of orange pink and red golden brilliance.  While making my coffee the next morning I glanced out the window to catch the raw weathered wood of the Adirondack chairs where I would often journal.  The same chairs where we would spend time over a cup of coffee or glass of wine unwinding or planning our futures together.  I knew it was time for something new – a bright happy color, something bold and strong to remind me of this turning point and choice.  I found the brightest bold red paint then created a take-back-your-power playlist of music and grabbed my paintbrush.  The sight of me at 9am with music blaring, dancing and painting, well I’m sure the neighbors were thinking I had lost my mind. These chairs were the anchor for me to recapture happiness in my life.  I would smile each time I saw them and sat often journaling or just feeling the sunshine on my face.   

 Happiness created a foundation from where I was able to look at my part in the breakdown of the relationship, the choices that brought me to where I am today.  Happiness allowed me the space from which I was able to move out of being the victim and into taking responsibility.  Happiness allowed me the ability to create a safe springboard from which I could explore the depths of fear and know I could come back to a feeling good place in my mind and body. 

 I am now at a place to give thanks to the man who gave me the gifts of knowing how to find an even deeper happiness.