Don’t just get mad get moving

dont-just-get-mad-get-moving

It was hard not to have been riveted to and horrified by the ugly drama that unfolded in the US Senate Judiciary Committee Hearings last year. It looks like Trump’s nominee Brett Kavanaugh is not a Supreme Court Justice who behaves not very judge like.

It’s easy for these senators to say they believed Dr. Christine Blasey Ford’s testimony against their nominee, but they still voted for Kavanaugh to be the newest member of the Supreme Court. It is astonishing to note that these allegations, in any other industry, especially a media company, in this time and at this moment in history would have been enough to get the guy fired and possibly have criminal charges brought against him.

The problem is simple

There are people in this world that don’t care what you have to say or what has happened to you. These folks are so used to getting their own way and being part of the 1% that, when there is some pushback, they freak out. Bullies do not like to be stood up to and often their bluster, threats of violence, and bad behavior is enough to keep people quiet. It’s not a political thing it’s a bad behavior thing. And it’s been working since the dawn of time.

So what do we do?

If you don’t vote or get your voice out there to be heard, then you don’t get to bitch.

Be a mama bear. Protect yourself and the people you are responsible for. Call people out. Be brave. And if you feel afraid and alone, get some help. Talk about your fear and your heartbreak. Be loud and persistent and find a channel that works for you.

When you tell your story, it no longer has the same power over you. You can begin to heal and think about moving forward.

I am not saying take on a violent predator by yourself. But if you are in danger, ask for help. And keep asking until someone listens and you get what you need. Make your suffering count. Use it to your advantage to move forward. There is even a psychological term for this process: Post-traumatic growth. I have seen it in my own coaching practice. I have used it in my own life and you can as well.

When I was in college, I still thought I was big and tough and scary and no one would mess with me. That was until I was sexually assaulted by one of my professors. (Tweet it!)

Of course, this was the 80’s so I assumed it was my fault. He told me as well. It was a horrible, life-altering experience. I did tell a few friends who offered to kill him which I thought was nice. I told my story to other women as a warning and a bonding missive. There was also someone who heard my story second or third hand and reached out to me. And because he was part of the student administration at the time this associate professor was denied tenure and left the college at the end of that same year.

Someone listened to me and believed me. Someone heard me and was willing to get involved. I was lucky to have a supportive group of friends around me. Later, I did work with other victims. Unfortunately, there were a lot of victims. Like a lot of college campuses and apparently many workplaces as well at the time and still, where women are targets and through no fault of their own and need to be careful.

Coaching with Tamara Mendelson

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I was hoping things would change

I had hoped with the #metoo movement that things were changing. Big sigh here. I believe in many parts of society things are changing. But not enough, and not yet.

Dr. Ford, in my eyes, is a hero in her own story and in mine. She put herself at great personal risk to tell the truth. Her life, for however long the news cycle lasts, will be a hot topic and under intense pressure and personal scrutiny. Whether you believe her story or not, she is a model of integrity. Something I can’t say for most of the other actors in this reality show.

I had a lawyer try to explain to me (mansplain) that “her testimony would not hold up in court. And as a lawyer, her story had holes in it.” I put up my hand in front of his face and told him to stop talking. I noted that a nomination hearing isn’t a court of law and if he wished to continue speaking to me he needed to stop attacking a woman for telling the truth about her personal, physical assault.

Be the hero in your own story

If you have been wounded or injured or have been through a distressing or disturbing incident, I urge you to get some help. If you are able to talk about it, many times this helps. Having someone hear you helps.

While working through your sadness or trauma, seek out like-minded people. Join a group. Avoid people or situations that make you feel unsafe or put you in any form of a defensive posture.

Don’t be silent. Make some noise. Be loud and unapologetic. Refuse to internalize or accept the shame that society may heep on you. (Tweet it!)

Do not accept the title of victim, although you may have been victimized, as so many women in the #metoo movement have been. Injuries do not have to be physical to cause great and lasting harm. There is no expiry date on a trauma. Sexual assault at any level at any time shouldn’t be okay. Notorious Ruth is going to be very lonely.

If you want a quick education about the Supreme Court and equal rights and why you should care, watch RBG – a CNN documentary about her tenure on the Court. And thank you to the men and women who listen and hear and understand.

Be kind to yourself.

Now over to you: Are you ready to talk about it? When you are, I’m here. This is a safe place.

 

 

 

 

On living alone and moving house after divorce part 2

Last week, I finally moved. I’m only about 1.2 miles due north of the last place I lived. I’m down to five boxes or six boxes left to unpack. I have had tremendous help both paid and unpaid. I am bruised and scraped and haven’t really slept well in my new place yet.

The house I raised my kids in was sold six years ago. The house I lived in after my divorce was a good place for teenagers to hang out.

But this place is mostly just for me and that feels strange.

The computer is working. The cable is working. The internet is working. And I’ve done it all myself.

Moving is hard work both mentally and physically. I like the new space. I see green out every window and my stuff seems to fit okay in this new house. But it doesn’t feel like home yet. It’s the first place I’ve lived in 20 years in which my kids’ requirements were not the first thing I considered.

Speaking of kids. My son is about 12 days post-surgery. He has a plate in his clavicle and can’t raise his arm yet. His pain level is tolerable and the baby skin that peeks out from his still-healing abrasions makes me wince inside. He is flying back to Africa tomorrow to finish the second half of his one-year contract there. I have mixed feelings about his return.

Nights are longer here. It might be the heat and humidity. It could be the noise from an unfamiliar air conditioner. The bumps and bangs and barks in the night. Not being able to find my way around in the dark. The one cat I wrangled to the new place likes to cuddle or walk on my chest at all hours. He weighs 20 pounds.

On the stress of transition

I am feeling the stress of transition and can’t remember the code to the front door of the apartment building so I walk around the back.

The neighbors are an interesting group. Young families and a lot of older folks. I have had several visits from people telling me what I should and shouldn’t be doing with the garbage, fire door, elevator. And someone keeps rolling up my welcome mat and throwing i in the corner. Change is hard.

The kitchen works except for the cooktop that an electrician needs to install. I know my new address by heart as I have been doing a little more take out than usual and that’s kind of fun. The washing machine walks on the slick tile and it’s hard to get the door open. I called the plumber too.

The few pieces of art I have will be put up this week when my daughter comes home. And I keep reminding myself that transitions take time. Change can be painful and scary. I read on Facebook this week (thanks B) that the key to happiness is low expectations. I laughed and realized the only one putting pressure on me to have everything done and perfect is me.

It takes time to make a home. And when you live alone, even longer to feel that you’ve done it right.(Tweet it!)

Now over to you: Have you moved houses since your divorce or did you stay put? How do you think that has impacted your post-divorce journey?

On living alone and moving house after divorce

I am moving in two weeks. I have 70 flat boxes leaning against the wall in the kitchen. I’ve only packed 10 of them. And I can’t seem to move forward.

The house I’m currently renting was sold, so the move isn’t altogether voluntary. It’s the house I moved to after my divorce. It’s not the house I raised my children in, but it is the house where I declared my independence.

It has not been an easy house to love.

It is old and worn and tends to flood in the winter. My daughter and I came home one day last January to a waterfall from the balcony on the second floor into the basement where 12 inches of water collected.

Everything in the basement was soaked, and I lost a lot of stuff. Photo albums, books, rugs, luggage. Then came the mold last summer when the basement never dried properly.

Then last November, I left to spend the weekend with my man. Someone (or a group of professionals, more likely) broke down the back door and stole all of my jewelry, my laptops, and dumped every drawer in my daughter’s room. Adding insult to injury, they made away with my brand new pillow cases to carry their loot.

There were only a few things that I couldn’t replace. My great aunt’s wedding ring, my son’s mezuzah.

I have learned a lot about loss in this house.

But in this kitchen, I have whipped up many meals at odd hours for hungry children, teenagers, and friends.

I have enjoyed watching the babies grow into school-aged children on this street. And seeing the older children learn how to drive, graduate from high school, and bring home dates. And then, not much later, coming home tired in their uniforms from the army with their huge packs on their backs full of dirty laundry.

It is a nice neighborhood. My neighbors have a Whatsapp group for warnings and good wishes and requests for sugar or a hand in a flood.

There is an amber light that shines through the trees in the park behind the house. It changes throughout the day. When the heat breaks, I can smell the honeysuckle.

I’ve adopted 4 street cats that are endlessly sweet and destructive in and out of the house all day. I can’t take them all with me and I feel guilty.

I have fed and housed many stray people too, over the years.

In this house, my door has always been open(Tweet it!)

It is time to move on to a smaller, more manageable space. My children are mostly gone now and I think that’s the hardest thing about moving. My son is off on a year-long adventure and may never live with me again. His sister pops by to shower and change clothes and raid the pantry. She picked the room with the wall to wall mirrored closet doors in the new place.

The man in my life lives in another city and neither one of us is ready or willing to uproot and move full time. He’ll help me pack, be in charge of hooking up electronics, and help with the emotional and physical heavy lifting, including relocating some of the stray cats he brought me.

So, I guess I need a little more time to adjust to the moving out and moving on. And I may pack nothing today. I will clean out another drawer and fold some laundry and move very slowly, the only pace I can handle.

There is no right way or wrong way to do this. The movers are coming on July 5th, and I will gladly accept the offers of friends to help pack. I am not going to be able to accomplish this on my own and that’s okay. I have learned how to ask for help.

Today I will sit on my couch in my living room and look out the back door through the garden to the trees beyond and watch the light. And try to imagine myself in a new space with less stuff and more peace of mind. And a new chapter.

Now over to you: what was your experience living independently after divorce? I’d love to hear!