I think I started a tradition last year.
At the very end of the school year, nearly to the day, I wrote this post.
In it, I vowed to stop prioritizing my real-life work above my quest to find the funny via this blog.
Well, as of Friday, June 10, school is out for the students in my school district.
Therefore, in theory, there will be more time to find the funny.
So this is me, re-dedicating myself to the hobby I use to procrastinate from cooking, cleaning my house, and applying sunscreen on my kids for the tenth time in one day.
Of course, as I’ve said ad nauseam, finding the funny hasn’t been easy for me these days. It’s been six long months of living in limbo. In addition, The Marriage Counselor (TMC) has asked me to do some thoughtful independent writing (aka, not for public consumption). I mean, it’s totally necessary and will likely contribute to some personal insight. I’m all for it. But it’s a bit of a bummer, I must say. From my perspective, it faintly resembles “dwelling” and “wallowing”. Although I willingly admit that I’ve engaged in more dwelling and wallowing in the last few months than I’d prefer, it’s unlike me to be all, “Okay, Tara. Let’s really mull over all these negative emotions. Concentrate on sad things. Ready, set . . . go.”
TMC has articulated that no one will ever really understand you—have true compassion for you—from hearing your story. From listening to your thoughts.
No, they need to feel your story.
You need to somehow present your experiences in a way that allows the person to feel what you are feeling.
Right now, I’m supposed to be painting a picture of how I’ve felt in my marriage over the past few years. I’m not supposed to focus on specific incidences or conversations. I’m not supposed to describe my thoughts. I’m not supposed to explain my behavior.
No, I’m supposed to spend some time just exploring how I’ve felt.
And then I’m supposed to describe these feelings.
I’m not sure if you’ve ever noticed, but I tend to write details. Narrate entire conversations. Explain. Justify.
I imply emotions, rather than state them.
In addition to experiencing self-doubt about my ability to adhere to the boundaries of this assignment, I fear that I’ll only be able to focus on how I feel now. Or, how I’ve felt during the last six months, more specifically.
Sometimes I feel like our marriage took place on another planet. Or in a dream. Or in a bubble. A bubble that popped, mind you.
I worry that I’m not remembering it accurately. I worry that I’m either dwelling on the negative parts to put the nightmare that is my present life in context, OR I worry that I’ve falsely bolstered my marriage, kind of how you do when someone dies. I mean, after someone dies, we tend to extol their virtues, rather than perseverate on their annoying behavior. It’d be so easy to be all, “What? I was happily married! How dare you end this marriage? It was pure bliss I tell you!”
Well, I’ve always known it wasn’t bliss.
I mean, I’m not a complete idiot.
I just didn’t know it was divorce-worthy.
Maybe that’s the point of this exercise.
Maybe this is the exercise that will cause me to finally feel the unhappiness that Drew says he’s been feeling for the past several years.
I mean, as I expressed to TMC the other day when she gave me this assignment, I suspect that he’ll feel my words and say, “Yeah, Tara. Me too.”
And then instead of feeling of angry and confused about being dumped, I’ll transcend to feelings of compassion and understanding, as in “Oh, yeah. That makes sense. Good call.”
Maybe after this exercise, I’ll want to divorce me too.