As a single woman I somehow have instilled in myself the belief that I have to “go it” alone, and to ask for help is a sign of weakness; a weakness I will not allow in myself. It’s ok for others to ask for and receive help, but as for me; I think I have to be Clint Eastwood’s Man With No Name and Wonder Woman all wrapped in one feminine package.
I wasn’t always that way. I fell in love with my husband at 18, and I was in an equal partnership for over 20 years. It was ok to lean on him, and he on me, and together we were one, and a pillar of strength; until we weren’t anymore. Being struck down, weakened by shock and the sudden, unforeseen loss of our life together; of facing the truth that I was not as strong or dependently independent anymore; that took a huge toll. I remember the exact moment of consciously deciding that I had two choices; to sit on the couch and cry for the rest of my life, or to get up and get moving; to take some action. I chose action. That does not mean I did not cry – I did, mostly in private, with a few select friends for a long, long time. But I began, in those moments to craft my persona of strength, and I learned to walk my walk. Day after day I shed some tears but swallowed a few more of them. My spine straightened, I moved forward, carving a new life, creating new happiness, and eventually that new life far out measured the old. Now and then I feel twinges of the loss. There are moments when fleeting thoughts cross my mind; I miss you. I miss our life. I miss the Us we were. I miss your laughter, your voice; your touch. But it lasts just a moment and I feel gratitude for what that loss brought to me; a newer, more vibrant life. Alone. Strong.
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| The strength of my own two legs. |
And that strength that I learned to curate became part of the definition of me. That strength means financial responsibility. Finances have been a huge struggle and continue to be such. I’ve been proud to say that I’ve never missed or been late on a mortgage payment – for a house we built together and was built with his salary in mind (at the time, five times the amount I made) and not mine. I’ve been proud to purchase and pay for my own cars over the years, establish my own good standing credit score earned all on my own. I still do not make anywhere close to what he made when we built our house, but I have worked hard to earn every penny I make, and those pennies have all gone into the house I was “given” (he signed his half of the just built house over to me, along with the mortgage and all of the bills we had consolidated into the mortgage – so it was a “gift” with a price – along with the brand new car he “gave” me, which I paid for). My neighbor once commented that I was a lucky woman; I had been given a house and new car, and I should be so grateful and so happy at my husband’s kindness in taking care of me; proof that he loved me. I came unglued and I set my neighbor straight that day; he apologized and said that was not what he had been told. From that day on he treated me with kindness and respect; which was a good outcome. The price I paid taught me life lessons through pride, strength; chutzpah. I paid, over the years, by saying no to many fun outings with friends because of finances. Conversely, I have also been blessed with friends who happily, willingly paid my portion at times; it was hard to accept these gifts, but somehow with friends it was easier to accept – and I am eternally grateful for their gifts and for their friendship, and for the experiences given to me.
Where this gained financial strength is a blessing, it is also a curse in some ways. It has made me leery of trusting in my current relationship. A man who wants to pay my way everywhere we go; he is considerate and always kind to me, but I am hesitant, and I know these are my past experiences shadowing my ability to receive gracefully. That knowledge does not make it easier to accept, however. It is so hard for me to say yes; to allow him to buy a plane ticket, pay for my meal, to buy me gifts, even. This is where I become The Man With No Name. My independence and self-sufficiency are vital, and I am fiercely protective of both. He wants to help me care for myself financially, but my strength and pride say no, thank you; it sounds divine and like an easy solution. But it is terrifying, too, and the Clint Eastwood/Wonder Woman side of me say no – I do not want to depend on anyone but myself again; pulling myself up off that couch so long ago took every bit of strength I had at that moment and I don’t want to find myself there again.
This bid to be strong is not entirely a virtue. I’ve read a lot of evidence that our insistence on strength can sometimes cause it to manifest in our body in other ways such as disease or illness. I have long prided myself in my strength, my ability to hold it together despite life’s idiosyncrasies. Yet in December I was given a bit of a wake-up call. I suffered with chest pains that lasted into the night. As the morning dawned it occurred to me that I might be in trouble, so I drove myself to the hospital. It was not my heart, but I was diagnosed with GERD, which is a disease whose prime cause comes from stress. Stress is a reaction to life; we internalize fears and weaknesses and they manifest themselves in turn, weakening the body. It was not easy to seek help in December. Even as I sat in that emergency room, scared, hooked up to monitors, not sure what was happening, I found myself thinking, no; I cannot be sick, I will not allow it. Other people can be sick, but not me – I am stronger than that. I willed my body, my mind, my soul to be better, to not fail me. I was very fortunate that God, my angels – my body listened and rallied for me. Since that scare I have made lifestyle changes including diet, rest, and above all, offloading a few of my fears. Today I am 26 pounds lighter. I have continued my daily meditation practice. I practice gratitude for everything life has given me, both good and bad; for giving me the family I have, the friends, for giving me love and taking it from me, and for letting it find me again. Being strong in life is important. But being the Man With No Name worked out pretty poorly for Clint Eastwood’s character, and it really doesn’t always work for me. It’s ok to let others help now and then. I’ve pretty much proved I’m a badass; it’s time to just be a normal woman living life the best way I can now.
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| Strength in Nature - Ausable Chasm, NY |
I wasn’t always that way. I fell in love with my husband at 18, and I was in an equal partnership for over 20 years. It was ok to lean on him, and he on me, and together we were one, and a pillar of strength; until we weren’t anymore. Being struck down, weakened by shock and the sudden, unforeseen loss of our life together; of facing the truth that I was not as strong or dependently independent anymore; that took a huge toll. I remember the exact moment of consciously deciding that I had two choices; to sit on the couch and cry for the rest of my life, or to get up and get moving; to take some action. I chose action. That does not mean I did not cry – I did, mostly in private, with a few select friends for a long, long time. But I began, in those moments to craft my persona of strength, and I learned to walk my walk. Day after day I shed some tears but swallowed a few more of them. My spine straightened, I moved forward, carving a new life, creating new happiness, and eventually that new life far out measured the old. Now and then I feel twinges of the loss. There are moments when fleeting thoughts cross my mind; I miss you. I miss our life. I miss the Us we were. I miss your laughter, your voice; your touch. But it lasts just a moment and I feel gratitude for what that loss brought to me; a newer, more vibrant life. Alone. Strong.
Where this gained financial strength is a blessing, it is also a curse in some ways. It has made me leery of trusting in my current relationship. A man who wants to pay my way everywhere we go; he is considerate and always kind to me, but I am hesitant, and I know these are my past experiences shadowing my ability to receive gracefully. That knowledge does not make it easier to accept, however. It is so hard for me to say yes; to allow him to buy a plane ticket, pay for my meal, to buy me gifts, even. This is where I become The Man With No Name. My independence and self-sufficiency are vital, and I am fiercely protective of both. He wants to help me care for myself financially, but my strength and pride say no, thank you; it sounds divine and like an easy solution. But it is terrifying, too, and the Clint Eastwood/Wonder Woman side of me say no – I do not want to depend on anyone but myself again; pulling myself up off that couch so long ago took every bit of strength I had at that moment and I don’t want to find myself there again.
This bid to be strong is not entirely a virtue. I’ve read a lot of evidence that our insistence on strength can sometimes cause it to manifest in our body in other ways such as disease or illness. I have long prided myself in my strength, my ability to hold it together despite life’s idiosyncrasies. Yet in December I was given a bit of a wake-up call. I suffered with chest pains that lasted into the night. As the morning dawned it occurred to me that I might be in trouble, so I drove myself to the hospital. It was not my heart, but I was diagnosed with GERD, which is a disease whose prime cause comes from stress. Stress is a reaction to life; we internalize fears and weaknesses and they manifest themselves in turn, weakening the body. It was not easy to seek help in December. Even as I sat in that emergency room, scared, hooked up to monitors, not sure what was happening, I found myself thinking, no; I cannot be sick, I will not allow it. Other people can be sick, but not me – I am stronger than that. I willed my body, my mind, my soul to be better, to not fail me. I was very fortunate that God, my angels – my body listened and rallied for me. Since that scare I have made lifestyle changes including diet, rest, and above all, offloading a few of my fears. Today I am 26 pounds lighter. I have continued my daily meditation practice. I practice gratitude for everything life has given me, both good and bad; for giving me the family I have, the friends, for giving me love and taking it from me, and for letting it find me again. Being strong in life is important. But being the Man With No Name worked out pretty poorly for Clint Eastwood’s character, and it really doesn’t always work for me. It’s ok to let others help now and then. I’ve pretty much proved I’m a badass; it’s time to just be a normal woman living life the best way I can now.
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