bigger picture

well, here we are three weeks down the road and oh, the lessons we have learned.

i’ve been doing the work. sitting with the ugly thoughts. working through all the emotions- the anger, the frustration, the disappointment, the annoyance, the embarrassment, the disgust, the shame.

i forget that learning is a process and you don’t just KNOW all the things, and some lessons have to be learned more than once.

it doesn’t do any good to be so mean to myself. to blame, be frustrated, be disappointed. i’m working on it.

this week’s lessons are more tangential, which i think means healing is happening. life has stepped back in to remind me there’s PLENTY of other shitty stuff to focus on, i don’t have to just dip into the breakup well.

thanks for that, i guess?

on monday, i had a seemingly innocuous appointment with my insurance agent to discuss my life insurance and see if any adjustments needed to be made. i don’t know what those words mean. is my life insurance is supposed to DO something? not just be an oh shit back up plan? i had no idea what to expect. life insurance. it’s just a thing you have; part of the state farm package deal: home, life, auto. get those stacked discounts. good driver: check. no more good student, that’s long since gone, so the only other thing is multi plan. whatever. i don’t care. sure. i’ll do an appointment.

i hadn’t met this insurance agent yet. the one i signed up with 20 years ago has since retired and this new gal took over his practice. spoiler alert: father/daughter. she took over her dad’s practice. cool beans. i dig it.generational. in the family. nifty.

so. appointment. i get there. we sit down at her desk. she has my policies up on the screen; life insurance. 20 year term policy, started 2010 at age 30.

yup. that looks like what i pay for every month. ok. and?

and she starts asking questions.

a term policy?

yup.

do you know what that is?

ummm…life insurance?

so she explains the difference between term and whatever the other one is: term means you’re basically renting life insurance for a set chunk of time. if it pays out, it pays out. if it expires, well, you should have died faster i guess. i had a 20 year term. 5 years left on it.

 

ok. and?

her: well, what made you get a 20 year term policy at age 30?

me: ummmm…fuck if i know. the discount? home, life, auto?

her: it’s an unusual age to get a term policy.

me: huh. i don’t know.

her: *leaves the room for a minute*

me: why WOULD i have picked then for life insurance? i moved to spokane a few years before, so it wasn’t that. i don’t know..when did i turn 30? ummm….2010. oh, OH. OH YEAH.

oh yeah. between 2009 and 2010 was ALL. THE. DEATH.

all the death.

oh. yeah. yup. that tracks. that would be why i got life insurance then.

fuck.

FUCK. cool. well. that was a punch in the face i wasn’t expecting.

her: *comes back in the room*

me: oh, i figured it out. that was the year everyone died, so i made sure to get insurance to protect my kids. guess i didn’t really think about making it this long.

her: oh, yeah, that would be a reason why.

we finish all the paper work, renew for another 20 years. i now have a term policy that covers me til i’m 65.

me: 65 huh? well. i didn’t plan on making it this far, i guess i’ll have to figure out 65 now.

her: why didn’t you think you’d make it this far?

me: i was a single mom of 2 boys for 20 years. the number one killer of women is their domestic partner. i escaped one of those once, think i just avoided another one of those. and being a single female, and a single parent isn’t great odds. and also, just…when you lose 10+ people in a year…it just…

her: well, you made it!

me: well, i guess i did. huh. 

one more parting shot before i left, she was like: “it looks like you still have a lot of grief to work through…”

REALLY BITCH? you’re in here ripping off scabs and poking around old wounds, completely unexpectedly, catching me completely off guard, zero warning, and then you have the gall to say it looks like i have grief work to do? 

WELL. THEN.

what an uncalled for and unexpected punch in the face on a monday afternoon.

HEY, REMEMBER WHEN EVERYONE DIED AND SO YOU GOT INSURANCE IN CASE YOU DID TOO?

also, remember all the years you really didn’t think you were going to make it? when it really didn’t matter if you made it to another day? when it didn’t concern you to think about getting hit by a bus? well, we had a good run.

but we did it.

side note: i really do need to start carrying around a mouse in my pocket as much as i reference myself as “we.”

15 years into a life insurance policy. renewed for another 20. where the hell did 15 years go?

no, but really, WHERE DID THE LAST 15 YEARS GO?

the message of: “look at the bigger picture” has come up a few times in the last few days.

what do you mean bigger picture? what does bigger picture even mean? this is a dumb message. i don’t get it. bigger picture. WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?

bigger picture thinking: also thought of as long term goals, a guiding light or principal.

oh. well, when you put it like that…i mean…but like…what does that even DO??

big picture thinking helps regulate negative self talk, lessen fight or flight response, and lessens hostility and aggression when provoked. thinking about the bigger picture/long term goal helps relieve the stress and negativity of the moment to focus on the overall affect.

WELL WHEN YOU PUT IT LIKE THAT.

where did the last 15 years go? a lot of survival mode. a lot of just getting by. a lot of just duck and cover.

what do the next 15 years look like? what is the bigger picture?

look at the last 3 weeks: how does that frustration and disappointment look 15 years from now? i can take the lesson of knowing that it taught me to be more rigid about my boundaries. expect more from how i let people treat me. call myself on shitty decisions and listen to my intuition sooner. be more careful with my resources to reduce feelings of disappointment and feelings of being taken advantage of.

look at a bigger picture from a different perspective: my dad was 55 when he passed and he had been happily married to his third wife for 10 years. that means he was 45 when he got married again. at 45 he still believed in love and possibility after 2 divorces. at 45 he found the GOOD match and was happy. they were building a great life together in a nice home with good friends.

45 is still plenty of time to start over. to find the good chapters. to still have hope and plan for the future.

i may not have planned on making it to 45. i may not have planned on outliving a term life insurance policy. i may not have planned on a shitty break up reminding me who i am and what my worth is, but here we are. 

a thousand little cuts

this part of the break up is called: if you didn’t want me to talk shit, maybe you should have treated me better.

oldest lesson on earth: be kind to the poets, musicians, and writers.

i am a LONGTIME fan of the canterbury tales and deeply admire how savagely chaucer roasted people. 

we have indeed reached the anger portion.

most commonly uttered phrase: ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

him, clueless: if we break up, take your shit, and you’re gone. no back and forth. once you’re gone, you’re gone.

me, a virgo: bet.

nine months. NINE MONTHS. and you don’t know me at all. you think i respond to threats like that? you think when i finally speak up, when i finally started this discussion i was just *saying* things? you think whatever i brought up hasn’t already been through hours and hours of internal review and consideration and judgement and an entire committee of therapy tools, spirit guides, and journal entries? that i’m not fully aware of and prepared for all the possible outcomes of this scenario? like i haven’t already planned out, sat with, and come to terms with what rocking the boat could mean? 

nine months and you have no clue what a sentence like that *actually* says? you want to play tough? you don’t care? you can just be over it? you can just be done super tough guy?

BET.

here’s the reason my partnership ended after nine months: i asked him, point blank: “do you even like me?”

he couldn’t answer.

which is answer enough.

that seems pretty cut and dried on the surface, but what, after nine months, made me realize he doesn’t, in fact, even like me?

the death of a partnership came from a thousand cuts.

the first one, a literal thousand financial cuts. i’m a bookkeeper. keeping track of numbers is what i do. i budget to the penny every month. i work six days a week and closely, CLOSELY watch my dollars to make sure it stretches. and so, i ran the numbers: over a thousand dollars a month. A THOUSAND DOLLARS A MONTH. groceries. gas. weed. bar tabs. weekend trips. 22-27% of my monthly income. YES. I COUNTED. i did the literal math. one and a half days of my six day work week.

it started out simple: i would give him money for groceries, he would cook meals. nice. mutually beneficial. he had just graduated college, wasn’t working, and loved to cook. PERFECT. but somehow we always needed to stop by the store for just a few things. somehow cooking became a thing he hated to do. somehow hundreds of dollars a month for groceries morphed into maybe 3 dinners a week. somehow i was seeing him buy racks of ribs, pork loins, big expensive foods that i never saw prepared, for me at least. food he was cooking, selling to people, and pocketing the money for.

it started as picking up one or two bar tabs when i knew he was tight on money. that just became the standard. and he was killing a lot of time at the bar, almost every day, waiting to pick me up after work. that’s a lot of bar tabs.

because, oh yeah, he was also using my car. his car stopped working before winter and mine just sits in a parking lot all day, why not let him use it? help him get to appointments at the VA. help be able to drive out the base and get cheaper groceries. make it to his meetings at worksource. let him have time to drive out to the college campus and connect with his former professors about possible jobs. help run errands. help him find work, connect to people, get out of his house during the day. but, of course, i was still paying for the gas. and the oil changes. and the tires. and the repairs (how the fuck do you break a sunroof screen?).

weed purchases doubled. dinners out doubled. heating bills doubled (i helped pay for his, since i was there so much). inflation crept in and money drained away quicker than the paychecks hit every two weeks.

a thousand financial cuts every month.

a partner who is more than happy to receive yet is both unwilling and unable to contribute is fucking brutal.

but, you know, i care. i know what it’s like to be poor. i know how bad it sucks to always be broke. how NICE it would be to have someone come in help cover some expenses. i know what it feels like to work 6 days a week and still be stretched thin. i *thought* it was mutually beneficial. i *thought* he cared about contributing as much as i did, this was just a rough stretch for him. all the sciences cut during this administration made it hard for him to find work. it would level out eventually.

or not. turns out a shitty attitude, a god complex, and doing interviews with the bong on the coffee table may not have helped with the job search. but, i digress.

speaking of caring, how do you date someone who literally, repeatedly says “...I DON’T CARE,” when you try to talk? when you try to talk about a phone call you just had with your brother: “I DON’T CARE.” when you try to share a story about something that happened to you : “I DON’T CARE.” when you try to discuss a news headline that caught your interest: “I DON’T CARE.”

but gods help you if you don’t remember every cousin, aunt, uncle, distant family member, random childhood friend, military co-worker, college professor, random bar person ever mentioned. if you don’t recall every god damned confusing, facts inflated, half true story you’ve ever been told, and there’s a LOT of stories being told.

when the caring only goes one direction, intentionally, repeatedly, brutally, it sucks.

not caring hurts, sure, but also: caring too much about dumb shit hurts too.

among the thousand cuts: you talk too loud, you mumble when talking, you talk too much, you talk to yourself, you laugh too loud, you’re always wrong. always. about everything. you’re embarrassing, you sit down too hard, you walk too loud, you sleep too loud, you sleep too restless, you sleep too warm, you close car doors/trunk too loud, you drive too fast, you drive too slow, you hit too many potholes, you swerve too much, you do everything too slow, you take too long in the shower, you don’t rinse off dishes, you take too long rinsing off/doing dishes, you’re not pretty, you’re too big, your hair looks bad like that, you wear your clothes wrong, your house smells bad, your furniture is bad, your whole house is bad, your cooking is bad, you can’t make coffee or toast correctly, you can’t open/close curtains correctly, you can’t clean off the coffee table quickly enough, you can’t sit in a chair correctly. every single one of those things snapped at me. chiding. insulting. cutting.

that’s a lot of fucking things to hate about one person. to be annoyed by. to care, the wrong way, about.

and so i asked: do you even like me?

and here we are.

why would i stay somewhere i’m not liked? why would i stay somewhere i’m too much? why would i stay?

why was i driving across town to sleep alone in someone else’s bed? why was i interrupting my sleep patterns, living out of a go bag, adjusting my routines and schedules when _I_ was the one working 6 days a week? why was _I_ paying for someone to be self admitted “very expensive” with no contribution?

are you fucking kidding me? you sit next to me, after the break up, and openly admit: “i know i am, i was very expensive.”

YOU KNEW THAT? and i, stupidly, didn’t until i ran the numbers. he just KNEW that and went ahead being “very expensive” and expecting me to cover it.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

i was working 6 days a week for you to knowingly be too expensive? you kept telling me you wanted me to cut back hours so we could have full weekends together WHILE BEING TOO EXPENSIVE? you kept talking about how you knew i was exhausted working all the time AND KEPT BEING TOO EXPENSIVE? you sat in a bar, with _MY_ car outside, drinking on _MY_ tab, waiting to pick me up from work? like it was some kindness or achievement? valiantly picking me up from work. IN MY CAR. so we could go back to the bar and i could pay your tab?

*sigh*

and, since i’m airing all the dirty laundry, let’s talk about laundry: how does a feminine, too small for me, not a brand i’ve ever seen, cropped hoodie sweatshirt suddenly show up in the laundry?

and why is there a ring, that also doesn’t belong to me, in my livingroom? a too small (doesn’t even fit my pinky) moldavite (a stone i avoid at all costs) ring. ironically: the stone of transformation and change.

whelp.

transition and change did come from it, but that was about 6 straws after the final straw. i was already out the door when the universe added that little nugget of information.

confirmation. salt in the wound. an extra kick in the teeth on the way out the door. same thing.

AND ALSO,

the rage, she keeps coming,

AND ALSO: get the fuck out of here with the passive aggressive horse shit.

remember his whole line about once you’re gone, you’re gone?

tell me then, why is he the one reaching out?

a few sappy songs in a spotify message. he misses me, he loves me. REALLY? FUCKING REALLY? songs on spotify? REALLY?

a tiktok video about how you can tell how unhappy people are by the chaos they create with a message “so, thanks for that.” are you trying to blame my leaving for creating chaos? what chaos? the chaos of having to explain how you fumbled SO BADLY? that’s your chaos. not mine. 

a text message about the moon voyage, a shared interest. cool. i like the moon. are we trying to be friends now? what was the point of that? i’m already reading and watching every article and story. 

a text catty message: thanks for commercials on spotify again. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?? ARE. YOU. FUCKING. KIDDING. ME. yeah i quit paying for spotify. yup. it wasn’t an easy decision either. i know how annoying the commercials are, especially when they interrupt a meditation, or a healing frequency playlist, or ALL THE TIME. commercials are annoying. i know how nice it is to be able to unlimited skip. i know the benefits of paying for spotify BECAUSE I PAY FOR IT. pay for your own fucking spotify and miss me with the shitty messages.

a late night phone call asking for a ride because he missed the last bus. if you can’t leave the bar in time to catch the bus, why am i leaving my warm home and rocking chair to drive your ass across town back home. and why are you trying to give me all your life updates while i do so? and why in the holy fuck are you even pretending like you want to hug me? you’ve steadfastly avoided all physical contact with me for months. no hugs, no kissing, sleeping on the couch, sitting on the opposite side of the couch. and NOW you pretend you want to hug me? fuck all the way off. i fucking specifically asked for touch as something i really needed coming out of covid and living alone. i’m severely touch starved, specifically asked for touch several times, and NOW?? OVER A WEEK AFTER EVERYTHING IS OVER, now you suddenly pretend to want to hug me? fuck. all. the. way. off.

a message asking to use the car to grocery shop. hope you don’t plan on using my money. i already grocery shopped for myself, for actual meals i will eat, that i will prepare for myself. 

like, pick a lane dude. do you hate me? do you want me? or do you want access to the resources i provided for you?

we all know the answer to that last one. who needs to buy the cow when you can get the car payment, insurance coverage, oil changes, tires and gas money for free?

and now?

over doesn’t mean bad.

over doesn’t mean failure.

over doesn’t mean enemies.

over means change.

it means sadness. letting go. being thankful and being hopeful both while grieving.

it means…it means a thousand things i’m still figuring out and struggling with.

was it the right decision? was i too hasty? was i letting trauma make the decision? was i being unkind? did i not give enough chances? what about all the good stuff? 

the good stuff is still the good stuff. all the late night conversations, unplanned road trips, nights at home on the couch. all the good stuff is still the good stuff. hot summer nights in the pool while dinner cooked on the smoker. wandering through thrift shops laughing at how every single one has an old school egg mixer. playing cribbage while having deep discussions. taking a massive rip together then laughing at youtube videos. going to holiday work parties. a special birthday dinner. all the fantastic meals and joy and laughter. it all remains.

the hard stuff is still there too. there’s a reason why it ended. sleeping alone every night. constantly being snapped at. the continuous chorus of “you’re wrong, again,” and “why can’t we ever be on the same page,” and “i don’t care.”

i finally asked: “do you even like me?”

and no answer. 

so why am i even here? what am i doing?

that hurt.

that’s a pretty rough ending.

AND.

because two things can be true.

that was a rough ending AND it was a great experience and so healing and so good in so many ways.

all my partner appreciation posts stand. all the good remains. all the happy bubbles and great experiences and good memories are still there. 

that was, overall, a fantastic 9 months. i am so grateful. i am so thankful. i have learned so much about patience and listening to myself. i’ve worked on healing old relationship trauma, old communication trauma, old all sorts of trauma. i’ve pushed myself and made myself sit in silence. i’ve spoken up and bitten my tongue. i’ve worked so hard on understanding the balance of good and bad and what my limits are.

and now…

i don’t know.

now i’m REALLY untethered.

no kids. no stella. no partner.

what do i do with my evenings? i don’t have to be home for anything. i don’t have any one to check in with but myself.

who is this 45 year old creature? out in the world on her own? 

the timing does not escape me. steak and whisky day has been my own version of new years for a while.

happy birthday dad, this year would be 71.

i take the time on his birthday and on mine to check in, roughly every 6 months. where am i at? what do i want for this next chapter?

aries: the first sign of the zodiac. the new start to the cycle. the full moon is today, april 1. what does the moon, in all her wisdom and all her years of human observance have for me this year? according to the workshops i did last night: buckle up.

maybe it’s the robots, maybe it’s the algorithms, maybe it’s the universe.

i still write most everything in a journal, i would like to believe that’s one sacred spot the robots can’t scan yet. when the words i’ve written, in my own AI proof journal almost exactly align with the messages received from other sources, there may be a lesson there.

last week when i started processing my feelings and asking myself where things were at, i had very concise language come up. words i kept using over and over in my own explanations. almost all those same phrases came up in the workshops; surprise, the words, they speak to me.

almost like i’m one of those writer people that always turns to words to make sense of things.

huh. strange.

being tired, soul tired. transformation. clarity. return to self. releasing what drained, confused, or made me challenge my worth. whatever is out of alignment is being corrected. whatever was unfair is being leveled.

there was a specific message about big ideas, asking for and receiving how to apply those big ideas, and then actually applying the big idea. my process was literally this: hey guides, is this BIG THING a thing i need to do? can you please tell me when the right time is?

i have been receiving the message: “be patient, keep going” for months.

this week that message changed: “it’s time to walk away from something or someone that is no longer serving us.”

i asked for clarification, because of course i did.

WE SAID WHAT WE SAID.

okuuuuur girl. calm down. i wan’t QUESTIONING, i was just, you know…questioning.

WE SAID WHAT WE SAID.

well fuck. ok. so. now i know it’s time. and i sat with that for a few days. had a difficult conversion, regrouped, reconsidered.

and backed down.

and started to waffle.

and boy howdy did the universe kick my ass swiftly. upset stomach. jewelry breaking. purse breaking.

OK. FINE. well then, if you’re so smart, HOW do i do this?

and within moments, literal moments, the voices in my head screamed START WRITING RIGHT NOW and everything i needed to say came straight out, compact. direct. final.

and after sending that on monday, the rest of the moon messages started coming through last night:

starting off with a bang: 

he needed the love i gave him to know he’s worth it. i needed the disrespect he gave me to know i’m worth more.

big ole haymaker straight out the gate. ouch.

you’re going to spend the weekend before the full moon clearing, healing, understanding, crying, broken heart, transforming, clarifying, you’re not confused, you’re tired.

two for two.

this full moon is about releasing what’s weighing on us on reclaiming our energy. releasing every connection that drained you. calling back your energy fully, completely, and without apology. a reset of your core energy and your relationships. the universe is giving you a choice: choose peace over drama.

three for three.

what a kick in the teeth. in the best way possible.

so, we know what’s done. we know what’s releasing. we know what’s not moving forward.

so…what’s next?