wrong, accept it. step one.

Ok Popi, I'm gonna write it out.  I'm going to find the words to scribe to express my truest me and expel this unbearable heart break from the inner fibers of my soul.  I do not think I'll ever understand how I ended up in this spot alone on this earth.  where does that understanding really come from?

what's missing for me is closure, comprehension and the sight to truly see all the moving parts of what I'm standing on now.  standing in? standing near? engulfed by?

it is hard to breathe for large parts of the day.  just sitting and breathing takes effort, I typically take such simple things for granted.

where did I go wrong?

everything I was afraid of came to fruition.  is it self-manifested destiny or foresight?

I'm powerless.  my life has become unmanageable.  step one.

in an effort to get back to the joyful, peaceful, self loving and empowered person I was ... I have to go back to step one.

as my heart seizes, and I try to avoid becoming another pile of blubbering tears I say, "I'm powerless over... my life is unmanageable because of... "

today, I accept it is like this and like this is does suck.  it sucks being mistreated and misunderstood. it sucks being turned into a joke, or morphed into someone I'm not. I've been reinterpreted into a crazy monster, an uncaring bitch, a clingy fool and a terrible person.

but... I'm, I am, I....

I am powerless. I accept.  life is unmanageable if I keep fighting for what isn't.

why does he act with the intention to hurt me?  did I really hurt him?  is he hurt by the fact that I wanted forever? is he angry I felt I deserved something he promised me over and over?  does he feel inadequate despite the millions of times I told him he's awesome and adored unconditionally?

there is no answer.  there won't be.  I don't get to have closure or understanding.  these choices have all been made for me.  no matter how hard I endeavor to fix and change and grow, I do these things alone.  boxed in a corner, too hideous to look upon.  a blubbering mess that once smiled incessantly. sparkles traded in for washed up aged wrinkles and funny old people hairs in new places.

I've been told many times that it is none of my business what other people think of me.  it doesn't matter, I shouldn't take other people's actions personally.  there is one problem.  this is the most personal of thoughts, they are embedded on experiences that include me exclusively.  my self worth has been ripped from me.  they laugh, they taunt, they make memes and joke at my expense.  they pat him on the back for kicking me when I'm down, and they tell him he's right for escaping the clutches of the horrible person he has made me out to be.  I look in the mirror, and I do not see what he sees at all.  he fashions me to be something dark and terrible.  an unlovable hideous monster unworthy of anyone's love.

does any of that matter?

but, I am not crazy? my feelings are valid.  I know they are valid.  I've been told my feelings matter somewhere, was it a book? a story?  I am right to have an opinion.  I am allowed to have a point of view.  why does he always adamantly blame me? why does he get to be cruel, time, and time again?  I am not cruel.  I am skillful, honest and compassionate.

wait. breathe. pause.

I am powerless over....
My life is unmanageable because of....

it is painful to confess, but thoughts of wanting to disappear and become nothing swallowed me whole over and over as he ran away and chickened out on a life that was near perfectly wonderful.  and now he has fallen in love with someone else.  two weeks after he kissed me and said I make the world a better place, two weeks after he held me and told me he appreciates me and loves me... he manages to find someone else.  days after he sends me love letters and professes he still loves me.  he loves someone else.  there's a new girlfriend now.  she's better than me he says.

everything I am, everything I gave, every part of me I put into this affair becomes invalidated on one swift communication letting me know that I single handedly ruined a date with a stranger I knew nothing about.

he has a new girlfriend.  I found out in an angry email.  he's mad I want to see him and spend time with him.  he is uncomfortable that I still love him and openly share my heart with him.  me, the bane of everything bad.  me the catalyst of his pain.  me, the unfortunate mistake he's done making.

he has fallen out of love with me in a few days and in love with someone new.  someone better than me because she doesn't call him and bother him, he says.  he has determined this new person is better than me because in two weeks he's learned everything he needs to know about this new lover to identify how wonderful and perfect she is.  he calls her his new girlfriend.  he's rather spend time with his new girlfriend.  he looks forward to making an effort to spend a whole weekend with his new girlfriend.

was he even done with the one he had?

I am disposable.  I am nothing.  a filthy wet snot rag, untouchable and undesirable.  he could take it or leave it if I call.  he doesn't care.  he's fine if we don't see each other ever again. he doesn't miss me.  there's nothing to miss, he says.  I am a thought that evaporates into the ether and becomes silence.  a tear rolling down a cheek in the rain disappearing with the rest of the H2O gathering into puddles and pools of wetness at our feet.  inconsequential. a nuisance when heard.

stop.

there are things to be grateful for.  I can pick up the pieces.  I can start life over.  I can have a day one, a day two, a day three a life after all of this.

I am powerless over.... my life is unmanageable because of ....

it is not my fault I have scars, bumps and bruises.  my intentions were forever and always for love.

I love fully, openly and without abandon.  I fall deeply, care unconditionally and effort to be kind, graceful, compassionate and honest.  each day, I gave all I had.  I committed to the process and offered all of me.

everything I was afraid of from the day we met came true.
I've been abandoned when I was most vulnerable.  I believed there were two people here.  there is only one, me, alone.

now, I need to love me the way I loved him.  I need to care for me the way I was concerned for his well being.  today, I promise to treat myself as I treat everyone but me.  I gotta fall back in love with me.  it's the only way I'll ever break through and out of this broken place.

right now, I need to just accept that it is like this.  it sucks.  he loves someone new.  accept it dumb ass.  he is done with me, I'm a wretch, unlovable and no, that's not what I say...

I have to care for me as though I am my own best friend.  someone can find me lovable, I can love me first.  so much easier to spew through written word than to believe in my heart.

today was day two.  almost there... I can do this right?

limits to love

Sangham saranam gacchāmi
I go for refuge in the Sangha

there are three jewels of practice. the buddha, dharma and sangha.

sangha, community, support network... I find that the more that I morph, the more challenging it is to keep a strong support system around me.  and the more I grow, the more distant I become to a life that once defined me.



last night, I had a glimpse into the heart of someone who chooses self-destruction.  it was a repugnant place, and I'm not interested in going there ever again myself or vicariously through someone else.  he expressed that my inability to accept him in his tortured and painful state was unfair.  the truth is, I'm not totally sure he was wrong.  it seemed like a recurring theme last night, all these people I call friends focused on the conversation of a lifestyle that seems like decades behind me.

in the past six months, I've shed many skins.  this has been one of my greatest spiritual growth spurts in many years.  I can't say it was all positive, not at all.  in this latest effort to peel layers, I shed many people out of my life.  one of the many lessons I discovered was, people that I've supported aren't really equipped or prepared to return the favor.  if I was to go forth in this raw new layer of skin, I would have to define a new support system to rally around me.

there are people who arrive in my life and I believe them to be those kinds of friends that are going to be there forever.  because I love my pals unconditionally, I make the deluded assumption that this unconditional love will always be reciprocated.  but it isn't, that isn't our nature as people... my ability to accept people and all of their flaws isn't a shared trait among human kind.

the buddha teaches us to love everyone unconditionally as one would love their own child.  in no way am I remotely capable of this, but yet there are certain people who scrape the surface of my heart who seem to make this kind of metta practice very easy.  just because I'm able to offer them metta, doesn't mean they can give it back in the same way.

as I continue to dedicate myself to consistent daily practice, I'm going to have to continue opening up space for sangha.  this may seem to look easy for me on the outside in, but I confess, transitioning from the comforts of isolation to opening myself to new friends has been frightening and challenging.  instead of quickly closing off, I've been reaching out, making connections, sparking plans, and getting myself back into life with people that share my curiosity for practice and growth.  I'm putting effort into reigniting the friendships that have supported me, and cultivating new ones.

but what do I do with the friends with whom I can't be around anymore.  how do I detach for survival without causing them the pain I've felt plenty of times?  I'm working on this.

I've been torn on how to communicate effectively.  people have their issues with emotional intimacy, trust, and creating time in the real world.  without question these things are tremendous challenges for me too.  I don't want to just pull away from someone who needs to be supported.  sadly, I don't think I'm strong enough to carry anyone who's headed in a downward direction, when I've got myself to press onward and forward on the path to ______________________ (fill in the blank). it feels hypocritical to need to detach from friends who are struggling, but our priorities are so clearly different what use is support when the end goals are somewhere far away from one and other.

right now, I'm focused on practicing metta on myself more than anyone else.  I sit, observe and say the phrases during meditation over and over just to me.  this could quite possibly be one of the hardest things I've ever had to take on while on the cushion.  I mean, I can sit with just me... but sit with me and send metta to myself with no one else?  wow, man this is freakin hard!

I'm also fervently cultivating new sangha, a group of people who are dynamic, working towards bettering themselves and the world around them.  people who have the capacity to care and love me the way I deserve to be loved, and make it so very easy to love them more.  Making room for human interaction in the real world isn't easy.  It's something that takes tremendous effort on my part, one that I'm willingly putting a lot of energy into.

To be able to love people unconditionally, sometimes we have to create boundaries, distance and space.  It sucks having to push and pull in this way.  It almost feels manipulative.  It's self preservation that motivates me, I think.. like when your'e supposed to put that oxygen mask on yourself in that emergency flying video... before you put it on your kid.  If I'm not properly supported by the right sangha, how can I be of service and support to friends and people I love?

Anyway...

Cutting the ties with the people who can't give me the oxygen I need only opens up space for people who can give me so much more... and from afar I'm going to have to pray to the god that doesn't exist that the people I need to distance myself from find their way to joy, happiness and freedom from the fetters that drag them into the hells of darkness.

Dayum, it's way too early to be writing... I need a cup of coffee ASAP.

the little gorilla loves himself

"Everybody in the forest loves the Little Gorilla,
But like all little gorillas, he begins to grow,
and grow, and grow. Until one day, Little Gorilla is BIG!"


each year, at my son's birthday party I go around the table of his friends and ask the same question, "what do you like best about Zoren?"

this year, his little group of pals answered; he's the wild card, he's like a labyrinth, he's crazy, you never know what to expect....

maybe I had already doled out too much sugar and junk food before posing this annual poll to his pals, but I found their responses fascinating.

to me, he's just this kid, my kid. he's the side kick who makes me laugh incessantly, who stands up for himself with valiant "No"s when I tell him to do things and snuggles up next to me at night and shares his greatest secrets and hugs me without conditions.

as he embarked into school age, around his kindergarten years, he began to take on a self-awareness of being odd and different. I've often written about the bullies and meanies who've tortured him, and his amazing vigilance in overcoming those challenges and remaining true to himself.

ok, my kid is a nut but he's also great in school and 'normal' and 'above normal' according to the State of NY Education system.

the study that has fascinated me about being his mom is his struggle with his self-esteem and how he's learning to be at peace in the skin he's in. unlike my parents, I've taught Zoren to just be himself, to be weird, creative and live life out loud. my lessons have been all about embracing all the great things he is and my mission is to ensure that he walks out of this house every day knowing that he is loved madly by not only me but all the people in the world who matter.

when he was little, I used to read him a story called the 'Little Gorilla' who was born and everyone loved him, all creatures, even as he got older and bigger and changed... everything and everyone still loved him. I believe Zoren is very much like this little gorilla, an adventurer who ventures forth to meet all kinds of creatures and desires to belong and be loved wherever he goes. heck, isn't that what we all want? who doesn't want to be taken care of by a giraffe or an elephant from time to time? am I right?

despite my best efforts to prove to my kid that he is amazing, he still struggles with self-judgement. he was traumatized by the fact that all of his select group of friends didn't come to his birthday and often sobs when he gets home about how he just doesn't belong. he can't see what I see, he feels what all of us creatures feel.... a need to fit in. I've done everything different than my parents, instilled him with a place to play freely, to be himself, to express himself however he feels he needs to and to know that he will always be heard in this house. I love him even when I'm mad, and when I scream with my icky mommy voice I manage to get in there, "and even though I'm pissed as hell, I still love you little gorilla."

my experience of growing up was very different from his. I didn't have an affectionate mom who knew how to love me, and was placed in a competitive world where I didn't fit. I was a novelty to my upper east side friends and the punk rock weirdo at my boarding school. designed for alternative art school life, I spent most my of my life believing there was no place for me until I turned 18 and moved away to Vermont to be with 'my people' at Bennington.

that's what life is really... finding our people. even in my forties, I'm still seeking and looking for my tribe. as we've gotten older, gotten married, moved away, gotten divorced, moved the other place, had kids... we drift, we explore and I the nomad... wandered off into the woods... looking for my new people all over again.

like Zoren, my friends would probably see me in this enigmatic sort of way, wild, fun, creative, free and funny. we are very similar he and I. if I sat my friends of 'right now' down at a dinner table, what would they say? how would they describe me. over the past couple of years, I've been a bit of a labyrinth too... challenged, changing, morphing, difficult to reach... a little out there for even the closest of buds in my circle of pals.

seeing self-judgment through my child's eyes is really a reflection into my own self-judgement practice. no matter what our surroundings, nothing and no one is responsible for how we see ourselves. we are the makers of our own confidence. no matter how many times I assure my kid he is amazing and loved, he still needs to find his own way through to seeing himself as the brilliant and fabulous human he is. I can't do it for him.

after spending the past two years digging deeply into this very question, am I lovable? am I deserving? it is my 11 year old son who has taught me the truth isn't coming from out there, but inside my own citta.

I don't need anyone to answer these questions for me now... there's been this tremendous shift in my practice. my right view has once again shifted, and I see the self-judgment for the hindrance it truly is. that view has been most altered by the view through my kid's eyes. it is with that innocence and that pure emotion that I've finally learned to understand how we self inflict the negative effects of these stories on ourselves.

"Who will love the little gorilla now?"

there is nothing external I need. no validation, no award. it's not a quantity of friends, or praises, or something that is going to arrive from outside of me to resolve that 'feeling' of emptiness we all try to fill in our hearts. it isn't god. it isn't booze. it sure isn't a man or people. there's no real hole. it's not taking in that solves this complex question about fulfillment but quite the opposite.

the joy comes from letting go of the attachments. the expectations. the things outside that we don't have. the joy lives in this moment. the feeling of self worth comes in the place of being fully present and mindful and being with what is. sitting with the uncomfortable and accepting it as part of my life experience can be peaceful because it opens me to the present experience. by embracing everything that is in the now, I can accept everything in my life as it is.

as for the Zman's journey through self acceptance, I'll just keep loving him unconditionally and letting him have his adventure ... because he too has his own path.. and hopefully he can let go of self-judgment better than I ever did, or at least a lot sooner.

Fear We Go Again

There we were, my dharma punx buddies and I sitting around the campfire a few years ago at a campground in the Berkshires.  We were laughing, joking and talking when our friend Pete asked, “do women find men who are spiritual attractive or do they see us as pussies?” or something like that.  A passionate conversation erupted between the group about relationships, love and spirituality.  Evenly distributed between men and women, the details of romantic relationship experiences were exposed over crackling flames of the campfire.  I don’t remember much more of what was being said… I had a different experience than my contemporaries under the star filled summer sky. 

Sinking deeper and deeper into my camping chair, literally clinging to myself for dear life a darker emotion was taking hold.  I couldn’t speak or move… because this debilitating emotion was paralyzing.  There were words and tones I could hear, snippets of discussion but my experience went somewhere else.  It was gripping. 

A moment of silence fell among the group and in that moment I took my opportunity to force out this sentence through a few small sobs, “I am afraid.” 

My friend Paul responded, “of course you are, you’re allowed to be, you’ve been through a lot.”

There it was.  Validated by a close friend who truly understood this layer of suffering that was enveloping me.  I was allowing myself to admit to this deep rooted fear, and the beginning of an exploratory journey in clarity where I allowed myself to dig deep into it and practice letting it go. 

Some people are afraid of spiders, or heights, or fire, or the dark.  Me? I have a fear of love.  It’s not the loving part that is the issue, it’s the pain that befalls me when it ends in heartbreak.  One would think that age and time would have taught me to be able to get though these romantic failings more easily, but the blows I’ve endured to my precious heart have left irreparable scars.  In my years of practice, I’ve cleaned up much of the blackness, the scar tissue that I’ve let become a protective layer.  In my other kinds of relationships, I’ve learned to be vulnerable and open.  Yet with romantic love, I continue to suffer this feeling of tremendous trepidation.  My fear tells me, “of this… I am certain another heartbreak will kill you.”

It was a ‘mommy’ time weekend this week, I took the Zman and his buddy snowboarding at a little local mountain.  Bathing and makeup seemed optional, so I passed making the effort for comfy baggy snowpants and a tee shirt.  As usual, being done well before my gaggle of little boys were done with their riding, I went into the bar for one post-ride beer.  There I met… a guy.  It wasn’t much of an unusual entry to a conversation, amusement about my beer snobbery, chatting about the area, how neat this secret HV treasure is and such.  I could have been sitting there for hours or minutes… time in that moment seemed to not really take hold.  What did surprise me from this chance meeting were three things… one, that he actually asked for my phone number and two.. how unusually bummed I was that they left so soon and three… how incredibly aware I was of the magnetic sparks manifesting in our first meeting. 

There was no waiting time … he texted, I texted back and a hang plan was set.  Me, the jaded ice queen hermit was going to embark on a real life date in the real world with a real guy. 

And the date was… the best date I’ve been on since my divorce.  I won’t kiss and tell, but I can tell you, I still feel those unmentionable kisses in my toes.

… and now… the ‘game’ of dating begins and all that fear that arises with it.

The spiritual warrior me wants to be true to myself, to say what I want to say or do what I want to do.  No games, no illusions or delusions.

Unfortunately, the mature 40 something chick I am knows better… knows that I have to now play the game filled with rules, the sport where I’m supposed to be a surprise, mysterious, aloof.  What sucks is, I’m really none of those things.  I’m far from mysterious, jeesh I must be the least mysterious lady on the planet.  Pretend?  Follow protocol?  This rebellious feminist finds all this so very contradictory to my beliefs. 

One of the reasons I hate dating the most is the sport of it… the ‘rules’ that are going to shape how the relationship will be moving forward.  I’m supposed to suppress all the characteristics that make Elissa Jane… me? 

More perpetuators of this debilitating fear, having to be something else, someone else or I am going to blow it somehow. One of the greatest parts of my personality is my fearlessness.  I’m afraid of nothing… well almost nothing.  When people recoil at the site of a daddy long legs or the view from the edge of a tall mountain I unintentionally judge them, like really what’s the big deal?  In the presence of this gripping fear of heartbreak and inauthentic game playing that is all encompassing, I realize that I can relate.  If I hadn’t learned what I did in my Year to Live practice, I would do what feels safe and walk away.  That’s what people in fear do… run from the very thing that ignites the trigger. 

Trust me… all these little fabulous sparks are blowing up the powder keg and I am reminded that this thing will lead to that pain.  I can see the dots connecting.. the tape play out.. or can I?

The scariest part of all is… while the fear is still there… the delusion isn’t.  I can’t see the heartbreak or the end, I can’t even see past dinner time later tonight.  It is my enlightened and rational self that hears my friend Gary say, “right now, it’s like this.”

I really have no idea what is coming next or what will happen, if we’ll go out again (I hope we do) or if we don’t.  I don’t know what anyone else is thinking, and frankly it’s none of my business what other people are thinking about me.  The only thing I have control over is this aversion I’m feeling triggered by memories of a pain that I’ve endured from other dating scenarios in my past.  Am I going to give those relationships that didn’t work out my happiness?  No. 

For today, in this moment, I’m grateful for feeling this way again, romantic, hopeful, curious… and even vulnerable.  I’m ok with all that is arising because, well, I’m ok with me.

Human nature is filled with fear, and I guess just like people who are filled with phobias of other kinds, I need to be compassionate to myself and give myself the same understanding I’ve learned to give others. 

broken

thirteen years of yoga.
four years of hard core spiritual buddhist work.
1207 days of clean time.

things I gained... equanimity, community, peace, joy, gratitude... broken ... all so quickly.  I blame no one but me.  every choice for every situation I put myself in lead me to this moment.

my physical health is suffering greatly, and I know this is related to the emotional pain.  I'm not taking good care of me.  over the past week, I've developed kidney stones.  this isn't something new.  the pain is so severe that the best way to explain it, "I'd rather give birth to 5 10lb babies again and again than pass another kidney stone in my lifetime."

the medicine... pain killers and some other medications.  I have not taken them as prescribed, instead, I only took them if the pain was acute to avoid abusing the meditations.  yesterday, I had to take more than I wanted to, and in tandem with the other medication, my head went crazy.  I lost my sober clear mind to feeling as though I couldn't feel anything physically.  my mental capacity is another story.  it was like being really fucked up without being high.  in a way, the experience was very reminiscent of coming down off of a weekend long coke binge.  big depression, huge crash.

for a good chunk of time, whirling in my physical, emotional and drug induced agony, I convinced myself that I had broken my sobriety.  that my surrender to say that I needed pain medication was a sign of weakness and relapse. 

I cried and sobbed, everything was just awful.  and then something came that I didn't expect.  as I felt as though I had ended my 1207 days of clean time in a whirlwind of discomfort.... an unexpected sigh of relief came.  sigh, finally, it is over.  I can be normal now.

I wanted to talk about it, but the emotions were so extensive, I didn't know how.  relief came with the idea that I had made it this far and that I could stop working so hard and feeling so much day after day.  I was off the hook.  I could smoke a bowl and drink a glass of wine like everyone else.  for 26 years I didn't have a clue what emotions were.  up until I got clean, I assumed I might actually be one of those sociopaths, because I was so passionately cool and ambivelent about things people seemed to think I needed to react differently towards.  men considered me cold, Ice Queen was a nick name I relished. 

last night, after leaving the office, walking down the street, sunglasses on, playing my iPod, sucking in Lafayette where I have walked countless times at countless hours for countless reasons, moving slowly towards the subway ..... the rush came, I was overcome by the realization that it was official, I had been anhilated by life and fully broken.

I know my experience was exacerbated by a combination of sort of involuntary ingestion of medicine I took to help me get past excrutiating physical pain. 

in the process of spiraling to the ultimate emotional low, I came to some strong realizations.  it has occurred to me that in the path of poor choices I have been making... I have morphed into someone else.  for the first time in my life, I stopped being strong and let go of all my armor.   I introduced a vulnerable and honest me to another human being, and in a short time I got very hurt.  the scary thing is, the person I was turning into was someone I do not like.  I loathed watching myself become attached to impossible outcomes and hopeful for a life that was never going to be.  My self-control and self respect disintegrated around me, and I compromised myself with the hopes that I could trust someone, and failed miserably at being the true Elissa Jane.

it is sad that it took days of excruciating physical pain combined with the heinous effects of Vicodin consumption to realize that the only way to stop hating myself was to end a relationship I thought would never end.

my heart breaks... and breaks... and breaks.  but in reality, the only way I can get myself back is to stay as far away from the person for whom I was so willing to change and change and change.

I tried desperately to please and impress this other person so that I could be appealing to the needs of someone else.  every intention I had was to get attention, which I was losing with each and ever moment I was turning into this repugnant needy girl.  in the end, I only continued to torture myself more and more to the point that I do not recognize me anymore.  where did I go?  what happened to the cool, independent, balanced, serene me I worked so hard to become over such a long diligent period of time?  it was almost instantaneous that I crumbled over a feeling of daily rejection and perpetual heartbreak for what was not going to happen.


thirteen years of yoga.
four years of hard core spiritual buddhist work.
1207 days of clean time. 

and I'm in worse shape than I ever was.  where did I go wrong?  I can answer that, it just seems like a good moment to post the rhetorical obvious.  in the past few months, I've cried more than I did when my dog died.  I mourned more loss than when my marriage ended.  how did I come to believe so strongly that I had found 'the one' only to discover that I was so incredibly wrong?

technically, according to my friends and support network, I'm still sober.  my sobriety has not yet been compromised.  while I did get fucked up from drugs, it was not the kind of use that will end my day count. 

tonight I sat in the room where I normally facilitate my weekly dharma punx group, and announced that it is time for me to resign.  if I am giving up on myself, how can I continue to be in service to anyone else?

when I died a year ago, I had one regret, that I never had the chance to fall in love before the end.  well, I almost fully fell, wrongly, deeply, wrongly and now I cannot see... with the big life I have ahead, how I'll ever be able to be open hearted with anyone ever again.   visceral connections for aliens like me are almost impossible to come by.  I suppose I should be grateful that in this ocean of existence a few of the drops of time included little moments where I felt a 'connection', no matter how slight and immeasurable, at least I know that maybe it is possible.  perhaps my next lifetime. oh look, I think I just expelled a hint of gratitude.  maybe there's hope for me after all.  I don't think I have another 42 years in me to wait for the next one.  sigh.

bye bye baby...

as my forty-second birthday looms in the path ahead... a great sadness seems to be overtaking me... for it marks a deadline I cannot change.  the alarm clock went off ages ago, and I keep hitting the snooze button, over... and Over... AND OVER... in a month, I have to accept... I've run out of snooze buttons... and there will be no turning back.

being a mom was NEVER one of my goals, being married was for suckers, having kids was for jerk offs who needed someone to control.  oh my rant went on and on.  I didn't want kids.  I didn't want that sort of responsibility.  my mom was (still is) an abusive bitch and I was going to break the cycle by never having children and never being anything like her.

I found these conformist institutions like marriage and baby making for those other people who had unfulfilled lives.

my sister was slated to be the one to get married, have kids and follow the expected route through adulthood.  not Elissa Jane!!! not ME!  when my now ex-husband asked me to marry him, I laughed.  not like a small giggle, no, I LAUGHED...... because I couldn't believe this was something anyone would ever ask of me.

but it happened.  I married him.  and a year and a half later on October 17th, 2001 he got me pregnant.  something happened... that thing inside me became a baby, my baby, and my chance to do good in this world.  I suddenly had reason, purpose, something other than me to think about. 

my pregnancy was more than hard.  I lived with a staunch hard core alcoholic who decided that I was the enemy.  I got pregnant on purpose and I did it to him.  for ten months (my son was very late) I endured abuse, mostly verbal and some physical and lived in constant fear.  my pregnancy was NOTHING like the movies.  I cried a lot, and waited home alone for a husband who was blowing what little money we didn't have at the bars, falling asleep on benches, avoiding me and our home.  I lived in fear and couldn't imagine how I could be worthy of bringing a life into this world.  if my pregnancy was any indicator of life ahead, I was doomed.  

on July 18th, 2002... they cut Zoren Samuel Mastel out of my belly.  they held his squished up crying body up so I could see him.  he was there, here.  they handed him to Randall who was the very first person to hold him.  it was the only time I've ever seen Randall cry.  in that instant, I watched that asshole fall in love with our perfect little son, "look at your mom, this is your mommy, isn't she brave, she worked so hard to have you, I love you, we're a family.... "

everything I difficult I had endured melted away, and hope arrived.  Zoren was born.  we were a family.  for a moment.

in the days that followed, while I recovered in the hospital, Randall was out celebrating at the bar.  he barely came to see us.  when we came home, he was out as fast as lightening, and out drinking every night.  I actually had to call the cops and I kicked him out of the house.

they say children change you.  the arrival of Motherhood certainly changed me.  from that moment I realized I was pregnant, to the moment I gave birth, I had one mission... to put this little person ahead of everything else.  I opened a business to support us, and have fought hard to keep us afloat for the past nine years.  people would ask me how I do so much, how do I juggle it all?  my response would always be, "being his mom is easy, it is life that is so hard."

I wanted more kids.  I wanted to make up for the shitty pregnancy, and have one where I got to be the doted on pregnant woman.  I wanted a baby with whom I could spend a maternity leave with.  sheesh, I wanted to get to have a maternity leave!  I had hoped for a partner who was excited about the baby inside me.  I wanted all the stuff you see in the movies that I never got to have because I was living with a drunk douche bag the first time around. 

after begging and pleading, we tried for a second.  and failed.  I had five miscarriages in two years.  it was unbearably painful to watch my fellow mommy friends getting pregnant again while I endured life as a broken woman.  my body just wouldn't do it.  I suppose I should be grateful now, having two kids as a single mom would be so incredibly insanely hard.  (Carla, woman, I do not know how you do it!)

I was meant to be a mom, I love being a mother.  in my entire accomplished life, nothing compares to being able to make boo boos better with my kisses and leh'monem cookies (=M+M Cookies, took a while for Z to be able to say 'M+M') for school functions.   pregnancy might have ruined my body, but it did something beautiful to my soul.  in these years I've learned patience, I've given up my selfish lifestyle and put this other person first.  I've had to learn to set boundaries and rules, yes, I'm even a decent disciplinarian.  I know the true meaning of unconditional love, and I'm proud to say that I've broken the cycle of abuse and pain from my mom.

it may sound cliche, but my life was kind of meaningless before I became a parent.

last week, I went to the 35th Annual Phoenicia Square Dance with my son on my arm as my date, head held, erm, not really very high.. but my son and I danced together... I socialized and accepted where I'm at in life, the cosmopolitan single mom transplant.  there are easy days, where I look at my gorgeous, perfect kiddo and say, yeah, life is good just like this.

and then... there's the alarm clock that stopped going off.  no more snooze buttons to push.  I had been hopeful that by now I would have met someone, had another kiddo, been moved onto my next marriage and my next phase of my life.  samsara didn't dole that out as my lot.  yeah, I'm turning forty-two next month.  this was the deadline, the final year, the last chance.  reality has settled in, there will be no more kids for me.  it's really incredibly sad. it is time to let go of my attachment to hope, there won't be another chance at a great love... and there definitely isn't going to be another baby.  what a shame, I made such gorgeous awesome kiddos and I'm such an awesome mom, how could you not want to get me pregnant?  sigh. 

we all have our trigger for what causes us suffering... and now you know mine, the deep rooted truth... and now... to the hope I have been clinging onto I say, "bye bye baby.... "

everything happens for a reason

Over the course of this past weekend, I had several conversations that seemed to lead me back to one of my least favorite phrases, "Everything happens for a reason."  Man I hate that expression.  Really, everything?  I think if you're evolved enough, you can easily find lessons in EVERYTHING that happens in life.

I do believe that events happen as a combination of fate and free-will.  While I don't believe that there is a puppet master pulling strings trying to guide our experiences, I do recognize the intricate web all of our karma creates weaving experiences together in what feels something like fate.

Many people say that we come together with other people for a reason, that there is a destiny that can justify how people meet.  I wish I could believe that the people in my life have placement in my world because of this romantic notion that we were meant to meet.  Unfortunately, I just can't fully get on board with the idea that each and every person in my life has an intrinsic purpose and a part to play and that it was pre-destined that we'd meet.

None the less... I took a good look at the people in my life this weekend... going back in time, wandering the streets of the neighborhoods where I lived, worked, made impressions and created connections with hosts of people, wandering by old apartments, bars I drank in, shops I shopped in, places I rolled my son in his stroller, my old Urban Monster store front and the vacant space where our favorite coffee once was...  I could see details that continue to remain a constant and the changes.  I was able to identify how I have made a mark on people in a time line that makes up my life with the symbolism of architectural details which remain and the things that were new and different. 

Soaking in nostalgic feelings of a lifetime behind me and seeing old friends with whom I shared a sense of community at one point highlighted snapshots of a lifetime's journey behind me.  I have met so many people in my almost forty-two years of life.   At different points, many of them have had a purpose for why they entered my life.  Each of them connects me and anchors me to humanity in someway or another.  In the mix of people I saw over the weekend... there were people I am close to, people I used to be close to, and some people with whom I am no longer friends.  Time changes, and each of these people have taught me something, even if the thing they presented me was merely that feeling of community and human connection.  There's something really great as an alien like freak to have that feeling of being able to connect with someone else on any level.

One thing I'm super grateful for right now are the people with whom I am closest to right now.  I have a small circle of friends in my life right now with whom I'd say I have deep connections with.  Everyone in my life right at this moment has a purpose, because the people in my life today mirror a more authentic version of myself than I've ever portrayed before.  As I continue to evolve and grow, I'm attracting new people into my life who provide me with a new sense of connection and deeper level of understanding and support.

You see, it isn't the universe or a puppeteer who brings this love into my life... it is me.  My action, my change, my evolution isn't so different from the store fronts of Smith Street.  There is change and there are constants, it won't stop the gentrification of the neighborhood.  It may make some people sad to see a shop close... but it only makes room for something new to take it's place.  And honestly, if you don't like it, you can do like I did, and MOVE up and out all together.  

yeah haw the single mom honky tonk blues

I know it may sound like a broken record over and over throughout this blog.. but here it comes... while I sing ya.. the single mom blues.  Over the past 5 years I've learned to go from being  dependent on my partner to get through life to an incredibly independent Woman.  I mean, have I had a choice?  Sure I have my chill dharma yoga meditation practice, but that's not quelling the fundamental need to NOT be alone all the time.  Most days, it has become routine to raise my son and walk this earth alone, but this week threw me some really hard core triggers that really made me scream F.M.L. over and over.

When Zoren was born, I remember people asking all these questions about what parenthood was like... my standard answer then was, "being Zoren's mom is easy, it's all this life around me that's really hard."  He was the most amazing, loving, happy baby.  The kid never cried, was always amenable and liked all people.  He laughed constantly and everything was near perfect for the first 19 months.

He learned to walk before he was one... and I remember him falling and hurting himself in my shop one day... he fell and cut his chin, blood spilling out of his face.  This was just the beginning.  he learned to bite me and bruised me from head to toe, he learned to talk back, Zman got in fights in preschool, hurt other kids, got hurt, became a victim of a bully, acted out, hated me, wouldn't put on his shoes every morning for two years without me yelling, sassed teachers, sassed me and all this time... I've had to maintain some sort of composure and figure out how to help and fix this kid and his phases.  We have done family counseling and sit together and talk quietly.  Sometimes he likes to meditate with me, I really like that.

I gotta tell you... nine years later... being a mom isn't always so easy. Doing it on my own has been pretty darned challenging.

In the early years when I was still married, I remember meeting single moms and wondering how the hell they do it.  I'd think that would never be me, I'd be married forever.  That would never happen to me.  Of course, what we resist, persists and sure enough here I am... touting phrases like, "Single moms rock!" and throwing around my unsure sense of liberated feminism in order to put strength behind a situation I really don't want to be in.

This entire week has been nothing but car trouble.  I can't tell you how sucky it is being a Cartarded JAP Princess getting stuck with a car that won't drive properly.  It's my own fault, I've been driving it into the ground for weeks.  Sitting on the side of the road last weekend with the car overheating... I managed to play EJ MacGyver and figured out how to aleviate the situation and get us from point A to Point B.  At first I felt empowered, like shit, I can do this!  By Sunday, I wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear... I wanted some man to come and swoop me up in his BatPlane and pick my car up with a crane and take it to his BatCave where his trusty butler fixit man would get rid of it and buy me a newer more reliable one.

Whenever I meet a guy who can fix cars, I swoon at the idea that he will be my perfect match and that I'll never struggle or suffer the plight of driving a piece of crap old car anymore... that he will save the day and save me.  I had a guy who used to work on my cars, and I loved him.  When we first started dating he took my car to the car wash and detailed it for me in the 90 degree heat... I fell in love with him right there and then.  He replaced my alternator, fixed all the little broken things, he fixed and fixed and split... ACK!

Today I was stuck on the side of the Throughway, car smoking while I stood there in my Prada high heels.  Why am I single??? I cried out... how can this be? I hate this shit, I really do.  The tow truck came, the car got fixed but I felt so vulnerable, like how is it that I had to pay for help.  It really utterly sucked.  When I get stuck, which happens, I hate this feeling that I just don't know who I'm supposed to call to help me.  I have to handle my whole life on my own.  It's so challenging.  It really is.  

Tonight was another one of those school/town functions where I get to strut my stuff as the token City Chick Single Mom who moved upstate to do over her life...yes, tonight was the 35th annual Phoenicia Square Dance... Zman was my date, it was mommy and me time.  As usual, I showed up, just him and me for the whole town to see.  Dads a plenty in their western shirts and wedding rings, staying clear..... that Ms. French and Ms. Howe looking down their noses at me... I sat in the corner, alone as I always do... sipping $.50 cups of lemonade in styrofoam cups watching the social scene of Phoenicia unfold in front of me.  In the four years I've lived up here, I've learned their faces, many of their names, had playdates, saw them at the 'anonymous' meetings and certainly have gotten to chat with them over the years on field trips and at birthday parties.  I've found my way in to this community..... the single mom from the city and her little dark funkified child.

Over the years, the dread has waned and I've grown a little more comfortable each time I go to school to participate in these functions.  I've certainly made some friendly connections among the fellow parents, but I just don't fit in.  I could blame myself for not really getting involved enough, but there's something very 'mean girls' about the PTA that always triggers great aversion for me.

But something this night was different from all the other school function nights.  Leading up to the big square dance ... my son was so enthusiastic that we were going to this event.  He bought bandannas for us in the little school store, his was blue, mine was bright pink and he was proud to have picked one so girlie just for me.  We took our time putting our outfits together and even I got a little excited.  I did manage to get my little cowpoke to be my dance partner, and we had fun square dancing together, in fact we had a blast.  I let him be him, running around with his friends, getting lost and being a kid having fun.  There was a moment while I swung on the swing set watching him interact with his classmates in the playground under the dusk filled sky, the crescent moon over the mountains and the stars just beginning to emerge.  I wanted to leave and get the eff out of there, but I decided to just put him first and let him play while I observed.  Him and his friends ran amok making up new games and hunting each other down in various forms of tag and hide and seek.  At one point, he called out to me in a loud whisper, "I love you mommy," from a hiding spot.  I smiled.

As parents came and scooped up their kids, Zoren did something he rarely does anymore, he reached for my hand and stayed close as we walked out to leave.  He held My Hand for all his friends to see!  Pulling me close, my too cool child said, "I love you mommy, I had the best time because you let me be me.  I love that you let me be me, you're the best mommy.  Thanks for dancing with me, that was fun."

After thinking for a moment, I decided to agree.  Why not decide that tonight was fun, wasn't it?  I'm ok with getting used to being the token hipster city single mom.  There's some parts of the act I don't mind... the dads who talk to me about music, telling my wacky dating stories, all my comedic jokes ... it's not really that bad.  My friend's partner said to me tonight, "what, how is it that you're totally single?  I figured you had a stable of men, you're too fine to be alone.  I just don't believe that, you just need to walk out the door and you'll get someone."  Hah hah, if only that were true, but thank you for saying it anyway. 

Look at my life... the struggle, the complications and me, wacky nutty me.  No one could possibly want to step into all of this.  You don't just get me, you have to take on me and my kid, we're this package... it's no wonder I'm on my own... we're a tough world to walk into.  We're family, we're all the things family represents and becoming one of us must be an unfathomable idea for most guys I'm sure. 

Snuggling up with Zman at bedtime, he was so elated that we had so much fun that he declared that it's Mother's Day Weekend because of all the work I do.  He has decided that one day isn't enough, he wants me to know that I'm the best mommy so he's gonna make me breakfast tomorrow. He acknowledged how hard it is for me, and promised to do more chores around the house and stop being so messy. 

Two seconds later I sat down on droplets of Zman's pee on the the toilet seat.  Yuck.  He swears to me he'll lift the seat from now on as part of my Mother's Day present.  AWESOME!

there is always room for forgiveness, healing and change

ten years ago, I was heading for the zenith of my PR career.
ten years ago, I was engaged and then married.
ten years ago, I was super skinny.
ten years ago, my father and I were estranged for more than a decade.
ten years ago, I found my Dad......

It was March 2000, and there was only a month left until the wedding.  I was a pretty chill bridezilla, as a seasoned event planner, I had pulled the details together quickly and seamlessly, the guest list was small (under 70 including dates) the scene was set.  Everything with the wedding was 'perfect', and I was pretty excited how well things fell into place.

But there was something missing.  There was an empty void inside of me, the pain of feeling like I wasn't worthy ... a disconnect that felt unfixable.

I was missing my Dad.  He had been out of my life for over ten years, and the pain of that was devastating.  I did all sorts of work around it, from joining Lifespring, therapy, counseling, support groups, heavy drugs, and adopting friends Dad's as father figures.  Each of the outlets provided me some comfort, but none of them answered the questions for me that played on a continuous loop in my head that started with the word 'Why'.

I was never Daddy's Girl, that spot was reserved for my sister.  But he loved me, and would tell me things you want a Dad to say, like, "you're way prettier than your sister."  Ok, not healthy but ... I loved and love that he tells me this.  Sick, yes, I am.

The month before the wedding, March 2000, my mother and I were on the phone.  She had let me know that she had seen Harvey, an old friend of Dad's, in her neighborhood walking his dogs.  She mentioned this to me a few times over a couple of weeks.  So one night, I dial 411 and get his number.  With my fiancee at my side, I dialed Harvey.

"Hi Harvey, I'm not sure if you remember me, I'm Elissa, Bob's daughter.  You haven't seen or heard from me in a long time.  My mom had said she had seen you around her neighborhood, and I was hoping you might know where my Dad is."

Harvey responded, "Of course I remember you.  Yes, I can put you in touch with your Dad, are you sure you really want to talk with him?"

"Oh yes, if it's not too much trouble, I have a pen and paper, could I get his number," shaking, I'm waiting for the information.

"Elissa, I can put you in touch with him," he repeated, "but, are you sure you want to speak with him?"

"Yes, really, I do," nervous but sure, I responded.

"How about I put him on the phone now," I could hear Harvey smiling through the receiver, "He's sitting right here.  I haven't seen him in years, and he's visiting with me right now!"

My father got on the phone and within minutes we had orchestrated a plan to meet downtown at Temple Bar for a martini.  Our reunion was six martini's deep, and by the end, I realized that all the therapy, counseling, drugs and support groups were bullshit, I really just needed to see my dad and get that sort of affirmation that only could come from him.

I did ask him the big question, 'Why."  His answer was, "I really don't know, but I'm sorry."

In that moment, I surrendered to realizing that was enough, that he was a suffering human being, who made a lot of bad choices.  He shared that he thought of calling me, but each time, he felt worse that more time had passed.

From there.... things changed.  He was back in my life.  He still wasn't invited to the wedding, my mom and sister put the kybosh to that.  I wish I had stood my ground, and it saddens me he wasn't there but... clearly, there will be a next one.  Well, I can hope.

After 9/11, I convinced my mother and sister to invite him to Thanksgiving, and from that point on, our dysfunctional wacky family was reunited.  At that holiday dinner, I refused the champagne, and announced that I was pregnant.  He might of missed the wedding, but he hasn't missed a day of my son's life.   The first people to meet the Zbot after his Dad, was my mom and MY DAD.  In fact, it was my father who handed Zoren to me the first time I finally got to hold him in my arms.


After the torture of the worst divorce in history, my parents made the 'War of the Roses' look like a side show at the Big Apple Circus .... years and years apart, my parents are friends, good friends.  Dad has been making amends to each of us.  He has taken care of my mom during her stroke, cancer and other emergency visits to the hospital.  He visits my sister in Boston.  My father is back in my life, and ... we have had some BIG breakthroughs in our relationship, particularly this year.  I took a stand and made amends to him for my part in the difficulties of our relationship over matzoh ball soup at Passover dinner at my mom's.  And ... most recently, he took a stand and stood up for ME with my family when I needed him to.  After years of crying that my Dad doesn't get my back, I got to see that he really does.

Today he turned 68, although, he would prefer if you would just say 59.  He just went through a couple of years of pain and surgery and I am seeing the impermanence of life unfolding before me.  He's not the tough, heartless, ruthless business man of his past... he too has been broken by his own suffering.  Where I once felt disdain and resentment, I feel genuine love and compassion.  The night we were reunited at the Temple Bar, I discovered my father was a broken man.  I forgave him easily, but it certainly hasn't been easy and smooth between us these past ten years.  Both of us have worked on it, and while our relationship may not be the example of ideal, it ain't bad.  I have a dad, and my son has a very close relationship with his grandfather. 


I'm so grateful to have my Dad in my life.  I know that something strange and mysterious was at work the day I found him at Harvey's apartment.  In these times where I struggle with a continuous crisis of faith, I have to acknowledge that something must have been at work that I was able to find him in one phone call.

So Dad, Happy Birthday.  Thanks for being in my life, and for teaching me that there is always room for forgiveness, healing and change.  I love you very much.