a page out of Diana’s journal 11-20-02

It is a little past 3:00 a.m. I have been awake for over an hour. I lay in the bed I share with my husband of less than four months. When I first retired last evening, I assumed I wouldn’t sleep well as I was upset and unsettled about some difference we shared.

Physically, I knew my husband about six weeks when he asked me to marry him. Both of us are in our 50's and have one failed marriage under our belts. Yet when we first made contact (we met over one of those internet matching sites) I knew there was something very special about him. Our souls have known each other far longer. I met this wonderful man, got married, packed up and moved from the house I had built in the community I called home, and moved 400 miles away to live the rest of my life with this virtual stranger I believe to be my soul mate.

It’s funny how the little things get me. There have been two issues that have come between us since we married. One involved our pets, the other a cruise we couldn’t decide to take. Actually, I decided I wanted it. He didn’t. So far, he’s won.

Notice the language I use?

"He’s won." As if I’m fighting some kind of a battle.

It’s always a battle with me. Everything. And it’s All About Me. Even my zodiac chart reflects this. The good news: I’m able to overcome tremendous odds and obstacles. My biggest obstacle? Me!

Let’s talk about Withdrawal. I sought counseling and therapy because I was mired in a less-than-satisfying relationship with a man that used withdrawal as skillfully as a master swordsman. We broke up several times but I kept letting him back into my life. It was this compulsion that caused me enough misery to seek help.

I thought it was all about this man’s withdrawal. Certainly it was the problem with my first marriage. My dad had it down pat. But as I lay in bed this evening, contemplating the mistake I made in marrying this man next to me; wondering how I would cope with our eventual divorce; deciding it was easier and safer to be alone. All this because we can’t agree about a stupid cruise. My own withdrawal now stares me in the face.

I realize this as I look at its ugly reflection. But upon closer scrutiny, the reflection is not so ugly. I realize withdrawal is my survival mechanism and I can come to peace with it. I don’t need to withdraw from this man whose soul I love so dearly. I need to breathe, sort out my thoughts and feelings, make sure I don’t let him trample on who I am, and then respond accordingly. I could take the damn cruise by myself if it means that much to me!

It’s not about the cruise. It’s about living together, working through our fears, sorting out the individual shadow characters, working out our differences and coming to a place of peace inside of ourselves and then each other. It’s about being real. It’s about honoring my Self first and then honoring the Self in my husband.

There was no mistake in following my heart to the altar with this man. There will be no divorce. Withdrawal wins out, but in a different way. I will learn to withdraw briefly as a way to sort out my emotions before letting this Italian temper explode at the drop of a hat.

I will withdraw briefly and examine the real reasons for my stress. The sale of my house will be complete in 10 days. The lovely little home I had built for my daughter and me after my divorce will be put into the hands of a stranger. I will no longer be able to talk to those baby aspens that I planted. They were shorter than my 5'1" stature when they first went into the ground 3-4 years ago. In that short time, they grew so voluptuously they reached the top of the house and actually provided shade for the front of my southern exposed picture window as I made wedding plans this past summer.

The prolific rose bush that my mother gave me produces so many scarlet blossoms that passersby comment on it regularly. There is a second rose bush that seems to compete with the first so it will be as loved and appreciated. It seems to know that roses are my favorite and it is their fragrance I sprits on my person daily.

My dad gave me a Colorado spruce as a housewarming gift when my daughter and I first moved in four years ago. Every summer I would go to that little tree that stood barely 2 feet tall when I planted it and say, "Some day you’re going to be as tall as this house, maybe taller. And so magnificent and beautiful." As if to please me, the little spruce almost tripled in height.

The strawberries, the apricot tree, the three Austrian pines in the back, the mature apple tree: all these precious plants I nurtured for over four years will be at the mercy of their new owner.

Although my new husband has a plethora of heavenly-scented roses in his lovely little back yard and he graces me with cuttings often, I will miss my own little roses from those two bushes in front of the house I had built to my specifications.

I struggle not to have my own personal grief impinge upon my budding marriage. I don’t want attachment to things to overshadow my relationship. So I decide to allow my grief its place and share it with my husband as best I can. That is what really is bothering me. I don't have to fight with my husband anymore in order to disguise it.

Another crisis passes. May I get some sleep now?

Diana and her husband David - on the cruise!

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