What I know about love and the surefire way to heal a wounded heart

This post was commissioned by the lovely Therese Schwenkler of the seriously-you-should-be-reading-this blog The Unlost who asked if I might be willing to write something about love and heartbreak for a blog post celebrating her one year "single-versary." She was hoping I would provide some wisdom and hope for women who are currently dealing with heartbreak and/or loneliness.

I welcomed such a noble (if not daunting) challenge and here is what I came up with...

Bob and I just celebrated nine years of marriage. And we've been together for twelve. I haven't had to go out on any first dates in a very long time. Mark Zuckerberg was 16 when Bob and I started dating, so thankfully Facebook wasn't a part of my single womanhood. I'm a thirty-six year old woman with a husband, a toddler and a Pug Dog... so how the hell can I relate to someone who is single and heartbroken?

Well, it's true. I can't completely relate to where you are right now. In this world. But I have been there. And what I can tell you is this... as much as it hurts, as much as it seems like you'll never be happy again, as much as you can't go a day without crying or at least trying not to cry, as much as you want to just shut yourself away from the world for a little while...

You alone are responsible for your own happiness.

I'll say it again. (This time with feeling.)

You alone are responsible for your own happiness.
This piece of advice was given to me by my stepmom Silvia following a particularly bad breakup when I was 24. I was having such a terrible time getting past being dumped. I couldn't go a day without wallowing in my misery. I felt cheated and lost and hopelessly sad. It was all very dramatic. One day on my way home from work, I was on the phone crying to my stepmom (who had been a wonderful listener during my weeks of wallowing) when she said this to me.
Our conversation went a little something like this (I reserve the right to paraphrase... a lot):

ME: It hurts so much. It's so unfair. (blubber blubber, sniff sniff) I don't know how I'll ever be happy again...

SILVIA: The thing is, you alone are responsible for your own happiness.

ME: But, you don't understaaaaaaaaand--

SILVIA: You alone are responsible for your own happiness. Not a guy. Not a relationship. Not your mom. Not your dad. Not your job. Not your circumstances. You.

Silence.

Silence.

ME: But--

SILVIA: You.

ME: Okay.

And it hit me. Not right away. But soon after that conversation I realized she was right. If I was responsible for my own happiness, then I could just be happy. Now. I didn't have to wait for anything to happen. I didn't have to wait for the pain to go away. I didn't have to wait for his new relationship to crash and burn in order to show him how amazing I was compared to her and how wrong he was for dumping me. No. In fact, I could just be happy. More than that. It was my JOB to be happy. No one else's job. MY job.

But how do you just be happy? You begin by getting that outside circumstances have absolutely nothing to do with your happiness. Then you start doing things that happy people do. At least that's what I did. I engaged in my life. As a single woman. I empowered myself. I determined to kick ass as a smart and single twenty-four year old. I signed up for a 500-mile bike ride for charity with my mom (it was my very smart and kick butt mom's idea.) And then I began training for that ride. Raising money and riding my bike all over Chicago for a cause far bigger than myself. This ride was the AIDS ride and raised money for people living with AIDS. Doing that made all the difference.

I was up to something and loving life. I realized that had I still been in that relationship, I probably never would have done this ride. It was such a fulfilling experience. And it completely had me get how powerful those words "You alone are responsible for your own happiness" really are.

The best part of the story comes now.

I met my husband training for that ride.

Our first date was the ride itself. 500 miles over six days from Minneapolis to Chicago. We fell in love in bike shorts and helmets, pedaling up steep hills, in wind and rain, through knee pain and sore butts.

I was never one to believe in love at first sight, but by the end of that ride I knew I would spend the rest of my life with him. That ride has been a metaphor for our life together. Ups and downs, pain and tears.

Love never gets easy. The most rewarding relationships are hard fought. What I've learned from our 12-year-relationship (that has been far from perfect, by the way) is that love isn't saying yes once and hoping it lasts. It's saying yes over and over and over again and especially when everything seems impossible. Saying yes in the good times and especially the bad. That's love. That's our love. We just keep doing it.

Throughout our marriage, Silvia's advice has come to mind many times over. "You alone are responsible for your own happiness." Not anyone else. Not ever. Not only when you're single, but also when you're in a committed relationship. And especially when you're married. Trust me. I've tried to make Bob responsible for my happiness. It does not work. So, please don't even try it. You can outsource a lot of things these days, but not your happiness. Why would you want to?

So, I guess that's my advice for anyone who is brokenhearted and/or lonely.

Make being happy your new occupation. 

Go out and surprise yourself with how awesome and amazing you are. Do a bike ride for charity. Sign up for a 3-Day Breast Cancer Walk. Raise money for an important cause close to your heart. Learn to play the saxophone. Take a tap dancing class. Volunteer at your local shelter. Deliver meals on wheels. Write that novel you've always dreamed of writing. Be someone who inspires happiness in others.

Be. Happy. Now. Yes. Right now. You deserve it.

Thanks, Therese for inviting me to write this post. It had me realize that I write way more about foreclosure and debt than I do about love. I've been neglecting the LOVE part of this blog. No more.

Now that you've read this, it would be so great if you would comment below with your advice to the lonely and temporarily brokenhearted.

And DEFINITELY go read the inspiration for this post- Therese's one-year single-versary blog post about love:

Rewriting the Great Love Stories of Our Time - The Unlost

Check out the other wise women contributing posts to The Unlost's post on love:

The Road to Transformation - Further Bound

Guest Post, The Unlost: Stories of Our Time - [According to Aletheia]

Later today there will be another related post up on Expat at Home.

P.S. If you liked this post, please share it. You know what to do. Danke!

A Guy's Guy

Introducing my other half. Take it away, Bob...

Am I a guy's guy? I don't know that really means. I know I'm a guy. A guy that has friends over to watch the Bears on Sundays during football season. A guy who works hard, takes pride in his work and provides value to his company and clients. A guy who loves and takes care of his family by being the major breadwinner. If that’s a guy’s guy, then I guess I am.

I’m also a guy who is in the midst of losing everything he’s worked for his entire life. Everything that’s defined me and my success up to this point is vanishing right in front of my eyes. Like a candle being blown out by a strong swift breeze. Now you see it, now you don’t.

Growing up in a trailer park in the Midwest in my younger years had me yearn for more. There was nothing wrong with where I lived. We had a simple existence. I just saw that it was possible to have anything in life you just had to go out and get it. It was clear that nothing would just be handed to me. And it seemed that there were so many different and exciting things “out there”. Why not go out and see what I can accomplish? What I can do? What I can make of myself? Find out what things I love, what things I don’t? I wanted to go out, develop my character and be a well-rounded human being. I wanted to be able to sitting in my rocking chair 70, 80 years down the road, look back at life and say, “It was worth going for it all.”

As a kid, I saw people around me that seemed to be stuck in life. Stuck for good. There was anger, depression, and sadness. And I did not want that. That seemed to be the worst possible existence one could have-- living in America, the land of opportunity, and being stuck. It seemed impossible. Yet, it was right there.

So I went to college, moved to the big city, got a tech job, married an amazing woman, and started making some good money. Living-wise, I progressed from trailer to apartment, from apartment to condo and condo to house.

My plan seemed to be going really well. Until about two years ago.

I began to feel stuck. Stuck for good. Just like those people I saw in my hometown as a kid. I felt complacent. Numb. It affected everything- my marriage, my work, my life. I had everything I thought I would ever want, but I wasn’t happy. I remember thinking: “I can’t live the remaining 60-70 years of my life like this. What the hell am I going to do?” And I also thought, “What happened? It’s not supposed to be like this!”

Together, my wife and I started therapy. We knew we had to do something. Anything was better than pretending that things were working. I really believe that would have driven me to an early grave.

Did I want to be put under possible scrutiny of a third party? No. Did I want to find out that I could be the entire reason my life wasn’t working? Of course not. I definitely didn’t want someone telling me that I failed, there’s no way to fix it, I was completely broken and incapable of being fixed. That I was a complete failure of a human being.

It’s been said that courage is being afraid, and acting in the face of the fear. I was terrified. Of what my life was then, what kind of human being I was, as well as what I was going to find out about myself. I acted. Some call that courage. I felt more like a coward. I would have to give the title of courage to my wife. She was the one that suggested counseling. I owe it to her. Even if she decided at some point she was going to leave me, I wanted her to be able to leave and move on and have a better life. I didn’t want my shortcomings and mistakes to impede her future.

Fast forward to a year later. We had worked through some really deep-seeded issues. Both of us. As individuals, as well as partners. And we came out the other side happier than ever. Our lives seemed magical again. The spark had returned and I was happier than ever…

Then my contract was terminated… early. And suddenly. My client was moving in a different direction. No job. No Money. How will we keep the house? How will we keep anything? I can’t go backwards!

As a guy, a guy who has based his entire identity on striving for and pursuing money, a nice car and a great house, how do I keep my dignity? My self respect? My pride?

Over the last few months, it’s been quite a ride. I’ve secured a job – at 40% of what I was previously making. I’ve had to let go of many possessions, many frills. The latest casualty is satellite TV. It’s been a challenge to say the least.

I have my dignity, self respect and pride. Probably more so than ever. I’ve realized that it wasn’t the things I own, or what I do for a living that defines me. Whether I live in a trailer, or a mansion doesn’t matter. It’s how I act in the face of uncertainty, in the face of tough times. And having my wife as my teammate makes all the difference. When we first met on the AIDS Ride more than ten years ago, we were very clear that as long as we were together, we could accomplish anything. And that makes all the difference. The ‘together’ part.

Anyone can be happy when things are going great. How are you going to act when the chips are down? When there’s nothing left? That’s the true test of your nature. One’s character.

It’s the fourth quarter, less than a minute, you’re on your one yard line. You’re down by 6. You’ve got to drive the whole length of the field to win. Are you going to just quit the game? Walk off the field? Abandon your teammates? Or are you going to play your heart out, and go for it all. Go for broke. That’s what this guy’s gonna do.

Between a Marriage and a House

In my last post I wrote about the facts and how we are not allowing this foreclosure to define us. It's not easy to explain exactly how we're able to do that, but here's another attempt. How are we able to be in foreclosure and still happier than we've ever been?

Perspective. It's all about perspective. Point of view, outlook, framing. When you're faced with losing everything, things drop like a thud in the pit of your stomach into... perspective. So here it is. The answer. Here we go. The single most powerful reason we've been able to keep this whole mess in perspective is because a year and a half ago we came very close to losing something much more valuable than a house: our marriage.

The second half of 2007 was the most terrifying time in my life. Much more so than now. We were coming up on our five year wedding anniversary when out of the blue everything came crashing down. Our marriage and everything we'd built together was suddenly filled with cracks and holes. Like a shin bone that had endured pounding on pavement for far too long... that suddenly cracks. Shin splints untreated turn into stress fractures. Our marriage was like that. Though we'd only been married for just under five years, we'd been together for nine. Far too many aches and pains had gone ignored.

I will never forget the day it began. I'll never forget the moment our marriage disappeared from beneath my feet and I was left without a place to stand. I'll never forget what it felt like to look into my husband's eyes and feel like I might actually lose my home. Our marriage was my home.

We had a lot to figure out. A world between us to understand. So much to forgive. We reached out immediately to our families and began couples counseling. We didn't start this marriage alone- it began before one hundred and twenty five of our closest friends and family- and we wouldn't let it end alone. We were determined to not let it end at all. And we knew we needed support.

What we discovered in turning to our friends and families was unconditional love and support. They had faith in us. They were on our side. They believed we had all the love and commitment required to carry us through the darkest time I never expected to experience. Other people went through this, not us. But there we were. Going through it. But not alone.

If I sit and think back to those days, I can still summon the physical experience. What it felt like. The nausea, the sadness brimming just behind my eyes ready to transform into salty, burning tears at a moment's notice, the exhaustion, the puffy skin around my eyes, the anxiety pressing on my lungs making a single breath hard to take...

We met on a long distance bike ride for charity. The AIDS Ride from Minneapolis to Chicago. 500 miles. 6 days. Non-stop togetherness up long hills, down steep ones, pedaling through endless stretches of cornfields... pushing ourselves for something much bigger than the two of us. We knew we were made of the strong stuff. We were up for big challenges. I was good climbing, he was good at enduring. Together we got each other through. And in the end we knew we were meant for each other.

The ride has always been a metaphor for our life together. This period was the longest, hottest day of the ride. The day where your knee threatens to blow at any second and your lungs burn. Where everything chafes and all you see is endless road ahead. No rest in sight. No camp. No water. Just pain. And misery. You question: Why did I ever agree to this?! 500 miles?! Am I insane? And then he rides up beside you and says: "We'll ride together." And that's all it takes. The road is still endless, the humidity still suffocating, the butt still numb... but as long as you're together, nothing else matters. You ride together and you remind each other that you're not riding alone. You're riding for all those people that donated to the cause, that couldn't ride themselves, all those people who benefit from the ride... and that helps. That carries you to camp. To rest. To water.

Just as that was true for us in the beginning on that ride that brought us together, so it was true in the darkest moment of our marriage. We were carried through this time by the support and love from our family, friends and community. Three days a week in counseling soon became two... then one... then once every other week. We worked through a lifetime of 'junk.' We discovered so much about each other and ourselves. We were there for ourselves as much as each other. We knew that if we really dug in and were vulnerable and peeled back every single possible layer that we would have the marriage we always wanted. What began as the darkest moment in my life turned into a huge possibility. An opportunity to create the marriage of our dreams.

I do remember very clearly saying to my mom (through tears): "As awful as this is, I have this feeling it could be the best thing for our marriage." And I was right. It was an intensely challenging (such an understatement) time for us, and we're stronger than before having gone through it. Our marriage is the marriage of our dreams. Every day we look at each other knowing what we almost lost and grateful for having had the courage to save it.

A moment that is now etched into my bones happened on one of the 'bad days'. We were at a point where neither of us had the energy to keep fighting. We were just standing there in our house. Nowhere to go. Nothing left to say. I looked around at our newly and beautifully renovated home that took so much of our time, energy and money. I looked out at the wrap around view of the San Gabriel Mountains, looked at Bob and said: "I don't care about any of this. The kitchen, the house, the view.... none of it matters. It can all go away. I'd give it all up as long as I could just have you! Us- together and happy." And I meant it. What does a house matter when you're faced with losing your home? My marriage, as I said, was my home. I've thought about that moment a lot because the irony is just too good to ignore. As though the Universe was listening and said, "Yeah, so you'd give it up? Okay, we'll see." And here we are.

Would I give it up? For my marriage? Hell, yes. A house isn't a home without love. And none of this matters without each other.

The most frequently uttered cliche between us is: "At least we have each other." Never before have those words rung so true.