A case of lost identity.

Publicerad den av makikely
Lost identity

Identity theft is one of the most widely committed crimes in the world.

How do we define our own identity?

We are all born into different cultures, families and values. Later on we go to college, get a job, some of us get married and we put on new identities related to education, work title, social status. At least, that’s what I did. The man I married was the father of my children and the owner of the company I worked for. We ended up divorcing and a few years later, it became impossible for me to keep my job. So I sort of lost my identity twice within a three years period.

After the divorce, I had the opportunity and freedom to become who I wished to be. I decided to take the chance to remodel my identity and use my experiences to build something new. I made up my mind to move from the city I had lived in the past 20 years and challenge myself to learn new things, meet new people. I also wanted to put space between me and the (place I called) home we had built together and where his new wife had moved in. The day I packed my last box at work, he asked me if I wouldn’t consider staying. Stupid me thought that he was telling me that I was an asset to the company and that he still needed my skills. I was flattered, I felt important and I decided to stay.
I shouldn’t have.

Life went on, sweet and sour like it often is. They say there are no happy divorces and ours was no exception but somehow I thought we would stay friends (enough). Most hurtful was losing the dream of a family, my fantasies about grandchildren visiting and sleeping in their parents’ old rooms, the places we would travel with them. Another sad consequence of the breakup was losing people I thought of as friends who stopped talking to me because I was no longer “someone’s wife”. But all in all, I was happy to have a good job, a cozy apartment, enough nice persons to call friends and a wonderful, caring new companion.

But then came next “separation”. To be honest, I felt it coming. Attitudes, atmosphere, rumors, a lot of changes and then the crack, a nasty argument and I was out of my working place in one day – after 23 years. When you don’t get it the first time, life makes sure you understand it with a clear, new message: it was time for me to move on.

I knew that losing a job is never easy and can cause more distress than just a shrinking income but I had never experienced it personally. It took me a few weeks to understand it was over, like for real. And that I was not on holidays.
At first, I was relieved, I would never again have to face the hatred of the man I (will always) share parenthood of my children with. But, shortly after, I started waking up in the mornings with anxiety attacks. There I was, fifty years old, having worked all my life in the family business, doing my share to make it grow (from thirty-five employees when I started to almost six hundred when I left) and now I would have to find out what to do instead. Being out of work was a terrible feeling, in certain ways I lost my grounding, my footing, my definition. It gave me a sense of insecurity and made me question my place in this world.

‘Who was I? Where was I going? What was I good at? Who did I want to be? What would I do next? What would I do tomorrow morning at 8:00? Would I get up? Would I stay in bed?’ I had not lost a job; I had also lost a big part of who I was.

I felt angry, hurt, panicked, rejected, and scared. I had to use all my experience of coaching other people to remember what I preach, “We are what we think”. If we belittle our achievements and sense of worth with thoughts like “I am too old, I will never find a better job” or “What do I have to offer?” then we prevent ourselves from moving forward. I had to reroute my thoughts and focus on “What’s in this challenge for me?”, “How do I want to start the next chapter of my life?”.

I also tried to remember that many, if not most, successful people have experienced major failures in their careers and turned those failures around by learning from the experience, and trying again. To create the new me, I sat down (or went for long walks) and wandered through some major soul-searching to discover what I truly like doing most. Because, after all, I know we become very good at doing what we love. I wrote my résumé ten times before recognizing the person in it. Trying to define who I was in a CV made me understand how much I valued being the boss of me. More and more often I woke up thinking what a great opportunity it was to make a change, to do something different.  Not necessarily better, but different, something that can inspire me to move forward, maybe a small business, a new education, or stay-at-home-for-a-while-and-write-my-book dream.

There were many things I did to take control of the situation and maintain my spirits:

  • I kept a regular daily routine with a “start” and an “end”.
  • I took care of myself with better food and more exercise, a sweaty walk in the woods is a powerful mood and energy booster.
  • I got plenty of sleep.
  • I prioritized my yoga practice.
  • I took the opportunity to rethink my career goals and rediscover what would truly make me happy.
  • I walked with my kind neighbor (and her sweet dog) and talked to her about what I was going through. I didn’t want her to offer solutions, just be a good listener. The simple act of sharing made me feel better.
  • I wrote about my feelings, expressing everything as they felt.
  • I stopped beating myself up or criticizing or blaming myself for not leaving the first time I had the chance to.
  • I listed my positives, focused on the things I can control and looked for the silver lining. What could I learn from the experience?

Our jobs are much more than just the way we make a living. They influence how we see ourselves, as well as the way others see us. Our jobs give us structure, purpose, and meaning. That’s why job loss and unemployment is one of the most stressful things one can experience. I am so grateful to have friends and family who helped me remember I was more than my old life, more than my old job. I am also grateful for this experience, it will help me understand (and help) my clients if they ever end up in between jobs. And I am mostly grateful for the opportunity to try new things, like running my own little business.

And I will keep in mind that, if something doesn’t work out, there will be other ways.

“Life is like dancing. If we have a big floor, many people will dance.
Some will get angry when the rhythm changes. But life is changing all the time.”
~ Miguel Angel Ruiz

The Crack

Publicerad den av makikely
The Crack

Since childhood I have been warned about men being selfish sexist cheaters who are only after two things: a career that brings money (read “power”) and sex. Unfortunately I have seen men around me being and doing just that. I have been in friendship and in relationship with a couple of them. No wonder maybe my first big love was a homosexual (I didn’t know he was until he broke my heart but that’s another story).

I am not different from other women who want a partner to share good and tough times with. I long for intimacy, affection, good sex, lazy Sundays together with a soul mate. I want the same thing as everybody else but after three broken relationships, I had low expectations when it came to men. Nobody told me that creating a lasting love story could only happen when I was ready to give and receive the kind of love that feels fulfilling to me. I was constantly expecting to be disappointed as soon as I would take of the pink sunglasses of falling in love. As weeks and months went by, I imagined our future together and came to the bitter conclusion that it would never look the way I desired it to be. Was I realistic or was I sabotaging my relationships? I don’t know but, anyways, every time I sensed the change, I would start holding back on who I was, I would stop giving all I had (and wanted) to give, I would hide in my thoughts and seek comfort in reading and travelling. And, of course, as a self-prophecy, the relationship would start to shrink.

Love has that effect on people, it unveils our secrets, our ugly doubts, all the darkness we thought we had managed to hide away. There is nothing that will reveal you to yourself more than a love affair. Once being in love makes two people believe it is all right to show their weaker, unhealthiest sides, once they expect the other one to mend something in them that was broken before they met, that’s when The Crack makes its entry. Two people can bring out the worst in each other when love has allowed their unhealed wounds to come forward and they can use what love taught them about their companion as weapons to destroy the person they once worshipped.

It’s difficult to believe in someone else’s love when we don’t love ourselves. We cannot heal our wounds before we know what hurts and why. We wait for that someone who will make us complete, who will bring out our better selves and, in the beginning, it really works. But then, we start taking it for granted and the magic stops. And then we start believing once again that we are not worth loving because, Look! Our partner can’t fix us. When it happened to me I would think: “Yes, he is one of those selfish pricks they warned me about.” Next step, I started to focus on The Crack and began to make escape plans.

I wish I had my expectations set straight, I wish someone had told me that love is transformation, it opens the doors to the parts of us that need healing but we have to be prepared to do the job. Nobody can be our everything, no matter how much we (and they) want to be just that. What we accuse our life companion of not giving us are things we refuse to give ourselves and, in the name of love, we make it their duty to fix us and their failure when we cannot receive what they try to give (of course, sometimes, they don’t even try or they’ve stopped trying).

Like a magnifier, love makes everything grow, even our darker spots but it can also help us transform darkness into light if we are honest about wanting to heal and if we take responsibility for our process. Love can be the key but we have to open the door beyond The Crack and do the walking.

I am sure there is a wonderful garden at the end of the dirt road but it takes courage and dedication to leave broken dreams and negative expectations behind. I am walking that path now and, sometimes side by side, sometimes ahead of me and other times behind me, I have this wonderful man who learns to stay strong when I want to run away, who makes me feel safe even when he is afraid to lose me, who keeps on showing me love even when he sometimes doubt that I can love him back as much. And I am learning to give what I receive. We take turns, step by step, we drop our dark spots of fear and open some more to the love we want to give and the love we want to have.

So, if love hasn’t healed you yet, don’t give up, we’re never too old to learn and grow.

“Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live.”
~ Dorothy Thompson

Jag saknar min familj.

Publicerad den av makikely

Jag hämtar min bonusson efter skolan ibland när jag hinner i tid så han slipper vänta på bussen. Det finns två möjliga vägar för att köra hem, den ena rullar förbi ett stort rött tegelhus där han bodde som liten. Häromdagen frågade jag vad han tyckte om sitt gamla hus och han svarade att han saknade den gamla goda tiden när alla bodde tillsammans, Pappa, Mamma och alla syskon. För då var det riktigt mysigt.

Jag fick ont i magen, oavsett hur rätt det kan vara (pga. hur många möjliga anledningar som helst) för ett par att skiljas så vet vi att barnen in i det sista önskar att föräldrarna ska stanna hos varandra. Hur hanterar man ett barns sorg som inte går över fast det har gått många år sedan skilsmässan? Jag vet inte hur det är att vara skilsmässobarn men jag vet hur ont det gör att köra förbi ett hus som en gång var ens familjehem och hur halsen tjocknar när man tittar i gamla fotoalbum medveten om att det inte blir nya bilder i samma familjekonstellation.

Lyckliga skilsmässor, finns de? Även paren som gör vågen när de separerar bär på en sorg. Det gör ont även om det är nödvändigt. När föräldrarna skiljer sig påverkas alla i familjen, på olika sätt och olika djupt. Då kan det vara skönt om barnen har någon opartisk att prata med. Någon som talar om det de behöver höra, ibland många gånger, att det inte beror på dem att föräldrarna skiljer sig.

”Det är för lätt att skiljas” hör man ibland. Men nästan alla skiljs därför att de har försökt allt – och misslyckats. Det är ingen smärtsam erfarenhet man väldigt gärna utsätter sig för frivilligt. Livet börjar bli lite slentrian. Vad ska vi hitta på? Jag vet: vi skiljer oss och skriker åt varandra, gråter, hittar massa fel hos den vi har en gång i tiden älskat och åtrått, vi ser till att kompisarna väljer sida och vi förlorar en del av vår identitet på köpet. Och det bästa, vi ser till att barnen blir ledsna och vilsna. De kommer att få svårt att tro på evig kärlek och lyckliga förhållande men, äsch, det som inte dödar stärker. Eller hur?

Det värsta är att det fortsätter göra ont långt efteråt. Jag har träffat en underbar ny man och jag känner mig mer sedd och älskad än någonsin tidigare och på många sätt tycker jag att mitt liv är bättre men ändå, då och då kommer ”magonten” med alla bilder jag hade om hur min framtida familj skulle se ut: alla resor med barnen och deras respektive, barnbarnen som skulle sova i sin pappas eller mammas gamla sovrum, stora och stökiga julmiddagar med interna skämt och minnen. Samma bilder som gjorde att jag orkade stanna så länge i ett äktenskap som ingen av oss längre orkade fylla med kärlek. Vi gjorde halvhjärtade försök att gödsla vår gemensamma livsträdgård, vi renoverade hus, reste till fantastiska platser, testade vår attraktionskraft på andra men till slut kunde vi inte ens vara kyligt artiga mot varandra längre. Jag saknar inte mina barns far men jag saknar mina drömmar om familjen vi kunde ha haft. Jag är glad för mina barns skull när de får träffa sin far och göra saker med honom och jag vill inte på något sätt vara en del av deras stunder tillsammans men det gör ändå ont att inte längre vara mamma OCH pappa samtidigt. Nu är jag mamma. Och han är pappa. På varsitt håll. Och barnen är mina och hans men inte våra, inte som förr.

Det är säkert så min bonusson känner varannan vecka: mamma är där med sin nye man, pappa är här med sin nya kvinna men det blir aldrig mer mamma OCH pappa. Jag hoppas ändå att det betyder att han får fyra gånger så mycket kärlek och att det kompenserar lite för att ”OCH:et” är borta.

“Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They came through you but not from you
and though they are with you yet they belong not to you.”
~ Khalil Gibran