Mindspace

Baby Girl

Dear Baby girl, 
Today I found a picture of you and I hugging and I almost choked back tears again.
I miss us so much, the way we were, the way it was so easy. And a part of me keeps telling myself, that even if it wasn't for the divorce you would have changed.
And you have. Months of "separation" and you've grown so much. You are so independent, you take charge, you research things, you are motivated and you have dreams. And a part of me so misses this journey, how did you get here. What changed? I wanted to be part of every bit of your inner change. 
And I know that this is part of being a mom losing you to the opacity of teenage-hood.
But I miss you. I just do. I miss your song-list, your singing, your musing, your changing and favorite fashion taste, your favorite latest make up, your musings about your friends.
I used to be able to hear you out loud. You would ask questions and now you ask your friends. You tell your friends. And you had just started becoming understandable. You were cryptic and non-verbal for so long.
And now that you have words, big beautiful words. I don't get to hear them. 
I miss you. And I know the girl I miss is someone that is in the past. And I know that I should let go of the structures and focus on the new chapter of experiences I get to have with you.
In a way, it's a little like the divorce. So many beautiful memories. But you are growing and outgrowing and constantly changing. And I can stay stuck in the past or I can be open to the new memories we get to create together. 
All of my friends report changing beautiful relationships with their parents. It's funny to imagine that I wanted us to stay the same. Why would we? Every part of life evolves and changes. 
Ours is a relationship that would last a lifetime. I look forward to learning about and loving you. 

Miss you sweetheart.

Father's Day

It's Father's Day and today I think about my father. 
I know the perfect Facebook post to craft - Me at 15 and Nally at 16 and how in love, so in love we were with our fathers. And for all the things I felt like my husband let me down, at least he did not let me down with this one. My baby girl gets a father she can leave me for.
But today, I am thinking about Papa and what he would be like if he were here. What he would think about my new life. I still am not sure. I have been talking about him a lot lately with my clients. The reoccurring refrain is that now that he is gone, I get to have him the way I want -- attuned, present and sure.
But in a way, I feel his presence so closely with me these days. Yannie was the one that put 2-2 together with my new life. Papa's death she said signaled this idea, that I need to finally live the life I want, not the life I should have, the way I have my whole life.
And today as I read over some writing I wrote in 2016, an entry called THE GAZE. I realize I have never felt him closer. Close in a visceral, embodied, ground-up kinda way. The way, the last time I felt him - really felt him. Not connected with him through my brain and mind.
The other day as I laid the back of my head on Jeff's chest at the end of our movement class and we just laid there like others did on other ground, I realized this was how I laid with Papa as a little girl recounting our day; in the scene I wrote and re-wrote in my book.
There is something so visceral about Jeff that reminds me of my father. The steady grounded-ness, the immovability, the refusal to rush. The stroking of my hair and face, the way Papa would just before he put me to sleep. The gaze, the seeing. The unbroken entranced look of adoration - the way papa would look at me and the kids -- in wonder.
The other night when I walked Jeff to the door on one of our nights out, I felt this flood of sadness, and I felt Papa's presence as I hugged Jeff goodbye. This rush that hits out of nowhere three years after his death.I am always surprised.
I can cry with Jeff, the way I couldn't at the funeral with my husband. These little moments hit out of nowhere and my eyes flood with tears, and Jeff is the first to catch them, first to hold me so I can make room for them. He won't let me brush them away. It was amazing that he reported without me telling -- that he felt Papa's presence on his drive home. And I take a moment to savor the shared experience. How we can actually grieve together in a way I felt so separate from my partner during my father's funeral. 
But it's Father's day today. And on good days I imagine my father sitting up there in heaven, his eyes twinkling cheekily. There are aspects of this relationship I know are so him -- the spontaneity, the spiritual and energetic openness, the playfulness, the embodied sexuality. Yet another part of me wonders if he would have let me leave. Given how he stayed, and how he kept to the rules. 
I remember a time like this when I was 15, the last time I knew what I wanted. And I was dating Hao and mommy was beside herself. And I looked to my father for something ANYTHING. And he said "If you want to jump out of the window and kill yourself. You get to. "
Somedays Jeff asks "What would your father say?" And I push the thought away remembering that during a time when I needed another adult most, he did nothing. He wasn't there. "He'd say nothing." I told him. 
My husband and him are alike that way.
On very good days, I want to imagine him up there, conspiring with God to give me the life I've always wanted. The love I've always wanted. The career I've always wanted. He would want to give it to me outside of rules, and obligations. It was what his will said. Don't forget to live.
And I imagine him in the energy and touch of my new partner. The solidity and strength and protection. And I weep to imagine the possibility that he might have some part in giving me what I want. 
I miss him most today when I am lost financially. These split second moments when I feel I need someone on my side. I felt it twice this month, with my client who cared about me. And the financial planner. Someone on my side.
Yet I know I am protected.

Happy Father's Day Papa. I miss you.

How we give

Today I file taxes for the first time separately.
Our accountant explained that the way taxes work is the IRS recognizes the marital status of who you are the last day of the tax year. And since at the end of December 2018 we would be divorced. Quarterly taxes is filed separately. 
It is the first whiff of the finality of this divorce. The MSA is getting nailed out and I am hoping to be done by June latest July.
But this morning as I make my coffee and breakfast, and I find myself longing to be appreciated. I know my husband is flailing right now. He has no idea how much he earned. I know he did not set aside money for taxes. I know he has never paid a single tax bill in in entire 23 years we've been married. It's a big first for him too. I fantasize of a moment that he would realize how much I've done to make this simple day happen. I fantasize that the accountant he too realized how much I've put up with just as he has, year after year month after month when my husband refused to turn in the paperwork so we could file taxes on time. How much every year ate at me. How it literally reduced my lifetime, how I sat and imagined our tax bill every year unable to resolve this pain because my husband refused to do the paperwork to file taxes. 
It was a stubborn cryptic part of him that had me drowning in inexplicable helplessness and powerlessness. It was the part of him that might have been simply a trait of procrastination, but to me it was a huge, violent act of thoughtlessness and neglect.
Today I notice myself, hoping that he got that. He understood what he put me through. He felt contrite. I don't think I even need him to change. But I know I need him to be grateful.
It's wierd when you reflect on a marriage and you wonder what went wrong and what the deal-breakers were. And I have a hefty impressive list, I make a good case that spans a decade. I have a story that will one day be a bestseller.
But only I know, deep down, I would do it all over again. I would let go of that list. I would have stayed and tolerated the loneliness, the being unknown, the emotional absence. I had been alone my whole life, I didn't know life any other way. I realize I would have done it all over again if he was grateful.
So many times in the last 23 years, I often fantasize about his death bed. How at the end of the day, it would hit him - with the clarity of a bell, exactly to the T, no withholding how much I've sacrificed for him. How much it cost me to be with him. How much I've given up for him.

Today I confront the depth of my codependency. How when I signed up for this marriage, it wasn't even about love. It wasn't about self-actualization and growth. It was about sacrifice. It was about a mindful, choice-ful, pre-meditated decision to give myself up -- everyday. That was the pact. That was the codependent unconscious contract. That was what I took vows on. That I would give up my life for you, and you would in turn give up your life for me. And you would appreciate it.
Today I realize how sick I am. How much I define my life by what I do for others. Not even do, but give up, grow, transform, relinquish, donate, move around. My marriage was a skillfully, elegant tale of self-sacrifice. And I don't even need you to return the favor, but I need you to see EXACTLY how much it cost me.On his deathbed, it would hit him. He would see my sacrifice.The full magnitude of it, and he would appreciate me. He didn't even have to love me. Or even give it back to me, because knowing me I would fight receiving it. But he would get it, it would hit him and that is all I wanted. 

That was all I needed to stay.

This morning I realize that I prized that more than love itself. More than being cherished, being seen, being known. It was as if, being loved was optional, but being unappreciated, not having my work evaluated fairly, not having all the efforts judged accordingly evoked such waves of rage it was insufferable. So insufferable, I would kill myself. 
And the most painful part of this marriage is that even to the last day, with the MSA, there is this blank silence. He cannot articulate it. He cannot say thank you. There is this entitlement. This idea that this was what was supposed to be. 
That shuts the door iron-clenched shut. It cuts so deeply I can barely speak. 
And days like today, when I reflect on all those months and years as a newly wed I worried about our taxes. I wrung my hands worrying on how we would pay for them. Saved and worried, penny-pinched and prayed, managed our finances so that all he ever needed to do was to go work. 
I wince, and grieve that he never saw it. He never saw me. I don't need the gratitude, I needed the seeing. How much it cost me to manage the money in this family. How many nights I woke up praying for God to provide. I was so alone in my fear. He was so insulated. I insulated him.
Today I watch my giving like a hawk. And this plays out so much in my parenting. As the kids enter a time when being ungrateful and entitled is almost the modus operandi, I tell all my parents of teen, up your self care. These are hard years. These are years that your kids would act like you owe them every little thing they have. When you would give your arm and your leg and they might not say thank you. 
Give because you want to. Because you are a good parent. Because at night, you want to be able to say you've done right by them.
But don't give because they understand, appreciate or even understand the sacrifice you make for them. Do it in congruence with your life. Do it while living your wild and amazing life. Give because it nourishes not depletes you. Give because it is self-care. 

Bouquet of Flowers

Had the wildest conversation with Aidan today, and it was literally a bouquet from heaven.
I was missing him so I called home.
"Whatcha doing? " 
"I'm sketching and journaling."
" Cool"
" I journaled for 5 days straight. Dad bought me these cool journals."
" Oh I bought you these cool journals. They are Moleskins from Costco"
"OH MY GOD, HE BOUGHT ME THE SAME JOURNALS! YOU SHOULD TOTALLY GET MARRIED YOU GUYS THINK ALIKE."
( laughing) " Yes, we should totally get married because we bought you the same journals."
" Well what are you going to do with 8 journals. Shall we give one to Natalie?"
" OH NO. THESE ARE MY JOURNALS. They are my divorce journals. They show how you can dad and work together and think the same thing and take care of me."
" You're right. We both think alike, we both think the exact same thing and we both love you the exact same way and we both take care of you."
I told you. It was my bouquet of flowers from God.

Father Tom's Retreat

Thank you for a beautifully timed retreat God. 
It couldn't be more perfect. I had the most perfect 46 birthday ever. I got spend to spend Monday with baby girl at the mall. Just enjoying her and me. And having lunch and chatting. 
I got hang out with Grace and her boyfriend on Tuesday and then the weekend, I got to go the Jesuit Retreat Center.
I am so aware that the last time I was there, Enoch got his DUI. It was minutes before I stepped into meeting Father Tom for his session. This time, I was there, it took me till Sunday morning to land. And when I did, the grief caught me by surprise.
I was so amazed at how familiar this place felt. How solidly it resonated in my bones. How complete I felt there, how rich and full and familiar. How firm and surefooted. How solidly I was married to God. I felt the fertile soil of the years of coming there, All the years of devastation and loneliness I felt in my marriage, and the exhaustion and desperation of mothering. I had brought it here, year after year at New Years and Thanksgiving. 
The sound of Father Tom's voice grounded me back in my body like a tuning fork. I am home.
But this time, I felt God handing me over to Jeff. Like a father on his daughter's wedding day. It was ceremonious and grievous and heart breaking. It was like when Enoch went to visit Singapore for the first time and I reached for Papa's hand took his instead. 
I clung to God. No I said. This is our place, and I don't share it. I won't share it. And I won't give up all the years we've had feeling invincible and complete. I wasn't alone. He was with me.
Yet in a whiff God showed me I was. How desperate I was for connection, every interaction fed me. How I would show up at theses retreats asking God to speak to me through every person I met. How I kept my heart open just during these weekends to connection and authenticity and seeing. Only to close it up after when the retreat was done.
Today he said I am not alone. And I sat there on a tree-stump, listening to Hilliard, watching the sun stream across the mountains and breath in God and Jeff's presence in one breath. I sat there and said it is possible, to hold God and have God hold me, and have this incredible man be with me at the same time. I don't have to give up one for the other. I can have bof.
And I realized that I had made a vow just like Maria to have God be my first Love. And through the years, I needed him there because of how lonely I was in my marriage. That He was my husband, made it ok. And I had shown up at these retreats a single person, not sharing much about my family. Today, I bring a partner. I have a partner.
And as Jeff and I go to parties, and host dinner and meet people. I am so amazed to realize, for the first time, I have a partner. 
I am not alone.

Never let me

Never let me take for granted God -- the fact that we can sit over dinner and take apart my sessions a and talk about how you spoke to me through my clients and how I heard him through my own mouth, the truths that we talked about that day.  To weave what you are teaching us, with what my clients are learning and what they are teaching me. It feels so normal, and of course, and why wouldn't you. But to remember, and never forget that it is a privilege -- I never got that before. Never the experience of sharing on such a deep level. To have life weave with work, and you and the job and our healing and our trauma in one seamless tapestry.
The reliability of a response or a "wow" when I am the bearer of good or bad news. The experience of praying first thing in the morning. The immediate sensing when my eyes flood with tears the minute I think of Papa, and him grabbing me and holding me, and refusing to let me hurry off to my day, refuse to let me brush off the grief. "Where are you going?" he says. "Where are you?" he points to the 3 billion things that wash over my face at 8 am in the morning. 
The transparency is excruciating. I have wanted to be seen my whole life. Howled in grief that I am alone, opaque, invisible to the world. And now I have a partner that can sense if I am ever so slightly disconnected. "I feel you steps away" he calls it, "Can't quite put your finger on it " nuanced.
Never let me take for granted. Simple things like doing dishes, or paying bills or taking the trash out or freshly made coffee that seems normal and given and what grown ups do. The simple things that were missing that I never ever want to take for granted.
It's like clean water or fresh air. 

Checking In

It's funny in relationship how we correct bad habits.
This morning Jeff and I went over something I do all the time that bugs him. We went over it one more time because I keep forgetting. I keep thinking it's gratuitous. It's a luxury. It's decadent. It's not necessary. 
Yet this morning, it finally dawned on me that what he is talking about might be the one thing that broke my marriage.
Enoch and I's inability to check in.
" I am not willing to back down on this. This is not how I want to be in relationship with someone. This is not how I want us to hold our relationship. " He says.  There are so many things that we have been adamant about, many more things our codependency keeps us people pleasing and accommodating to a fault. Yet a part of me was bemused with how strongly he felt about this.
That whatever decision we make -- we check in with each other.
That even if the decision ends up being the same after the conversation, that we always make space to consider the other person. That we honor our relationship in the context of life's demands and limitations that the "things we have to do." That we always check in.
And when I reflect back on my 23 year old marriage, I realize the absence of this process was what slowly eroded us. Jeff puts a finger on a betrayal I just couldn't articulate for years. I felt it deeply, I felt it strongly but I couldn't articulate.
That this was what was sorely missing from the beginning.  And I could tell you the exact moment, I felt betrayed. When Enoch decided, just decided - because of the parameters of his specialty choices, because of the geographic needs of being near family, because ... because of the million logical factors -- we were going to do our residency in Modesto CA.
There was no check in. There was no space for my needs, no space for a conversation about a career I had planned since I was 15 years old. The conversation about how I was going to make a living in the middle of nowhere with a tech-job. We had talked about flying to San Francisco, living apart, and working from home. But it was because I protested. I flailed. He didn't offer. He didn't check in.
And it's wild to imagine that that set the tone for the rest of the marriage.
That somehow in that gesture, I learnt that my needs didn't matter. That as a Chinese wife, I didn't get a say when it came to his career, his work. That there was no check in. It was a given. And that was an unspoken understanding that a gesture of love from me to him, was to say "Of course honey, whatever it takes." I would move the pieces, I would hold down the fort, I would do whatever it takes to support his decision. I would be his cheerleader, his advocate, his biggest support. It was a given.
But today, as I listen to Jeff talk about why we do this. What is the payoff, if we still end up making the same logistical decision. With Enoch and I, he put Modesto 2nd, and we still ended up going there. So we would have ended up doing the same thing.
The difference is we would get each other's support. That we can to say "yes" to each other. That we can be each other's greatest cheerleader. Voluntarily.
And that was what Enoch never got to have, when he decided to join a startup after residency, or be an urgent care doctor, or volunteer for Haiti, or be on the board of the Palo Alto Community Fund. Each felt like a betrayal of sorts. Because we didn't check in with each other, each of those decisions had a bitter aftertaste. It felt like his needs mattered over mine. It felt like mine didn't matter. After awhile, it it felt like I didn't matter.
And when I think of why it chokes me up when he gets an award for his medical mission work, how I couldn't gladly support his years of residency in a place that got me so depressed that I saw my first therapist and ended up commuting 3 hours a day, why I still hate Palo Alto Community Fund for all the mornings it took away from Preschool Family --  it was these check-in conversations we never had. 
I didn't get a chance to say yes. To be his cheerleader, to volunteer to support him and care for him. My codependency would have made me do it anyway.  
Instead I felt dragged, manipulated, forced and cornered. Just like how I ended up being a stay-at-home mom without a conversation. The bitterness ate me alive.
And for Enoch, he got a wife that refused to be there for his award ceremonies, his packing parties for his trips and refused to host fundraisers at house. There was no check-ins. No conversation. No consideration.
This morning, Jeff says "It takes trust.. to ask and check in. To give the other permission to say no. But if we are in relationship, the no matters. I want to hear about the no, because it gives value to the relationship. Maybe I'm missing something."
And as a recovering codependent that got into the rooms 15 years ago in my twenties when I couldn't say no to my mother-in-law; I realized how much collective wisdom we had given up with each other, when Enoch and I didn't take time to explore each other's no. "No" was a bad word. Something that a default, a knee-jerk reaction. Just as "Yes" was.
I also realized how Enoch didn't trust each other to say yes. To be supportive, to change our plans, lives dreams for each other. At least I didn't.
But this morning, as I get the amazing opportunity, to redo this bad habit. Or restore this process that so profoundly broke my marriage in a way all of my therapy training could not articulate. I am moved to tears that I get to have a partner that is not willing to settle for anything less.
A way to hold us. To honor our intention. To believe that our relationship is important, even amidst the limitations and requirements of life. That we might end up having to make the same decision -- but this way, we honor the relationship.

Thank you sweetie. For keeping us safe. 

Never Take for Granted

He prays with me God. Never let me take that for granted. For how he talks to you. For how he insists that we commemorate, and reflect and be grateful. For how he insists when we walk the labyrinth that every time we cross paths, we stop and say an appreciation.
There are so many things that have become "normal", it's amazing how fast the human body can assimilate, things that I always said were non-negotiable. Hair everywhere, the rough brush of an unshaved beard. Yet so quickly, things like -- consistency, sameness, routine gets absorbed like water on a parch land.
This morning, I am tickled to realize how comfortable I am with our routine. The Peet's French Roast coffee, with the spun milk, with the Ketos, with the sugar. Fraiche for oatmeal Sprouts for salad. Meals at the same restaurant. Same meals, same dishes.
Why change something that is working? He says.
But the things that I never want to take for granted, ones that mean so much I can scarcely breathe, is how he talks to God. So intimately. So naturally. How instinctively he interweaves God into our mornings, our crisis, our desperate helpless moments. How naturally he absorbs Father Tom and how at a workshop, I can look across the room and know that he and I are sharing an experience, instead of worrying how my partner is taking in the material. If he is. If he is bored. When is he going to disengage.
It's such a huge relief, it's almost like breathing. Like oxygen. Something so needed, so non-negotiable. Yet when you have it, you almost take it for granted - like yeah of course everyone breathes. 
No not everyone. And I never want to forget a time when I would be so jealous when one of my friends said "I was talking to my husband last night..."
Never. That I can breathe. That I have a partner that can sense things, reflect things, mindfully hold things. That is nothing short of a miracle.

Wistful and Sad

Feel suddenly wistful and sad God. We finally sat down with a mediator, got the scoop on the law and got a sense of what the law says I am entitled to.
I wasn't hallucinating. I wasn't feeling entitled. I wasn't being an ungrateful bitchy wife. What I researched was true. 
And now that it's out there. Out in the open, with the law and the attorney stating what is true instead of what I imagine is true, I thought I would feel relief knowing that now the law is going to fight for me.
I thought I'd feel protected, exhilarated and covered. Just on Sunday, I had begged him to let the law do for us what we cannot do for ourselves.  Communicate, protect, appreciate. He was so angry I would even consider wanting half. And the part of me that had been so incredulous that he would even contest that I deserved 50% of the house has long grieved and died.
Or I thought it did.
Till yesterday. When the lawyer communicated what the law said. What the court would deem is my right. What the court recognizes through alimony, that 23 years of marriage through med-school, residency and early career was worth a lot in the court's eyes. 
It all came flooding back again. Why I am leaving. Why I can't go back. Why this marriage does not, and did not work. That at the end of the day, he still can't appreciate all I have done.
50% of the house. Even assholes give their wives the house, I tell him. The men in my program that were drunks, cheats and horrible husbands, give their wives their house.
And the saddest thing is that it isn't the money, it is the fact that he would even contest that. That at the end of the day, it's his parents, his inheritance, his loyalty to his family that comes before us. That at the end of the day, he still can't appreciate his marriage or say thank you.
His family, money, feeling so indebted and infantile gets in the way of him appreciating all that I've done.
I got everything I want. The law mandates that. But I didn't get why I am leaving this marriage for. That he cannot see, or even put a dollar amount on the sacrifice and love I've poured into this marriage, the years of career I put on hold for him, all I had sacrificed to raise this family, and the fact that now I am still completely committed to them.
He wants to fight me. He wants to contest me for that. All for the sake of his inheritance. This is the betrayal that makes me leave.

Meeting the Mediator

This Thursday we meet with the mediator. And what seemed like a simple Marital Settlement Agreement has drawn itself out into such a series of back and forths that our free, family-friend mediator has resigned.
It's the same familiar powerless feeling of being in the marriage, of being stuck, of getting nowhere. Of being held hostage to my husband's passivity and inability to make decisions, follow through or file everything from taxes to depositing paychecks. 
But this week, I feel God's peace peeking through. I recently found a legal document that might put the whole thing to rest. And even if it's not the end, I cling to it wanting to see it as a sign of God's mercy and his promise. He will fight for me.
It seems just yesterday that I was in my husband's arms promising him that I will not screw him over. Yesterday when he believed me. 
Today he doubts me. And it was Sunday when I begged him to let the law and professionals to just come in and tell us what to do. Not subject this process to our whims and emotions anymore. I would submit to whatever the law says I can and cannot have. I promised to not screw him over.
My mother and friends are asking that I get good counsel. Even my realtors are so protective of me it's sweet. 
But this morning, as I prepare and pray for the meeting this Thursday. I said God, show yourself mighty. Show yourself strong. Fight for me. Make it so that it's not by might nor by power but by your spirit. Make it so obvious it's you and I am willing to take whatever outcome this mediation presents. I just need to know you're there, in the center and middle of it. 
You will fight for me. And I can rest in the energy of compassion and love for the children. 
Sure, I can throw lawyers at this. But I just want to see God show off.

The Best Birthday Present

It's my birthday today and the gifts have been pouring in. My favorites are the ones that money cannot buy. Like a perfect pre-birthday day with baby girl.
She has had my heart lately. There is no one that can have me break down in tears other than her.
Since the divorce our relationship has shifted. Unlike her brother who has raged, loved, hugged, repaired, raged, threatened, wrestled with me. She chooses to say nothing.
My work with her has journeyed from facing all my fears about women and past girlfriends who put me in silent time-out, to feeling guilty for throwing her into this during the most stressful years of high school, to breaking down and crying that I had lost the one teenage girl that still thinks the world of her mother. I still tear up when I remember her therapist saying " Natalie just thinks the world of you." Oh well. Blew that one.
Yet I am so aware that I had prepared myself for this time to probably her detriment. 
I had told her from a young age that "One day you will hate me... but I will be here. I will love you through it.  I will not leave or go anywhere."
Well my promise is put to the test now.
It'll be 9 months since we told them. And she has wavered in and out of warmth and chilly coldness.
I was in the dog house for the longest I have ever been since I didn't let her go to the middle school her friends did. Then Palm Springs broke the ice. And then the stress of school closed her off again and then yesterday for my birthday it opened.
It was the perfect day and God you designed it all. I had stressed over the weekend with graduation and end of finals. And God only knew I was trying to do it all, trying to make it perfect, trying to celebrate my birthday with the kids, and buy clothes and cut hair and get facials, and nails and meet my realtors. It was a lot. And I wore myself so out, that I could barely drive and the kids were worried.
But yesterday, on my day off, we got to go to the mall. I even exercised in the middle of it with Soul so that I could get my energy out. We had Poke, we went to Vicki and got bras and went and got scrubs.
It was perfect! God even made sure Aidan had a playdate so I don't have to worry about him being alone in the house by himself.
And if there was a birthday present, it was watching her this finals period.  How she handled the stress, how she strategized her efforts, how she proved her teacher wrong especially her Math teacher by acing her final with a 96 and while her class was a B-. They had said she couldn't do it. They had said she shouldn't do Honors. And she proved them wrong.
I was so enormously proud of her I could weep. It was an F-you of the century. One I could not give my Math teacher. And for everything she got from her father - her beauty, her ADD, her disassociation, her slowness, her attention to detail. I am thrilled beyond measure that she got this from me -- sheer, I-Am-Going-To-Prove-You-Wrong-And-Take-You-Out grit. It was the grit that helped me survive the Singapore system and get me out of the country and get into Brown.
It was what helped me survive my life, my learning disability, and my marriage. 
With that baby girl -- you can do anything.

Thank you Jesus for the best birthday present ever! 

Waiting

We're stalling at the marital settlement agreement and I can feel the old familiar feelings of being trapped. Turns that this space of waiting and decision making is riddled with triggers for me. 
I can't tell if it's because of my childhood and having to "wait" so long so I could leave Nanyang and Singapore. If I never saw the immediate results of my efforts in school, and I had to "wait" a year for my As to show up. But immediate gratification has never been the story of my life.
But as I watch my husband stall, take his time and puddle around all the different deadlines of his life, from depositing his paycheck to getting this divorce finalized, the cleaning out the garage. I feel the surge of rage and powerlessness surge through me.
It's a helpless desperation that I makes me want to blow things up.
It reminds me of all the years I've commented to "waiting" in this marriage-- for med school to end, then residency, then his urgent care years. Waiting and waiting and waiting.
That song from Shrek makes me scream and cry. 
But today as I wake up in the fear of him keeping me here yet again. I turn my divorce over in the same way I turned my marriage over all these years. Please God, help me let go of the outcome. The timing, the details. Please instead, protect my energy. Protect me from bitterness and resentment and fear. Protect me from the helplessness of being so trapped by this man and the things he refuses, cannot, would not do for life and himself.
My clients are finalizing their divorces. And the outcomes are so Godsent and beautiful, I can't help but feel jealous. Yet this morning God you say, that you who began a good work, God you complete it.
If anything this process makes it all the more clear that I cannot stay.
I cannot stay with a man who will not come through on his word, or follow up or stay engage or complete a conversation. Or not disappear or disassociate. Just SHOW UP.
And again the same feeling married or not married -- I am abandoned. To my needs, my wants, my priorities. 2016 taxes un-filed, paychecks un-deposited, tasks undone. I weep with relief that I will never have to deal with this energy again.
Yet today it is so familiar and so entrapping, I feel so helpless.

Please God, protect my heart. Protect this process. This morning I surrender when it's going to get done and pray about HOW its going to get done.
With peace, dignity, respect, honoring each other's needs.

My Provider

The practice went nuts this month. I am superstitious this way.
The last time I grossed this much was the month I left CCC. I know the timing isn't accidental. I know better than to believe this is a constant. I live month to month preparing that the whole time that I will lose this job that has been every inch a fluke from the first moment I decided to go back to school. 
But when the numbers speak so loudly and so "coincidentally" I can't help but tear up. This is the month when I am finalizing the marital settlement agreement. The month that I am stepping out on my own and paying for my own bills. For the first time since the beginning of our marriage, I am paying off my credit card bills. I am budgeting. I finally have control over my life in a way I never had. 
And it feels so good. So grateful.
I can feel my father being proud. 
But when God picks this month to up the numbers, I can't help but feel like it is His gesture of generosity. Him saying He got this. He is the Provider for this new phase of my life. This phase for the first time that I am not dependent on a man. Slowly but surely I have been taking back control of my life with purchases, I chose and bought my own laptop and my own car. I realize so much I have inherited my mother's mistrust of her own wisdom and choice; choosing to "listen" and consult a man. It doesn't help that Enoch is so much smarter, so much more streetwise.
But this is the month, when I sat down and talked to my own mortgage broker, my financial consultant, my accountant, my Morgan Stanley representative. The month I went back and get some of my father's affairs taken care of.
I feel so grown up. And so when God chooses this month to up my numbers, I am moved to tears.

Appro po

They're going to buy me out God. And I am in shock yet I'm not.
On one hand, I feel like it's so ridiculous that at the end of the day I am dealing with them. Yet on the other hand, it couldn't be more appropriate. I was dealing with them the whole time. All 23 years of the marriage, their money, their presence, their values. And at the end of the day, their son, whom they've raised to be who he is today cannot even take care of his divorce.
It feels strangely dejavu. The conversation when Dad asked me in the car " So you know all of Enoch's strengths, can you tell me one of his weakness? " The answer today rings so poignant and true it's eerie. "He needs to be pushed."
I signed up to be a pusher. And that actually "got me the deal." The rule was no dating until after medschool. But Dad trusted me with his son. I would get him through. 4 years of med school, 4 years of residency, 16 years of urgent care practice and 2 children. I pushed and pushed. I got him through the hardest years of his life.
And it grieves me inconsolably at the end of the day, my husband does not appreciate all I've done. Not a word, that he cannot see, what made me stay was my love and devotion to him. That he cannot say, that he did not do right by me. That the scales were disproportionate.  That he did not do his share, keep his side of the deal. Love, cherish and appreciate his wife. That being a pusher, by default took all the wind out of our marriage.
That everyday I pushed, I lost respect for him. I felt less attracted to him. Pushers/Mommies are not sexy.  Everyday I pushed, I raged at his parents for raising such an inept son, that could not take care of his wife and children. Except to provide.
I remember the day I finally accepted a loan from them, for this house that is such a bitter source of contention. Me who has never taken a cent from my parents. I paid for 2 out of 4 of my degrees. I was not raised to take money from my parents. I tied myself up in knots to rationalize this gesture of humiliation I was supposed to accept. I told myself in my head - I said you know what  Tania it's payment. It's payback for all the crap you've had to put up with this man-child they've raised. It was so crass. I was so ashamed of myself. But that was the only way I could accept their help. Today I realize my instincts were right on. We've paid for it in our marriage. 
Yet at the end of the day, it feels fit that  I am negotiating with his parents. It has always been about dealing with them. And a part of me wants to believe that however much they are devastated by the divorce, they could see I kept my side of the bargain. I did right by their son. I took care of the family. I took care of every inch of this house.
Their son paid not a single bill in 23 years. I kept him exactly the way they gave him to me - a child.
But in that gesture, I feel God caring for me. I didn't not have to write that long letter begging him to not pay me out in payments, or to figure out how to get the cash, or to offer him the idea of a note that my financial planner gave me. 
I didn't not have to argue how he cannot do this. Be responsible for anything that requires a deadline. That he has never done it in 23 years, how could he do it now.
And it seems perfectly appropriate for his parents to come in and save the day. And for the first time, I am not angry, incredulous, outraged at how F-d up the situation is.
Every Lent, I have to repent of my rage towards his parents. This year I can put it to rest. 
And like with everything else this year - be so so grateful.

Monumental Week

 

Such an amazing day God. I feel your hand so clearly through it all. This inedible feeling of being guided, taken care of. Amidst all the balls I had to juggle everyday - Aidan's blood-draw, Nally's teacher meeting. A full client load, the largest in a while. God in 4 days, you helped me find a loan broker, a realtor, meet with my accountant, talk to my financial advisor. In 5 days God you helped me find a listing, fall in love with a place, have Jeff look at it. Everything is happening so fast.
Yet I feel your care and your hand holding through it all.
- The minute I took charge to get my CPF done. 
- How you got me an appointment on my one day off, 2 hours before I got there.
- How you helped me find my documents.
- How you had my sister tell me Papa's death date.
- How I was able to talk to Ryan on the way back - the care he showed me helping me set up a note.
- How I was able to talk to Lynne on the way back and opening the account at Morgan Stanley.
- Her leaving to go to Singapore next week, and possibly helping mommy releasing Papa's CPF.
- The accountant reaching out, and me having this gut instinct that I needed to be there.
- Clearing E's schedule so that he could make it that morning.
- Talking to Yvonne on the weekend and feeling her advocacy for me.
- Meeting Wendy and how she is so helpful and experienced.
- The fellowship and confirmation of the women Wednesday night, them hearing my story and them affirming my decision to leave.
- My gut instinct with Herb and me learning to trust my gut instinct.
- Ecstatic Dance's card about being the catalyst
- The mediator reaching out to me just when I was going to call the lawyer.
- Him suggesting a complete buyout.

I am in tears God. I didn't have to send the email begging him for a cash out. I didn't have to set up the note that Ryan suggested so that he pays me back in 5 years. I didn't have to set up a trust the way he did for the kids, inheriting the Choi's values of entitlement and inheritance.
How you came through with the loan in spite of his 2016 taxes. God I dared you to show up for me anyway. And you did. I sat there in the helplessness and powerlessness of 23 years and just simmer and weep. You had E just sign it right there and then. You had Ray point a gun to his head and say if you don't get everything in by Monday, I am filing separately.  You did it God, not me. You worked a miracle. 
And suddenly, everything falls into place. This money that Mommy gave me so many years ago. Finally invested in a place I love. The impetuous to finally get Papa's CPF moving. 
And today when Mom and Dad offered to buy him out. I stand in awe. They are so generous. They know their son. They know that he would not be able to deal with all these balls and I could be stuck forever. 
And God what are the chances that the amount I calculated. The amount that I painstakingly used the same logic that they use to reimburse me 13 years of property taxes and my fees as an interior decorator. What are the chances that it be so close to 50% of the house?
God I am praying that you will do right by me. In spite of Enoch Choi. In spite of the fact that he doesn't appreciate me, can't see all I have done for the house. Mom and dad sees, and they are stepping up to save their son.

I feel papa's energy all this week. The care each male advisor gave me. The maternal energy of the women who flocked around me in protectiveness. Their admiration and approval that I crave from my mother. I feel so blessed God. So protected and cared for. Just when I feel the most abandoned and unseen by my husband. Even Mike today. I feel the men in my life, rising up and showing up and caring for me. They see. I don't have to explain anything. The accountant, the financial planner. They stand up for me. It's so beautiful.

And you God. You show up. You are the one that holds my head high. I am so grateful. Thank you God.

The latter shall be greater than the last.
Your prophetic words this week. 
Thank you God.

 

Momentous couple of weeks.

Momentous highlights of these past weeks

• Levine's workshop on Somatic Experiencing
• Having the boys hang out together at Ecstatic Dance
• Enoch and I's great conversation about Natalie's future.
• Great conversations with Aidan about law school.
• Enoch agreeing to the MSA
• Me reiterating to him that I want the divorce finalized
• Me finding all the docs for the CPF process
• Me driving down to San Francisco and finding parking
• Me getting the process done
• Me talking to Ryan - figuring it out
• Me talking to Ray
• Me talking to Lynne and her friend
• Me talking to the realtors 
• The house
• Me talking to Sherri

God there has been so many moments where there has been an eerie sense of confirmation. Jeff is mad at the logistical part of these past weeks but it has been so momentous. It's been huge and I can feel your hand on me, your guidance, your confirmations. God thank you.
I feel myself growing up, in the face of these people. I have been avoiding my process of being grown up for so long. I feel so grateful. 
I feel the peace God to let the 150K just show up for me. If it's what you want, you will make it happen. Feel the trust that God you will make it all work out if it's your will.

Not holding on too tightly to the house. Loving the process, loving the care and confirmation that I am getting from the women realtors yesterday. So grateful. 

The Gifts of Divorce

These days I am beginning to see the unique gifts of divorce. Probably because I am transitioning 4 divorces right now with my clients and own personal journey. But the process and gifts are just so fascinaing.

• It puts a spotlight on the pre-existing dynamics of the family.
  I am so struck by how many dysfunctional family dynamics go under the radar, or are happening behind closed doors. All the painful dynamics that already were happening between us as a family that suddenly become out in the open since I asked to leave.
  - a boy that was distraught that he couldn't connect with his father; who basically mirrored in his therapy 3 years before the divorce all the same issues in our marriage.
  - a girl that worried about her father's depression; something I never saw so clearly until this past Palm Spring trip. 
  - a family that was disconnected via screen time and activity, with me constantly protesting the speed, the devices, etc. But alone with no parenting support. 
  - the loneliness in the marriage, parenting and being that now the boy experiences every time I leave him on Enoch's days.
  
  It was all there. For years before the divorce. Documented by the therapists that were in place. And the other day, Aidan articulated something so poignant, profound and sad that it almost took my breath away.
  
  We were having the most beautiful breakfast date; I had taken him out of Chinese and we were at Starbucks and we talked about everything from friends, to sex to the divorce. And he paused and said "I love talking like this mom. I wish I could talk to dad like this. I can't. I thought after the divorce I would be able to. " Then he paused and said " You divorced him, what am I going to do?" 
  
  And in that moment, I felt all his sadness, his longing to connect to his father, to be real and authentic in the world. To be able to be with his dad in this way. I felt all the years I felt that longing too, the loneliness, the ache, the pain, the belief that I was broken, I was bad that's why it wasn't happening.
  
  But today, today when I am healing and I am whole, and loved and connected. I have a little boy who cannot divorce his father; because you can only have one father. And my heart broke so wide open.
  
  
• It puts new accountability on the table.
  
  A mindful, thoughtful divorce though addresses everyone's needs. Suddenly there are new eyes on the process. Nothing is unaccounted for. Nothing is unaddressed.
  Suddenly with the divorce we have to deal with Aidan's mood swings and rage ( which was already in full swing with dad, ) his inability to ask for what he wants, his rage and grief about his inability to connect with his dad; Nally's isolation, her refusal to talk, her internalization. We have to deal with E's inability to connect with me or his kids. With my buckling under the rage, me tendency to give up and shut down. Never fails to surprise me how the divorce process exposes what typically hides behind closed doors. Now bedwetting, bullying, acting out has to be taken seriously. The guilt of divorce makes both parents vigilant. All cries for help are now taken seriously.
  
  
• It enlarges the resources.
  
  I now have new resources. While Aidan and Nally had therapists for years before the divorce, now their observations become gold. Our new family therapist kicks ass. She speaks what we all don't want to hear and pulls no punches. "You have to be patient with Aidan, he gets to be angry. You can't let his anger scare you." " Tell E that his stalling his own process is getting in way of the children's healing." I am floored, thrilled, grateful to tears for the resources that are now at my disposal. At any other time, these sightings would be discounted, dismissed. Today because of the divorce, we are hyper-vigilant with guilt, anxious to transition the kids well.  Enoch is showing up the best he can, for them. Bumbling and stumbling but he is.
  
  Other days, I dream. And I fantasize of a God who knew this was coming. That he knew about Aidan's needs, E's depression and Nally's internalization way before the divorce. He knew we needed a team. 
  And could it be possible that we didn't lose our family, but we only got to enlarge it. That Aidan gets a male figure that is in touch with his rage, masculinity; who has done 20 years of men's work. Who can talk about his emotions. 
  Would it be possible that the boy gets a little brother. A sib he can lead, that is undergoing a similar process of divorce that he can lead, and help and have purpose pulling his act together for.
  Would it be possible that God loves me so much. That He knew that I couldn't parent Aidan alone. That rage locks me up, shuts me down, that I don't know how to navigate boy energy, this intense, this rageful. That I needed a partner that would hold me and comfort me and tell me that I am a good mother.
  
  Given the trauma of divorce, it's hard to imagine anything good can come out of it. Yet I am listening to this beautiful song and weeping in the process.
  
  Maybe in an ironic way, with this divorce everyone gets what they need, and everyone gets what they want. 
  
  
   

Marriage as God intended

Funny with a divorce how the idea of marriage gets questioned. And for those of you who read my post in 2006, no one could be more idealized about marriage than I was. I was the one who declared God my first love, put a ring on my finger and said I was married to Him. I was the one that prayed for my partner since 13 years old and fantasied about him on the other side of the world. I was the one that begged God to work on him and not let me meet him any minute sooner than he was ready for me. Yes I was THAT one. 
And when I met Enoch, we went to every possible counseling possible. We took the pre-marital tests, we got dating accountability partners, foster parents from church, we went to pre-marital counseling, and post-marital counseling, we were in a couples group for 5 years and those couples we got pregnant together. We went through workbook after workbook, together, and in group. From Bill Hybels Fit to be Tied, to Boundaries in Marriage. I counted up the other day at least 10 different marriage conferences. We were set up for the marriage God intended.
But fast forward 23 years, I am nauseous at weddings, irritated with love-songs and feeling the need to stand up at weddings and go "Somebody warn them!" I can't sleep when I am counseling couples who are in love but riddled with red flags. 
Marriage as God intended.
One of the things that is a legitimate concern about putting divorce in the history of my children is the possible disillusionment the kids will have about long term relationships and marriage. And a part of me is wistful and sad about it. And another part of me is actually glad.
For me I am the child of the fantasy and idealization of marriage. There is no divorce on both sides in all marriages. And my marriage vows when I made them were for life. And yet I'll never forget what our family therapist said when she got a handle on the kind of marriage Enoch and I had - that we made a promise that we would be unhappy together forever. She was right.
"If you and dad tried so hard and it still didn't work, how do we know marriage will work? " That was the one question my daughter asked. 
I was too heart-broken to answer.
But the therapist gave the most honest answer. 
" We don't. There are no guarantees. The only thing we can do is work on ourselves, and heal and grow. And we make the best decisions when we do that. We do relationship best when we know ourselves best."
That resonated. That made the decision I made 23 years old, still right, and still true. I made the best decision I knew, given the person I was. And it was a good one. And I will be forever grateful.
And a divorce doesn't mean a failure. It just means that we've grown and changed. And we are willing to take the necessary steps to make life congruent. 
I realize, I don't ever want my children to fall into the the myth of believing that marriage is forever. That we don't ever have to work on the marriage, or on ourselves or grow. Something about enoch and i's loyalty and fidelity to each other stagnated us. We were married and that was it.
I never want them to believe that marriage will save them, or give them meaning, or that they can check out. 
Something about the divorce has reset my buttons and make me conscientious and grateful. It's almost like having a near-death experience. I never take anything for granted anymore, nothing is for sure. I work everyday to choose, to treasure, to grow, to be mindful and to be grateful that I get to have my partner everyday.

Going to sleep and Waking up

When I got married I thought that couples went to bed the way they did on TV. They got into bed, turned off the lights and cuddled together.
Early on in my marriage, it was confusing to realize that it wasn't. At least it wasn't E and I's routine at least.
He was a night owl and I was a morning person. Even back in college he would go to bed at 2-3 in the morning. I would go to sleep at the same time every night. What that did was result in us sleeping separately. Back at Brown because he was usually up studying or being on the computer. Later during residency, and eventually for the next 16 years because of his urgent care shifts which started at 12pm and ended at 1-2am.
I learnt to get into bed alone and wake up quietly with a sleeping man next to me, caroling the children to be quiet because daddy needs to sleep.
Even our sexual dates were mismatched. Those infrequent nights when I would put my desire on the table, he would take his time to get to the bedroom. The distance between the living room and the bedroom to a wife that actually wanted to connect sexually felt like the longest distance in the world. And I was confused and later furious. 
Fast forward 20 years, I am now with a partner who loves going to sleep and waking up together. Jeff fantasizes of a day we are all together and we can do that. Just the simple routine of sleeping and waking up. And I scoff at him a little. That is such a logistical detail.
Why would that matter. We have all day to be together. What is with this sleeping and waking up?
But in the last month, when we've had quieter weekends, without the hustle of workshops and trying to get to sessions on time. When we are doing "normal things" like getting breakfast on Saturday mornings. Something in me shifts about the beauty of waking up and doing nothing together. And just laying and talking and being and being next to.
So many women and men, think that is about sex.
And I even warn my clients that you can have sex and miss this. 
But it isn't. It is about the skin to skin, affect regulation, the comfort, the lazing around, the bed mess - before coffee and showers.
There is something slow about this new relationship. Maybe because I am with someone 8 years older. Because I am slowing down enough to taste the coffee enough to taste the difference between medium and dark roast. Maybe because I can finally take baths anytime of the day because the water comes out piping hot and I don't have to pay for water in my new apartment; that I am starting to appreciate routine, and regularity, rituals and doing nothing. Instead of bounding out of bed the first thing with a million things to do. "The day has to get moving" My mother would say. 
And I think of all the Saturday mornings she would hammer on our doors to get us out for breakfast. 
Sleeping and waking up. I realize I never had that. I never grew up with that. The energy, the soothing the comfort. Our best conversations are in those early mornings, and sometimes we pray to start the day. 
It also got me in touch with the grief that I never ever had that with E. And the little girl in me that had dreamed about that in marriage and having it never happen given the irregularity of our lives together. It was nobody's fault, but it was every bit a tragedy. And these days I am seeing how much it cost me. How much it made me hyper vigilant and anxious all the time that I had to be on call, for change, for flexibility, for unpredictability.  I am less angry about it and more sad.
My friend San said today " I am so sorry you didn't have that."
And these days, when I can take sips of it, really be present to the loss, the grief hits me like a tidal wave. Other days I answer her flippantly " Thank you. No worries. I didn't know it any other way."
As I am settling I guess I never realized how anxious the lack of routine made me. And how the structure and routine of things I can count on, settles me so deeply.
The simple things, the things I can count on. These are what makes up relationship.

Meeting Jeff

Thank you God.
It was such a big day yesterday. I felt so amazed at how it all fell together. A miracle how the way cleared and how it finally quietly and naturally happened.
I felt strongly that given Aidan's recent outbursts that he finally meets Jeff. Most of the time when he spins he makes up stories about my safety and Jeff. So I thought it might be a great idea for him to ground his imagination with reality. I checked in with the family therapist and Aidan's individual therapist and together we thought it might be a good idea. His swings have been huge lately, very histrionic and dramatic and while not all of them are prompted by the divorce - eg. Nally, Chinese teacher, data usage. Jeff is used as the language of rage in the most bizarre way. So we figured, it might not help but definitely could not hurt. And it was one little step in showing him that we take things seriously and that we want to support him.
At first E was against it. Him being against it was disappointing. But what was more was how he handled it. I took pictures of the boy's text, I wrote him like 15 text bubbles I told him what the different therapists said -- the response I got was " I think we need to up his meds." 
It was so triggering. And I noticed, just how quickly I reeled. How fast I flipped. How alone I felt with the boy with his father. Here was my son, in pain and all he could say was that? It felt so dejavu, it was excruciating. 
But I took deep breaths, and it was amazing to have Jeff there. To sound things out, to just simply call when Aidan spins and flips, and swings and rages. Someone to say "You've been through the ringer, come here." Someone so I was/am not alone.
Because I wasn't alone, I was able to take deep breaths. And eventually E came around. He actually showed up for his son. He got on a call with the 3 of us, and hemmed and haaed, stumbled and paused, and finally Aidan put 2 and 2 together, connected the dots and even guessed his fear. 
"It's ok dad, you're worried about me, you're worried that I would get hurt. You're worried that if mom and Jeff breaks up, I will be hurt. Thank you for caring for me. Thank you for protecting me." And I was speechless. I was like how was it possible that a 13 year old is articulate, can track his father, expresses his fears, appreciates his intentions and speak for both of them.
And this 47 year old can barely put a sentence together.
It reminded me of a time that Dad finally blew up inappropriately and for the first time in his life, asked to meet with me. When I finally went over there, he hemmed and haaed, he stumbled and barely addressed the issue. He ended up lecturing me on forgiveness via prayer.
But after talking to our family therapist and Jeremy. he finally agreed. And I was floored. Not by it happening but how it happened.
E and I have never been on the same page before. We have never done anything on the same page before. It was always him doing it, or me doing it; and the other person accepting it. It was how the disaster relief projects started and the begin of the unraveling.
But the day went beautifully. It was gorgeous. Nikolas was a little shy. But he warmed up and Jeff impressed all of us ( even himself ) with his skateboarding skills. Aidan was putting his best foot forward, and I settled into the role of just bustling around and watching the kids; and watching my old friend connect with my new partner.
It was wild. And so normal and natural. And I could see how hard Aidan was trying to bond with Nikolas, and how Jeff was trying to reach him.
It was hysterical. 
There was a moment when Jeff was trying to be encouraging when the boys tried to jump us, and exclaimed that they scared us. And my son said "That is the most scripted thing I've ever heard!" and I could have rolled on the floor laughing. 
It was real and amazing, yet natural and quiet all at the same time.
Yet coming home that night relaxed all of us. I felt the two worlds finally integrating. Perhaps, now the boy will see who I am with. Not some scary person in his head. Perhaps he can see we do normal things like walk the baylands, eat ice-cream and do dishes. 
We had a beautiful day in the afternoon with Nally and the dog-park and I got to pick her up from her theater on the way home. We did face masks with Sandra when we got home.
It was perfect. Something shifted. Not sure what. I am both apprehensive and unsure.
But just for today -- so grateful, so thankful, so in awe of how the boy leads the way of healing for the family.