The Queen Slut sent me this article yesterday and I thought I had share it with you. Indeed, happiness does start from within. I wouldn’t have it otherwise.
The last word: He said he was leaving. She ignored him.
When Laura Munson’s husband asked for a divorce, she ducked instead of fighting. He needed to learn, she says, that his unhappiness wasn’t really about her
Hapiness starts within. Eventually, my husband got it. SEE ALL 72 PHOTOS
Let’s say you have what you believe to be a healthy marriage. You’re still friends and lovers after spending more than half of your lives together. The dreams you set out to achieve in your 20s—gazing into each other’s eyes in candlelit city bistros, when you were single and skinny—have for the most part come true.
Two decades later you have the 20 acres of land, the farmhouse, the children, the dogs and horses. You’re the parents you said you would be, full of love and guidance. You’ve done it all: Disneyland, camping, Hawaii, Mexico, city living, stargazing.
Sure, you have your marital issues, but on the whole you feel so self-satisfied about how things have worked out that you would never, in your wildest nightmares, think you would hear these words from your husband one fine summer day: “I don’t love you anymore. I’m not sure I ever did. I’m moving out. The kids will understand. They’ll want me to be happy.”
But wait. This isn’t the divorce story you think it is. Neither is it a begging-him-to-stay story. It’s a story about hearing your husband say, “I don’t love you anymore” and deciding not to believe him. And what can happen as a result.
Here’s a visual: Child throws a temper tantrum. Tries to hit his mother. But the mother doesn’t hit back, lecture or punish. Instead, she ducks. Then she tries to go about her business as if the tantrum isn’t happening. She doesn’t “reward” the tantrum. She simply doesn’t take the tantrum personally because, after all, it’s not about her.
Let me be clear: I’m not saying my husband was throwing a child’s tantrum. No. He was in the grip of something else—a profound and far more troubling meltdown that comes not in childhood but in midlife, when we perceive that our personal trajectory is no longer arcing reliably upward as it once did. But I decided to respond the same way I’d responded to my children’s tantrums. And I kept responding to it that way. For four months.
“I don’t love you anymore. I’m not sure I ever did.”
His words came at me like a speeding fist, like a sucker punch, yet somehow in that moment I was able to duck. And once I recovered and composed myself, I managed to say, “I don’t buy it.” Because I didn’t.
He drew back in surprise. Apparently he’d expected me to burst into tears, to rage at him, to threaten him with a custody battle. Or beg him to change his mind.
So he turned mean. “I don’t like what you’ve become.”
Gut-wrenching pause. How could he say such a thing? That’s when I really wanted to fight. To rage. To cry. But I didn’t.
Instead, a shroud of calm enveloped me, and I repeated those words: “I don’t buy it.”
You see, I’d recently committed to a non-negotiable understanding with myself. I’d committed to “the End of Suffering.” I’d finally managed to exile the voices in my head that told me my personal happiness was only as good as my outward success, rooted in things that were often outside my control. I’d seen the insanity of that equation and decided to take responsibility for my own happiness. And I mean all of it.
My husband hadn’t yet come to this understanding with himself. He had enjoyed many years of hard work, and its rewards had supported our family of four all along. But his new endeavor hadn’t been going so well, and his ability to be the breadwinner was in rapid decline. He’d been miserable about this, felt useless, was losing himself emotionally and letting himself go physically. And now he wanted out of our marriage; to be done with our family.
But I wasn’t buying it.
I said: “It’s not age-appropriate to expect children to be concerned with their parents’ happiness. Not unless you want to create co-dependents who’ll spend their lives in bad relationships and therapy. There are times in every relationship when the parties involved need a break. What can we do to give you the distance you need, without hurting the family?”
“Huh?” he said.
“Go trekking in Nepal. Build a yurt in the back meadow. Turn the garage studio into a man-cave. Get that drum set you’ve always wanted. Anything but hurting the children and me with a reckless move like the one you’re talking about.”
Then I repeated my line, “What can we do to give you the distance you need, without hurting the family?”
“Huh?”
“How can we have a responsible distance?”
“I don’t want distance,” he said. “I want to move out.”
My mind raced. Was it another woman? Drugs? Unconscionable secrets? But I stopped myself. I would not suffer.
Instead, I went to my desk, Googled “responsible separation,” and came up with a list. It included things like: Who’s allowed to use what credit cards? Who are the children allowed to see you with in town? Who’s allowed keys to what?
I looked through the list and passed it on to him.
His response: “Keys? We don’t even have keys to our house.”
I remained stoic. I could see pain in his eyes. Pain I recognized.
“Oh, I see what you’re doing,” he said. “You’re going to make me go into therapy. You’re not going to let me move out. You’re going to use the kids against me.”
“I never said that. I just asked: What can we do to give you the distance you need … ”
“Stop saying that!”
Well, he didn’t move out.
Instead, he spent the summer being unreliable. He stopped coming home at his usual 6 o’clock. He would stay out late and not call. He blew off our entire Fourth of July—the parade, the barbecue, the fireworks—to go to someone else’s party. When he was at home, he was distant. He wouldn’t look me in the eye. He didn’t even wish me “Happy Birthday.”
But I didn’t play into it. I walked my line. I told the kids: “Daddy’s having a hard time, as adults often do. But we’re a family, no matter what.” I was not going to suffer. And neither were they.
My trusted friends were irate on my behalf. “How can you just stand by and accept this behavior? Kick him out! Get a lawyer!”
I walked my line with them, too. This man was hurting, yet his problem wasn’t mine to solve. In fact, I needed to get out of his way so he could solve it.
I know what you’re thinking: I’m a pushover. I’m weak and scared and would put up with anything to keep the family together. I’m probably one of those women who would endure physical abuse. But I can assure you, I’m not. I load 1,500-pound horses into trailers and gallop through the high country of Montana all summer. I went through Pitocin-induced natural childbirth. And a Caesarean section without follow-up drugs. I am handy with a chain saw.
I simply had come to understand that I was not at the root of my husband’s problem. He was. If he could turn his problem into a marital fight, he could make it about us. I needed to get out of the way so that wouldn’t happen.
Privately, I decided to give him time. Six months.
I had good days and I had bad days. On the good days, I took the high road. I ignored his lashing out, his merciless jabs. On bad days, I would fester in the August sun while the kids ran through sprinklers, raging at him in my mind. But I never wavered. Although it may sound ridiculous to say, “Don’t take it personally” when your husband tells you he no longer loves you, sometimes that’s exactly what you have to do.
Instead of issuing ultimatums, yelling, crying, or begging, I presented him with options. I created a summer of fun for our family and welcomed him to share in it, or not—it was up to him. If he chose not to come along, we would miss him, but we would be just fine, thank you very much. And we were.
And, yeah, you can bet I wanted to sit him down and persuade him to stay. To love me. To fight for what we’ve created. You can bet I wanted to.
But I didn’t.
I barbecued. Made lemonade. Set the table for four. Loved him from afar.
And one day, there he was, home from work early, mowing the lawn. A man doesn’t mow his lawn if he’s going to leave it. Not this man. Then he fixed a door that had been broken for eight years. He made a comment about our front porch needing paint. Our front porch. He mentioned needing wood for next winter. The future. Little by little, he started talking about the future.
It was Thanksgiving dinner that sealed it. My husband bowed his head humbly and said, “I’m thankful for my family.”
He was back.
And I saw what had been missing: pride. He’d lost pride in himself. Maybe that’s what happens when our egos take a hit in midlife and we realize we’re not as young and golden anymore.
When life’s knocked us around. And our childhood myths reveal themselves to be just that. The truth feels like the biggest sucker-punch of them all: It’s not a spouse, or land, or a job, or money that brings us happiness. Those achievements, those relationships, can enhance our happiness, yes, but happiness has to start from within. Relying on any other equation can be lethal.
My husband had become lost in the myth. But he found his way out. We’ve since had the hard conversations. In fact, he encouraged me to write about our ordeal. To help other couples who arrive at this juncture in life. People who feel scared and stuck. Who believe their temporary feelings are permanent. Who see an easy out and think they can escape.
My husband tried to strike a deal. Blame me for his pain. Unload his feelings of personal disgrace onto me.
But I ducked. And I waited. And it worked.
This essay originally appeared in The New York Times. Used with permission. All rights reserved.
Spending time ownself
I have become one of THOSE people. You know THOSE overly-reliant people who just cling onto their friends, boyfriends/girlfriends, family and basically anyone they can think of for support. The people that the world shuns, the people that rely on others for their OWN happiness. And when their friends/loved ones fail them over the slightest things, all they do is become angry and spiteful.
Yes, I have become one of THOSE people. And it is PATHETIC.
So in lieu of this self-realization (which has made me a very angry person because I hate myself for being like this), I am going to work on myself. I am going to meditate for 15 minutes every day, and essentially, I need to just focus on myself. I want to reach a sense of calmness, to expel all the negative energy and thoughts from my mind and soul. During this inward journey, I am not going to let myself be distracted by anything or anyone. Because really, in the very wise words of the Queen Slut, “… I think the answer is to become the person YOU are without it being pegged on anyone else… things become easier. You become happier. The people around you become happier.”
Today is Day 1.
And I feel good.
.the Giant Bitch.
The Giant Bitch started working at HSBC in July. During the first few weeks at work, the Giant Bitch would constantly send me whatsapp messages updating me about the cute boys in her team and the bitchy girls who were trying to steal her limelight. I would in turn encourage her to only hang out with the “cool crowd”, which includes staying far away from Vee (this girl who looks like an Ah Lian and is constantly stirring shit for her).
As the first few weeks were the Giant Bitch’s training period, she was very free. Thus, I was constantly forced to play WordsWithFriends with her. For all you iPhone noobies, WordsWithFriengs (“WWF”) is the iPhone version of scrabble. Every time I put down a word, the Giant Bitch would respond within 3 minutes. And if I do not respond within a few hours, the Giant Bitch would send me repeated messages that say “DAOOOOOOOO”. WWF was fun while it lasted.
The Giant Bitch has started work proper and is constantly out meeting clients to meet her sales quota. I do not get to see her as much now that she is hard at work I have also been keeping myself terribly busy at school this semester, taking part in mooting competitions e.t.c. On Monday, we both decided that we have not seen each other for a while and needed to hang out properly (last we saw each other was for Lykke Li’s concert last Wed zzz). I drove to her workplace to pig her up at 7.45p.m. and we sped off to eat Laksa Steamboat near Pasir Panjang. We then dashed off at 9p.m. to Clementi to cut our hair for $3.90 each. Then, we made a mad dash to Bukit Timah for a drink. To end off our (very efficient) night, we rushed to Bukit Panjang to demand the return of $300 from this boy who showed no inclination of paying the Giant Bitch back her money. We were like loansharks, banging at the door of the boy’s house at 11.20p.m.. As the boy was not at home, we spoke to the parents instead. The Giant Bitch showed no mercy to the poor mother. She emphasized repeatedly “I AM NOT THE ONLY VICTIM!”
I cowered in fear.
As I grow older, I realize that the people that you choose to hang out with are very important. The Giant Bitch is a funny one. I heart her plenty.
.Hello blog.
It’s been… quite a while since I last felt like writing.
I turned 22 last week and the friends have been very kind. Knowing that I was stuck at home and stressed up to my eyebrows with school, they brought the party to my doorsteps instead. The Giant Bitch texted me afterwards saying “Nobody should spend their birthday alone”. Haha!
I think at 22, I’m still struggling with learning how to let go of the things that used to matter. But sometimes, you just have to… because the things that used to be good are no longer good for you. I find that a few drunken nights usually helps. AND so we move on…
I’m very excited that I’m going to represent Singapore for an international moot competition at Hong Kong. The team’s going to consist of the Queen Slut and another Indian (Oh, the stress) from NUS. This is going to be fun!
.the Giant Bitch and the Queen Slut.
The holidays is finally here and honestly… I CANNOT WAIT!
I have great plans for this hols… the Giant Bitch and I are going to take China down by the storm! We are going to partee and drink like there’s no tomorrow (basically taking our present drinking habits to a new location). The Queen Slut and I are also going to run away to Phuket on a “little something-something” trip. It is going to be legen… wait for it… DARY! Hahaha! I have been watching too much How I Met Your Mother lately, Barney is just Awe…wait for it some more… SOME! Alright alright, I must be annoying.
Anyways, the Giant Bitch and the Queen Slut have both come to occupy a huge part of my life.
I have known the Giant Bitch for over 9 years and I am glad we still care about the same things, we still have the same hobbies (we have recently started playing volleball together with the gays), and most importantly, we still love doing the same things (drink drink drink!). A few weeks back, the Giant Bitch and I found a new drinking hole at Toa Pa Yoh’s HDB hub. The place is great for old people drinking (quiet enough), for people who still get school money from their parents (cheap enough), for people who love inhaling some bad air (the area where all the action takes place is always empty and there’s a comfortable sofa there) AND for drinking after a hard game of volleyball (because we love drinking in our smelly exercise outfits). The Giant Bitch is great because she is my anytime-friend. Should I need company to do ANYTHING, I will text the Giant Bitch because I know she’s always up for work and fun.
On the other hand, the Queen Slut and I are quite an odd pairing. The Queen is tall, while I am what many would say, a midget of the 21st century. I have come to know almost all of the Queen’s friends and whenever we hang out, I stand out like a sore thumb – being the only Chinese in a group of 10+ Indians. The Queen is a huge fan of Iron Maiden, Black Sabbath and anything heavy metal, while I prefer the powerful belts of Celine Dion and Faith Hill. Despite our many differences, we have recently found out that we are GREAT at concerts together! Before each concert, we would drink ourselves to a state of delirium; once we are satisfied that we are truly off our minds (ready to do embarassing things without feeling embarrassed), we would run to the concert venue with our rocker outfits. Being small, I will always wiggle us to the front of the stage where we will both scream and sing our hearts out. So far, we have been to three concerts together and after every concert, I would always leave bruised and without a voice. The Queen would always proudly whatsapp me pictures of her battle scars. Currently, the Queen and I are preparing to go for Air Supply this May. It is going to be another krazy night.
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I heart them both!
.the woo-ster.
Since I got back from Israel, the woo and I have been going on weekly drinking sessions ownself. We love throwing our money away on alcohol and stuffing our face with fattening nuts and oily calamari!
Our drinking nights often start with the annoying mandatory conversation that goes something like…
Woo: “muscular man A” and “muscular man B” love youuuuu
Me: No lah, ”i’ve got a nice butt” loves you MORE
Woo: New-badminton-lover also loves youuuu
Me: Lousy-in-english also loves you whattttt
After a few drinks…
Me: Ah yah I think muscular man A is starting to like me again
Woo: Don’t tell anyone but I think lousy-in-english might like me too…
As you can tell, we are pretty self-obsessed people. We think that the whole world is in love with us hahaha! Anyways, as the night continues and we get even more intoxicated, our conversation just gets worse…
Wooo: POOOOO-STER (just in case you don’t already know… I gave the friends shit nicknames when I was youngER and so they started calling me poopoo- because I was the shittiest of all)
Me: WOOOOOO-STER
Woo: POOOOO-STERRRRRRR
Me: WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-STER
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Hahaha! I love our conversations!
run run as fast as you can
I almost forgot how much I love running till today… …
For the past two months, I have been running on the treadmill at my school gym. It has been such a drag trying to burn off the fats I gained in Israel. Surprisingly, as I took a long and hard run around the estate, I felt like it was the first time I could breathe today (as sick as that sounds).
.
.
Someone told me recently that all she wanted to do was to “run her little heart out”. I echo that… because when the running stops, life starts all over again
Bring it on, 2011!
The Queen Slut tagged me in this quote on facebook, saying that she thinks it is particular relevant to me:
There comes a time in life
when you have to let go of pointless drama
& the people who create it
& surround yourself with people
who make you laugh so hard
that you forget the bad
and focus solely on the good.
After all, life is too short to be anything but happy.
She’s a wise one, that woman.
A little update…
What I have been up to in the Holy Land…
1) The lazy mornings
Now that I have so much time on my hands (seeing how I only go to school twice a week), I spend most mornings sprawling like a cat in bed. It’s only when the sun rays become almost unbearable for me to ignore will I regretfully drag myself to the kitchen to make my standard breakfast in Israel- two slices of peanut butter toast and a cup of Israeli coffee.
C’est la vie!
2) The runs in the park
I am totally in love with the park near my apartment. In fact, I have to say that besides my room, I spend most of my time in the park. It is not so much the facilities in the park that are amazing but the energy of the people that are there exercising that is just extremely motivating and inspiring.
The park is always crowded with people, no matter what time you go. There would be the really serious hard-core runners with their heartbeat monitors on and would do laps on end… which works for me because I would try to pace them. There would also be women in their pretentious tight fitting exercise outfits with shorts that barely cover their butt cheeks strutting around the track… which also works for me because every time I ran past them, I would turn around and snigger (got matchy-matchy slutty exercise outfit so what huhhuhhuh). Of course, there would be the fat and obese people who are trying to lose weight, brisk walking around the park… that worked for me too because I ran even faster thinking that I would end up like them if I don’t… Eek!
3) Clubbing
I have yet to have an AMAZING clubbing experience here in Israel. Most of the parties that I went to were only fun for about an hour, after which it just got boring and sleazy. The Israelis love their music trance or electronic… both of which I am often not drunk enough to appreciate.
As the Queen Slut was partying like a rock star in Tel Aviv, I was busy travelling Jerusalem and Turkey. After every party, the Queen Slut would whatsapp me the details of her making out experiences, the near death/rape situations she encountered and the awesome underground clubs that she went to. I would in turn share with her stories about the oily but oh-so-delicious food I ate, the out-of-the-world nargile (sheesha) I had in Turkey and the Turkish men who fed me food and tea and offered to bring me to French restaurants to wine and dine. I even had a conversation with a guy who insisted that I have “kus-kus” (sex) with him because according to him, if you don’t have “kus-kus” for 3 months, you will climax very easily. To which I replied… where’s the fun in that?
4) Middle eastern men
Men here are easy peasy. Actually correction, men everywhere are easy! You smile at them, they buy you drinks. You have a conversation with them and they will drive you to after parties . After a while though, it gets tiring because there will always be times when you are stuck in a boring conversation that you are just dying to get out of but can’t because he is your free ride home. It isn’t easy to make genuine friends here because 9 out of 10 times, they just want to fuck you.
5) The food
The one thing that surprised me was how much I have become dependent on aubergines as my staple food choice. People here eat aubergines with everything! Aubergines with rice. Aubergines in their bread. Aubergines baked with chicken/beef/lamb. Aubergines with mashed potato. You get the drift!
With the amount of high-cholesterol food and oil that I chuck down my throat every day, I am pretty much living on the edge.
There is absolutely nothing HOLY about this Holy Land!
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