Who Is Truly Listening? (K.Blais)

“Listening is a positive act: you have to put yourself out to do it.” (David Hockney)

It is becoming increasingly difficult to listen. Equally importantly, it is becoming increasingly difficult to find people who are willing to listen. And, by listen, I mean really listen.

Many of us have been blessed with almost perfect or, at least, adequate hearing abilities, but how many of us actually, truly hear and listen to what others have to say? Do we listen with the intent to understand? Or do we listen with the intent to reply?

Last week I shared a perspective on writing from a fellow blogger. I loved her thoughts on writing because, while she blogs quite regularly sharing her thoughts and opinions several times a week, she admits that writing can be a very solitary thing. Perhaps writing can even be a lonely occupation or hobby. It can be something that a writer ends up just doing for herself, even if it means no one will ever read her words before she lights them on fire and sets them free. Perhaps the words are not written for others and perhaps others are not ready to read the words.

Talking about any hobby or passion can be fun, but talking about ‘writing’ can be a touchy thing for many writers. Many people are so busy and caught up in their own lives they barely have time to sit down and listen to what is going on in someone else’s world, let alone when it’s a fictional one. And when one talks too much about oneself, or one’s writing, it can border on feeling a bit egotistical and self-centered to both the talker and to the listener as well. Vulnerability is also exposed as we open ourselves up to criticism, judgment, and scrutiny even from our most well-meaning audience and when we feel vulnerable we are less likely to open up again in the future, even if there was someone willing to listen.

I’ve often wished that I was important and/or wealthy enough to have a personal assistant. It would be fantastic to have someone to help keep me organized, to do the bill-paying, finances, and other organizational things for me, but the real reason I wish I had a personal assistant is that there would always be someone who was there to listen. Now before you think that sounds sad and pathetic, let me explain. While I would paying her (most likely it would be a her), she would be there at a moment’s notice for me to bounce ideas off of, to listen to me rant and rave about my lack of creativity or whatever else was currently irking me, and to encourage me and be in my corner 100 % of the time cheering me on during my more creative or successful moments because it would be her job to do it, without any other distractions. I wouldn’t feel badly about her having to listen to me because it would be a requirement of her employment. (And, hopefully, she would enjoy her job.)

There are many of us, writers and non-writers, who have friends and people in our lives who are great listeners and wonderful pillars of support, but there are also those who may feel that they go about their days not being heard. They feel that they cannot express their true thoughts and feelings because they are afraid that there will be no one willing to listen. The best gift anyone can give others is their time – but not just their time alone, but the time to truly listen to what is being said and to what is not being said as well. True listening is hearing the words both spoken and unspoken. True listening is not about wanting to ‘hear’ so that gossip can be spread around, to have something juicy to share with others, or to hold information over another’s head. True listening is about hearing, feeling, and reading body language out of what the other person needs you to realize and understand.

When we are truly listening we realize when it is the time to stay quiet and when is the time to speak up. We know when we are expected to ‘help’ and when it is hoped that we will just ‘hear’. Truly listening is not about fixing what is broken, but about allowing someone to figure out their own repairs through talking things out to someone else. When we are truly listening we are not interrupting or looking for a way to interject our two cents worth, although we may ask questions to further our understanding of the situation or to clarify the speaker’s feelings to us. Truly listening has much less to do with us and much more to do with the person we are listening to. It’s not about what we can add, but what we can help to take away – the stress, frustration, fear, worry, etc.

Truly listening is indeed a positive act – it requires more of us to be quiet and to completely hear than it does to speak and thereby potentially close ourselves off from an opportunity to help someone else.

Who is truly listening in your life?

She wrote about her life and then lit the words on fire and set them free.

This week I wanted to share a heart-felt perspective on writing by a lovely fellow blogger, Crysta. I haven’t stopped thinking about this post since I read it in August. Writing is baring one’s soul, whether we intend to or not. It takes courage and strength and, like other things, it takes time, energy, and passion. And, most of the time, we don’t write for anyone but ourselves; it’s just a bonus when others do read and enjoy what we have written. “We don’t write because we can, we write because we must.” (Totally Crysta). Please read and enjoy ❤

Good Enough – Part 4 (K.Blais)

Catch up on Good Enough: To read Part 1 click here, for Part 2 click here, for Part 3 click here.

 

I awoke early the next morning momentarily forgetting where I was. The all-too-familiar feeling of dread washed over me even before I had completely awoke as I braced myself to face another day in the prison which had become my life. But, as I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling of the hotel room, it all came rushing back – the leaving, the regret, and the fear. The sharpness of the longing for things to just be back to normal pierced through me as I sat up.

It was probably not too late to call Ben. I could try to go back and to be happy. Maybe Ben would even agree to make some changes in our life. It would never be perfect, but maybe it could be better.

Even as I thought those things I knew it would never happen. We had gone too far to go back. I had become a shell of the person I once was, however shaky that person had been anyway. Ben had lost respect for me the more and more I had faded silent and uncomplaining into his background. I had lost any respect that I once had for myself as well.

Even as I wanted to go back, I knew that I couldn’t. Even as I felt physically ill at the thought of starting this new day on my own, without the security of a home or an income, I knew that I would have to somehow make it work. There would be no going back because going back would be the death of me. I was pretty much certain of that.

I slipped out of bed silently. It was only 6 am and Nate could use a bit more sleep. I had no idea what the day would hold, but I definitely knew that I needed a cooperative six year old in order to get through it.

I grabbed my cell phone and walked into the bathroom. There were no missed calls or text messages. I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed or relieved. I knew that Ben would be up and running on the treadmill by now. His coffee would be the next thing he grabbed and then his cell phone. That was if he had spent the night at home last night. I didn’t want to think what he would be grabbing now if he didn’t.

I showered quickly and dried off, listening for the sounds of Nate waking. I dressed in jeans and long-sleeved shirt, pulling my hair back into a ponytail.

Wiping the steam off the vanity mirror, I stared at myself. My complexion was pale making my blue eyes seem huge on my drawn face. I had dark circles under my eyes which didn’t help my appearance any and the pony tail only made my hair seem even more limp and lack luster. I had lost weight and my jeans hung off me unflatteringly. Frankly, I looked like someone who had been locked away for a few years. I laughed at the truthfulness in that – hadn’t I been?

I sighed and turned away from the mirror. No wonder I disgusted Ben now. I disgusted myself. Packing up my cosmetic bag I didn’t even give the makeup in there a second glance. It didn’t matter now, just like it didn’t matter then. I would never be good enough.

I began to tear up at that thought. How would I ever make it on my own if I wasn’t good enough to make it with help?

Shaking, I slammed my cosmetic bag back down on the vanity and ripped it open. Pulling out my foundation, I began to smooth it over my face. Next I added some blush and a bit of mascara. It wasn’t a huge improvement, but it was a start. I needed to start trying to feel again: to feel something, anything, good about myself. I owed myself that.

Seeing that Nate was still asleep, I opened up the hotel directory. I knew that we were in Perspect, but I knew nothing of the place. It seemed like a big enough town, and, true to the gas attendant’s word, the directory boasted of the friendliness of the Perspect calling it “a home away from home” for visitors. I thought that maybe we would take a look around here for the day. Studying a street map, I noticed that there were a couple of parks nearby and even a small petting zoo. It would be good to give Nate a break from being stuck in the car all day again, I thought.

Hearing him begin to stir, I walked over to the bed and placed my hand on his cheek. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled at me. “Hi Mommy,” he said.

“Hey bud,” I said as I leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Let’s have some fun today.”

A short while later, Nate was dressed, his teeth were brushed, and was busying himself with tying his shoes as I packed up our bags. Checking out of the hotel, I loaded the luggage and Nate in the car.

Grabbing coffee, juice, and muffins at the nearest drive thru, I followed the map I had snagged out of the hotel directory book to the closest park.

After a few quick bites of his chocolate chip muffin and a few swigs of juice, Nate was all too eager to begin climbing and playing on the play structures. It was still early and so far we had the whole park to ourselves.

I sipped my coffee as I watched Nate exploring.

“Good morning,” I heard a deep voice say.

Glancing up quickly I was startled to see a tall man standing beside me.

I tried to smile, but I’m not sure that I pulled it off. Trying my voice, I squeaked out, “Good morning”.

“Mind if I sit down?” the deep voice asked again.

This time I looked at him more closely. He had brown hair which was cut short, soft blue eyes, and a kind smile. He was dressed in a business suit and held a coffee cup and a newspaper in his hand. While I didn’t really want company, I didn’t have the heart to say no so I smiled and moved over on the bench.

As he sat down, I felt his eyes on me and I shifted uncomfortably. I was silently praying that he would not start up a conversation.

“So, are you just passing through?” he asked softly, as if knowing that he may scare me away at any moment.

I nodded, without looking at him. Go away, please, I pleaded silently.

“I’m sorry to ask, it’s just that I pretty much know everybody in town. And we don’t get many visitors, at least many that tend to stay long,” he said laughing a large, booming laugh.

His laugh startled me, but at the same time it made me smile.

I turned to him, and removing my sunglasses, I met his eyes. I was taken aback at how familiar his eyes seemed, like we had met in another time or place.

As his eyes searched mine, he smiled softly. “If you need anything while you are here, please don’t hesitate to drop in to my office or give me a call.” He held out his business card for me.

I took it silently, not knowing what to say. Staring at the card I read it, Garry Rondell, financial advisor. I opened my mouth to tell him I hadn’t any finances that I would need advising on, but he was already rising from the bench.

“It’s a pretty welcoming place, if you need somewhere to stay for a few days,” he said, seeming to read between the lines of my quietness.

“Ok,” I said, not really knowing what else to say at that point.

“Hopefully I will see you around,” he said still smiling.

I nodded, trying to smile myself, “Maybe.”

 

 

 

 

Good Enough – Part 3 (K.Blais)

To read Part 1 of Good Enough, click here.

For Part 2 of Good Enough, click here.

**Please note: This text is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

I pulled off an exit a short while later and turned into a gas station to fill up. We had been driving for over 10 hours, no wonder Nate was hungry. He had eaten all of his lunch which I had packed in his school bag, but we had definitely missed supper a few hours ago.

I asked the gas station attendant, an older man wearing overalls and a ball cap, where the closest restaurant and hotels would be. I had no idea where we were.

“You have just arrived in Perspect, the friendliest town you’ll come across taking an exit ramp off the highway.”

I had no idea where that was, but I nodded and smiled at his obvious town pride.

He continued, “There are some restaurants and hotels just up ahead a bit. It’s a smaller town but, like I said, you won’t find nicer people.”

I thanked him and paid for my gas.

We drove down the street a bit and the lights of a fast food restaurant illuminated the way. I pulled in to the drive thru and ordered a couple of burgers for Nate and myself. I wasn’t overly hungry but I knew that we both had to eat. The whispers nagged in my ear that fast food burgers would hardly win me any mother of the year awards, but I silenced them by offering Nate another one. At least he wouldn’t go to bed hungry.

The town was quite lit up for almost ten at night and I could see that there were several hotels just down the street. It wouldn’t be a bad place to get some sleep. While I wasn’t yet exhausted, I was starting to get tired of driving.

Finishing our food, I told Nate that we would be staying here for the night. For the first time Nate asked about his father.

“We are just having a little holiday, honey. Daddy has to work. We are taking a break and giving him some space.”

Nate nodded. I wasn’t sure if he understood really, but he hadn’t seen his father a whole lot lately anyway. I assumed that this time apart wouldn’t overly affect him as it wouldn’t be much different than what he was used to. He was used to a father who was seldom at home, and, when he was there, was too busy to play with him anyway. How many times over the last couple of years, since Nate had been old enough to understand, had his father told him to give him some space? There had been too many times to count.

We drove down the street a bit and I pulled into first hotel we came to. I knew that it wouldn’t be hard to find a room. Even though the town had several hotels, I could see that each one still had the vacancy sign lit. It was a wonder how some small businesses stayed afloat, I thought idly.

I unloaded Nate and our two bags and we walked into the hotel lobby. A young dark-haired woman smiled brightly at us. I was sure that our appearance as guests was the highlight of her night. I signed on the line and paid for one night. Handing us our hotel key and the instructions on how to get to the room, we left with her still waving at Nate. He was a charmer like his father; he definitely knew how to make the ladies smile.

Once we were in the room, Nate bathed and tucked into bed sleeping once more, the reality of what I had done hit me. Waves of regret and homesickness washed over me. How could I have the left the comfort of our beautiful home, of our bountiful lifestyle, even the well known comfort of my marriage, as much of a sham that it now was? Worse, how could I have dragged my son into this with me? I knew that I could never, ever have left without him, but maybe I should have never left in the first place either.

I sat on the edge of our queen size bed the tears rolling down my face. If and when I returned, Ben would never let me live this down. He would take me back, I knew, for appearance’s sake, but all the whispers would still be there, the murmurings would continue, and the stares and looks of pity would intensify. Crazy bitch couldn’t even leave and stay gone, they would say.

The facts were sad and true. I had no one but Nate. My own small family lived thousands of miles away, the few that I had left, and other than speaking to them on holidays and exchanging emails we didn’t have a lot of contact. I realized that Ben liked it that way as well. He and his family continued to be the primary focus in our lives.

Besides, my family truly believed that I had won the perfect life lottery and landed a perfect husband. They wouldn’t have wanted to believe anything less.

It wasn’t the first time that I wished that I had someone to confide in. A close friend who would tell me that what I did was the right thing, both for me and for Nate, but once again I had no one. The few friends that I had had in university had slipped through the cracks as I built my perfect life, or, at least, Ben’s perfect life. There was no one to listen to me cry, even over the phone. No one to text for their honest opinion on what I should do next. I was completely on my own and I was completely petrified.

For the last few years, I hadn’t even been left to make decisions about groceries or landscaping on my own, how in the hell had I found myself here now trying to decide what to do next? I was living right up to Ben’s accusations – of course I didn’t know where I was going or what I was doing next. Since when was I ever capable of thinking things through like that?

Checking that Nate was still tucked in, I escaped to the bathroom where I ran a hot bubble bath. Stripping off the sweater and yoga pants that I still wore, I eased myself into the fragrant water. My muscles were tight from driving and my head had begun to ache from all the crying I had done.

I hated that I now regretted leaving. I should’ve been proud of myself for taking that first step – for walking out on a cheating husband and a loveless marriage, for proving to myself and to my son that we deserved better than that, for, in my own way, telling the murmuring voices to stick their opinions where the sun doesn’t shine.

Deep down I knew that each day the regret would lessen, each day I would get stronger, and that one day I would be grateful that I had taken this first step, but for tonight all I wanted to do was go home.

I crawled out of the tub and wrapped myself in a huge towel. I picked up my cell phone and held it in my hands. I could call and say I would be home in the morning. I could say I was wrong and that I am sorry. I could do all of those things, but I knew that I wouldn’t. Instead, I put my phone away and crawled into bed beside Nate and wrapped my arms around him, holding him close.

Right now, this was all I needed to do.

Good Enough – Part 2 (K.Blais)

To read Part 1 of Good Enough, click here.

**Please note: This text is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

It was coming on dark when my cell phone began to ring. I had been expecting it although it was a little earlier than what I had figured. I let it ring and go to voice mail. I hadn’t fully thought out what I was going to say just yet.

When it rang again ten minutes later I knew that I had to answer. Before I had a chance to speak, Ben’s voice flooded the line, “Izzy, where the hell are you?”

I could hear the frustration in his words as if he was speaking to a wayward child. It had pretty much become a habit for him to speak to me this way.

“I’ve left, Ben. I’ve taken Nate and I’ve left.”

“You crazy bitch.” I was sure the words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to think about them.

Doubt crept in and the voices started to natter again in my ears. They all thought I was crazy, even him. Could they be right?

“I’m not crazy. I’m done. There’s a difference.” There was. I would prove it. I had to.

“You’re not crazy? Like hell you’re not crazy. Who do you think you are leaving me and taking my son?”

“I’m his mother and we are going away for a bit. I need some time, Ben, I need time to think.”

“You can damn well think here. I could call the police on you, Isabella. You know that I won’t hesitate.”

“You have far more to lose than I do by calling them, Ben. Maybe you should think carefully about that,” I lowered my voice as I glanced at Nate still sleeping in the back seat.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” His voice was still angry, but I could hear fear creeping in. If it wasn’t fear then at least he was in doubt of his own confidence for once.

“Just give me some time. That’s all I want.”

I heard his frustrated sigh. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know.”

A laugh, “Of course you don’t.”

“I’ll call you when I figure it out,” I said hanging up on him.

A sense of relief flooded over me as I realized that I had won this argument. I knew Ben and I knew that he would wait to hear from me. He owed me that much.

A small smile crept over my face as we continued down the highway, the headlights of our vehicle sweeping over the open road. For the first time in a long time I felt a sense of freedom. I had no idea where we were headed, but I truly couldn’t wait to get there.

 

                        I

I had stopped for gas a short while later. Nate still slept in the car and I was glad that he was resting. It gave me a chance to think and to collect myself a bit more.

I had finally done it. I had stood up for myself and I had left the life I had grown to hate.

Many wouldn’t understand it for those who didn’t know the story only saw me as the wife of Dr. Benjamin Lloyd, prominent doctor in our small, yet prestigious, community. I hadn’t had to work since we had married, much like many of the other yoga posing, lulu lemon wearing wives. I wasn’t like them though. I wasn’t anything like them.

I had wanted to work. I had a degree and I had wanted to pursue my own career instead of merely walking in the shadow of Ben’s. He hadn’t wanted that though. He wanted me to be the perfect wife to complete his perfect image. That was something that I had never done well. I had never lived up to his expectations.

Ben and I had met in university. It had been a chance happening really. We had ended up in a course together and had found ourselves in a study group with a few other people in the class. We had hit it off although we had seemed like the most unlikely match: Ben with his tall, rugged good looks and me who had always been considered “average”. I had the average height and weight of most young women my age and my hair was the average chestnut brown. I had deep blue eyes though, a feature which Ben had said immediately drew him to me. He had said that he thought of my eyes as the pools of my soul once. It had been a particularly deep thought for him. I wasn’t quite sure what he had meant.

Ben and I had dated throughout university, eventually moving in together as he finished up his medical degree. I tutored and worked as a teacher’s assistant while Ben still attended school. The idea had been for me to wait for him to graduate. I am still not sure why I had ever agreed to that.

I had wanted to pursue my own studies, to obtain my Master’s degree and eventually my PhD. I had wanted to be a professor, teaching the love of literature which I had myself to my students. Instead, I worked under a professor who tried her best to encourage me to go further with my own education, but I had already fallen under Ben’s spell at that point. I wanted what was best for him because I believed, at the time, that it would be best for me too. All I could see was Ben’s goals and his dreams which lay before us.

Ben had graduated and I had stood by his side. That night, at his graduation dinner, he had proposed to me in front of his family and some close friends. I thought my fairytale had come true. My life, to no credit of my own, had become perfect.

And it was ‘perfect’ for a while. Ben continued to work his way up the ladder, we were married a year later, and he found himself in his own practice and doing remarkably well. He was proud of his accomplishments and I was so very proud of him.

Eventually though, there was an ever so slight niggle of doubt which began to form in the back of my mind. The fundraisers and hospitals galas seemed less and less exciting. I was growing tired of smiling and being nice to people that I hardly knew and most likely wouldn’t like if I did. I had begun to feel as if something was missing.

That was when I had approached Ben about having a baby. He had been all for it and in what seemed like no time at all we found ourselves pregnant with Nate. The doubt disappeared almost completely and I felt as if maybe this was what I had been missing, a little someone to help fill my days and to complete our family.

During my pregnancy with Nate however, Ben had begun to change, or I started looking at things differently. At first I hadn’t really noticed, being so preoccupied with being blissfully happy and with child. But Ben began working longer hours and missing dinner. He would spend less of his evening when he did get home talking to me and more and more of it on his computer catching up on paperwork and emails.

When I had tried to speak to him about it, he, of course, had had all the right answers. He was working overtime in order to be able to take some time off with me when the baby came. He had to continue building his practice and that would only happen with true dedication and hard work. I wanted him to succeed, didn’t I? He had said all the right things and I had believed each and every one of them.

Nate had been born on a bright sunny morning in April. I had gone into labour and Ben had met me at the hospital. I had a difficult labour and ended up having to have a Caesarean. It hadn’t been easy on me and while Nate was born healthy and well, the doctor had recommended that I shouldn’t have any more children.

That hadn’t really bothered me at the time, but it had bothered Ben. He had envisioned himself with the perfect family, to complement his perfect life, of course. There would always remain underlying implications and indications that he felt we should try for another one eventually.

I was happy with Nate and could spend hours staring into his perfect little face. The days passed and I absorbed myself in mothering him. I knew that while I fell short in so many other areas of my life, only I could be Nate’s mother. I was the best and only person completely qualified for that job.

Ben had begun to complain about the amount of time I spent with Nate even though he himself was hardly ever home. The time he was supposed to take off after Nate was born was quickly shoved aside, promises made of a future family vacation when the baby was a bit older.

Eventually Ben hired a housekeeper because he felt that I wasn’t keeping up with things well enough. I hadn’t argued this. I hated doing the cleaning, laundry, and cooking when I knew I wasn’t very good at it anyway. It was one of the things which Ben imposed on me that had actually made my life easier.

I was jolted out of my thoughts by Nate’s tiny voice, “Mommy, I’m hungry.”

I looked at him in the rearview mirror, “Hey buddy. I figured you would be. Let’s stop and get something to eat soon, OK?”

He nodded still rubbing his eyes sleepily. I looked at him for a moment. He was such a handsome boy. He had the dark hair and complexion of his father but he had gotten my deep blue eyes. He had a smile that could light up the room. He turned heads everywhere he went.

I was so blessed to have him, so fortunate to be given this gift of him. I would go through everything I had a hundred times over just to have him again. He made everything worth it.

Good Enough – An Excerpt (K.Blais)

A few readers have requested that I share some of my fictional work on this blog site. And, since I have found my spark again and started working on my second novel (yay me!), this week I decided to take the plunge and share a bit of fictional writing to change things up a bit. This is an excerpt of something I have been poking away at (not a novel, I don’t think). Feedback and comments are welcomed, as usual!

**Please note: This text is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

Prologue

The wind whipped through the trees, rustling the fall leaves and sending them swirling, whirling into the air. I believe it was that exact moment when everything came together and I knew that I had to leave.

There was nothing more here for me. There was definitely little remaining of the family I had desperately tried to maintain. Other than a few casual friends, more acquaintances really, there was absolutely nothing left.

I made the decision at that very instant as the wind seemed to blow through me. That was exactly how I felt – that life was going past me, through me like the wind, as if I didn’t matter, as if I didn’t even exist anymore. Maybe it was true. Maybe I didn’t exist to anyone.

I clutched my coffee cup with one hand and held my sweater closed with the other as I walked from the street where I had put my six year old son on the bus only five minutes earlier. Everything seemed to suddenly shimmer with clarity and certainty.

I knew it now. I heard it in the wind as it tousled my hair and nuzzled against my cheek.

It whispered, ‘Go’.

 

Leaving

It didn’t take me long to pack a bag for each of us, a variety of clothing, a few toys, and, of course, Nate’s favourite teddy bear. He never left home without it.

I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. All I knew was if I didn’t leave now, this very day, I wouldn’t be able to face another one. The thought was unbearable.

I felt calm, yet panicked. I knew that it would look odd me picking up Nate so soon from school as the bus would have just delivered him and other children like him to the front door. I would have to sign him out again from the office with some excuse of a forgotten dentist appointment or the like. This wouldn’t be anything new to the head secretary who worked there. It wasn’t a far stretch to consider me a bit scatter brained, and I was sure I had been called that and worse.

I had heard the rumours and the whispers, the sighs and small looks of pity bordering on disgust. I hadn’t been able to shake them. They had stuck to me like glue. Sticks and stones will break bones, but words will tear down and destroy.

I could hear those words now, even though all the good moms had put their children on the bus and were now at home doing yoga or at the gym doing pilates or a spin class. The ones who had their own careers would’ve been at work hours ago, making the money that it took to live in this neighbourhood and to maintain this social stature. I could hear their whispers, their murmurs as they watched me walk up the steps to the school still wearing the same sweater, faded yoga pants, and messy pony tail which I had woke up in. ‘Crazy bitch’, they taunted me.

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore. All that mattered is that Nate and I had to leave.

 

It had been surprisingly easy. Taking one look at my disheveled appearance, the secretary had shaken her head not so discretely at me as I mumbled through an apology of forgetting yet another dentist appointment. She had paged Nate into the school from the yard and a few moments later I was buckling him into the car seat of the SUV.

Pulling quickly out of the parking lot, I headed immediately towards the highway. No one would be looking for us until at least the evening but I wanted to get on the road and get as far away from here as I possibly could in the daylight.

It seemed almost foolish in a sense, as if I was fleeing for my life as well as Nate’s, but I suppose in a sense I was. I wasn’t in any immediate physical danger, but I knew that I had been dying a slow, painful death where I was, death by drowning if I may, and I was growing incredibly tired of treading water.

It hadn’t always been this way. At one point I had felt as if I had been dropped into a fairytale. Ours had been a regular ‘Prince Charming saves the princess’ type of story. That feeling of glorious happily ever after had dissipated slowly but surely, doubt creeping in just as the darkness always comes at the end of the day.

I knew from the beginning that I would never fit in, that I could never be the good doctor’s wife and fill the role that was expected of me. I had tried, Lord knows that I had tried, and it wasn’t all Ben’s fault; it really wasn’t. He had tried too, and I believe at one point he did truly love me. We had been in love when we had married, when he had whisked me away into his world of white picket fences, homes that were too large with too many rooms, and vehicles which I had never even heard of.

I had tried to be a perfect wife, doing what was asked of me, accompanying him to fundraisers and social events. I had tried to wear the perfect dresses, achieve the perfect hairstyles, and say all the right things. I had tried, I had really, really tried.

Then one day I stopped trying. I woke up that morning and decided to stop.

As I drove along the highway, leaving behind the life we had once lived, I listened as Nate told me about his latest favourite TV show. Before I knew it he had talked himself to sleep and I had been left alone with my thoughts.

No one else would understand this. I was literally walking out on what appeared to be a perfect life to anyone on the outside, to anyone who didn’t already know the truth. It was far from perfect though. There was no such thing.

There were days over the years were I had stood in the middle of the kitchen and had felt completely lost. There were weeks where I had stood in front of each window in the house and had cried like a child who wasn’t allowed to go outside and play with the other children. There were moments when I had locked myself in a bathroom, ready to pull my hair out in frustration because Nate was throwing yet another four year old tantrum, rocking my body back and forth on the floor in disbelief that this was now my life.

But then there were moments of pure happiness, although those moments had been few and far between. I held our wedding day close in my heart because on that day I had felt that Ben truly loved me and believed, and, perhaps more importantly, made me believe, that I was good enough. The nine wonderful months when I had been pregnant with Nate, my beautiful Nate, I had been so happy because I knew that I was no longer alone. The day that Nate was born and I held my son for the very first time outside of my body I had known that things would never, ever be the same again.

I had been so happy when we had Nate. He was my perfect boy, my angel child. I loved him, cherished him, and protected him with the love of a tigress mother. There was nothing in the world more important to me than my baby boy.

I hadn’t noticed right away. Maybe the warning signs had been there all along for all I had known. Or maybe I hadn’t wanted to notice that anything was amiss. Perhaps maybe I hadn’t even cared.

Ben started spending more and more hours at work, working longer and later than usual. Even with a new baby at home he put in hundreds of hours of overtime and took on more and more new patients. We hadn’t needed the money, even with me not working, but Ben had insisted that this extra income was exactly what was necessary for our little family.

It wasn’t rocket science and it didn’t take a genius to figure it out; it had been obvious to everyone else but me for almost three years before I had clued in. I wasn’t a stupid person – I just didn’t want to see it I guess.

Dr. Benjamin Henry Lloyd, general surgeon and M.D., was having an affair on me, Isabella Violet Lloyd, his wife of eight years, and mother of his then three year old child, Nathan Benjamin Lloyd.

He had been cheating on our family.

And here I was, three years later, finally driving away from the life which had threatened to overtake me, a life which I had learned to hate. I could still hear the whispers and the mutterings, but they were growing fainter the further I drove. I had to strain to hear them now, their voices had been almost silenced.

I didn’t have a clue where I was going or what I was going to do. I was trusting in the fact that I would know exactly where I was supposed to be when I got there and that everything would fall into place. It was a high hope, but it was all that I had.

 

A Fish Out Of Water (K.Blais)

(image courtesy of Google images)

Are you feeling like a fish out of water lately? Or, maybe all of the time? How about, ever?

“A fish out of water” – a phrase used to explain someone who is in a situation they are unsuited to (phrasefinder.org); a person in unfamiliar, and often uncomfortable, surroundings (Wiktionary.org)

This phrase came up in conversation with my KS a few times the other day. We were sharing our reflections on life and, when I caught myself using this term at several points in our conversation, I thought it might make a great topic.

Some of us may experience times, moments, incidents where we feel out of our realm. We may feel inept to deal with issues presented before us whether they are work related or just things that need to be handled. We may be out of our comfort zone, our choice or not, and we may struggle with how to deal in this “out of water” situation.

There are moments when I feel like I’m out of whack with everyone and everything. Nothing I attempt seems to go right and I struggle to find the right words to say. I feel like a train wreck which I am unable to disentangle myself or even look away from or an unwilling participant in The Gong Show in which no one will take pity and gong me to get off of the stage. Some people believe that this unharmonious discordance with the universe has something to do with the planets not being aligned properly or something like that, but I’m not sure about those theories. All I know is that there are days where I feel “off” and definitely like I’m a fish floundering out of water.

There are also times when we may feel like a fish out of water because of things imposed on us. We may find ourselves in a situation where we don’t feel like we belong because of our abilities or lack thereof. Maybe we have even been “left out” of some event or placed in a position where the intention is that we will feel uncomfortable or awkward. We may feel that others have done their best to keep us “out of water” so to speak in an attempt to render us feeling inferior or inadequate in order to make themselves feel better. We continue to deal with bullying and exclusion in our schools and in our community, but these issues happen over social media and in adult social circles as well. It’s not a great feeling to be “left out”, even as a grown adult.

In some cases, we may opt to take ourselves “out of the water” intentionally. When I began this blog almost a year and a half ago, I knew that I was taking a leap out of my comfort zone, out of my own fish bowl in a sense. By creating this blog and opening up my thoughts, opinions, and perspectives on life for people to read, I was stepping out of what was comfortable in my world and into the zone of the unknown. I have not regretted my decision to open up my writing to others, but at many times I have felt like the proverbial fish out of water for sure. One doesn’t have to look far to find success stories of people of who have “made it” in the writing world. Just opening up my Twitter feed reminds me of how many of us out there call ourselves writers. I am more often than not overwhelmed when I think of trying to compete in a realm where so many people seem confident and successful in their own abilities and have done something with them! So, while I may have jumped out of my own fish bowl, I still struggle every day with whether I can find success out of water or if I’m simply floundering.

While it can be uncomfortable, unsettling, and make us feel vulnerable, feeling like a fish out of water can be a positive thing in many ways. I think we all need to experience the out of water feeling from time to time to be perfectly honest. Being a fish out of water can offer a reminder to us to be humble, to not think we are “bigger than our britches”. It also gives us some perspective as to how others might feel when they are “out of water” and allow us to empathize with them. Being out of water can remind us to be kind to others, that everyone we meet is fighting some sort of battle, and even to step out of our comfort zones once in a while. “Out of the water” can offer us an opportunity to be brave, to try something new, to dig deep within ourselves, or even to find a place to belong. “Out of the water” we may even find people like us, people who are searching for their own understandings, or that someone who just listens, really listens, to what we have to say.

Being a fish out of water may not always be pleasant, but it’s important to remember that life can also be so much bigger than the bowl.

(image courtesy of Google images)

Hard Hits and Must Not Quits (K.Blais)

Without any preamble, or mincing words, I will not hesitate to tell you that I have seriously considered throwing in the towel more than once this week. I have lost count of how many times I have felt that many of things that I take pride in doing are being done in vain. Please note: I don’t do these things for recognition, or even for the validation from others, but sometimes getting a little, just a little bit of credit would be nice.
Even writing has been a challenge. I have not had too many experiences with writer’s block, (those who know me know that I am not too often at a loss for words), but I now know what it is like to stare at a computer screen, to will the thoughts to come to my head, to urge them to flow through my fingers, and to get… nothing. Fine time for a block to hit when I am half way through a writing challenge, huh?
Perhaps many of us experience times where we feel we are being “tested”. Every single thing we may try to do may seem difficult, a huge undertaking. We may feel like we are trying, really trying, only to get crapped on, stomped down, and “put in our place”. We may wonder why it is that we are even trying anymore.
On a personal note, the feeling of inadequacy is huge for me when I think about my writing. With so many great, published writers out there, how can I call myself one? Does being moderately smart and able to put words together somewhat nicely into sentences make me a writer?
I was feeling that way a lot this week and was doing a lot of thinking about where I have been directing my energy. I haven’t come to any conclusions, or solved any of my issues with stress, time, and being too hard on myself. I often wonder if I take on too much, if I try to do too many things, and then end up doing few or none of them well. I’m not going to lie… When things seem too hard, or I can’t do them “well enough”, I’m tempted to let things go. Then I remembered this poem:

Don’t Quit
When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you’re trudging seems all uphill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high,
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit-
Rest if you must, but don’t you quit.
Life is queer with its twists and turns,

As every one of us sometimes learns,
And many a fellow turns about
When he might have won had he stuck it out.
Don’t give up though the pace seems slow –
You may succeed with another blow.
Often the goal is nearer than

It seems to a faint and faltering man;
Often the struggler has given up
Whe he might have captured the victor’s cup;
And he learned too late when the night came down,
How close he was to the golden crown.
Success is failure turned inside out –

The silver tint in the clouds of doubt,
And you never can tell how close you are,
It might be near when it seems afar;
So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit –
It’s when things seem worst that you must not quit.

Readers, please know that we all feel weak at times, even those of us who appear to be strong. Those of us who seem to be confident and self-assured even have those moments (days, weeks, months) where we feel hesitant and insecure. We all stumble and we all fall. It’s the getting back up that’s the challenge some days. But, we are all capable.
I still have doubts, and I have my days where I wonder if it makes any sense at all: the struggles with time, the tiredness, the feeling of being beaten down and “crapped” on, the concept of being “done with it all”, but I think that maybe, just maybe, I might be finding my drive again. I may just actually have the thoughts flowing freely from my heart to my head to my fingers again. I may just be getting my groove back. It may not be Stella-style (love that movie!), but it will definitely be a groove all my own.
Dear Readers (and Myself), these are words to remember: “So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit – It’s when things seem worst that you must not quit.”

Rising To The Challenge (K.Blais)

Lately I’ve been feeling particularly challenged by many issues in my life. Maybe you can relate.

It is a fact that in the past few weeks nothing seems to be happening easily – most things are requiring a lot of concentrated time, work, and effort, at least more than usual. Oh I know that this happens from time to time – there are times when some things seem to be a lot harder than others and even harder than they should be. I have even blogged about a similar topic already in the not so long ago past. It’s also a fact that not all of my challenges are completely mine alone – I share in the challenges of my friends and loved ones, often as if they are my own, taking them upon myself as well. I guess it’s just what I do.

Having said that, I think it’s important to note that not all challenges are bad, it is often good to be challenged as well. Some challenges indeed do ‘challenge’ us to the point of discouragement, frustration, maybe even despair, but other challenges can also cause us to push ourselves harder, dig a little deeper, and go a little farther than we ever thought we could.

Challenges, both positive and negative, can be character building, but only if we can view them as such. Sometimes the realization that we’ve learned something, that we’ve become better somehow through this challenge, only comes later, much later, after the challenge has passed.

I’ve recently accepted a writing challenge. For those of you in the writing world, November is National Novel Writing Month (aka NaNoWriMo). I had heard about NaNoWriMo last year, but a little too late to sign up. This year, thanks to a fellow blogger’s post on how she has accepted the Writing Challenge again this year, I was able to sign up myself in time.

(image courtesy of nanowrimo.org)

NaNoWriMo is an internet-based project that takes place every November. It challenges participants to write a new novel in one month with the slogan ‘Thirty days and nights of literary abandon! No Plot? No Problem!’ The goal of NaNoWriMo is to get people writing through to the end of the first draft. Dozens of novels written during NaNoWriMo have been published (Water For Elephants by Sara Gruen to name one), not including self-published works. To win NaNoWriMo, participants much write an average of approximately 1,667 words a day. Anyone who reaches a 50,000 electronically submitted word length by November 30^th is considered a winner. The prize is the satisfaction of having written a novel. (information with help from Wikipedia.org)

NaNoWriMo is a pretty loaded writing opportunity. As a participant, I will be required to write a novel of 50,000 words or more in a month and that’s not a long time. Yeah, I know, it’s a huge challenge to undertake. I will log in my word count as often as I wish: daily, weekly, bi-weekly, or whenever I see fit. I will be required to give my novel a title (they recommend this as a first step), and even upload a cover photo. I will have to set some serious goals for myself, and it will take a lot of dedication to make sure that I meet these goals daily.

This challenge is not for the weak of heart. I will be spending many hours on my laptop and, I’m guessing, consuming many cups of coffee from November 1^st to November 30^th. But, I will, when I succeed, have written another novel. It may be not be a great novel, it may never be published, but at least I’ll be writing.

So while I may be inundated with other challenges in my life right now, I’ve decided to accept one challenge which I am really excited about and to embrace it with open arms. I may be pulling out my hair and questioning my sanity in accepting this challenge during the long (or maybe short considering how much I will need to write?) month of November, but I really think that this may be the push I need to make writing a dedicated focus in my life again.

Maybe you aren’t a writer and maybe you’re not interested in NaNoWriMo. Find another positive challenge for the month of November. Maybe your challenge will be a fitness plan, to make healthier choices, or to lose weight. Maybe you will challenge yourself to speak up for what you care about and eliminate some negative elements of your life. Your challenge could even be to have a better, more positive self image, and to strive to do more of the things that you love.

Whatever your challenge is, I welcome you to join me. Write your own ‘challenge plot’! Share your challenge with me. Let’s motivate each other to achieve our goals. Let’s make November a month of positive challenges and fantastic changes!

We can do it!