Pressure Points

I spent the better part of the afternoon getting knots worked out of my pressure points, thanks to my sweetheart. As I felt him work his way from my Achilles tendon to a calf muscle that has been giving me trouble for years, tears welled up in my eyes.

I have suffered in silence for years. I couldn't make my pain invisible enough. There is only so much yoga, foam rollers, and tennis balls can do; people need to be touched.

Outwardly, my ex and I were very affectionate. We held hands often, and I rarely entered a room full of people without his hand on my back. But we never kissed. I shouldn't say never. We sometimes kissed during sex. But he wouldn't touch my feet. Ever. No matter how badly they hurt. Asking him to scratch my back evoked a look as though I'd asked him to build me the great wall of China.

By the last year of our marriage, holding hands began with him cracking my thumb. It was painful, and I begged him to stop. But it was the price for touch.

We slept for eight years on a broken bed that hurt my back. Four years into it, I had neck surgery-- it was that bad. He finally broke down and bought a new bed, and six months later had another woman in it.  Man that hurt. Why couldn't he do her on the couch, so I could have taken the wonderful bed I'd longed for so long for in the divorce?

Fast forward to now. I can't lotion my feet without my dear man rubbing my poor soles. That's what he does, what I'm most grateful for. He rubs my soul. He frees my pain.

For so many years, I'd suffered in silence. Hid my pain. Feared sympathy. The only person I told my pain to responded with irritation. He complained for months if I let on that I hurt to anyone. Seriously, that was an actual fight he threw in my face. I'd not hidden the pain from a pulled groin well enough on a double date. He claimed i was seeking attention. I really just wanted to be home. This was his shining example of the depths of my manipulation.

So I built walls. I put on a fake smile and showed the world what a happy wife looked like.

He used to say a lot that another man might buy me flowers or kiss me, but only he loved me enough to take care of me.

Another jewel of his: No one's ever been nicer to you than me. My silent response always was: Isn't that sad.

Letting Go of the Past

In the words of Sting, " I keep the faith in my fashion. ". This Rosh Hashanah, I contemplated the past year. I've been carrying a lot of guilt and shame about getting divorced, and how it's impacting my youngest son. I woke up today, having coffee on the river, thinking of the stones I should throw to atone for my failings. Being raised Catholic, guilt is an easy garment for me to wear. I'm happy to share, instead, where my day ended up.

Tonight, on a bike ride home from downtown, in the rain, I found myself rejoicing. I find rain sacred, and today, it brought sweet revelations.

I was wearing the pants I bought last summer for spin class at the gym when I was getting in shape for the Tough Mudder last fall, where I realized that I had no more desire to impress my ex and he had lost all compassion for me. I was riding the bike our oldest son left behind when he joined the army, a bike my ex hated, but I refused to give up last spring, when I knew the end was near, but before I knew about my ex's affair. My bike was decked out with a new bell, lights, and a basket (basket!) that my new love surprised me with.

I used to love bike riding as a child. Five years ago, my ex and I bought the first bike I've owned since I was in middle school, when my mom's boyfriend turned my bike into a guitar. About a year later, my ex upgraded to a $700 mountain bike, but wouldn't fix my flat. My bike lay unused for years as a result, much like our oldest son's did, for the same reason.

Riding my son's bike, tricked out by my new love, in the rain, jumping puddles, this Rosh Hashanah filled me with the joy in knowing that everything is as it should be. To regret anything of the past year, would be to rue today, which I cannot do. Today is the culmination of all my yesterday's, and I wouldn't trade it for the world.