Dear, dear Becca thinks I look like Juliette Binoche. That's the sign of a good friend - a wonderfully flattering celebrity comparison that boosts self-esteem.
What do I actually have in common with Juliette Binoche?
I love the French language (as does she, I'm sure)
I have a full set of teeth (though not nearly as toothsome as hers)
I loved Michael Ondaatje's novel The English Patient (and I'm sure she did too, since she starred in its movie adaptation)
I find Steve Carell hilarious (and she seemed to fancy him too in "Dan in Real Life")
I've had to take a cold, hard look at myself on many levels, including the physical, but not limited to the myself I can see in a mirror. It's not Juliette Binoche staring back at me.
Divorce makes one feel like a failure. I didn't realize that before. I figured it made a person sad, confused, remorseful, heartbroken, all of that. I didn't realize that a fog of failure descends too. I'm sorry I wasn't more in tune when friends of mine were going through devastating break-ups. Now I know. I didn't really know then.
My failure fog is thick for a couple of reasons:
1) I have a pretty good memory recall of every moment when I lost my temper, raised my voice, rolled my eyes. I wish I could forget some of it.
2) I've attempted to use all the Aristotelian argument I can muster, and haven't been able to persuade judge nor jury to change the verdict. (There haven't been any actual judges or juries involved ... just figuratively speaking ... but I feel that I've failed at persuasion too. The thing I want is not going to happen, and I wish I could have said/done/magicked the desired outcome)
3) I've read the words of Elder Faust about this topic
4) My two kiddos are struggling too
5) My high expectations - the ones that may have caused pain and estrangement - extend to myself, not just those around me. I've disappointed 6 year old Erin, 16 year old Erin, 26 year old Erin and 36 year old Erin.
Lest ye worry, however, know that I see a light ahead of me. I have hope in spades. The downside of this much hope is that it can easily morph into delusion. I've had some of that too ("Hey, I'll just wish myself back to Kansas, Toto!"). But I have hope. I have faith. I have charity.
In fact, I had an epiphany last month - despite the crushing, constricting, terrifying pain I've felt, I would rather be divorced and know what I know now, than travel back in time without this knowledge.
What is this knowledge I prize?
I'm going to write it. I'm going to attempt to pull it from the fog by the fistful and shape it into words.
8 comments:
Your failure fog is heartbreaking to read about, Erin (if a fitting metaphor). But how do you transform a potentially devastating entry into something that reminds me of Miss Dickinson? "Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul...And sweetest in the gale is heard / and sore must be the storm, that could abash the little bird . . . "
A spadeful of hope and a fistful of words--you are on your way, my friend. I doubt Juliette Binoche can write as well in either language.
Dear Sweet Erin - If Juliette Binoche can over come strange klepomania and psychosis in "Bee Season" - I don't recommend (I love Juliette Binoche but prefer her in things like Chocolat) - then you can too can triumph.
I cannot even begin to understand what you must be going through - but I will extend all the love I have.
Whether 6, 16, 26 or 36 - you have always been an amazing sister, example, friend - full of courage and bravery, adventure and compassion.
We have all raised our voices more than we wanted, we have all made choices that we regret - I hope you can recall the many many many times you have manifest that you were kind, understanding, validating, with a listening ear, and open heart, silent lips except in prayer, and hope.
Always hope!
I absolutely love the way you write. You paint such a vivid picture and it's always a treat to come to your blog. And I love, love, LOVE that picture of your two kiddos at the top of the page.
Yes, I too recall with much shame times I have raised my voice or rolled my eyes or not exercised as much patience as I should have. It breaks my heart that these moments are lost and they can never be taken back. But at least I know (or try to remember) that I can do better in the future. I am so grateful for each new day that I get to wake up and try to do better. We have such a merciful Father in Heaven that allows us day after day to try to make things right.
I suppose it seems I am babbling on here and not making much sense, though I am trying. Just wanted you to hang in there and remember that you have touched so many lives in a good way...I'm sure every reader of your blog can attest to that. :)
Oh the crushing pain, the fog of failure ... it is so familiar and yet so different, of course. I'm glad you are writing about it, talking about it, listening to yourself. You are right that you will come out ahead, come out better ... but the process is not the best of times. I am counting the days until I can see you again.
Erin,
You continue to amaze me in so many ways. I too, love your writing. I love reading it, hearing your voice speaking the words you write, in my mind.
We all have raise our voices, make those horrid mistakes that won't leave our memories, have failed ourselves in one way or another or otherSSSS, wish we could undo some things, redo other things, and learn life lessons without the consequences. I do agree that what we are capable of learning from those life lessons is definitely invaluable though as well.
I have had a time in my life where my heart has ached and wept and I have felt lost, a failure, a disappointment (to not only others, but to myself), but I know as I came out of this valley, I remember having gained more self-confidence, more self-worth and more happiness through the journey. Mostly I remember knowing that my Heavenly Father was pleased with me and I remember truly knowing and feeling that that was all that mattered...that I was "in the right" with my Father in Heaven.
I pray for you and your children and am touched by your openness. You help me learn as well through your thoughts/words and I am grateful to you for them. I constantly look to you in amazement.
I love you.
Everyone here at our house knows that you are amazing on so many levels: so talented, energetic, insightful, "with-it," outgoing, so easy and comfortable to talk with, dedicated, funny/witty, sympathetic/empathetic . . .
I could go on, but I think you get the picture.
All my love to you, Erin.
I'm sorry I'm not one of those friends who is "more in tune". Your post reminds me of a previous post of yours when you commented on the parenting article about only being a good parent 80% of the time. I'm sure we feel like that 80% applies to all the different hats we wear -- parent, spouse, friend, worker in the church, etc. That 20% failure rate is why we need the atonement in this life (and eternity to inch toward that elusive 100%). I wish to echo the other commenters who only seem to remember you during your best 80%.
Sweet Erin, you never cease to amaze me with your compassion, strength and clarity. I'm glad you've chosen to write your way out of this fog. I look forward to reading it and learning from your example of faith, hope, charity.
I love you and feel so blessed to call you my friend.
Erin, I didn't know the 6 or the 16 but I just added up that I've known you for about 17 years and I think you have been AMAZING for me to know! I want to be just like you. So there.
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