Friday, May 11: Sunny's Almost Daily Commentary - May 13th, Wedding Day, Mother's Day, Divorce

May 13:  Wedding Day, Mother's Day, Divorce

May 13^th is here again.  I was married on that date in 1989. In between then and now, I have celebrated fifteen Mother's Days, which sometimes fell on May 13^th, which was my wedding anniversary. And at the Superior Court in Washington, DC, I appeared before a judge who proclaimed me divorced.  It was May 13, 2006.  My marriage license and divorce decree are dated May 13^th.  For me the role of wife and mother comes to a bittersweet confluence on May 13^th.

I have often questioned my ability as a mother, at no time more arduously than after I filed for divorce.  Was I failing my daughter and son by acting on my long-term unhappiness?  Was I being selfish?  Was I depriving them and maybe even myself of a better life if I had just swallowed hard and stayed?  It was the fall of 2001, and Washington, DC; New York; and Pennsylvania burned with the hatred of people in a far-off place.  On September 11th I was strictly a mother.  As I sped to each of my children's schools, I hoped that the administration of Sidwell Friends and Maret had delivered the news in an age-appropriate fashion.  I was shopping along Rockville Pike when I heard it. Looking back on it later, I realized how shopping helped to fill the hole that had grown in my heart over the years of my marriage.  I ran out to my car and drove first to my son's school. I don't really remember driving, just crying.  I dried my tears and popped my son in his car seat and made my way to my daughter's school.  She had been told of the events of the day.  We rode home in silence, Joanna knowing and Jonathan oblivious.  As I pulled into my driveway I breathed deeply.  I had gotten all of us home and not encountered anything blowing up or anyone else dying. I had never been so happy to see their six- and ten-year-old faces.  If anything else was going to happen that day--another plane, a bomb--I wanted all of us together.  What I did not do was call my husband.  I knew then that I didn't want to spend the rest of my life living the life I was leading.  Two months later, I filed for a separation.  As any reader who can count has now figured out it took five years to undo my marriage.  A friend, currently in therapy, relayed my story to his therapist.  Apparently, mine was not the only marriage that failed that day in September.

Joanna and Jonathan are fifteen and eleven now.  Their father has remarried.  I have not.  I spent ten years as a stay-at-home mother and while I feel like the world is continuing to move forward, I am stuck in place, trying to find my place.  I always knew that I wanted to raise my children and not leave them in someone else's care. I consider myself unbelievably blessed to have spent that time with them.  When I was married and we started to reap the benefits of a successful start-up company, the time finally came and I kissed my 9-to-5 goodbye.  I traded it in for a 24/7--earlier dinners, playtime, carpool lines, regular trips to Toys R Us, Sesame Street, Blues Clues, and lots of face time at the children's schools.  There weren't any Mocha Moms. The private schools that the kids attended, and their friends' mothers and fathers, never warmed to minority parents. Our presence was simply to be tolerated in the interest of creating a diverse student body.  It was a lonely existence in which I never gave full consideration to what comes after.  But I never once questioned whether I was doing the right thing.

I am no longer a wife.  I will always be a mother.  But who am I as a person?  Prior to 2003 I hadn't worked outside the home for ten years.  My kids are closer to adolescence and adulthood now and I've learned to gradually loosen the tether that connects us to one another. Of late, out of emotional necessity and because of the void that has been created over the last fifteen years, I question more and more whether my motherhood defines me and how do I get to the woman that I'm supposed to be, because this can't be it. 

The last several years have been the most difficult of my life, doubly so because the upheaval has been played out in the presence of my children.  I've lost, given up, pawned, sold, bartered, and had repossessed just about all of my previous married existence and more than a few things from my now single life.  There is no sign left of my married self--except my children.  I've chosen to look at the casting off as something that was necessary and perhaps even from God--an exercise in living more honestly and regaining some part of my soul that had been lost while I tried to fill it up with material things.  Last month, I took my remaining Hermes scarves to the pawn shop to pay the last of my daughter's tuition for this school year--a responsibility that is solely mine because of shoddy legal representation.  While I was there the woman behind the counter asked if the mesh bracelet I was wearing was a Tiffany.  I didn't trip at the suggestion that it could have been a knock off; she didn't know me.  I sold that too.  And so it continues.

In the Sunday, April 15^th Book World of The Washington Post, Rachel Hartigan Shea reviewed The Feminine Mistake: Are We Giving Up Too Much? by Leslie Bennetts.  I haven't read the book yet, but I intend to.  What struck me was that the facts, as detailed by the author, resembled my life--no, were my life. 

From time to time I give a talk for Phoenix Group Seminars titled "A Smart Woman's Marriage: What to Do before and after Saying 'I Do.'"  I have told many times over the stories from my marriage and given advice on how to avoid the pitfalls that I stumbled into.  But nothing speaks to me louder than the facts and figures contained in The Feminine Mistake.

Men tend to benefit financially from divorce, while their ex-wives usually see their standard of living sink by more than a third.

After a divorce, a woman's standard of living drops 36 percent.  A man's rises 28 percent.

Only 74 percent of stay-at-home mothers who want to return to work land jobs; of these, only 40 percent are able to find full-time, professional employment.  And that's after being out of work for an average of just 2.2 years.

Mothers are 44 percent less likely to be hired than nonmothers with the same experience.

Employers offer mothers an average of $11,000 less in starting salary than nonmothers with the same qualifications.

Women lose 37 percent of their earning power after three years at home.

These are sad statistics.  Statistics that I wish more women--particularly young women would pay attention to.  There is more thought put into buying shoes and getting nails done than creating a plan for managing their marriages. It's so easy to say, "It won't happen to me." But with nearly half the marriages in America ending in divorce, it's happening to lots of people. It is no wonder that as of late, looking for something more than just a job, and believing that the skills represented on my resume are top notch and that I've got something great to offer an employer, apparently, what prospective employers are seeing, overwhelmingly, is that I'm a mother trying to return to the traditional workforce.

I have been complemented on my children's manners, intelligence, and integrity.  I am proud that I guided my children through the lean and fat times.  We have weathered some ferocious storms collectively and independently, as it should be with kids who are starting to make their own way in the world.

In the last day or so, while I alternated between dreading and looking forward to writing this piece, Joanna coincidentally reminisced about a flower that I planted annually in a garden we don't own any longer. The flower bloomed with delicate, pendulous red or pink blossoms. I had planted it when times were different--I've learned not to say better. I was rather surprised by her remembering the name of the flower.  She always seemed to be ignoring my attempts to get her involved in my gardening. There along a shady part of the path leading to the side of the house, I planted bleeding hearts.  As a mother, my heart will always bleed and ache and burst with pride for the children that I've brought into the world.

As a woman trying to find her way, my heart, my spirit, my soul, questions: What do I do now? Is it my turn?  Will I find a way to fulfill my dreams and fight against what seem to be insurmountable statistics?

I am a writer. It's taken me fifteen years, two kids, and one divorce to find my voice.  I am proud of it and proud of my efforts to live the rest of my life genuine and true and always listening.  Perhaps, I can flip the script a bit, and one day the kids will be proud of me.

I will visit my grandmother or at least call her on Sunday.  She has always been the yardstick by which I have measured my life.  She is ninety-one years old.  She has suffered a stroke, had a mastectomy, and can now only see out of one eye.  But she taught me how to live. She lived her life fearlessly and unabashedly.  She broke the rules.  My mother taught me how to survive, to play by the rules.  For the last five years the rule book hasn't existed.  And I've decided that I don't want to just survive, I want to live, fully and completely, filling my days with laughter and music. The way Adele has all these years.

So, on Sunday May 13^th I will think about the children's father and forgive him for not loving me the way I deserved and needed to be loved.  And I am starting to forgive myself for losing so much of myself for so long.  I will celebrate Mother's Day, my wedding anniversary, and the date of my divorce.  All three events helped to shape who I am and who I am to become.

See ya next time,
Sunny