Author: Madeline Harper

My journey through divorce and an emotional and sexual reawakening. Love, laughter, friendships, family and heartbreak included. And there is sex, lots of it, so close your eyes and turn the page if that's not for you! While I started this blog as an endeavor to journal my thoughts and feelings in an attempt to better understand myself, it has become an amazing platform from which I have met some of the most interesting and wonderful people in my life. My path is often crooked, but I hope you will share in the journey with me.

Why I’m Dating

So here’s the thing -most people will say “you’re not ready because you haven’t learned how to love yourself.” Or any version of the “you’re not ready” theme.

You may be right. Maybe I’m not. But no one holds the one right answer. And this is what my therapy is for. Also why I’m writing again.

I believe we are built for relationship and I have been lucky enough to find a therapist who believes this at the core of her practice. We are not meant to go it alone and we all have our versions of that. You can be in relationships with God, husbands, lovers, parents, children etc. Some of us work better as partners and I am one of those people. Honestly, to hear a professional say it has finally put me at ease. Yes, I have learned to be alone and care for myself but it’s never going to make me fully satisfied. I don’t need to sit alone to figure that out anymore.

The therapist and I arrived at dating being an option as we talked about “what does normal life” look like for me going forward? I know I am not the same person I was last year or earlier this year. I have been forever altered since April and its aftermath. The trauma of the surgeries completed something for me. I didn’t want to die. But I don’t know yet what I want to live for.

The conversation turned to how do you start living again? What did you do before? One of those things was dating. My therapist thought there was no harm in doing something that could make me feel good about myself again.

Dating wasn’t the only thing. But this post is about dating and I’m trying to cram a shit ton of thoughts into 1000 word posts and be cohesive. It’s probably not working.

Anyway, I digress.

I turned on Match and Bumble. Got rid of Bumble fast because it worked well at work, but less so at home. Match wasn’t great but ok. Started the conversations and realized I needed to come up with a “story” because NO ONE leaves it at “I’m taking a break from work.” They think there must be another reason. Why do they need another reason? Let it be. I don’t even know you yet!

On another note, I also have to finesse my “executive exit story” according to my outplacement group. Same damn thing as dating. Everyone wants an explanation.

I’m trying to be funny, I’m probably not.

Anyway, so I match easily enough and I set up two dates. Both men are named Robert Thomas …. (something Irish). That’s a full on formula for texting mistakes right there. Both like to be called Rob. I was hoping one preferred a different nickname.

Rob 1 is 6’4″ and he gets his own blog post. He’s a widow. 👍🏻 just clearing that up quickly.

Rob 2 was about 6′, never married and a cop in the city. Not usually my match type but I missed his profession in his profile. By the time I asked, he had already shown he was kind and intelligent and I didn’t get the inkling he was typical of a city cop. We really clicked on the phone. His communication style matched mine. I was excited to meet him. We had a nice date but I wasn’t totally attracted. Something fell flat. We kissed goodnight which nice. We text a little after the date (I always say thank you) and I never heard from him again. That was that.

The bigger deal with both first dates was going out at all. I don’t really leave my home even for errands. So to shower, do hair and makeup and dress is truly a big step for me. Plus, I have to learn a whole new way of eating and drinking since the sleeve. I had no idea how I would manage being out. It’s common to have a lot of weird side effects from gastric surgery so I could get foaming mouth, hiccups, burps, farts, nausea and a whole host of things just from sipping something too fast or eating the wrong thing at the wrong time or eating and drinking together.

These dates allowed me to learn the ropes as it were. To get my public “story” down pat. To ease back into natural communication. I wasn’t expecting to find anything, but was hoping to have a nice time and adjust to being alive. I accomplished that and I’m glad I listened to the therapist.

You all also know how dearly I love my Prosecco. Well, that’s out, possibly forever. No bubbles. And, with a teeny tinsy tummy alcohol will affect me differently. So we are all about white wine and seeing where our limits are. Sipping slowly and making sure we feel good.

Stronger than Yesterday

I received his text before my appointed time with the Therapist.

I didn’t open it until after my conversation with her.

I think I baffle my therapist the same way I baffle anyone who knows me. How does this smart, competent, attractive woman lose her mind in an instant?

But that really was what happened.

Some important things happened in a days time span:

Immediately after my cray: One friend talked me off a cliff, one got mad and refused to talk to me about it and my sister just remained baffled and wanted better for me. This was the first time I realized I was pulling my friends into a hole with me because of my inability to control Trixie. Maybe I knew before but I wasn’t paying attention – but yesterday – knowing these were the same women who worried over my life in Mexico – I couldn’t let that happen. They have been too good to me and for me.

The next morning: The therapist listened and I am pretty sure she never said “do not respond” the way everyone else had. She only suggested “put some time between it.” I had already made up my mind that I was going to ask him why he did that after all this time. But she did say several things that made me pause and think. I cannot jeopardize my friendships and I must learn to control my tantrums. And mostly, I have to start forgiving myself and just move forward. Is it earth shattering? No. I’m just listening and actively participating. Some of your comments were good for me – why do I snap the moment I am rejected by a man? Most importantly, I needed her to hear my mania closest to the time it happened. Once a week I can be pretty good at looking alive and well. She needed to have a dose of Trixie because she hides and bites.

After the conversation with my therapist, I told Tony the truth (via text), why I reached out and then why I went cray. Then I apologized. His answer was that I had “liked” a post and he saw his wife scrolling through every like and he panicked. He apologized and said he didn’t even think I would care after all this time. He said he would “re-friend” me if I wanted. Does it matter? It shouldn’t but it was enough for me. I cried a bit because I knew there would be no more, but I didn’t have to press him for questions and answers on anything else. I felt the need for validation and I wanted it so desperately and I didn’t ask for it.

I was happy I cried. Sometimes I think my new meds are too strong. But the tears were ok. If my friend had not come over I probably would have mourned all day, but she did so I didn’t. Then 6’4″ asked me to coffee for Friday morning. So the day moved with less dwelling than any past contact with Tony.

Steps. Steps ahead. They aren’t great. And I am still angry he made the choices he did. My cousin pointed out that anyone who has to check their husband on social media isn’t living the best life. I admit to taking a little satisfaction in that. I feel less of a need to tell his wife, but I can’t say that’s entirely gone. I’m sure it will go away in time.

The result is that I have to call for help when I slip. I was DETERMINED to find his number. It was a psychological need that felt physical to me in the moment. And I knew it was wrong and ignored the sane part of my brain going: you really forgot his number! Good for you! Had I listened to that cheerleader in my head, I would have dealt with the emotion any way I wanted EXCEPT contacting him. I could have cried and screamed and thrown things and a thousand other ways to express my anger. I would have still given my inner child a voice, allowed a controlled tantrum in a safe place, and moved on. Why do I need the person who upsets me to hear me? He couldn’t help me.

So, fork in the road, almost 15 weeks of no contact and I screwed up. I wanted more from him but I finally “feel” that I won’t get more so I feel a bit more confident about letting go. I know that all sounds crazy, but that’s how I feel. I have to focus on how I get what I need from men in my life. Men who are available. And learn how not to take this crap forward with me into any relationship.

In the summer/fall 2016 I thought I had it all. I never felt “put on a pedestal” in my life…but I got to live and love up in the clouds for about a year before my world began crumbling. The fall from those heights nearly killed me. Losing my job in the fashion I did, and having a boss dismantle my credibility was painful. Today was the first time that I realized that as much as Tony hurt me, the damage from the job is probably worse. I was never great in relationship (or at least my track record from marriage didn’t give me a good foundation might be a better way to say it) but I was amazing in my roles at work and always rewarded well. As I talked through the Tony situation today, it dawned on me that I’ve been allowing myself to dwell on something I can’t repair instead of something I can – causing me to feel hopeless.

I can’t go back to my downward spiral after April. I can’t go back to the black hole I put myself in because I am barely, just barely out of it now. The meds are strong and are probably doing the heavy lifting but now I need to use that for my benefit. The fact that I felt less driven regarding Tony today is a step forward. The fact that I realized I can focus on something I can (at least possibly) attain is a step forward. I’m still traumatized but yesterday and today were good learning days.

And tomorrow I see a handsome man for coffee and have a hair appt in the afternoon. So that’s not so bad either.

The First Downslide

It wouldn’t be a Madeline story without a serious dash of crazy seasoning. But I promised honesty.

I saw Tony last in April. I don’t recall if we spoke on phone subsequently or not, probably. But the last text was mid-August. Full stop. My last text said:

“I am having surgery on Sept 7th that I don’t expect to recover from and since you have decided to be such a jerk and I won’t recover you can expect my letter to you and your wife then.” I was furious at him for being a douche when I was dropping my son at college after I supported him through dropping off two kids to college. He could have been kinder. I should have been less crazy, but that sets the scene.

And I blocked him for a while until I went to Mexico, hoping I would hear from him because he knew the surgery date and my birthday were around the corner.

Needless to say, while fighting for my life, I finally stopped focusing on Tony.

Until I started to feel better and talk about it in therapy.

As my body healed and the new meds kicked in, the desperate addiction I felt towards him increased. I knew myself well enough to know trouble was brewing.

But I did all the right things. I called friends. I diverted myself. I even went on a couple great dates (those stories will follow and were therapy approved dates). I finally felt happiness, real and true, outside my home with my family the day after Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving day and the subsequent party took all the life out of me. I slept for 2 days following. My cousins hire professional photographers and post literally hundreds of party photos.

To step back to provide context: my x never enjoyed these family parties. He didn’t want to play football with the cousins (boys and girls) he didn’t like to socialize and every year became a struggle. I love this family and would do anything to be included and they always were inclusive to The x and my boys. But towards the end of marriage I gave up on being included. I’m still surprised at all the times I said no and they asked again.

So when the guy I met asked me to a strange second date I quickly said “I will trade you for a football game!” The whole story will follow but, god bless his heart, he was so excited to be included.

My cousins are short – the girls are under 5′ and the boys under 5’8″. So I made a joke to my very serious boy cousins that I was bringing a 6’4″ athlete who could be QB (knowing full well I would never live it down). Everyone he met said “oh! Your Mads 6’4″!” And that’s all they called him all day. 6’4″. He loved it.

He was the star of the game so my cousins loved him. He’s gregarious and wonderful so it was super easy.

I was really happy that day.

So what happened to being out Trixie?

I admit I check often if Tony and I are friends in FB. It was the only social media we remained connected on. He shut it down for months but opened it last week sometime.

My social media stopped when I went in the hospital. But now I had a reason to open it because the photos from the party were fabulous. My cousin tagged me in all of them and they post to my wall.

There is a beautiful photo of 6’4″ and I together. We look like a couple. There’s photos like that with my cousins too, but I know they are my cousins. My cousin also tagged all of 6’4″s football hilights with my name. And they made comments under the photos about 6’4″ doing me proud on the field.

Today I saw Tony had unfriended me on FB. I went into shock. I couldn’t think and my reaction was to reach out. But he has been deleted from my phone for so long I truly could not recall his phone number. So I sent a text to his two emails and they didn’t come back with “delivered”. I scoured the internet with phone combinations for 40 mins until I hit it. I really couldn’t recall it. I called from my phone and it went straight to VM. I called from the house phone and it went straight to VM. I was blocked.

I called where I thought he was working and got as far as reception and hung up and called my friends and admitted my cray.

An hour later he replied that he was flying home, couldn’t text or talk now, and I was never blocked. I apologized and said I overreacted and he asked what prompted it. I didn’t answer.

Will he text me tmrw? I don’t know.

I made it through 7 months of not seeing him and 3 full months or more of no contact and I lost my shit the instant I felt rejection.

My friends say it’s because I have the photos with the guy up and he doesn’t want to see things like that. I interpret that as he doesn’t want me happy. I get confused. Why now? What’s the big deal of FB friends when we don’t communicate any longer?

But it hurt and flipped the Trixie switch.

My call with my therapist is at 10am tmrw. But what can she say that I don’t already know? Why do I keep doing this to myself with a man who clearly doesn’t want me. Or any connection with me.

I have to get to the bottom why rejection causes Trixie to trigger. And I want it to stop. I want to stop thinking about him and wanting him. I can believe he gave me the world and it was lovely but I have to also believe it’s gone for good.

I am angry and embarrassed at myself. And worried about him reaching out to me soon.

I was doing well. But my little child, Trixie, stomped her feet and wanted to know WHY now….why take me off FB now. It was a small and innocuous connection. But it was something to me. And now I’m hurt all over again.

Coming Back to Life?

I find it strange how often I still think about writing on the blog, when I haven’t really committed to writing in almost a full year.  I felt the need to write when I divorced, it felt important to me.  Once I met Tony (Bennett), my psyche was clever enough to stop me from writing the truth.  I knew if I wrote I would have to hold myself accountable.  And, I knew I didn’t want to be accountable.

That doesn’t mean what I wrote during the 2 years with Tony wasn’t true, that’s not my style.  My skill is in being able to be honest out loud and literally ignoring my own best judgment.  You have all watched me do it for 4 years now.

I’m in therapy and my therapist condones writing on the blog, so I am going to give it another shot.  At the moment, I do nothing, I feel nothing.   I am going to be able to write a lot that literally causes no emotional reaction, when it should.  I am entirely disconnected.

While the ups and downs of Tony were obvious throughout the entire 2 years, the worst really hit in April 2018 when I finally said “enough is enough.”  At the exact same time, my job imploded and I was told I wasn’t “good enough” and I should look for another role.  Add in three teenage boys, one loaded with drama going away to college and you have a recipe for a mid-life crisis.   Or a nervous break down.  Call it what you will, I was broken starting April 2018.

I thought I lived through bad times and believed I was resilient, but truly nothing compares to my ability in the Summer of 2018 to play at life while hiding my biggest secret: I didn’t care if I lived or died, but I couldn’t commit suicide.  So, I chose a passive path: gastric surgery in Mexico.  This way – if I died, I died.  If I lived, I finally had a chance to be thin.

I knew deep down my decision was wrong.  I came to the blog to write and called it a “reset” and those few that I did tell, I convinced them it was for the same reason.   It never was.  I had a death wish.  I lied to everyone about how I felt, everyone except Tony.

During the summer, I told Tony my mind was collapsing.  At the same time, I was angry and cruel to him, pushing him as far away from me as I could with all my threats of telling his wife.  I told him I was going through the breakdown, but I didn’t tell him about the type of surgery.   I was asking the wrong person for help in the worst way possible.  Any good that was in our relationship (for him, because I don’t feel it) is ruined by my behavior between May-August.

I made the decision to go to Mexico by late July.  I dropped my son at college around August 17, and stopped speaking to Tony around the same time (I hadn’t seen him since April).  My job ended on September 4th and I was on the plane to Mexico September 6th.

Arriving in Mexico made me feel nothing.  I spoke to no one.  I had no desire to compare stories, I didn’t care.  I wanted the surgery over and done with.  I had no feeling it would end one way or the other, nothing crossed my mind.

I’m not going to talk about my surgeries, because I don’t want to.  I had to write a recap for a lawyer and I could barely recall what happened when.  But the high level recap is the Gastric Sleeve seemed to go fine, except I have so much scar tissue that they nicked my intestines.  They did a second surgery trying to fix it and made it worse.  Then a third surgery for a bowel resection.  All in Mexico, in a language I didn’t understand, in such complete pain and shock I couldn’t properly react, and in a place that wasn’t equipped for this type of surgery.  I was able to fly home September 19th and was back in the US hospital with infection and abscess 2 days later.  A 4th surgery in the US corrected the issues and I came home October 10th or so.

Make a fist on both hands.  Hold them together.  That’s how big my open wound on my tummy was, and just as deep.  That’s a whole lot of healing. 3 full months just for it to close.  We are 2 months in…and at least I can look at it now and change my own bandages.

That brings us to today.  Physically, I am healing.  The wound will close.  The sleeve works and I have adjusted to eating properly with the sleeve.

The emotional or mental healing is another story entirely.  Working through my x putting into my kids head that all of this is “my fault” – hell, working that fault through my own head – is not easy.  Working through my ability to move on from Tony.  Working through the drama of the teenage years.  Working through the job loss, the “not good enough” and the finances.  Working through what dating would look like and undressing in front of someone.   I was spinning too many plates.  I didn’t drop one, I dropped them all and banged into the mother fucking porcelain cabinet while I was at it.

So here I am on the floor, covered in broken glass, trying to figure out how to get back up.

Some motions are easy: go to the doctors, eat, drink, feed children. It literally stops there. My brain isn’t working.  They say I have PTSD.  I need time.  More time.  I’m still healing. One day at a time.  I will recover.  That’s what they say.

I take steps.  It looks like I am moving forward.  I look pretty good when I clean up.  But then I don’t shower for days and lie on the couch.  I sleep 10-12 hours every night, straight.  I don’t want to DO anything.  I stopped typing and came back to this post because I don’t really want to write.  It’s more doing I don’t want to do.

I don’t like the “have-to’s”

I have to get a job because I am a single mother who has 3 children.  2 in college.

I have to earn enough money.

I have to leave the house to get a job.

I have to speak to people to get a job interview.

I have to get dressed, do my hair and makeup.  I have to act.

I don’t want to.  I can do, I have done, but I don’t want to, period.

I was at a family party the day after Thanksgiving and had an amazing time, the photos show a beautiful,  happy woman.  My family and friends were so happy to see me.  I even opened up my social media and added photos for the first time since August.  I thought – let’s show everyone I can (and will) recover!  I was really trying to show myself – look! you can do it!

I did it.

Then I slept for 2 days straight.  My mind is right back in the black hole.

What scares me the most is I already know I am going to recover and heal, outwardly.  I will play the game again and be good at it again.   But will I really heal?  Can I do the real work required for self love and acceptance?  Do I want to do it?

I also want to say “Thank-you” to all that reached out with care and concern.  I didn’t place enough value on the strength I could gather from the love of strangers, but I now realize that I need to truly acknowledge  all forms of generosity and love – so thank you from the bottom of my heart.