The Man I Fell in Love with is Gone

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And I don’t know who this other guy is.

Yesterday was my second court appearance for my divorce.

The first didn’t really count — it was just an appearance to set dates for the appearances that would follow. My husband and I both showed up with our lawyers. Neither of us got to say anything of substance to the judge. They set dates, we wrote them down, the judge left, and we left. Simple.

Yesterday’s appearance was different. Yesterday, we were each put on the witness stand and questioned by the two attorneys. At stake was who would be able to live in the house and use my hangar until the divorce was finalized.

I don’t want to go into detail about what was said and done. Two reasons. First, I don’t want to save the experience forever on the pages of this blog. It was extremely painful to me on so many levels. Second, my lawyers would probably scold me, depending on how much detail I provided and what I said. It’s not worth pissing off my lawyers or getting into trouble. My legal team rocks.

But I do want to briefly touch upon what I realized when my husband came to the stand and began answering questions that he and his lawyer had likely rehearsed in advance: he was not the man I fell in love with.

It’s funny, in a way, because it looked like him and it sounded like him. But the things he said were not the kinds of things the man I fell in love with would say about me. The man I fell in love with loved me just as much as I loved him — if not more. He always spoke kindly to and of me. He always defended me.

This man, however, was in attack mode, bending and stretching the truth (almost beyond recognition) to make a case against me. The man I fell in love with would never do that.

No Real Surprise

I don’t know why this surprised me so much. I knew the man I fell in love with was gone. I knew it this summer.

In June, while going through a pile of papers that I’d brought with me to Washington to sort out when I had time, I came across two greeting cards that the man I fell in love with had sent me years ago. They were the kinds of cards people in love share with each other, sometimes for no apparent reason other than to express their love. I can’t remember exactly what they said, but I do recall one of them mentioning “love” and “forever.”

I sat on the floor in my RV, looking at the two cards and thinking about the man who had sent them to me years ago. And as I thought about it, I realized that that man was gone — dead, I thought. The man I’d left in Arizona in May didn’t give me cards or flowers or anything else for no special reason. The man I left in Arizona spent most of his time glaring at me when I did something he didn’t like. The man I left in Arizona seemed almost too eager for me to leave.

So I wrote a letter to the man I’d left in Arizona — who is apparently the same man who showed up in court yesterday. I appealed to him to remember the old days, the days when he told me that I needed to “make it happen,” the days when he was an idealistic dreamer and inventor. I asked him what happened to that man. I told him what I suspected: that that man was dead.

I didn’t know it, but as I was writing that letter, the man I’d left in Arizona had already found my replacement. His response to my letter arrived in my mailbox, forwarded with my mail, the day after my birthday, the day after he told me he wanted a divorce.

Right now, all I regret is sending the man I’d left in Arizona those cards. They’re gone now, along with the man who sent them to me, the man I fell in love with. I’d really like to have them back to help me remember him and the way things were.

The Upside

Amazing as it may seem, there is an upside to all this.

Listening to the man in the witness box bend and stretch the truth to build a case against me was like a slap in the face — a slap of reality. Although he’s spread the word among family and friends — and even to me in email messages and written notes — that he still cares about me, that’s so obviously not true. It’s just another lie in a long series of lies that were likely spun to put me off guard about what’s to come. The man in the witness box doesn’t give a shit about me and the 29 years he and the man I fell in love with spent with me. The man in the witness box is simply seeking revenge for imagined offenses. The man in the witness box cares only about himself.

And knowing that now, without a shadow of a doubt, will help me begin my healing process.

An Overnight Hiking Escape, Part I: Sedona

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Sometimes, it’s just good to get away.

On Sunday, I joined the Phoenix Atheist Meetup Group for another one of their excellent hikes. This one was in Sedona, at the Soldier Pass Trail.

Sedona is not exactly next door to Wickenburg. It’s a good 2-1/4 hour drive if you drive hard on the scenic route that goes through Yarnell, Wilhoit, Prescott,Jerome, and Cottonwood. It had been a long time since my last mountain road drive with my Honda S2000 — in fact it might even have been way back in December when my soon-to-be ex-husband and I drove to Palm Springs for some kind of work-related event he had to attend. I definitely don’t drive that car enough. This hike was a good excuse to take it out on the twisty mountain roads.

(Of course, if the helicopter was in town, I would have just flown up there. From Wickenburg, it’s not even an hour flight. But that was not an option on Sunday.)

I left right around 6:30 AM to meet the group at the trailhead at 9:15 AM. It was just Penny the Tiny Dog and me, top down, speeding through the still-cool desert air. It was a typical cloudless day, and I suspected it would get pretty hot back in Wickenburg — definitely into the 90s. Another excuse to get the hell out of town.

Highway 89 Through MountainsI can’t really express the joy I feel driving a tight-steering sports car with plenty of performance at high speed on otherwise empty mountain roads. Two weeks ago Sunday was the first time I’d driven my car since leaving Arizona in early May. A few trips to Phoenix helped reacquaint me to its feel. But this Sunday, as I sped toward Sedona, we were fully reacquainted. I especially enjoyed the stretch of Highway 89 in the Prescott National Forest between Wilhoit and Prescott. The stretch of Highway 89A between The Yavapai Country Fairgrounds and Jerome would have been even better if I weren’t stuck behind a slow Prius for most of the trip.

We arrived in Sedona at about 8:45 AM — early enough for me to take Penny for a walk, get a second cup of coffee, and buy another bottle of water. Well, I thought it was enough time. Apparently, Heart of Sedona Coffee has the world’s slowest barrista. I ordered my coffee, paid, found and used the rest room, came back to retrieve my coffee, and still had to wait 10 minutes for him to finish making it. I wouldn’t mind, but there had been only one person ahead of me when I ordered. WTF? We rushed back to the car and made the short drive to the trailhead, arriving five minutes late and getting the last parking space.

The group was assembling and I wasn’t ready. I was still wearing jeans; it would be hot enough to wear shorts. If I’d been thinking clearly, I would have gotten changed at the coffee shop restroom. Instead, I hid behind a holly bush and got changed there. There comes a point in your life where you really don’t care who sees that you’re wearing panties with little pink flowers on them.

After a group photo and intros, we hit the trail. There were about 10 of us and one other person, Scott, had brought along his two small dogs. It wasn’t long before he let them off leash, so I decided to give Penny a try. She was great, either sticking with the other dogs or other hikers in our group. I didn’t have to worry about her at all. And Scott took really great care of his dogs and Penny, giving them frequent opportunities to drink and nibble on dog kibbles. (I wound up paying for his lunch later on to thank him.)

Soldiers Pass TrailThe Soldier Pass Trail is an easy-to moderate trail that starts at the edge of a subdivision and climbs into the red rocks north of Sedona. It has several interesting features: a sinkhole, several small pools of water, petroglyphs (rock art), and arches. A Jeep trail runs for a short distance in the area, making it possible to access the sinkhole and pools by high clearance vehicle. We stayed off the Jeep road and stuck to the trail.

The trail meandered through red rock and sandy terrain, starting out with just enough shade to keep you cool when you stopped for rests. This group is not a power-hiking group — we each hike at our own pace and can usually find enough other people at that pace to make small subgroups. Occasionally, most of us would wind up together in a shady spot for a rest or to take photos — for example, at the sink hole and later at the pools.

Coffee Pot Rock
A shot of coffee pot rock from the edge of the sinkhole.

The Sphinx

I’m pretty sure this rock formation is called the Sphinx; the sinkhole is in the foreground.

The trail climbed slowly but steadily — never enough to get me really winded. But the temperature was climbing steadily, too, and I’m still not accustomed to Arizona’s insane heat. I was sweating like a pig, so glad I’d changed into that pair of shorts. After a while, the taller vegetation thinned out and the trail was mostly in full sun. At around the same time, it started to get steeper, climbing up toward Brins Mesa. Fortunately, it also started to cloud up and that gave us some relief from the sun. A nice breeze also felt good against my sweaty skin when we paused in scant shade.

Rest Stop at Top of Trail

We stopped in the shade of this tree for about 20 minutes before heading back down the way we’d come.

We never saw the petroglyphs, but we did see the arches from a distance. I recall thinking that it wasn’t worth climbing up to them, but later, when we stopped about 2 miles up the trail, we were already higher than they were. There was a great resting place just short of the Brins Mesa trail, with a tree providing plenty of shade for six or seven of us to take a break. The view back toward town confirmed the fact that we’d climbed about 450 feet in elevation.

One of us, Prescott Jim, decided to go back along the Brins Mesa trail. That would add at least a mile to his return trip. Although I like doing loop trails, it was pretty obvious that the Brins Mesa trail would be almost entirely in full sun. I’d already sweat off a quart of water and wasn’t interested in losing two more the same way. We went alone and still managed to beat all of us back to the trailhead.

Going down was quicker and easier. We made fewer stops. I ran out of water and Scott very kindly gave me a bottle that he’d somehow managed to keep cold.

At the end of the trail, we gathered, rested, and had cold pop or beer. Then we hustled back into the cars and headed out to the Olde Sedona Grill. Although we had to carry the dogs through the restaurant, they were able to join us on the outdoor patio. All three of them were exhausted; Penny went right to sleep beside my chair and the poor waiter almost stepped on her three times while serving.

After settling up the bills, we went our separate ways. While everyone else headed back to Phoenix or Prescott, Penny and I hopped back onto Route 89A for a nice drive up Oak Creek Canyon. We’d be spending the night in Flagstaff for another day of hiking on Monday.

(Continued in Part II)

Glamour Shots

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Reinvention needs documentation.

This past summer, I reinvented myself. It took some time — about three months — and the process is just about complete now. I went from being an overweight, middle-aged woman in a failing marriage to a slim, trim, sexy future divorcee, able to fit into clothes I wore in my 30s — and feeling like I’m in my 30s again. You can read about various aspects of my transformation in the blog posts tagged divorce.

The weight loss happened mostly while I was away in Washington. My friends there saw it happen gradually, so it wasn’t really noticed or commented on. My family had last seen me when I was at my heaviest and were anxious to get a look at me. Unfortunately, they’re all on the east coast — not within casual visiting distance. When I arrived home and began going through my wardrobe to find clothes that would fit the new, thin me, I took a few pictures and blogged them. But the pictures weren’t very good. I needed something professionally done.

Enter Glamour Shots. This company franchises professional photo services that go beyond just making photos. They work with you to make you look your best, then capture dozens of images for you to choose from.

My appointment was on Tuesday at Arizona Mills. I’d been instructed to bring three outfits — of course, I brought more just in case — and come without makeup.

Closeup Shot

Casual Shot

Cocktail Dress

I started with a makeup artist/hair stylist. I explained to her that I preferred a natural look that accentuated my features — especially my eyes — without making me look “made up.” Colorful eye shadows, for example, weren’t my style. She listened to me and made me up the way I would — if I was a little better at applying makeup.

Then she did my hair. I showed her photos of how I usually wore it and without too much trouble, she was able to duplicate the look.

By then, the photographer was ready and I was sent into the changing room to put on my first outfit. My only complaint about the Arizona Mills location was the fact that the changing room was also the restroom. Although there were hooks on the wall, there wasn’t enough space to spread out accessories like jewelry. And it just wasn’t the kind of atmosphere that I found comfortable for changing my clothes.

My first outfit was casual — my black “skinny jeans,” a blue shirt, and some Native American jewelry with blue accents. Blue works well for me — it brings out the color of my eyes.

I gave the photographer one simple instruction: make me look happy.

There were two photo studios, each set up with different floor and wall colors, as well as props like chairs and stools. The photographer instructed me on where to stand and how to pose. “Big smile,” he’d say. Then click and two flashes went off. He’d examine the image in the back of the camera, redo the shot if necessary, and then move on to the next pose.

Although I was only supposed to have three outfits, I actually had three and a half — a top change for the casual outfit. They kindly allowed me to do these extra shots, mostly because my makeup and hair had been so quick to do. Then we moved on to a skirt and top outfit, and finally, my colorful little “cocktail” dress.

For each outfit, I was shot on different backgrounds, with different poses, and at different distances. This built up quite a collection of shots, from closeups to full-body shots. The photographer sometimes tilted the camera for a more interesting image. Sometimes, he’d shoot the same pose from different angles for different framing and composition.

When it was all over — about 90 minutes after we’d started — I changed back into street clothes and organized my wardrobe. I had 45 minutes to wait for them to assemble the images. I had a quick lunch, then brought all my clothes back out to my car. When I got back in, they were pretty much ready for me.

They first showed me the images in a slide show. While I know that some people go for that kind of thing, it didn’t do much for me. The only benefit was that it kept us moving through all 80 or so images without stopping. Some of the images had been modified to remove color (or partially remove color) or convert to sepia. Again, while some people like that, I’m not too keen on it. After all, I can always fiddle around with the images in Photoshop to get a similar affect.

Once the slide show was over, we went through the images one by one. I pretty much rejected all the modified images and concentrated on the regular color shots. We weeded out a bunch, leaving me with about 36 that I liked. They asked me how many print packages I wanted and I think they were a bit surprised that I didn’t want any. All I wanted were high-resolution digital images that I could use however I liked — for profile photos, author photos, and probably dating. And, of course, I could always print up my own framed images for my mom or anyone else who wanted one.

I wound up buying 23 images that they’d touch up for me and another 13 that would not be touched up. It was expensive — I don’t want to say how much — but I think of it as a special treat to celebrate the new me. And having photos of me looking good will help encourage me to keep looking good.

I’ll get my disc from Glamour Shots in two to three weeks. The images you see here were forwarded to me at my request so I could include them in this blog post.

Many thanks to the staff at the Arizona Mills Glamour Shots for helping me look my best in pictures.

How to Tell if the Person You’re Dating is After Your Money

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A objective list of things to consider to reveal the truth.

A very, very good friend of mine — someone I’ve known for a very long time — has begun dating a woman who may have ulterior motives in the relationship. My friend is apparently quite smitten with this woman and I suspect it’s because they met at a time in his life when he was feeling particularly vulnerable to an agreeable woman’s “charms.”

Sadly, my friendship with this person is on the rocks — indeed, he’s tuned me out completely and won’t listen to anything I have to say. And although many of his other friends have similar suspicions about this new woman in his life, they just want to “keep out of it” because it’s “none of their business.” I think they should be ashamed of themselves. I think friends who really care do need to get involved, at least to offer objective advice.

I’m doing my part. Here’s list of bullet points to consider when there’s a possibility that the person you have begun dating might be after your money:

  • How did you meet? Dating sites are excellent tools for people trolling for good financial partners. Many sites encourage you to provide financial information such as annual income. This makes it easy for someone looking to improve their finances to find someone in a better financial situation then they’re in.
  • How quickly did conversation turn to your material possessions? Did you mention your multiple homes, flashy European car, or airplane? (These are just examples, of course.) If someone is interested in your money, they’ll be impressed by what you own and more anxious to “seal the deal.”
  • What techniques did this person use to get and keep your interest? This can be conversation based — for example, agreeing with everything you say or siding with you against a common enemy. Or it might be more emotionally based, such as sharing risqué photographs or personal details to gain your trust. A rather well-off friend of mine who tried dating sites told me that a few of the more desperate women sent him “boudoir photos” very early on in their email conversations.
  • How quickly did the other party satisfy your basic emotional needs? I’m talking about button-pushing here — “sealing the deal.” Women can easily seal the deal with good sex, the sooner the better. Men can seal the deal with things like flowers, romance, hand-holding, cuddling, and/or excellent foreplay before sex. Someone looking for a meal ticket will want to build a strong emotional bond quickly, while you’re still wowed by all the attention you’re getting and don’t have time to think clearly about what’s really going on.
  • How big is the financial inequity between you? There are five main things to consider here:
    • Employment status. Is this new person gainfully employed? Has he/she been working steadily for a while or bouncing from one job to another? While being “freelance” or “self-employed” might sound good, if there’s no work and no revenue, it really doesn’t count as being gainfully employed.
    • Income. Is this person earning enough income to cover living expenses with enough left over to live comfortably? Is his/her standard of living and lifestyle similar to yours?
    • Outstanding debt. Does this person have a lot of outstanding debt such as student loans, credit card balances, and personal loans? If this person owns a home, is it under water? If so, by how much?
    • Net worth. Is this person’s net worth — that’s total assets minus total debt — negative? Someone who is in debt up to his/her eyeballs will be highly motivated to find a partner who can help prevent him/her from drowning in it.
    • Retirement savings. Does this person have his/her own retirement savings including pensions, IRAs, and retirement investments? Someone without a retirement plan could be looking for someone else to provide it.
  • Has the other party asked for assistance? Has this person appealed to you to help with his/her finances? Perhaps borrow a small (or larger) amount of money? Ask your advice about refinancing or selling a home? Enlist your help getting a job?
  • Has the other party indicated that he/she wants to get married? Marriage — as I’ve so recently discovered — is more than just a vow of love until “death do you part” (which can apparently be broken). It’s a legal and binding contract with all kinds of ramifications on finances. If the other party is in a hurry to get married, it might be because he/she is in a hurry to grab your purse strings. Remember that a good prenuptial agreement can save you far more than it costs to draw up. And if your new partner refuses to sign it, that’s a pretty good indication of what his/her intentions really are.

In my friend’s case, an objective look at these points raised a lot of red flags. It seems that there’s a huge financial inequity between him and the woman he’s dating. In addition, the woman was extremely quick to seal the deal (yes, with sex) and gain his trust. That, coupled with what I know about the woman’s personality and my friend’s extraordinary behavior changes after they met, has me convinced that she’s primarily motivated by the financial benefits of a relationship with him. But because she meets his emotional needs — constant agreeability, ego stroking, companionship, and sex — he’s become blind to what’s so obvious to the rest of us — including the friends who simply won’t speak up.

What makes this all the more lamentable is that my friend, at age 56, is at a point in his life where he’s achieved an enviable amount of financial security. No, he’s not rich, but he’s financially stable with a positive net worth and very little real debt. To take on the financial responsibilities of a person he barely knows just because she’s pushed the right buttons when he needed them pushed is breathtakingly tragic.

Now I don’t know if my friend will read this. He very seldom reads my blog. I’m sure that if he does, he’ll recognize himself and his situation. He’d be blind not to.

But will he take what I’ve written here in the spirit in which it was intended: as a wakeup call to objectively look at the situation and possibly slow down? Or will what I’ve written here for him further damage our long friendship? Sadly, his irrational behavior lately leads me to believe that it’ll do the latter, possibly destroying our friendship forever. I believe that at this point, he’s too far gone down a foolish path.

As good good friend, however — a really good friend who truly cares about his emotional well-being — I’m willing to take the risk. To do otherwise would be to betray our long friendship.

I hope he reads this and understands.

Congratulations! You’ve made it to the end of yet another lengthy blog post here on An Eclectic Mind. If you got this far, you must have gotten something out of what you read. And isn’t it nice to read Web content that isn’t full of annoying ads?

How about doing something to show your appreciation? I’d love it if you’d add a comment at the end of this post to share your feedback with me and others. But I’d really love it if you’d visit my Support page and chip in a few dollars to help cover the cost of hosting this blog and motivate me to keep writing new, interesting content. It’ll only take a moment and I really would appreciate it!

 

On Broken Marriages, Self-Esteem, Divorce, and Victoria’s Secret

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My year in review.

Over the last few months, I’ve had a lot of time to think about the past 29 years of my life with the man who became my husband six years ago. The same man who rather suddenly told me he wanted a divorce in June, when I was 1200 miles away at my summer job.

I’ve blogged about our life together as things happened in bits and pieces throughout the 9-year history of this blog. I’ve also written blog posts that look back on certain aspects of our relationship and marriage; you can easily find them by clicking the divorce tag. Writing about this has been cathartic for me, helping me to organize my thoughts and get them out of my head in a way that makes so much sense.

It’s unfortunate that I need to write about this so much. I’d much rather write about other more interesting things like flying and travel and cooking. Sadly, this has taken a front row seat in my life, so it’s up front in my blog, too. I know that more than a few people have found what I’ve written helpful to them as they deal with their own divorce and recovery.

Today I want to focus on the damage I suffered to my personal self-esteem as my marriage started to deteriorate and how I’ve lately been able to overcome that and emerge a better, healthier, and stronger woman.

The Decline of a Marriage

Looking back in the 20-20 vision of hindsight, I think the problem started when I returned from my summer job in October 2011.

The month before, in September when my cherry contracts were finally over, my husband had flown out to Washington to spend about a week with me on a little vacation. We loaded up the truck and headed out on a trip around the Olympic Peninsula that included a day trip to Victoria, BC in Canada. We had a great time together — at least it seemed that way to me — and got to tour some of Washington’s most beautiful coastal and mountain areas with unbelievably good weather. I blogged about the first three days of the trip here, here, and here. As we finished that trip, I thought things were pretty darn good with our marriage. It was great to do a trip together — we’d had so few vacations in the previous few years due to his limited vacation time — and I looked forward to coming home and spending more time with him.

He’d been living 4 days a week in his Phoenix condo, which was much closer to work than our Wickenburg house. He’d been doing this for years — since he bought the condo — and had a roommate there to help keep his expenses down. I knew the roommate pretty well — he and his wife had been friends for years. His wife lived in their Williams area home and worked in Flagstaff. I liked her a lot; I thought (at least then) that she was a genuinely good person. But the roommate, who worked for the same company as my husband, was sometimes hostile toward me. As a result, I felt uncomfortable spending time at the condo with my husband when the roommate was around. So I pretty much stayed in Wickenburg during the week with occasional trips to Phoenix on weekends when it was less likely for the roommate to be around.

But in the late summer of 2011, my husband had asked the roommate to find another place to live. With the roommate gone, I’d move my office to the condo and spend more time with my husband. I could work in the condo while he went to his job in north Phoenix. We’d be together, without a third party hanging around.

So the roommate moved out and I moved my office into his bedroom. We also got a new king-sized bed and set up a small bed for guest in my office. I bought new blinds and fixed the place up a bit. Like my husband, I shifted many of my personal possessions to this new (for me) home and began living there during the week.

Because I’d been away all summer, I didn’t immediately pick up on the vibes coming out of my husband. But looking back on it now, I realize that he was distracted and distant almost from the very beginning of my time living in the condo. When I finally caught on, I assumed it had to do with his job. The company wasn’t doing well in the economy and although my husband usually didn’t have much trouble selling product, customer purse strings were tightening and my husband’s boss wasn’t being flexible enough on pricing. They were losing sales — he was losing sales. This not only affected his commission income, but it was making his boss unreasonable.

As the months ticked by, the stories my husband brought home from work became more and more disturbing. He was in a frustrating work environment, sharing a tiny office with a loud co-worker. His boss wanted to see him at his desk but also wanted him out in the field talking to customers. His boss was attempting to micro-manage everyone, throwing my husband — an experienced sales guy — off his game with idiotic instructions and demands. People were quitting or getting fired. My husband was stressed out and was bringing this stress home with him.

There was nothing I could do to help him. Instead, I watched him become more and more distant from me. Our time spent together was limited to going out to dinner, going to a movie, or watching TV. We seldom had sex; he seemed more interested in watching TV than coming to bed with me. When we went home to Wickenburg on weekends, he seemed more interested in doing chores around the house or catching up on DVRed episodes of his favorite car show than spending time with me. I couldn’t work in Wickenburg, so when I had work to do, I began staying in Phoenix over the weekend to work.

All through this time, he never told me what was bothering him. We never communicated about what was important in our lives together. When he didn’t like something I did or said, he’d fix me with a disapproving glance, letting me feel the unspoken anger that lurked within him. Spending time with him was becoming difficult, if not downright painful.

A Self-Esteem Death Spiral

Again, I didn’t realize it as it was happening, but when my husband and I started drifting apart, I began taking less of an interest in myself and my appearance. I’d always preferred loose-fitting clothes, which were more comfortable than more fashionable and feminine clothes I could have been wearing. But there seemed no reason to dress up or put on makeup — my husband obviously didn’t care so why should I?

At the same time, all our eating out and my lunch breaks spent walking Charlie the Dog to the nearby shops and restaurants started going to my waist. I started to gain weight. The loose-fitting clothes hid it, making me just another shapeless middle-aged woman.

I began noticing a certain lack of attention or even respect from sales clerks — especially younger ones — when I went shopping. I’d sometimes be ignored as I waited for service. More attractive people got more attention, smiles, polite responses. I began feeling like a second-class citizen.

Worse yet, my short hair and lack of makeup sometimes caused me to be mistaken for a man. The first few times this happened in front of my husband, he corrected the waiter or sales clerk or whoever very sharply. Once or twice, we even walked out of a restaurant. But after a while and too many times of this happening, he stopped correcting them. It must have made him feel like crap to be with a woman that some people thought was a man.

It made me feel like crap, too. But rather than do something about it, I just made it worse. I kept eating. I continued to gain weight. Few of my normal clothes fit me. I had nothing feminine in my closet to wear. When I looked in the mirror, I saw the overweight, middle-aged, possibly lesbian woman that everyone else was seeing. I hated what I saw. But I didn’t do a damn thing about it. As our relationship continued to decline, my self-esteem declined with it. Even when I stood on the scale one day and read 198 pounds, and my doctor prescribed three blood pressure medications, I continued on what would likely have been a self-destructive course.

I think that if my husband and I had talked about our situation and come up with some sort of plan to make it better, my problem might have begun to resolve itself sooner. At least we would have had a chance of saving the marriage along with my self-esteem. But because we never had the talk the marriage counsellor we saw said we needed, the marriage was never saved. Lack of communication is what ultimately killed our marriage; what came after I left for this summer’s work were just nails in the coffin.

The Diet and Divorce

In May 2012, once I’d relocated back to Washington for the summer and could bury myself in the flying work I enjoyed, I started feeling a little better. Other things that helped were:

  • Being among friends. After four summers in Washington, I had far more friends there than I had in Wickenburg or Phoenix. In Washington, I had a social life that included dinner out with friends, wine tasting, and socializing.
  • Being away from my husband’s dismal moods. It was a relief to be able to do what I wanted without having to worry about seeing his disapproving glare.
  • Being in a simpler living situation. Living in an RV isn’t ideal, but with just one person calling all the shots, it isn’t bad.

Meanwhile my husband got a new and better job that would allow him to work from home and travel. We were both excited about this. I think that if he’d gotten the job about three months earlier, I wouldn’t be using a divorce tag on my posts. I think the job could have saved our marriage. But the job came just after I left for the season. And although we talked on the phone about him coming to Washington with the dog and spending the summer with me and even traveling together, none of that ever happened.

I started the diet in mid June. My friend Mike and his wife Cheryl had lost 80 and 70 pounds respectively. My friend Jim, another pilot, jumped on board about a week before I did. It was Medifast and I already blogged about it and its results.

My husband began the divorce discussion on June 30, my birthday. I was shocked and wanted to meet with him in person to discuss it further. We met on July 12 in Cle Elum. By that time, I’d lost about 10 pounds.

Our meeting was charged with emotion. It was very civil. I did a lot of crying. I flew him out to Malaga in the helicopter to show him a wonderful piece of land where I thought we could reboot our lives together. He was not interested. The decision was made. He cried with me a little at lunch before we parted. And he also lied to me, assuring me that there was no other woman.

The emotional roller coaster I was on this summer isn’t worth recounting here. Reading my divorce-tagged posts should give you an idea of what I was experiencing and feeling. Until I found out about the other woman in August, I thought we still had a chance together — so did so many of our friends and family members — especially the ones he kept assuring that he still loved me. It was part of what motivated me to stay on the diet and keep losing weight.

Once I found out about the lies, I became doubly motivated. And as the fat fell off my body, my self-esteem began to come back.

Yes, it’s true — my husband wants to sleep with someone else. Someone who just happened to come along and tempt him when he was weak and needed someone. That should make me feel like crap. But it doesn’t. It makes me feel sorry for him and his weakness. It makes me realize that a strong woman shouldn’t be married to a weak man. It makes me realize that I can do so much better — and I should.

When I came home early and unexpectedly on September 15 and jumped the few hurdles he’d set to keep me out of my home and hangar, I was a full 40 pounds lighter than when I’d left for Washington on May 1. As I blogged earlier this week, I went “shopping” in my own closet and managed to fit into clothes I haven’t worn since I was in my 30s. And I look good in them. Another boost to my self-esteem.

One afternoon, I went to the Clinque counter in Macy’s and sat down for a makeup consultation. She made up my face in the “natural” style I prefer, explaining how each of the products would help my skin stay young or make me look better. I spent $200 on skin cremes and cosmetics and now use them daily. Yes — I wear makeup every day now. And I’m seeing a real difference in my skin.

But the best part was driving home from Macy’s in my Honda S2000 with the top down, when a guy in a pickup truck beside me at a light rolled down his window and called, “You look cute in that car!” Another boost to my self-esteem.

The other day, after my first court appearance for the divorce, I stopped off at the Arizona Mills mall. I needed new undergarments — everything I owned was too big. I went into Victoria’s Secret and got a professional bra fitting. (The sales woman told me my current bra was a “granny bra.” Oops.) I bought two new bras that make quite a difference in my figure — especially with the tank tops that have become a staple in my wardrobe. Let’s just say that only a blind person could mistake me for a man now. Another boost to my self-esteem.

At 51 years old, I’m not only turning heads, but I’m getting the respect and attention I deserve. My self-esteem has been repaired and is thriving.

And it’s not just self-esteem. It’s my health, too. I don’t just look good, I feel good. More energy, better stamina. Even more sex drive — which is frustrating and a shame since I have no one to share it with. I think about how good I feel now and I can’t believe I let myself go so badly. I encourage everyone reading this to evaluate their physical situation and if it’s not perfect, do something about it now.

(And to you “big and beautiful ladies” who think the extra pounds just make you more beautiful, you’re only fooling yourself. Sorry. I’ve been there and back and I know.)

I’m proud to say that my recovery from the brink took less than four months.

My GlamourShots photo session is today. I can’t wait to share the results!

My Poor Husband

Despite the incredible frustration and pain he’s been causing me almost every day for the past year or so, I still love my husband. I always will. The good memories from twenty-nine years together simply can’t be washed away.

I think he’s going through some deep psychological problems that were likely fueled by age, his unsatisfying work situation, his deteriorating relationship with me, and the promises offered by the woman he chose to replace me. I know this because I know him and how he thinks. I know that deep down inside, he’s a good person, one who is probably feeling a lot of guilt about how he’s hurting me and the people who care about both of us — people like my mother, and my stepfather, who he also lied to.

My husband’s irrational behavior over the past year or so — ramped up since I left home in May for work — is likely a textbook study of male mid-life crisis. His crisis came late in life (mine began in 2006 when I was 45) and I’m so sorry he didn’t turn to me for help. Instead, he’s found other people to help him justify his behavior toward me, to ease his guilty conscience and to support his idea that I’m some sort of evil witch who is out to ruin his life. I suspect he’ll snap out of it one day, and I hope that happens before too much more emotional damage is done.