Being An Easygoing Wife Helped Destroy My Marriage

“She’s really… easy.”

Yoshi, Meredith, and I were at happy hour, asking our friend Connor about his trip to Asia. Connor and his girlfriend had spent two weeks hopping planes and filling their passports with stamps. I wanted to know how that was, that kind of 24 hours a day time with his significant other while traversing foreign lands?

“Easy” was the word that Connor chose to describe his girlfriend. He meant it as a compliment – his girlfriend has a relaxed, welcoming way about her that conveniently translates into any language.

My mind wandered to my defunct marriage. I scribbled, “Is it good to be easy????” on my cocktail napkin.

Would Max have ever used that word to describe me? 

You should know that no one would ever call me a pushover or lacking in opinions. I have always stood up for myself. But it might surprise you to know that I'm conflict avoidant. What can I say, I’m a middle child who likes to keep the peace!

I sure did try to be what I thought was an easy girlfriend, then fiancée, then spouse. (Hell, I even tried to be an easy ex-wife in our months of forced cohabitation.)

In my marriage, my quest to be an easy spouse translated into avoiding arguments with Max at all costs. FYI, this is a really dumb tactic. 

Examples of Kat the Easy Wife:

• I said little when I felt our apartment needed to be cleaned more often. Instead, I finally hired a cleaning service, which helped lessen my resentment of Max's lack of participation in housework. I was still pissed off that he never scrubbed a toilet.

• Sometimes on Friday nights, I would go to happy hour with friends until Max got home. When he texted that he was close to home, I would head home for the night, whether I was ready to leave or not. We’d spend the evening the way he liked it – chilling on the couch, maybe watching a movie. Of course I enjoyed spending time with him… but, well, I was often sort of bored. I’d wish he would have come met me out. Not like I asked him to do that though.

• In 2011, I wanted to go on vacation just the two of us, but when Max’s buddy wanted to get a beach house, I went along with it. Nevermind that we were renting a house with two couples that each had two children under the age of 5. Nevermind that we hadn’t been away alone since our honeymoon. I didn’t want to disappoint Max or be an unaccommodating wife by saying no. So we went to the beach for an unmemorable, orgasm-free week of stepping on Cheerios and tripping over beach toys. (This ended up being our last vacation together.)

My version of trying to be an easy spouse meant keeping quiet and ultimately losing parts of myself to this rather dull – but easy! – version of Max’s wife.

The way that I finally stopped being easy was in dealing with our fading sex life.

I tolerated our disappearing intimacy for two years before I got Max to a doctor who recommended therapy. Then, after some progress had been made, we backslid, so I again demanded we get help. As scary as it was to push Max to address his issues – and try to save our fledgling marriage – it was the one area where I just couldn’t back down. I was not on his case 24 hours a day, because I did give him some space to figure himself out. But the issue was always in the air.

By 2011, I was not easy anymore. I refused to go with the nonexistent flow of our sex life. I had to have the courage to allow conflict to happen. It was scary as hell. In my heart, I knew that not being the easy spouse would likely lead us to divorce. I was right.

So, whenever I get into a relationship again, do I want to be described as "easy"? I want to be laidback where I can be. I want to be open to trying things that my significant other wants me to experience. I want to be that girlfriend who you can bring into pretty much any situation and she’ll be able to hang.

But if being easy means ignoring the warning signs of an unhealthy relationship for the sake of avoiding conflict, no thank you.

(And speaking of not easy, I do still have on my leg brace as I recover from my broken kneecap. 61 days and counting…)

What are you like in relationships? Do you strive to be easy? Do you let arguments happen? Do you think it's a compliment to be described as easy?

My Dating Diet, Part 3 -- Did I Stay Away From Men? Did I Meet My Goals?

Experimenting with color! What to choose...

Dear readers, I HAVE MISSED YOU.

I have been so stupid busy that I haven’t written in two weeks, and not for lack of stuff to share! I won’t bore you with the details of why I’ve been absent from the blogosphere, so on with the show...

As you might recall, my Dating Diet concluded on September 25. For 30 days, I aimed to focus on bettering myself, in part by dating a break from dating.

How did I do with my goals? Let’s grade me!

Physical

1. Lose five pounds.  – C
   I lost 2 or 3 pounds. I don’t know why I didn’t lose the full 5. Oh well.
2. Drink alcohol no more than two days a week. – B+
   This was surprisingly rather difficult but I did it. Well, the weekend of Maureen's wedding I obviously indulged one extra day, but otherwise I stuck to the plan!
3. Deep condition my hair and apply a face mask. – A
   Totally did this. It was awesome to take a few minutes here and there to just indulge in ME. Love it.
4. Go to six yoga classes.  – A+
   I went to seven classes! And I got through my half marathon training and race without injury.

Personal/Professional

1. Update my resume and cover letter. – F
   I was so busy at work I just couldn’t make time or space for this.
2. Go to my therapist. – A
   I went once and am going again tomorrow. It’s always good to check in with someone who I’m paying to listen to my crap.
3. Donate two bags of stuff. – A
   This was not difficult. We all have more stuff than we need, and it feels good to give it to someone who needs it more.
4. Thank my friends for being awesome. – A
   Read about them.
5. Finish my book on time for book club. – A
   Not going on dates on Sundays gave me back reading time. (Now if I can just hurry up and finish this month's book...!)
6. Meet with my financial planner. – B
   Some rescheduling held this one up, but we are meeting tomorrow!
7. Hire an electrician and a painter to spruce up my apartment. – A
   I have light AND color! So worth the money! Next up – rehang all of the photos I had to take down. I haaaate hanging pictures...

Bags of stuff. I honestly can't even remember what I donated.
Clearly, this was the stuff of memories!

And as for men, I had sex one time during the Dating Diet….It was a dirty, dirty booty call and hot as hell. (And by “dirty,” I don’t mean unprotected.) Absolutely no emotion or commitment. HOT. I’ll give you a hint who it was with…

But otherwise, I stayed away from men and my plan worked; by the end of the moratorium on men, I was excited to get back out there. I signed up for OKCupid again a few days before the Diet was over, and on September 25, I had a date… with Aaron. Yes, the guy I dated in the winter got in touch with me through OKCupid! But we’ll get into that next time...

If you have ever taken a break from dating. did it help recharge you when you got back in the dating game?

My Dating Diet, Part 2: A Tribute to 3 Friends I Met Since My Divorce

"My friends have made the story of my life."

–Helen Keller

I’m blessed to know how true these words are. 

Since I was a child, I have had great friends. Today, I have friendships that reach back to the 1980s, but I’ve also built new ones over the past 18 months.

Last week I shared my plans to work on myself while I take a 30-day break from dating, which included contacting three friends to tell them I appreciate their friendship.

Here are three friends I’ve made since my divorce. I'd like to tell them in front of the blogosphere that they're awesome and I so appreciate them!

Mandy

• When we became friends: We met at work, and I’d say we started hanging out in the summer of 2013. Then we trained for the NYC Half together, which meant running during one of the coldest, most snowy winters EVER. (Thanks, Polar Vortex.) You must really like someone if you’re willing to run in 5 degree temperatures with her.
• Why I appreciate her: Mandy has a sunny personality and can talk to anyone. Whether we’re running 10 miles or hitting up happy hour, I am positive that we’ll have fun. Oh, and we are equally obsessed with talking about eating healthy and exercising as we are with discussing drinking and chocolate and peanut butter desserts.

Yoshi

• When we became friends: The funny thing is that we've been working together since 2009, but I'm not quite sure when Yoshi and I started to become friends. I think we started hanging out in groups around the time I filed for divorce, and by the time I moved back to Ford a year ago (and right around the corner from him), he was not just a coworker anymore. He was definitely my friend. He even helped orchestrate my divorce party!
• Why I appreciate him: We can talk for hours (especially when there's wine in front of us) about everything from daydreaming about creating a company to dating to debating, well, anything. He mostly grew up outside the U.S., so I also love hearing his stories. Yoshi is fiercely loyal. I have no doubt that I can call him anytime for anything, and no questions asked, he would be by my side. And he'd probably bring me a glass of pinot noir. Oh, and he took me to see Pitbull, my secret boyfriend, for my birthday. Now that's friendship!

Meredith

• When we became friends: Back in March, the night I went out with Tina and got drunk and awesome. Meredith and I happened to walk to the bar together, a little separated from the group, and we just hit it off. Before she left the bar that night, I said, “You’re fucking cool. Let’s hang out. Can I get your number?” Over the coming weeks and months, we hung out and I was right. She's fucking cool.
• Why I appreciate her: First, Meredith totally gets it when I talk about my impression of someone’s energy (some people look at me like I'm a little nuts). Second, she is just down, you know? I feel like I could tell her anything and she won’t judge. She is just all about trying new things, meeting new people, rolling around in new experiences. For example, she loves EDM, but randomly decided it would be fun to come see Miranda Lambert with Tina and me. Meredith didn’t know a single country song, but just figured it would be a cool experience.

Honorable mentions go to..

• Kevin, who I don’t see often but when we do hang out, the conversation is awesome. We are just really comfortable with each other and we can talk about anything without holding back. It’s cool to connect with someone like that, especially since we don't see each other a lot.
• Steve, who I have only known for three months but we bonded quickly. I also appreciate his perspective on things since he’s older than me. But, since we get naked sometimes, I don’t think we can exactly call him a “friend.”

To all of my friends, I love you guys. I really, truly do!
I hope I'm as good to you as you are to me.

Dear reader, give props to a friend you’ve made recently (you define “recently”). Why is he or she awesome?

Getting Drunk and Awesome Because Sometimes You Have to Party Like It's 2004

I pretend to be a grownup an awful lot of the time. I pay bills on time. I take my vitamins and wear eye cream. I get a haircut every 12-16 weeks, new running sneakers every couple of months, and my teeth cleaned twice a year.  I show up when I say I will and do what I say I will do.

Well, I don’t know about you, but sometimes, I just don’t fucking feel like being a grownup.

In my early 20s, I relished being an excellent student in undergraduate then graduate school and then landing a solid writing job while knowing I could still go out and party. If you knew me from class or work, you probably thought I was just another overachieving tightass. If you knew me from a bar or party, you probably thought I was just another underachieving party girl.

Then I met Max and I grew up the rest of the way. Be gone, party girl!

My therapist has this theory with me that I sometimes do things to tap back into my life before I met Max on my 25th birthday. It is downright creepy how accurate that can be. For example: me on Saturday night.

Saturday night, I was about 21-24 years old for a few hours.

I had plans with my new friend Tina for a girls night out. (Tina lives in my apartment building, so that in itself feels like college!) She came down to get me wearing tight jeans and open-toed shoes even though it’s March. I was wearing my too tight and too short dress and plenty of liquid eyeliner. (The night before I  went to happy hour in my work clothes. Bit of an upgrade.) We looked hot and ready for trouble.

We walked to her friend’s house a block away for a little pregaming action. I don’t know about you, but this 34-year-old never pregames anymore.

Slightly warmed up from our drinks, we walked to a bar I almost never go to – one of those bars where after about 10:15 the DJ starts up and people start dancing and you can’t hear yourself think and you get hit on by guys who will NEVER be your boyfriend. This was exactly what Tina and I had in mind.

Within 30 minutes we did a shot of vodka and obviously took pictures of our sexy selves.

With a glass of wine in hand, as part of my experiment to meet a guy in real life, I practiced talking to strangers. I was pretty good at it, actually. Who knew? In part it was liquid courage, but it was also my knowing that none of these guys would be my boyfriend, so this was just practice for practice’s sake.

As the music got louder, I got drunker on my vino. A decade ago I would have been hitting vodka, beer, or margaritas. Regardless of the booze, some things don't change -- the drunker I got, the more amazing my dancing skills became.

At one point I looked around at the crowd and felt the music and thought, “I never had a night like this when I was with Max. Being divorced is fun sometimes.” I smiled to myself.

Well, the next thing I knew I was dancing or talking or something with this cute guy. Somehow he asked how old I was. He thought I was 25. I told him he was my new best friend. I thought he was mid or late 20s.

He was 22 years old. He was so young that he still had a vertical license meant to show when someone is underage. I had never seen my state’s underage license!

Logically, finding out that we had 12 year age gap meant we started sucking face immediately. He grabbed my hand and dragged me outside behind the bar with the other drunk 20-something-year-olds who were pawing strangers. We started making out like nobody’s business. He was so fresh with his wandering hands. He LOVED how old I was and my ass. I was loving it, but I do remember saying things right out of last week’s blog entry, like:

• “I am not having sex with you. I am not having sex with you!” *more face sucking*
• “I am supposed to be looking for a boyfriend. You’re not it.”
• “I am not bringing you home because I’m not groomed.”
  I ACTUALLY SAID THAT, YOU GUYS.

Eventually we went back inside, danced more, made out more. I’m not sure that I’ve made out with a stranger on a dance floor like that since college and it was ridiculously fun. But the good thing is that unlike when I was in my early 20s, I left the guy at the bar. But I accidentally gave him my phone number. Whoops.

Finally it was closing time. Out on the sidewalk, I waited while my friends got snacks from the grilled cheese truck, so I struck up a conversation with anyone with a pulse, including a couple who might have been homeless. I took a drag on his cigarette (what the hell?!) while he told me he just found out the lady he was with was pregnant and he wasn’t happy about it. I gave him a hug and told him I hoped he would find peace with his situation. Deep.

I walked home fully intoxicated, talking too loud and laughing too much. It was cold but I don’t think any of us noticed. Just like walking home from the bars in my 20s, alcohol keeps my drunk ass warm. I stumbled into my apartment to find texts from my 22-year-old. I pounded a glass of Gatorade and went to bed.

In the morning, I was 34 again. 

I woke up with a miraculously only moderate headache and red wine stains on my forehead, hands, and dress. I washed the wine off my face. I threw my dress in the washing machine, made breakfast, then cleaned my apartment. If I were 24, I would have been hanging over a toilet during commercial breaks of a Lifetime movie, not vacuuming.

Then the 22-year-old texted, asking/demanding to see me. Dammit! I just cleansed my phone of people like him! I admit it, I was so tempted to keep him around. But I was 34 again, so I responded, “Last night was fun but the moment has passed.” And Tina had a good point -- the kid is 22, so how good could be in the sack anyway? Sigh. Farewell cute boy who went to prom the year I got married!

So, you see, I can take a break from being a grownup for a night and return to getting my oil changed and filing my taxes. I love that my life allows this.

Do you ever you act younger after your divorce?

Why I'm Screwed Up: A Brief History of My Sexual Partners

I’ve never had an adult relationship that had both sex AND emotion in proper proportion. Yup, I’m 34-years-old and I don’t remember how to care about a guy and also have sex with him.

I realized this on the first anniversary of my divorce and tears filled my eyes. It was five days after Aaron and I had sex for the first time. 

The more I thought about it, the more I had trouble remembering a time when I had meaningful, lasting sex with, well, anyone in the past decade or so.

Let’s attempt to break down my sexual past and see why I'm screwed up.

Dave – I lost my virginity when I was 18 years old, the summer before I left for college. My boyfriend, Dave, and I were madly, adorably in love with each other. Unfortunately I wasn’t entirely sure I lost my virginity because it was over so fast. (By the way, I doubt I was a good lay either.)  

Random guys in college and into my early-mid 20s – There were kind of a lot of these. I’m not proud of it, but whatever. If nothing else it meant I was super fun to have breakfast with because I had ridiculous stories. For example:

“You guys, I seriously thought about jumping out the window so no one would see me leaving his room. Do you think I would survive jumping out the third floor window? I might’ve tried if it weren’t for this hangover. I probably would’ve barfed on myself on the way down.”

If I remember correctly, and I probably don’t, I think these encounters were always one-time only occurrences. What can I say, I never had a boyfriend in college, and this girl has needs! (Bear in mind that I didn’t discover masturbation until last  year.) Miraculously, I never got attacked or mugged or contracted an STD. 

Dan – I dated Dan for about four months when I was in grad school. He was smart, sweet, and sexy, and definitely more into me than I was in to him. I held him at arm’s length emotionally because we would be going our separate ways after graduation. But that didn’t stop us from having some pretty decent sex. He was the first guy I slept with regularly since Dan. The next one wouldn't come until Max, two years later.

A few more random guys. For example, the guy whose name I didn't know.

Ivan – Ugh, I hate to even tell you about this experience. Ivan was emotionally manipulative and knew exactly what to  say to break down my walls. He sensed my insecurities and made me forget about them. We dated for six weeks when I was 24 and I fell head over heels for this joker. (So embarrassing.) We had sex once or twice and then he dumped my ass like a bad habit. While he was dumping me and I was a blubbering mess, he actually told me that the next time he had sex with someone, he would make sure that he really cared about her first. Uh, thanks. Glad you have that plan in place. I felt used and stupid.

Max – The first year we were dating, I fell in love with him. I was 25 years old and I embraced being completely vulnerable with a man for the first time. I loved how Max smelled, how he wrapped his arms around me, how his hands felt on my skin. I loved being held afterward as we had those talks that can only happen in that precious space after sex. For the first time -- but only for a short time -- I truly connected sex and love, and it was intoxicating.

But, as you well know, this time was very, very short lived. After the first year, our sex life was never normal again. For the next six years, it was infrequent and eventually non-existent. Sex stressed him out so he always seemed to be biding his time until I would orgasm one time and then roll off of him. Sex was no longer a way to show love for each other, but rather a source of pain, rejection, and conflict. 

If this wouldn't screw with your head and heart, you're a much stronger person than I am!

Cheater – Desperate to get laid after no sex of any kind for three years, I had sex with a guy who I knew had a girlfriend. (I didn't know him or her, but still. Yuck.) I completely removed emotion and went for it. I am proud that I never cheated on Max, but somehow I was fine with being The Other Woman for one night because it was Just Sex.

Jason – Sure, I liked him in the beginning, but he was always my Mr. Right Now. Once I dumped him, I viewed him as my sexual plaything. It was kind of amazing how I could just turn off any semblance of emotion I once had for him. As a result, I realized Incredible Sex was turning me into an asshole.

I'm not so great at math, but I would say I've only had something resembling feelings for about 12% of my partners. Hmmm. A little depressing, no?

Now my sexual past is impacting my sexual present.

With all of this in mind, I think it's safe to say I’m dating Aaron. We have gone out to dinner and to the movies (Frozen!) and last week I met some of his friends. We have stayed in and cooked and watched movies and drank wine. All normal dating things, right?

So here’s where I get FREAKED OUT. (Don’t tell him I get freaked out – I’m hiding my crazy on this one.)

I don’t know how to have sex with someone I like. 

Well, I do, because I am, but I am so unsure of everything! I have no clue how much sex is expected when you’re dating. Do I want too much? or not enough? And is it OK to talk or text about it? or do "nice girls" not do that? Is it normal for me to get really into the sex or am I supposed to be more subdued and gradually show my real sexual self? It’s almost like I don’t understand how I can like a guy AND have hot sex… can the two actually go together?!

You guys, I’m a grown-ass lady but this realization made me feel like a Cosmo-reading teen or something. For a flash, I bitterly thought, “Thanks for fucking me up, Max.” And with that, I shook it off and emailed my therapist to set up my first appointment in months. We’ve got some work to do!

Did you have trouble adjusting to allowing sex and emotion to go together after a hard breakup?

See also: 8 Reasons Divorced Sex Is So Much Better Than Married Sex

Driving My Ex-Husband's Car and Dumping the Memories

If you had the option to own something that you strongly associate with your ex, would you buy it? Could you disassociate the memories of the ex from the object you want?

I did in the name of getting a car I like for a price I love.

My new ride!

Max no longer needs his car, a 2002 Honda in very good condition. I drive a 2005 Sentra with an irritatingly small trunk and no sunroof. I’ve always coveted the Honda, so we discussed having me buy his car off of him.

Max was willing to give me an excellent price under two conditions: I get a small dent repaired (mishap with a pole in Lillian’s garage two years ago that he never repaired) and buy new tires. In his words, “I know the dent isn’t a safety issue, but I just don’t want you driving around in a dented car.” I thought that was sweet -- he's always wanted me to drive a nicer car.

I was chatting with my brother about this impending deal, and he asked me a good question: “Are you sure it will be OK to have Max’s car? Like will there be any issues with memories with that car?”

Fair point.

I do in fact have many memories of Max and me in the Honda since 2005.

We took our first roadtrip together to Bangor, Maine, to spend a weekend with his college friends. It would be at least 12 hours in the Honda, just the two of us. I remember saying to Nora, “I’m either going to come home more in love with him or I will have dumped him!” Max and I returned even more smitten with each other.

Countless times, we went to visit his college friends and their two children, who live about an hour away from us. We loved playing with their kids. Max and I would drive home talking about the adorable things the kids said and how much we admired his friends as parents. “When we have kids,” I used to say, “we will do team parenting, just like them.” 

In the Honda, ae drove to his parents’ in New England house for my first visit. I was nervous but so excited to see Max’s hometown and the house where he grew up. When we would visit, he loved to take me out in the car, sunroof open, and just cruise around. He’d tell me that was where he had cross country practice and over there was his old buddy Tom’s house.

Sometimes on our drives to New England I would read to him. We laughed together as I read Me Talk Pretty One Day. I shuddered and he playfully called me a wus as I read The Hunger Games.

But then there are the sad Honda memories.

We took his car the first time we saw a urologist about his lack of libido. (I knew he’d never go straight to counseling, so I suggested getting him physically checked first.) The climate in the car was cool, to say the least.

Then there were many trips to therapists, often in the Honda. The rides there and back would just suck. I always desperately hoped that the therapy session would get Max to open up to me on the way home, but it never went that way. Any sign of progress in the session would disappear as soon as we were back in the car, back in regular life where he would hide from his demons.

I will never forget the drive Thanksgiving 2010. We were driving to Max's parents’ for the holiday and his depression was in full swing. He was cold and distant. I can’t remember what he said (or didn’t say), but I ended up crying. In fact, I cried in that front passenger seat for almost three hours straight. Not once did he reach over and touch my hand or tell me it would be OK. I said to him, “What the hell is wrong with you that you can sit next to your wife when she crying like this and you don’t say a word?” Silence. Through my tears, I gazed out the window as the bare trees on the Mass Pike flew by.

He drove us to the last therapy session that we had together, the one when I knew in my heart that there was no hope left for us. I cried so hard after that appointment that I couldn’t speak.

He drove me in that Honda to the train station when I left him for a month in hopes he’d figure himself out and come get me. I rode in that same car a month later when he came to pick me up. We were both quiet on the ride home, unsure of how to interact with each other. I tried to look busy with staring out the window.

And finally we rode in the Honda to the courthouse on the day we got divorced. We sat in the car after a judge declared our marriage was over, and we both cried. I wiped my nose on Dunkin Donuts napkins I dug out of the glove compartment. We promised to always love each other.

So, yes, Little Brother, the Honda certainly is full of memories. 

But, my divorce has made me really good at detaching emotion from things of monetary value. Our condo quickly became an asset to unload, not my married home. My beautiful engagement ring, which I took off almost a year ago now, would help pad my savings account and fund my right hand ring, not a sign of the promises and future that were not meant to be. Our king size bed is a good quality piece of furniture, not The Bed of Constant Rejection, as I once called it, and I now love sleeping in it alone. Inanimate objects have no soul, no luck, no intentions. They are just things. When I need to, I now know I can strip objects of my feelings so I can make practical financial decisions.

As of today, I officially own the Honda. With the sunroof open, I will drive and enjoy my new purchase.

Do you have things that belonged to your ex? Do those objects make you think of your ex, or are you able to detach the memories?

Dreams: Window to My Subconscious or Just Brain Farts?

Sometimes I think dreams have meaning as my subconscious works overtime to reconcile some issue in my life, but I also think other times dreams are just sleeping brain farts and don’t mean squat.

Since Max and I stopped sharing a bedroom and I filed for divorce, I have had surprisingly few dreams about him or us. But, starting the night before Nora’s wedding (my first wedding post-divorce), Max is infiltrating my dreams. Since I started this blog to help me sort through my unmarried life, let’s take a look at those dreams, shall we?

Holy crap! Why am I dreaming about my ex?!
And why are my eyes so scary?!

The night before Nora’s wedding (June 21)

I called off my own wedding the night before. I have never dreamed this before, not even when I confessed to my journal late at night, just weeks before my wedding, that I was terrified that the intimacy issue would tear us apart. Maybe riding Nora’s pre-wedding bliss brought me back to my own pre-wedding bliss, only this time with a harsh dose of reality: CALL IT OFF. Ouch.

A week after Nora's wedding

It was the equivalent of right now, and I found out somehow that Max was engaged! This was particularly shocking given that he spends so much time alone on the couch with ESPN or the History Channel. Seriously you guys, I think he’s as likely to have gone on a date or kissed anyone as Cheater is to dump his girlfriend or my former mother-in-law is to dump QVC or I am to dump Beverly Hills 90210. Like no freaking way.

So anyway, I said/screeched to Max, “But we promised each other that we would tell each other first about big life changing events!” (We did actually promise each other this months ago.)

He just shrugged and was all like, whatevs.

I got a little hysterical and yelled, “But you haven’t even dealt your shit yet! What kind of a person would marry you?!” (I’ve been in therapy off and on since December. Max, who has serious intimacy problems, has not set foot in a therapist’s office since we stopped going together, and as a far as I know he hasn’t read a self-help book, wrote in a journal, meditated, etc.)

The dream ended with me sobbing one of those super ugly cries. End scene.

My sister, who was widowed at 28 years old, was the first to warn me that men remarry fast, whether due to divorce or widowhood; I keep getting confirmation of this, so I know I need to brace myself for the possibility. Here’s the thing, Max really has no right to begrudge me moving on. I made it clear I wanted physical with emotional intimacy and he couldn’t deliver, so of course now I’m going to seek exactly what he couldn’t give me. But, the thought of him moving on seems so… unfair. I will admit it right now: it's unlikely that going to take it graciously if/when Max starts dating again. It will hurt me terribly, the thought that he was finally able to be intimate with someone after how very hard I tried to get him to open up to me and love me the way I needed to be loved.

I’d like think that my second thought would be to thank goodness that he was able to move past his problems and open up to someone. Eh, probably not. I’ll probably just bitch about it to you guys and my Twitter peeps.

Last week

It’s the night before my wedding (but I think it’s somehow current day). I had to assemble my bouquet myself. As I tried to put it together, it was full of pins or something, and I saw my hands scraped and bleeding. While my bridal bouquet tore my hands apart, a fire started in the kitchen of my parents’ house and the house started to burn down. Happy wedding day!

I’ve read that dreams symbolize how you connect with the world, so injured hands can suggest bruised ego and blood on your hands means guilt. Well, I think two of the most ego bruising experiences are rejection from your significant other (check!) and getting divorced (check!). And guilt? Oh, I have plenty of that. For one thing, I was raised Catholic, so there’s always something to feel guilty about. But more seriously, I tortured myself over leaving Max, someone with such serious problems… and problems that I think are rooted in sexual trauma of some kind. Leaving someone in pain can be absolutely necessary and the right thing to do, but it doesn’t change the guilt that I will always have. What do you think is the meaning to the house burning down? 

Whew, thanks for joining me on my dream interpretation. Now it’s your turn. Does your ex appear in your dreams? Do you dream about the way things were or how you wish things had gone? Have you learned anything about yourself or your relationship due to a dream? Or do you think dreams are just useless sleepy brain farts?

Check out my first post on Geek and Jock: Is Masturbation Healthy? Taking Matters Into My Own Hands With Joy.

I Got Laid! Now What?

Dear readers, it’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for. After three years as an involuntary born-again virgin, I’m happy to report that I have re-lost my virginity. 

Yes, folks, Kat finally got laid!

Allow me to share the story with you.

Last weekend at Nora’s wedding, I ended up hanging out late night at the after party at the hotel. The group got smaller and smaller. Eventually it was just me and this guy who I’ll call Cheater, someone I’d never met or talked to before, sitting around a fire pit. We started talking about the bride and groom and what a great couple they were. Then, the conversation took a big turn.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" he asked.

I took a sip of lukewarm white wine from my Solo cup. "Sure," I replied.

"How did you know that it wasn’t right with your ex-husband?" he asked carefully.

Well, this opened the floodgates for Cheater. He started telling me all about his girlfriend and that he thinks he knows he should break up with her but… (I’d heard bits about this drama from Nora before, but I pretended it was all new information. That is how girls operate.) Somehow I turned into his therapist and was very blunt with him, telling him obvious things that I learned the hard way, like if shit is not functioning right now, it’s only going to get worse if you ever get married. I should have charged him $200 an hour for my wit and insight.

Next thing I knew, he was throwing curveballs at me and totally started hitting on me, telling me how amazing I am, how hot I am, blah blah blah. Even in my tipsy state, I rolled my eyes at his sweet drivel but in spite of myself, I enjoyed hearing it. He was also practically salivating when he found out I hadn’t had sex in so long. Given I’d been drinking for about 17 hours, I was a little slow on the uptake at first, particularly because he had a girlfriend. (I’m kind of naïve in that I assume that people in relationships don’t cheat.)

Once I caught on, I debated. I mean, this is a random dude and I know he has a girlfriend. Obviously I didn’t know his girlfriend, but still, not very classy on my part to get it on with him. Then, the other part of me kicked in with, “But he says he’s dumping her, I'm not the one with a significant other so it’s his problem if he cheats, and he’d probably be pretty good in the sack.”

The sun was coming up, the birds were starting to chirp, so it was decision time.

Yeah, we all know where this went: back to his hotel room for two hours of raunchy fun. During breaks, I looked him square in the eye actually said to him, “You realize you have to tell your girlfriend, because if you don’t you’re a major dirtbag.” I really know how to contribute to the mood, don’t I?

By 7:30 a.m., thanks to 23 waking hours and several orgasms, I was done. Cheater asked me to stay and sleep with him, but I declined. (I still can’t handle sleeping beside a man – it’s just too much.) Before I left, he asked – no, begged – me for my number. I shrugged and gave it to him. If I had to do over, I would’ve said no. But anyway…

Andrea hits some ugly sheets with her Resident Assistant.

Back in my hotel room, I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. Remember how when Andrea lost her virginity, she asked Brandon if she looked different? [Sorry, another Beverly Hills 90210 reference.] Or in Judy Blume books, when girls get their periods they look in the mirror and wonder if they look different? This was me at 7:30 a.m.: 33 years old and after aching for sex for so long, I’d finally gotten it. Did I look different? Well, I looked like a hot mess, that was for damn sure, but other than my explosive hair and streaky makeup, I looked the same. The same woman who once had good sex with Max, then had zero sex with Max, and was variously rejected by Todd and the 26 Year Old, had finally gotten laid!

Um, now what?

I’ve been thinking about this a lot over the past week, which is part of why I’ve been holding out on you with this juicy tale (the other reason was that I had to tell Nora before I told the blogosphere). Now that I’ve finally had sex again, oddly, I kind of don’t care when I have it next. I don’t regret having sex with Cheater (even if it was hardly my classiest choice), I am still loving my off and on “friendship” with the 26 Year Old, and my vibrator is still rocking my world, so the sexual side of me is definitely not going dormant again. But maybe it’s best for me to hover at third base until I have a boyfriend again. I don’t need My Number going up and therefore risking getting an STD or something fun like that. Further, it would be nice to be able to have sex with a man and then want to sleep beside him afterward, and I am not quite ready for that yet.

By the way, Cheater called me on Monday. He turned me into his therapist again, still hemming and hawing over what to do about his girlfriend and telling me that he has never opened up to anyone like he has to me. I gave him more tough love. Then I told him he cannot be in contact with me as long as he has a girlfriend, but whenever I do see him through our mutual friends, he need not worry about me, his secret is safe. He was relieved that I can be discreet (other than telling YOU, dear readers!). Oh, and he asked, “I believe everything you said to me was true, but I have to ask… Was that really your first time having sex in three years?!” I said, “Yup, you can’t make that shit up!”

Six days after this phone call, I can now tell you with certainty that even if he breaks up with his girlfriend (and that's a big IF), I’m not interested. He is a sweet and fun guy and we had a great time together, but the last thing I need is a to date a guy I cannot trust and has a lot of relationship baggage. Unfortunately, he has both characteristics. Cheater, I wish you all the best!

It’s your turn. What was your first sex post-breakup like? Who was the person? Were you able to enjoy it? Any regrets?

See also: In Favor of Casual Sex.

From Engagement to Divorce: A Tale of 3 Therapists

What would a woman’s blog about divorce be without bringing up therapy? So let’s do it!

The therapy story began a few months after Max and I got engaged, back in 2008. We had gone away for a weekend to a wedding and stayed in this beautiful, romantic inn. I brought lingerie. Max and I tried to be intimate, and as usual, we were unsuccessful. Max’s disinterest and the resulting frustration was obvious. For whatever reason, that particular night the fork in the road that led to Therapy Lane.

I knew Max wouldn’t agree to just go to a therapist right off the bat, so I suggested that we have him see a doctor first. We first went to a urologist that specialized in sexual dysfunction. After a battery of tests, we found that there was nothing physical causing Max's lack of libido. The doctor prescribed Cialis and told Max to go have sex with me.

Yeah, OK, then. It’s just that easy.

Cialis, Levitra, Viagra, pick your ED drug of choice. But here’s the thing about physical intimacy: it really is mind over matter. If he didn't WANT to be sexual, he can pop all the pills in the world and it wouldn't make him want to screw his loving, eternally patient, eternally horny wife-to-be. The problem was more about the lack of passion for me than the state of his penis.

Therapist 1 -- The Nurturer

So, we went to Therapist 1 (a psychotherapist out of our insurance network), who was recommended by the urologist. We saw her together and separately. What I liked about her approach is that she gave us homework to try to help us rediscover each other. We started experimenting with massage and showering together. We did some journaling to go along with it. It seemed like it was starting to help, and I was cautiously optimistic.

Then, Max got a new job that required him to go out of state for training for almost five months. I was heartbroken because I’d miss him, but I was also terrified that we’d lose all the progress we made. He assured me that wouldn’t happen. (We all know how that went.) We went on a therapy hiatus.

He returned from training in August 2009 and we got married in October. A year later, Max fell in to a dark depression. He slowly walked around listless and nearly silent. He wouldn’t touch me (we’re talking even hand holding) and sometimes he couldn’t even look at me. One time he told me he was sorry he married me; I thought it was because he didn’t love me anymore when it was actually because he didn’t love himself and therefore felt unworthy of my love. I couldn’t say it out loud at the time, but I lived in constant fear that I was going to come home to find him dead in the bedroom. That period ranks up there with my mom’s stage 4 cancer diagnosis as one of the most frightening and heart wrenching time in my life.

To Max’s credit, he agreed to go back to our therapist. She couldn’t get him to try antidepressants, but he did talk therapy and got to the other side after about six harrowing months.

Once Max had moved past the depression, we tried to readdress our intimacy problems with the therapist and I could sense she was running out of ideas for us (particularly Max). I decided it was time to try a new therapist for a fresh perspective – and one in our insurance network.

Even after we stopped seeing her, she emailed me twice just to say she was thinking of us and hoped we were OK. I emailed her after I'd filed divorce to let her know. She really cared.

Therapist 2 - The Tough Love Deliverer / Judgmental Asshole

So on to Therapist 2 (a Jungian psychotherapist in our insurance network). He was very different in his approach with us, and he pushed us harder. In private sessions with me, he urged me to face that I was not OK with my marriage. Zero passion and sexuality was not acceptable to me, and I had the right to find that unacceptable. He probably wasn’t entirely professional when he would point out that my husband could likely live forever with things the way they were. Therapist 2 put the thought in my head and courage in my heart that I had to stop treating Max with kid gloves and get the damn truth out of him once and for all.

That’s when I finally got Max to tell me that he wasn’t attracted to me. (He wasn’t attracted to anyone, period.) The oddest thing about that life changing moment was that Max delivered the news as if it weren’t THAT big of a deal. I guess since he’d lived with his truth for so long, he was out of touch with how devastating it would be for me.

A few weeks later, we went to the therapist together and it was emotional chaos. I was sobbing starting the moment we walked in the door. I asked Max if he wanted a D-word. Max was shocked. (Seriously?!) And during the course of this tumultuous session, the therapist said that our marriage was a mistake. It was probably one of the most offensive things anyone has ever said to me. I fiercely told him that I would never consider my marriage a mistake and despite Max being totally shell-shocked through the session, he adamantly agreed with me.

We walked out of the session and held each other in the hallway while I continued to sob. I can’t speak for Max, but I knew that things would never be the same after that session. We never went back to a therapist together.

While I’m grateful that that Therapist 2 pushed me to get the answer that I had to hear, I also feel: FUCK HIM. He repeatedly made me feel judged, like I was a fool for sticking around this screwed up marriage with this screwed up spouse. Don’t you PAY a therapist to listen to your shit and not judge you?!

Anyway, I filed for divorce four months later. Six weeks after I filed, I sought out a therapist who specialized in women’s issues and stress management. Yup, so now I’m on to Therapist 3 in four years.

Therapist 3 - The Perspective Provider

I’ve been going to Therapist 3 (a clinical social worker in network) for six months now, and it’s been hugely helpful. When I started seeing her, she asked what my goals were. No one told me I’d have homework, so I didn’t know how to answer that. We uncovered that I was looking to continue sorting my sadness and anger and love for Max, and then not repeat past mistakes as I look to future relationships. There have been several “ah ha!” moments where I truly feel like I’m understanding myself post-divorce on a level I would never have achieved on my own. And did I mention she’s covered by my insurance plan so I only pay a $15 copay?! For the cost of one bottle of wine, I get to talk about myself for an hour and not worry if I’m dominating the conversation. That’s the beauty of therapy: you pay to dominate the conversation.

So that is the story of my marriage, divorce, and aftermath via my therapists. Have you gone to therapy or counseling for your relationship? Did it help?

Related reading: How to Pick a Therapist; Depression in Men: How to Recognize It and What to Do; How to Support a Loved One Who is Dealing With Depression.

I'm Not A Mom. Do I Cry or Cheer? 12 Reasons to Cheer for Being Childfree (Right Now)

This week, I was in CVS buying a pile of cards. Two of my friends had babies. My brother and sister-in-law’s and parents’ anniversaries are coming up. And of course, Mother’s Day. (Any other card-worthy occasions we can add to make this divorcee feel sorry for herself?)

You should know that I pride myself on finding the perfect card, which means I’m one of those annoying people in the card aisle who has to read every card before deciding on one. As I waded through the sappy Mother's Day cards, tears sprung to my eyes, quite unexpectedly. Would anyone ever buy me a Mother’s Day card?

Well-meaning friends and family often tell me how “lucky” I am that Max and I never had kids because when we go our separate ways, it's over. They also say that being 33 isn’t that old for me to have kids with someone else in the future. But let’s be honest: I’m not getting any younger and I’m not in a relationship, so do the math. (For goodness sake, I still LIVE with Max.) The harsh reality is that I might never be a mother because of the years I spent trying to salvage a sexless relationship.

Before Max and I got married, we agreed that having kids was a deal breaker – we both definitely wanted to be parents. As our sex life disappeared, we took to telling people that we weren't sure if we wanted kids. This actually was true for me; I knew my relationship wasn't stable enough to bring a baby into the mix, which genuinely made me NOT want kids, even though Max and I would've been a fantastic team as parents.

Now that I'm single again, there are moments when I'm so unsure about where I stand on motherhood. Being 33 and childless is not a choice I made, but rather a corner I backed in to. Max stopped having sex with me and there was nothing I or any therapist could do to reverse it. I admit it: I’m angry at Max for possibly taking away my chance at motherhood. Some part of me will always resent him for it, whether that is fair or not.

But I prefer to have a positive outlook, so here are 12 reasons why I’m glad to NOT have kids at this exact moment in my life:

12.There are no Baby Einstein videos or Old McDonald mp4s clogging up my iPhone. My phone contains stuff that amuses me and only me.
11. I can answer a booty call and not come home until 3 a.m.
10. My breasts are mine. They are playthings that nicely fill out sweaters, and not a food source. Hot!
 9. I could splurge on my right-hand ring and monogram necklace. I never would’ve done that if I had kids.
 8. I can waste time if I feel like it. Yesterday, I ran a 10K then sat on my friend’s couch smoking some weed and watching How to Train Your Dragon. Find me a mom who wasted a Saturday that stupidly and awesomely.
 7. Since it’s just Max and me living here, it’s not hard to keep the condo clean while it’s on the market. When my parents put our house on the market in the late 1980s, they had three kids under the age of 11. Sounds like a nightmare!
 6. I have time to dedicate to keeping my body and soul healthy.  Exercise and volunteering are critical for keeping my problems in perspective. I ran a 15K last month and plan to run a half marathon by October. I’ve also been going to yoga and Spinning regularly for months now. I am keeping up my volunteer work; this summer I’ll spend a week as a volunteer sleep away camp counselor for kids with cancer. If I had a baby, I just wouldn’t have this kind of time.
 5. I make meals that I like. No chicken fingers, no pureed apples and pears, no Puffs.
 4. If I had a baby, I would focus on my baby and not other people's babies. Since I don’t have my own, I get to focus on my niece, nephews, and my friends’ children. I play with and snuggle them and then give them back when they start whining or smelling suspicious.
 3. I don’t bore people with the hideously dull and/or disgusting details of diaper rash and sleep training and teething. I find other ways to bore people.
 2. It’s Sunday morning and my big motivation to get out of bed was to go to my 10 a.m. yoga class. You parents whose kids wake you at 6 a.m. on a Sunday have my condolences.
 1. When I felt I had to get a divorce, I didn’t have to consider anyone’s feelings except Max’s and mine. I truly cannot imagine going through a divorce with children.

A theme I keep coming back to is how remarkable it is that I can experience polar opposite emotions in the same moment. This Mother's Day, I'm simultaneously relieved and heartbroken to not be a mom.

What does Mother’s Day mean to you after your divorce?

Related reading: What not to say to people who don't want kids.

The Power of Mediation

Our condo is on the market, which means Max and I are still living together. Interestingly, we are getting along better than ever. I mean, we’re not snuggling or going out to dinner Friday night, but we are enjoying our time in the evenings to eat dinner, chat about our day, and watch junky TV shows. We are working together remarkably well on the condo, from agreeing on the asking price to keeping our home in pristine condition. (After years of my bitching about Max never cleaning up after himself, he’s sure making up for lost time and keeping the place spotless!)

When my friends ask how it’s been going with Max, they’re shocked at how not-that-weird it is. I’ve thought about why we’re getting along this well, and I have a guess: mediation.

Deciding Between A Lawyer and A Mediator

I went to a lawyer back in September. This would’ve meant the typical setup of I have a lawyer, he has a lawyer, and then we never speak directly to each other, which means an obnoxious, expensive game of Telephone. At $400+ per hour multiplied by two lawyers, this could add up fast, even with a simple divorce like ours. It just didn’t feel right.

Then I heard about mediation. I thought mediation was for a couple trying to work things out, so it was news to me that mediators can help you get divorced. I spoke to several mediators, and I really liked the idea of Max and me being in the same room through the whole process. None of the potential confusion of “That wasn’t what I meant when I said that to my lawyer!” Also, I liked that it would be a lot cheaper. We would pay one legal professional instead of two, which meant half the cost.

I found a mediation team that was comprised of a lawyer with a background in tax and real estate law and a licensed marital and family therapist. They would step us through everything, including taking care of having a marshal deliver the paperwork in the privacy of their office. That was huge, as I hated the idea of Max being served at his office.

Max was still very much in shock and denial when we first went to the mediators. I mean, he was still wearing his wedding ring. He was never much of a communicator, so not surprisingly he didn’t say much in the sessions. But I think it was very powerful to have us step through all of our finances and assets together. It was the uncomplicated, respectful way to handle things.

Money is one of the most hot button issues, and I can imagine how easy it could be in our situation to get really nasty and childish and nitpicky. I think keeping us in the same room made us both remember that we’re talking about the life we built together. Mediation helped us maintain respect for the choices we made over the three years we were married, and I’m proud of that. My hope is that mediation laid the foundation for what might eventually be a casual friendship with Max.

(In the meantime, let's hope this condo sells fast!)

Did you use mediation for your divorce? Was it the right choice?

Read more about mediation: There's No "Bad Guy" in a Good Divorce, Mediation Myths and Misunderstandings That May Affect Your Decisions in Divorce, and Choosing Between Mediation and Collaborative Divorce.