I have been there a hand full of times... having a great night out, beverages flowing and big smiles punctuated with glazed eyes all around me. Stumbling up to the bar my eyes squint with the realization the lights have just come on. "Last call!!" I am feeling an internal cocktail of relief and annoyance. Who are these people to say the party is over?? I protest, learning that once the lights are on, there is no bargaining. Somehow I make it home and fall asleep in my dress with one heel on. Before I know what happened my mascara is leaving its mark on my pillow. The next morning I vow never to drink again... until the next night like this one!
While memories of mornings like these aren't my proudest moments, they highlight the universal truth that ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. Sure, the bartender just wanted to close his drawer for the night and go home or have his own fun - but what he really did was let us all know that we didn't need any more drinks. After recently processing what was for me a traumatic end to an eight year relationship, this analogy came back to me. Unfortunately the hangover from a bad relationship is far longer lasting and more difficult to heal from... if only a glass of coconut water and a cold shower could have done the trick! Nonetheless I spent 6 months rediscovering happiness. Absent of the verbal abuse and manipulation I experienced over this time, I was able to discover how much happiness and potential my life offered. No longer clouded by self doubt, self hatred, and regret, I reconstituted my dehydrated life into one of genuine laughter, boundless possibilities, and a spirit which I thought had died.
Just when the pieces I glued began to stick together, my ex reappeared. Once a larger than life character, with an air of invincibility and audacity, he was now merely a puddle on my shoulder. Broken. Humbled? The same actions which resulted in the end of our relationship became the demise of what once promised to be a spectacular career. All of the dreams of success shattered at his feet only for the instant gratification of not just a woman, but a subordinate. While I was putting myself back together, he was falling apart. The "bartender" who catalyzed his own depraved lack of judgment proceeded to kick him out of their shared apartment. Despite the appearance of success and substance he carried on his expensive suit sleeve, the reality was that of an SUV with a few belongings, and a bravado hidden by some tears were all that remained of this man. Whether it be my propensity for martyrdom, a lingering love for the polar magnetism we shared, or simple humanity, I knew the right thing to do was to help him.
For a week he dined at my dinner table and continued to profess his desire to get his family back. One at a time, he apologized to the members of my family and then turned to me confirming his mistakes and newly found humility. As he vowed to do "whatever it takes" to spend his life with me, I reentered my role as personal assistant, updating the resume, taking orders, filling the glass and filling his confidence tank so I could watch this broken man find the strength not just to overcome this challenge, but to CHANGE his life into one of integrity and virtue. Despite the magic in the background of it all, my need to protect myself and my family kept me at a distance. His mere presence made me tremble. I began to criticize myself and question the renaissance I created around me.
An article published on PsychologyToday.com describes a sociopath as "..someone who can send convincing signals to trust always when in fact he or she can never ever be trusted-a con artist with no potential for remorse.." As I had begun to help him make repairs to his confidence, the humility from these lessons learned disappeared quickly. In fact, it was clear that every effort he had made was with an agenda and not fueled by any remorse. This was going to be too hard for him. She wanted him back. He retreated, asking for my permission. I protested. Intoxicated with the prospect of "fixing", I all but demanded another sip. And then I gave my blessing - with a few choice words. Just as I was about to walk up for another drink, I was the one to turn the light on and say "Last call!" Still wondering where he would go, how he would survive, and why he would choose such a volatile life, I was able to separate myself from all of it. It was no longer my problem or responsibility. The recovery was shorter the second time around. This brief re-entry felt more like a bad dream than a devastating chapter in life. I start these beautiful new days fresh - no hangover!
While memories of mornings like these aren't my proudest moments, they highlight the universal truth that ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. Sure, the bartender just wanted to close his drawer for the night and go home or have his own fun - but what he really did was let us all know that we didn't need any more drinks. After recently processing what was for me a traumatic end to an eight year relationship, this analogy came back to me. Unfortunately the hangover from a bad relationship is far longer lasting and more difficult to heal from... if only a glass of coconut water and a cold shower could have done the trick! Nonetheless I spent 6 months rediscovering happiness. Absent of the verbal abuse and manipulation I experienced over this time, I was able to discover how much happiness and potential my life offered. No longer clouded by self doubt, self hatred, and regret, I reconstituted my dehydrated life into one of genuine laughter, boundless possibilities, and a spirit which I thought had died.
Just when the pieces I glued began to stick together, my ex reappeared. Once a larger than life character, with an air of invincibility and audacity, he was now merely a puddle on my shoulder. Broken. Humbled? The same actions which resulted in the end of our relationship became the demise of what once promised to be a spectacular career. All of the dreams of success shattered at his feet only for the instant gratification of not just a woman, but a subordinate. While I was putting myself back together, he was falling apart. The "bartender" who catalyzed his own depraved lack of judgment proceeded to kick him out of their shared apartment. Despite the appearance of success and substance he carried on his expensive suit sleeve, the reality was that of an SUV with a few belongings, and a bravado hidden by some tears were all that remained of this man. Whether it be my propensity for martyrdom, a lingering love for the polar magnetism we shared, or simple humanity, I knew the right thing to do was to help him.
For a week he dined at my dinner table and continued to profess his desire to get his family back. One at a time, he apologized to the members of my family and then turned to me confirming his mistakes and newly found humility. As he vowed to do "whatever it takes" to spend his life with me, I reentered my role as personal assistant, updating the resume, taking orders, filling the glass and filling his confidence tank so I could watch this broken man find the strength not just to overcome this challenge, but to CHANGE his life into one of integrity and virtue. Despite the magic in the background of it all, my need to protect myself and my family kept me at a distance. His mere presence made me tremble. I began to criticize myself and question the renaissance I created around me.
An article published on PsychologyToday.com describes a sociopath as "..someone who can send convincing signals to trust always when in fact he or she can never ever be trusted-a con artist with no potential for remorse.." As I had begun to help him make repairs to his confidence, the humility from these lessons learned disappeared quickly. In fact, it was clear that every effort he had made was with an agenda and not fueled by any remorse. This was going to be too hard for him. She wanted him back. He retreated, asking for my permission. I protested. Intoxicated with the prospect of "fixing", I all but demanded another sip. And then I gave my blessing - with a few choice words. Just as I was about to walk up for another drink, I was the one to turn the light on and say "Last call!" Still wondering where he would go, how he would survive, and why he would choose such a volatile life, I was able to separate myself from all of it. It was no longer my problem or responsibility. The recovery was shorter the second time around. This brief re-entry felt more like a bad dream than a devastating chapter in life. I start these beautiful new days fresh - no hangover!