Tuesday, June 27, 2006 at 1:01am
The guns of divorce
Column: Writing Down Your Soul
In her "Spiritual Geography" books, Janet Conner walks beside the broken hearted, guiding and encouraging them as they travel through the seven countries of spiritual healing. Everyone's journey begins in the Country of Betrayal with a relationship trauma, and proceeds through the Countries of Pain, War, Illusion, Surrender, and Choice. The journey culminates with the miracle of forgiveness and the receipt of a whole, holy, and healed heart in the Country of Peace. Today, we continue our exploration of the spiritual gifts in the Country of War.
* * * * *
I carried lots of weapons trekking through War. Words were my primary artillery: words I spoke, words my attorney wrote, words in motions, words in letters, words I whispered in my son's ear, words I shared with friends — millions of words birthed in my troubled mind and swam out into the atmosphere to wage war.
My ex had his cache of words too. When I answered the phone, my ears would be assaulted by vicious words flung at full volume, "You stupid bitch!" Click. I'd hang up fast.
The phone would ring again. I'd let it go to voicemail. Two minutes later, I'd check my messages, "You stupid bitch! You don't have a life! You don't have a life!" Click.
Five minutes later the fax machine would start rumbling, spitting out two-inch tall, thick black letters, "YOU STUPID BITCH. YOU'LL NEVER WIN! HOW COULD YOU BE SO STUPID! And so on, for three or four or five angry pages. I'd pick them up off the floor, read them, sigh, and file them in the latest three ring binder.
The next day the doorbell would ring. Postwoman with a certified letter. He had to be certain I got his ugly words.
I used words, too. Not in the same way, perhaps, but I used them. With the court appointed psychologist, describing awful scenes between my son and his father. With my last attorney, planning the trial to move. With my therapist, reciting a litany of his offenses. With my friends, painting my ex as a man who could never have a loving relationship with his son. With my mother, reciting his endless faults. With my sister, recounting his latest threats. With my hairdresser, describing his most recent drunken incident. With my manicurist, dentist, doctor, pediatrician, the baker — anyone who would pause.
Who did these words attack? Who did they hurt? Not my ex. Pointing out his errors just enraged him to double his assaults. Hearing about his daily threats just exhausted my first attorney, until she confessed, "I can't wait to be rid of you." Listening to my fear-filled stories just drove my sister to scream, "He's going to kill you!" I'm sure my hairdresser reached a point where she didn't want to see my name on her appointment book.
Even I was sick of all these words. But I didn't know how to stop. I couldn't figure out how to stop using words to fight someone who was attacking me with words. Divorce, I decided, is a word war. Sure, I experienced some physical acting out that necessitated me calling the police and getting a restraining order, but, for the most part, it was a war of words.
In conversations with friends, I kept returning to this issue: How do I stop fighting with someone who wants to fight? This was the paramount question in my mind. I talked about it constantly. I wrote about it every day. I drew pictures in my journal. I labeled two fists going at it "I fight; you fight." I certainly knew a lot about that one. Two hands open was "I stop, you stop." Wasn't experiencing that, but at least I could envision it.
The third picture was the hard one: one hand open, the other fist clenched to the open hand's wrist. I labeled that "I stop; you keep on fighting anyway." That's the one I couldn't figure out. How do I stop fighting when the other guy won't stop attacking?
I was out of ideas. I had tried the direct assault method via the legal system. I had nothing to show for the effort but tens of thousands of dollars in legal fees. I had tried the do-nothing approach for years before finally filing for a divorce. That method, I knew, achieved nothing. I had no new ideas. It was time for some serious introspection — on the spiritual plane. It was time for my angel to step in and teach me.
My sister called to tell me about a family visit mangled by her bickering adult children. She described their incessant verbal blows and nasty innuendos and resolved not to have another full-family get together. She said that one of her sons described his siblings' problem perfectly: "They come in the room guns up. They walk in geared for attack."
What an exquisite metaphor. Thank you, Angel! Guns up. If walking around "guns up" was creating so much hostility, maybe all I had to do was "put 'em down." But first, I had to figure out what my "guns" were. I picked up my sacred journal and wrote: "Dear God, I want to tell you about my guns."
What about you? What are your weapons? Words? Endless legal motions and maneuvers? Asking the kids to relay messages? Reminding the children how sick, or crazy, or angry, or cheap your ex is? Leaving nasty voicemails? Pestering your in-laws? Showing up late for visitation? Not getting the kids back on time? Neglecting to turn in your financial records? Not getting the joint tax return done? Refusing to sign the marital settlement agreement? What? What are your guns? You can't put 'em down, if you don't know what they are.
Once you are conscious of the weapons you've been using to wage war, you can talk to God about how to put 'em down. This is the hard part. How do you stop fighting with someone who won't — or can't — stop? Will you fight forever? Stop overnight? Gradually withdraw? Declare a truce? Ask for a treaty? What?
When in doubt, ask God. Pick up your journal and write:
"Dear God, How do I put down my weapons? How do I stop fighting with someone who can't seem to stop fighting? What will happen? Will we be all right? Show me how to put my guns down. Show me and I will."
Will your answers come? Yes. Not right away perhaps, but over time, as you explore these deep, rich questions with the Divine. Keep exploring and you will uncover your answers, your wisdom, your unique path. In the presence of Spirit, you will discover how to put your weapons down and how to stop fighting.
You will walk down the road with your arms at your sides and your guns down. Do that, and you will find yourself almost there, almost to the exit, almost out of the Country of War.
(Next week: the end of War)
— — —
Janet Conner, S.E. (Spiritual Explorer), is an expert on the power of practical spirituality to heal your broken heart and transform your world. She is the cartographer of the map of spiritual healing and author of the seven travel guides in the Spiritual Geographyseries. In addition to divine dialogue, she welcomes human conversation at {email janetconner@tampabay.rr.com}janetconner@tampabay.rr.com{/email}. © copyright 2006 by Janet Conner
— — —
UPI Religion & Spirituality Forum is a big tent for all expressions
of faith and spirituality, neither excluding nor favoring any.
All opinions expressed belong to the writer alone, and are
not necessarily shared by UPI Religion & Spirituality Forum.
I carried lots of weapons trekking through War. Words were my primary artillery: words I spoke, words my attorney wrote, words in motions, words in letters, words I whispered in my son's ear, words I shared with friends — millions of words birthed in my troubled mind and swam out into the atmosphere to wage war.
My ex had his cache of words too. When I answered the phone, my ears would be assaulted by vicious words flung at full volume, "You stupid bitch!" Click. I'd hang up fast.
The phone would ring again. I'd let it go to voicemail. Two minutes later, I'd check my messages, "You stupid bitch! You don't have a life! You don't have a life!" Click.
Five minutes later the fax machine would start rumbling, spitting out two-inch tall, thick black letters, "YOU STUPID BITCH. YOU'LL NEVER WIN! HOW COULD YOU BE SO STUPID! And so on, for three or four or five angry pages. I'd pick them up off the floor, read them, sigh, and file them in the latest three ring binder.
The next day the doorbell would ring. Postwoman with a certified letter. He had to be certain I got his ugly words.
I used words, too. Not in the same way, perhaps, but I used them. With the court appointed psychologist, describing awful scenes between my son and his father. With my last attorney, planning the trial to move. With my therapist, reciting a litany of his offenses. With my friends, painting my ex as a man who could never have a loving relationship with his son. With my mother, reciting his endless faults. With my sister, recounting his latest threats. With my hairdresser, describing his most recent drunken incident. With my manicurist, dentist, doctor, pediatrician, the baker — anyone who would pause.
Who did these words attack? Who did they hurt? Not my ex. Pointing out his errors just enraged him to double his assaults. Hearing about his daily threats just exhausted my first attorney, until she confessed, "I can't wait to be rid of you." Listening to my fear-filled stories just drove my sister to scream, "He's going to kill you!" I'm sure my hairdresser reached a point where she didn't want to see my name on her appointment book.
Even I was sick of all these words. But I didn't know how to stop. I couldn't figure out how to stop using words to fight someone who was attacking me with words. Divorce, I decided, is a word war. Sure, I experienced some physical acting out that necessitated me calling the police and getting a restraining order, but, for the most part, it was a war of words.
In conversations with friends, I kept returning to this issue: How do I stop fighting with someone who wants to fight? This was the paramount question in my mind. I talked about it constantly. I wrote about it every day. I drew pictures in my journal. I labeled two fists going at it "I fight; you fight." I certainly knew a lot about that one. Two hands open was "I stop, you stop." Wasn't experiencing that, but at least I could envision it.
The third picture was the hard one: one hand open, the other fist clenched to the open hand's wrist. I labeled that "I stop; you keep on fighting anyway." That's the one I couldn't figure out. How do I stop fighting when the other guy won't stop attacking?
I was out of ideas. I had tried the direct assault method via the legal system. I had nothing to show for the effort but tens of thousands of dollars in legal fees. I had tried the do-nothing approach for years before finally filing for a divorce. That method, I knew, achieved nothing. I had no new ideas. It was time for some serious introspection — on the spiritual plane. It was time for my angel to step in and teach me.
My sister called to tell me about a family visit mangled by her bickering adult children. She described their incessant verbal blows and nasty innuendos and resolved not to have another full-family get together. She said that one of her sons described his siblings' problem perfectly: "They come in the room guns up. They walk in geared for attack."
What an exquisite metaphor. Thank you, Angel! Guns up. If walking around "guns up" was creating so much hostility, maybe all I had to do was "put 'em down." But first, I had to figure out what my "guns" were. I picked up my sacred journal and wrote: "Dear God, I want to tell you about my guns."
What about you? What are your weapons? Words? Endless legal motions and maneuvers? Asking the kids to relay messages? Reminding the children how sick, or crazy, or angry, or cheap your ex is? Leaving nasty voicemails? Pestering your in-laws? Showing up late for visitation? Not getting the kids back on time? Neglecting to turn in your financial records? Not getting the joint tax return done? Refusing to sign the marital settlement agreement? What? What are your guns? You can't put 'em down, if you don't know what they are.
Once you are conscious of the weapons you've been using to wage war, you can talk to God about how to put 'em down. This is the hard part. How do you stop fighting with someone who won't — or can't — stop? Will you fight forever? Stop overnight? Gradually withdraw? Declare a truce? Ask for a treaty? What?
When in doubt, ask God. Pick up your journal and write:
"Dear God, How do I put down my weapons? How do I stop fighting with someone who can't seem to stop fighting? What will happen? Will we be all right? Show me how to put my guns down. Show me and I will."
Will your answers come? Yes. Not right away perhaps, but over time, as you explore these deep, rich questions with the Divine. Keep exploring and you will uncover your answers, your wisdom, your unique path. In the presence of Spirit, you will discover how to put your weapons down and how to stop fighting.
You will walk down the road with your arms at your sides and your guns down. Do that, and you will find yourself almost there, almost to the exit, almost out of the Country of War.
(Next week: the end of War)
— — —
Janet Conner, S.E. (Spiritual Explorer), is an expert on the power of practical spirituality to heal your broken heart and transform your world. She is the cartographer of the map of spiritual healing and author of the seven travel guides in the Spiritual Geographyseries. In addition to divine dialogue, she welcomes human conversation at {email janetconner@tampabay.rr.com}janetconner@tampabay.rr.com{/email}. © copyright 2006 by Janet Conner
UPI Religion & Spirituality Forum is a big tent for all expressions
of faith and spirituality, neither excluding nor favoring any.
All opinions expressed belong to the writer alone, and are
not necessarily shared by UPI Religion & Spirituality Forum.