Posted June 5, 2011
About Us Girls: I’m a writer, mom and businesswoman—in that order.
After 12 years of marriage, I divorced. I’m now raising “Z,” my 7-year-old daughter, on my own.
I wrote the essays shared through this blog, “Us Girls,” while my
marriage was unraveling and in the months that followed. My marriage
came undone swiftly, and I was shocked. Hindsight delivered the final
blow, when I realized all I hadn’t seen or understood.
Over the years, my writing has made me a fairly open book. However,
these blog entries are a type of highly personal writing I don’t
normally share. I eschew disseminating such information largely because I
tend to believe people can’t—or don’t want to—read a lot of my “me”
stuff.
That is, I’m not a navel-gazer. I don’t journal. I don’t necessarily
find myself so interesting that I believe others are gagging for my
ultra personal reflections. In the past, I wrote to tell stories. If I
used a personal example, my goal in doing so was to help a reader relate
to a universal theme.
The idea of sustained writing for no other audience than myself
seemed silly. Then I realized I was actually just scared of what I’d see
if I knew no one else would see it. What would I put out before myself?
I don’t like to succumb to fear; I confront it. So I released what
wanted free by hammering out late-night emails to myself and filling up
an array of notebooks.
Eventually, I had to conquer another fear: telling friends I was
divorcing. A few correctly surmised that I “must be writing something”
about it.
I admitted I was—but probably not what they imagined. Instead, I told
them, these essays marked the first time I wrote a large volume of work
with the idea that no one would ever see it. Once I’d reconciled my
fears about self-reflection, the thought of a public airing didn’t cross
my mind.
These friends nonetheless encouraged me to share what I’d written,
because in navigating broken relationships, self-doubt, co-dependency
and other issues, far too many struggle to articulate their feelings.
Maybe they’re embarrassed and ashamed. I know I was. I felt like a
failure. Add that I had been betrayed at the deepest of levels; my
security and sense of intimacy and trust had been compromised.
So perhaps, my friends told me, these essays could help others
wrestle with any sense of stigma they feel they bear. As I review what I
have written, I realize I was speaking to myself, but a lot of this
speaks to anyone.
I’m a firm believer in good editing. But I don’t use an editor for
this, blog because I don’t want to be encouraged to self-censor. We
won’t get to the other side if I sugarcoat this.
I delve into the name of this series in the blog titled “Us Girls.”
The short explanation is that “us girls” is the code Z and I use to
indicate when we need to redirect our focus back to just us.
As a result, “Us Girls” is a reminder to stay focused on what’s important. I’ll post a new essay each Sunday evening, and I estimate there are enough for at least a year.
If you want to write me, please click here. I always write back, but it may take me several days. I don’t read anonymous mail. If you have something to say and something to hide, you have the wrong girl.
While I call this “Us Girls,” I believe these blogs are for anyone
who needs to re-examine his or her life, decisions and perspective.
These essays don’t target anyone in particular—-women, divorced people,
single parents, etc.—-because when I wrote them, I was the only intended
audience.
In the end, I now understand that I wrote these because I needed to think differently. So I can behave differently. So I can live differently.
These essays are a part of me, but they’re not all of me. They show
what I felt, thought, believed, feared and revealed to myself at a
particularly tough time in my life. I am not solely defined by my
writing, parenting, career, faith, marriage, divorce, or any single facet of my life.
Abundant blessings,
Karris Golden
© Karris Golden, June 2011
| Posted June 5, 2011
I’m smart enough to know how smart I’m not. This is among the handful of
things I really know.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m not saying I’m not smart. But someone who
professes to be smart should understand how much she has to learn—that it’s
impossible to take it all in. I’m in awe of what I don’t know and protective of
the little I do.
I know I’ll always try, no matter the odds. I know that I
must. There isn’t anything special about that; there’s just no point in getting
out of bed every day if you’re not going to bounce up smiling—and swinging.
I know I don’t truly regret anything, because good always comes of
it. Would I trade that good to erase the regret? I realize I’m probably dumb
enough to tempt fate in that way. But I can’t completely eliminate mistakes, so
I try to accept those things.
I know my life isn’t something that just happens to me; I’m an
active participant. Inaction is action.
As a parent, I know I’ll get one chance for the majors and not much
more for the minors. I worry over this the most. I always wonder if I did the
right thing and went the right way.
My daughter, Z, and I have a code phrase: “Us girls.” We say “us girls” when
we need the focus on the two of us, not others. It’s a way for one to tell the
other she wants to re-form the huddle—or in our case, the snuggle.
“Us girls” started a few days after he left. For me, it is a reminder that I
can’t let myself become consumed by everything. “Us girls” reminds me there’s
something bigger than me—that things get better, pain fades, and “normal” matters
more than anything to a 6-year-old.
When Z says “us girls,” my mantra flashes through my head: “Act OK until you
are.” I tell myself that when I do get to OK, then I’ll work on acting
happy. Eventually I’ll be happy again. Everyone has something for which they
should be happy and/or grateful. This is my focus, because I am abundantly
blessed.
For Z, “us girls” ensures she can pull me to her no matter when or what. “Us
girls” is her mantra. She’s almost 7, so I know she’ll be there; I’m
her ride.
But what about a few years from now? If I deliver on “us girls” today, will
I reap its rewards when Z’s preoccupations equal my own?
I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter; our relationship is not a
two-way street. Z can question me, confuse me, judge me, let me down and take
me for granted. Letting her test the reasonable limits is a part of my job.
I can regroup, but I can’t go anywhere. I won’t be perfect; I will
fail her—in small and big ways. But I must try not to.
That is the origin of “us girls.” It’s based on the idea that you do what
you must when you care for someone. It started because reflecting on my
impending divorce made me recall a boy I played with when I was very young.
His name was Brian. He dropped conversational reminders that he was a girl.
We’d be playing with dolls, and he’d say, “That’s right, ‘cause we girls,’”
drawing out the urlz.
I accepted his girlhood as reality—absolutely. I knew he was a boy,
but I believed he was a girl.
When Brian wasn’t around, adults sometimes teased me, calling Brian my
“boyfriend.”
I’d scream, “But he’s a girl! We girls!” This declaration
was usually met with howls of laughter. I never backed down.
I know. “He’s a girl.” That’s accurate. I knew Brian was a
boy—not a “real” girl.
But Brian wanted me to confirm and affirm that he was a girl. “We girls”
told me he needed that from me: someone to believe it as much as he wanted—a
friend to trust his word no matter how ridiculous his claim.
Why was I able to suspend reality? Because I’m a pleaser? Because I craved
his approval?
Yes and no. It boils down to context.
Looking at my romantic, platonic and familial relationships, I can see I
don’t always question when I should.
When I wanted something to work—when I wanted to be right—I jumped
on board and road the lightning. For too long. I held on even as I careened
past the point of reason.
That said, I don’t believe there was anything terribly wrong with Brian’s
“lie.” Maybe I wanted it as much as he did; at that time, he was my only
“girlfriend.”
So with Brian in mind, I broached “we girls” with Z. She loved
it—and immediately changed it to “us girls.” After correcting her
several times, I gave in. Us girls. I guess I’m still a pleaser.
Z said “us girls” a lot in the beginning; she wanted my attention focused on
her. She needed to know I wasn’t going anywhere. “Us girls” was her power—a way
for her to gauge my commitment.
She says it less, but sometimes I do become preoccupied with work, the house
or simply just the moving on. Sometimes Z hisses “us girls” when she’s had a
bad day.
The reality is that it’s been long enough that Z doesn’t have to say it. Her
expression is enough: Us girls.
Karris Golden
© Karris Golden, June 2011
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