Life after Trauma

Hurt & Healing - a celebration of imperfection

There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in.

Leonard Cohen

Kitsugi (theladyandthesailor.com)

The Japanese have a beautiful term for mending broken pottery. Kintsukuroi or Kintsugi literally means "to repair with gold." It refers to the practice of repairing beloved pots with gold or silver lacquer. The thing I like best about the definition of Kintsugi is that the repair is done with the "understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken." The gold or silver honors that breakage, one might even say it celebrates it. 

 

A few days ago, this process came to my mind. I couldn't remember the Japanese word, but, with some persistence, I tracked it down. The reason why kitsugi was on my mind was because two days ago the new glass turntable that I'd ordered for our microwave arrived. I was delighted. The original turntable had been broken for several years. It still turned though and  I hadn't bothered to try to replace it. Then, while I was away in Michigan someone - either my son or my husband - broke it again. This time, it was so broken that it wouldn't turn anymore and everytime I microwaved something, or thought about microwaving something, I was annoyed to see the sad broken turntable. It was a bit like having a pebble in your shoe. Not big enough to hurt, but big enough to be annoying. So, one day about two weeks ago, I got on the phone and after making four or five calls, I tracked down the company that makes the turntables - thankfully located in North America - and gave the person I spoke to the microwave's model number and brand and she took my Visa information and my new turntable was on the way. It took longer than I thought it would to arrive, but when it did I was delighted to see that it was packaged very carefully, tenderly one might even say. I took off the layers of paper in the large cardboard box and discovered a smaller box inside the larger box and inside that box - wrapped in bubble wrap - was the new turntable. I carefully cleaned the microwave, installed the turntable - which fit perfectly - and stepped back with satisfaction to survey a job well done.

So, you might be wondering what does this have to do with kintsugi or PTSD. It has to do with valuing damaged things, whether they be microwaves or people. I could have just as easily thrown the old microwave away and bought another one cheaply or even got one for free on craigslist. But I didn't want to. I hate to throw anything usable away or give up on people. Repairing the microwave resonated for me because, in a way, that's what my husband has done. He's discarded me - for lack of a better word - because, in his own words, "he couldn't deal with my PTSD anymore." That's the trouble with North American culture. We worship perfection and can't be bothered to see the beauty in imperfect things. That's what the Zen concept of wabi-sabi, which is related to kintsugi, is all about: celebrating the ephemeral and the imperfect. Wabi-sabi is a wise philosophy. It recognizes that all of life is ephemeral and also imperfect, yet beautiful in its imperfection. I like to think of myself as a wabi-sabi person. I allow myself to see, and celebrate, my imperfections and the signs of healing trauma. I'm getting better at it anyway. That's not to say that my husband leaving doesn't hurt. It hurts a lot. Some days more than other days. Still, I'm getting better at realizing that I've spent too much of my life trying to be "good enough" for him and not letting myself just be who I am. The truth is that I'm good enough and I always have been. Even if my husband can't love me, I can love myself. I don't mean to sound too smug here. It's taken long, long years of pounding on the door of my husband's heart before I finally gave up. Here's a great fragment of a Spanish folk song translated by W.S. Merwin.

 

door knocker (Wikimedia Commons)

 

Heart, I told you before,

and twice, and three times,

don't knock at that door.

No one will answer.

 

Some truths are hard but necessary to see. Now, I am trying to get my life back on track - heartbreak, PTSD, and all. 

PTSD and relationships - when your significant other can't live with your PTSD

More marriages might survive if the partners realized that sometimes the better comes after the worse.

Doug Larson 

Newly weds (m.a.x., flickr)

I've been missing for a while because I've been going through a major crisis. My husband told me in August, and has since stuck to his position, that he wants to leave me mostly because of my PTSD and partly for other reasons that he, so far, hasn't been able to articulate in a way I can (or want to hear). I didn't see this coming - but who does. I had been doing progressively better during the past year. It's not just me who says that, my therapist and doctor had both been telling me the same thing. Then, what I thought was a successful trip to visit my parents turned into a nightmare (at least for me).  My husband seemed to be taking things in stride at my parents, even when there was tension or grumpy/confused parents. He and our son spent time with his relatives for a few days and that seemed to go well too. We'd been home for about two weeks when my husband dropped the D-bomb.

 

peach pie (annieseats, flickr)

 

It all started innocently enough - as many things do - with a piece of peach pie. I had planned a mini "staycation" for us in Vancouver at a fancy downtown hotel. I thought we should get away together, since we hadn't done that during the summer. We stopped at our favorite bookstore on the way and then I suggested that we have some pie at Aphrodite's (ah, the irony) the organic restaurant across the street from the bookstore. The plan was to share a piece of pumpkin pie; however when we got there, I discovered that they had fresh peach pie. It was peach season and I love peach pie, but only when it's made from fresh, local peaches. So, I decided to order an entire piece of pie for myself and my husband wouldn't order anything. He had been cutting back on his eating - a clue that I missed, I realize now. (A clue of his plans to be single again.) I got annoyed, then angry because we were spending one night on our "mini-vacation" and that didn't seem to be the time to be so inflexible about eating. Besides, he seemed like he was annoyed himself, even pouting, that I'd dared to change my plan over the pumpkin pie.

Things were no better at the fancy hotel. I'd booked us into a boutique hotel in downtown Vancouver, on a quiet sidestreet. Since we live here, I knew the neighborhood and was looking forward to a luxurious night alone. I'd even bought a new nightgown for the occasion and wore my favorite purple top with some linen pants. (My version of dressing up.) At the hotel, I was still mad about the pie, not so much that the pie itself was such a huge thing, but because my husband was hardly behaving as if he was looking forward to spending time alone. Which, under the circumstances, he undoubtedly wasn't. Sadly, I had no idea what was on his mind, so as he continued to be withdrawn and disagreeable, I said, "I really don't know why we stay together." I didn't mean it literally and it was probably a foolish thing to say. He rose to the bait, however, and told me that he agreed and he'd been thinking about that lately. I was shocked. My husband is one of those people keeps things to himself and rarely tells people what he's thinking, until his mind is made up. I was shocked. For the third time in our marriage, my husband had unilaterally decided he wanted to leave without talking to me about it. PTSD, and other factors, were involved in each decision. 

We spent a dreadful and expensive night at that lovely boutique hotel. I didn't want to eat for a long time, then we ordered room service and watched the rest of a pretty good movie and my husband seemed to back away some from the divorce scenario. Or at least, I convinced myself of that. A sort of tentative peace was made - for another week or two. Then we went into counseling and all hell broke loose. (more on that later.) 

For now, I'll leave you with a few thoughts on PTSD and relationships and a small glimmer of hope for myself and my husband.

Below, are links to several articles I found on that ring true for me and my husband.

 Effect of PTSD on a person's life

PTSD and relationships

 

clinging to hope (flickr creative commons)

 

Somedays I have no hope; somedays I cling to the smallest sliver of hope, just like a butterfly or bee clings to a flower. In about 9 days, my husband has agreed to see my therapist who is willing to answer any questions he has about PTSD and her professional opinion about my prognosis. It may help - or it may not. But it's a start.

Meanwhile, I'll try to keep writing here. It's very painful and personal and I'm not sure how often I can do it, but I can't let my husband silence me through his threats to leave and his disapproval of a condition that I neither chose nor caused.