A friend warned me earlier this year about post-divorce dating. He said that during the first year, most people madly attempt to secure their next “relationship” for fear of being alone. This DOES NOT apply to me. I don’t search for the opposite sex in an unhealthy way; unless you count being on three different dating sites over the last 6 months unhealthy.
Okay, maybe I have a problem.
I can shamefully admit I’m 0-8 in the dating game. I know, some of you who’ve read my blog might have thought my absence meant I’d struck gold in the romance department. Nada! Nope, nothing, zip, zero, crashed & burned, men…
My dating stats so far:
Bachelor #1: Fresh out of rehab, #1 needed a ride home from the date because his driver’s license was revoked.
Bachelor #2: talked about OSHA regulations and the importance of eye protection for 2 hours.
Bachelor #3: the man otherwise known as Kid Rock; dressed the part and acted the part. But he only performed in one area.
Bachelor #4: I’m drawing a blank. Seriously, he was THAT impressive.
Bachelor #5: the sad widower. I knew immediately that I would never live up to her ghost.
Bachelor #6: This guy talked about vomit during our dinner date, chopped up his spaghetti into miniscule pieces (looking very much like vomit) – and answered each question with ‘Yeppers’.
Bachelor #7: A Shakespearian actor that took his role as King Henry the XIII a little too seriously.
Bachelor #8: #8 was a salesman, and like all good salesman, had me sold on the complete package. Then, once he had me, moved on to the next interested party.
So, as the New Year begins, I ask: if I had 6 months to just focus on me, what would I do? No dating. Could I even do it? There is the fear that my boredom would lead back to surfing the sites. Why do I do this to myself? Do I actually want to be preyed upon by the fake, the lying, the falsely represented, and the con artists that makeup the online dating world?
Just last night I was reading a profile of a man who had been married for 23 years and was newly divorced. In his commentary, he wrote, “I haven’t had a BJ in 22 years. You must love BJs!” Wow, really? Couldn’t you have left that for the 3rd or 4th date?
Is this what finding love has become? Just throw it all out there and see if it sticks?
What is normal? Your guess is as good as mine. I had a brush with crazy this last week. You know how guys are always complaining about all the “psycho women” out there? Well, I think I might have acted a teeny bit like one. Here’s the situation –
First off, I can’t handle casual. It’s been almost a year since the big D. I’ve been hanging out, enjoying my hobbies, reading books, lovin’ on my kids… and then I decide to take on dating. As you’ve read in several posts, I don’t find this fun. I’m horrible at it. And WHY was texting ever introduced to the dating scene? Now, we don’t just wait for a phone call, we wait for a frickin’ text.
I start dating Kid Rock (Stone). He’s the lead singer in a heavy metal band and a commercial illustrator by trade… and totally hot. I love the attention he sends my way through texts and little visits and that one fun, sex filled weekend. Right? I keep telling myself it’s no big deal; it’s just a “casual” relationship.
ONLY SOMEONE THAT JUST GOT SCREWED OVER BY HER SEX-ADDICT EX HUSBAND IS NOT READY FOR CASUAL.
So, off I go to see my old therapist to strike up a new relationship. I hadn’t seen her since the holidays when I deemed myself cured. We had talked through all the bad stuff, the ex and his women, co-parenting, finding my self-esteem again, etc. At least I thought I was cured. She was happy to see me and a little surprised. I explained that I’d been living in a cave for the last 6 months… contently working on my jewelry, catching up on the Real Housewives franchise and drinking lots of wine. I was truly, truly content. Ex-husband who?
But then everything changed when I left the safety and security of my woman-cave. I decided it was time to date. And I met that Stone fella… damn it.
I explained to my therapist how wonderful it was to be sexually alive, to be in “like” with a guy, to want him and for him to want me back. His texts and messages brought a smile to my face. I felt like I had a naughty little secret and I loved it. But it didn’t last. The texts started to ebb and became less flirtatious in context. I started having second thoughts – maybe I’m not that exciting… maybe I really don’t have what it takes to make a man happy. In other words, all my self-doubt and torment came rushing back.
My therapist sat listening to my tale of woe. She nodded her head and looked concerned in all the right places. I explained how panicked I was that he hadn’t mentioned seeing me in a while. And how I responded by sending text after text in a crazy, “WHY AREN’T YOU ANSWERING ME?!” kind of way. All in all, it wasn’t exactly boiling rabbits, but was headed in a very bad direction.
When I’d said my peace, my therapist responded, “You’re acting perfectly normal. This is what happens when you like someone. From now and into the future, there will always be the fork in the road… when you decide if the relationship will bloom or fade. There will always be angst, regret, concern, and self-doubt. But do you want to give all that up to be alone?”
In other words, I have to put myself out there and risk being hurt – again.
I have this re-occurring dream. I’m sitting on a cold metal chair in the elementary school auditorium, 50 lbs over weight and miserable, while my ex-husband sits with his new wife, our kids and her kids all cozy in a row. It’s a vision tattooed to my brain.
My ex-husband, Jack, does not have the traditional boundaries of right or wrong (so I married a sex addict). Case in point, he is now getting his flirt-on with my eight year old son’s friend’s mother. They are having “family dates” together. Over the weekend, it was to the local apple orchard, followed by pizza. How do I know this? Because on Sunday morning, he texts me a picture of my three kids with her kid. When I ask Jack if Casey (the mom) was there, he replied yes. He further admits that he and Casey had grown close, that there is attraction and that they are helping each other through this tough time (of separation and divorce). Ugh.
I’m hurt and confused. We had agreed not to bring someone of the opposite sex into our children’s lives, unless it was serious. How does this compute when your ex is flirting with your son’s friend’s mom? How could I ever hope to compete? Once again, I’ll be the one hurt; I’ll be the one humiliated when teachers and old friends see him moving on. I’ll be the one left to deal with loneliness while he gets away with inappropriate behavior.
Chalk it up to one more humiliation for The Dishy.
Like a stale mantra, I repeat “things will get better, things will get better”; eventually something will work in my favor. But after 11 years of betrayal while he had sex with many, many women and now his new relationship with a mom I run into practically every day (picking up her kids from after school care) – isn’t it time that something good happen to me? How much can one person take?
I HATE the words “it’s not fair”. And nearly daily, I remind my kids, “Not everything in life is fair”. How do I take my own advice to heart? How is it possible that one man, and not a very nice man at that, can be the one to find happiness?
I discovered last October that my husband is a sex addict. Questions can be raised as to whether sex can even be an addiction, but that’s another post-divorce article (Narcissism or sex addiction). Whether an addiction or not, there are common behaviors a partner exhibits when sex is their number one priority; over family, friends, work – everything.
In our 10 years of marriage, I tried on several occasions to “bring it”, you know, dress up in sexy lingerie, introduce hot oils; speak in a raspy voice. I tried the Desperate Housewives method and served dinner in nothing but an apron; that kind of thing. Jack thought I was “cute” and he usually accepted the invitation (if you know what I mean), but in all honesty he seemed more passionate about the shrimp scampi simmering on the stove. In other words, there was never an “I-have-to-tear-your-clothes-off-NOW” moment.
After several years, I figured I wasn’t sexy enough or attractive enough. I didn’t have the va-va-voom needed for our relationship. Three kids later, I focused on my weight; I shrunk down to 120 lbs and never looked better. On date night, I walked down the stairs dressed in a gorgeous red dress, only to hear the token “you look nice” mumbled from across the room. Damn, I busted my ass.
Now I have the answer: Jack was the one that needed to change.
I had become Jack’s Madonna figure. Placed on a pedestal, I was the perfect wife and mother. But when it came to his baser instincts, having sex outside the marriage was what drove him… and as long as his wife was none the wiser, he could have it all.
Since October, I’ve learned that it never mattered how much weight was lost or how sexy I attempted to be; I was not the problem. The problem is NOT with me. The problem was with Jack. And no amount of changing on my part would fix him. I’m just thankful that my sex overtures ended with a kitchen apron and not a bizarre sex act that would have left me more ashamed or debased. I’ve read that many women in similar situations try anything, in search of intimacy with their sex addicted husbands.
Years of suffering a negative self-image has taken its toll. I’m not über confident of my attraction to men, but I work on it daily. Each morning, I look in the mirror and tell myself, “I’m hot, I’m sassy and damn it, I’m worth it!”
So far, dating post divorce has been less than ideal. Of course, I don’t really know what an “ideal” dating scenario is, but here is the rundown so far:
Bachelor #1 (see post): Fresh out of rehab, this Dockers wearing dentist was a good online chat but in person, lacked the chops to back it up. Never mind that fact that he told me about his stint in rehab 30 seconds before I ordered a glass of wine. Result: date ended early.
Bachelor #2: This 51 one year old balding engineer lied about his age online, then admitted he’d stretched the truth… just a tad. I learned a great deal about the Occupational Safety and Health Association (OSHA) during our date. Did you know that throwing 1 cup of flour or sugar on a grease fire could result in a kitchen explosion in excess of two dynamite sticks? Result: date ended early.
Bachelor #3: The Murse – a professional male nurse. He touted himself as “the cop from the movie Bridesmaids” and that he was bi-lingual –he could speak both Oprah and NFL. I discovered the only comparison to the Bridesmaids actor were his slightly crossed eyes. We had zero connection. Result: no further contact
Bachelor #4 (see post): Kid Rock, AKA Stone. This one has me perplexed…
First off, Stone is an artist which means he can do ah-mazing things with his hands – ding, ding, ding, ding, ding! He sings in a heavy metal band and designs computer video games for a living. He is unlike anything I’ve dated in the past. He is fun, into his rocker image and dedicated to his work, the band, his work, the band – you get where I’m going with this. Conversations are rare, and mostly one-sided. We are exactly one week into our little tryst – and it’s going splendidly. Who needs dialogue when there’s passion? After 10 years of being married to a guy that didn’t exactly see me as Brigitte Bardot, getting “sext-ed” by the Rock has benefited my lagging self-esteem.
A couple of nights ago, Kid Rock stopped by after band practice. As with each interaction, there were two choices: either tear each other’s clothes off or attempt a conversation. Well, there needs to be some decorum, so we sat awkwardly on the couch… both looking at our phones.
“Ha,” I said, “one week into our relationship and here we sit, not talking, checking our phones.”
Stone threw his phone on the coffee table, faced me and said, “Did you just say relationship?”
“No! No, I didn’t say relationship… I just meant to be funny. No ‘R’ word at all…” Stammering, my face is bright red. I really hadn’t meant it that way… really, folks, I didn’t.
He had that sexy smile, “Well, we are having relations.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Let’s keep it at that.” And then, Kid Rock went in for the kill.
So here is the tough part. I’m perfectly happy being home alone or hanging out with my girlfriends. I don’t want to care about another guy – or wonder what he’s up to. Is he thinking of me? Will we see each other again? Stone is the perfect little liaison I needed to get over my troubled past – but not exactly a relationship I plan on pursuing. Does this make me a bad person? Is it ok to be self-serving after the devastation of a failed marriage?
Over the last decade, romance in my life had reduced to about a 5% efficiency rate. My husband saw me as a maternal figure; a wife placed lovingly on a pedestal to cherish, not touch. I have no doubt, even after everything he’s done, that Jack loved me. However, his Madonna complex meant that I was strictly for baby making and the occasional public appearance. I paid the bills, listened to his work issues and took on the role of motherhood. And in the evenings, when I was home with the kids and Jack was “working”, he found time for the much desired va-va-voom Ginger-types – unbeknownst to me.
Jack’s lack of affection caused my self-esteem to crash-land into a field of “I must not be sexy”, “I don’t have the appeal that other women have”, etc.
Enter stage right: Mr. Performer
I needed to get outside my comfort zone and date; if only for my own sanity. My kids were gone every other weekend and the idea of sitting home alone was depressing. However, I’m not one to meet a guy in local coffee shop, trendy bar or corner grocery store. Although friendly, I send off a vibe of inapproachability. So, following advice from friends, I joined match.com.
As written in previous posts, my experience with match has been nothing short of annoying, from bad dates to ridiculous profiles to the silly winks that are sent rapid-fire by rabid men. I was thinking my 3 month membership couldn’t end quickly enough when I happened upon “Stone’s” profile (name changed for this post).
Stone’s profile picture was complete with Keith Urban-esque hair. A little like Sawyer from LOST and, well, a whole lot of sex appeal. Almost jokingly, I sent a wink, the program emailed me back, “Congrats, Stone knows you’re interested in him!” I laughed, shut down the computer and went to bed.
The next morning I woke to a charming return message from Stone. And from there, it went directly to what the hell just happened? We started with random emails. When that seemed too lengthy a process, we switched to text (yes, I gave out my cell number). Before 48 hours were up, we agreed to meet for a date. I wanted to ask, “You did SEE my profile right? I’m about as Mary Ann as they get.” Stone assured me he’d always been way more attracted to Mary Ann than Ginger. In short, “quick interest means nothing compared to something deeply passionate with the right person.” We’ll see…
By the way, Stone is a Commercial Illustrator who happens to sing in a heavy metal band on the weekends.
We met at a cozy little outdoor patio bar with live music. I got there first and ordered my usual Cabernet. He texted he was on his way and within minutes, I heard his growling motorcycle. And then the 6’2” Stone was approaching the table, in all his hot-rocker appeal; complete with leather bracelets, skull necklaces, stitched jeans and a tight black t-shirt. I looked around as everyone looked at us, we couldn’t have been a more unlikely couple. I’m all cute, petite and average in my classic tunic and leggings. He seemed the type that could easily devour a tall blonde with triple E boobs wearing a leopard print jumpsuit in seconds, rather than minutes.
“You have beautiful eyes,” he said in a low, gorgeous voice. My stomach did a weird little flip-flop.
He wasn’t much for talking; seemed to ramble more than anything. I don’t think anything constructive came from our conversation on the patio. I asked stupid questions like, “What’s your favorite color? I bet it’s black.” He responded, “I’m an artist, so I like all colors.” Good point.
I learned that his mother had died when his was in his early twenties from cancer and it had greatly impacted his life. He was a father of three kids; he’d married his high school sweetheart, which had ended after 20 years. His hobbies included sculpture and painting. He once attended a six-week nude artist class (as an artist, not the muse). On weekends, he screamed tunes from Nirvana, Tool, Corn and The Doors with his band. All in all, I found myself liking Kid Rock.
After a drink, we took a walk along the river pier that ended in a sandy beach. He took my hand briefly as we climbed over some rocks. By now, the sky was completely dark except for a few boats on the water. Music from a houseboat drifted our way. The environment was insanely romantic, but not nearly as distracting as Stone. As we sat on the beach, I watched his hands sculpt the sand, gently moving back and forth. The pottery scene from “Ghost” flashed in my head. And I got the flip-flop again.
I won’t bore you with the details (ok, they aren’t boring at ALL), but they are a bit too private. All I can say is that I spent a rockin’ weekend with my new lov-ah, AKA Sawyer, ahem, Stone. By Sunday, I didn’t want Stone to talk at all, if fact, my response to everything he attempted to say was, “No, no…don’t talk.”
So, why the blog post? Well, it’s been nearly a year since the big D. I’ve bided my time; took up a jewelry making hobby and settled into a new home with the kids; whom we share 50%. I read the book “how to get over a broken heart”. But what I learned is my marriage was broken, not my heart. And I, personally, wasn’t broken either thanks to Stone’s um, abilities. An impromptu fling was exactly what I needed – and a sexy, out-of-the-norm-heavy-metal-singer/artist was perfect. I doubt Stone is relationship material and I’m completely fine with this truth. Rock-on!
New post alert: this is not one of my light-hearted topics, but I hope you’ll read on…
I’ve been confused about the topic of “women-cheaters” ever since I learned of my husband’s infidelity. Here is a brief recap: 1, Jack and I were married for 10 years, 2, Jack disclosed last year that he is a sex addict, 3, I’m dealing with the aftermath of emotional betrayal.
My husband lied to me repeatedly about where he was nearly every night of the week. He was in restaurant management and if any of you know about the hospitality industry, you know that managers work all hours of the night – especially in high volume bars. Jack had worked his way up to a General Manager position at an upscale casual concept.
His irregular schedule was just a fact in our lives – not that I didn’t argue the long hours and late nights. Especially when the kids were little, I’d fight him on how much time it should take to close down the restaurant. I had prior experience in the industry too. I remember closing the restaurants or shutting down the bar, but in my case, I’d learned how to get out as quickly as possible. I could lock the public doors at 1:00 am and be in my car, on the way home, by 1:45 am.
Jack, however, would arrive home between 3:00 and 5:00 am.
I never slept well on the nights Jack worked into the early morning hours. I’d toss and turn; watch the bedside clock. I’d sometimes call his cell phone and usually it went unanswered. He’d call an hour later or so… to tell me he was on his way. I now know I was probably interrupting something more illicit than counting cash drawers, securing the safe or turning off the dining room lights.
Jack formed relationships with women, whom he repeatedly slept with over the years. He wasn’t a serial one-night stand kind of guy, nope; he slept with the same women over and over. I still don’t know who these women are, but I have my guesses. At this point, you might be wondering – YOU DON’T KNOW?
No. I can’t bring myself to actually know the faces of these women. Jack admitted that I knew some of the women… and this leads me to question every woman we’ve ever come in contact with. I’m guessing a couple of them are from his past, maybe old high school friends. I am also confident that Jack had someone or multiple someones at that upscale casual concept – the restaurant.
One time, when I was eight months pregnant, I craved French onion soup. I decided to stop-in for a bowl and surprised Jack at work. Of course, he was all smiles, got me settled into a comfy booth and ordered my soup. He was standing at my table, being the adoring husband, when she trotted up – a pretty blonde server. She paid zero attention to who was in the booth: me. She grabbed Jacks upper arm, ran her hand down the length of it and put her smiling face right up to his – she said something to him that I couldn’t hear. It wasn’t her actions that alerted me; it was his expression. His face was absolutely panicked. Jack turned the girl away from the table, and said something low. She glanced at me briefly and trotted off.
I have never been able to get that image out of my head; the image of his face when she approached him. Guilt and fear were written all over it.
Why do women cheat with married men? Did the pretty blonde think my husband would leave me? Was she in love with him? Was it just the excitement of being desired by the “boss”?
I even clarified with Jack after his disclosure; “Do these women know about me and that you’re married?” “Yes, they all know about you.” he said.
So, I’ve been incredibly hurt by women I don’t know. I’ve attempted to flip the coin; are they victims too? Did his charm and wiles work their magic in some way that the women were able to overlook our family of five? In other words, was Jack the lone gunmen or were the women he slept with just as guilty?
I’m not sure I’ll ever know. Do you have an opinion?
- XXOO
Dishy
PS. Call it avoidance, but the reason I’ve chosen not to learn the women’s names is because the mental imagery of my ex with a real face (someone I knew) would cause more pain.
So far, post-divorce dating is a bust. My first date was with a 38 year-old dentist. We got along great. I learned about the dentist and his single-status from a friend. He was going through a tough separation, had filed for divorce and was lonely. She suggested we start with a few emails? Sure, why not.
We hit it off during our online chats. We talked for a few weeks, each night from 9:00 – 10:00pm with the typical dating chatter: are you a dog person or cat? What’s your favorite movie? What do you like to do away from work? I liked his responses, even if they were a bit sluggish. I was rapid-fire in our chat sessions; downright quick-draw with my questions and answers. The dentist took his time, but had great delivery; funny and charming.
At one point, he’d asked me, “What movie star do you most resemble?”
In all honesty, I said, “I’ve been compared to a shorter, less thin version of Jennifer Aniston. What about you?”
“I have the exact profile of Edward Norton.”
Edward Norton, Edward Norton – hmmm, thank goodness for Google! Alright, not bad; I remembered the actor from several movies with his boyish bad-guy image. From that moment on, I pictured my dentist as Edward Norton. When I asked Dr. Norton for a picture – I could see the resemblance.
The result: I was excited to meet this man in person.
We agreed on sushi that next Friday. I dressed in my best digs – trendy jeans, killer heels and a sexy v-neck blouse. I took my time getting ready. As I pulled into the parking lot, I stopped to check my reflection in the rear view mirror and thought, not bad for a 40-year-old.
The dentist was waiting just outside the entrance to the restaurant. I spotted him immediately and at first glance thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. How could this man possibly be my Dr. Norton? He was dressed in my father’s typical attire; khaki Dockers, a pin-striped short-sleeve dress shirt, brown belt, brown loafers and holding a beige jacket. The trim physique I’d imagined was replaced with a doughy middle and framed by pale, freckled skin.
I knew immediately that the picture he’d emailed to me was at least 10 years old. And this was the reason I was so annoyed. I have no problem with a doughy middle or even middle-school-science-teacher fashion style… what I have a problem with is the misrepresentation of image. He was not his picture.
I don’t have much of a poker face; our first initial contact was an uncomfortable hug. I couldn’t stop the disappointment from showing on my face and I know he saw it too. My fashionista appearance must have surprised him as well, “You look a lot more like Jennifer Aniston than I thought you would.”
I bit my lip to prevent myself from saying, “That’s funny, because you look nothing like Edward Norton.”
We headed into the restaurant. I felt ridiculous in my Carrie Bradshaw-esque shoes. I looked like I was having dinner with my father, even though Dr. Not-So-Truthful was two years younger than me.
The dentist became unnervingly quiet. He had warned me in our chat discussions that he clammed-up when uncomfortable. At the time, I thought his confession was sweet and responded, “I have lots to talk about.”
The silence was unnerving; survival would come in the form of a hearty glass of Cabernet. I was relieved when the server made her way to our table. Nothing prepared me for the dentist’s next comment, “By the way, I just got out of rehab ten weeks ago for alcohol dependence.”
I looked at the server, “Diet coke, please.”
Six diet cokes later, I’d kicked off the Bradshaw heels and was contemplating the closest escape route. I was resolved to end this horrible one-sided date as quickly as possible. Our interesting chat sessions had turned to idle chatter. I asked, “So what type of toothpaste do you use?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Research says that 4 out-of-5 dentists recommend Crest.”
In a monotone voice, “It doesn’t really matter as long as it has fluoride.”
In all those pre-date conversations, he never thought to tell me he had an alcohol problem? He never thought that his comparison to Norton was a bit over-inflated? We’d talked about everything in those initial chats; in fact, I’d been afraid that he would be the one to stage a rescue. I had asked him, “What happens if your phone rings and someone’s cat has died?”
He’d laughed at the time, but now it wasn’t so funny. I waited for him to go to the bathroom, which was a feat in itself, considering I’d now drank 8 diet cokes and he had been nursing a 16 oz water with lemon. As soon as he left, I texted a friend, “Get me out now.”
Ten minutes later, I got the call. To be clear, escape phone calls are the numero uno worst technique in dating. I don’t condone this kind of behavior, but I was desperate. I slid my way out of the booth, gave my date an apologetic smile and a one-finger – I’ll be back.
When I returned, he asked, “Did someone’s cat die?”
The guy deserves credit for noting the obvious.
“I just don’t think I can date someone recovering from a drinking problem. I’m getting out of a marriage where addiction played a major part. You seem like a nice person, but I’d like to end the night. I’m sorry.”
I have not heard from Norton-the-Dentist since the sushi. My post-divorce dating behavior was not exactly text-book. I’m still learning. I don’t expect to find the perfect guy or match. But I will follow a non-negotiable list of expectations… and honesty is on the top.
There was only one explanation for my behavior. My fight or flight instinct must have kicked in the day my husband disclosed his multiple affairs; because, somehow, I held it together. In fact, I left him standing in the middle of our living room crying his eyes out; while I, dry-eyed, headed to the nearest bank.
I opened a bank account and transferred my personal savings. I didn’t know what my husband was capable of – it was as if I didn’t know him at all, even though we’d been together for 13 years. Everything I loved about our relationship escaped through an open window – in that exact second he announced his secret life. I was flooded with memories – each special event raced through my mind; the times we spent hiking in the mountains, our wedding day, the birth of our children, holiday get-togethers, moving into our first house. Every promise made, every word spoken, every vow was suddenly, irretrievably gone.
By 2:00pm that afternoon, I’d set up tours for several rental townhouses in the neighboring town. I knew I could no longer live in close proximity to my husband. I’m lucky. I had the financial resources to do this. I could afford to set up shop with the kids in a new home… anything to get us away from the trauma.
In the months to come I was diagnosed with depression, anxiety and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. At first, I laughed at my doctor – PTSD? It’s not like I had experienced combat in the Middle East. But my doctor explained that anytime a person exhibits stress and anxiety (physical symptoms of an elevated heart rate, nightmares, high blood pressure) due to a traumatic event, PTSD is possible. At least I no longer felt crazy when I’d run into a random woman in the grocery store. Why was she staring at me? Has she seen my husband naked? These mental questions were punctuated with sweaty skin, irregular breathing and a racing heart. I became a convoluted scene from When Harry Met Sally, where Sally says, “You’ve slept with every girl in [insert town] and I don’t see [this situation] becoming a faint memory.”
There was zero chance my husband’s sex addiction would ever become a faint memory. Jack’s betrayal caused irreparable damage to my trust in the human race – and not just with men. I have issues with women who knowingly and repeatedly have “relations” with married men. But that’s a whole other can of worms – for a whole other blog post. Just keepin’ it real,
I’ve decided to start an upbeat forum on twitter for men and women who have gone through the emotional upheaval of divorce. Based on all the comments and tweets out there, I’m pretty sure there are zillions of us (as sad as that is)! I’ve been impressed with the support and feedback I’ve received over the last year, many through complete strangers on twitter. Of course, some of these simple tweets have turned into lasting friendships. They’ve helped me smile, laugh out loud, feel less sad and, most importantly, know that I’m not alone.
Please join me for the first ever #DivorceChat at 10:00pm EST, Monday July 25, 2011.
