10 KEYS

I was recently sent a copy of “10Keys – A Woman’s guide for Navigating a Successful Financial Divorce”. It’s written by Meredith K. Bromfield, an investment advisor in the USA, who believes, as I do, in the need for making people feel special when undergoing a life changing event like divorce. Indeed she dedicates her book to “all the women who are facing tough situations.”

The book recognises that divorce can be an emotional and terrifying process during which important financial issues are resolved often at a time when one is least able to make rational decisions. It’s a short book in which the author gives women keys to help them at this difficult point in their lives.

The first part which deals with specific financial matters may be of limited relevance to clients in other jurisdictions where both the law and the provision of items such as health care are different. In the second part, however, the author sets out 10 keys for coping with the emotional side of divorce and these are of universal application. She not only identifies the key but also provides convincing pointers as to both why that key is necessary and how to implement the advice she is giving.

Ultimately she concludes that you must “Live, Love and Laugh” because “the best is yet to come.”

IT'S CRACKERS

A hint of a thaw in the air today and despite the piles of snow along the paths, the streets of Darlington were again full, as shoppers browsed at a Christmas market. There seemed to be a roaring trade in boxes of Christmas Crackers. I do think “crackers” is a lovely word with its various connotations verging from biscuits to bonkers.

“I used to be ‘crackers’ about her”, clients will tell me, as I take instructions for the first time. “Now I just think I’m cracking up.”

Crisp and crackly and in the case of the humble Christmas cracker related to the firework version of the same name. In fact so close in genetic make-up that I understand that, as result of recent European regulations, the boxes I saw being sold can only be bought by those over sixteen! Crackers or what?

A CHOCOLATEY COUNTDOWN

I finally gave in. 2010 will be known as the first year I let Little Girl (now 14 by the way) have a chocolate Advent calendar. Well it’s always been a point of principle before, but how could I resist when I spotted one where the profits go to charity; the chocolate is Fairtrade; the Nativity scene is posted on the front, and behind each door there is an instalment of the Christmas story? I’m not sure that I approve of the hearty dose of chocolate immediately after her breakfast but on the basis that the weather has been somewhat cold even for early December and she cleans her teeth afterwards, I’ve decided not to nag.

In fact I’m now going to recommend chocolate Advent calendars to any lady contemplating divorce in the New Year. On the basis that women are reputedly all chocoholics at heart, go on, get yourself one. If it makes you feel better and gets you through the run up to Christmas, who cares? After all, come January, you can sign up to a gym, solicitor and dieting classes.

STRESSFUL TIMES

I’m told that going on holiday ranks amongst life’s top ten stressful events. Yes, that choking, stifling panic that sets in affects millions of us as the big departure day approaches. In my case, with three weeks between a wet week sailing in Scottish waters and a damp week walking in the Lake District, I suppose I should know. Indeed it probably manifested itself with “blog-block” and hence the paucity of entries here last month. However if you did suffer from stress as you prepared for your annual vacation remember that it still ranks below moving home or child-birth and doesn’t even begin to compare with divorce which occupies one of the highest rankings.

Was there ever a time when human life was stress-free? I guess not. Whilst stone-age hunter gatherers may not have had blogs to write or divorce to contend with, the fear of being clubbed over the head and dragged across the plain by one’s hair must have loomed large; that and being trampled by a woolly mammoth.

BEREFT IN BENIDORM

Last week I seized the opportunity to spend 4 days in a Spanish fishing village. The plan was to chill out on a sundrenched beach reading trashy paperbacks whilst grilling my flesh. I am pleased to report that all went to plan although the barbeque effect was hotter than imagined and the reading material, branded as “rom coms,” ended up providing something of a busman’s holiday filled with the scrapes of divorced and divorcing couples. They certainly weren’t the kind of reads I’d recommend for those suffering from the pain and heartache of the early stages of separation. Indeed a health warning on the cover would have been appropriate: “Not for those suffering the effects of divorce or of a prudish disposition.”

But what do you read assuming you are in that position and can settle your mind long enough to peruse a chapter or two? Is it a time for easy crime novels or historical sagas (Henry VIII excepted)?

What about War and Peace? It has an inspirational title and beats “Alone and Bereft in Benidorm” any day.

PEAKS AND TROUGHS

We took advantage of the beautiful spring weather on Saturday to make a foray into the Peak District National Park. It’s strange how one small area can vary in so many different ways. There were, of course, the hills but also the dales; there were areas where there were crowds of people and others where there were none. In some places spring had clearly arrived to deck trees in their greenery and blossom; higher up the desolation and bitter effects of the winter still pervaded. Indeed Derbyshire at the weekend became a microcosm of life generally and as we passed from one valley to another, there were definitely peaks and troughs.

Grrrrrr

Once upon a time I had a client who liked to let me know his feelings. The whole divorce process was understandably frustrating for him and he kept me updated as to how much, by peppering his e-mails with grunts and growls in the way Little Girl includes smiling faces in her messages. Even in the midst of a jungle-like roar though he could come out with little pearls of wisdom that he’s consented to me sharing with you here, like:

“I didn’t realise that a marriage breakdown would cost me twice what I initially thought, nor ten times as much emotional pain; Roarrrrr!”

THE LONG ROAD TO RECOVERY

When undergoing the trauma of marriage or relationship breakdown counselling is often a sensible option to help cope with the trauma and its effect on one’s emotional well-being. Lack of confidence and poor self esteem are not uncommon, especially after an abusive relationship. When a marital bond disintegrates, identity and self worth stemming from it disintegrate too and depression can set in. Some hardy souls pick up the pieces and get on with things. For many the transition back to a feeling of normality can take much longer and support is needed.

For those who decide that counselling is the proper option for them the problem can be finding the right counsellor. There are apparently no laws in the UK that govern counselling, and whilst there are qualifications and professional bodies, these can often be confusing and overwhelming. Counselling can take many different approaches, from person-based to psychoanalytic, and it’s important to choose a counsellor with an approach you will be comfortable with and respond to well. So how on earth do you find a counsellor to fit your situation?

I have recently been referred to Counselling Directory and it appears to be a simpleway of connecting people that need help with the people that provide it. A comprehensive search tool allows postcode, town and country searches, and produces a list of counsellors registered in this area. Each counsellor has a profile about themselves and the site shows which counsellors are registered/accredited with a professional body. Importantly I understand that full profiles are only displayed after insurance and qualification documents are checked or membership with a professional body has been verified.

There are also articles on the site written by the counsellors, as well as comprehensive information on all kinds of distress: from depression to eating disorders, to help people identify their problems and become informed, not scared.

THE BIG FREEZE

It started a week before Christmas when all that white stuff fell from the sky and lay and lay. It got harder as the temperature lowered. Cold and impenetrable it just sat there for two whole weeks. Then yesterday, on New Year’s Eve, there was a visible thaw and at the same time I saw our lawn or at least some blades of grass, as the blanket of snow and ice appeared to recede.

Not for long though. By 4pm it was snowing heavily and a silent, frigid atmosphere enveloped us again.

I awoke this morning to another crusty start, a bitter chill and a vast expanse of white nothingness.

2010 is starting the way 2009 finished. Who would be foolish enough to think a few clock chimes and a glass of champagne at midnight would make a difference?

SON ET LUMIERE

Yesterday evening I visited Durham City where a festival of light is taking place. The Cathedral itself was the setting for a spectacular son et lumière. Images showing the history of Christianity in the North East and drawn from the Lindisfarne Gospels, as well as from inside the Cathedral, were projected onto the outside of what has to be one of England’s most beautiful Norman buildings, accompanied by a harmony of monastic chants.

Sometimes you can look at the exterior of something and see nothing of the inside. Faces are the same; they can show a multitude of emotions, but on occasions nothing. When you hurt inside your facial expressions and demeanour can betray you or you can hide them behind a façade of stone. Either way we know you are aching, we just don’t always see or acknowledge it.

SYNAESTHESIA

“Astonishing Splashes of Colour” is a novel by Clare Morrall whose interests include synaesthesia where emotions can be seen in colours. I confess that I enjoyed the somewhat tear-jerking experience of reading this unlikely tale of a motherless woman who would never be a mother herself, as she acted impulsively in the depths of her depression. Whilst the main character in the novel lived next door to, rather than with, her husband, there was nothing about divorce in this book. I couldn’t help wondering though about all the colours one would go through when experiencing the emotions that can accompany the trauma of divorce. The red and purple, crimson and puce, blue and indigo and ultimately beige, green then yellow.

A MEANING TO LIFE

A’level results today and an important milestone in Apprentice Man’s life was reached successfully. Soon he’ll be leaving us for the distant world of university but today we are revelling in parental pride.

Many people after a separation, whether as a result of children fleeing the nest or relationship breakdown, feel they have nothing left to be proud about. They have lived their life in the shadow of or for the benefit of others and suddenly they are bereft, struggling to give meaning to their life or find a basis for their own self esteem. I was delighted therefore to come across this website recently: Healing Baskets. Yes baskets are available to try to provide help in all kinds of troubled times. You may never have thought of expressing your support with a basket, but some of the contents suggest exactly the sentiments the recently separated can need to hear in order to start the recovery process. For instance: mugs inscribed with “Once a goddess, always a goddess;” pewter pocket charms with the inscription “You make the World a better place;” garden kits because “every flower has to grow through a lot of dirt.”

TEARS

Once upon a time a client was telling me how emotionally draining he had found the experience of being sworn to a statement in support of his divorce petition in order to apply for a decree nisi. “I actually shed a little tear,” he confessed, and then asked, “Do most people cry when they complete that document?”

“Some do, some don’t,” I replied.

“I suppose it’s like the bride’s mother at the wedding then,” he said, “Some cry, others don’t. Mind in my case, the mother in law to be was laughing; it was only my family weeping. It must have been an omen.”

I wasn’t quite sure what to say when he chuckled and added, “Come to think of it, even the wedding cake was in tiers!”

I breathed a sigh of relief. Sense of humour intact, my client was on the road to recovery.

RUNNING AFTER OTHERS

Yesterday I took Apprentice Man to Hull so that he could represent the County in an Athletics Tournament. It was a 160 mile round trip and effectively took up the whole of my Saturday. Fortunately he maintained his county standard and everyone was happy.

It reminded me however of all those instances when clients describe with regret how they put themselves out over the years for their partner, only to find that he or she leaves them for another.

During the day I had plenty of time to ponder and daydream. I wonder, come the Olympic Games in 2012, should Apprentice Man find himself running in London will he secure a ticket for his girlfriend rather than his mother? If so, will I remember with indignation the fact that it was me who got up early to drive him all that distance to Humberside; sat on a hard seat for 4 hours wrapped in a fleece and cagoule to protect me from the constant and heavy rain showers; that he was lousy at navigating causing us to miss the correct turn on more than one occasion; that the moment we got home, he was straight out again with his friends, leaving his kit on the floor for me to wash?

Whilst few would say they expect a material return for investing time in their loved ones, many would nonetheless feel embittered if that investment is not reciprocated. In matters of relationships, whilst we may live for the moment enjoying what we have and what we do, equally even the most altruistic person might feel cheated if ultimately there is no gift of reciprocity and they are abandoned.

PAIN OF REJECTION

If you are going through a difficult separation, you could find yourself feeling tired, depressed, and incapable of functioning or even indulging in non-customary behaviour. These are, of course, perfectly normal side effects for someone enduring the pain of rejection.

For an extreme example, take heart and look at the case this week of Susan Boyle. She was the runner up in a television talent show on Saturday and on Sunday was admitted to hospital officially suffering from exhaustion but with rumours abounding that it could be more serious. She has never been married but she now nonetheless knows the agony of rejection, in her case at the hands of the British TV viewing public, for it was they who brutally condemned her to second place.

Furthermore it appears that the Prime Minister has intervened by ringing one of the Judges in the show to express his concern. Regardless of the level of your pain, don’t expect him to show the same interest when your divorce case comes up before a Judge.

AN ENGLISHMAN'S HOME IS HIS CASTLE

It is often said that “An Englishman’s home is his castle” (although unlike MPs the rest of us can’t claim to have our moats or even drains cleaned at the taxpayers’ expense). So it is that, when a relationship ends, invariably the hardest asset to sort, and to which so many of us are emotionally attached, is the home. Whether it be the inside living space to which we have applied paint and creative thought, the hours spent growing the garden or the nostalgic memories of happy times within its walls, all serve to increase the attachment.

But what if the mortgage is too large, the repair bill huge, the equity is needed to provide two homes, or the living space too much for one person? Regrettably and as a result there can be no choice but to let go. The castle has to be sold and both of its occupants move on.

That, of course, is the tradition with castles. North Yorkshire, where I live, is scattered with proud ruins, each with its own history of ransacking and battles, particularly from the continuous skirmishes during the Wars of the Roses. Drawbridges, moats, cannonballs and even boiling oil poured from the ramparts never proved themselves as total defences when seeking to ward off an onslaught for possession. It's no different in the divorce courts.

IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH

Frequently little incidents in our lives can act as metaphors for life generally. This blog is full of them but here is another instance:

My family and I are renowned for indulging in what others might describe as team building through adversity. The recent Bank Holiday weekend was no exception. It was our first weekend spent sailing this calendar year and we set off with high expectations and the promise from the forecasters of splendid weather. Needless to say it was raining when we arrived and we promptly postponed our departure until the following morning. It dawned bright but breezy and we headed out of the harbour mouth in anticipation of perfect sailing conditions. Instead we were met by lumpy seas and squalls from the hills providing most unpleasant conditions, which I confess finally caused me to call for the bucket. At least our passage was fast and we reached our destination within 4 hours, only for Outdoor Man to announce that there was too much of a swell to anchor and we would instead head for another bay, 3 hours’ sail away!

It’s at times like these that you begin to appreciate how mutinies arise and, for more than a moment, the prospect of actually walking the gang-plank and bailing out, seemed very attractive. I didn’t; we all pulled together or even the ropes, and when we did reach that bay, it was idyllic, the sea state smooth and the sun shining.

THE JOURNEY

One of the many things that I find irritating about TV talent shows is when a participant is interviewed and without exception bursts into tears and describes the experience of competing as an incredible journey. I have no quibble, however, with the idea of a journey as a metaphor for life itself and the ups and downs that it throws at us.

Last Wednesday I began a week’s holiday with a journey of my own. It was across Switzerland and started in cloudy conditions at Zurich where I landed by plane. To begin with there was the mad panic of finding my way from airport arrivals to the appropriate station platform along with assorted pieces of baggage. Travelling through urban scenery there was the highlight of the first glimpse of a lake as the cityscape began to recede and the downside of changing trains with that heavy luggage to heave from one platform to another. My journey proceeded south-eastwards, climbing gradually into the mountains. The spring buds which had been in evidence in the UK before my journey began were non-existent and the countryside I passed through was still in the grip of winter. Whilst snow at the side of the tracks had thawed in some places, in others it resolutely remained, deep and frozen.

Arriving at my destination in the middle of the afternoon, however, the sky was blue and cloud-free; the sun was shining and the local inhabitants were smiling and welcoming as they helped with the luggage. Yes, my journey too was complete; I had arrived.

FRESH STARTS

I am presently reading “The Mighty Queens of Freeville” by Amy Dickinson, an advice columnist in the USA. In it she tells the story of her life particularly following her divorce. I’m sure that once I’ve finished it, I shall be reviewing it in this blog. In the meantime and with the kind permission of both Amy and her publishers, Hyperion, I am reproducing below a short essay that Amy has written

Fresh Starts
by Amy Dickinson

I am something of a specialist in starting over.

I don’t reinvent myself when I start over, though sometimes I do get a haircut. What happens to me is that I embrace a new opportunity to experience joy. Happiness. A new haircut. A fresh start. All of that happens after the crying, of course. Preceding each fresh start there are periods of crying, wringing my hands, and not knowing what to do next.

Fortunately for me, when it comes to embracing new beginnings, I have a secret weapon – several of them, in fact. My mother, aunts, and older sisters showed me by example how it’s done. When my own father, a dairy farmer, left our family, he left my mother with four children and a barn full of Holsteins that needed to be milked twice a day. My mother stoically pushed up her sleeves, got her first paying job as a typist in an office, put food on the table and kept our household together. She occasionally leaned on her sisters – also single mothers – and they traded off propping each other up, encouraging, and lending each other money.

Women, I think, tend to experience many fresh starts. We embrace romance, we marry, we have babies, enter, leave and then re-enter the workforce. Sometimes, our romances fade. Our children grow and leave. Our parents age and need us. We start over.

After my own husband suddenly left our marriage, I started over as a single mother. I raised my daughter, Emily, the best way I knew how, with the women in my life watching my back. Emily saw me start new jobs, tolerate unemployment, and suffer through blind dates. We started over a few times, she and I. After living in London, we moved to Washington DC and then Chicago. Each time, we made a home for ourselves, complete with friends, pets, houseplants, and new job opportunities. In 17 years as a single mother, I learned how to roll with the punches, to make and change plans, and to embrace the possibilities.

When Emily graduated from high school and left home for college, I chose another new beginning. I moved back to my little hometown of Freeville, NY – back to the landscape of my childhood and back into the orbit of the inspiring women who raised me. I was there, ostensibly, to care for my mother, who was ailing, but what I received for myself was another fresh start. There, among my family, I became a caregiver – and, surrounded by the people of my world, I started again.

I was already happy, but then one day joy literally came knocking on my door. He was someone I’ve known my whole life, and after an old fashioned period of courtship, we submitted to our happy ending, and after 17 long years of single mothering, I got yet another fresh start.

While on my book tour, I’m frequently reminded of my own vulnerabilities. I miss my family and I can’t seem to find a fresh place to change my clothes. When I start to take myself too seriously, I remember that around every corner lurks a pack of mumbling 15-year-olds, prepared to waste me by rejection. But then I draw on the lessons learned by a long life of starting over – and I decide to keep going.

A TIMELY EXIT

He disappeared in the middle of the night whilst she slept, but this morning there was no denying he had gone. The day dawned grey and dull; there was a chill to make her heart shiver with a thick frost on the ground. As the time wore on, it was easier to get to grips with what had happened. The sun broke through and she even managed to smile. Then, as she changed her clocks, she thought, “He’ll be back when the days grow short again, British Summer Time never lasts long.”