This Social Network

This is the point in the script where things start connecting--perhaps faster than our protagonist can handle. I received a message from someone from my past on a social network today. She had to have done some sleuthing to find me because I'm only listed on that network by my maiden name, and I'm pretty sure she never knew my maiden name. My initial reaction was "I hate the internet." I've got my privacy settings pretty high, yet not so high that those who truly know me can't find me. It's an interesting balance to strike--especially if you have chapters of your past that you'd rather forget.

For those who have read the Charlie chapter of the story of Bridget, you know that there were others privy to our marital woes (or at least to my sinful reaction to the marital woes). You may even remember the pastor whose counsel almost gave me the courage to give in to suicidal impulses... and to be fair I must admit that he also offered me the sage advice that a separation in order for us to work on our individual problems might be beneficial. (In retrospect, I know that would have been preferable to the way we just ran away, and ultimately clung to our old codependent habits.)

Running away is how we handled the situation back then. Our lives were tangled up with complications--work and home and friends and church overlapped* way too much for us to find any place where we could feel safe enough to deal with our problems. Our counselor even advised us to leave, citing that we needed to have a place of our own where we could retreat from work and focus on our relationship. Her advise led to us renting a house for the first time in years--a place that would not be invaded by the demands of employers we were in debt to for the roof over our heads--and leaving a church that had been a source of demands and judgement in disproportionate balance to support. If we had stayed (or if one of us had stayed) separation would have been the only way to survive. [*The overlap served as a sort of a cancellation of each of us as individual entities--the majority of the people in our lives saw us as a single unit . . . and thus, when they were disappointed by Todd, they would express disappointment in me.]

Looking back, I realize that the biggest reason I couldn't handle staying there was because I would need to really stand up for myself and push away from enabling Todd in order to not go crazy. Todd pulled me into his world of delusion more than I ever realized. He reacted to criticism of our employers by demonizing them, and because people are imperfect, I was able to see the flaws in those he was demonizing and it magnified my distrust of them. The church did contribute to the gluing us together with "till death do us part" expectations--approaching me as if Todd and I really were one, even when I had little to no sway over his irresponsible behavior... they should have held him more directly accountable and not always put me in the middle. But I also should have stood up for myself. Todd and I were bound more tightly in our disfunction than I realized. If they had truly worked with us as individuals, things might have worked, but we seemed to be so inextricably "one" in their eyes that there was no other way. So, we left. We didn't move too far--only about 15 miles--but in a metropolitan area, it was enough distance to pretty much avoid seeing all the people from our old life.

I have a phobia of that little suburb 15 miles from my doorstep. There are times that I have to go there, and my hair practically stands on end if I get too close to the place we lived. One time Todd was driving, and he jokingly started to swerve the car as if he was going to pull in the driveway to the old church. My heart nearly stopped and I had nightmares for weeks after that. There were some pretty awful things that went on in that place, and I frequently deal with the fact that I haven't been "reconciled" with those "brothers and sisters" in the Lord by putting them in a different category from the "real" church: It was a cult--a bunch of self-righteous fringe lunatics--looneys who are not to be trusted.

Then, in the midst of my safe oasis of friends on my social network, a message shows up from that pastor's wife. She's hoping that Todd and I will be able to attend the church's anniversary celebration coming up soon. She says that she and her husband think of us often and pray that all is well. My defenses instantly erect about me. Distrust. Sure you wish us well. Sure you want us back there for the anniversary... an anniversary... what a convenient excuse to snoop around in our business for your own amusement. I look at her profile and see pictures from the cruises she's gone on with her husband. Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous Clergy. They were happy to move into a wealthy area to minister, because the lifestyle fit them so well. It was incidental that they had to live that way to minister to the natives. Suffering for the Lord. Ha! Past hurt excavates the ugly depths of my soul. Envy. Judgment. Demonization. Then I realize something that had evaded me until now. These attitudes toward this couple... are they really my own? Are they perhaps more Todd's narcissistic reaction to people who refused to accept his delusions as true? God! How much of his crap have I incorporated in the way I deal with others over the years?

I'm going to have to pray about this message sitting like a weight in my inbox. Initially, I thought I'd ignore it. Why would I want to open up that can of worms? But even in the amount of time it has taken to write this message, I've begun to wonder if the timing of this might be more than coincidence. Could this perhaps be providential? a gift? a catalyst for my grow-up plan--my attempt to uncover any delusion that is crippling me? An answer to the prayer I've been praying from the Psalms 119:29?

Remove from me the way of lying,
And grant me Your law graciously.

The only reason to answer and reconnect with this couple I've avoided for so many years would be if it could promote honesty and healing. I really don't need any more nice role-playing in my life.

The Sarah Connor Training Program

Here's another analogy to keep me focused when I get impatient about the big changes I long for (especially those I'm simply not ready for--physically, emotionally, spiritually, relationally):

As I was on my two mile power walk this morning, I reminded myself that I'm still "in training." My body is very different from what it was a year ago--before I started taking healthy diet and exercise seriously. Rounding the track on my fourth lap, I recalled how difficult even this feat would have been just nine months and 40 pounds ago. Even something as simple as walking (walking, mind you, not running) is magnified in difficulty when you carry excess weight.

It's the same in the less physical aspects of life--carrying baggage not only slows us down, it also makes us clumsy and more likely to get hurt or even fail in our quest. It took time to pile on the pounds that were weighing me down and keeping me from the exercise I needed. It took time to put on the weight, and when I resolved to start exercising it wasn't an instant freedom... I labored away, little by little, gradually increasing my pace on the treadmill and the numbers on my dumbbells. When I stopped at the exercise area of the park to use the equipment and do a few sit-ups, I was impressed by how, in spite of all the changes I've seen in my body and all the things I can do that I couldn't a year ago, there are still some pretty basic moves that I can't do. I still feel trapped in a body that limits my freedom to move about as I would like to. Then I thought about the difference between actress Linda Hamilton's physique in The Terminator and the sequel, Terminator 2. She had to go through some pretty intense training for that transformation.

How many years did it take Sarah Connor to buff up and be ready to meet the challenge of her "Judgement Day" in Terminator 2? It was seven years between movies, but I believe the time span depicted was actually longer. Sarah's battle against the cyborgs is similar to the looming battle Todd and I are going to have to fight if we are to make it as a couple (or rise above the unacceptable status quo one way or another as individuals.) I don't know what the outcome will be, but I do know that there will be a battle--Judgement Day is inevitable--the day when our relationship will face the ultimate trial which we have been putting off with dishonesty.

Thinking of the training that is necessary to prepare for physical confrontation made me feel a little more comfortable about not pushing for all the changes at once. I've hung in this marriage for almost a quarter of a century--more than half my life. I don't have to fix it all right this minute. The fixing must start with me. It would be foolish to burst out demanding instant change when I don't even know what I want. The one thing I do know is that I not only want, but I also need, to be stronger (in all aspects of my being). As I typed that, I was reminded of the scripture about finding our strength in the Lord.

"And lest I should be exalted above measure by the abundance of the revelations, a thorn in the flesh was given to me, a messenger of Satan to buffet me, lest I be exalted above measure. ⁸ Concerning this thing I pleaded with the Lord three times that it might depart from me. ⁹ And He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. ¹⁰ Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake. For when I am weak, then I am strong." (I Corinthians 12:7-10)

This reminds me of all the times I have gotten distressed over Todd not bringing in a consistent income and providing some sense of security. I get worried, even though scripture also instructs me not to worry:

²⁵ “Therefore I say to you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink; nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing? ²⁶Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? ²⁷ Which of you by worrying can add one cubit to his stature?
²⁸ “So why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; ²⁹ and yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. ³⁰Now if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will He not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?³¹ “Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’³² For after all these things the Gentiles seek. For your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. ³³ But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you. ³⁴ Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble. (Matthew 6:25-34)

I've been at that place so many times: That place where I realize that in spite of the fact that I doubt, I've never had a reason to doubt the Lord for his provision. He has always been faithful to me. As depressing as my relationship with Todd is, as unstable the security (or lack thereof) of it, there is one thing good about it that I am actually thankful for: Todd's inability (or unwillingness) to provide security for the children and me through diligent work on his part has made it easier for me to continue to look to the Lord for my security, rather than idolizing a mere man. If Todd were a super ambitious workaholic, who's to say I wouldn't be tempted to look to him for provision and idolize him as my provider. I can only imagine what kind of strength would be necessary to resist such temptation, so there is no way that I can boast about my reliance on God--I've had it easy.

All speculation aside, I honestly don't know what it would be like to walk in the shoes of a woman with a successful husband. That leads me to view strength as a very pliable thing. It's not a one-size-fits-all sort of commodity, what is a strength for one person can be a weakness for another. The only strength that really measures up and makes us fit for our unique trials is the strength that is custom-fit through a relationship with God. He sees all (even the things we lie to ourselves about), so only He can truly outfit us for our personal challenges. We can't do it ourselves because we are all liars (whether conscious or not--it's the human survival program). It is in relationship with Him that our lies can be burned away by the penetrating light (fire) of His truth.

Spiritual wellness has to be the cornerstone of my search for strength, and although I do believe in miracles, reaching that wellness is not guaranteed to be an instantaneous thing. And, if it ever is reached, it is not guaranteed to be permanent--just like my lost weight and increased muscle mass--without diligence I'll morph right back into my double-digit pants' size.

So I will be patient, not expecting it all to change at once, and focusing on doing what I can do to be diligent... diligent mainly to move in the right direction--always to truth, always to truth.

"Remove from me the way of lying,
And grant me Your law graciously."

(Psalm 110:29)

If it takes five years, fine. Seven--I'll work it like Linda Hamilton, with God as my personal trainer. If it takes 12 years, like Sarah Connor, may I persist, knowing that that Judgement Day is coming, and purge myself of the baggage that would keep me from pulling through that day whole and victorious... and free.

Don't Go Breaking My Heart (Part 6) "My Best 'Just Friend'"

Although the details are all fuzzed up in my memory, probably warped by all the tears, I'll never forget the feeling of the day Doug broke my heart. One ordinary day, I joined him at a table in the student union and, with no warning at all, he proceeded to tell me everything that was wrong with me--in one sitting. I can't remember all of the specifics, but I do remember that he didn't want to spend time with me any more.

Oh, and I almost forgot to mention, a semester earlier, he had talked me into transferring colleges half way across the country. I had done it to be with him. He and I had eaten every meal together since I had arrived at this school where I knew nobody but him. We had spent the majority of every weekend together, and carpooled home together over holidays. Not only was he my best friend, having spent almost all of my time with him, he was basically my only close friend. All of a sudden, in a matter of a few minutes that seemed like a prolonged tortuous eternity, I was all alone, miles from home, and I had lost the love of my life. I still had two more years at that school, and enough of that time was spent in a heart-broken stupor that I didn't make very many friends there.

There were a few guys who asked me out after I stopped hanging around with Doug, they would say things like, "Now that you're not dating Doug anymore..." To which I'd say we never were dating. Nobody believed me. Unfortunately, I did. Looking back it is so sad to me that I may have been "dating" the most wonderful young man ever and I didn't even realize it--didn't realize that we were dating, that is... I knew he was wonderful. Even with the occasional date, there was no one after that, no one who had that staying power in my heart. I often complained that I never got asked out, but looking back I realize that was partially because I didn't have room in my heart for anyone else.

Eventually, loneliness took over. I was trained as an actress, and I learned how to bring that skill to play in my everyday life. At a college theatre festival, I was "discovered" by a Hollywood agent. It was so cool, because my style was different, more subtle than some of the stage prima-donas from my college theatre department. So, these girls who always beat me out for roles on stage didn't even get a second look and I was the only one from my school who got a call back. I remember one of them saying, "Something must be wrong!" hehe

Anyway, in one of the acting sessions led by this agent, I met a super-gorgeous guy who looked like a young Christopher Reeves. My agent thought I looked a lot like another celebrity and so he called us by our look-alike's names. As we were directed in a steamy soap opera scene, I felt sexy for the first time. There was almost enough physical chemistry to get me a PhD! I recognized the power of acting. Even though I didn't know this guy well enough to love him, I realized that I could make him want me, which was quite the adrenaline rush after being "un-wanted" by the one I wanted.

From then on I practiced my acting in everyday life. I learned to pretend that I liked things I couldn't care less about. I mentally put costumes on the guys around me too, imagining them to be what I wanted them to be. At a College Theatre Festival Afterglow party, "Christopher" and I were (as I was later told by my husband who first saw me there) "all over each other." We made out on the dance floor, making no effort to conceal how into each other we were. It was 100% physical, and it was a show, too. I was entering my if I can't get the guys I like, I'd better learn to like the guys I can get phase, and I knew I needed practice "getting" so I became less discriminant about who I flirted with... after all, it was just practice.

It was during this time that I met Todd. He says it was love at first sight for him. I was cast in my first paying acting job at a theatre over 30 miles away from where I was going to college. Being a poor college student, I readily jumped at the invitation to carpool to rehearsals. A classmate of mine who had also been cast in the play said he thought the guy he was carpooling with wouldn't mind if I joined them. That guy was Todd. He said the minute he saw me walking down the hall with my classmate to meet him, he thought, I'm going to marry her.

In other words, he liked what he saw, vaguely remembered watching me make out with another guy on the dance floor, and wanted some himself. Um, in my opinion that's not love, it's another four letter word beginning with "L," surrounding "us" and ending up all mes"T" up. But, it was another opportunity to practice. I knew this guy was so far away from my type that I'd never marry him, but he could serve as a rehearsal partner. The problem is, when you get into acting in life, playing a role 'round the clock, you can start believing the things you are saying. In no time, Todd had managed to un-invite my classmate from our carpool so he could be alone with me. It felt so good to be wanted, and I knew that there was no hope to ever have the one I wanted, so I settled and two months after we met, Todd and I were engaged.

Our engagement was not an easy time. We were forcing something that probably never should have been, and trying to play the roles of two compatible persons. We couldn't agree on religion. He was in some freaky old Catholic cult that believed they were the only chosen ones. They did their services in Latin, the women wore head-coverings, and the priest told him that unless I converted from my pagan protestant past, renouncing everything I had ever believed as heresy, we would not be able to be fully blessed by the church... and him marrying in my church was an out-of-the-question abomination! The priest even said that my mother's long-sleeved 1950's wedding gown was too risque for their level of holiness, because the sleeves were lace and the skin on my arms might show through.

The hypocrisy of Todd's living in sin with me and then marching off to this judgmental, hyper-legalistic sect for confession just to climb back in bed with me was too much--especially given the fact that the church refused to marry us unless I also committed the sin of lying. It seemed we were going nowhere, so I ran away.

One of my best friends worked for her dad's company several states away. She said she thought I needed to get away from Todd and offered me a place to stay with her and a job working for her father. I was going to give the engagement ring back to Todd, but he insisted that I keep it, saying he wasn't giving up on us yet. So I packed all my belongings in a single footlocker and left on a jet plane with no intention of ever going back again. I wore the ring, still playing a role... engaged, but disengaged.

Funny how the other "lunatic" stories I told yesterday fit into this one. Over Christmas, the phone sex just wasn't cutting it, and I knew I had to find a way back to my fiancee. That's when I hitched a ride with the total stranger, who could so easily have made a move on me while we were traveling an empty, snowy freeway in the middle of nowhere. He took me safely to Todd, and I spent that Christmas wallowing in mistletoe and holiday sin. That was enough to hook Todd. I had practiced well. A couple frustrating months later, Todd came after me, compromised his religion, and we started planning the wedding. It was during those tumultuous, but insistent, months that we encountered Ms. "Have you ever been in love?" and ample other warning signs, all which we ignored in the mad rush to beat the triteness of a June wedding by marrying in May.

One day, after I had been married for at least five or six years and had a couple kids, my parents called me and said, "Hey, guess where we were yesterday?"

"Um, I don't know... Where?"

Their answer blew me away. "We were just passing through Doug's home town and recognized that house where we used to pick you up when you'd carpool home from college."

Oh no, I thought.

"Well, we decided to stop by and see if anybody was home... and GUESS WHAT?"

Oh dear, I thought. "What?"

"Doug was home visiting his folks."

It was surreal.

"I had some of our pictures from your wedding and of the kids in a little brag book in my purse..."

NO!

"... it was so nice to have had them handy like that."

Sigh. Contact had been made. He knew where I was and had seen into the life I didn't want him to know I had. In the back of my mind, I wanted him to be left wondering... Is Bridgett still single? What if I hadn't said those cruel things, and instead told her that I was in love with her? I wanted him to pine -- to remain single and miserable in a false hope, just as I was married and miserable with no hope.

I had a sweatshirt that Doug had once joked about stealing from me. I couldn't wear it without thinking of him and it was painful to think of him. Yet I continued to wear it occasionally because it was better to have the pain and feel that there was still some thread of his existence left in my world. Suddenly I felt the need to be rid of it. I could have donated it to Goodwill or thrown it out, but somehow I wanted to make a statement along with purging myself of the pain. Packaging the sweatshirt, along with a pair of earrings Doug hadn't bought for me, but had helped me pick out, I mailed them to him care of his parents house, promising myself that I would never contact him again.

As the years wore on in a marriage that was far from happy, I would think of Doug, and I feel a bit ashamed to say that I didn't wish him happiness. I tried to push him out of my mind, but he would always come back. Hurt and even anger were the primary feelings I would have when he came to mind during that time, but one day I had a spiritual turning point... I was convicted in my heart that the anger was sin. I asked for help forgiving him, and my heart broke all over again, but this time in a positive way. It had been hardened, not letting anything in or out, but when it broke this time, what poured out was forgiveness and something else... I was compelled to pray for Doug. Day-after-day, I would be reminded to pray for him.

Several years later, I learned there was a reason for those prayers. Doug had suffered a couple of tragedies back-to-back. He had eloped and married a young woman whom he thought he knew, only to have her serve him an annulment a few days later and attempt to turn all of their mutual friends against him. Then he battled cancer--at the same time I had no contact with him to know about the cancer, but was compelled to pray for him constantly. I found out about the cancer when I finally broke down and wrote him a letter in which I told him that he had hurt me deeply, that I didn't fully understand what had happened between us, but that I forgave him and hoped he could also forgive me for any hurt I may have caused him, and I told him that I had been feeling led to pray for him a lot and hoped he was okay.

What followed has been a gradual restoration of our friendship. Being married, I work hard to keep it platonic (which we've had plenty of practice at since we were never physically involved.) After years and years, I'd say Doug is still my best 'just friend.' I still love him and sometimes ache, knowing that because of my impatience and inability to communicate truthfully, something deeper that might have been will never be.

Doug broke my heart twice. The first time it was by his rejection and I hardened my heart as a result. The second time was when he let me know that he still cared. That "break" has become more of a melting. And even though I can't express it as deeply as I'd like, and must hide under pseudonyms to say it... "I love you, Doug. I know I always will."

Who Am I?

You've probably already guessed that I'm not really Bridget Monroe.

My dad used to say that he wanted to name me "Bridget Blodgett," which he thought would have made a mighty fine stage name, but my mother wouldn't let him. That probably wasn't true, but I heard the story enough times that it stuck with me and thusly* I've always found it a convenient name to hide behind when I want to be somewhat anonymous.

For years it was a joke, a name with the assonance of a made-up label, the sort of moniker I imagined a bimbo might bestow upon herself. However, recently I googled the name and found the top listing in the search engine to be a respectable-looking PhD candidate who conducts important research. How affirming to learn that even my "porn star name" is wrought with intelligence.

The "Monroe" part is a family name. I'd have to look it up to be certain, but I think it was my great great grandmother who was named Elizabeth Monroe. As a little girl aspiring to be an actress, I always thought that was the most beautiful name in my entire family tree. Of course, when you think actress and Monroe, the legendary Marilyn Monroe obviously comes to mind. Well Dad said we were related to her, too. I know what you're thinking:

Everyone knows that Marilyn Monroe was not born Marilyn Monroe. You're right. Norma Jeane Mortenson was born to a single woman named Gladys Baker. That didn't create a problem for my Dad's theory, but rather added what he considered to be pretty strong support to it. You see, my grandmother was a "Baker" and therefore it makes sense that this little girl, born to a Baker, when faced with the task of selecting a stage name would look into her family history and find a name that she thought was pretty. Monroe. It rolls off the tongue like fine silk.

Biographers confirm that the last name Norma Jeane selected was her grandmother's name. I guess there is a chance that Dad is right and we are related. It doesn't really matter, but occasionally throughout life, I've heard random comments (from people who know nothing of my alleged Marilyn connection) about things I've said or done that are in some way similar to the former Norma Jeane. Now that I'm getting older than she ever lived to be, such comparisons are rare, but I can think of one even within the past month. Hmmm, interesting... or not... you tell me.

So, we've established that Bridget Monroe is faux.

Who, then, am I? How about one more of my daddy's stories?

Here goes: My REAL first name (which I'm not going to tell you in order to protect the innocent... and the guilty) was selected, according to dear ol' Dad, for it's meaning. Ah, isn't that sweet? What is it? Precious child? Gift of God? Lovely? Sweetness? Joy of my life? Well, not exactly. In his own words, my first name, which he and Mom selected to bestow upon an innocent infant, means "a snare."

Huh?

Yes, you heard me right. It means, and I quote, "One who snares men with her beauty." Get out of town! What parent, in his right mind, would put such a curse upon his own darling daughter? "Glad to meet you, Sir. Allow me to introduce little she-who-will-cause-you-to-stumble-into-burning-meaningless-lust-as-she-hikes-her-skirt-up-dangerously-high. Isn't she cute?" What a mantel to be informed of right in the midst of the uncertainties of adolescence--that's when he told me... No, actually I don't think he told me. I think he told a man who had just commented on how I was growing up and did Dad have a gun to keep all the boys away? That's right. That's how it went down. I'm standing there in front of one of my father's colleagues whom I didn't really know, witnessing this conversation about me... followed by a deep ha-ha-ha. What on God's green earth is a girl to think? Now do you see why I decided to hide behind a pseudonym as I embark on my rambling cyber memoirs?

Through this blog, I intend to give myself a cheap form of therapy. Each time I write, I will recline myself on the couch and imagine you, the reader, sitting in a high-backed wing chair, hiding behind a yellow legal note pad, scribbling away furiously. Since many of my issues are rooted in the curse of the seductress' name, I will probably dwell on the men who have been in my life and all of the dysfunctional relationships I have had with them (or imagined having with them, or been painfully aware that I did not have with them...) I think you get the picture: This blog will be somewhat juicy, self-indulgent, and of questionable authenticity... that is when it's not whiny, depressing and morose. It will follow the journey of a small town late-blooming, flat-chested, insecure little girl from the Midwest all the way to Hollywood and where ever she goes from there....


* Sorry, I like saying "thusly"--it's one of my tics. The word "thusly" was introduced in the 19th century, most likey by humorists, who were "echoing the speech of poorly educated people straining to sound stylish." (thefreedictionary.com) Thusly, I think it's actually a very fitting word for me to use.