Small, beautiful things

A lovely woman I know has just come through treatment for breast cancer that included the removal of one breast and her lymph nodes. Her journey has been gruelling and exhausting, but she told me her daughter did a beautiful thing that made all the difference... She delivered a basket filled with small wrapped gifts to ease the boredom of a long hospital stay. Along with useful items and plenty of podcasts loaded onto an iPod, there were uplifting notes written by my friend's young grandchildren and rolled into miniature scrolls.

As well as being perfect for anyone going through a tough time with their health, this lovely gesture could be applied to many of the challenging scenarios we tend to find ourselves in. Looking back, I would have quite like to have received a 'You're Getting Divorced' gift basket filled with lots of chocolate, a self-help book or 10 and sage words written by my sweet and highly entertaining loved ones.

Pass it on. xxx

(Bitter)sweet 16

My eldest son turned 16 just over a month ago. He’s a lovely boy, easygoing and rock solid, with a wry sense of humour and a strong sense of self.

He is his Dad’s mirror image and has inherited some of X’s finer qualities, but is very much his own young man. I listen to the way he communicates with his mates and it’s clear that he knows how to be a good friend. According to my youngest son, he’s also a pretty cool big brother. 

He’s got a few good female friends but, as far as I know, there isn’t anyone special just yet. Right now he’s way too focused on learning to drive and building on his computer skills so he can follow his desired career path.

He’s got a plan. He’s sensible, trustworthy and even-tempered, and gives me not one ounce of grief. Needless to say, I adore him.

Looking at my boy so grown up and secure in himself has made me think about myself at the same age. I was living in the middle of the outback in a pretty chaotic environment, with alcoholism at its core. My parents were long divorced and my Mum and Stepfather were heading in the same direction. And to make things just a little more testing, I had recently had my first experience of heartbreak.

Along with nursing my aching heart, I spent a lot of my 16^th year fantasising about finishing school and escaping to the city to pursue my dream of being a writer. On weekends I had taken to sneaking out to the local clubs. I was restless and frustrated and wild at heart. I wanted to grow up way before I was ready to and left home way too young.

If I could give a piece of advice to the wide-eyed, small-town girl I once was, it would go something like this:

Stop being in such a hurry… Life unfolds soon enough and suddenly the years start passing at a rapid pace, to the point that you’ll actually want them to slow down.

When it comes to matters of the heart, trust that things will go exactly the way they are meant to and that your truest love will appear out of thin air, when you least expect him to. In the meantime, focus on the really important things – family, friends that will be there till the bitter end, work that makes you happy and travelling to all those faraway places you’ve always dreamed of.

And re the guy that just broke your heart, he will quickly pale into insignificance. His role is to deposit a good dose of resilience deep in your ventricles, to be drawn upon at a later date. When you encounter him again in 30 years’ time, it will be abundantly clear that you made an extremely lucky escape.

What divorce taught me about myself

This post was written for HuffPost Divorce – you can click through to the site here: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/lisa-doust/what-divorce-taught-me-about-myself_b_7104468.html

We all know that some of life's greatest gifts come from completely unexpected sources. While having my ex-husband leave me for another woman ripped my world apart and temporarily brought me to my knees, it also gave me the opportunity to unearth life skills I didn't even know I had. Apart from the obvious truths to be learned from divorce – love can die, broken hearts can be mended and life goes on – here are five invaluable lessons I wasn't expecting to discover.

I Can Cope With Humiliation
There's no getting around the fact that being left for another woman is an extremely humiliating experience – not least of all because the one being cheated on is often the last to know. My own humiliation peaked when I realised that many of my husband's colleagues knew what was going on long before I did. I felt like a complete and utter idiot. Thankfully, that sinking feeling subsided after I talked to plenty of other people who had been cheated on, read everything about affairs I could get my hands on and understood that I wasn't alone in my oblivion.

I'm an Ultra-Tough Negotiator
When you share custody of young children, knowing how to negotiate is an absolute necessity. My ex and I separated when our two sons were aged seven and 16 months. With roughly 17 years of co-parenting ahead, I quickly determined that there would be a fair amount of negotiating along the way. By visiting a lawyer, I got clued up on my rights and from that point on I toughened up. In the nine years since, my ex and I have had to work our way through countless issues -- such as my decision to relocate over 100 kilometres away with our sons. Let's just say my negotiation skills have been honed, and I can definitely stand my ground when necessary.

Image via www.masonbullock.co.uk

I Know When to Compromise

Seeing the big picture can be challenging when you're in emotional turmoil, but it's another crucial skill to have when you're doing grown-up stuff – like settling property and entering into co-parenting arrangements. In the early days of my separation and subsequent divorce, I soon learned that being willing to compromise on some things would give me some bargaining power down the track. It's a skill my ex and I have both now mastered and graciously apply on a regular basis, especially when it comes to dividing up the school holidays and getting our sons from A to B on weekends.

I Have Zero Fear of Being Alone
Seventeen years is a significant amount of time to be with one person, and it made the concept of being single fairly challenging -- especially as I was aged 41, was freelancing and had two young children in tow. I got used to it though, largely thanks to applying the one-day-at-a-time approach and being able to call on my amazing family and friends around the clock. Now, I think it should be mandatory to spend plenty of time alone post divorce, coupled with regular counseling sessions, particularly in the initial phase. Retreating into my shell for a year and seeking counsel from a woman much wiser than I am gave me the chance to shine the spotlight on my life and where it was headed... something I definitely hadn't done in a ridiculously long time.

I Am Resilient
There's nothing quite like divorce to put your resilience levels to the test. But while resilience is something we all aspire to having, it can only be built by enduring something as personally devastating as the breakdown of a marriage. Even though it took me a long time to recover from my heartbreak, the experience has definitely given me inner reserves of strength and deepened my empathy. When the going gets tough, I know I'm capable of pushing through all obstacles. Plus, I love the fact that I never have to wonder if I can fend for myself and my children, recover from a relationship ending or find love again. These are things I unequivocally know I can do, which is profoundly comforting.

Word up

I haven’t posted for a while but lately I’ve been forced to think about the power of our own words. Here's why…

As 2014 was drawing to a close, I remember very clearly declaring to my partner: 

“2015 is the year I want EVERYTHING to change!”

By everything, I was thinking along the lines of upgrading my career and boosting my financial status. And maybe a new haircut to mark my impending 50^th birthday.

I obviously should have been more specific when I so resolutely released those words into the Universe.

If you read my last post, you’ll know that my car was completely written off on New Year’s Eve as it sat parked in a quiet street in a neighbouring village. I definitely didn’t see that coming but, after a carless month and a day spent dragging my boys around the soulless streets of Sydney’s used-car suburbs, we found the perfect replacement and daily life went back to normal.

A week later the lock on our security screen broke, leaving us unable to get inside our own home one afternoon. The locksmith sorted that out pretty swiftly and I didn’t think anything much of it. Then my standalone cooker short-fused and died in a puff of smoke, never to as much as boil an egg again.

Okay, I thought… That’s three things out of the way. All a bit of a hassle but no great harm done.

Two incident-free weeks passed before I somehow managed to slam my handbag in the car door and smashed the screen on my phone. Still no great harm done but by now I’m just expecting EVERYTHING I touch to turn to dust and require replacement.

Image via themamaproject.com

Then, two Thursdays ago, my youngest son (YS) and I decided to curl up together and watch a couple of episodes of Outback ER – it’s set in my hometown and we’re heading out there for a visit soon, so it seemed relevant (we also both love a good reality ER show).

As we watched events unfold in the hospital where I drew my very first breath, YS pointed out – in an intrigued and almost longing way – that he had never stayed overnight in hospital before. While he wondered out loud what it would be like to be poked with needles and have drips attached to his body, I said the obvious to him: “That’s not something you should ever wish for!”

YS went off to bed and – no word of a lie – an hour later he came back into the living room complaining of severe stomach pain. He was cold and his skin had a greenish tinge, and when I felt his stomach it was tight, just as I remembered mine being when I had appendicitis way back when.

I won’t bore you with every detail, but in short my prognosis was correct. YS had keyhole appendix surgery the next morning and spent the following two days in a public ward at Nepean Hospital, with X and I taking shifts. Needless to say he now has a profound understanding of what it’s like to be in hospital and is pretty clear about never ever wanting to go back to one again (and don't get him started on the food).

As for me, I’ve been sufficiently spooked by recent events and am going to be extremely cautious about what I wish for in the future. 

Thankfully, material goods aside, other aspects of my life are also slowly being replaced. I’m undertaking a bold career move that should positively impact my finances down the track and I’m currently researching potential new hairstyles. Just don’t wish me luck!

End of an era

On New Year’s Eve my car was hit as it sat quietly and innocently out the front of my friend’s house. The damage was so comprehensive that yesterday it was officially written off, and today my dear friend Jacqui headed to the car yard with me so we could remove all my stuff before it gets pulled to pieces and demolished. 

Saying goodbye to the old Honda made me feel kind of sad. I’ve been driving that car for 16 years – X and I bought it when I was heavily pregnant with our eldest son (ES). It’s the car we transported that gorgeous, blonde-haired boy home in from the hospital. 

For endless months the car was the only place where our baby would go to sleep. On many evenings, X and I would grab some takeout, drive around until ES closed those big blue eyes, then park somewhere overlooking the city lights – eating, chatting and gradually adjusting to parenthood.

The Honda took us up north and way out west several times, and it’s also the vehicle we bought our second baby boy home in… Not so long before our relationship went pear-shaped. 

Image: www.unassumingrebel.com

I shed many a tear in that car as my life fell to pieces, and I got to keep it as part of our property settlement. In the years since, it has safely transported me and the boys to and from our current hometown countless times so they can spend weekends with X. 

The three of us have travelled far and wide, enjoyed the company of lots of friends and moved massive pieces of furniture in that car. And – with the exception of a couple of flat batteries – it’s never let us down. It has even played a role in my new beloved’s life, taking him to and from the airport as we conduct our long-distance relationship and explore my corner of the world together. 

It’s silly, I know, but I'm going to miss my trusty silver steed. It’s clocked up almost 250,000 kilometres (reflected in my tragic insurance payout), and really has been there through thick and thin.

So, now I’m seeking a worthy replacement. Something as reliable would be fabulous. Something capable of holding as many memories would be just perfect.