The Adulterous Harlot

For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be a wife. I loved all things wedding. One of my very first memories is of being a flower girl at my uncle's wedding when I was 3. I had a little white satin dress that my mother made, with tiny Peter Rabbit buttons on the sleeves (Peter Rabbit had nothing to do with the wedding, but I really liked those buttons and my new aunt did not feel that these would have any bearing on her special day). From that day on, I planned my own wedding. I wanted the happily ever after fairytale princess day. The thing is though, no one ever tells you about what happens after happily ever after. 

Let me back up a bit. As I have mentioned, my parents were really into raising me in church and having me read the Bible cover to cover multiple times. It is no secret that Christianity and divorce don't get played in the same round of Apples to Apples. I was raised among so many couples who lived day to day in loveless marriages because they didn't want to break commandment 7, "Thou shalt not commit adultery". Once you got married, that was it. 

I loved the idea of being married, but I was also terrified of being trapped in a terrible marriage. I knew better than to want just a ring on my finger. I dated a guy for 4 years who had an amazing family who loved me and would have given me everything I ever wanted. But I didn't love him. I broke up with him right before he proposed (I knew about the plan, he wasn't stealthy). 

I had not called off the near engagement for any reason other than a lack of love, but I understand that since I was only single for a week and a half before I started dating someone else that it did not look that way. The guy I started dating had been one of my closest friends for 5 years before that. We had worked at several jobs together and had always been close, but it wasn't until one day at work when I was getting the crap beat out of me by a patient on PCP, and for the first time in our friendship we both happened to be single, that he decided to ask me out. I had been close with his family. I had spent Summer vacations with them. I had cried and shared my deepest, darkest secrets with his mother. Of course I said yes. We ended up picking out our children's names on our first date. He came over to my house that night and ended up staying there every night since then, and more of his things kept appearing at my house. It wasn't planned, it just sort of happened. 

5 weeks later on New Year's Eve while on a weekend trip with his parents, he proposed. I thought he was kidding. He wasn't planning it and didn't have a ring. I told him he was crazy, but he insisted that this was what he wanted. On the way home we stopped at a mall and bought a ring. The next year and a half of betrothal was not what I had imagined it to be. His family had understandable concerns about us getting married and I spent a lot of time convincing people that I was not eating for two, but that I just really like carbs. I grew up hiding most of my life from my father and lying to him about almost everything I did, so I also understand that a mother would be concerned that I would treat her son the same way. I have a very strong personality and sometimes my type A attitude can be perceived as aggressive and contrary when I only mean it to be an attempt to participate. He was always very close with his family and it broke my heart that I was causing him to grow apart from them. I gave back the ring and told him that he would be happier with his family, but he again insisted that I was what he wanted. 

We went through the conversations with my father and the Pastor who married us about how marriage is forever and how divorce is a sin. We went through a nightmare of wedding planning that caused handfuls of my hair to fall out and at one point I lost a few toenails because I was so stressed. I painted red polish on my bare toe skin so that my feet wouldn't look so ridiculous. Everyone had a different idea of what the wedding should be like and what they wanted to do. The day finally came and I donned my giant white ball gown and "glass" slippers. I hated it. I hated the whole thing. The day I had dreamt of for 24 years had finally come and I was miserable. I spent that night in tears because I wished we had just eloped and not spent so much money on something that we didn't even enjoy. The only reason that I got to taste my cake was because my gramma had saved her piece and gave it to me 3 days later. 

On the honeymoon we met two other couples with whom we became friends. Each of us had a spouse who was either an RN or PA, and we all just clicked. I remember thinking that 1 in 3 marriages ends in divorce and I wondered if our new group would fit that statistic. 

The next 14 months, in my mind were great. We never fought. We did everything together. All of our friends told us they wanted what we had, and I agreed. I was married to my best friend. I think that may have been part of the problem. It was more of a friendship than a romance. Just as things seemed to be going as picture perfectly as they could be, my entire world changed. We both had good jobs, we were 3 weeks from moving into a house we had bought that was closer to his parents, we had a dog, and we were talking about starting a family. We went out to what was my favorite restaurant and talked about all of the things that were falling into place. During the 10 minute drive home from the restaurant, I learned that he wasn't happy. He told me he no longer wanted any of the above and needed some time to think. He packed a few things and I didn't hear from him for 2 weeks. 

I had no idea what was happening. My picture perfect life was slipping through my fingers. I called my realtor to figure out what to do with now 2 houses hanging in the balance. My gramma took my dog so that I could work a zillion hours. I found out that I would be starting a family sooner than I had expected but I didn't tell him the news because I was not looking to attempt to trap him into staying. Seeing as how I was born with a defective uterus, I lost the baby before I even had the chance for him to panic. 2 weeks later, he told he he wanted a divorce. I was surprised how easy it was to fall out of love. I have a massive support system of friends and family who made sure that I came through the process better than ever. My realtor (who was a friend previously) ended up doing all that house hunting and work for free, took care of us backing out of the closing, plus managed to deal with my tearful phone calls at 2 am. I'm pretty sure I owe him free babysitting for life. Dreamy Eyes won the "friend lottery" and I showed up at his house, announced that I needed to be snuggled and would be spending my life on his couch until I felt better. (I am still sitting in the same spot as I type this. I am no longer sad, but the snuggles are pretty great. Shh!)  

I spent a lot of time worrying about how disappointed my family would be with me. No one in my family is divorced. I became "poor cousin Heather".  My father told me that I was wrong for agreeing to sign the papers and told me that I had better be content with never being married again, because no good christian man is going to marry an adulterous harlot. I got a lot of Bible verses quoted at me, you know the ones. Over the years I have become proficient in arguing in Scripture, so I brought up Deut. 24:1-2 "When a man hath taken a wife, and married her, and it come to pass that she find no favour in his eyes...then let him write her a bill of divorcement, and give it in her hand, and send her out of his house. And when she is departed out of his house, she may go and be another man's wife." Boom! Nope, still an adulterous harlot who was completely at fault for not being a perfect wife in dad's eyes. I was told by several of the church members that since I had now had my eyes open to the pleasures of the flesh that come with marriage, that temptation would now be greater and I would need to guard my heart fervently. They were pretty offended when I told them I didn't think it was so much my heart that would need guarding as much as other, more southern body parts. 

I made it through the next 4 months fairly well. I went on vacation by myself. I stopped saying "no" when I got invited to do something a little irresponsible. I learned to mow my own lawn. I kissed in the pouring rain. I learned that spiders are easier to smash if you slow them with aqua net. My work partner went through the same thing a few weeks later, so he and I spent a lot of time at Pinkberry. I threw an awesome party but had a giant melt down when people wanted to play a card game and I realized that he had taken the deck of cards. One of my friends happened to have 4 decks in his car and gave them all to me on the condition that I just please stop my hysterics. 

As the court date grew closer, I became more and more upset that I would have the title of "divorced". It just sounded like a title that would cause someone to dismiss the idea of a future with me because I had been a failure of a wife. Dreamy Eyes told me to stop being ridiculous and listening to people who are terrible. He told me that I could introduce myself as anything I wanted. Instead of saying "I'm Heather, and I'm divorced", I could say "I'm Heather, and I'm a unicorn princess". 

The court date came. We actually had the most civil divorce possible. We both cried, he let me use his handkerchief and told me he was sorry. We sat there as all the other couples went before us because his name had to begin with a "W", therefore putting us at the bottom of the list. We watched them argue and high fived over the fact that we handled things better than those people did. We went out for drinks after and agreed that over all, we regretted nothing. People say I'm wrong for this. They tell me that I should be angry or want to light him on fire. I don't think that they get to be in charge of my feelings. Why spend my time being angry over what was essentially a break up with paperwork? Church people tell me that God can forgive me for committing the transgression of destroying a sacred bond. Hey, he's happier being close with his family again, and I traded up for way more handsome. On my death bed, when I look back at my life, I still get to say that I married my best friend. 

When it was all finally over, I went to Dreamy Eye's apartment where he and a few of my girl friends were waiting with wine and the most amazing cake that was ever made. 

If you can't tell, the cake says "HAPPY UNICORN PRINCESS DAY!!" and has a tiny purple unicorn wearing a tiara that Dreamy Eyes formed out of a cupcake foil. 

If you had told me a few years ago that I would be 27, no longer married, working 4 jobs, childless on purpose, independent, and happier than I could have ever imagined, I never would have believed you. I still talk to the other couples from the honeymoon. One couple just had an adorable baby girl, the other is having fun being young and seeing the world. The statistic was correct, and I was the one who made it so. Sometimes your fairytale isn't what you expected it would be, but that doesn't mean you can't make your own version of what happily ever after means to you. For me, happily ever after means being an adulterous harlot  a unicorn princess. 

"But you're pretty! Why are you still single?!"

I am 27. When I was 25 I became single for pretty much the first time in my adult life. I had boyfriends/a fiancé/husband since I was 18 with "single" gaps lasting 2-3 months, and another lasting 11 days. Entering the dating world as an adult is not an easy thing. At first I loved it. I'm not terrible looking, I'm pretty friendly, and I shower at least once a day. It wasn't difficult to get some confidence-boosting, male attention. At home, I was on my own and didn't have to worry about acting a certain way to impress a guy all the time. Now that it's been almost 2 years (and my biological clock is turning into a time bomb) I have poked around at some online dating sites and have been open to being set up by friends, chatting at a bar, or any of the ways that one would go about starting a courtship that could lead to the overall goals of 1. Having a non-empty uterus and 2. Having someone in the house tall enough to reach the damn spiders who have learned that they can live if they can get higher than the door frames.

I have been on dozens of TERRIBLE dates, and have messaged back and forth with probably hundreds of guys who 1. Have no business being anywhere near my breathing space, let alone my uterus, and 2. Make the spiders look like loving, adoptable companions.
I get a few messages a day on the dating site apps. Most of these are the standard "Hey! You are really pretty!"..."I would love to take you out and get to know you sometime"..."hey gurl, ur pics are beautiful and u have an awesome profile. Hit me up." (Liars! They did NOT read my profile because I specifically state that I will not write back to you if you do not spell out your words.) Once these guys get through my very long process of harassment and being completely  picked apart, and they still are interested in talking to me, I usually get asked "How/why are you still single?!" Usually I tell them that I am just picky and I haven't found the right guy. But I realized that is only partially true. The reality is that I have become accustomed to living on my own, acquiring my own habits for which I do not judge myself, have built myself a "must-haves" checklist, and found that I will probably end up turning 40 and just adopting a kid on my own, because I scare away most "normal" guys. Don't believe me? Here are some examples:

I like food, but I don't like flavor. I could eat buttered noodles every day for the rest of my life and probably be happy about it. This doesn't seem like a big deal until you want to get take-out and have to exclude the places on my "uses too much flavor" list. (Yes, that is a real list that lives in my phone)

One day a male friend of mine and I went for a walk. He made sure that I was always on the inside of the sidewalk. Now when I walk anywhere with a guy and they DON'T do this, they are immediately cast off of my potential uterine-filling list. (Also a real list)

I like Disney movies, mostly Disney princesses A LOT. I have most of the costumes in my closet, most of my non-workday outfits have some type of princess theme, and I can answer almost any text in a Disney princess screen cap. I have turned down a date with an otherwise pretty decent appearing guy because he would not admit that Mulan was not a princess! 

Also, here's how I met a friend of mine...

Me: Hi! I'm Heather. 

Sean: I know. 

Me: How did you know that?!

Sean: You are dressed like a princess, I thought Joe was kidding about you. 

I do not handle being hungry well. Anyone who has ever been my partner at work knows that if I start to get cranky, get me a snack.

I am a very aggressive cuddler. Well, normal when I'm awake, but sleepy Heather is a different story. If you would like to escape the grasp of sleepy Heather's cuddles, I have been told that it takes an Indiana Jones style process of replacing yourself with several pillows.

I don't like to be tickled. Ever. If you tickle me, courtship time is over.

If we are doing partner workouts at crossfit, I like to pair with a girl wearing make up, because I can usually lift a little more than she can, and that makes me feel like a badass.

Sometimes if I'm lonely and binge shopping online I check the gift wrap option because I like getting presents.

I am really, really paranoid about bathroom habits. When I was married I used to look forward to days when he had a longer shift than I did so that I could poop in a house without anyone possibly even walking past the bathroom door. Now that I live alone, my life is freaking amazing.

I want to be snuggled, but not when I'm doing something important like eating my fries before all the cheese and gravy become coagulated. Back off.

When I decide on something I want to eat, and for some reason I can't get that thing, instant tears. Not because I'm bratty, but sometimes that might have been the only thing that didn't make me want to vomit. My body is kind of a wonderland.

I think pink camouflage is dumb. No one is having a Mary Kay party in the woods.

When I get stressed I like to pick things. Mostly the endless options of zits on my face, but I'm trying to quit that, so that means if any guy is shirtless and within arms' reach, I am going to pick at their gross back zits. Note: I am growing as a person and have learned to ask permission first.
(I mentioned this to my doctor and it seems this is an actual thing and it's call "excoriation", which is a fancy way of saying that I self-mutilate my face when life gets too rough. I told my mother and she said that I have done this since I was a toddler. So you know, I have always been super normal.)

If you ask me "what do you want to watch?" We are going to watch Dr Horrible's sing along blog and I am going to sing all of the songs. If you are not interested in learning the male vocals, I am not interested in your sperm.

I don't like when guys do something on a first date that they aren't planning on doing for the rest of my freakin life. Either open my car door forever, or don't do it at all. (Hint: if you do open my car door for me, while you walk around the front, I get to check out your butt, and you get to fart without me noticing. Win-win)

Babies = squishies. If you tell me that you have seen a squishy today, you had better be prepared to give me every detail of your interaction, or shut your stupid face.

I am very close with my girlfriends. We are comfortable with each other and have no problem greeting each other with a kiss. It's not for your pleasure, and no, if it went further, you couldn't watch.

I can't fall asleep happily when there is silence. I prefer the TV to be on, or at least the radio. Comedy stations are preferred because sometimes songs will spark a deeply hidden memory and set me off on a road straight to nightmare town.

Coffee makes me very, very, very happy. Sometimes I don't have to drink it, I just hold the cup close to me. It's like a security blanket kind of deal.

I think matching socks is a waste of my life. If you want your socks matched, that is your problem. If you match my socks, I apparently get upset. Stop wasting your life matching MY socks and/or trying to figure out why that upsets me.

I snore.

I have mostly male friends and we all work ridiculous shifts. If you are insecure about me texting any of them back at random hours of the day, you need to stop that and see yourself out.

If I say "I don't want shots" and you insist that I join you in doing them anyway, I promise you that you will have to deal with vomit and tears very soon.

I vomit when I'm stressed, tired, excited, too hungry, have been moved somewhere too quickly, have thought about something unpleasant, or have smelled something that I don't like. I wasn't kidding about this wonderland.

I get really grateful when given a present. I usually cry and give you a Miss America style speech about how I don't deserve it.

Speaking of that, I cry a whole bunch. Usually there is no warning. Just tears. Sometimes I am as surprised as you are. I have a very fine line of rage-to-sympathy for others. One can never be sure day to day where I'm going to fall on that line.

There are two types of people in this world. People who admit they pee in the shower, and liars.

I have adapted to my own level of clean and comfortable. If there is something sticky on a handle, I can adapt for weeks of touching the other parts of the handle instead of wiping it off.

Dirty clothes live in the washer, clean clothes live in the dryer. Easy.

If I say something affectionate and you say "thank you" instead of saying something affectionate in return, I have a really hard time accepting that. I admit, this one's on me. But I don't like it.

I don't mind being corrected if I am wrong, because I enjoy learning. But, if the point you are making is invalid and/or poorly presented, I'm all set and it is going to be quiet time.

Sometimes when I get sad I put on a giant puffy dress, pour a bottle sized glass of wine and watch Dirty Dancing until I feel happy again. Or until I have to go to work.

I like Death Cab for Cutie. However, that CD is too sad to live in the house. It lives in the car. If I am eating an egg roll in my driveway it's because the CD isn't over yet and I got hungry. Mind your own business, you nosey-ass bicyclists.

I usually only have to list a few of these before they either 1. Stop talking to me, or 2. Tell me they don't find any of that to me a potential problem and I decide that they are hiding a whole mess of their own personality that I don't need.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have some Netflix to watch in my princess dress while eating nachos and using my mismatched socks as napkins because the paper towels are in the basement, and the spiders have claimed those as their own.

Socialization beyond siblings

   If you were to ask any homeschooled kid what the reaction is when people learn that they are homeschooled, I would be willing to bet that 9 out of 10 times the answer will be the same: "But what about socialization?!"

    I cannot begin to tell you how many times I was asked this same question throughout my childhood, and even more so in my teens. As a child, this question was mostly directed at my mother, but as I got older I learn to parrot the answers that should be said to "the world".
There was a standard group of responses that all of my friends and I had learned:
"Our siblings are our best friends."

"We are able to be MORE social than children who are grouped by grade and only learn to interact with those in their age group. We can start a conversation with ANYONE!"

If I was feeling snotty: "I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

"We have the option to join any of the sports or social clubs at the public school, if we choose to do so. We just don't feel that is necessary for our education."

"You should see how many pen pals I have! I meet them at our massive conferences once a year. It is like socialization overload!"

"I talk to hundreds of people each week about crucial matters, such as where they will spend eternity, not who wore the same outfit twice in a week (please, we all had quite the assortment of jean jumpers). Speaking of which, if you were to die right now, do you know without a doubt that you would go to Heaven?"

"Sometimes I talk to the bill collectors while I am waiting for my mom to get to the phone."

 I remember going to dance class when I was about 4 and sitting on the bench with all the moms. I hated sitting on the floor with the girls. Barney was a terrible influence and only encouraged disobedience and whining.  I had no desire to sing his ridiculous clean-up song, nor to make cheap looking crafts out of that bottomless bag. The moms offered more. I liked discussing their thoughts on when they would be potty training their youngest, when they should force veggies or just cave and let my friend have chocolate, or overcoming our addictions. They smoked, I sucked my thumb. We worked on it together.  

  I'm sure you all share the memory of being made to play with the kids of your parents' friends. These kids ranged from kids who ate soap to kids who would leave me in their rooms while they snuck out the fire escape to go play with their "real friends". It's ok, I read their diaries while they were gone.

   I did make a best friend all on my own when I was 5. Liz, who lived next door to my grandma. Even though we met when we were 5, it was one of the best choices I have made. Now when I get to see her (maybe twice a year) it is like only 10 minutes have passed. I don't know what I would have done without Liz. She was my magic mirror, my only window to the outside world. I got to hang out with her school friends sometimes, but I never really fit in with them.

  ATI pushed the sibling-being-your-best-friend thing hard (other than Jesus, of course). You were supposed to take a sibling (and Jesus) on any date you went on. What I find really interesting now as an adult is how differently I see verses or passages than when I originally heard or read them growing up. ATI claims to be based completely on scripture. It is, if you pick the parts that match what they want taught. As I write this, one of my Sunday school memory verses popped into my head:  Prov. 18:24 "A man that hath friends must show himself friendly: and there is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother."
God doesn't even expect your siblings to be your best friends! We were meant to get out there, be part of a team, or drama club, or where you can have a common bond over something.
The sibling-friend plan worked better for the other homeschoolers.  They all had 6-15 siblings. With that many kids running around, one is bound to click with you. I have one sister and she is 7 years younger than I am. It's difficult for a 12 year old to be best friends with a 5 year old. Even now at 20 and 27, while it is much easier to talk to her and I consider us very close, we are at totally different places in our lives. I love her more than anyone I have ever loved. I would take down anyone who makes her sad (except for me of course. When I make her cry I usually have convinced myself that she needed to hear whatever it was I said. I am admittedly a bit narcissistic). I would do anything within my power to make her happy, and I would rather die before I see her suffer.  She is the most caring, sympathetic person I know. We are able to talk about anything and have no boundaries. Hey, when life gets rough and you have surgery that prohibits you from bathing, you end up very grateful for that kind of sister. I also plan on being the one to deliver her children.
That being said, we are completely opposite people. We drive each other absolutely crazy (I asked her if it was okay to write about this and she took mere moments to agree). Our mother probably is not thrilled with still having to play peacemaker when we want to rip out each other's hair. We have always been opposite. Growing up I was the most outgoing child you could meet. I talked to anyone who I could make listen to me. My sister did not. She learned to talk and developed at a normal age, but she would only talk to members of our immediate family, and eventually a very select few close family friends. "Shy" didn't describe her level of quiet when we were around people who were not on her "talking list". In Sunday school she had one little girl who she would talk to, and she would whisper to that girl if she needed anything and the girl would relay the message for her.
Our mother was my sister's main voice until she was about 10. I tend not to be a very understanding person, and being as outgoing as I was, I refused to speak for my sister. If she wouldn't order her own food, she would have to stay hungry. My mother must have been asked hundreds of times what was wrong with my sister. In our homeschool world, this behavior wasn't odd. Most families had at least one kid like that and they had a "buddy" who would speak for them. If we had been in a school setting, I know that she would have needed to speak to people outside of her comfort zone long before age 10. I'm not sure what changed, but now she is the most social person you'll meet. She will talk to anyone, and she developed a boldness she never had. I can't tell you how proud I am of her for that.
Our cousins were also homeschooled, but I feel like the age differences, and now geographical differences kept us from forming as close of a bond as we could have.

 I didn't realize why everyone focused SO much on wanting me to be social! To me, I didn't notice that being partially isolated would ever be an issue. It bothers me that ATI was so focused on keeping us in our homes with our siblings and not having many outside friends. If we did have outside friends, they needed to be "like-minded". We were to "live in the world and not of it". If we had friends who believed something different than what we did, God did not want us the have them as friends.  Liz was not "like-minded". She listened to popular music, went to movies, had sleepovers, wore the clothes that were in style, and got a tattoo when she turned 18 (I also have one now) but she was good at being supportive and not making fun of my sheltered ways. She would include me in her normal activities as much as she could.

 Socialization is not something that is optional! It is key to our survival. People crave human bonding and closeness. We form alliances. We build social circles over any common bond, as you can prove by a few quick internet searches. Before writing this, I gave it a try. I searched dozens of different activities, interests, even the most bizarre topics I could think of and asked "does anyone else...?" (Note: this is an ill-advised search if you have been left alone with a Bloody Mary).
No matter what you like or type of person you are, there is someone out there who shares that and desires that feeling of not being alone in the world.  Now that I'm taking psych classes for college (yes, I'm studying something that has nothing to do with ironing my husband's shirts while wearing pearls!) I see how people who have been placed in isolation suffer severe mental illnesses and some who are isolated from childhood never recover.
It is even Biblical. From the very beginning, it was "not good for man to be alone"!

  Although I am very outgoing I had a LOT of trouble adjusting when I made my way out into the world. I still have an issue with my brain-to-mouth filter and have no problem sharing anything and everything. I made several enemies before I made friends. It was awful trying to learn my place in social circles and learning when I should be quiet and mind my own business.  I had no idea how to handle conflict in a friendly setting. I was picked on almost constantly. I was usually left out of parties and even church activities because I was weird. I know that not all homeschoolers have the same social handicap. Mine however set me very far back. I looked back over my diaries that I kept when I was about 14 or 15, back when A.I.M. was the greatest way for a kid stuck in the house to talk to friends! I can see now the huge desire for socialization and that I had been trying to assure myself that I had friends. Each entry that I wrote in my diary ends with a list of every person I had talked to that day.

  If you met me now you would never guess that I had been sheltered. You would not think that I had a problem functioning in society. I have friends who have been my friends for years because when I met them I told then that we are going to be friends, because I like them, and that's just it.  I don't have acquaintances, I have best friends. (One of whom will read this and tell me that I clearly don't know what "best" means). I don't take a single one of them for granted. Each one brings something to my life that another cannot. They have been there when my world was falling down around me, they have saved my life, carried me when I was broken (literally), shared the happiest moments, and no amount of distance or time can change our bonds.

    Oddly enough, as defensive as I was about it when I was growing up, I now see lack of socialization as one of the biggest downsides of homeschooling. There are some milestones in life that you just don't face when you are home. I had my first bully at 20. I didn't have to learn to share very much. I didn't play at recess. I didn't trade my lunch. I didn't stress over a prom date. You may think it sounds silly, but I wish I did those things. 

The poor bill collectors probably wish I had as well.