Author Anne Lamott wrote, “You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.”
In my soon-to-be-released book Amazing, I took a different approach and used restraint in disclosing the events leading to the demise of my last marriage. I’ve no issue acknowledging my failures, but I’ll preserve the dignity of past partners where I’m able. I did write that my ex-husband’s desire to leave the Sierra County Sheriff’s Office – his ninth job in twelve years – was the final straw for me.
The Tim Standley administration was indeed horrible and resulted in no less than four deputies and their families packing. These were huge losses for a tiny force. Every single one of the men who left, I admired. I had angry tears at how Frank Sanchez was treated, and subsequently, he left. I hope he comes back one day. But what I expected from my spouse, after the sacrifice of moving to the mountains – was some perseverance and to hold fast through the turmoil until the day Mike Fisher became Sheriff.
One moment, he wanted to move us to Idaho to join another department, and then he changed gears and applied to California Fish and Wildlife (this process consumed three years of our life amidst dealing with Standley garbage), and consequently, I was done. I had enough changing gears for a lifetime. The Fish and Wildlife officer performing the background check sat at our dining room table and asked him point blank how, after averaging a new job every year for eight straight years, when not a year had passed after getting hired with Sierra County (which was a miracle in itself with the work history), he would apply to Fish and Wildlife. In the kitchen, observing this exchange, I thought, “Welcome to my world.”
God only knows what goes on behind the scenes in a troubled marriage. I don’t pray for folks to stay together. We usually only hear one side of a story. But I will pray there is accountability, stability, and peace to reign in a marriage. Because without accountability leading to changed behavior, nothing is going to change.
The multiple jobs screamed of severe misfortune (enabling a victim mentality I despise), or maybe God was trying to teach a lesson that he refused to learn (don’t quit just because things get hard). I’m not sure.
Three years before moving to the mountains, I worked with a dozen women with a wide range of fluctuating hormones and personalities in a small office space. Four arrived to work on broomsticks. Interactions ranged from challenging to pure hell. My nature is to promote those around and underneath me to reach their goals and succeed. Heather, a former receptionist, tracked me down years later after moving to the mountains to thank me for everything I did when I was her boss to help her move her up the chain. I don’t know how she tracked me down, but she did – proving the brilliance I first spotted in her.
Not easily intimidated and with a staunch refusal to walk on eggshells around anyone, if I see someone being bullied or disrespected, I’ll speak up. If you are prone to caving to bullies or staying silent to abuse and not making waves in a workplace or family dynamic, you don’t want me around. I’ll make waves. I refuse to see someone trampled on because another needs to feel powerful to feel better about themselves. And sure, no one is perfect. If I realize I have had a less-than-stellar moment myself, I have no problem apologizing. It is the chronically mean and abusive soul that needs to be told enough is enough.
I dealt with the office drama at this particular job by going to a small bathroom, laying some paper towels on the floor, and kneeling down and praying. Because strong language — an issue made evident since childhood when my preacher dad was called to my elementary school after I told a classmate to “suck it” (I can still see the look of horror on Dad’s face) — is still a struggle for me. Understand, I have no problem telling mean people to go to hell – but alas, more is expected from those in the faith. So, despite being a mild germaphobe and being in a less-than-holy place, I would often pray on that bathroom floor for self-control to hold my tongue from cursing these ladies out. This is how I endured eight hours of crap for three long years. If you’re in a similar season, I know it sucks. Sometimes, we need to persevere; other times, we need to walk away. Allow God to guide you. Fight your battles with prayer, praise, and worship, and you will win every time.
God is good!
Always!