This blog was born out of a desire to unbox my writing. After working on my memoir for over three years—writing it, finishing it, revising it, receiving constructive feedback on it, and starting it again from a new point-of-view—I was uninspired. I had ideas, but lacked passion for the project which had driven me for so long. I needed space from it. I was tired of writing in a bubble. I wanted to write new things and I wanted to share my writing in a viable way. I wanted to get out of my box and I dared to hope for an audience. I was seeking connection and I wanted to be read.
I‘d already unboxed myself in so many other ways, such as the day I told my parents that I kicked my then-husband out of the house because he wanted to sell pot-vaporizers to help people and that I’d taken him to the psych ward days later because he was having delusions of grandeur coming off of a too-high high. At the time I thought, “If I can tell my parents this, I can tell anyone anything!” It was an empowering moment. I felt free. I didn’t have to hide my truths anymore. I didn’t have to pretend my marriage was something it wasn’t. I didn’t have to try to be something to please somebody else. I could just be me and try to be the best me possible and deal with the shit life threw me the best way I could and be honest about it.
Being a single working mom, I had to continually unbox myself. I had to take on new responsibilities. I had to learn to take care of my household alone. I had to make big decisions alone. I had to try to become handy, something very foreign to me. And with time I became self-reliant and independent. My potential was stretched to new extremes. I began a process of self-discovery, a re-discovery and a re-creation of self. My memoir is a record of that process.
A few months ago, I had the honor to be interviewed by Bruce Feiler, author of books such as Walking the Bible and Abraham. My copy of the latter contains underlined text, starred passages, and notes in the margin, so to find myself Skyping with Bruce Feiler for his current project, What Shape is Your Life? was a true privilege. And there I was, seeing him in live time with the intimate background of his home—he has lots of books of course!—talking with him like we were old friends who were getting reacquainted.
In the course of our conversation, Bruce and I discussed this unboxing and re-discovery of myself. I narrated the story of myself as a young woman in my early 20s, a woman on the cusp of her life but in the throes of despair, a woman whose self-esteem was in the trash, and how one day I swept all my graduate school applications into the trash as well, literally throwing my future away. I gave up. But no more. With my divorce, I had the chance to resurrect myself, to try again.
Bruce was intrigued by the idea that I turned back the pages of myself to an earlier time as part of my re-creation, that I wasn’t simply “starting a new chapter” of my life. And he’s right. At the core I am that same woman, but I’m older, wiser, and stronger. To move forward in my life, first I had to re-discover who I am and unbox myself.
Inevitably we discussed my memoir as it was such a vital part of my re-creation. He was encouraging regarding my manuscript, and coming from an author I admire that carried a lot of weight. I left our interview reinvigorated. It was time to return to my manuscript.
The original working title of my manuscript was inspired by the artist Frances Whitehead. When you visit her website, you’re immediately greeted by the word possibility. I love that. I read a document by her in which she poses the question, “What Do Artists Know?” Her answer is multi-faceted, but my favorite conclusion is, “Artists do not think outside the box—there is no box.” And what is a box, but a variation of a cage? I was determined to start living boxless and brave, with possibility, no longer afraid to follow my dreams.
This idea of living without a box embodied for me where I wanted my own life to be, it gave me something to strive for, and out of this came the original manuscript title—Getting to Boxless. My friend David S. wasn’t enthusiastic about the title however, gently suggesting that it was a bit contrived. After some reflection I had to agree. Nevertheless, the idea of living boxless remained a major impetus for me.
As I recently began to reread my manuscript rewrite, I was struck by how I’m repeating the patterns of my past. Patterns which I worked so hard to break free from. I read about pushing my feelings down in an effort to get along in my marriage and make it work, suppressing myself for my relationship, boxing myself in. Ultimately it didn’t work, and the disturbing part was the realization that I did it again.
My marriage ended eight years ago. The subsequent two years were devoted to stabilizing my life—making sure my children were okay, making sure I could pay the bills, hoping I could keep the house, restructuring routines, learning how to run a household alone, learning how to fix a clogged drain, and taking on everything because everything was now my responsibility. Dating wasn’t on my radar. I was lonely and craved love, craved relationship, but I was in survival mode. My life was a war zone, and I was responsible for keeping everyone safe.
After those first two years things settled down and I began dating. Coming off an unsuccessful marriage where I’d married the wrong man for the wrong reason, I was determined not to make the same mistakes. I learned a lot about dating, about men, and about myself during this time. This is when I wrote my manuscript. And finally, I met Stanley.
We were lovers for four years. The only man I was with longer is my ex-husband. And after all the lessons I learned from dating and reflecting on my marriage, I thought I’d chosen my lover carefully. Stanley is a good man, a loving man. He’s smart, funny, and attractive. And yet, somehow, I boxed myself up again and found myself in another toxic relationship. Somehow, I felt the need to push down my feelings to be loved and to make the relationship work.
Perhaps there was some part of me that was afraid that I was unlovable if I owned my truth. Other men I’d cared for had left. Stanley, like my ex, stayed. Perhaps also, it’s some female instinct, to swallow down your pain to make your man happy. And perhaps it’s even bigger than that—some social female-male dynamic where women instinctively nurture and deny themselves while men, even in the 21st century take for granted that it’s a man’s world.
Ideally, the work of a loving relationship should be fairly equitable over time. But I found that once again, I was in a relationship where I was putting in the bulk of the emotional work. I realized that to live true to myself, I bore the responsibility to stay unboxed. I chose to be heard and to live my life openly, and to that end, ultimately, I had to unbox myself from Stanley. He kept trying to push me back in the box. To free myself from the box, I had to free myself from him. Afterward, I asked my nineteen-year-old son what he thought about it. He astutely replied, “I like Stanley, but you shouldn’t have to stand up for yourself that much.”
So, for now, I continue to be single. I still look for, hope for, that lasting loving relationship that has so far eluded me. And while the men I’ve loved have to date all disappointed me in one way or another, I only need one man to get it right with and to do right by me. I keep looking for Him. The man who can see my expanses, love me, and who has expanses to open to me in turn. The man who expands my Universe rather than boxing me in.