You might start with Oh, Fuck You. Or One Fuck Up. Or even Odd Fuck Up. Today, I changed the meaning in my head once and for all.
I’m a girl. I’m a beautiful, sensual, intelligent, successful, wicked smart, confident, hardworking girl. I’m a mom. I raised my son essentially by myself. I won’t dive into details about my life story when it comes to raising my son. That’s quite literally a book and one that I am not prepared to share with the world. Yet.
For now, let’s dive into this OFU acronym.
I married a jack ass in 2001.
I did not know he was a jackass. Well, I kinda knew he was a jackass.
Yet I married him anyways. Don’t ask. And please don’t judge me. I’m good there.
Fast forward to today. This past week, I attended Tony Robbins’ Unleash the Power Within in Newark, NJ. And let me tell you something – if you have not attended, do. Make it a bucket list-one-thing-I-MUST-do-in-the-next-twelve-twelve-months-of-my-life-or-die-items. It is a game changer in every single sense of the word.
During our 15+ hours together on Saturday, Tony conducted a limiting belief session that forced me to dig deep within the depths of my soul to really gain some clarity on what the fuck I have been doing since my divorce in 2003 from Shane.
Let me tell you about Shane. Shane sat on a bench on Labor Day weekend in 2003 at a rented cabin before the arrival of over 15 guests, including my son, with a steely gaze and told me under no uncertain terms that he did not love me anymore. He never admitted why but I peeled away layers of events that had occurred over the prior 12 months to discover that he was having an affair with my best friend. Our maid of honor. Ange. And I cannot lie, this is what happens when you go see Tony Robbins for a week – you find your inner fuck you. I digress….OFU…..yes….OFU.
So, Ange was our Maid of Honor.. In some twisted way, I had secretly wished that he would have chosen a random whore instead of a whore disguised as a best friend whore. As you could imagine a whore disguised as a best friend is nothing to mess with. In my opinion, this might be worst kind of whore.
The story of the events leading to our final divorce is book worthy in so many ways. I’ve documented the events from start to finish. From asking me to send $2,000 to his mother because she needed rent money to the final signature on the divorce papers. And the story is like a murder mystery wrapped in a drama for the ages. I remember moments of that period of my life as if they occurred last week. And one moment in particular is the O.F.U. moment.
I never thought that my best friend would even consider a relationship with my husband, let alone marry him and bear a child together when the ink was not even dry on our divorce papers. I mean, sure, he walked out on September 5th 2003 and within six months was engaged to her and getting married in a shotgun wedding. I was made out to be a fool and called crazy, psycho, a potential murderer, an unstable human and a general threat to society to anyone that Shane could get to listen to him. Yes, me…a potential murderer. Because raising my child into a healthy, normal and stable human being is definitely the result of an unstable murderous type.
Yesterday, I reflected on something that resonated so deep within me that it brought me to my knees. Tony Robbins said that events occur in our lives every day; it is only the events attached to an emotion that root deep within us and become a moment. We all have them. Happy moments, sad moments, angry moments and fearful moments. To say that there were many moments that coursed my veins in my divorce from Shane and Ange is a complete understatement. And yes, since you ask, I felt like it was a divorce of a husband and a best friend all rolled into one fucked up emotional roller coaster ride.
When I reflected back, my mind reeled back to a particular moment during this time in my life. Like Princess Lia calling out to Obi Wan Kenobi. It was like a live event replaying in my mind as if I were right there in my laundry room at my home in Falls Church. There we stood. After I accidentally listened in on a phone call between Shane and Ange that went something like this:
Not long after the weekend at the lake when Shane abruptly told me that he no longer loved me, Ange called the house. Shane answered. I never heard the phone ring. I picked up the phone to call her, of all people. I listened for a dial tone. And heard them talking. They were talking about getting me out of my own house. He told her he feared for his life. She claimed that she could not spend time with me. When they hung up, I confronted him. He got angry. Shane went from 0-60 in a split second. He was beyond very angry while accusing me of spying on his phone call with MY best friend. I remember begging him to stop screaming and yelling. He raised his hand in a clenched fist at least three times that day. I was begging him to tell me what I was doing wrong. My heart was racing. I was terrified. And in his rage of accusing me of lying, I cried and begged him to stop. And then he did it. He launched the most inexcusable tirade of insults and hurt that no human could endure. And I’ll never forget his final words before he left that night:
“Oh whatever, you lying pig, you’re just Old, Fat and Ugly!”
And this deafening silence fell over me. I remember dropping to my knees that day too. The abuse in that relationship was evident. Yet, I would never accept or admit that it was an abusive relationship. It was emotional and verbal abuse beyond anyone’s imagination. But that day. That day was different. It stuck with me. Until yesterday.
To say that it is freeing to dig deep and get to the story that I have created is another understatement. But to realize that the story is one of such a terrible, degrading, and humiliating assertion is the saddest commentary that I have had with myself. I am grateful. I have finally been able to identify what the fuck has been brewing inside my subconscious for fourteen years.
And now I am free. Finally. And Shane? And Ange? They get to live with one another knowing at the core what they did.
And now, OFU really does stand for “Oh, Fuck Off”. Which is precisely what I should have said to them both back in 2003 when I learned of what was really going on.