Thursday, September 25, 2014
The id Post: Going Home -- My Last Move
The id Post: Going Home -- My Last Move: by Irene Daniel I am going home. Soon. Home to my hometown of Florence, AZ. If you had told me this at the beginning of the summer, I proba...
Going Home -- My Last Move
by Irene Daniel
I am going home. Soon. Home to my hometown of Florence, AZ. If you had told me this at the beginning of the summer, I probably would have scoffed. What changed? I suppose, mostly me.
41 years ago this past June, I left home at the age of 16. I had intended to return to graduate from Florence High School with classmates who had known me from the age of 6. But, as I was desperately unhappy as a teenager, which I have since learned is pretty commonplace, I stayed in Tempe, and graduated with a bunch of strangers.
At that time I could never have imagined how homesick I have become, or that this dusty little town would ever be a longed-for destination for me. It was full of painful memories and a sense of something greater elsewhere calling to me. But now it is home that calls to me.
I'm glad that I left, and that I have been able to experience a great many things that would have been impossible in Florence. Higher education, for one, as well as a chance to practice law at the Los Angeles County DA's office, the largest prosecutorial agency in the world. Had I not gone to law school at UCLA, that opportunity could never have manifested. I learned a lot there and made many friends who will always be just a phone call away.
Looking back, I realize that the success I manifested in Los Angeles was actually grounded in what I had learned in that 2 stop-light town. Even the victory in the 5th District Court of Appeal for the State of California (Mendoza v. Rast, 142 Cal.App.4th 1395, 2006), in which I represented Mexican farmers suing commission merchants for denying them compensation for their fruit, was strengthened by my memories of all the farms surrounding Florence. I felt like I knew my clients' hardships so much better because I grew up around farmers and ranchers and people who drew their livelihood from the earth. This is probably why I have always had a very healthy respect, and even awe, of farmers. Growing up in Florence made me a better lawyer, a better fiduciary and a better human being.
And as I return, I feel a sense of completeness. Wholeness. Oneness. And I am at peace with myself. For I realize now that it was my upbringing and the amazing education I got in Florence, that made everything else possible.
I realize now that, for a country girl, big city success gets old after awhile. While I have enjoyed my time here in Los Angeles, for the most part, it never filled me up the way my desert abode does now. I had to leave it to appreciate it, and I am glad that I have choices in my life. And it all leads me back home; home to my desert hearth.
Florence, Arizona -- the Cowboy Cradle of the Southwest -- is, as fate would have it, my Alpha and Omega. And for that, I am eternally grateful.
Irene Daniel Copyright 2014 All rights reserved
I am going home. Soon. Home to my hometown of Florence, AZ. If you had told me this at the beginning of the summer, I probably would have scoffed. What changed? I suppose, mostly me.
41 years ago this past June, I left home at the age of 16. I had intended to return to graduate from Florence High School with classmates who had known me from the age of 6. But, as I was desperately unhappy as a teenager, which I have since learned is pretty commonplace, I stayed in Tempe, and graduated with a bunch of strangers.
At that time I could never have imagined how homesick I have become, or that this dusty little town would ever be a longed-for destination for me. It was full of painful memories and a sense of something greater elsewhere calling to me. But now it is home that calls to me.
I'm glad that I left, and that I have been able to experience a great many things that would have been impossible in Florence. Higher education, for one, as well as a chance to practice law at the Los Angeles County DA's office, the largest prosecutorial agency in the world. Had I not gone to law school at UCLA, that opportunity could never have manifested. I learned a lot there and made many friends who will always be just a phone call away.
Looking back, I realize that the success I manifested in Los Angeles was actually grounded in what I had learned in that 2 stop-light town. Even the victory in the 5th District Court of Appeal for the State of California (Mendoza v. Rast, 142 Cal.App.4th 1395, 2006), in which I represented Mexican farmers suing commission merchants for denying them compensation for their fruit, was strengthened by my memories of all the farms surrounding Florence. I felt like I knew my clients' hardships so much better because I grew up around farmers and ranchers and people who drew their livelihood from the earth. This is probably why I have always had a very healthy respect, and even awe, of farmers. Growing up in Florence made me a better lawyer, a better fiduciary and a better human being.
And as I return, I feel a sense of completeness. Wholeness. Oneness. And I am at peace with myself. For I realize now that it was my upbringing and the amazing education I got in Florence, that made everything else possible.
I realize now that, for a country girl, big city success gets old after awhile. While I have enjoyed my time here in Los Angeles, for the most part, it never filled me up the way my desert abode does now. I had to leave it to appreciate it, and I am glad that I have choices in my life. And it all leads me back home; home to my desert hearth.
Florence, Arizona -- the Cowboy Cradle of the Southwest -- is, as fate would have it, my Alpha and Omega. And for that, I am eternally grateful.
Irene Daniel Copyright 2014 All rights reserved
Thursday, September 18, 2014
The id Post: Child Abuse: The Seed of Violence; Not the NFL
The id Post: Child Abuse: The Seed of Violence; Not the NFL: by Irene Daniel Last week I couldn't stop thinking about Janay Rice. This week my mind wanders to the safety and well-being of Adrian ...
Child Abuse: The Seed of Violence; Not the NFL
by Irene Daniel
Last week I couldn't stop thinking about Janay Rice. This week my mind wanders to the safety and well-being of Adrian Peterson's sons. Several incidents of late, involving several different players on several different teams in the NFL, have drawn the nation's attention to domestic and family violence once again. And Roger Goddell has failed miserably in articulating a coherent message about how this crime will be dealt with by the NFL.
It's not like incidents of men beating their wives, as well as men and women beating and otherwise abusing their children, is anything new in the NFL; or anywhere else for that matter. Every generation seems to pass through the familiar patterns of family violence and dysfunction, storing hurts forever in our memories, and then pretending for the rest of our lives that nothing happened. What better example have we that violence just begets more violence?
I do not condone cold-cocking a spouse into unconsciousness or leaving marks on a preschooler's scrotum, at any time for any reason whatsoever. At the same time, let's stop demonizing Ray Rice and Adrian Peterson and the rest of the violent offenders. They didn't get that way all by themselves overnight. It took a long time to turn these former preschoolers into men who use violence as a problem-solving tool on their loved ones. And they had a lot of help along the way: from their abusers when they were too little to fight back; from coaches and teachers who looked the other way because they had a particular talent that could create wealth for lots of people someday; from a society that values athletic skills over almost everything else, including us fans. They had a lot of enablers. They all learned at a very early age that violence is an effective problem-solving tool.
I realize that maybe some people don't know what it's like to be terrorized with beatings from someone who loves and cares for you when you are a small child. It's pretty frightening stuff. I realize now that my mother should have been medicated, but when I was little I couldn't know that. I was always afraid of her when I was a little girl -- every single day. The Mexican family and Mexican culture that I was born into was one wherein violence and machismo went together like soup and salad.
In exploring the seeds of abuse, I am in no way suggesting that those who abuse children should not be stopped immediately and held accountable for their misaligned sense of discipline. Most parents who violently impose discipline upon their children are just doing what makes sense to them; what was done to them. Thus, the vicious cycle of violence goes on and on with no seeming beginning or ending. And that is what makes it so dangerous.
Each generation continues until one person says enough. I'm sure that my mother did not intend the consequences of her unpredictable fits of rage, in which she dragged me around the house by the hair, or beat me with broomstick handles. And I can tell you I've had a lot of bad days around it all. It was like living shell-shocked and always on high alert because it could happen at any time, for any reason, or for no reason at all.
Most child abusers and wife beaters were abused as children. And this need for violence-based solutions is usually something we experience and/or observe as children, and we remember how effective it was. And so, when we are frustrated, we may lash out with angry words and clenched fists, just as we observed. I often felt out of control at times, and it really scared me. And much of the time, it's as if the decision was already made for me, as though I was giving in to a subconscious predisposition without even realizing it. I know that my mother experienced this too. It's as though she could not help herself, could not calm down. Without medication, neither can I.
As a survivor of frighteningly wicked child abuse, I tend to be very aware of respecting and protecting the person and physical space of children. However, I might have turned out to be an abuser. I had a gift with language arts, which enabled me to educate myself and learn more about child abuse. I also sought treatment for anxiety and depression and take medication as directed. My mother couldn't do that for herself. In her own torment, she couldn't look at it. We never really talked about it, or came to a resolution about her violent temper, but I know that we had both gotten to a place in our relationship that was healed many years before she died. As Maya Angelou used to say, "When you know better, you do better."
And the sad truth is that those guilty of any kind of family violence were mostly beaten and belittled as children. Hitler's father savagely beat him bloody, breaking boards on his back. And look how beautifully he turned out. And for those in the Black community, savage whippings that drew blood were witnessed by generations of little Black children for several centuries. They came to accept it as a part of life.
Although, the truth is that, family violence knows no ethnic or economic bias. It happens in rich Black and White families, as well as poor families of all colors and creeds. Even Judges and people of prominence beat up on their families. No segment of our society has escaped the harvest of the bitter seed of child abuse.
Children who were abused are more likely to experiment with drugs, alcohol and sex and to act out in other self-destructive ways. Moreover, they are more likely to use violence as a problem-solving tool as adults.
It seems to me that, if we want to solve some of our most epidemic social problems, the best place to start is where it all begins -- with child abuse.
Copyright 2014, All Rights Reserved
Last week I couldn't stop thinking about Janay Rice. This week my mind wanders to the safety and well-being of Adrian Peterson's sons. Several incidents of late, involving several different players on several different teams in the NFL, have drawn the nation's attention to domestic and family violence once again. And Roger Goddell has failed miserably in articulating a coherent message about how this crime will be dealt with by the NFL.
It's not like incidents of men beating their wives, as well as men and women beating and otherwise abusing their children, is anything new in the NFL; or anywhere else for that matter. Every generation seems to pass through the familiar patterns of family violence and dysfunction, storing hurts forever in our memories, and then pretending for the rest of our lives that nothing happened. What better example have we that violence just begets more violence?
I do not condone cold-cocking a spouse into unconsciousness or leaving marks on a preschooler's scrotum, at any time for any reason whatsoever. At the same time, let's stop demonizing Ray Rice and Adrian Peterson and the rest of the violent offenders. They didn't get that way all by themselves overnight. It took a long time to turn these former preschoolers into men who use violence as a problem-solving tool on their loved ones. And they had a lot of help along the way: from their abusers when they were too little to fight back; from coaches and teachers who looked the other way because they had a particular talent that could create wealth for lots of people someday; from a society that values athletic skills over almost everything else, including us fans. They had a lot of enablers. They all learned at a very early age that violence is an effective problem-solving tool.
I realize that maybe some people don't know what it's like to be terrorized with beatings from someone who loves and cares for you when you are a small child. It's pretty frightening stuff. I realize now that my mother should have been medicated, but when I was little I couldn't know that. I was always afraid of her when I was a little girl -- every single day. The Mexican family and Mexican culture that I was born into was one wherein violence and machismo went together like soup and salad.
In exploring the seeds of abuse, I am in no way suggesting that those who abuse children should not be stopped immediately and held accountable for their misaligned sense of discipline. Most parents who violently impose discipline upon their children are just doing what makes sense to them; what was done to them. Thus, the vicious cycle of violence goes on and on with no seeming beginning or ending. And that is what makes it so dangerous.
Each generation continues until one person says enough. I'm sure that my mother did not intend the consequences of her unpredictable fits of rage, in which she dragged me around the house by the hair, or beat me with broomstick handles. And I can tell you I've had a lot of bad days around it all. It was like living shell-shocked and always on high alert because it could happen at any time, for any reason, or for no reason at all.
Most child abusers and wife beaters were abused as children. And this need for violence-based solutions is usually something we experience and/or observe as children, and we remember how effective it was. And so, when we are frustrated, we may lash out with angry words and clenched fists, just as we observed. I often felt out of control at times, and it really scared me. And much of the time, it's as if the decision was already made for me, as though I was giving in to a subconscious predisposition without even realizing it. I know that my mother experienced this too. It's as though she could not help herself, could not calm down. Without medication, neither can I.
As a survivor of frighteningly wicked child abuse, I tend to be very aware of respecting and protecting the person and physical space of children. However, I might have turned out to be an abuser. I had a gift with language arts, which enabled me to educate myself and learn more about child abuse. I also sought treatment for anxiety and depression and take medication as directed. My mother couldn't do that for herself. In her own torment, she couldn't look at it. We never really talked about it, or came to a resolution about her violent temper, but I know that we had both gotten to a place in our relationship that was healed many years before she died. As Maya Angelou used to say, "When you know better, you do better."
And the sad truth is that those guilty of any kind of family violence were mostly beaten and belittled as children. Hitler's father savagely beat him bloody, breaking boards on his back. And look how beautifully he turned out. And for those in the Black community, savage whippings that drew blood were witnessed by generations of little Black children for several centuries. They came to accept it as a part of life.
Although, the truth is that, family violence knows no ethnic or economic bias. It happens in rich Black and White families, as well as poor families of all colors and creeds. Even Judges and people of prominence beat up on their families. No segment of our society has escaped the harvest of the bitter seed of child abuse.
Children who were abused are more likely to experiment with drugs, alcohol and sex and to act out in other self-destructive ways. Moreover, they are more likely to use violence as a problem-solving tool as adults.
It seems to me that, if we want to solve some of our most epidemic social problems, the best place to start is where it all begins -- with child abuse.
Copyright 2014, All Rights Reserved
Thursday, September 11, 2014
The id Post: Oh Unhappy Universary: How 9/11 Gave Americans A N...
The id Post: Oh Unhappy Universary: How 9/11 Gave Americans A N...: by Irene Daniel Another anniversary of the most shocking foreign attack on US soil, and another year to contemplate how we got here from t...
Oh Unhappy Universary: How 9/11 Gave Americans A New Reason to Give In to Fear, And Pander to the Lowest Common Denominator
by Irene Daniel
Another anniversary of the most shocking foreign attack on US soil, and another year to contemplate how we got here from there. It was a pivotal moment in our American history. In our immense grief, we pivoted way too far to the right, in the name of nationalism and patriotism; and ended up back in the 1950s and 60s. The good old days that white conservatives lament at your local Rotary club meetings; the days when white male heterosexuals could exploit the rest of the population at will, without the 'gov'ment' telling them what to do.
These good Christians, it appears, need to be ordered by law to: pay people a decent wage, treat everyone they do business with fairly -- without the discrimination that naturally accompanies their hatred of others based upon their white Jesus, to clean up after themselves, and to take responsibility for their actions and make amends when they damage others. How is that? How is it that they don't already know these basic tenets of common decency? These conservatives?
September 11, 2001, in many ways, paved the way for a new nationalism, very much in the spirit of the Reagan revolution. In this 21st century version of voodoo economics, the national greed-fest enjoyed by the wealthiest of the wealthy bankers and defense contractors, came with not only a huge price tag for the American taxpayers, but a 21st century bloodbath that killed or crippled thousands of our best and brightest young sailors and soldiers.
And as if that were not enough to set us back a bit, 9/11 made it okay to be biased against dark skin, not just Muslims, but Blacks and Latinos too. Let's not pretend that the demon of white supremacy was not bolstered with this new excuse to "otherize" our very own citizens. Again. Otherizing is one of the things we do best here in the land of un-equal opportunity and unjust enrichment for the wealthy and the pale-skinned. Remember Japanese internment during WWII? Japanese Americans do.
And last night President Obama addressed the nation, telling us that, once again, we must resolve to not let them get away with it, not let ISIL get away with beheading our citizens. Our mission now is to degrade and destroy them, and chase them down wherever they go! Although President Obama is, fortunately, much less cowboy about going to war than his predecessor, I am still profoundly suspicious of an administration that says no combat troops, when there are now nearly 1500 additional troops sent to Iraq within the last few months. Don't let this be your Vietnam, Mr. President.
And this ugliness of otherization has clearly manifested itself in the ongoing debate over immigration. 9/11 made it okay to fear little brown children. And call them names and throw rocks at the vehicle transporting them to a "safe" place. 9/11 made it okay to be afraid of people. Any people. But especially the ones that are "different;" that somehow feel foreign and, let's face it -- dirty. I've even heard nice Christian conservatives refer to dark skinned Indigenous people as "the mud races." Right to my face even. 9/11 made this man appear reasonable to others like him.
I was very disappointed to hear that President Obama has given in to the lowest common denominator, as have all too many American Presidents, by deciding to postpone any Executive Action on Immigration until after the election. Why do dark-skinned people always have to "be patient" and keep our "eyes on the prize" in order to cater to those who are uninformed, unenlightened, uneducated and just plain mean?
LBJ and Ike had many a quarrel over moving forward with Civil Rights legislation in the 1950s. Johnson was livid at Ike's excuses that "the south's not ready for Civil Rights." Johnson knew what that meant. That meant that his black employees could not stop at a restaurant or gas station in most states while driving from Texas to D.C. The south "not ready" meant that an employee of the Majority Leader of the United States Senate had to squat by the side of the road to pee, while traveling on business on behalf of her boss. That's what "not ready" and "be patient" means to people with dark skin in America.
We are tired of waiting. We are tired of leaders who lack the political and moral courage to do the right thing and actually live up to our often way over-the-top rhetoric; rhetoric, I might add, that our enemies, as well as our allies, see to be the BS that it is much of the time. Don't our leaders remember that fortune favors the bold? And that the arc of the moral universe still bends towards justice?
President Obama and the Democrats are making a huge mistake throwing Latinos under the bus until a more convenient time. We are the largest growing demographic in the nation. And if you want to know what happens when you push us over the edge with immigrant bashing and legislation like SB 1070, just look at what happened in California after the similar failure of Prop 187. Latinos boast of immense political clout in the Golden State because they mobilized like never before in the wake its passage. No one who insults Latinos gets elected statewide here. Right Meg Whitman?
But it is up to us, Latinos, to show up at the polls and show up for jury duty if we want our lives to be taken seriously by the leadership in our communities. Every month 50,000 Latinos become voter-eligible. There are more of us than there are of them. And a million votes trumps a million dollars. As uninspiring as it is to be cast aside in order to satisfy smaller minds, we cannot stay home at election time. We must mobilize. We must vote!
We have to make our voices heard and let it be known that, 9/11 or no 9/11, we are not settling for the back of the bus any longer. I am very tired of the Democratic Party giving lip-service to its base, as a sacrifice to the Republican conservative, and largely unenlightened and racist, base. Why do we do that? Why do we encourage them by pandering to the lowest common denominator?
The United States of America will never live up to all its rhetoric if we keep mollycoddling the know-nothings of our communities, who cling to an inglorious past. It's time for progressives, liberals and all who have been "otherized," to stop being "patient" and stop being understanding of smaller minds and even smaller hearts, and get out there and participate actively, and even aggressively, in our democracy. Vote! Show up for jury duty!
No more waiting. No more pandering to the fears of the low-information voters, those followers of millionaires who exploit them with talk of hatred and the fear of "the other."
Why in the world is the country that calls itself the greatest on earth, perennially pandering to those with the emptiest heads and the meanest spirits among us? That has to stop. Now!
No more. Bastante!
Si se puede! Andale!
Copyright 2014, All Rights Reserved
Another anniversary of the most shocking foreign attack on US soil, and another year to contemplate how we got here from there. It was a pivotal moment in our American history. In our immense grief, we pivoted way too far to the right, in the name of nationalism and patriotism; and ended up back in the 1950s and 60s. The good old days that white conservatives lament at your local Rotary club meetings; the days when white male heterosexuals could exploit the rest of the population at will, without the 'gov'ment' telling them what to do.
These good Christians, it appears, need to be ordered by law to: pay people a decent wage, treat everyone they do business with fairly -- without the discrimination that naturally accompanies their hatred of others based upon their white Jesus, to clean up after themselves, and to take responsibility for their actions and make amends when they damage others. How is that? How is it that they don't already know these basic tenets of common decency? These conservatives?
September 11, 2001, in many ways, paved the way for a new nationalism, very much in the spirit of the Reagan revolution. In this 21st century version of voodoo economics, the national greed-fest enjoyed by the wealthiest of the wealthy bankers and defense contractors, came with not only a huge price tag for the American taxpayers, but a 21st century bloodbath that killed or crippled thousands of our best and brightest young sailors and soldiers.
And as if that were not enough to set us back a bit, 9/11 made it okay to be biased against dark skin, not just Muslims, but Blacks and Latinos too. Let's not pretend that the demon of white supremacy was not bolstered with this new excuse to "otherize" our very own citizens. Again. Otherizing is one of the things we do best here in the land of un-equal opportunity and unjust enrichment for the wealthy and the pale-skinned. Remember Japanese internment during WWII? Japanese Americans do.
And last night President Obama addressed the nation, telling us that, once again, we must resolve to not let them get away with it, not let ISIL get away with beheading our citizens. Our mission now is to degrade and destroy them, and chase them down wherever they go! Although President Obama is, fortunately, much less cowboy about going to war than his predecessor, I am still profoundly suspicious of an administration that says no combat troops, when there are now nearly 1500 additional troops sent to Iraq within the last few months. Don't let this be your Vietnam, Mr. President.
And this ugliness of otherization has clearly manifested itself in the ongoing debate over immigration. 9/11 made it okay to fear little brown children. And call them names and throw rocks at the vehicle transporting them to a "safe" place. 9/11 made it okay to be afraid of people. Any people. But especially the ones that are "different;" that somehow feel foreign and, let's face it -- dirty. I've even heard nice Christian conservatives refer to dark skinned Indigenous people as "the mud races." Right to my face even. 9/11 made this man appear reasonable to others like him.
I was very disappointed to hear that President Obama has given in to the lowest common denominator, as have all too many American Presidents, by deciding to postpone any Executive Action on Immigration until after the election. Why do dark-skinned people always have to "be patient" and keep our "eyes on the prize" in order to cater to those who are uninformed, unenlightened, uneducated and just plain mean?
LBJ and Ike had many a quarrel over moving forward with Civil Rights legislation in the 1950s. Johnson was livid at Ike's excuses that "the south's not ready for Civil Rights." Johnson knew what that meant. That meant that his black employees could not stop at a restaurant or gas station in most states while driving from Texas to D.C. The south "not ready" meant that an employee of the Majority Leader of the United States Senate had to squat by the side of the road to pee, while traveling on business on behalf of her boss. That's what "not ready" and "be patient" means to people with dark skin in America.
We are tired of waiting. We are tired of leaders who lack the political and moral courage to do the right thing and actually live up to our often way over-the-top rhetoric; rhetoric, I might add, that our enemies, as well as our allies, see to be the BS that it is much of the time. Don't our leaders remember that fortune favors the bold? And that the arc of the moral universe still bends towards justice?
President Obama and the Democrats are making a huge mistake throwing Latinos under the bus until a more convenient time. We are the largest growing demographic in the nation. And if you want to know what happens when you push us over the edge with immigrant bashing and legislation like SB 1070, just look at what happened in California after the similar failure of Prop 187. Latinos boast of immense political clout in the Golden State because they mobilized like never before in the wake its passage. No one who insults Latinos gets elected statewide here. Right Meg Whitman?
But it is up to us, Latinos, to show up at the polls and show up for jury duty if we want our lives to be taken seriously by the leadership in our communities. Every month 50,000 Latinos become voter-eligible. There are more of us than there are of them. And a million votes trumps a million dollars. As uninspiring as it is to be cast aside in order to satisfy smaller minds, we cannot stay home at election time. We must mobilize. We must vote!
We have to make our voices heard and let it be known that, 9/11 or no 9/11, we are not settling for the back of the bus any longer. I am very tired of the Democratic Party giving lip-service to its base, as a sacrifice to the Republican conservative, and largely unenlightened and racist, base. Why do we do that? Why do we encourage them by pandering to the lowest common denominator?
The United States of America will never live up to all its rhetoric if we keep mollycoddling the know-nothings of our communities, who cling to an inglorious past. It's time for progressives, liberals and all who have been "otherized," to stop being "patient" and stop being understanding of smaller minds and even smaller hearts, and get out there and participate actively, and even aggressively, in our democracy. Vote! Show up for jury duty!
No more waiting. No more pandering to the fears of the low-information voters, those followers of millionaires who exploit them with talk of hatred and the fear of "the other."
Why in the world is the country that calls itself the greatest on earth, perennially pandering to those with the emptiest heads and the meanest spirits among us? That has to stop. Now!
No more. Bastante!
Si se puede! Andale!
Copyright 2014, All Rights Reserved
Thursday, September 4, 2014
The id Post: Irreconcilable Differences: It's More Than A Box Y...
The id Post: Irreconcilable Differences: It's More Than A Box Y...: by Irene Daniel I practiced Family Law for over 20 years in California. I have filed numerous petitions on behalf of my many clients. On t...
Irreconcilable Differences: It's More Than A Box You Check
by Irene Daniel
I practiced Family Law for over 20 years in California. I have filed numerous petitions on behalf of my many clients. On the second page of the Petition for Dissolution of Marriage is a list of boxes to check to inform the court of the reason that an Order of Dissolution is necessary. The box most often checked is that which reads: Irreconcilable Differences. After all these years, I am now intimately familiar with what these words really mean.
My husband and I are splitting up, and have had our house up for sale for over a month now. Still no takers. The first week-end that we had an Open House, we were ready to sell the house, cash checks and be on our individual merry ways. Since the house didn't sell right away, as we had totally anticipated, we've had more time to reflect and think, and re-think. We even talked about taking the house off the market and trying to stay together.
We don't hate each other. My husband is not a bad man. In fact, in many measurable ways, he is a very good man. What happens to him will always matter to me. We spent 13 years together, 8 of them married, and built a home and a life together, here in Los Angeles. I will miss all of it, and him.
When we discussed all of our options, and the consequences thereof, it became clear to both of us that our union could not survive its recent damage. Things could not be undone, and words could not go unsaid. Too much had changed. We just don't want the same things anymore. We did at one time, and too much has changed since then.
As much as I am tempted to lament and find fault, with one or both of us, I simply cannot entertain either of those options. I choose to look at my one and only marriage ever -- and I waited until I was in my 50s -- as a smashing success.
When we decided to join our lives together, we talked about the foundation upon which our home life would be built. There were 2 essential elements: a Spiritual foundation, and family. We wanted to create a haven, a respite from all family drama and trauma. And we succeeded in providing just that for our children and grandchildren -- until we couldn't any longer.
Our Spiritual foundation became shaking after my husband lost a son, my step-son, at the age of 23. Just a baby, really. And I began to change too. Gradually, we drifted apart Spiritually, but still found a foundation for staying together in the love of our families. When family became something dreaded, rather than welcome in our home, our entire foundation seemed to crumble.
So, when we talked about staying together, I think we were both just sharing a loss that we both lamented, more than advancing a new way forward. I am grateful that we could be honest with one another and admit that, for whatever reason, we had both lost the capacity to be a comfort to one another. Honesty is loving, when gently delivered.
The emotional and Spiritual cavern between us has grown too vast, and the distance between our hearts too great, to believe that a sustainable bridge between that abyss can ever be even imagined, much less built.
Sometimes letting go is the most loving thing to do. I suppose that's what "Irreconcilable Differences," really means.
Copyright 2014, All rights reserved.
I practiced Family Law for over 20 years in California. I have filed numerous petitions on behalf of my many clients. On the second page of the Petition for Dissolution of Marriage is a list of boxes to check to inform the court of the reason that an Order of Dissolution is necessary. The box most often checked is that which reads: Irreconcilable Differences. After all these years, I am now intimately familiar with what these words really mean.
My husband and I are splitting up, and have had our house up for sale for over a month now. Still no takers. The first week-end that we had an Open House, we were ready to sell the house, cash checks and be on our individual merry ways. Since the house didn't sell right away, as we had totally anticipated, we've had more time to reflect and think, and re-think. We even talked about taking the house off the market and trying to stay together.
We don't hate each other. My husband is not a bad man. In fact, in many measurable ways, he is a very good man. What happens to him will always matter to me. We spent 13 years together, 8 of them married, and built a home and a life together, here in Los Angeles. I will miss all of it, and him.
When we discussed all of our options, and the consequences thereof, it became clear to both of us that our union could not survive its recent damage. Things could not be undone, and words could not go unsaid. Too much had changed. We just don't want the same things anymore. We did at one time, and too much has changed since then.
As much as I am tempted to lament and find fault, with one or both of us, I simply cannot entertain either of those options. I choose to look at my one and only marriage ever -- and I waited until I was in my 50s -- as a smashing success.
When we decided to join our lives together, we talked about the foundation upon which our home life would be built. There were 2 essential elements: a Spiritual foundation, and family. We wanted to create a haven, a respite from all family drama and trauma. And we succeeded in providing just that for our children and grandchildren -- until we couldn't any longer.
Our Spiritual foundation became shaking after my husband lost a son, my step-son, at the age of 23. Just a baby, really. And I began to change too. Gradually, we drifted apart Spiritually, but still found a foundation for staying together in the love of our families. When family became something dreaded, rather than welcome in our home, our entire foundation seemed to crumble.
So, when we talked about staying together, I think we were both just sharing a loss that we both lamented, more than advancing a new way forward. I am grateful that we could be honest with one another and admit that, for whatever reason, we had both lost the capacity to be a comfort to one another. Honesty is loving, when gently delivered.
The emotional and Spiritual cavern between us has grown too vast, and the distance between our hearts too great, to believe that a sustainable bridge between that abyss can ever be even imagined, much less built.
Sometimes letting go is the most loving thing to do. I suppose that's what "Irreconcilable Differences," really means.
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