I probably would have enjoyed the dinner, had I not been eating in a Greenwich, Connecticut jail cell.  The take-out from the Italian restaurant across the street from the police station may have been the best meal I had in weeks, after spending my summer with Vick, whose kitchen cabinets contained no more than Frosted Flakes, Marlboro Reds, and grain alcohol. 

Vick liked excitement.  He needed it, to be precise.  He'd wake me from my sleep to announce we were taking a road trip, and next thing I would know, we were speeding down I95 toward  Florida at two in the morning, without a plan, a place to stay, or enough money to put gas in the car.  But Vick would find a way to get by.  Between his John Wayne swagger and that crooked grin, patrons at the highway rest stop would practically fight over who got to pay for Vick's next tank of gas.  On the afternoon of our arrest, Vick was chasing another thrill, insisting that we swim under a waterfall situated on private property in Greenwich.   There were "No Trespassing" signs everywhere, yet my warnings to Vick were useless.   

I preoccupied myself with the al dente pasta, in a thick red tomato sauce while waiting for Vick's friend to show up with the money to pay our fine.  The food was a welcome distraction after spending most of the three-hour stay in my cell crying, with Vick in the adjoining cell, getting more and more annoyed.   My crying made him feel guilty, I supposed.  He swore we wouldn't get caught, and we did.   The "simple trespass"  charge would have little, if any impact on my life, yet the arrest was another example on how I couldn't speak up for myself around Vick.

Did I break up with Vick once we were sprung?  Of course not, Divas.  I had as many excuses to hang onto Vick as I had to hang onto bad jobs, toxic friends, and self defeating habits.   I had an entire script as to why I needed to stay with Vick, and in my head, it all made sense! Beautiful, intense, misunderstood, hot headed, Vick.  I was the one who could see through his hotheadedness. And  I was the only one who understood him.  At times, our path felt rocky, but we were destined to be together!

If I only had a nickel for every beautiful, intense, misunderstood, hotheaded man whom I felt destined to be with.

Vick is another example of one of the agreements I had with myself, this one, regarding how I deserved to be treated by men.  Vick treated me the way I asked to be treated,  at least unconsciously.  He helped prove my deep seated  beliefs that I was undeserving of love, respect, or security.  I was terrified to speak up for myself with Vick, because what if I challenged him to the point of him leaving me? That simply could not happen.  I needed him to reinforce those agreements I had with myself.  Besides, if we broke up, that would ruin my script, or at least put a huge monkey wrench in the "destiny" part.

I am a Diva who believes in love and compassion for all mankind and in giving selflessly,  without expectation.  However, I also believe that within this framework, we must take care of ourselves, an integral part of which, is learning how to speak up.  

In what areas do you have a difficult time speaking up for yourselves, and what has this cost you? A raise?  A friendship?  Or like me, has this landed you in jail?  Mediate on it.  Keep a journal and write things down.  Don't make excuses for why you don't speak up for yourself.  Just look at the situations as objectively as possible, as if it were a friend engaging in these behaviors instead of you.  What advice would you give to your friend? And why? Now, try giving this same advice to yourself. 

I do not want to oversimplify the process I am describing.  It may take months, years, or a lifetime.  Change is difficult and it takes persistence, but you can do it, Divas.  You're worth it.  Tell me how it goes, and I promise, I have your back every step of the way.  xo

Namaste, Divas!

©2012 Ilene Evans 

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