“If you have to tell someone you hate them…tell me.”

My "authentic self" is a man I reconnected with on the path, cut by life, through my divorce. 10 years of simping hid him in the back rooms of my mind, but I caught a glimpse of him just as a version of me was being gutted in a river, by the sharp words of my wife. “You are nothing, nothing but a disappointment and a loser.”…and then some. I didn’t know how to let him lead the show but this deadly baptism got him to come to the front.

Now, he’s at the helm wearing a T-shirt that reads, "NEVER SIMP" on the front and “NOT JADED BUT HAVE BOUNDARIES” on the back.

“Doing divorce well is having two broken ankles and dancing gracefully without a grimace - no one can do. It's death and it must be grieved.” A wise man told me this after I initiated the dismantling of my family, his words protected me from reducing myself to a failure.

Making the choice to file was not the Isaac I knew. I never would have believed it if someone had told me, “Isaac you will file for divorce one day.”

No fucking way, but I did.

We were married for almost 10 years and have the two most incredible children, J&S, but I needed to end our current status quo because if I hadn’t, perhaps, I would have joined the "dead me" in the river's current.

So…

Our kids would join the broken home statistics we knew they would never fall into. Judgment is an asshole and the bitchslap of humility stings like a motherfucker, but sometimes that is what is required to cut the dead weight.

The first time I actually stood on my authentic legs and recognized them as such, was in the middle of an afternoon argument. It was a beautiful sunny summer day, and our kids were getting to witness, yet again, their father being sliced and diced by a verbal Samurai - to this day she is the most deadly person I have met by way of the slippery blade - then having a bathroom door slammed into him so hard that all three hinges ripped from the splintered door frame. It was epic! Epically sad for the kids, but epically important for me. Such an extreme outburst got me to stand up, first for our children, then for me.

Our children were stunned. I was stunned and I believe she was too.

It didn’t hurt, physically, when the door hit me. In fact, it reminded I am strong as fuck and not just in my body. I was also reminded of how ready I am to protect myself effectively because as she lunged at me, her face looked like a wild animal. And I simply raised my shoulders, lowered my head, braced my lead leg, then lifted my arms to take the blow on my outer 90s, Tony Blauer would be so proud. I later learned that the ability to have our emotional brain triggered (Fight, Flight, and Freeze), and then quickly switch back into executive thinking was a sign of a healthy brain. Who I am now is someone who knows this about himself and can stand calmly in situations where other peoples’ traumas are manifesting.

My former wife is an Olympian of a human being, but she did have horrendous childhood traumas that I never even knew were possible until I was a man. If I had the shit that happened to her happen to me, I would either be dead or locked up. I hold special empathy for her and know she has been on a long healing journey. I am no victim, I just like to keep what happened accurate. If she read this she would deny all of it. Truth, when fully present we all are humbled by it. This is from my POV.

After the door fell to the ground she proceeded to make her attempt at reducing me down to "You are not even a man! You are not worthy of me. You are not worthy of my energy."

The worthiness line still plays in my head from time to time when I am in a low spot, but my response on the day was amazing. To my surprise, I made a statement that was a line straight from a film.

“Hey, you are shadow boxing a man that is no longer in the room with you. The Isaac you are looking for is dead, you killed him in the Delaware River three months ago. You no longer have access to my inner sanctum for good or bad. And...you are fixing this door.”

I ended up fixing the door with our son the next day.

I stayed so calm, which I have always been able to do, but this was different. This time I was standing on two powerful legs that could hold the weight of the world. I was not questioning my boundaries nor was I willing to take the attack as something I deserved. In the past, I would allow myself to be the sole person to blame for all issues in our marriage. Gaslighting had lost its effect. The word worthiness used in this context threw me off.

“Worthy.” I see homeless people who I know many people see as less than human and I always see myself in them. “Worthy?”

I told her, “I never consider anyone unworthy of me.” I felt the pain of the words, but I didn’t take them as my truth anymore. This new self could see this was no longer about her and me.

I should add that 6 weeks before this I had a vasectomy that I was told was, “a waste”. Yikes! Having my balls cut ironically made me reclaim them. To be awake, to smell your burning flesh from a laser, and to know your balls are exposed to the air will forever change you. Like I said, yikes!

There were many other situations where my reclaimed self identity impressed me. I was filming at Public Arts underneath the Public Hotel in October of 2018, and a guy came up to me and grabbed my camera.

"What the fuck are you filming? I will break this fucking camera."

I look at him and tell him:"I cannot tell if you are being serious or funny."

"Do I look like I am being funny?!"

I calmly lean in and tell him the truth. "I feed my son and my daughter with this camera, and if you don't let go you are threatening my children."

I put my hand out and literally stole a moment from The Departed. I told him I was not shaking in my boots over here.

Then the bouncer and another patron got in between us and set the guy straight. After a woman came up to me and pulled me aside. "I have never in my life seen someone stay so calm before."

I told her my marriage taught me how to stay calm.

Another time was when I had J&S and it was time to leave the park. By this time, I had already filed and she had moved out. Our daughter was on my shoulders crying because she didn't want to leave, and my son ran away from me into the park. I told him he had to come out, and we had to leave. J, age 6 at the time, ran up to me screaming "I hate you! I hate you!” He then came up to me and hit me. I saw all the other parents, mostly mothers, all stop and watch the scene, popcorn in hand. I kept S, my 3 year-old, on my shoulders and crouched down to meet my son's eyes. "If you have to tell someone you hate them, you can say it to me, because I am your father and I am here for it. I am the safest place on this earth for you to express all your dark scary emotions, and I'd rather you hit me than anyone else. Look at me, J. Why do I love you?"

With angry hurt tears, he meets my eyes.

"Because I'm your son."

"Can you change that?"

"No."

"What does that mean?"

"You will love me no matter what."

"No matter what...forever. Now, we have to go home, ok?"

This moment felt like time had stopped, and I was reading from a script. A script I knew was off book, on the cold read. I became thankful I was their father without this stench of pride. I have always had a hard time holding a consistently positive view of myself, which to my former wife's defense, made me a difficult person to be married to at times. I know I am worthy to lead these two children as their father.

PAUSE.

Part of me thinks this challenge is a crock of shit. Not the challenge itself but me writing for it. I still battle with many low views of myself. Sometimes, to avoid codependency, I am counter depended, which can cause me to be obstinate for no reason. We all have insecurities and areas where we play the part to fit in or to maintain some semblance of value. Damn! Even reading what I wrote feels like something I will look back on in a few years and say, “that poor man didn’t know anything did he?.”

Gross. This whole piece is me trying to showcase how great I am when in reality no one signs up for marriage to get divorced. The truth is, I got married at 23 and became a father at 26. What the fuck did I know about my “authentic” self? Now I am writing a story in hopes to win some money. Barf!

BUT…if this was my son telling by his story I would remind him of his extremely high value. If it was my daughter, I would tell her of just how incredible and infinitely interesting she is to me. So…as I age I am trying to keep some of thst love for myself.

Anywho.

I am me. I will continue to grow and learn who exactly that is. I still have a long way to go but these days I really like Isaac. He’s a loyal to the horn friend and will be himself in any room. That’s as authentic as I can be.

I.H.