"I'll send an S.O.S. to the world..."

"Just a castaway, an island lost at sea, oh
Another lonely day, with no one here but me, oh...
I'll send an S.O.S. to the world...
I hope that someone gets my message in a bottle"

At twelve years old I fell in love with Gordon Sumner, front man for The Police and have continued the school girl crush for the solo artist, most notably known as Sting, into my adult years. Funny thing, it wasn't really his voice or his looks that translated into the sex appeal for me at twelve. It was the poetry of his lyrics. Now, as a woman, I dig the yoga enthusiast, tantric love-making, environmentally conscious package he represents (looks and voice included). And I still love the poetry of his lyrics.

The first time a man ever wrote a poem for me, it was P. from the rooftop bar in NYC. It was shortly after our meeting last year when we decided to have the affair. It was a beautiful piece. It still sends chills down my back to read such powerful words, spoken from the heart.

I spent the first month after my ex, G., learned about the affair, in silent despair. With the exception of my best friend, my sister, and my mother, I did not share what was happening in my life with anyone else. I did not know how to reach out. I convinced myself that things were not over. We tried couples counseling to sort through the pain. How do you tell the world the truth if there was a chance that you and your partner might be able to work through the mess? The Chinese way is not to "lose face." You lose face when you have failed at a task, when you have disappointed another, when you have done something to warrant shame and it is known by others. You do not want to show this face. Thousands of years ago, it was not unheard of to choose death over this fate.

Business colleagues asked about my ex casually. "Any vacation plans coming up?" "How are things going with his business?" I would bump into neighbors while taking out the trash. "How is G. doing? I haven't seen you guys around much." I changed the subject, gave vague answers. As long as everything seemed status quo, I had not "lost face."

I thought I could handle this privately. Isolation was my answer. Let me function in a vacuum and fix everything and then come back out into civilization when I could stand tall and be proud again. But it was killing me. And ultimately, I realized I was not functioning at all. I sobbed in front of my children, lost focus on work, stopped sleeping and eating.

In July of last year, after she learned about what happened, my best friend raced to my house and let me crumble in hysterics in her arms. But I couldn't bombard her a hundred times a day anymore with my tearful phone calls. With a very full life of her own, my emotional roller coaster, left unchecked, would suck the life force out of her.

By September, I decided to share the separation with one more friend, and then another. How terrifying to admit failure, to reveal the shame, to tell people that the father of your children hates you so much that he has enlisted legal assistance to systematically dismantle you?

And then how amazing to form stronger bonds with these friends, some who have been through a divorce with children themselves and then later come to terms with their own true sexuality, some that are currently married or have children and confess that they are in the midst of similar relationship challenges, and some that are in loving, healthy relationships, but still offer open arms and hearts to you.

In October, I scheduled a meeting with my children's preschool director so that their teachers and school staff were aware of the changes in our family dynamics. She provided her expert counsel on how to insure that my kids could better process the break-up. But it also became a heart-to-heart that I didn't even expect. I learned that she went through a divorce herself, with three small children to take care of. And now she is the owner of one of the most well regarded and highly successful private preschools in my major metro. And her children are grown and wonderfully well adjusted in spite of the divorce (her youngest actually works at the school and she is lovely). "Make sure you are good to yourself." she smiled warmly. "Have a glass of wine with friends. Go see a movie." And then she added, "You may not see this now, but you will come out a winner."

In December, I had lunch with a client while on a business trip. I had always admired her drive, her tenacity, and her sense of humor. We talked about a few business issues, and then she shared that her mother had passed recently. I was amazed at how open and honest she was as she recounted the feelings leading up to her mother's death. It wasn't an ideal relationship - the one she shared with her mother - but it was real and raw. And the most personal discussion I had ever had with her. I wanted to connect with her in that same way, and so I told my client my story. "You know I'm a single mom," she shared, "and I went through a messy divorce too. You're a wonderful mother and a good person. And good things happen to good people. You're going to be fine - hang in there."

Last weekend, a friend of mine came into town and I suggested that we take a drive to a nearby coastal beach. It is a near pristine walk and a short hike to the top of one of the most beautiful views. When you stand there and listen to how peaceful and quiet it is, and see how blue and calm the ocean can be from this vantage point, it actually feels like it's cleansing your soul. Afterwards, we took a drive back into town for a coffee. While waiting in line behind a mom and two small children (they were about the same age as mine) for the one female restroom, I couldn't help but comment on how gorgeous and animated her little boy and little girl were, delivered with the amusement and interest of one mom to another.

"Twins?" I asked. The mom nodded and smiled "They are both three and a half. We're heading to a birthday party. Do you have kids?"

This was a complete stranger. "Yes, " I confessed, " but they are with their father this weekend. I've got a four year old and a two year old."

"Divorced?" she asked, and I nodded. "Me too." She winked at me. "It is actually so much better this way. I used to think I had three kids to take care of. Now I'm doing great." And then she ushered the children into the restroom.

When it was my turn, she walked out and took my hand. "It was really nice talking with you. You know, you look like you're doing great too. "

I watched her head towards the parking lot with her tots in tow, and then she turned around and smiled at me. I gave her a big grin of thanks in return. I realized that I had not "lost face" by reaching out. Instead, I have gained strength. My thanks to all of you. I intend to pass it forward.

"Walked out this morning, don't believe what I saw
Hundred billion bottles washed up on the shore
Seems I'm not alone in being alone..."