You don't know what it's like until you go through it.

To say it's exhausting, is an insult those in the thick of it.

It wears on you. Wears you down. Bit by bit. Day by day. Dollar by Dollar. Pound by Pound.

Before you know it, months have passed by. You don't remember how it could have all happened so fast. You don't understand how you ended up here.

You just know you're trying to make it all stop and none of it really does.

There are times you think you're doing better and then the same ol' patterns appear. They come out of people you thought were friends, who you thought would support you until the end. They come from legal paperwork that arrives at unknown times.

• You have anxiety just walking to the mailbox.
• You have anxiety as you check your email -- the dedicated one just for legal matters.
• You worry, and rightfully so, about your family relationships, your finances and what it all means.

This happens daily and for some lasts years and years and years...

I want encourage you.

I've been there. I've done that. And I know pretty soon, I'll be right back at it again through now fault of my own.

I want to encourage you right now, because I need to encourage myself.

It will end one day. It will stop.

But at what price?

I know what it's doing to you. I know what it's doing to your kids, to your relationships, how it affects your job performance, how much it's costing you and what drastic changes you might have to make in your living arrangements just to avoid going completely under. I know the dreams it's robbing you of.

It's sooo difficult to process all of this as you're experiencing it:

• The attempts at doing the right thing.
• The confusion when doing the above actually gets you punished.
• The uttershock at the blow back and retaliation for simply demanding that truth be told and held accountable to.
• The grief of the loss of children, through whichever means apply at the moment.
• The unknowns.
• The what-ifs.
• The understanding that even if you DO succeed at coming up with a plan, even a good plan that there's always something on the sideline waiting to take a swing.
• Trying to practice self-care and the regret and false guilt that comes when you never seem to be able to get it.
• The trying to just FUNCTION in a somewhat normal pattern.

It leaves you exhausted, breathless, unsure. Finding support groups, affording good therapists and legal counsel is hard and sometimes not an option.

What's helped me...

One way I've changed over the last few years is to understand the life I expected to have -- I may never get to have. The life I planned for for next month, may not be the life I planned for. Same for tomorrow, etc.

My plans include learning the underlying concepts of adapting on the fly to whatever it is that comes next and knowing that, whatever that adaptation is -- is temporary. But I'm still here. I'm still moving forward, even if I'm crawling or I pause temporarily because for the moment, I'm unconscious. Even in that moment, my body is working to prepare and repair itself you see. I'm still doing something even if I'm completely unaware of it.

You're still breathing. You can keep going, even if by keep going means that right now, you just pause and let your body heal a bit.

For me personally, it's the acceptance of knowing that "normal" is now a luxury. My "routine" is now constant change.

Find a way to make that constant change work for you instead of against you.

Make that constant change your best fucking friend. Take it to bed, and make love to it until IT'S breathless, exhausted and vulnerable. YOU choose what routines you keep the same and which changing ones you take advantage of as leverage for yourself.

And you stay quiet about it. It's rude to kiss and tell.

Your enemy needs to believe they're pulverizing you, slowly wearing you down, that you're a victim. Some of them participating in these behaviors are getting off on the control and the power trip.

Let them have their aheeeemmm lotion-filled tissues as their trophies.

They don't need to know how you're changing, how you're adapting, what you're learning. They don't need to see it just yet.

But eventually, you start to see it. And you remember and have hope, even if it's just for another moment -- that you will come out on the other side of this.

You might be bloodied, scarred, disfigured --maybe even unrecognizable.

By finding ways to use their own bullshit as an advantage to you, you'll be transformed.

They tried to suffocate you in a cocoon with the walls closing in around you. Instead, you became a Monarch with wings.

They try to blind you with shock, awe and heartache. Instead, you learned to see in the dark better than anybody else, your other senses finely honed, while learning to love yourself even more.

They try to tell your kids you're a bad parent and why. Instead, you find alternate creative ways, provable ways to show your kids you STILL TRIED over the years.

You worry about falling asleep tonight because of your pressing job duties tomorrow, the stress of an upcoming hearing or how much your lawyer is costing you. Instead you do one small thing that gets you closer to the fulfillment of your plans.

You grieve for all the things you've worked so hard for that have been stripped of you systematically through a variety of methods. Instead, you begin adapt and figure out how to thrive with nothing, maintain a clear conscience and realize how strong you must actually be to still be here-- breathing!

They want you to focus on their control. I want you to focus on the day when the truth is finally made known.

One day it will be over. One day it will stop. And you will live to see the other side of it. They don't get the satisfaction of a mental breakdown or your heart stopping due to stress.

Taking my own advice...

Lest you think I'm simply preaching some unobtainable goal, I took my own advice as I involuntarily fell asleep on a futon mattress in a nondescript camper in the middle of nowhere.

Sometimes you have to force yourself to drop the load and walk away for a bit.

No internet. No house chores. No process servers. No lawyers. Just me, God, the dog and whatever wildlife happened into camp. The door was locked, the cell phone turned completely off, battery removed. The sun had just gone behind the horizon, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from it just yet.

And as I laid there, involuntary tears came. There was no contorted face or wailing, just hot salty tears flowing from each eye onto the giant teddy bear I was using as a pillow. The tears were different this time though. This time, my focus was on my faith and the redeeming qualities, I believe await this whole mess.

It's the only hope that I have left and I acknowledged it, mouthing barely audible prayers of gratitude, releasing the fear I kept locked within my body, eyes focused on the darkened line of the horizon. The first star appeared and I closed my eyes and slept for 10 hours.

With the morning, came hope that I could have more hope. That's all I ask. Just to hope enough sometimes that I can hope more later. As I tasted the sip of the first cup of hot coffee, I knew what I'm telling you now to be true:

You will see the other side of it. So will I. The truth will be made known one day. It always comes out, one way or another.

You're not alone. And even though there isn't anybody sitting here as I write this, dog softly sleeping next to me, neither am I.

Keeping going. Just. Keep. Going. It will end one day. It will.

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