Pulp Fiction
I love pulp in my orange juice. Serious pulp. Fresh squeezed is awesome, but Home Style, Grove Stand, High Pulp, or Extra Pulp all tickle my fancy too.
It’s completely ludicrous, but buying orange juice with pulp was one of the most liberating things I did when I first left my marriage. It was such a simple act, but one that has stuck with me… like pulp to the side of the glass when the juice is gone.
I was asked recently, “What is the biggest myth you believed about marriage?” WHEW. I’m fairly certain my response to that question is a book, not a blog post… but it did make me think about pulp.
I gave up pulp when I entered the relationship that eventually became my marriage. It seemed simple enough. I liked it. He didn’t. I was the grocery shopper, so I just didn’t buy orange juice with pulp. (I have often tried to remember how I learned he didn’t like pulp, but I can’t recall.)
I bought what I knew he liked. It seemed sweet, caring, a romantic gesture even. (Yes, I was raised on way too many fairy tales as a child.) But truth be told, it honestly felt like what I was supposed to do. It seemed like I was of giving spirit… that I was doing something nice for him. That I was compromising. And marriage is about compromise, right?
There was never a conversation, at least not one I recall. It didn’t feel like a sacrifice. And it never occurred to me to buy two smaller containers of OJ– one with and one without pulp– so we could both have the juice we love.
I just gave up something I loved for someone I loved.
This pattern repeated with jelly, soap, and ultimately so many more decisions I made (and not just specific to the grocery list)… but this is hindsight talking more than awareness at the time.
It seemed simple… honorable… insignificant. And, truth be told, I don’t regret it. I’ve learned a lot. I’ve grown and I’m smarter. And I’ve come to recognize (and correct) this pattern in other relationships I have with family and friends.
I realize now that giving up something you love– for any reason, but especially for another person– is very dangerous territory. Making everyone else happy can sometimes make you miserable. What you love makes you who you are.
Granted, giving up one or two things won’t change you—and admittedly, we all have things we love that are vices we probably should give up—but consistently ignoring, releasing, or allowing yourself to forget what you love will eventually erode your spirit, your essence. You begin to lose who you are… and probably what the other person was attracted to originally.
Pulp-less orange juice is not to blame for my marriage ending. I am… at least in part. And I own that truth.
I forgot who I was, what I loved, and what I wanted. I compromised myself under the guise of loving another. I do believe that love is about wanting what is best for another person. And, partnership should be about helping each other achieve wants and dreams… having a co-pilot for life. But you can’t do it FOR someone else… you can’t create “their best” for them nor make THEIR dreams come true… and certainly not to the detriment of yourself or your own. You can help, you can support, you can encourage.
You can be YOU. You should be you.
The old airplane oxygen mask analogy is true. You have to take care of yourself first. Sure, there will absolutely need to be compromise, negotiation, and sacrifice. They are necessary and inevitable (and reciprocal) in healthy relationships. But you also have to be awake to your own life. You have to be open to possibility, to feel, to listen to yourself, and to recognize your own wants, needs, dreams, desires, and loves.
In fact, you not only have to be aware of and awake to them, you have to engage… indulge them. For what you love, what brings you true JOY… well, these are the things that buff your halo and make you shine so brightly.
Your inner light can be an ember or a firework. Both are fine and you get to choose. But don’t ever allow yourself (or anyone else) to snuff that light out.
As for me, I think I’ll go drink some pulpy orange juice.
GlitterBombMom 
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In Imperial China, and frequently in my career as a negotiator, the cumulative effects of this kind of minor damage/compromise was called “death by a thousand cuts” (lingchi), or, a more benign slogan often used — “nibbled to death by ducks”. The point being that, in fact, each little bit taken may not be fatal (to a life, a deal or a relationship) or even hurt, but over time they add up to a very destructive force that will push its victim past the point of no return, or tank a deal, or steal your essence.
You should be so very proud to have acquired this awareness and will teach the Trifecta how to listen to their own inner voices.
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