Letting Go of my Inner Bulldozer

Written about 2023

“Honey, what was it about my personal ad that caught your attention?” I ask, 

reaching for his hand across the table in the romantic Italian restaurant where we 

are celebrating our anniversary. The candle flame paints dancing shadows on the 

wall, as if to join in the festivities. 

“Oh! That’s easy! It was the part where you said ‘wishes to meet not marry’,” 

replies my husband, poker-face perfectly intact. 

I force a chuckle. “Seriously,” I urge. 

“Seriously!” he responds, smiling mischievously. 

Well, there’s killjoy for you! But the irony is not lost on me. ‘Wishes to meet not 

marry?’ We are married! 

On a fortuitous act of impulse, I had placed a personal ad in the Companions 

section of the local newspaper. The year was 1986, long before the advent of 

online dating services or Facebook, so we had no immediate access to 

photographs. All we had was our self-descriptions in which each of us put forward 

what we regarded as the best of ourselves. 

Not unexpectedly, our initial telephone conversation included attempts to find 

commonalities. “I have three children,” Jay told me proudly. 

 “Me too!” I responded enthusiastically - omitting to tell him about the last two of 

my five children. A man would have to be pretty desperate to agree meet a mother 

of five. I didn’t stop to consider what might happen once he knew the truth, and it 

mattered not that my ad stated clearly that I value honesty and integrity! 

Both newly separated when we met, we talked non-stop all evening, exchanging 

marital breakdown stories and dropping hints about what we would want in any 

future relationship. 

Towards the end of the evening I decided to come clean. 

“I have something to confess,” I told him sheepishly. “I actually have five children. 

The two I didn’t tell you about are twins – my youngest children - and I was afraid 

that if I told you that I have five kids, you wouldn’t want to meet me”. 

“Twins?!” he exclaimed. “My youngest are twins too! What are the chances?” and 

further, “I had a great time tonight and I’d like to see you again”. 

OK so I got lucky! 

Looking back, we both wonder how our relationship managed to survive. Two lost 

souls, we were reeling from our recent failed marriages, each trying to parent our 

confused children and each reaching out to the other for comfort, companionship 

- and hope. 

The glow that permeated the early months of our relationship led us, predictably, 

to see only the best in each other, each determined to impress the other. 

Relaxing on the patio on a warm Sunday afternoon, wine glasses in hand, we 

buried ourselves in reading the Sunday papers. 

"Oh! Listed to this!” I exclaim. The local recreation centre is offering ballroom 

dancing lessons. Should I sign us up?" 

 "Sure Honey" he replied pleasantly, without taking his eyes off his newspaper. And 

I'm thinking, "I have a gem here!" 

But that didn’t last. 

“The truth is”, he confessed later. I suck at ballroom dancing and I hate it.” 

Disappointed though I was, I let it go. I didn’t want to appear to be controlling. 

But gradually the differences between us began to intrude on what was turning out 

to be an otherwise excellent relationship. 

Passionate about musicals, I was delighted when friends called to invite us to see 

‘Cats’, which was coming to Toronto. I called Jay at work to tell him the good news. 

"I'll see if we can get tickets for opening night." I assured him excitedly. 

“Sorry Hon, but musicals aren’t really my thing,” he said kindly, aware that he was 

bursting my bubble. 

Huh? How could anyone not love musicals? 

"Just try it! I know you'll love it!" I insisted. 

"I told you - I’m not into musicals,” he repeated less kindly than before. 

Bulldozer that I am, I convinced myself that despite his protestations, he would 

enjoy the show (how could he not?), and I instructed our friends to go ahead and 

book the tickets. 

I broke the good news to him over dinner that night. “We managed to get tickets 

for ‘Cats’ for the opening night!” I told him happily. 

"I-told-you-I-don’t-want-to-go!” he said, enunciating each word in a firm voice. 

 "Please don't raise your voice" I said quietly, unnerved. I have a thing about raised 

voices. 

After a lengthy and heated discussion – and having no choice - I ended up giving

the coveted tickets away. 

The incident sent a strong message to me to be more cognizant of my inner 

bulldozer - which was clearly in need of taming! It also set in motion discussions 

about how we talk to each other, enabling us to gradually develop more respectful 

and productive ways of dealing with conflict. 

Not surprisingly there were other glaring differences that emerged and caused 

tension between us. I'm a spender, he's a saver. I’m an optimist, he’s a realist. I 

wear my heart on my sleeve, he keeps his feelings to himself. You get the idea. 

Why does it take so long for us to learn that we can't change other people? Neither 

do we have the right to try, for it implies that we are right and the other person is 

wrong. 

Seven years into our relationship we moved in together - having chosen to live 

separately until then because we thought it best for the children. And exactly ten 

years after we met, we were married in a most romantic ceremony on a stunning 

Barbados beach. 

The man I married is the epitome of kindness, thoughtfulness and respect … a 

man who accepts me with all my imperfections and loves me because of – not in 

spite of – who I am, empowering me to be myself at all times 

No longer two souls adrift, we have together created a safe, loving and 

harmonious space into which we can retreat from life's vicissitudes. We still find 

it astounding that in the vast world of the newly single, we somehow found each 

other through – of all things – a personal ad. 

And my inner bulldozer? It still rears its ugly head now and then, but I am

aware of it and don't let it get the better of me.