Last night was graduation night. I have now officially joined the ranks of the enlightened followers of Bruce Fisher and am well-trained in the art of "rebuilding when a relationship ends." I went into the 10-week seminar not really knowing what to expect. I knew my summer was going to be filled with emotion; my ex-husband was marrying the woman he left me for, I had just broken up with my one and only post-divorce lover, my son was moving out of state for a college I couldn't afford and I was enduring huge work stresses. I was an emotional nutcase.

Having read nothing but self-help books since my divorce, including Bruce Fisher's "Rebuilding When a Relationship Ends", I thought I knew all there was to know. I didn't hold a lot of faith in seminars reiterating what I had already read. Honestly, I was getting more than a little impatient with "self-help". I had analyzed myself ad-nauseum, cried through my grief, explored my interests, pampered myself, and followed all the other recommended prescriptions for dealing with loss. I had almost made a career out of "moving on" but on my bad days, none of it seemed to matter. I was still back in my lonely world feeling like my grief would never end. I decided it couldn't hurt to give the seminars a try.

At the first of the Fisher Seminars we were introduced to the book and the format of the class. We were given certain guidelines: no dating anyone in class, for one. We were given phone lists and each week encouraged to call at least 3 people in the group to talk, listen, and support one another. Social group activities were planned - hikes, game night, dinners, and more. Each week our seminars were held at a participant's home and started with a potluck-style dinner (but no alcohol). The class consisted of our facilitator, several volunteers that had attended previous Fisher Seminars, and then many of us that were in the class for the first time. At the end of the evening, we were to do a big group hug and then rub the shoulders of the person to our right and then to our left.

The early sessions explored many of the painful emotions including grief and anger. In the span of the 3-hour seminar, typically there was a "big group discussion" as well as "small group discussions". There were homework assignments and times when each person in the room was given an opportunity to share a personal story that related to the topic. Every one of us exposed very deep feelings and emotions. During grief night we were asked to write a letter to our past love (in most cases our ex-spouses). We were asked to remember the early love and describe those hopeful emotions and then say goodbye to all that we had cherished and then lost. Then we were asked to read those letters out loud. Most of us cried - and I mean really cried! It was a regular sob-fest. I was so drained that night. I had cried so many tears before, but that night the experience left me with a cathartic feeling of closure that I hadn't experienced before.

As the weeks continued and people began to befriend one another there were many more smiles and hugs during the sessions. I felt a little left out. I had missed almost all the early social gatherings. With kids at home, I had to leave promptly after every session and didn't stay to socialize with the others. I was my typical reserved self, quiet in the social groups, but speaking out at almost every group discussion, playing the "devil's advocate"; questioning every assertion and pointing out instances when the "rules" didn't quite apply. For example, I had much difficulty accepting "authenticity". I felt that my ex-husband's departure from our marriage in his quest for "authenticity" was selfish, hurtful, and irresponsible. But as we explored the topic more with the patience and insights from the others, I came to realize that authenticity is about being ourselves which would include honoring our responsibilities, not because we "should" but because that is who we are.

The week that "self-worth" was discussed I was absent, in California dropping off my older son at UC Berkeley. The week was very emotional for me and I felt myself falling back into my depression, unable to cope. I was so incredibly lonely for the life I used to have. Conceptually, I knew there were a lot of people that loved me, but it seemed they were all happily getting on with their own lives while I was wallowing in self-pity. I imagined the Fisher group getting closer to one another as I continued to drift further. Even though there were 8 messages on my machine when I returned, telling me I was missed from class, I didn't return the calls, thinking they were probably told to call people that were absent.

The next class discussed openness and intimacy. We discussed the "masks" we wear, disguising our true feelings from others, fearing rejection. It is only through truly opening ourselves up to others, exposing our vulnerabilities, that we're able to find intimacy.

This same week, those of us that had been absent for "self-worth week" were treated to the exercise that we had missed. We each were the center of attention while the others told us the positive things they appreciated about who we were. They each also wrote us a note which we took home to read later. It's hard to explain the emotions I felt as I read those notes. These people, who barely knew me, somehow saw through those masks I wear, and saw the person that I wanted to believe I was. They all were in incredible pain themselves, yet they were continually reaching out to me, despite my difficulty in letting anyone in.

That week was a turning point for me. I realized what a difficult time I have with intimacy, always putting up a wall, not allowing anyone to get too close. I went to the next Fisher social gathering, the Taste of Colorado, determined to "be myself" and let down my guard. As we were listening to a band I watched an older woman dancing to the music, completely lacking any inhibitions, and I made a comment that she had taken off her "mask." One of my Fisher cohorts suggested we all take off our masks and get out there and dance. And we did! With reckless abandon, we got out there and boogied up a storm. It was incredibly fun and I felt so happy that I literally felt tears of happiness welling up (would I never stop crying?) But this felt so good.

As the weeks continued and we discussed love, relatedness, and finally, sexuality, I finally began to feel the connection with the others that I had craved but resisted. Bonded by our heartaches, I had grown to love these people. The "class rules" asking us to touch, expose our vulnerabilities, and open ourselves up with no worries about romantic involvement gave us the freedom to love without fear of rejection.

At our final class, we each were asked to speak about our experience as we went through a powerful ceremony. Continuing the relationships was a common theme. No one wanted to give up the love and support that they felt so strongly from the group. Tears were plentiful as we tried to articulate what was indescribable - a feeling of group love and community that is similar to what one feels when having survived a tragedy together. We each had our own personal tragedies, but we were surviving, with the help, support, and love we were feeling from each other.

So, am I cured? Am I now emotionally healthy? I think most of us still have a ways to go. But I realize that no self-help book could come close to providing the same kind of therapy. Simply put, no book can love. You need people for that. And I've come to realize that being loved and loving others is the absolute best therapy for all of us.

-- Yvette Francino