Dear Hallmark: I’ve found an untapped market for you — Father’s Day cards to men from the women who are in the middle of divorcing them. They don’t even have to be bitchy or anything. Maybe something along the lines of, “Hey! Thanks for making those little people with me. They turned out pretty nice, huh? Now go take them to your parents’ house so I can sit on the deck in the sunshine, read a book and eat some blueberries.” (Of course, I’m sure the bitchy ones would sell like crazy. Call me if you need some suggestions…)
Another idea: Valentine’s Day cards for lovers that you feel ambivalent about but haven’t yet broken up with. I’m telling you, that could be a big one.
So the bloggity blog has languished a bit in the midst of all of my personal trauma and drama. It was hard to not write while the shit was going down. I wanted to. I’m a heart-on-my-sleeve type of girl. But the last thing I wanted to do then — or now– is to air out the proverbial dirty laundry of my married life in public. For those of you who have known us (or the people formerly known as “us”) as a married couple, I think it’s only normal to speculate on what went wrong. I’d probably be doing it if I were on the outside of all of this. I’m sure that you can come up with a hundred and fifty reasons why I must be a real pain in the ass to be married to or why he must be a real jerk to live with. Some of those reasons probably did factor into the equation somewhere. But anyone who has been in a long-term relationship knows that the only people who really know what goes on are the people in it. And even if you’re one of those people, you may still be in the dark and not know it.
So I’m cycling through all the complicated emotions that come along with ending my life as I have known it for the past decade. It’s a lot to process. Despair (hopefully now mostly past, mostly manifested as inappropriate public crying), blinding fucking anger (seems to be making a sneaky little comback, mostly manifested as furious typing followed by repeated hitting of the backspace key), resignation (one of the more palatable emotions) and now, finally, hope and happiness (mostly manifested as a little bright light, just around the corner, up ahead — it’s going to let me catch up with it soon).
I plan to give myself the time I need to feel all of the uncomfortable, rotten emotions of the situation. If I feel like crying, I’m going to do it. But when all of that energy is spent I am going to take this life of mine and live the heck out of it. I am on a quest for a joy. A quote I recently heard: Sometimes you have to walk through the valley of the shadow of death, but you don’t have to build a condo there.
I believe that absolutely everything in life is a learning experience. And I’m starting to emerge from this rancid mess with a surprising thought in mind: I am really proud of myself. This has been so hard. But I feel that someday I will be able to look my children in the eyes and honestly say to them that I did every single thing I could to try and save the family. Now some of you may be thinking, “What? If that’s true, why aren’t you just staying?” To that I say: You do not know the whole story. And you probably never will. Because there is always more than meets the eye.
And another person I can look in the eye is me. I think when the shit hits the fan you really find out what you’re made of. I’m proud to say that I think I’m made of some pretty good stuff. I have behaved honorably throughout all of this. I kept my promises — to myself and to other people. I did what I said I was going to do.
Another thing that I’m finding out: I’m a hopeful person. I could walk away from this all bitter and damaged — a real man-hater. But I don’t feel that way. Sure, I have some healing to do. But ultimately I believe in love. I believe that there’s something better out there for me. And if there’s not at least I’m going to die trying. Real love is worth it. Yes, I’ve faced the fact that I could wind up ALONE (oh no! not that!). But I’m pretty good company for myself. I am blessed beyond all measure with family and friends. I’m interested in a hundred million things. Yes, I’ll have pockets of loneliness here and there, but I’ll never be bored.
So I start my journey. I have my little hobo pack slung over my shoulder. It’s full of books, some good music, a notebook and something to write with (OK, and my iPhone — anyone know if there’s a hairdryer app?). My kidsters are toddling around my feet. We’re talking and laughing and learning and dancing. And we start each day with Little B’s favorite song because it gives us all a boost… Don’t worry, about a thing… ‘cuz every little thing is gonna be all right…
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