Three separate addresses in the last five months, met with a new counselor, a new doctor, living a new life balancing open dialogue with consideration for what may be TMI. Revisiting old struggles, living with my family again, matters I never quite dealt with before.
This last weekend, I stringently protected my time, I made no plans, I gave a gentle “no” to each person seeking my time. I slept. I watched mindless shows on Netflix. I struggled to tap into the place where my words and stories come from, and though it was mostly unsuccessful, it was a start.
Saturday night, late – the pent up emotions released. Signing the final sale documents on our home was about as hard as signing the original documents to begin the process of my divorce. Is it strange I’m grieving the loss of my home so much more than the loss of my marriage? Even if I am alone for the rest of my life, I am already so much more peaceful than I have been over the past few years. Yet I still miss owning my own place, having the freedom to design and decorate as I want. Having something of mine. It is frustrating having to reintegrate pets again, after spending the last five months struggling to integrate them the first time. They aren’t handling the change particularly well either.
That said, my room is about twice the size as it was before, and I have a walk-in closet. Which means I have enough space to have my books all about me, and I am so very eager to have them around again. The companions of so many years. I regret my Ex’s needling me to constantly cull down, and that I got rid of so many.
Bills are now reasonable enough for me to manage on my own, even if my Ex continues to forgo any contributions. I am trusting that the lawyers will make all equal. I want no more, and no less, than my share. My counselor is encouraging me in this, though she says normally she encourages people to back off.
I’m tired of being a doormat, tired of falling back to always taking up the smallest footprint possible so as not to disturb everyone else. Yet it is so uncomfortable, to try and make myself heard. Anxiety builds whenever I have to give people a response I don’t think they want or will like. I suppose most of that is from dealing with my ex over the years, his rages could be so unpredictable.
I miss the man he could have been, and not the man he chose to be.
It feels wrong that I should spare any feelings for him at all. Even now I still have a hard time holding on to any anger. There is more just a sense of sadness, of disappointment.
Anyhow, enough ramblings for now…
So many moments of powerlessness envelop my memory, and it is easy to feel ashamed, or discouraged or foolish. Ashamed that I covered up so much. Foolish for protecting my family and loved ones from the intensity of my Ex’s childishness and mood swings. Discouraged that I spent so many years of my life struggling forward on a path I had chosen for myself, only to give up on it, in the end.
Early on in my counseling sessions, my therapist mentioned that it can be healing for people in my situation to look back at their life and pick out moments of empowerment. To find the moments of strength in history.
I can more easily point to days and weeks and months and years where my focus was just on getting through the day. There were many times I made concessions. Catered to his moods. Kept silent. Refrained from sharing information I knew might stir him to anger or upset.
And yet… there were times I drew a line, and dared him to cross it. And usually he would back away. Continue reading “Brittle strength”
My divorce isn’t finalized, and yet the questions are starting to circulate.
“Are you dating?”
“Oops, sorry, I shouldn’t talk about ‘things’ when you aren’t getting any.” (Meaning sex)
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Are you interested in…. <insert name>?” Continue reading “Newly single and not looking”
“Who am I, that anyone should care what I have to say?”
“What use, or space, or function do I fill that a dozen other people could not fulfill just as easily?”
“Who am I to ask for anything?”
“I’m not worthy of Happiness. It is simply the ideal, but finding contentment in any circumstances is the only realistic goal, true happiness is fleeting.”
I’ve believed these things for so long. And there is a grain of truth, perhaps, to some of them – happiness can sometimes be a choice. My counselor has highlighted several feelings and beliefs central to my worldview, things that have crafted my history to be the foundation for my struggles today. From a very young age, I was aware my parents had given up a lot to become a family. To raise me, to commit to one another. While on one hand I knew they loved me, that understanding lived alongside the feeling of always being an imposition. Of them always having to sacrifice for me. That I was to blame when they fought and argued. Continue reading “Worthy”