Tag: divorce

Gumption

MissMLeave a comment

Today would be my second wedding anniversary if I’d stayed. 2 years since I said “I do,” but actually didn’t.

My mind can’t help but wonder from time to time what my life would look like now if I hadn’t ran away. Would I still wake up a little early every morning to carve out some peace for myself, emptying the dishwasher ever so quietly and making coffee for two? Would I still restlessly pace the house back-and-forth in the evenings, praying for the sun to set so I could pharmaceutically induce sleep and get another day under my belt? Would I still cook dinner once a week and end up eating alone because I didn’t want to be a disruption?

I was unwanted. Unliked. Undesired. I shrunk and shrunk and shrunk, and somehow would never be small enough. He needed more space from me than our modest house allowed, so I’d go for drives. Wander around a town that I could never call home and have a cryptic phone call with my mom, trying to force a smile through the phone while I told her that I’m doing fine.

There was no intimacy – physically, emotionally, or otherwise. Our king bed felt like a continent with nothing but an impassable ravine between us. The first time I expressed my despondence with our situation resulted in a tornado of harsh words, threats to leave each other, and me collapsed on the kitchen floor, choking on my own tears. I waited another year to bring it up again.

We were incompatible in most respects, but especially in the conflict resolution department. The cold shoulder was a frequently-deployed weapon in our home, injecting a heavy, hot stream of tension into the air for hours, sometimes days. I’d scream and yell and he’d throw things and fantasize about bashing my head against the wall. More than once, our fights took place over email – both of us typing furiously behind our keyboards, not even 20 feet away.

My first ever suicidal thought occurred on the 1.5-hour drive home from our quarterly Costco excursion. We’d been arguing in circles and the noise of it all had me in dire need of an escape. From the passenger seat, fingers trembling as they wrapped around the door handle, I thought to myself, “tuck and roll, you coward.”

He overnighted me a handwritten letter a few days after I’d left him and stopped returning his messages or phone calls. He was ready to hear my needs and do something about them. We can move back home, or go where ever I need to be. “Please don’t give up on me yet”, he implored, with all the love in his heart.

I may never understand why he wanted me back. I can’t speak to whether he ever loved me, but I know that he certainly didn’t like me for an overwhelming majority of our 14 months spent in holy matrimony. As for me, I loved him deeply until I simply couldn’t. I spent 2 precious years of my twenties in a town that I didn’t understand with a husband that didn’t understand me. I was starved for familiarity, intimacy, and companionship. There was no space or consideration for these needs, and I’m not convinced that there ever would have been.

I hold no resentment in my heart, nor doubt about my decision to sever this relationship for my own sake. I don’t even think I regret it. I grew in ways that would be hard to attain otherwise, and know for certain that I’m too resilient to be broken down entirely or permanently. What an empowering truth.

-M

Rejuvenescence

MissMLeave a comment

Move over Demi Lovato, because it is I who is mastering the art of starting over.

2024 was hopefully the ugliest year I’ll have in a while. Heartbreak and Hurricane Helene shook me hard enough to finally change my situation. I’m no longer stuck. No longer restricted, afraid, small, or self-depreciating. Y’know what they say about hitting rock bottom? Well I’ve licked my wounds, brushed myself off, and am standing on my own two feet for the first time in too long.

I’m gliding into the new year with a renewed sense of self, and I’m so relieved that the Real M is still in there. I’m writing this post in my very own space, sitting on my very own pink couch, next to my beloved Doodle, whom I get to parent exactly how I want to from now on. I am safe. I am centered. I am at peace.

This is the year that I start living my life on *my* terms. The year I stop making accommodations and negotiations that conflict with my needs, desires, and goals. I spent my 20’s in a perpetual state of believing that I was unworthy and unlovable if I didn’t become who everyone else wanted me to be. I said yes to things my soul desperately tried to reject, and vice versa.

I’m not a wife, as it turns out. And I’m not meant to live thousands of miles away from my mama. I’m not one to stay stagnant in my professional endeavors because where I’m at is “good enough.” I’m not a small town girl. And all of that is perfectly acceptable, respectable, and authentic.

If I’m not those things though, then what am I?

I’m an autonomous individual first and foremost, which is a concept that is still being absorbed in my not-so-plastic brain. I have had to fight myself from asking someone, anyone, for reassurance or validation in my decisions over the past several months. From whether to leave my East Coast life, to which townhome to live in, to whether I should get a tubal ligation, to whether I purchased too much pink decor for the Barbie Dreamhouse my soul desires. As excruciating as it was, I didn’t ask a damn person for their opinion. And I’m not accepting unwarranted input, either.

I am the architect of my day now. I wake up every morning full of excitement and optimism for what the day will hold. I emerge from my sleeping quarters as early as I want to and nobody makes me feel guilty for not being around when they wake up. I go to the gym at a time that works best for my schedule and I give my Doodle treats and loves and games freely and nobody lectures on how inadequate my parenting is. I work hard and sometimes I work late, because the investment pays off, both literally and in my own sense of fulfillment. And nobody accuses me of neglecting my family for doing so.

I go to events by myself and am not required to be at any particular meeting spot at any particular time. Nobody unfoundedly accuses me of running off to cheat or flirt with other men. I can’t cheat anyway, because I’m not committed to anyone but me. The only infidelity I’m capable of is not honoring my authentic self. I don’t apologize for things that don’t warrant an apology. All of this freedom is intoxicating.

I can’t tell you in concrete terms where my life is headed from here. I have an overwhelming case of decision-paralysis. The dust is still settling and I’m still in the market for a therapist that can hopefully help me integrate all of these unresolved wounds and shortcomings into a healthy, balanced woman who knows what she wants and how to get it. I’m ready to be that woman.

M.