I struggled with being completely honest, because of course, the internet never forgets and I don’t want my kids to read awful things about their family online.
But then I realized that I can be honest without being vindictive, evil, catty or mean. Because, I am classy.
The first few months after he left me, I listened to Sara Evans’ “A Little Bit Stronger” almost daily. It helped. A lot. And then, I wasn’t in need of it as often, and if it came on my shuffle, I skipped it, because, hey, I didn’t need to be sad.
But I still need it.
My heart was broken.
Stomped on, smashed, and every other metaphor in the book.
I know, for a fact, I will never love anyone the way I loved my husband. It was the most unadulterated, pure, true, love (come on, look in my archives to see how in love I was with him). I may love someone more one day, or deeper, but it will never been the same.
I am damaged. I know (as the song says), I will be okay, and most of the time, I am totally okay, and have a clarity about the situation, an understanding that what happened had to happen. However, there are still days I sob, or feel this crushing feeling of sadness because I see something he would like, watch a show we watched together, see a photo, or answer the most simplest of questions from my children (I cry later in that situation–I keep my “in front of the girls” tears to a minimum). I haven’t eaten Ben&Jerry’s in over 18 months because that is what we would do–share a half pint while we caught up on TV.
I feel like I failed. And I know, it wasn’t on my shoulders alone, but, for my part in whatever happened to cause the trainwreck, I feel failure. I feel pain. I feel betrayal, I feel all of those adjectives you can imagine associated with it. I feel like I was damaged, wrong, or not good enough. “I should have worked harder to lose the baby weight, I shouldn’t have nagged him about stuff, I should have carved more time out for him and I to be a couple, etc.” I have had enough therapy to know this isn’t true, and in fact, I probably should have argued more, or stood my ground a LOT more. (sorry next serious relationship dude)
Because, the thing is: I was a good wife. I am a good friend, a good partner, a good mother–I’m a fucking fantastic person. And yes, thankyouverymuch, I realize that bad things happen to good people, and ultimately I am lucky in my situation, so spare me all of the platitudes. Please. And logically, I know…I KNOW, but my heart doesn’t seem to get it.
And it fucking sucks.
Sure, nothing is carved in stone, and things change, but when you get married (if you do it for the right reasons), you see your future with the other person, and you don’t really envision your life without them. So when you have to pick up all the pieces, it’s like you are reading a book in another language, trying to catch small parts of words to understand the whole. I feel like he has moved on with his life, and has forgotten that he ever loved me (or if he ever loved me), he left, but I am stuck in our life together–alone. I’m in the same house, sleep in the bed we shared, etc. (of course I am in the process of changing the furniture situation, but I’m not able to do everything at once).
He gets to stay at the same job, making the same salary, but I have to figure out my next move and try to juggle being a working single parent instead of a single stay-at-home parent. I tip my hat to all the single parents who aren’t as fortunate as I am, but I am still allowed to be sad and gripe and complain. I gave up my career to be a stay-at-home mom, and I REGRET NOTHING. But my thought was that I was going to get a part time job after the kids were old enough to be in school full time, so I could still be there for them in the afternoons when they got out of school. Now–that may not be a viable option.
I guess I feel like I keep getting shit on, and every single time I shovel all the shit off of me, here comes another dump.
And it fucking sucks (I think that bears repeating).
But here is the time, my annoyingly optimistic side comes into play and I end it with a positive.
I’m the fucking luckiest mama ever, and I wouldn’t trade any of this pain in if it meant changing anything about those two amazing girls of mine.
And, I know I’ll be okay…even on my weakest days.