1st Anniversary

Photo by Cade Holmquist on Unsplash

Last Saturday would have been our 17th wedding anniversary. I knew it would be hard, so when my girlfriends started talking about a weekend trip to the Ozarks, we set it to take place then. 

We had a fun and relaxing time hanging out on the screened-in balcony, working on a puzzle, walking by the lake, listening to 80s music and comedians. 

It was a good distraction, but there were still moments when memories snuck up on me. While washing my hands, I looked in the mirror and thought, "This is about the time I was getting my hair and makeup done." The tears came. I gave them their moment, and then moved on. 

My friends listened and supported and advised and encouraged and nudged. They helped me figure out my budget for househunting and come up with Plans B and C in case Plan A wasn't in the right timing. I felt less anxious by the time we left.

This is one of many firsts in this new phase. Some will be welcomed, some will be dreaded, but all will be survived.

Vent

Photo by camilo jimenez on Unsplash

One of my best friends from high school texted our group chat this morning to let us know she was in the hospital. She had a mild heart attack.

She's doing ok.

I'm definitely not ok. I feel like such a jerk making this about me, but I hate that this is the phase of life we're in. I texted my sister and told her it's probably just PTSD from our dad. I've been dreading turning 48 this year. That's how old my dad was when he had his first heart attack. I know I can do things to guard against it, but pandemic divorce life was not conducive to healthy living for me. 

Another facet of it is my frustration with my ex. This is the kind of stuff we were supposed to face together. I'm pissed at him for not being here for these kinds of things. Not that he was great at that while we were married, honestly. 

That's all. Just needed to vent, and now I'm done. And I do actually feel better. Onward and upward. 

Double standard

Checked the first box for "Divorced" Tuesday. I knew it would happen, just didn't expect it to be so soon.

And, of course, I cried. 

Went to the OBGYN for my yearly the next day. The nurse asked if my marital status was still separated, and I said, "Actually it's officially divorced, as of Monday." She asked how it went, and I told her fine, but it's been a hard week. 

And, of course, I cried. 

She left and came back with this mini Hershey's bar, gave me a hug, and said it was fitting and chocolate makes everything better. 

It did make me smile. 

Unfortunately, over the last two years, there have just been a lot more tears. Which anyone would say is understandable. The world as we knew it ended when the coronavirus pandemic closures began. My husband immediately shut down and avoided the kids and me - while quarantined in the same house for three months. He wouldn't talk about it, except to say that he was depressed. I was so worried. That summer he made his first statement that we should divorce, and in the fall he moved out. On top of that, my job was deteriorating, and I had no hope of finding a new one while on lockdown. Plus, that year I was functioning as a single parent and trying to work full time from home while doing remote school with a kindergartener, 4th grader, and 7th grader. 

I had high hopes for 2021, but they were shattered within the first couple of days when my husband finally admitted he'd had an affair. The next day I got sick and it turned out to be COVID-19. After recovering, I told him I was willing to do the work to fix our marriage if he was. He didn't know, wanted time to think about it. Ultimately, we made the decision to divorce almost one year ago - March 20. But it took this whole time to get through the logistics and mediation and be able to begin exiting a weird limbo. I kept thinking. "I just need to reach point X in time, and I'll be ok. I'll start to feel better. I won't want to cry in the middle of the day." I really dug into prayer and my Bible and that is what sustained me, being rooted in the knowledge that I am a child of God and loved by Him and he's got me - no matter what. I tried to get outside for fresh air and exercise on really hard days. I tried to eat better on weeks when I was at the apartment. I did have two very big blessings last year – an amazing new job and a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to go to Kenya for a missions trip. 

The new year brought some hints at closure as we set the apartment lease to end June 30 in anticipation of the divorce being finalized and our nesting arrangement ending. But winter dragged on and my car needed new wiring. Then new rear brakes. Then new front brakes. My finances have become tenuous, and I'd hoped they'd be robust as I begin researching mortgages and moving options. Russia invaded Ukraine. Through a ministry partner at church, I'm helping with refugees locally as well as updating our mission team's social media with news from their front lines in Poland. There was a shooting at a local high school last week.

In short, life is stressful. And depressing. So when the OBGYN asked if I'd like some medication to help with that, I said yes. 

I've long been a proponent of mental health care and not being afraid to ask for help and that medication is great. But I've never been one to ask for it for me. Because I didn't need it. I have joy in my heart. I know how to address the factors that affect my mental health. And I felt like a failure admitting that wasn't enough. Which is the opposite of what I tell everyone else! The devil is doing his best to get me, but I'm letting God fight him on my behalf. Enough of this double standard. It's another new in my life, and I'm embracing it. 

How am I supposed to love when my heart is broken?

Photo by Cristian Palmer on Unsplash

After our court hearing yesterday, I felt sick to my stomach. I expected mixed emotions – sadness and relief. But the relief didn't come, just the grief and hurt. It didn't help that he texted that morning to ask if our appointment was yesterday. Reading that message took my breath away. March 7, 2022 at 4:00pm was etched in my brain as starkly as any other major life event, but to him it was just another day. I felt tossed aside and irrelevant. Not only did he not care enough about our marriage to fight for it, but he cared so little he forgot when it ended.

That may not be true. He may have been dreading it so pushed it from his mind. But given the background of the last two years, that isn't my conclusion.

The Zoom call was as easy as the process could be, I suppose, aside from the mediator having some issues getting our paperwork to the judge. When it was done, I allowed myself a couple of minutes to cry silently, then wiped my tears and walked out of the bedroom to check on the kids. They seemed unfazed, which is good. That's the reason we chose nesting during our separation; we wanted to make the transition as easy as possible for them. I took our oldest to dance class, then made dinner and gave instructions to the other two for while I was gone to my women's Bible study. The companionship of these incredible women and discussion surrounding the book we're reading was salve for my soul.

But when I got back home, I struggled with being patient with the kids. I love them so much, but it hurts to feel that emotion right now. I know I need to give myself time and space to have the breakdown my body demands, but I'm trying to hold on a little longer. Until I move to my own space, hopefully this July.

In the meantime, I'm resting in these lyrics from Jeremy Camps "Out of My Hands"

Every day this never-ending pressure
Tries to take its claim over my heart
I have tried to hold it all together
But time and time again, I fall apart
But that's where I find my life was never mine at all
You are the one inside always in control

So when it feels like all of this pain is never gonna end
Brought to my knees by all of these things I don't understand, don't understand
I will let the weight of my fear fall like sand
Out of my hands and into Yours,
out of my hands and into Yours

Definitions

The last year between deciding to get divorced and actually having it be finalized by the judge today has been weird to navigate. What do I call him? He's technically still my husband, though purely in title and not in fact (as it's been for some time, honestly). Yet calling him my ex seemed premature. Especially since we've been nesting, and will continue to do so for a couple more months. When referencing him in relation to the kids, it was easier; I just called him "their dad." But from this day forward, he will be known as my ex-husband. One more tiny step in this monumental transition to the next phase of my life. While everyone goes through phases, some are easily defined and generic like childhood, adulthood, single, married, parent. Others are more personal, their edges blurred into one another with varying intensity like the feathering of a color gradient. As a child, the main differentiation for me was before and after my dad's heart attack. Before: meat and potatoes, butter, salt; after: chicken and fish, bland. There were others - my mom staying home with us and then returning to work; my transition from many sports and activities to focusing solely on dance. As an adult, being orphaned by my dad's passing in 2018 and losing my mom to Alzheimer's though she's still here physically. And of course now this new phase of being a divorcée. A word with such terrible connotations. Single-again - sounds like it's trying too hard not to be divorcée (which it is). Having to add terms to my vocabulary like mediator and parenting plan and maintenance (which is definitely worse than when it was called alimony). This is the beginning of my journey to redefine myself.