A weekend at Bernies

Dear Blog Reader,

Have I told you how much I love you? It means so much to be that your care enough to spend a few mins of your time to come read the ramblings of my mind. It helps me to know that maybe all the heartache and disappointments of the last few days/weeks/months maybe isn’t for nothing. It’s weird to be happy and stressed at the same time. Stressed may not be the right word. Not sad, not mad, just…carrying a lot of weight? Whatever word describes that, that’s how I’ve been lately. I’m currently sitting in my car this Saturday afternoon, driving around for Uber Eats. It makes me happy and aggravated to drive for Uber Eats. Happy that I’m able to provide the income that’s needed so I’m not robbing Peter to pay Paul. And aggravated that I have to do it in the first place. Like, I’m grateful to have the ability to do so, but sour AF that if I didnt, I’d be in trouble. On the major plus side, it is a breeding ground for pride to grow. Pride in my accomplishments over the last year of being on my own. It’s not glamorous. It’s not sparkly and blemish free. But this life I’ve carved out for myself was built by me. And man, I’m happier than I’ve ever been. It actually brings an ache to my heart to say that. I know, it sounds so contradictory. But hear me out. I was married for 14 years. And I thought that that was the epitome of my life. I had reached peak adulthood. Marriage. Kids. Beautiful house. Lot of friends. Comfortable living. But guys, when you’re wearing rose colored glasses, everything is the same shade of pink. So while I may have had full pockets, my heart was empty. I had clouded my mind with smoke and mirrors of “This is all I need”. I used to beat myself up over being dissatisfied with my life. But I couldn’t quiet the longings in my heart as they grew loud and unsettled when I laid down in my dark bed, with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. Hot tears would pool in my eyes and I would blink and the tears would fall on the pillow and I would cry myself to sleep. I couldn’t rid myself of the guilt I felt. I mean, I had everything right? I should be happy? Why wasn’t I happy? I never spoke about it to anyone. Not even to myself. I would shush that thought, snip it out and bury it. But it continued to grow, like a weed. I’ve lost a lot over this year. Not only my marriage, but so many others things that were attached to it. And this is the part that makes me heart ache at the happiness I feel. Because a lot of the things I lost, I’m better off now without them. Good things that I treasured. It almost hurts to admit it. The memories, the friendships, the inside jokes, the intimacy, the comfort, the satisfaction of having my family intact. All gone. And man, it hurts to not have them. But, I’m happier. What does it mean? I’m not sure. Maybe it’s because the attachment to those things meant the I was still willing to be the shadow version of myself, willing to continue to make myself small. And now that I don’t have those things, I am able to grow into a more authentic version of myself. Maybe for the first time ever. Isn’t that exciting? I am happier. My life is better. My heart is full. I get this tightness in my chest as I write this because of how true it actually is.

The main thing I’ve learned over the last few months is that happiness is way under valued. Coming from someone who thought she was happy, I’m telling you. Happiness, real happiness is freaking amazing. Idk how I ever lived without being as happy as I feel now. And what I’ve realized is that life is long as hell to live unhappy. I’m not advocating divorce. Like, at all. If you can, work it out. Please. Do it. But also, don’t kill your soul with the weight of carrying the corpse of your marriage around like A Weekend At Bernies.

Something that I didn’t do before, was trust myself. I knew he didn’t love me. I knew this wasn’t a stable relationship. I knew I shouldn’t feel as sad and lonely as I did. I knew that I should matter more to this man. And I knew I didn’t. I should of trusted my gut when he gave his half assed effort and made half assed promises that he never intended to keep. But I had convinced myself that if I stuck it out, things would turn around. And all I did was break my own heart, betray my own trust and crush my own self worth. I would return to the small, sad place in my chest that provided relief and stayed there till it choked me. I’ve been trying to think about things to write in the last few weeks that didn’t involve discussing my divorce. But in all reality, it shaped my life now. And I hate to admit it, but I’m happier to be divorced. THERE. I SAID IT. I know, I know, divorce is awful. It really is. Its fucking terrible. It killed me. It set my whole life on fire and I could do nothing but sit outside and watch it burn. It was humiliating. It hurt. My eyes are tearing up as I type this because I remember the sorrow I felt at losing it. Which is why its crazy to me that I’m happy to be divorced. Contradicting, I know. I didn’t say it would make sense. I’m just telling you how it is. I don’t know if the way I feel is typical for people who get divorced.

I thought for the longest time that my kids would take the brunt of their parents not staying together. And to my relief, my kids survived. And to my surprise, they are happy too. They have two parents, who love them to pieces, who now live separate lives. And it works.

I think about my own childhood. My parents divorced when I was 3. I lived with my mom, but my dad was always preset in my life. And idk what life would of been like if they had stayed married. But I don’t feel robbed or short changed or less because of it. I grew up with the knowledge that marriage was hard and people make hard choices. Me and their dad made hard choices. We are still great parents to our babies. And the main thing I’ve realized through this hard season in my life is that I FUCKING MATTER! I don’t mean to use profanity freely to describe something but it fits. Life is way to long to feel like I don’t matter. Like my feelings don’t matter. Like my life is less. Like as if I am less. Like not staying married for my kids makes me less of a good mom. Like their life would be less if we got divorced. I fought this thought probably longer than I should have. I’m tired of carrying the weight of the thought that my choices make me less. I fought hard to create this version of myself. She’s strong. And smart. And lovely. And finally in love her life. Now when I go to sleep at night, I don’t lay my head down on a damp pillow anymore. When I blow out birthday candles, or throw a coin in a fountain, I don’t wish for my husband to just love me anymore (True story). I don’t cry in happy movies cause knowledge that my relationship didn’t look like that made my heart break. Can’t you see? The weight of an unhappy, unfulfilled life is such a burden to carry. And I don’t carry it anymore. And I hope you’re happy for me.