Today marks two years since my divorce was finalized. Two years since I legally became a single woman… a single mom. I’ve spent these last two years; (honestly, the last four years because divorce takes a long time, way longer than getting married took) rebuilding my life one brick at a time.
No one ever tells you that leaving the person you’d spent almost your entire adult life with feels like a death. And I guess in a way it is a death. The death of a friendship. The death of a relationship. Death of a family structure. Death of the future. Death of a dream.
Life was going on all around me but it felt like mine had stopped. Like I was in the Twilight Zone of what used to be a life and just going along with the motions.
In year one, I spent my childfree time; crying, interviewing for jobs, crying, sleeping, more crying, attending therapy, painting while binging television, and yup more crying. My friends requested proof of life pictures. Sometimes it was just a plate of food I managed to make for myself that day. Other times it was a finished painting.
During year two, my childfree time was spent interviewing for jobs, starting a new (short-lived) business, crying, creating, therapy, and crying with a simmering RAGE that led me to go public about some of the nitty gritty of why I left my marriage. I decided to listen to Zora Neale Hurston and speak up about my pain. No one can ever say I loved the emotional and mental abuse I went through because the rage and sadness and receipts are very real.
By year three, I was coming back to life, and actually enjoying my childfree time. I started a new job and began venturing out more on my own. I cried. I started reading for pleasure again. Went to mediation and signed the divorce agreement. Raged about leaving with nothing but my children even though I deserved so much more. I attended more therapy. I picked up my Nintendo Switch and delved into videogames. Made delicious meals just for me. Picked up a slight LEGO habit. Spent time with friends. Went on my first solo international trip. And cried throughout it all.
This fourth year of childfree time, I’ve actively moved from survival mode to thrive mode. I’m excelling at my new job. I just signed a contract for next school year with more responsibility (and more coins). I actively make plans with friends. I’ve started planning to take trips with the kids again. I’ve even started an active streak of listening to romance novels. And yes I’ve cried, but it’s not the same crying from years one – three. It’s not as frequent or desperate or painful.
It’s a cry from the ache of knowing that I’m almost there. I’m almost at a life I’ve always wanted for myself. It’s a revised life, but it’s MY life.
