I don’t care

It was nice of you to leave your suitcases directly in my walkway as I came to pick up our son. I see the airline tags were removed. Guess what? I truly do not care where you went or what you did. Hope you enjoyed your vacation. I enjoyed a week without dealing with you. Light and love, your ex.

Healing

It’s been almost 15 months since he announced our marriage was over, one year since I filed and just over nine months that it was finalized. Since then, I have moved into an apartment with our son, built a house, moved out of the apartment and am six weeks into setting up our lovely new home.

Yes, of course it’s nice to have a brand new space. What’s even better, however, is the light and love that fills it. I no longer feel like I’m walking into a dark, depressive environment. Funny, I felt that with both homes we shared. I didn’t feel that when I moved to the apartment. There is no sense of impending doom. There are no eggshells scattered on the floor to avoid. I don’t have to gauge the environment and adapt my behavior to keep the peace. Or not, which is what started a lot of the “problems” in our relationship. I quit trying and just got belligerent. Acted how I wanted. Didn’t care.

I was sick of being miserable. I was sick of living with a shell of a human who liked engaging with his online buddies more then me and even our son. He was supposed to see the error of his ways, and be the man I once knew. Unfortunately it was easier to cast blame and find something new and exciting than to admit any fault. It’s easier to run and cry to someone else instead of turning inward. I know this. I was the girlfriend after his first divorce. In some way that made it easier. I knew he’d never look back and I didn’t waste much time trying after his announcement.

We spent almost 20 years together and raised three children, two from his previous marriage. Our son is 14. I would be lying if I said I had no guilt over what this did to him. It’s been hell. With that said, had I just said “Yes, dear” in our marriage, we wouldn’t be divorced. There is no doubt that I could handled my issues with him differently. There came a point that I could no longer allow myself to raise my son in that toxic environment. That was my choice. He now suffers the aftermath of my decision and his father’s reaction.

Part of that “aftermath” is seeing a mom who rarely drinks, smiles a lot, has friends over for no apparent reason, and who sings/dances in the kitchen while attempting to cook. He sees me happy. He sees me whole. He has a clean, well-kept home, filled with light and love. He still smiles and hugs me. I think we are both healing.

Understanding

It’s not that you didn’t understand me. It’s that you never tried. You never thought it was important.

My last night in jail

Eleven years ago, almost to the day, we moved here. This was supposed to be a fresh start. After two years of illnesses, this was supposed to be a place of respite and sanctuary. You don’t know the meaning of those words. I didn’t choose this path but I’m starting to learn it is the right one for me. I didn’t understand terms like “emotional abuse” and “controlling behavior.” Tomorrow I escape.

Time to go

I fell, tripping on the steps up to my front door. The mail went flying, the backpack fell from my shoulder. I hit my right knee/lower leg, right wrist and hand on the concrete steps. Pain shot up from my knee and down my arm. I was on all fours on the steps for several seconds and I actually cried out due to the pain. You walked over to me and asked what happened. I said I fell! I know you are no longer my husband, but I’ve seen you treat strangers better than this. I was truly physically hurt. “I don’t know what you want.” How about you help me up? I would do this to a stranger. Thank God this is the last night I have to spend in this house. You are not a good person.

Epic fail

Epic fail AND I’m not sorry. All week I’ve listened to my ex talk about random topics: the vacation he took with my son, work issues, the home improvement store not sorting bolts by size correctly, how many skittles he has to freeze dry for a family commitment. Instead of setting healthy boundaries, I let it fester then blow just like Mt. Vesuvius. I know this trigger. I’ve known it for 15+ years. The words “I wish you were dead” came out of my mouth. In my darkest moment, it’s true. Why??? Why do I allow this to happen? I hate this. I hate my anxiety and my anger issues. Yes, I’m in therapy for both. I just want to co-parent civilly, but it’s hard when I didn’t want this and he’s going to bars picking up women. Our divorce has been final since late April and just now am I finally able to move to an apartment Aug 1 while building a house (not complete until January). This has been my own personal hell.

You don’t deserve me

You don’t deserve me. I stood by you during your chronic illnesses. I tolerated your crappy behavior during my pregnancy. I paid for two lawyers when your world fell apart, unjustly accused of something you didn’t do. I then paid for years of counseling for the person who most needed it. I took care of your children when you were too sick or just didn’t want to, because TV or your online women were more interesting. I taught our son to play basketball because you… well… you didn’t. I planned and plotted our future. I saved money so we could retire. I gave up time with family because you didn’t like them. Then I got sick of it. I argued and fought. I couldn’t take the hoarding, the belittlement, being ignored, the obsession with the government, the emotional abuse. I threatened divorce several times when the pain was just too much. You finally called my bluff and said you were done. It look me months to realize this was a gift. Thank you. I’m free.

51 and counting

I just read my post about being 45. Guess what? My husband wasn’t great. He was a petty, narcissistic, controlling jerk. There I said it. His low self-esteem, haughty, holier-than-thou attitude, hoarding and emotional abuse finally came to a head during Covid. Six months earlier, he had approached me with concerns about our marriage, i.e. “why don’t you like me?” facade. Turns out my legit complaints were NOT what he wanted to hear. Shocker. I was just supposed to fix it. Also, menopause and PMS are not real. For whatever reason I tolerated him not believing in PMS. But menopause? How is THAT not real?! I tried to clarify that I wasn’t using it as an excuse for my horrible hormonal swings but as a starting point to fix them. I was given no leeway. Because my problems were not fixed overnight, that meant I was a narcissist, and I never treated him well in the 20 years I had known him. He just hadn’t REALIZED it. 🙈🤷‍♀️ Um…. ok? What do you say to that? Add hoarding and obsession/paranoia about the government controlling us, and there was my life. Two days before Thanksgiving with guests coming from three states away, he announced our marriage was over. Two months later, after him threatening to go after full custody of our son (no grounds) and drain my accounts, I lawyered up. It was uncontested, and he didn’t even get his own lawyer. Fast forward two months, the divorce is finalized, and we are still in the same house thanks to the housing shortage. I let him keep the house. I don’t want it. I decided to build. I found a six month lease but it doesn’t start until August 1. I pay him rent that is $200 MORE than the full mortgage just so I don’t have to listen to him bitch about utilities or deal with trying to keep food separated. So, here we are, co-habitating, watching TV every night together as a “family” except tonight when he went to the bar. He told his 13 year old son to watch TV without him, but he’d be home before he went to bed. I guess I should be grateful for that? He was home at 9:30 (TV time is 9). I get that we are divorced. It’s not about that. My son was so disappointed. My heart breaks for him. What a selfish asshole. There. I said it. ☹️

45 is the new black

Today is my 45^th birthday.  I don’t really view this as a milestone.  I’ve always been a big believer in your age is really just a number, and how you act is more important than the actual digits.   In saying all of that, however, I started thinking about 45.  When I was in my twenties, what did I think I would be doing in my 40s?  In a perfect world, what do I think I should be doing?

My career is where I wanted it to be, but now that I’m here,  I’m looking for a change.  I started a family later in life, getting married at 36, gaining two children in the process,  then giving birth to a son one week before my first anniversary.  “Zero to three kids in one year!” was my tagline.  Balancing a career with kids is tough.  My job morphed into a role that is not one I would have picked for myself.  I’m doing OK, but I don’t love it.  It’s not a comfortable place for me.  The paycheck is amazing, and if it wasn’t for that, I would have walked two years ago.  Unfortunately, I cannot make this kind of money and keep five weeks of vacation anywhere else locally.  Moving is not an option at this point in life, due to involvement with my stepchildren’s lives.  That may change a few years, when our middle child graduates from high school.  I would like to do a complete one-eighty and manage a non-profit agency for some grand cause.  In reality, that will most likely take up 50-60 hours, which is part of my work problem now.

What to do?  I’m entertaining ideas on a new career in technical writing, consulting, or even a more internet-based business.  I’m also pursuing a 25 year old dream to become an author.   I’ve started writing again, and while I don’t expect to grace to New York Times top ten list in the next few  years, the emotional payoff has made it worth the effort.  To me, it’s like popping a Xanax.

When I was in my late twenties and early thirties, sans kids, I mentored women at work.  Typically they were in roles below my level, and we focused on long-term career goals.  I miss this.  I realized that I while I am a parent (and, alas, wicked stepmother), there is no reason I can’t also be a mentor to these children.  This is a new realization to me, so I don’t have a lot of data to show this to be a success yet, but I hope it will work and be a win-win for all.  I’m also mentoring one woman at work, even though we have no formal process any longer (new ownership).

My health is not good.  Perimenopause (the time leading up to full-fledged menopause) is kicking my ass at the moment.  Long story short, I need sleep more, drink more water, less alcohol, eat a more healthy diet AND increase exercise.   The worst part is the headaches – I often fall asleep with one and wake up with it.  It is SO draining.  Seriously – can’t you just put me under the knife and be done with it???  PLEASE???

So – here I am at 45, and I’m kind of a mess.  Now, to the general masses, maybe not so much:  I have a great husband,  teen children who are not in jail or parents themselves, a nice retirement account, a well-paying job, a nice house, and no credit card debt.  To me, however, I’m a mess, but whose fault is that?  It’s mine.  If I don’t like who I am, shouldn’t I be changing it?  At 45, I ought to feel like I own the world and hold myself up high.  Well, that’s a little arrogant.  I mean I should be where I want to be, and if I’m not, then I need to get off of my ass and fix it.  So what’s stopping me?  Me.

Forty five is the new black, and baby, I’m gonna wear it like it’s Dior.

Shame

This is a comment I wrote after reading a post by Jeff Goins on the topic of shame (http://goinswriter.com/shame/)

Yesterday, my neighbor sent me a text/photo of my first-grade son dancing to “Gangnam Style” with her two boys.  I love, love, LOVE the fact that not only will my son do this at someone else’s house, but that she appreciates this kind of freedom as much as I do.  In all honesty, she is much better at promoting free expression than I am.  She and her husband both have degrees and careers in the art world, whereas I am a boring chemistry geek.   I want my child to sing and dance, play and express himself.  I have been “busted” by coworkers driving by my house, while my son and I are having glorious light saber battles to the death.  I have been caught singing in the car as I pull into the parking lot at work.  I am honestly not trying to attract attention, but I also don’t always squelch my actions because somebody might see me.  I was not always this way, but I have purposefully broken away from the cookie-cutter persona that is often expected, and I’ve allowed myself to be me.   This especially applies at home or in non-work events.  There is a limit to how much fun nerdy science people can have on the clock, after all, especially when we are making medicine.  🙂

Thank you, Jeff, for the wonderful post.  In life, we cannot forget to dance.