Another post in the series of Traveler’s Tales
A Guest Post by Mary
Sometimes I still turn into a puddle.
This time of year is filled with first “anniversaries” I’d rather not remember, let alone commemorate. The day my husband told me he thought we should do a trial separation. The day I found out about the infidelity. The day — December 10th, today — he made it clear that, for him, the marriage was over. The day the “D” word became more than a threat I shouted at him in the depths of despondency and rage.
What a long, strange trip it’s been. Within the next few days my divorce will be finalized and I will be a single twenty-something again. I’ll get my rather awesome surname back. “Getting” a divorce will become “got” a divorce. And, truthfully, I’m ready for it. But I also refuse to anesthetize the emotional messiness of the process by offering up platitudes about closure and fresh starts. I am still grieving. I am still recovering. And I am still figuring out what my life is supposed to look like without my husband in it.
My days are still mixed-bag of complex and contradictory emotions. Often it’s only when my eyes well up with tears that I realize my mind has wandered to my marriage. At other times I’ll find myself re-hashing old arguments and conjuring up cutting retorts. These feelings strike suddenly and they strike hard, but fortunately, these days, they also pass quickly.
Today I cry not because I’m getting divorced this week. The woman I am today can handle it, lingering, conflicting emotions notwithstanding. I cry for the woman I was a year ago, who felt like her marriage had been exposed as nothing but a series of protective fictions. The woman for whom the mere possibility of divorce was an unbearably painful thought.
2 comments
I sympathize oh-so-much with your description of your marriage as “a series of protective fictions.” While there is some relief in having that behind me now, I am still so shocked at how dramatically my understanding of my marriage changed in just a few minutes as John explained to me why he was leaving.
So far I’ve made it through some major holidays (Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentine’s, his birthday), but I know there will be many painful days ahead of me. There is this hot pressing feeling in my chest every time I remember–and it happens at the oddest of times. I wish there was some way to make it stop…
Being 7 years out, I can say that it gets easier. Not better, but easier. The crying jags are less intense, and sometimes, when you feel like you’re going to cry, you laugh instead. But I remember being there. Not the best feeling.