Unmarried

There's this strange space between him leaving and the unsigned papers. A space where you're not quite divorced but absolutely not married. The feeling is raw. Embarrassing. As lawyers go back and forth along with the children between two houses, it's two steps forward and five steps back. Moving on is easy, until it isn't. The day is the same as it was before he left. Wake up. Wake kids up. School. Work. Sports. Dinner. Sleep. During this time, you survive. You smile and keep moving. Don't stop moving. Twenty years of truths come to light. Reflection happens daily as tears stream down my face, chest aches that come and go like the waves in a lake. A lifetime of pain filled with mini pockets of pure bliss.

I lived the story of my life twice. Once as a child and then again in my marriage. I was my Mom and my unhusband was my Dad. I was a stayer. Unwavering love through mountains of pain. The verbal abuse was deafening. My mom and I, so different yet so similar. Loyal to a fault. Codependent on these humans who were barely such as times. Hilarious! Life of the party men who knew right from wrong yet just couldn't help themselves. Would do anything for a friend, yet for those that loved them hardest, "I'm sorry" was impossible and never came. Alcohol was my dads weapon of choice where the unhusband picked whiskey and weed. Sights, sounds and smells that will never leave my soul.

I grew up watching my dad drink and become unmanageable in between pure joy. My mom would do her best to hide her fear and pain to protect us from whatever came out of his hands or mouth. She did good. She did her best. She did okay. She should've left. I love my dad and I'm glad he's in my world, he's helped make me who I am today. But. My mom deserved better. She deserved respect and love and a man who didn't tell her to shut the fuck up as he pinned her to a dresser. So did I. Wait. So do I.

My marriage was built from a teenage friendship with a boy I thought was totally adorable and completely naughty. I knew. I knew he was going to be my guy. I loved him. Hard. Through a shitty set of parents. A sibling that was a disaster. A childhood that created the kind of trauma you read about. I knew I was in for it, but I was ready. I had a lifetime of training. I was loyal and could love him harder than anyone else ever had, unconditionally. And I did for 20 years, almost. Two amazingly beautiful girls later and I will undoubtedly say, I survived. I loved him but was never truly loved (and I know this because he told me of course). As an empath, I'm a red flag magnet. "Oh, you're broken? PERFECT! Come here and let me fix you right now and love that pain out of you!" Therapy is an amazing thing. Jesus.

So as I get through this first stage of becoming unmarried, waiting for these papers to get signed, I am hopeful. Hopeful to not have shared the same trait my mother passed onto me with my girls. Hopeful that new beginnings mean I will eventually heal from 41 years of brokenness. Hopeful that life with look normal (to me) again before I hit menopause and hopeful that eventually, the right kind of love will find my soul. And stay.

Fuck You Unhusband.