I sat down to write about me, about how I’m doing, and the truth is, I can’t.
I can’t really tell you how I am, at least not in this space, and right now I don’t know what that means beyond the fact that I’m emotionally exhausted and feeling overwhelmingly quiet. I feel as if I’ve gone into a sort of emotional hibernation in preparation for a winter that promises to be both beautiful and heartbreaking. I have some silly posts I might eventually finish one of these days, posts that make me laugh, and will hopefully make you laugh, but posts that don’t talk about me, or how I’m doing, or what I’m feeling or not feeling, or what I wish I were or were not feeling.
A lot of you know how I am. You ask, and I answer as best I can and 99.9% of the time I sound functional and maybe even happy, and I really am both of those things.
I am functional. I get up every morning and make it to work on time, and do my job with as much passion and capability as I ever have. I like my job. I like the work I do daily. My apartment is clean. My bills are paid on time. I take out the trash when it’s time and I go to the grocery store as needed (which is way too often for my liking, but once a week is way too often for my liking). Iggy is fed and tended to
spoiled, and he falls asleep cuddled up next to the small of my back every night.
I am happy. I have an amazing, supportive family and equally amazing, supportive friends, and I know I am blessed. I am rediscovering who I am, remembering the girl I used to be and the woman I want to be. Instead of running the other direction, I am taking the time to watch the many stages of grief as they roll toward me, letting them wash over me in their entirety like waves, trying to feel everything I am able to feel, to note and process every drop of hurt, so that I’m not repressing anything. The last thing I want to be is a ticking time bomb of emotional outburst, pushing everything wrong, everything bad, everything broken down down down, until I can’t see it or feel it anymore. I don’t want that. I don’t want to be emotionally detached, unavailable. I was never that person. I don’t want to be.
What has been most surprising, I think, is how many different emotions–and so many unexpected daily realities–are encompassed in divorce, not the least of which is my shame in saying the word “divorce” aloud. I have good days and great days, and horribly lonely, frustrating days. I have days where I find myself sobbing because someone said something kind to me, or because they didn’t say anything, or because I bought the wrong kind of yogurt at Trader Joe’s. I have days, too, when I laugh until I’m crying.
I don’t know how else to daily deal with this reality if not to feel what I feel when I feel it and strive every day to make some small step forward in some area of my life. I really am trying. I’m also trying to be patient with myself, though I find that to be the hardest aspect of all of this. I want to be 100% healed, 100% better/stronger/faster right this second, and, well, as much as it pains me to admit, I’m not magic. Losing, rebuilding, healing: it isn’t magic.
So, every day I’m letting the waves of self-doubt, anger, betrayal, hurt, shame, fear, loss–I’m letting it all wash over me as it will, and I’m taking the time to revel in the peaceful feeling as I watch each wave eventually ebb slowly back toward the horizon, away from me.