(Yeah, I haven’t succeeded at this one yet…these are just my notes regarding the journey!)
(2 WEEKS)
Coming home to an empty house brings about an immense amount of sadness that up until a few weeks ago I never would’ve guessed was possible.
Two short/impossibly long weeks ago I turned a corner in this whole separation thing. In the past 4 years I’d felt stifled – and over the course of time felt myself closing the door to my heart, soul and mind.
Two weeks ago I felt the spaces I’d closed off begin to open to family and friends. I felt a renewed sense of confidence and in a strange way; I felt an odd sense of freedom. I felt like I could conquer the separation, I felt like I could conquer the world. I felt like I could live alone and make it, happily.
I have now hopped another train of thought. In moving into this house, I feel the reality of where life has taken me. After 4 years of marriage and 3 months of drama, I am now living alone. …Shopping alone. Unpacking alone. Decorating alone. Switching over cable, gas and electric alone. Eating alone. Grieving the loss of Tim Russert alone. Waking up alone. Breathing alone. Squishing bugs alone. Living in a house with a scary attic alone. Organizing the fridge alone. Putting on my wedding ring, every day; alone.
The weight of doing these menial tasks is made heavier by the subtle pressure on the 3rd finger of my left hand. My rings serve as a constant reminder that life is not looking the way it should.
Along with the tangible weight of my rings is the weight of anticipation. I’ve been racking my brain to find out why living alone now is so much harder than when I was in college. The answer I stumbled upon is the idea of anticipation. On evenings where I came home before my husband, I carried that slight anticipation that around 7, 8, 9:00 he would come walking through that door. Even on the weekends he was out of town I lived my life knowing that he was coming back.
Now I come home and it’s just me. The anticipation of anyone coming through the door is removed, and I hate it.
I know I’m being a bit antsy. Unfortunately, I think it might be in my nature. I have to keep reminding myself: it’s only been a little over a week that I moved out of a loved one’s home; into a home by myself. Is it completely impossible for me to be OK with living alone in one week? Absolutely. Does my brain believe you? Absolutely not.
All is not lost, even though it feels like it. Friends and loved ones have survived much worse than this. And in the world of cliches, it can only get better from here.
(ONE MONTH)
Well. So far, it’s not been as hard as it was the first week (Thank GOD).
My job (which I LOVE) is working for a non-profit organization that organizes events and camps for kids and youth. We are currently in our 3rd week of camp.
I’ve found that I tend to avoid going home…for lots of reasons: one being that I have no one (nor the obligations) to go home to; another being that it’s simply more fun at work. However. In the past 3 weeks I’ve not been home before 12 midnight, and I’ve sufficiently watched my coach turn into a pumpkin, my ball gown into rags: I’ve got a wicked little headache that just will not stop, pulled me from my work and stranded me at home.
I certainly didn’t expect to say this, especially after that initial week of moving in, but I’m thrilled to be home, away from adults that I had pegged all wrong; and away from kids that are bound and determined to hug me. I’m thrilled to walk into my quiet little house, eat my pop-tarts for dinner and write/read/cry/think/pray…all alone.
Much like anything, there are good and bad days. The bad days leave me sitting, looking at the phone and the people I can call, all the while wishing that instead someone will be thinking of me and call just to say hey. The really bad days leave me crying into my pillow at night; or in the shower where they get washed down the drain with all the other junk from the day.
The good leave me bustling around my house with a sense of purpose. I can do yoga whenever I want without any snide comments, I can sing whatever is currently on my heart and I can read without interruption.
I’m still not happy I’m here, but, I’m not entirely miserable either. I guess that’s progress!
(FOUR MONTHS)
I live in lists: think in them, talk in them, prioritize in them, and write in them. (LOOK I’m doing it NOW!)
This being the 4th month we’ve been separated is no exception. I tried to string this together in some eloquent fashion, and it just wasn’t meant to be. So, this is where I am currently:
I want:
a partnership
for the wound to heal
to slow down some
to not forget the people who’ve helped me through
“to make you laugh”
to experience life at my fullest potential
and eventually, a man who will stand up: for good (both for good morally and for good as in a permanent frame of time)
I long to:
love someone more than myself
see the beauty I myself possess
I wait to:
love purely
be accepted completely
trust whole-heartedly
forgive entirely
More than once, practically every time I pray; the answer I’m given is to ‘wait’. Some days I’m OK with that answer, because the day ends just as quickly as it began. Some days, I’m not.
However, I know if I rush this process, I am cheating:
I am cheating Aaron out of the wife he deserves (if we can keep this on track).
If we cannot, I am cheating every other man who might possibly find interest in me out of dating a whole person.
I am cheating my friends out of days/weeks/years of time spent discussing their lives as opposed to this situation.
I am cheating my family out of the time they need to heal.
I am cheating myself out of not living life one day at a time, not truly experiencing all that is gut-wrenchingly difficult but is serving to make me more likeable, even to myself.
McDonald’s had a great Summer Olympics ad campaign, and the slogan has become applicable to my life, for I truly believe that if I lend myself to the process and choose to grow from it, this will will be true:
Amazing Awaits








