It took me so many years from the time I knew my marriage was over to the time I actually filed for divorce, that I believed deeply in my heart, it would be relatively easy. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
I’d asked myself many times over the years whether I should continue to sacrifice not my happiness, but my purpose and be-ing, for my children by staying in a marriage that was dead but which would offer them the physical presence of a father, because I did not have that and was unsure how breaking that presence would affect them.
It took me a long time to realize and accept that physical presence does not make one a father.
It took me a little longer to realize the damage being caused by modeling a false union. So many of my ideals have been tainted by realities it took me too long to recognize.
I feel as if I am floating in a wasteland of shattered hearts, unable to piece them together because my hands are bloodied with the shards from my own.
I expected to file, followed by a physical separation occurring without incident and then go tiptoeing merrily along through the tulips, a field of green grass, or something alive and bright.
I did not expect to feel such depth of guilt. Face betrayal and anger. I was not prepared to answer my children when they asked “Who is that for?” after seeing a letter addressed to me in my maiden name.
I keep asking myself, how long have I been a pansy, a pollyanna, a ‘there is a rainbow after every storm’ cheerleader for everyone I know, yet, now, for myself, all chants of hopefulness seem to be buried in the ground?
It has taken me long to admit the truth.
This shit hurts and I am not strong enough to avoid the pain.
My boots are on. I’m dressed in Transformation. My mind is cocked, loaded and I’m allowing myself to
‘…scream at the sky – it’s easier than crying…’ ~ Suicidal Tendencies
I only hope that my pollyanna fairy is waiting for me on the other side.