Nothing freaks me out more than not knowing. Not knowing where you stand, waiting for those test results, not knowing if you are going to lose your spouse or your loved one or your job. Living in that awful limbo land of uncertainty is a hell unlike any other.
You know what I mean…it’s sort of like MAYBE living in a global pandemic. We just don’t know.
Or, it might look like my life right now, getting divorced, living in a pandemic and then getting a breast cancer scare.
Wait, what?
I’m at the doctor getting my left orb, for lack of a better term, stared at for a solid five minutes of pure awkwardness when the doctor finally takes off his reading glasses and tells me he thinks it’s a large bruise from running.
“Sam, you do have a rather large bosom, so uhhh, yeah…these kinds of things happen. Runners often have to put Vaseline on their nipples to prevent chafing. You are going to have to wear more supportive sports bras. Obviously, we will schedule a mammogram, but I think you are good.”
And I wanted to crawl in a shame hole and never come out. Was that his best attempt at an impartial doctoral diagnosis, a chastisement of mammary neglect or an ass backwards compliment? And why did this examination take so long?
He went on, “So tell me about the divorce? I didn’t expect that from you.”
Right. I know…Me. The sweet little pastor’s wife now turned rebel. It’s unexpected. Shocking even. And sooooo juicy.
And I sat there and smiled weakly with my mouth closed BECAUSE I’m not dishing. Especially when I have a blue paper robe on with the opening in front.
Why? Because if I tell anyone all the shitty things he did I also have to tell you all the shitty things I did. Enough said.
Well, let’s be honest, I’ll probably tell you all the shitty things I did anyway because that’s how I process, but since I have to co-parent with my ex for the next ten years, let’s just leave him out of it.
So…here I am, living in an apartment down the street from my old home with my two girls and a dog, starting over and daily embracing a new life, one I never EVER expected to have.
I now get to be my own gym buddy, coffee barista and partner in crime. There’s learning self-reliance and then there’s shelter in place self-reliance. It’s like 2X the alone.
Kolby opened the front door the other day to my apartment and my joint custody dog ran in with squeals, leaps and heavy breathing–this is how he shows joy, by sounding like’s having a freaking heart attack. And Kolby told me, “I think Zeus likes it here best.”
Yeah…me too Zeus. Me too.
My new home is a haven. It’s safe. I can breathe here.
Getting some distance helps me to put things in perspective. I can see how my feelings are all over the map–an ebb and flow of a major life transition and divorce brings them all out. I’m irritated, exasperated, delighted and relieved all in the same moment. I transition between self-confidence and self-doubt, intense productivity followed by Netflix with chips, salsa and wine. I desperately miss my neighborhood, I suffer for my youngest and pray this doesn’t derail her. And I’m now a podcast junkie who runs endlessly listening to Brené Brown and whatever worship or church service my friend Diane sends me daily. Got to war-ship baby!
I helped a friend move the other night and as I sat on her new mattress on the floor playing with her toddler my heart ached. My eyes filled with tears I couldn’t hold back. I missed MY toddlers blond curls and those early days of mothering. I hurt for the life I had, the life I dreamed of and the space in between where the pain sucked the life out of me.
This new life is so different. I’m reinventing my family (and me). I’m spending lots of time with my girls-baking and snuggling, homeschooling and loving. Quarantine life is a crazy confusing and bizarrely healing place if you let it slow you down enough to reflect. Without all this running around to dance and school activities, I finally have time to think and think and think. And that’s good and that’s bad.
I’ve got time for weekly therapy, long runs and challenging hikes, calls with friends and reading everything I can get my hands on. But then I’ve also got extra time for bursting into tears, sleepless nights and kicking a stuffed dinosaur for anger management. I think I’ve had one full night of sleep in the last month. That 2am siren kicks my ass every night. Oh sleep, where art thou?
Divorce is like a death. You go through all the stages of grief. In many ways I’ve done much of this over the last year and a half and I’m finally moving into acceptance and healing-which is a whole new bag of tricks and emotions. It’s like waking up in Oz when you went to sleep in Kansas.
This path is hard but it’s one I’m willing and ready to leap into. And yes, I packed my ruby slippers. But maybe clicking my heels together will take me to a new kind of home.
To all my friends and my therapist who’ve walked with me on this painful journey the last few years I want to say a HUGE thank you. Thank you for the 3 way Zoom calls, the endless talks, the glasses of wine and tears, the prayers, two-0-clock chocolate, the margaritas across the street and the life coaching by Albert. Thank you for teaching me BOUNDARIES. Thank you to my best friends who listened and spoke hard truth and then let me wrestle with it. Thank you to my kids who have supported me every step of the way. Knowing you loved me and had my back has meant everything to me.
Thank you to my readers. Thanks for letting be human. Thanks for letting me tumble off the pastor’s wife pedestal and understanding that what goes on behind closed doors isn’t always the pretty picture you want to see. Sometimes it’s jacked up and messy.
And sometimes you just need to start over and not know the outcome.
“Not all storms come to disrupt your life, some storms come to clear your path.”–Anonymous
–Sam
