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Dealing with The Big D. – Living My Best Life

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Me: August 2016: New York City

I drown in immense guilt every day when I think about how I feel like my life is coming to an end. I’m not sick, I’m in relatively ‘good’ shape and I have a wonderful family and network of friends. I’m gainfully employed- earn a little above the national average-, I can afford good healthcare, to shop maybe once a month from Whole Foods and I pay for my own Netflix subscription.

I should be rejoicing in the fact that I am a self-sustaining independent woman. Yet most days I’m miserable as hell. I feel like my whole world has been taken away from me and my only options are to a) fight to make this life work or b) die. Okay, so that might seem a little dramatic but in essence it’s how I feel most days. I wake up every morning and the first thing that floods my mind is: Really, another f-ing day I have to deal with?! But whilst I am cursing the world, hating my existence and feeling like there is no hope for tomorrow I’m conscious that others around me have more serious problems that really are more life and death. I will probably wake up tomorrow (sadly). And the next day. And the day after. Because all that’s wrong is that I am getting a divorce.

Divorce is an ugly word. An ugly label that gets put upon you even if you -hand raised up here- never wanted it in the first place. Without choice you become classified. I never wanted to get divorced. I wanted true love that lasted forever. I wanted the Stepford house, the white picket fence, the sparkly ring and the husband who doted on me, and me him, every second of the day when the kids were asleep, and the dishwasher had been unpacked. I wanted to be courted, rescued and loved like no other. Just loved. Every. Single. Day. For the rest of my life till death us do part. I signed up for that. I signed up for the long haul. Yet here I am, 36 years old, mother to two amazing little children, sitting in my very non-Stepford 800 square foot New York City apartment contemplating whether I will survive unpacking all 52 boxes of my life and where it will all go.

Most days I’m a piñata of emotions. You push me hard enough to make a hole- you never know what will come out. I’m mad; what did I do to deserve this? I’m reflective and condescending towards myself; was I really a terrible wife? I’m hurt; was our marriage or I not worth fighting for? I’m fearful; will anyone else ever love me again? I’m relieved; I don’t have to put up with his sh*t anymore and I’m happy that I can now live a life without lies. But most of all I’m sad. I’m sad that I’m alone. I’m sad that I was hurt. I’m sad that I was misled and lied to. I’m sad that I wasn’t brave enough to stand up for myself earlier to walk away. I’m sad that as a result I’ve lost almost 10 years of my life. But most of all I’m sad because now when I’m alone, like now, sitting at home and my wine is done there is no one else to get up and go to the fridge.

Me: July 2019: New York City

Divorce, anyway you look at it, regardless the circumstance of how you got there is a terrible thing. I am hoping by sharing my story I can help others who also go through days when you feel, as I did, like it’s the end of the end. Believe me it feels like that -but it’s not. Believe me and those that love you who tell you — YOU ARE WORTH MORE AND IT WILL GET BETTER. It will. I promise you that. Fingers crossed and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.

Follow me for the full story. It’s a good one…



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