It has been too long. Too long since I have written. Too
long since I have run consistently. Too long since I have gone riding by
myself. Too long since I have listened to that little voice inside of me.
Throughout the last few months that little voice inside has been screaming at
me. I turned up the noise in my head in response. “Personal things are going
on. Things I don’t want to share. Things other people wouldn’t understand.”
Instead, I ignored the urge to write, sat on the couch, and joined friends on
ride. Tonight, I open the laptop and type out the whispers of my soul as I continue
to transform into the woman I want to be. (Thank you, Cassidy, for the
encouragement to start up again.)
\Changes abound since my last blog post. It has been over a year since I have written on a consistent basis. Why did I stop writing? Was it because of the Hell a divorce brings? Was it when I stopped running and lost track of a part of me? Maybe it had something to do with falling for a separated man and the grieving that took place when he went back to his wife. Regardless of the reason, I am claiming that part of me back. The writer.
\Changes abound since my last blog post. It has been over a year since I have written on a consistent basis. Why did I stop writing? Was it because of the Hell a divorce brings? Was it when I stopped running and lost track of a part of me? Maybe it had something to do with falling for a separated man and the grieving that took place when he went back to his wife. Regardless of the reason, I am claiming that part of me back. The writer.
Writing has always helped me process and brought about
peace. Yet the through all the turmoil and transition in the past year, I have
not written. Thus, this is bound to be a long entry. Whether you, the reader,
stick with me to the end matters not. This entry is for me. You are welcome
along on the journey.
I never wrote about my divorce. The ugliness of it all. The
feelings of inadequacy that filled me on a daily basis. Inadequacy as a mother.
I believed all the nastiness that spewed from his mouth and that of his fiancé.
I did not fight for my children. I did not fight for the things that filled
what was once my home. I passively accepted whatever was told of me. I
dutifully paid my child support and alimony on time while hoping that he would
stick to the agreement and let me know what was going on in our daughter’s life.
I counted the days until she came to
visit me on the weekends even though I didn’t always give her the attention she
deserved. There were rough times and we went through a spell where she chose
not to come over. I welcomed my older daughter into my one bedroom apartment
over the garage and turned it into “our” home. At some point, I was blocked
from his phone. I was out of the loop in regards to the life of my youngest.
And then I got the phone call. That 2am wake-up call that no one wants to get.
My daughter had been hit by a car.
All the ugliness no longer mattered. I was going to be there
for my daughter. While she got to be with both her mother and her father on her
18th birthday, albeit in the ICU ward, my fantasy of congeniality was short-lived when I was told any
correspondence with my ex-husband, the father of our children, would need to go
through his fiancé. The trauma of the situation mattered not. It was then that
I knew. I was dead to him. I hurt him when I walked away from our marriage. No
matter how many times I took responsibility or asked for forgiveness, there was
to be no relationship between us at all. Old voices started to get loud in my
head once again. Voices that took me a long time to quiet with the language of
love.
I stayed with her in the hospital the entire time she was
there with the exception of the couple of hours I left each day to get a shower
and a nap. I took more time off from school than I ever have in my entire
career. I trusted my colleagues to figure out lesson plans for my students.
Having a sub for four days and not making my own lesson plans is completely out
of character for me. Oftentimes in the past, I put school before my children.
Too many times, my students took priority. Sitting in the ICU looking over at
my daughter all drugged up and in a neck brace, I had one of those “I wish I
made different choices” moments. At night when all her visitors left, it was
just her and I. She slept. I was alone. I wanted nothing more than the comfort
of being held in the arms of a man. There was no man to call upon. As the
feeling of being alone overtook me, I cried silent tears until there were no
more. Looking back on that night, I am grateful there was not a man to comfort
me in my time of need. I learned I can find strength in myself and I can make
it through the tough stuff without being in the arms of a man.
Throughout the past couple of years, there have been times
that my daughter has expressed an interest in coming to live with me. For one
reason or another, her move never happened. Until a couple of weeks ago. Due to
the nature of her head injury, she was advised that she could not live by
herself, which was the plan for when her father married. Moving in with him and
his new wife was not an option, so I had the privilege of having her come live
with me. My heart smiles as she now calls Raleigh home.
The first time she was hit by a car last year, the hospital
took a quick look at her and released her within the hour. This time she was
not so fortunate. Four days in the hospital did not put her back to the way she
was before the accident. The healing continues and is a challenge at times.
There are many doctor’s appointments of which I have taken every day off to
take her. She can only attend school half-days. Meaning I need to arrange
transportation to get her to and from school. The nausea, dizziness, and
headaches continue. As does the pain in her side. She continues to limp to get
around, but no longer needs the walker. As sometimes happens with brain
injuries, depression and anxiety are affecting her. On top of it all, she has
some sort of bronchitis.
While all this has been going on with my younger daughter,
my older daughter received a phone message from her father saying he was
cutting her out of his life. None of my children went to his wedding.
Regardless of the reasons for any of it, that is theirs to work out. I am here
to show them love as they work through the tough stuff relationships can bring.
That mothering instinct which I often thought was barely there, has come out in
full bloom.
It has taken me a few years to get here, but there is no
doubt in my mind that I am a great mother. I love my children unconditionally
and will support them in being true to the women (and man) they are.
With this piece of writing, I leave all the hurt and
ugliness from the divorce in the past with forgiveness and love. The marriage
is over while my family grows stronger.
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