Do I want to write about my separation? I’m highly ambivalent about it. The majority of it I will keep to myself. There are some nuggets though, that I want to share.
It’s proven to be more painful than the death of my father, who was a total dude that died too young. Perhaps I can make that proclamation because his legacy is one of love, laughter and generosity; when I live with those principles front and centre I feel good. I feel alive. I would rather navigate the pain and grief of his loss than do this shit. I don’t get that same feedback from the process of separating. Here’s the mind-fuck with separation, the person is still alive, which means the finality of it is never really final. You can ultimately say “I wonder if…”.
Death is final.
In essence separation and divorce is the death of your relationship. Mine to my husband has died. It sucks shit. That seems an appropriate way to frame this. So with that in mind here’s what I learned thus far:
- Grief and bitterness are best friends. Both will outlast you and take you down. I’ve decided I will dance with them occasionally but have no problem telling them to fuck off.
- Crying. I’ve always liked crying, I find it cleansing and therapeutic. It also makes you look like shit so save your heavy sob-fests for a Friday night or Saturday morning. Then put a mask on your face.
- Separation face. Yes it’s a thing. It means you look like shit. I don’t know how long it lasts. I’ve had mine for four months.
- Separation posse. You need at least ONE person who you can say whatever the hell you want to. This is crucial. You need to purge your emotions and thoughts. You need to say shit and get it off your chest.
- People are going to say weird, stupid shit to you. The other day someone said to me “well, at least you’re not just someone’s wife now.” That person is an asshole. I hope they’re reading this.
- Swearing+excercising+wine+laughing. This has been a great combo for me. I can’t underscore how important it is to move your body. Yes, there have been plenty of days I felt like I couldn’t move, so I didn’t. Ultimately, the endorphin release feels good.
- Run or walk in the rain. Let the sky cry for you.
- Therapy. I’m doing it and loving it.
- If you have kids read this book (as prescribed by my therapist)
- Plan a trip/Take a trip. I’m all over the map with where I want to go. I’ve been seriously considering going to Rwanda; I would love to see gorillas in their natural habitat and I also want to spend some time in Kigali. I read Romeo Dalliare’s book, Shake Hands With The Devil and ever since, I’ve been fascinated with going there. I want to keep my options open. For instance, perhaps one of you reading this has a hut on the white sandy beaches of Bora Bora, if so I want to go.
The waters are murky, what I do know, is that I’m lucky. I have a choice. I have support. I also have three unbelievable girls who are learning some difficult lessons. That is the trickiest part. I’m grateful for them. They keep me focused on what matters, which is moving forward with integrity and love.