Day 28

Reflections on 4 weeks post-separation

It’s been a month since I packed my belongings and left a home that I loved to move into an apartment in a major U.S. city 5 hours away. I was at my breaking point. I couldn’t do one more day, let alone an entire summer carrying the tensions of our blended family alone.

I took the bare minimum. Just what we needed, including family heirlooms and mementos. 41 years of life hastily crammed in a 20-foot Uhaul truck.

Every day brings something new.

Some days I am excited and confident. I think about the abundance of time and inspiration I now have to work on creative projects and leisure now that I no longer have a home or a husband to take care of.

Other days, I wake before my alarm but can hardly drag myself out of bed to face the reality that is my life. These are the days I want to beg to come home and go back to my previous routine and pretend this never happened.

This in-between place is maddening. I’m constantly toggling between the past and the present, reasoning with myself. Trying to rewrite the story. Minimizing the feelings and actions that led me to leave, telling myself it wasn’t as bad as I thought, I just needed a few weeks to take a breath. These thoughts are quickly followed by a wave of empowerment. Justification. Strength. A quick and effective pep-talk about how I’ve got grit and that’s all I’ve ever needed can sometimes pull me up just enough to get my head above water, and check all of my tasks off the to-do list.

I’m doing my best to stay strong and take care of myself. I’m still exercising every day, though some days its more yoga than weight-lifting. I eat. Oh boy, do I eat. The struggle is making sure I’m eating what is nourishing for me, not what gives me a dopamine hit. (I’m lookin at you, heavenly chocolate chip cookies from Einstein’s). I’m trying to give myself grace about my lack of productivity. I haven’t hung a single decoration, and I still have a box of boxes in my dining room that I stare at all day from my home “office”. This apartment is so uninspiring to me. I don’t want to admit that this is home now. Sleep is hit or miss, but I am guaranteed to wake up to a pounding heart and a stomach full of sadness at some point every night.

My two youngest girls are at their dads for the summer, so it is just me and my 15 year old here at the apartment for the next month. I wish they were here, I would welcome the distraction from facing myself.

My heart feels heavy most of the time, even on good days. I feel cracked, but not broken. I’m intentionally journaling, reflecting, and spending more time in meditation to find my center and keep moving forward. I will learn a lot from this in-between place. I will learn about myself, and my partner, and my family, my community and squeeze any ounce of value or wisdom I can out of this shitty situation.

I know that I have to feel it all. I have to deal with this head on, and this is my journey, but I welcome any advice on transforming this awfulness into something good.