Firstly, I want to say thank you. To everyone who showed their support when I wrote my last post. The response was overwhelming, and I feel so lucky. I did also get a few hate (e)mails, but I expected that, and it wasn’t anything I hadn’t at some point thought about myself anyway.
So where to go from there? I wrote about the guilt I had, about leaving the family home and not being with my children. I haven’t ever written about how it feels when a marriage, my marriage ends, and so that is what I’m going to do now. I’ve spoken to a select few about this. Some have heard me crying about this, but I have been holding off writing about it because it’s sad. It’s so sad, so tragic, when you realise that actually, as much as you love someone, you can’t and shouldn’t be together. It’s sad when you’ve stood up, and said vows that you both meant, but even the legally binding words you’ve said can’t save you. I loved my husband. With everything I had. He was my soul-mate, if you believe in things like that. He knew things about me that no-one did, and he accepted them, and loved me for them. I’d had a lot of failed relationships where my partner had realised that I really WAS a lot to handle, and that they simply couldn’t. I’m full on, I know I am. I had been married for just under three years, we’d been together around six years, and lived together for four. In that time, we’d also had two children. But this isn’t about them, this is about me and my husband. We were so alike, and so completely different at the same time. We got together when I was 21, and he was a breath of fresh air because he was so totally honest and up front about wanting a future. Everyone else up to then had mucked me about, uhhmed and ahhed. I was exhausted, much like I’m exhausted now. We argued a lot, we were both very reactionary. I’m nosey, and I keep wanting to ask him “Do you still love me?”. There is no point in doing this, really. We get on fine, and talk about the children and we both want the best thing for them. We’re breaking our backs trying to do the best thing. I can still tell him how I’m feeling, and after a particularly emotionally gruelling day on Tuesday, something that had been building up for days, I cried when I spoke to him about the children. It was just an emotional release. But he asked if I was okay. “I hope you’re allright. Start to feel better soon, okay” “Yeah. I will, it’s just…yeah. I will, thanks. You too”
I’m lonely. A lot of the time. I hate sleeping alone and as much as I couldn’t stand my husband sleeping diagonally across our bed (why? Why do they do this? He wasn’t even that tall) I miss sleeping in the bed with him. That hurts to admit, but I’m admitting it. I miss the fact it took him bloody hours to make a curry because he was so particular about it. I miss the fact that we couldn’t watch anything on TV without him pointing out what was put in as post-production. I do this too now. I miss how he taught me the safest way to overtake cyclists in our barge of a car, and I miss the fact he could parallel park that thing perfectly in a matter of seconds. I like driving, so sue me. I miss all the good points of our being together, but I do not miss the bad. And towards the end, all of our good points had given way to something so much more flawed, so doomed to fail.
We tried. We both really, really tried. But it didn’t work. So here I am, back at my Mum’s, and happy that I’m here. I can sometimes pretend the past six years hadn’t happened and in the back of my mind, I’m still 21, still single, still naïve and stupid. In reality, I’m not. I’m getting closer and closer to turning 30 and this huge period of my life seemed to have happened and been over before I could take stock. But the hardest thing? The hardest thing is knowing that we’ll always have to see each other, because we have children. I can’t forget him, and I don’t want to, but every time we see each other I think ‘Have we done the right thing?’. Of course we have, yes. We know this, we did the right thing for both our sakes and our children. That doesn’t stop the fact that sometimes I just want it all back, a good day, just once more. But, like Rizzo sings in my most favourite ever musical ever ever, “that’s the worst thing I could do”. This isn’t me saying I want us to get back together, because neither of us wants that. We are genuinely so much better off apart, the children are so much happier with us being separate from each other. I can’t speak for him, but I have learnt so much more about myself and what I actually want from life now that we’re apart. I know what sort of a person I really am now, and I know what I can’t or won’t compromise on. I know that the marriage wasn’t working, and I know that it’s definitely ended, and there’s no going back. That’s not always a bad thing. We can move on and be better people now, because we’re not being held back by what ifs, and anxiety and upset, and worry. And everything else that came along with that.
If he’s reading this, which I’m not sure he will, I am so proud of you. You’re the best Father I’ve ever seen, our children are so lucky to have you. Everything you do is with them in mind. I can’t ask for much more. Your love for them shines through everything you do. Thank you.
When I write things like this, when I have conversations about this sort of thing, I cry. A lot. But then, I stop crying and think, actually. You know. Things are pretty good. Sometimes things are awesome. I have a loving family and I am truly, TRULY blessed to have accepting, supportive and non-judgmental friends- both those I’ve known years and those I’ve only just really met. People can be great, and I’m lucky that MY people are great.