The Difference A Year Makes

A year ago, I can honestly say, I never thought I would be here…in this space. A year ago I was chasing my tail, perming my hair, trying to gain acceptance, doubting myself, attempting to grab life as it zoomed past…one year ago I was thrust into a section of statistics and uncommon tales of infidelity and woe. A year ago I was racing to patch holes in a sinking boat that was never meant to be saved in the first place.

It is funny how time flies and wounds heal when you think none of that is possible. It was a cloud, at first. A dark, confusing ‘what now’ kinda thing. I spent the first three months of the ‘oh poor wife’ existence in a fog of confusion and hatred. I was reduced to blubbering cry fits and rage induced bouts of fighting. I had been worn down to nothingness.

Empty, hollow, zombie like. I gave up the fighting and the pretending and looked forward to pouring large glasses of white wine on Thursdays getting lost in the fantasy of Meredith Grey and Olivia Pope–just to numb…just to stop the tears and the constant flux of mental playback. At some point, though, the conversation turned, the tears stopped, and Thursdays became less and less of a saving grace. Thank God for healing.

It is hard to believe it has been a year. It is hard to believe I am here…still here. It is hard to believe I can be a parent without faking it. It is hard to believe I can drive from point A to point B without thinking of driving past point B and starting over. It is hard to believe I can make it through the day laughing, smiling, forgetful of the hurtful things said and done–no longer scratching and biting at the anger eating me alive. I can be…correction: I am free. I am free. I am free of shame, doubt, rage, tears, sadness, hopelessness….I am free to be 9000% happy, healthy, hopeful and….well….me.


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