Difference of One Year

I was intrigued by Kristin’s post about how different her life has become in the span of one year. Beautifully written, I read her proclamations to herself, her silent goals she tucked inside, and I know want the same for myself. This time of my life feels so misshapen I sometimes feel like I’ve been whisked out of myself, a new person, dumbfounded and lost, replacing someone who used to have a quick wit, dry sense of humor and a natural curiosity.

I’d like to get her back; I’d like to secret my goals away, tuck them inside my soul, exhale them to the universe and see what happens. Here they are:

* Be the mother I am to Sabine now; love her with strength, encourage her love for her dad; give her a divorce that’s as clean and humane as possible. No bitterness, no bad talk.

* Continue working on the children’s book I’ve started and sent round to a couple of publishers recently. Believe, continue to believe, I can do this.

* Re-open my heart, allow myself to accept the love that’s given to me and explore romance. Recognize that the kind of love I want exists.

* Forgive and move on. Carry the regret, but don’t let it define me.

And today, I begin documenting the difference of one year:

December 9, 2009: In a series of e-mails that didn’t start where they finished, I decided I can’t be friends with O. anymore. I thought I could; I thought that being his friend was the right thing to do, for myself, for Sabine.  I wanted Sabine to be proud of me; I wanted to show her that not every divorce is strewn with the family’s remains. But right now, at this moment, I can’t get beyond the pain, the betrayal. I sometimes succeed, but anger always bubbles back up, as if from nowhere, and my memory takes me hurtling into the past and I relive moments that should have awoken me to the notion that I deserved better but somehow never did. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t torn between the feeling of a huge weight being lifted from my shoulders and the feeling that I’m standing alone now, vulnerable and scared and unsure. O. was my best friend when we got married, and losing everything in what still, more than a year later, feels like the blink of an eye astounds me, takes my breath away when I’m not paying attention. I’ve made this mess, but now I want my life back.

December 10, 2009: O. had a way of making me second guess myself that I’ve perhaps only recently started to think about in depth. His behavior at times knocked me off my center, but wasn’t so overtly manipulative that I could definitively put my finger on what was happening. When questioned, he almost always threw it back at me: “You’ve never trusted me” or “You’re insecure.” And I would instinctively go into myself, confused because what he was saying wasn’t untrue but something always nagged at me. Yet because I couldn’t be concrete and literal in my explanation or point to conclusive evidence of what I was feeling, I just swallowed hard and figuratively shook my head. Now, today, my feelings are tangled and messy. I feel like my head is still spinning.

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