Despite often sharing things from my life, my blog as stayed mostly in the anecdotal realm. I haven’t delved into my personal struggles in much depth, in part because this blog is tied to my writing career. None of that has changed. However, part of being a writer is being honest with yourself and understanding your process.
Without revealing details that are indeed private, I will expand on something I shared a few weeks ago: my marriage has ended. Like all endings it is sad, disappointing, and heartbreaking. It is also what is right for me. Still, I wish it weren’t so.
Building a life with someone, you never expect how gut wrenching it will be to take it all apart. You never expect to HAVE to take it all apart. I am not talking about the actual divorce part; I am talking about the activity of separating your life from another person’s. Every call you make to remove a user, every time you send a name change, every time you are asked a question about how your spouse is doing by some unsuspecting person–each one is a reminder that things have indeed fallen apart and now you have to tell the world. Even silly things, like deciding who keeps the Star Wars collection you assembled together or the plates you picked out to eat on for the rest of your lives, serve as a stab reminding you that you have failed. The vows you made are broken. And so are you.
Society cultivates the idea that it is normal to fuse our lives to another person–to become a unit. When it’s happening, when you are charging through Target with your registry gun and exchanging vows and signing your new name, it is exciting. You are not alone any more. You are part of something bigger than yourself. So dismantling that, admitting that in the end you could not stay enmeshed with that person, is stomach churning.
Some days I feel battered by this slamming sense of defeat. Maybe I did not try hard enough or want things enough. Maybe I am a failure. Maybe I deserve to be alone. But then I comfort myself that as much as it hurts, it is a sign that the marriage was not a waste. It stings because there was love for him at one time and there still is for our two children.
Moving forward, I wonder if I could ever do it again. Would it be possible to intertwine my life again with someone else, knowing how it feels when it all falls apart? I would hope so because I know things do not have to end this way, as my friends and family frequently remind me. From the ashes of a broken heart, perhaps something more can rise. Something that is complete in a more profound way that will someday be worthy of knotting once again.
Read, Write, and Be Merry,