Monday, February 5, 2018

The "D" Word

If we’re being frank here, getting broken up with sucks. It sucks even more so when you’re married and the “d” word is mentioned. It sucks even more so if you have to actually get a “d.” It sucks even more when you have a child. It sucks at an obscene level when you have no idea why it’s happening. It sucks when you have to file for divorce and have to give the attorney a reason. It sucks that you have to settle on irreconcilable differences because “no fucking clue,” is not a viable option.
On February 5th, 2016, my husband walked out the front door with only a sigh of relief and one plastic, Walmart bag filled with clothes. But on February 5th, 2017 I was in Sydney, Australia, giving that day new meaning. Some may start reading what I have written and question it. Why is she sharing so many details about her marriage? Why would she want people to know any of this? The answers are simple.
          What happened to my family is relevant. It’s relevant because I’m just like everyone else in the world. One day my husband decided to walk out on me and our daughter. That very well could happen to you. It could happen to your best friend. It may have happened to your mother. It may be happening to your neighbor right now. My days are filled with dirty diapers and toddler tantrums. And I bet a lot of people know how it feels to have to yell at your son or daughter for sticking their hands in the toilet or licking the dog. The difference now is that I’m doing it on my own.
This book is an unfiltered look at my memories over the course of a decade. Not every great love story ends with a “happily ever after,” in fact, some of the best ones end in the worst ways. And that’s exactly what happened to mine.
At 17 I just wanted a boyfriend. At 23 I really wanted to marry that boyfriend. At 27 I just wanted him to be present in our daughter’s life. “He was a con artist and I was his muse,” is a great way to sum up my relationship with my ex-husband. And when I became single for the first time in my adult life, I had not a damn clue what to do.
February 5th is a catalogue of my memories; a decade’s worth of memories brought me to the breaking point and a year’s worth of experiences got me through it. But what’s special about this story is that it could be anyone’s story. I may not be a high-profile celebrity, but that’s the beauty of these memories. I’m the woman you see down the street carrying her groceries in one hand and her toddler in the other, while simultaneously trying to unlock the door without her cantaloupe rolling down the front steps.
There’s heartbreak, there’s humor, and there’s secrets that I didn’t realize were a secret until they spilled out over the keyboard. I tried to find the funny in the worst moments and I tried to erase the sting of those moments with brand new experiences. Whether it was booking a flight overseas to relive the day he walked out or having a 6’3, 21-year-old army soldier in my bed – the same bed I had once shared with my husband - the night before Christmas Eve, the pain subsided a bit while I fell in love with myself. I didn’t wallow in the hurt, I built a new life for me and my daughter. And I tried really hard to navigate what the term “single mom” was going to mean for me.

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