Stages of grief

Strength

Z. looking ahead, memories, new way of life, Stages of grief , , , ,

It’s been a Pinterest sort of day. There are a LOT of quotes about how strength is realized after having been through something.

Some people get months and years to go from D-Day to divorce, I had 60…. days — not months, not years. Some days, I’m tired of pretending to be stronger than I really am. I’m tired of pretending that I don’t think about M, that I don’t think back to the past eleven years of my life. And some days, I’m in a good place, thankful for the strength that has shown itself in the past two months. Thankful for the strength that has been willingly given to me by my friends & family.

But now it’s a different kind of strength I seek. I seek one day for the strength to stop counting days since D-day, days since M left, days since the divorce was final. I also wish that I had the strength to stop replaying the image of M & her in my mind … images of her attending church with us, images of her having lunch with us… truth be told, I imagine it was more like me as the third wheel to them. I still have a physical reaction thinking about them “together.”

I seek the strength to admit that in the midst of my marriage, I ceased to exist and I seek the strength to forgive myself for letting that happen. Recently someone told me that I need to take care of myself like I was taking care of a child. I don’t have children, but the concept was not lost on me.  I would never let a child go to school without breakfast,  I would make sure they were bathed, and had clean clothes and that they had good, healthful food. I would make sure their physical, emotional, mental, spiritual needs were met, I would speak kindness to them, encourage them, etc.  I started crying as she was saying this because I have realized that in the midst of the past eleven years, I was so busy dealing with everyone and everything else that I forgot to think about taking care of me.

With that in mind, I’m going to resolve to let go of the thoughts that rob me of my strength and to be Ok with the fact that I can’t do anything to change the past but I can control today.  And I’m going to “act” as if I’ve got the strength I seek is already in me so that one day I will wake up and realize I haven’t added just one more day to my countdown calendar but that I’ve added one more day to MY life.

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It’s Like a Death (as shared by my friend)

Z. making my way, Stages of grief, what I wish I knew , , , ,

A fellow blogger walking through her own journey of the consequences of infidelity commented that she felt she knew me for years simply by the way I conveyed my story. I think its because we all share the same story….we’re all part of the same club, for better or worse (much worse), its now a bond that we all share. My friend E walked this journey not many years ago and has recently become a sounding board for me. I ask her questions and she responds in a way that tells me that we are forever going to be part of a sorority that has its own handshake, pledge and motto,  she likened it to death and she’s right. I would like to share her blog post, It’s Like a Death, since she said it so much more eloquently than I ever could. E, thank you so much for sharing honestly with me, often with the same sense of exasperation that I have, and thank you for letting me link back to your post.

Love Doesn’t Live Here Anymore

Z. new way of life, Stages of grief , , , , , ,

Friends, I’m sorry for the delay in posting. I didn’t have an internet connection where I was housesitting. 

I forgot where I lived. What an odd feeling.

I spent the long weekend house-sitting/pet-sitting for friends. I left their house and was making my way back across town, got to the corner, made a left and realized that was the way to the rental not to where I now lived. I started crying in the car.

What’s different now about my crying is that it’s over just as quickly as it starts. It’s as if I’m only allowed a certain number of tears whereas just 30 short days ago, I would cry for what felt like forever. I’m still angry and I imagine that has something to do with it.

I hate to admit it but I like the anger. I am able to make decisions quicker. For instance, it was very matter of fact when I called to cancel you from the car insurance. It was very easy to call the cell phone carrier and remind them that the discount we were receiving was only applicable to my household and you were no longer a part of “my household,” and when updating my new address with our pharmacist, it was quite easy, in fact too easy, to say that you were no longer on my insurance plan. Being angry makes it easier to say that you are having an affair, that you now live with her and aren’t pursuing any other living arrangement. It makes it easier to be matter of fact with the lawyer, as I am no longer blinded by tears when talking about the facts of the divorce.

My mom tells me to hold onto my anger. I realize what she is trying to say, but like so many things in others tell me, it’s not easy to do. I don’t want to hold onto the anger. I want to hold onto my marriage. I want to hold onto my husband but each day, it is easier to accept that I no longer have those things, just like I no longer live in our home.

I don’t pray for you as often. I recognize that eventually I will stop praying for you as my husband. For years, I prayed through the book The Power of a Praying Wife. I faithfully followed the command of the Bible, which instructs me to pray continually for my husband. It also says that husbands are to love their wives like they love to church. You may have hurt me, but you have wronged God. I don’t know where you are with that, but I do know that going to a different church certainly doesn’t make things right. It just makes it easier to be someone different from who you really are.

I still have the texts from the night you lied about going to work. You told me that you were going to B’s house at 6:30pm and that you would just change there for your midnight shift. At 11:58 pm, you texted me “@ work, g’nite.” I texted you back “I love you, I’m praying for you.” You didn’t respond which was very uncharacteristic for you but now I know you were likely naked in her bed. Looking back at the chat log I can see where you texted your friend to cover your shift and the back and forth you had with him. I can see where you texted me. You very purposely made the choice to send me a text and you likely jokingly said to her that you needed to text me that you were at work. I can see both of you laughing at my expense. Just so you know, writing that sentence makes me sick to my stomach.

The layers of lies that you went through make me exhausted and I cannot imagine how you kept them all straight. Who were you to everyone? I find out you were telling certain people one thing and others different things. I know that even after you moved out that you were still carrying on with lies. You should know those lies and stories are making their way to me. I now simply say, Ok when someone says anything to me. Not only does it no longer matter but I’m not going to excuse or defend you, because you are entitled to neither.

I have said to you over and over again since D-Day that for ten years, I always had your back – I was always on your side. You told me that hindsight showed you that. I told you hindsight doesn’t help me heal.

What is helping me heal is the continued support of my friends and family who have faithfully had my back. I reflect now on how often you really stood up for me and I can’t recall any. You were there for me in emergencies but I was there for you always. I’m glad that I’m angry because I can keep reminding myself that you didn’t deserve me as a wife and you don’t deserve me as a friend. I no longer have your back but I don’t wish you ill. I just wish you had been the man I believed and always said you could be. I’m angry that you proved me wrong and everyone else right.

Angry is the New Black

Z. memories, new way of life, Stages of grief , , , , , ,

If angry is the new black, then today I am in style!

I went grocery shopping today for the first time since D-Day. It’s the first time I’ve felt like planning ahead. Each day until now, I’ve just gotten up and started my day hoping that it would be easier than the one before. Eating consisted of whatever I could stomach which wasn’t much.

I felt like I had a sign on my head that said “Broken-hearted person shopping” … I got three $1.99 frozen meals, one of those being a two pack of breakfast burritos and three bananas, three. I always tried to have bananas in the house, not only did I know you liked them but I knew they would be good for you and be a quick snack you could just grab and go.

Breakfast was always something I tried to make sure that you had. I was thankful when you said that you picked up a nighttime part-time job to help with our budget needs. On those nights when you had to work from midnight to 7 am; I got up early enough to make sure you had a breakfast sandwich or breakfast burrito waiting for you when you got home. I have to laugh at myself now, how many of those nights that you said you were working did you really work? I already know for sure about one shift that you had covered so that you could be with her. How many mornings did you let me look the fool having breakfast ready for you while you had been fooling around with her at night.

I remember watching you on Saturday, just 12 hours after you told me about the affair, watching you scarf down food from a fast food joint. It was the most aggressively I had seen you eat in awhile. I remember wondering how it was that you could eat. By this time, I had not eaten in 24 hours and just the thought of food was enough to make me sick to my stomach. I was still trying to wrap my mind around the events of the night before and you were already moving forward.

I wanted her to apologize. I wanted you to apologize. But neither of you did and neither of you have so far. Sure, you have told me that you are sorry that you couldn’t share your feelings in a way that I understood and that you are sorry that you let it get this far. But you should be sorry because what you did was WRONG! Not only WAS it wrong – it’s STILL wrong. You are living with her and have been living with her since the day you left the rental. Your new bank account has her address on file and her address is on your checks. Perhaps I should stop considering it just her address…since now, it’s clearly both of you.

At first, you used to tell me that you went from one friend’s home to another. You should know that I believed that about as much as I believed you were (and still are) sleeping on her couch. If you were really sorry for what happened, you would not have anything to do with her. Your stomach would be in knots, your conscience on overdrive because you would know that what you are doing is wrong. Your words to me are just chatter. They don’t align with your actions. And until the day that they ever do, I will over-analyze, I will over-think and I will question everything you tell me.

Yesterday, I saw you briefly to give you the keys to the rental so that you could start moving your stuff out. It was the second time I had seen you since you started your new job. It was also the second time I saw that you had a lovely sandwich made for you and when I asked you “oh, who made your lunch?” your response was delayed as you knew that I knew the answer. When you did reply, instead of being honest, you said that she gets these fancy rolls that were delicious and YOU made up some sandwiches for yourself. I don’t believe you.

It’s been 28 days since D-day and you seem to be moving on. You have a daily routine that includes her and her daily routine is now incorporated into yours. You say to me that you didn’t move on with your life and that you aren’t acting as if life was normal for you but you are wrong. Here is how I know…. you are living in the very neighborhood that you looked at buying a house with me, you are dating a girl that is also a brunette, wears glasses, was born in August, is going to college and you have the job that we prayed you would get. I almost feel badly that she is living my recycled life … almost.

Yes, I’m angry today. I’m angry that you don’t see just how wrong your actions were and are. I’m angry that you can’t even wait 45 days for our divorce to be final before moving in and on with her. I’m angry that you say things to me thinking that I want to hear them, I’m angry that I listen to what you have to say, I’m angry that I respond to your texts, I’m angry that I care so much about a marriage and a life that you so carelessly, casually, and thoughtfully threw away.

Yup, today I’m dressed to the nines.