This marriage was, at inception, “Every beautiful dream I hadn’t dared to dream.” We all bought into the fairytale of it. Despite best intentions, after a lot of willful effort beyond my known capacity, I find myself on the journey of being twice-divorced.
The stigma? I laugh it off. I mean, Liz Taylor is gone. Maybe I’ll marry five times in the years to come. If they ever (finally!) legalize same sex marriage, maybe at least one will be a female partner. Via flippant joking, I convince myself that my semi-serious laughing makes friends worry less. All the world loves a clown. The world marches on one way or another, so I may as well “handle” the message.
It’s been a meaningful and lovely Mother’s Day. My beyond normally attentive daughters brought my best-ever breakfast in bed and playfully interacted throughout the day. I was the grateful recipient of more-than-deserved loving text messages and social media love. Halfway through the day, I began to unexpectedly sink. At the close of the day, I’m left wondering: What if I’m not okay?
I’ve reluctantly – then poignantly and grittily – made my peace with pain in the past. Harden my face, “bootstrap” it, lean into it and find its strength and purpose. It’s fine! I’m fine. I’ll just revert to circled wagons, me-and-my-girls mode, and I’ll be fine. When they are with their Dad & stepmom, I’ll go out with friends, maybe do some yoga, maybe even date. It didn’t work out. It’s fine. I’m fine. People divorce all the time.
Unless I’m not fine. I forgot, really, about the truly lonely parts. The not-strong, “but nobody loves me enough to commit, respect, embrace me flaws and all” nights of self-doubt and abject awareness of solitude. My real life has become so exciting and deceivingly rewarding, it comes as a surprise that I’m on the verge of a new familiar round of existential crisis.
So I guess I’ll just look at this idea for a bit. The survival skills are fine for what they are, they’ll serve their purposes, but I’m just going to *look* at the possibility that – breathe – I’m not okay. I don’t have a handle on what’s next for me, or what this all means in the grand scheme of things. Maybe looking at it squarely will swing things back toward a state of okay-ness.
But in case anyone asks: I just might marry five times or so.