Writer’s block. It happens without warning, especially when accompanied by a major life change like divorce, after 25 years of marriage.
My creative flow is finally lodging itself out from that stuck crevice in my mind where it feels like life is sucking every ounce of energy out of me. I cursed this stuck place, until I realized that this same place gifted me with learning experiences that inspired me to have so much more to share, so much more to write in the long run. And for that, I am grateful.
So rewinding to the day I moved out, fourteen months ago…
I sat with my dog amidst piles of boxes in an unfamiliar house–dazed, exhausted, stressed, conflicted, and out of my element. Two days later, I sat at my parents’ Thanksgiving table, the same table I ate at as a child, feeling bewildered and yanked back in time, missing my kids. You can imagine how Christmas went.
Why would a middle-aged woman who seems to have it all leave her marriage? Because I love myself enough, that’s why. Underneath all of the layers of who I thought I was, a passionate, compassionate, vaguely familiar woman kept creeping through in my personality, my actions, my outlook. She was unattached to status, roles, and material things, and she could care less who approved. This person lingering on the edge of my dreams was the purest part of me. I was told that my decision was selfish. If I believed everything that I was told about myself, I would be in a fetal position in a hole somewhere. My decision was made completely out of blind faith. Don’t get me wrong, doubt does haunt me. But I’ve come this far, and I thank myself for that.
I currently exist in an odd state of limbo—I’ve stepped through the doorway, but I haven’t touched ground, and I’m suspended in cotton-candy-colored light. Terrified exhilaration fills my lungs. Who knows where I’ll be in ten years, five years—hell, next year. But I’m breathing and I’m fully alive. I dug beneath my layers of self and found someone who is inherently good and gorgeously flawed. I trust my voice, embrace my emotions and listen to the wisdom of my gut. I cherish each momentous and meaningless decision I make. I’m oddly okay with being misunderstood by old acquaintances because I know I’m trying my best and living in alignment with who I am. As my kids grow into adulthood, I hope they see that I always sought to be the best example for them, largely by allowing myself to be led by love over fear, in the most authentic way possible.
The hours of time I currently spend alone, just me and my dog, would have thrown my old self into a shocking bout of depression. Years ago, silence felt empty. Now, silence invites me to be content in my own company. Belief in myself holds me together. It’s my saving grace. It gives me permission to start over in my 40’s. It propels me to keep my heart open at times when it hurts the most. It tenderly assures me that, indeed, I do deserve happiness. It allows me to let go of the guilt. Each day feels precious to me, and each moment feels less like a means to an end, and more of a gift. After almost five decades on this Earth, nothing is certain, anything is possible, and it’s beautiful, and it’s never too late. That I now know.
Although the ground is still somewhere far below me, I trust that it’s going to be okay, even though I don’t know how, when or why. In my freedom, I surrender. I’ve learned that perhaps, more than anything, self-love is what peace, joy, and acceptance are born of. Going my second Valentine’s Day alone, I am okay. Because now I know that I’ve always carried the love I’ve longed for, right inside of me.
