Five Stages of Divorce

Divorce is like death.  And with death, there are stages of grief.  Each and every stage is important and valuable when it comes to healing and moving on.  And with that, I would like to tell those stages to go fuck themselves.  Okay, okay, I'm grateful.

Denial

I came into divorce with an embarrassing amount of ignorance.   Like a car accident victim, I ran away from the scene with a missing arm, completely unaware of it.  I was eerily optimistic. Optimism born mainly of adrenaline. Divorce, like a ghost that haunted us for years, finally showed up for real.  And once that intital choice was made, I had this intense feeling of freedom.  The freedom mixed with adrenaline, misled me into feeling absolutly fine. I kept my watchful eye on my kids and how they were adjusting, but as for myself, I operated like nothing particular had really happened.  I should have known better.  But who knows how to get divorced? 


Denial/Anger
( Holy Shit I'm Alone for the First Time in 11 years)
(Vodka)

The adrenaline wore off.  It finally occurred to me that I just lost the only life I ever knew.  I was now a working parent and a single mother. I felt myself get angry at life and at friends that never called.  I was angry that things changed too much.  I was angry that I lost a big part of my extended family.  I was angry that I was managing all this alone.  The anger felt good at first because it was something. But it maginified my wounds and everywhere I turned felt like a stab in the back. 


At first my kidless nights were spent cleaning and reading and doing things I always wanted to have the time to do on a "free night."  For the first time in forever I had weekends free.  But with free time came the blaring reality that I was alone.  I got restless. I needed to distract myself.  Get out. Go go go.  I found myself drinking on my free nights. Going out. Meeting up with friends at bars. Maybe it was a stage I needed.  Maybe I needed to get my groove back.  Maybe I was getting in touch with a lost youth. Whatever it was, it was a bandaid.  And I was coping.  Being alone was just not an option for me. On the upside I was a mother of three who still got asked for her number.  On the downside I was a mother of three who still got asked for her number. 

Bargaining (If I just had...)

 If I could just find the right job.  If I could just find the right man.  If I could just find the perfect friend.  If I could just lose 10 lbs.  If I could just go out one night and forget about it.  If could just plug all the holes, then I would be okay and this wouldn't be hard and life will be okay again. 

Universe?  Just let me be an independently wealthy single mom, stay home with my kids and I promise I'll deal with all my stuff!

No?  WTF?!

Depression

I got a job.  I got a house. I lost weight. I made great friends.  I fell in love with a wonderful man. 

Then I cried for 4 months straight.

It's hard to accept that the life I had before is no more.  Once I allowed myself to see that, I couldn't help but sink deep.  I no longer wanted to go out on the nights without my kids.  I'd come home and sit with the sadness.  I'd cry and write and cry some more.  I was overcome with missing my kids when they weren't at home.  Yet, when they were home, I'd get so overwhelmed, I could barely breathe. I wanted an easy button. I wanted time.  I wanted things I could never get back. 

Then I just stopped fighting.  I emersed myself in my sadness despite how it looked or felt.  I gave myself persmission to be sad and cry.  I didn't try to hide it or fix it.  I just accepted it for however long and however intense it needed to be. 

I remember telling Billy:

"I'm sorry.  I'm really sorry.  I promise I don't cry all the time.  I'm just feeling things for the first time in a long time."

"You're doing what you need to do."

Acceptance

It was New Years Eve.  My house was full of kids and adults playing pictionary, laughing, celebrating, singing and waiting to ring in the New Year.  Everyone was full of energy except Shep and I, who passed out at 11:15 after fighting the good fight to stay awake.  At 12:01 Billy found Shep and I asleep in the tiny bottom bunk. He woke me with a kiss and told me Happy New Year.  I smiled at him and he smiled at me and it felt famlilar and comfortable. 
It was something about that moment that woke me up from my sad slumber. 


I accepted what happened.  The full extent of it.  I accepted it. 

And I have something here and now.

I have a wonderful life.  It is a full and blessed life.  My children have parents that love them and care for them and are giving them all they need.  My children are healthy and happy.  My kids, like all humans, are not perfect.  Our life, like any other, is not perfect.  But we make it work. 

Divorce is hard.  Things are not as they were.  They never will be.  But there are things here and now to relish in.  I'm grateful that I can provide for my kids and give them what they need.  I'm grateful that every moment counts now.  I'm grateful that I no longer spend my time with them in a catatonic state of distratction or endless chores or on Facebook.  I make each moment count.  There are new memories and family routines evolving. 

I'm watching a sweet relationship develop between the man I love and my children. 
We are blending our families.  We've been called the Brady Bunch. It's chaotic and funny and scary and good. Our life fluctuates between fast paces and slow motion.  An empty house one night will be busting at the seams the next. I've accepted that this is my new life. And with that comes new memories and new beginnings that will stream into familiarity and comfort.