One year later

One year. One year ago today my life blew up. It was instant. The loss happened so quickly, I was left gasping and scrambling. I am still processing. I am still very much grieving.

I made it through the year of firsts. Holidays. Birthdays. Every season. It's interesting what you think will hurt doesn't, and what sneaks up on you with a kick to the guts. Christmas was fine, but the Tulip Festival was another story. The closing of the old bowling alley, a certain hotel in Vegas changing it's name...confirmation that my old life was over.

It's been one year since we were all under the same roof.
It's been one year since there was a real face-to-face conversation.

For one year I've avoided almost all the old haunts.
I had no energy left to spare to enjoy a lot of the things I once enjoyed.
I spent a year without my roller skates.

I've spent a lot of time feeling broken. Foggy. Scared. Bullied. Feeling that a lot of what had been the most meaningful in my life was now for naught. Wondering if I am supposed to go on living. Missing my old self. Wishing for the confidence and creativity I once had to return. Feeling hopeless that they ever will.

Somehow, I kept pushing through, and had a lot of wonderful experiences, too. I found a new freedom I enjoyed. I made deep connections with incredible women who share similar stories.

I continue to work hard in therapy to heal from my trauma and PTSD. I am slowly, slowly making progress. Baby steps. Forward motion. Glimpses of my old strength are becoming more frequent, and the waves of anxiety are happening less. The decision to take control of my own healing in a situation that left me so hopeless has been empowering and crucial.

I have gotten over the pangs of both heartbreak and jealousy that would hit when I would see a baby out with both a mom, and a dad. I am working on getting over the pangs of both heartbreak and jealously that hit when I see an announcement of baby number two.

I have forced myself out of my shell and comfort zone, a ton. This has been one of the best things for me. I have met people I never would have met otherwise and have tried my hardest to learn from each person who has crossed my path, knowing that they were all placed there for a reason.

I took some inspiration recently from a woman who after experiencing loss said something like, "Option A isn't available. And if option A isn't available...then we're going to have to rock the shit out of option B." I am still wrapping my head and heart around the fact that yes, option A isn't available. But I'm feeling more optimistic that once I know what option B is, I can rock that.

I have met new men. It's been more of a social experiment for me than anything else, because I've never dated. I've been in a long term relationship since I was 19. I need to learn who I am around new men, and what I want. It's few and far between. Dating for me has been conversation, or food or a drink. I've had a year without romance in my life. And that's okay.

I slowly feel my creativity, focus, and spirituality coming back. Like sparks lighting up through my system...a tiny bit here and there at a time...slowly coming back online. Back to life. And I'd rather give myself time to see it through and feel the difference, than to jump off a bridge.

I am learning what boundaries I need, and how to begin to draw them.

I believe, with nothing but trust and some blind faith, that there is something more for me. I don't know what that means, or when I'll get there, but I know I'm not on this earth to be shattered and stopped at this point in the story. What if this is right when it's about to get good? I have to know.

And then of course, my boy. My boy. My boy. My world. My son. I am the most happy, grounded, myself, rooted in earth, and in my essence when I am being mother. I am not sad. I am not lost. I am fully present in each moment. I am dropped in, I am there. I am just as in awe of him as I have ever been, if not more so. I know there are big lessons he is here to teach me, big things he is here to do, and I am HIS mother for reasons I have yet to know. He is my joy and my balm.

I had never known what regret felt like until this year. But when I look at my son, I know it couldn't have all been for nothing because HE came from this. Little blonde being of light, life, and magic.

I have been thinking so much about this day as it approached. I didn't know how I'd feel, or what I'd want to say. I wanted to wake up in my full power, a sense of relief. Healed.

But instead I feel sad. I feel in time I'll be okay. That one day I will wake up that way.

But today I'm sad, and that's okay, too.


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Two months later.

Two months to the day.

I'm in a new dimension. The spell was broken. You look completely different to me now. Each interaction these days dispels the beautiful myth I'd built around you more.Truth chiseled away the clouded lens I used to view you through. 

For six years I could not see. 

Two months ago I thought I'd die of a broken heart. The pieces would shatter, and I'd surely choke on one. That would be the end of me. I was drowning, sure you'd ended me. 

What a surprise, it didn't take as long as I'd anticipated to discover my heart was in fact, whole. Beating and toughened. 

Even bigger than before. 

I'm simply exhausted, you see. You did exhaust me, I'll give you that. Six years is a long time to try to get someone's love. Six years is a long time to lose, or be on the verge of losing, someone again, and again. Six years is a long time to love someone who has one foot in, and one foot out. 

I was more ready than I knew, to be done. I could resist no more. I let you out of my heart. With your release, I got my life back, my love for life back. My energy has returned. The energy I was giving to the ghost all this time.

The ghost had always made it clear how easy it would be to leave. How his limits were far more easily reached than mine would ever be. The ghost, whom I no longer love. I no longer love him, like those who came before me. I no longer love the ghost, who demonstrated so many times, the ability to cut off, shut out, leave. I couldn't see it before. The trail of the ghosting. What other outcome would there have ever been?

You weren't ready.

Ready to stay.

Ready to love.

Ready to be loved.

Once you were the end all be all, king of my world. 

There is no more pedestal. 

There is no more forcing my love.

Giving up the ghost turned me right side-up. 

I can't throw a stone without hitting a cute boy. They're everywhere. There wasn't just you. A lesson I'm finally excited to have learned. Now I've got my armor; knowledge. Now I can see. Next time, I won't be an "escape". I won't be your easy out. I won't be an item on a check-list. I won't rush. To be with, commit to, give myself, entire. Next time, I'll choose wisely. And choose, I will...eventually. 

For you see, there are things I haven't yet experienced that I now, one day, look forward to, from the one(s) who are ready. Ready to love, to be loved. Ready to accept. Their faults, my faults, and ready to stay, entire.

Struck today.

I've been anxiously awaiting the announcement of Lucky Blue & Stormi Bree's baby. When it popped up this morning, I did not expect to have the reaction I've had. Full body sobs. In waves, I am rocked hard. I swear I can feel my heart breaking in my chest. I can FEEL it. Overcome with a grief, a love, and a special kind of nostalgia that only a mother can know. Like death, you can never understand birth until you have experienced it. There is a beautiful and devastating permanence in both. In the midst of my breakup, I grieve. I grieve the potential of what could have been. I grieve the incredible experience of the birth of my son. I look at this photo, at this moment, and I know that moment. I am sad that moment for me was so fleeting. This moment is precipice. A new life lies ahead. I am sad for those who will soon find out how hard it could be, and who will be crushed by it. I am envious of those who will stay together, and be strengthened by it, and those who will get it again. I have so many wishes. I wish he would have had patience. I wish he would have seen me through. I wish he would have comforted me when I needed it, and been a source of emotional strength. I wish I could have explored with him deeply and openly conversations of how I experienced pregnancy, childbirth, post partum anxiety, parenting styles, my mother's instinct, second babies, timelines, hormones. Hormones, who only let me begin my return to myself after a year. I envy you with men who don't claim to understand, but those who give you time. Who give you room. Who let you breathe. Who let you talk about, until it is all out, who make you feel loved, not scolded, or hurried. I see this photo, and I remember the feeling of having it all. I was full, I was complete. It is a stark contrast to how I feel these days. A new sense of freedom, yes. But also a strange loneliness. Our son now 16 months. And I still feel that it is so very much at the beginning. And that this is all such a shame. We only got 6 months in our new house together, 2 of which he spent moved out anyway. How was this an honest attempt for us? What is wrong with admitting fault? Working hard? Therapy? Communication? I am still trying to process and reconcile so much of the last couple of years. I will forever be haunted that the last time my former love and I were under the same roof, I was called names, scared, trapped, and I will never forget the way his face would change as he yelled. "I wish I had never met you" he said. "I am mad at him", he said of the baby. I will be haunted forever that he didn't want to try. To work through his demons, our marriage, and fight for our commitment. I will forever be haunted by baby Rosemary, who was supposed to come next, and never will. My body feels hollow now. I don't understand why this happened, as I am in the throes of it. I don't understand how I started with so much love, and ended with so much fear. I am left wondering if I was just something on a checklist as he rushed his way through, a hurried imitation of a life he thought he was supposed to have. I am open, wounded, and sad. I'd waited so long. To find the one person I ever wanted any of this with. For the point in my life where taking a break from work in order to be with at home with a baby was welcome. Loss. So much loss. It's enough to drive a weaker soul mad. I can't stop looking at this photo. There is a bittersweet universe that opened up in me upon seeing it. Of all I had, have, and will never have. 

To those who have been here, how do you get through?

How??

This is not love.

I met a beautiful long haired boy. He was oh so sad. I was drawn to his turmoil, to his sadness. "You are sensitive, nostalgic, and sad", I said. "I see you. Your melancholia is beautiful.". I mistook his talk of sadness, for an open heart. I mistook his woes, for connection. I thought he was letting me in. I thought I understood. But really...I knew nothing beyond the surface of his sad.  

It is a fragile, convoluted thing, to learn what love is. Three years married. Four together. One month to live a crash course in what love is. 

It is not love to be yelled at. It is not love for your spouse to yell to your face that you are a bitch. It is not love for your spouse to yell at you to fuck off, or fuck you. It is not love to be grabbed roughly. It is not love to be run out on. It is not love to be given the silent treatment. It is not love to be without communication. It is not love to never be comforted, to be ignored when you cry, and to called a "little bitch lamb" because you are crying. It is not love to be told your access to your bank account will be stopped. It is not love to be threatened with divorce, and a fight for your child. Time and time again. It is not love for things to be thrown, and broken around you. It is not love to be "taught lessons"..."didn't these last two days teach you anything?" Or, "if you're going to behave like a child, I'm going to treat you like one." It is not love to beg for therapy, to finally get to go together, to last only four sessions, for one of you to get kicked out, and to never make another attempt at repairing. It is not love to be told you must have another baby or you will be left. It is not love to beg not to be left. It is not love to beg for anything. 

It is not love to beg. 

It is not love for any of this to happen in front of your baby. 
It is not love for your baby to bear witness to these things. 

There is so much shame, denial and confusion, surrounding emotional, verbal, and mental abuse. Even the strongest women are not immune. It sneaks up. You explain it away, because you can’t possibly have gotten yourself into this situation. You're too smart for that. You are not one of those women. You actually try to start telling yourself that maybe being called names doesn't really matter because, "it's just words". Plus, you are a deep-feeling, loving, and hopeful person, and you have enough love and commitment for the both of you. So that should do, right? When the going gets hard, you don’t run, you fix! You try everything and anything  because we declared our commitment for all our family and friends to see, proudly. We have a child together. Leaving is not an option. 

But I've learned there is no such thing as having enough love for the both of you. Or having enough faith for you both. Yes, you still have faith. But now you also have fear. 

Fear is a slippery slope. 
Fear also sneaks up. 

You don’t dare to call for help, because you’ll work this out, and nobody will have a tainted view of your relationship. You don't want to call the police, because what if you hurt his career? And what if he takes the baby, like he said he would? You'd better sit tight. You don't dare to tell anyone, you make excuses. You pretend. But it starts to eat you alive. Your appetite grinds to a halt. You begin to have regular anxiety attacks. You are underweight. You are walking on eggshells. You've assumed a new role, of the baby’s protector. Your stomach drops and your heart sinks on a regular basis. You being to have PTSD. You turn down social activities. You say no to your friends. You beat him back home every night. You want to keep him pleased. You are sick. This. Has. Made. You. Sick. But you love him. You love him. You love him. 

Letting this behavior happen is not love.
This is not love. 

It is not love to excuse. 
It is not love to enable. 
It is not love to sweep problems under the rug with no communication. 
It is not love to put up with this behavior. 

It is loving to set boundaries. 
It is loving to have strength, to know your son cannot and will not see this again. 
It is loving to break your own heart, because you never wished for a fractured home. 
It is loving to take time away, to reflect, and remember you are a worthy person. 

That’s the scariest part of all. By the end, you are so upside down that your worth is nearly gone. Your WORTH. Hear me loud and clear when I tell you that YOU WILL QUESTION IF YOU ARE A PERSON WORTHY TO BE A LIVING, BREATHING THING ON THE EARTH. Many factors add up to this, including cries for help that were understood, but never responded to from those you truly thought would help. Instead, it was glossed over, and you and your son were left...feeling unloved, sure...but also unsafe. THIS IS NOT LOVE. Not love comes from a cycle of not love, and not love before that. Not love cannot be sustained when matched with real love. 

And it's that simple. And it's that hard. 
And yet time works wonders.

And in the beginning you're certain you'll never get through, because the man of your dreams is gone. It's gone. It is all gone. And then weeks go by. And then you near a month, then more, and you see things so much clearer now that your source of anxiety is gone. And you're right, it is gone. It is all gone. But what's gone is the darkness. The turmoil, and the sadness, the storm brought with it. 

But your love is intact. And you find that you are actually intact. And you no longer pine for someone who tried so hard to leave you, for so long. And when you really take a look back...you see that someone has been trying to leave you for the last year, yes, but also since they met you. 

If I stay silent, I do no favors. I enable. I patch over. I pretend. I allow no women to come forward, to say, "me too!" I have heard so many times that it appears my life is perfect. That it looked like I was living the dream. Reality is that my heart, soul, and trust were shattered. That I will pine for who knows how long for the life I thought I had. The family I thought I was building and could save, could fix. The idea that you don't throw in the towel on marriage when it's this level of love, when there is a baby. The idea that raising our baby under the same roof was the only option. 

My reality is that I am broken. 

As broken as the shadow of the person I thought I knew. The one who told me he never wanted me to be afraid of him. The one who told me that he hated his profession and took it out on me.The one who I both still love, and fear. The one I must turn over our son to at times now - without me. The one who belongs to a family that has now been made clear in court after the protective order, is lost to me. I thought many of those relationships could stay intact. I had a completely different vision of him being helped, and our relationships sustained. I thought family is family is family and family helps. I have been so naive. I now have no choice but to hand over my baby. This will also mean handing over my baby to family that I feel I no longer know, or will be allowed to know. I will hand over my baby to one family member whom I loved, but who always made me nervous because of the effect of their pain pills. I'd witnessed them nod off on more than one occasion...including once when my newborn son was in their arms. That is an image you don't forget. I was told I love my baby too much. But I don't for one second believe that is even a thing. Thank god I love my son and will fight to keep him healthy and safe. Thank god he has me, and I have him. My little boy all but saved my life. 

I have no idea how to rebuild my life. I'd been setting myself up to be primarily a stay-at-home-mom. I have had no regular income since I was pregnant. Only freelance work. I have no idea how to pay my lawyers. I have no idea how to pay to recover and start over from any of this. It is total devastation in every aspect. Emotionally, mentally, physically, financially. You name it. So no, my life is not perfect. I am certainly not living my dream. 

But what I have learned I am, is an eternal optimist. I am an amazing mother who loves her son more than anything, and will fight to protect him when, and where I need to. I also know that people are good. That men are good. That men are out there who come from communication, or want to learn communication. Who want to dig deep. Who would look at themselves, and choose to sort out their share of the issues. Who speak kindly to and of the women in his life. Who strive to discover who they truly are, and what they want. Who won't tell me that I won't be able to go get a job and provide like he does. Who won't yell at me for buying a cup of coffee. Who won't tell me he wouldn't have to yell if I didn't make him mad. Who won't want to "put me on an allowance." Who dig in to the experience of parenthood. I didn't have what I now know I needed in a partner while navigating my way into motherhood. Lost to the haze of new motherhood, I wasn't able to deeply express and work through my first 6 months of post partum anxiety. I wasn't able to express my contentment with becoming a mother, and my deep connection to our son, or talk about the kind of baby he was, and the parenting styles my mother's instincts told me fit him best. I didn't have those big exciting moments to talk about for years to come when I found out I was pregnant, or when we saw the first ultra-sound. Instead, I had someone who told me time and time again, "I'm a cold person." That his family, "bottles everything up. It's what we do." He was so determined. So committed to the cold. To the bottling. 

I've been in long term relationships for the past 20 years. Never in my life did I experience a relationship where I needed to ask for help. Never in my life did I experience a relationship where someone told me I was the cause of everything. Certainly not in the 8 year relationship I was in prior. That was a good man, so good he was willing to come to my defense even now. So I am not without hope. I am confident about the fact that there are good men. 

I feel a pang of sadness when I see a baby out and about with both a mom, and a dad. I keep having moments of panic because my wedding ring isn't on. For a split second I'm worried I've lost it. I'm not used to having it off. Ahead of me lies a hard road, and no, I'm not sure how I'm going to start down it, or pay for it. And yes, it still feels like all is being taken. A spouse, my baby, quite possibly any chance at future pregnancies, quite possibly the roof over our heads. I have no idea what we'll do. I am learning how crushed the stay-at-home-mom often becomes in this scenario. Where are the resources?! Life is dealing me cards I have never, ever, wanted. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy. I don't know how anyone can take the required divorce classes and still want to go through this, rather than committing harder, and fixing it. Those classes are devastating. 


I'm aware that this all sounds very heavy, so let me leave you with some lightness. 

Recently, my bouts of sadness have started to lessen. I have ever so gently begun to feel lighter, and to feel a freedom that had gone missing. I still feel a spark inside. A spark I didn't even realize had started to go out. It is there, it is back, and it is glowing. Urging me on. I have to believe that there is better ahead. There is different, there is new. I have worked too hard, for too long to lose every scrap of myself for this. I know I was certainly not put on this earth to be this sad. And also, "Charlie's Mom" is amazing, you guys. She is tough, and strong, and soft, and sensitive, and in tune, and confident, and fun. No way would she let someone else take her worth. Someone with so much potential, but so deeply wounded. Someone so young. I've lived way too much life to see myself demolished at the hands of another. Parents and friends had begun to comment on why I was always asking permission to do things, wondering where my independence had gone. 

I have a lot to figure out, about why I let this happen. Where along the way I got it into my head that romance was tragic. How I could let my attraction blind me so deeply. I am researching and reading like crazy, and will link a couple of articles at the end to help you all better understand. 

If you're reading this and you've been through something similar, I hope my words and transparency help you. Help you be less alone. Help you to feel less shame. Help to remind you to stay hopeful. 

And if f you ever feel that you need to ask for help - ask. And don't let anyone minimize your fear. They are not living, breathing, experiencing it firsthand. They have no right to tell you your experience is not valid. This is exactly why people feel there is no way out. If someone tells you they are scared, please listen. Respond. I beg you. And if you find yourself in the camp of the other party, help that person with some tough love, rather than a blind eye. Please, I beg you. To stay silent, to stay inactive does them no favors. The cycle will never have an end. 

I am in progress. I am both happy, and sad. I am worried, but hopeful. I am full of love for my incredible family and circle of friends. My supportive community. My tribe who reached right out and helped me stay afloat. My therapist. I am learning. Every day I am digging deep and figuring it out. 

What I do know now, is love is not cruel. 
If it's cruel, it's not love. 
It is not love. 


This one really helped me understand the why and how of my participation: 
22 stages of relationship between an empath and a narcissist  

Understanding emotional abuse

Understanding emotional and physiological abuse


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