Well, friends...I am divorced! It was officially official as of September 12, 2018. Can you believe it?
I wanted to conduct a social experiment and write on my back windshield, ''Just Divorced'' instead of ''Just Married'' as a joke to see the responses, but my ex-husband hated the idea. Reserved British type and all, he would just about die from mortification.
The last few weeks living together were sheer hell. Emotional, mental hell. I was leaving my dream home...my DREAM HOME! Am I crazy? I am starting this new life. Am an idiot? What am I doing? I asked myself these questions daily, until the doubt haunted me. I wasn't sleeping, I could barely eat. I didn't feel at home anymore, my things packed away in boxes. I felt like I was being kicked out of my home, the house I found, the house I helped restore. It was one of the most depressing, soul-destroying times of my life. Truly.
And then, I found my new dream home. An adorable, 1947 cottage in walking distance to a historic downtown. Does it have a lake? No. Is it grand and Georgian and stately? No. Does it even have a patch of woods? No, no, no. But what it lacks in size it makes up for in charm and character and it makes me incredibly happy to be here. It felt like home immediately. It was ''the one''.
Before the mortgage went through, I had my long-awaited trip to Seattle and Vancouver. I left a few weeks after my divorce was finalized, and two weeks before I moved. The timing could not have possibly been any better. If anyone needed to go somewhere, anywhere, else, it was me and it was then.
What can I say about my trip? It was phenomenal. Phenomenal! I met the most amazing family and friends, and even someone who may possibly, possibly, be Rupert. Really. I am just as surprised as you, but I will save that story for another day and leave you in suspense.
It was my first solo trip in a decade sans-children, and the freedom, my God, the freedom. I woke up when I wanted. I ate when and where I wanted. I saw who I wanted. It re-energized my very being simply to be free of the shackles of life, of motherhood, of teaching, of cancer, of divorce, just for a while. Just long enough for me to feel young and alive again. Have hope again.
I drank coffee and browsed used books at Pike Place Market. I met some sweet cousins for the first time, and saw the graves of great grandparents. I had dinner with the most welcoming friends at fancy restaurants. I met one of my incredibly talented and gracious professional idols at his book signing. I took a bus to Canada and felt the rush of the Pacific for the first time.
Most of all, I celebrated my cancerversary. One year since my mastectomy. This time last year, I could barely move my arms. I couldn't bend. I couldn't even sleep laying down. I was mutilated, stitched up, glued together. And now there I was, on planes, trains, buses, walking miles at a time. It illustrated to me that if I could be so physically re-silent, I could be just as emotionally re-silent, too.
Having cancer has allowed me to let go of past hurts and wrongs. To move on.
It has taught me that life is too short, too precarious, to hold on to the sadness and the pain.
It has taught me to embrace the love and the goodness, to hold tightly those dear to me and to release those who have hurt me. Even if it's unintentional. Even if there is love there, too. It's okay. I harbor no bitterness, no ill-will. I just no longer have the desire to be hurt again by anyone. I no longer have the tolerance for such people in my life, in my wonderfully beautiful and bizarre life.
And you know what? I am happy. So happy. I have pushed past the storm, and am basking in the rainbow. I am finally basking in the rainbow.
I wanted to conduct a social experiment and write on my back windshield, ''Just Divorced'' instead of ''Just Married'' as a joke to see the responses, but my ex-husband hated the idea. Reserved British type and all, he would just about die from mortification.
The last few weeks living together were sheer hell. Emotional, mental hell. I was leaving my dream home...my DREAM HOME! Am I crazy? I am starting this new life. Am an idiot? What am I doing? I asked myself these questions daily, until the doubt haunted me. I wasn't sleeping, I could barely eat. I didn't feel at home anymore, my things packed away in boxes. I felt like I was being kicked out of my home, the house I found, the house I helped restore. It was one of the most depressing, soul-destroying times of my life. Truly.
And then, I found my new dream home. An adorable, 1947 cottage in walking distance to a historic downtown. Does it have a lake? No. Is it grand and Georgian and stately? No. Does it even have a patch of woods? No, no, no. But what it lacks in size it makes up for in charm and character and it makes me incredibly happy to be here. It felt like home immediately. It was ''the one''.
Before the mortgage went through, I had my long-awaited trip to Seattle and Vancouver. I left a few weeks after my divorce was finalized, and two weeks before I moved. The timing could not have possibly been any better. If anyone needed to go somewhere, anywhere, else, it was me and it was then.
What can I say about my trip? It was phenomenal. Phenomenal! I met the most amazing family and friends, and even someone who may possibly, possibly, be Rupert. Really. I am just as surprised as you, but I will save that story for another day and leave you in suspense.
It was my first solo trip in a decade sans-children, and the freedom, my God, the freedom. I woke up when I wanted. I ate when and where I wanted. I saw who I wanted. It re-energized my very being simply to be free of the shackles of life, of motherhood, of teaching, of cancer, of divorce, just for a while. Just long enough for me to feel young and alive again. Have hope again.
I drank coffee and browsed used books at Pike Place Market. I met some sweet cousins for the first time, and saw the graves of great grandparents. I had dinner with the most welcoming friends at fancy restaurants. I met one of my incredibly talented and gracious professional idols at his book signing. I took a bus to Canada and felt the rush of the Pacific for the first time.
Most of all, I celebrated my cancerversary. One year since my mastectomy. This time last year, I could barely move my arms. I couldn't bend. I couldn't even sleep laying down. I was mutilated, stitched up, glued together. And now there I was, on planes, trains, buses, walking miles at a time. It illustrated to me that if I could be so physically re-silent, I could be just as emotionally re-silent, too.
I never fully believed in the adage, ''Time heals all wounds'' until I had cancer.
Having cancer has allowed me to let go of past hurts and wrongs. To move on.
It has taught me that life is too short, too precarious, to hold on to the sadness and the pain.
It has taught me to embrace the love and the goodness, to hold tightly those dear to me and to release those who have hurt me. Even if it's unintentional. Even if there is love there, too. It's okay. I harbor no bitterness, no ill-will. I just no longer have the desire to be hurt again by anyone. I no longer have the tolerance for such people in my life, in my wonderfully beautiful and bizarre life.
And you know what? I am happy. So happy. I have pushed past the storm, and am basking in the rainbow. I am finally basking in the rainbow.
Beautiful post and I am so happy you got to this stage in your life where you LOVE your life and can let go of the hurts. Lovely to have met you - I truly believe you are a beautiful soul and there is a full and wondrous world ahead of you. Sending a huge hug, wishes of peace and tranquility and love and looking forward to having you explore the Pacific Northwest again soon!
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