The divorce was final in December, but the relationship doesn’t end, does it? You think it will, but it won’t. You want it to be amicable, wearing your mask of congeniality while the stabs of resentment surface, sizzling bubbles forming faster than you can slap them back down. “Quiet,” you whisper, “someone will hear,” as if people hadn’t noticed the tattered ashes already.
It’s all about the stuff, things I don’t even care about, that I didn’t know I had. He wants it all. Fine, take it. A beach umbrella, a French press, the Disney blankets. Nothing expensive he can’t replace which he suddenly cannot live without now and Must Have Right Away. For his trip to TomorrowLand, apparently.
We’re supposed to share the children’s expenses, as agreed to in court, yet somehow that’s never the case as I receive collection notices for his debts unpaid. We also agreed not to fleece each other, keeping it amicable — no alimony, no child support. You take this, I take that, share expenses and custody 50/50. Seems so simple. Ha.
Nothing about the wrenching of lives is simple, no matter how much we desire it. He’s got a new girl, already engaged. I’m happy for him, truly. I’ve got a new guy; we’re taking it slower. I only want us all to be happy. Somehow, still, he’s angry at me for wanting to be free of him. So that’s my debt, paid in full. With a new interest rate, added daily.
Life is so much bigger than his petty whatever it is…narcissism? I’m too close to know, to add a label to behaviors I don’t understand and frankly, don’t have to care about anymore. As long as my kids are cared and provided for when they’re with him, and here when they need to be, my requirements of him are minimal.
All that’s left now is The Money — the one thing that plagues most couples when they’re together still stands before them with an ax to grind when they’re not. Did you pay this? Will you pay for that? Never ending questions unanswered because our children are under 18, and one of them will be for awhile.
I could choose to be angry, resentful, and upset — I’ve run through all those emotions, believe me — but now I choose resolution. I’ve always chosen resolution, but there are steps to grief — divorce is a death, you see. I tried to skip over those stepping stones of grief because I asked for the divorce. I thought I was special and could skip right over those hot coals. Nope, turns out I’m no different than any other human whose been through this.
Dammit.
We are not matched on this rocky path, nor likely will we ever be.
Compassion sits me down and tells me he’s struggling — with money, with anger, with control — he needs time to figure out how to sit with this new suit of armor, deflecting my readiness to make it easy on us all.
Frustration questions, “Why?”
Impatience says, “Dude. Own your shit.”
Exhaustion pushes me to the couch where I sleep and wake up fatigued because the emotional toll hasn’t eased, the anxiety that another bomb is headed my way.
Worry says “I’m wasteful.”
So, on goes my mask, as I step around this emotional minefield, picking each word with thoughtful care, afraid of another explosion. And what happens when I get to the other side? Is there even another side?
When I remove the mask occasionally, I breathe in cleansing air, relax, and focus on loving, writing, and work, grateful for the strength and support of loved ones, family, friends. And a good lawyer.
The process is long, and not easy. And even when it is, it isn’t.
photo courtesy of unsplash
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