Monday, June 11, 2012

Breaking Down and Building Up

This weekend was unexpectedly rough. I don't know why. I can't tell you in any way that makes sense why this was the weekend that my sanity hit the fan. But it did.

Saturday, my kids wanted to camp out with Uncle D at the festival that my mom works at every year. I know that's confusing, roll with it. For some weird reason, I have zero interest in attending said festival. So, I dropped the kids with responsible adults and went to Wal-Mart and then headed home.

I went to the basement to switch out laundry and started bawling my eyes out. I had no idea it was coming. I sat on a pile of dirty sheets and cried for all the things I had lost or was losing. I cried for the hopeful girl who walked down the aisle 11 years ago, never dreaming she would be part of that 50%. I cried for the anniversary trip to Alaska I'll never take. I cried for the quiet and the weekends without my kids. But mostly, I cried for me.

I cried for the me that I thought was gone and buried. I cried for the me that I never really was. I cried for all the versions of me through the past decade and all the damage that's been done to all of them. I've been so busy mourning the marriage and trying to make everything as easy and comfortable for the kids as possible that I never stopped to mourn for myself. For me.

Then I spent the rest of the night alternating between more crying jags, maudlin trips through photo albums and screaming the lyrics to "Crazy Eddie's Last Hurrah," at the top of my lungs. Plus I watched about four episodes of Being Human on Netflix and started reading Blackout. I'm a complex person, I suppose.

Sunday morning I woke up with puffy eyes and a nagging headache. I hate crying. But I also woke up with something more: a blue sky.

I can't help but say it again: I'm fine. I really am. I am going to have these moments, but for the most part, what I see ahead of me now is glorious. It's a open expanse of opportunities and experiences that I would have never had if things had kept going the way they were going. I have my whole life ahead of me and one big giant Reset button to push. And I think I'm finally ready to push it.


Suze said...


Jenn-Jenn, the Mother Hen said...

Sending you love, hugs and support!

ann said...

I'm really trying to think of something to say that isn't completely dorky but I can't. I'm proud of you and I'm glad you are grieving in such a healthy way. Sorry. I really can't help it.