Thanks for your patience. I’ve been wading through this complicated new reality, not always keeping my head up, and not always feeling like I wanted to share. The grieving process is like that sometimes.
The other morning I woke up at 8:00 am, took my canine companion for a walk in the rain, still wearing my pjs, unloaded boxes from the trunk of my car, fried some bacon, scrambled some eggs in the bacon fat, made coffee, sat down at the table near the window overlooking the garden and I felt good.
A few nights ago, I cooked dinner for myself, poured a glass of wine, settled into the cabana in the backyard (I’m house sitting again) and binge watched the new season of Queer Eye on Netflix. That show has literally injected pure joy into my heart on numerous occasions through the last several months.
I feel good.
Not all the time. Certainly not the day I spent sorting through bins of stuff while my ex helped me purge garbage bags full of old clothes and fabric I forgot I even had. Certainly not when I found out the apartment I thought I was moving into wasn’t going to work out. Certainly not when I went to see the first couple of alternative apartments available in my budget and was terrified of both the filth and the neighbours. That was a double-whammy of a day when there was also a full moon and I was in the throes of PMS, but these moments of bad feeling are quickly replaced with a sense of hope, and a sense of peace. There’s a voice somewhere just beyond me that keeps insisting that it’s going to be okay, and that voice feels very true.
There isn’t a single part of this separation that has gone the way that I want. It doesn’t matter. I’m not in control. I’ll work with what I get, and keep trusting that voice. Maybe I wasn’t meant to spend this year of healing in a basement. Maybe my moments with my daughters, though far less frequent, will be of greater connection and quality. Maybe constant trips to the home we made together when we were a family would have made it too hard to really let go. Maybe living with my parents for the summer was always going to be a safer place to land as I start this new life. Maybe lawyers are painfully slow because there are more conversations that need to be had, and greater understanding to be achieved.
I’m spending more time thinking about what I want than crying over what I’ve lost. So, on this bright and sunny morning, a moon into my single-hood, here’s what I want for the summer:
Quiet Saturday mornings for writing and eating home-cooked breakfasts
The feeling of liberation that comes with getting rid of mountains of stuff I don’t need (both physical and emotional)
Continued work opportunities to create this new life for myself
The fun of dreaming of a new living space
Dinners with great conversation and people who I feel good around
A camping adventure or two, and one that includes the kids
Someone to teach me how to become an expert paddler
Weekly hikes
Time for reading, just for fun
The courage to embrace the lonely and overwhelming moments, sit with them, and know that they aren’t forever
Great moments of bonding with all of my kids
Continued acceptance of change, even if I don’t understand other people’s choices
A safe, clean home of my own in a place that feels good
The momentum to create a routine of ongoing physical activity
I think this is a great list, but I’m always open to suggestions. For example, a dear friend challenged me to get a massage. I never do things like that for myself, so I’m going to schedule an appointment. So, can you be a pal and throw some of your own suggestions below for the #summerofme?