Ironically enough, my first blog post was three months ago, when I had a rough night and had convinced myself that my marriage was over. Well, it is now 2016, and I've finally dug up the logins (after the billion failed attempts and excessive password resets) with confirmation that my pouty blog post from three months prior, is indeed reality.
My husband moved on Christmas. We opened presents with our three littles. I made breakfast-- bacon and eggs. He set up the WiiU and the kid's new BlueRay player. And after Canon went down for a nap, I lit a fire log, and watched my husband cry as he stood over the girls playing with their new goodies from St. Nick. I cried watching him cry-- it was one of those throat closing moments, where swallowing even becomes a lost function.
I walked him to his truck, and he gave my forehead the last kiss it would ever receive in South Carolina. I had already moved out of our home-- it was listed less than a week before it went under contract for full price (YAS) and I'd settled into my new three bedroom rental out on the island. He continued to cry, but my tears had seized. He drove away, and headed to his hometown of Baltimore, Maryland.
My exhale could have demolished even the three little pigs so-stable brick house. I felt relieved.
Horrible, I know. Oh, so horrible. I feel the embarrassment burning my face as my thumbs punch away on this iPhone.
I was relived that my husband left me with our three children, on Christmas Day. It wasn't spur of the moment. We'd found out he had an interview for the job in September. He nails interviews, and just so happens to be one of those irritatingly likable men. Everybody oozes at his 6' 2" bundle of charisma (do I sound jealous?). In October, we found out he had been selected for a job, and was placed at Washington DC. This is an enormous opportunity-- Firefighting for the Department of Defense comes with opportunities civilian fire departments here in our small town could never provide. I was ecstatic that he was given such an opportunity-- it's really quite flattering to be offered a position.
I chose to not go.
Yes, that's right. I flat out refused to go-- not initially, of course. I played the good wife role. I looked into real estate in Baltimore (where my darling in-laws reside, hear my snark?) and even applied and interviewed for teaching positions. When I paused and thought of the reality of the situation, I could not go.
After our first separation, we cohabitated in August and the job stampeded us in September; I could not commit to leaving my hometown, my job (which has me in the middle of my teaching certification program), and take the leap of faith.
Months have come and gone since I knew my husband and I were too tired to keep fighting for our marriage. I am finally able to wholeheartedly admit, I drug the marriage out because I've never failed at anything. Tests here and there, whatever. But never a "life changing" failure. I had to fix it, beat it, win at it-- until I just didn't. And as simple as I can put it, that is how I exhaled when my husband left me for Maryland.
I can now shrug my shoulders and admit clinging on for fear of failure is complete rubbish. It is an idiotic remedy that drowns me further in the failure. Perhaps today is a chipper day; maybe I'll miss him after it sinks in (probably, like no). I love my husband (or husband that I'm separated from) but, really am so ready for the journey to being a person for myself and not squeezing into a mold that crumbles my soul.
I'm ready to throat punch the challenges to come with the three littles, teaching second semester seniors their dose of Brit. Lit., and single life-- which I know not a thing about.