By now, friends of mine know or have figured out that I am divorced. I mean, my social media accounts for the last few years have been shining a spotlight on things pertaining specifically to my life or my career. A subliminal way of fading out the identity of a married woman to the now still-a-work-in-progress identity of Single Mom Career Woman. I have been debating for months how public I wanted to be with this information because it involves more people than just myself. It's clearly not just my news to share. Yet, it's still my reality. No amount of trying to avoid talking about it changes the fact that there is a 40-page legal document proving that I don't need to be checking the "Mrs." box on any kind of official paperwork.
And while divorce is something that can bring relief in the long run to a couple who knew it just wasn't working anymore, actually being in the place where you have to make the decision to hire a lawyer or divide up photos or pieces of furniture can be the cause of short-term agony and suffering. I turned to the help of a therapist so I could wade through the effects of some of the changes, like new financial responsibilities or figuring out who my emergency contact is. I also needed time to brace myself for the impact that was to come. Several sessions with my therapist, and I was convinced that I was emotionally prepared for the end.
Hell, no. I won't forget walking down the main hallway at work to take the phone call from the lawyer, asking me to come in to give my final signatures. My "work mom" just happened to be walking in the same space, although I didn't realize that she was there until after she followed me into the break room. I collapsed into a chair and just broke down while she talked me through it, having been there herself decades before me. Clearly, I wasn't prepared.
Then there was the day just a couple weeks later when the email came through declaring that it was done. That's it. A post-lunch check-in with my iPhone had proof of my life's next chapter. No longer a bride. No longer a wife. The law saw me as a single woman again.
And the guys at the liquor store after work saw me as a woman with absurd fashion sense. It had been ugly sweater day at work, and I was dressed like a Christmas elf, complete with a flashing Christmas light necklace. Talk about a conversation starter with total strangers...
My work mom had told me the day she found me in the break room: "Nothing prepares you for the end like actually being at the end." And she was right.
The part she left out, though, was how getting through the end was going to feel like wearing concrete boots.
The end came, and I had wrongly convinced myself that I was fine. The end had me trading my elf sweater for my jammies so I could take an early nap and then cry over a glass of scotch once my child was with her daddy. Then I moped around the house all weekend until I dragged my ass out of it to treat a dear friend to a birthday meal. And yes, it felt like I was actually dragging.
Those metaphorical concrete boots made it incredibly difficult to physically move. It was nearly impossible to get myself off the couch or out of bed. I lingered twice as long in the shower. I shuffled my feet to get across every floor in my house. I knew that I should have been engaging in activities that would take my mind off of my misery and confusion. But I felt so weighed down, wishing all the fun would come to me. And forget going trying to get my endorphin fix at the gym. Who can run or lift weights when they feel like they're fighting gravity?
We often view concrete as something that secures things permanently. There's a reason why you pour concrete into the post holes for installing a backyard playscape or a garden's fence line. Some things need to be weighed down for our safety and to make us feel secure.
But thankfully, the good news in this curious metaphor is that concrete can be chipped away. In fact, it needs to be for us to be able to move on. Those concrete boots aren't yours forever. It just takes time and effort to get out of them. You will need the help of others who have better tools than you. And there will definitely be life events or traumas that make you feel like your pouring new layers back on, slowing your progress. Think about trying to make it through a divorce, but also dealing with a death in the family or your car being totaled. Ugh.
Also be ready to accept that despite your efforts to free yourself completely of these concrete boots, you will have tiny fragments that just cling to you. They will simply be the reminders of your progress and growth.
Life after divorce gets better. It has for me. It just didn't happen all at once. I also realize I will always have room to grow. I just hope those whose concrete boots were just poured know that I have tools. Let me know when you're ready, and I will help you start chipping.
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