Three Months

Wednesday, January 9, 2019

It's been three months since my husband of fifteen years told me he wanted to separate.  It wasn't a shock. We were both very unhappy and had been for most of the marriage.  We stayed together initially because I was pregnant and then because we were Christian and it was the Christian thing to do and then of course because of Paloma and her needs.  I should be relieved its over but I've spent the last three months wallowing in anger and self pity.  How could he jump ship and leave me, leave us, to manage this thing alone.  Not only did he decide to leave but by the next week he was already in a serious relationship with a woman in my social circle.

So I've been angry and when life feels out of control I furiously obsess over things. Like what the hell will be become of me?  I've read so many find the right career for you books, taken countless career and personality tests to try and narrow down what I might be good at or what my interests are. Honestly, I've forgotten a lot of what interests me in the years I've been a mother.  My new therapist challenged me to stop thinking about it for a week, just a week.  The truth is no book or career test is going to tell me what to do or what job will accommodate for having a child who needs to be picked up from school probably twice a week for seizures, who catches nearly every illness that crosses her path, who has constant appointments.  I wish there was an easy answer.  There isn't.

I decided a month ago I was going to apply for several MFA programs and I began preparing manuscripts to send off. I've since changed my mind because goddamn they are expensive and it won't solve my dilemma. So I have no plan. I don't know the course of my life other than taking care of my children. People keep asking me what I'm going to do. One friend asked if I was going to have to get on food stamps as if it was the ultimate failure.  I don't know the answer to much of anything these days.  I do know that this morning I helped Paloma through two really awful seizures.  I was thankful I was there to comfort her and that I wasn't having to juggle some stressful, crappy job and rushing to be near her.

I've been getting up to write every morning at 445.  I've joined a local writing group and I'm getting a steady flow of rejection letters every week.  Everything in me says to focus on writing but then there is still that voice that says you better figure out what you're going to do, you need to be independent so you don't have to rely on his money the rest of your life.  I tell that voice to shut up and that I'm working on. I don't have a plan yet but I'll figure it out.

I've got so many of these selfies on my phone. I can't bear to erase them.


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