This morning I’m drinking (2! cups of not-usually-had) coffee and sorting through my belongings to newly-discovered Patti Smith’s Horses. (I know! How on earth could I have just discovered her! I feel I’ve found a kindred spirit.) Laundry is swishing and rolling in the basement, and more packing will commence shortly.
After one year of living mostly on my own, I’m moving into the bottom half of a lovely house one town away with my sweetheart. And my daughter! (But she’s part-time. How do I express that? Because of course she is moving with us too.) By all accounts, this is a time of big transition. Moving forward deeper into the life I’ve deliberately chosen for myself and my family — amid the chaotic flux of moving into a new home.
In the past, moving has been an entirely stressful time for me. Especially as a kid; the experience was completely up-ending. Very little notice from my parents, and then boom! I’m in a new place, devoid of the familiar surroundings and people who had brought me comfort previously. But! This time I feel such a sense of calm. Even with usually-detested packing ahead of me. I kinda feel like I’m floating in joy. Embracing it!
Paring down, focusing on my vision, dreaming, moving on…
Yup – as of this past Monday, that would be me! A year and a half after knowing, finally, I could no longer be married to my husband, it’s official.
I cried in court as the words were read; feeling the finality of them. Afterwards we went out for smoothies and I showed him the place my sweetheart and I will be calling our new home in less than a week.
I breathe more easily with the knowledge that I am officially not his any longer. Even though I have always just been mine, it took me a long while to come to that conclusion.
A door has closed and I step out into the world, feeling more solidly myself.
I am in Long Beach Island — in NJ. I’m on the couch, wrapped in a soft blanket with hot tea by my side, while my sweetheart braves the elements to get to the grocery store. I’ve been fighting off the beginnings of a flu-like sickness (that I will beat) with vitamin D, good food, sex, and True Blood. (Consult your own healer before starting on a similar regimen, but I swear this works for me.) As a result, I haven’t been outside much, other than the two times we walked to the snow-covered beach less than a dozen blocks away.
It’s very white here… mounds of snow everywhere, reflecting whiteness/brightness far and wide. There are even several inches of snow covering the streets, over which we are all expected to drive. The sun/snow effect is exacerbated by lots of beachy-white furniture in the house we’re lucky to be staying in — accompanied by white shell-covered decorations, white lace curtains, white ships’ sails on models adorning many of the walls.
It’s the perfect backdrop to a few-days’ escape at the end of a pretty intense year. I guess you could say it was the worst year of my life. But then again, it was probably the best, growth-wise. I’m relieved it’s over, but overjoyed it happened.
At any rate, there’s more than a full year sandwiched between my coming out to the world and today, and despite the fact that I’ll always have work to do on myself, it feels time to stop solely reflecting and starting digging into what I want my life to be. I’ve definitely been accumulating some serious life skills over the past few years, and now I get to start forming a vision for what comes next. Happy-making!
Speaking of the happy, my sweetheart has returned, bearing the prunes for which I developed a sudden craving as she was on her way out the door. She’s standing at the sliding door to the balcony, watching the sunset, glowing with life. Ahhh.
A happy new year to all.
… having just finished with my other 2 blogs, but still feeling the urge to put my self out there. Needing to be seen, if only by myself.
I made this space for myself over a year ago, but couldn’t commit to writing what probably would have been horribly self-indulgent, rambly, heartbreaking posts. Full of self-pity and bargaining for happiness – for me, my daughter, my ex. Looking back over my personal journal entries recently has been enlightening; giving me the gift of perspective and gratitude that I am here, and not there.
So here I am, a year-plus into my adventures in coming out. After having been married to a man – my family, my best friend – for 11 years.