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6 Months Later…

I’m separated.

There is more, so much more.

I’m starting a new space. Please email me if you would like the link.

I’ll be keeping this space on line for another few months.

Then I will shut it down.

Close the chapter.

Onward We Go

First, thank you for comments on my last post. It helps to know that people are reading.

So, now what?

Where do I go when I realize that it’s not working with my husband?

Where I have that the gut feeling that is telling me to just cut my losses and move on.

And I WANT to…
Except…
I have two beautiful, wonderful girls who deserve a solid family unit. To have a mom that will do everything she can to make sure that the family stays together.
Except…
I have 22 years invested in this relationship. I have been with him for a long time, our relationship deserves some respect and willingness to try.
Except…
It’s not all bad. There are so many great things about our relationship and our life together.

I did start the conversation.

It started first with a discussion on how I’m still dealing with so much grief over my mom’s death last May. My sister’s and I are in the process of selling my mom’s house and it’s been more emotional than I expected.
Having him get all huffy when I have to go out of town to take care of house business, sucks.
Having him fight me on the acceptance of a cash offer because “it seemed low” to him, sucks.
Having to basically tell him, “It’s not your decision, you have no say”, sucks.

I told him this, I told him that selling the house is hard that I just need him to support me, whether he agrees or not. Then I went into how my grief just pops up out of nowhere. I’ll be fine, going about my day, and then something will remind me of her or I’ll think I have to ask her something and the wave of realization that she’s gone comes flooding over me again. Sometimes I cry, sometimes it just comes out in anger, sometimes I just don’t know how to express what I’m feeling. So, I told him all this, I laid it all out there. He was very receptive, more so than any time in the past. It felt nice talking to him like that. Telling him how I’m feeling and what’s going on with me.

But it’s more than the stuff dealing with my mom’s house and death. It’s the underlying stuff that’s been hanging around for YEARS:

The feeling like I’m constantly being judged.
The feeling that he doesn’t trust my parenting decisions.
The fact that I don’t respect him.
The fact that I’m no longer really attracted to him.
The fact that I’m tired of arguing about the same damn things.
The fact that there is no real intimacy in our marriage anymore.

Don’t get me wrong, it takes two to tango right? I mean, some of this is because of the choices I have made or actions that I have taken. This is where the real work would be in our relationship. Where we would have to really get down to the WHY of it all. Where we would have to discuss The Past and why it is effecting our present and future.

But to be totally honest? I don’t give a shit about the past. It is what it is. I know what’s broken, let’s just fix it.

The part that really makes me pause, that really stops me in my tracks is this: I have lost so much of myself throughout the course of this relationship. I have changed so much from who I used to be to fit the mold that he has asked for based on his actions and attitude toward me. I hate that. I hate that I have changed myself so that we don’t argue as much. So that he will be okay with the decisions I make. Is there a way to be myself AND be with him?

I don’t know.

The Creeping Silence

** This is a very raw post for me, but I feel I need to get it out or I’m going to burst. I could probably have re-read and edited it so it made more sense or a better read. But I don’t really care. This is what’s going through my head at the moment. **

I’m not sure when it happened. Probably when I was busy doing other “stuff”. When I had so many things going on that arguing about this particular item didn’t seem to phase me and I said to him: Do what you want, I really don’t care.

That phrase seems so harmless. Yet, at the same time, it started a trend.

To busy to deal with what he’s saying?
Do what you want…

To tired to try and understand what he’s saying?
Ok, hon, I trust you, just do what you want…

To distracted to try and understand his problem?
I get it, I do, but you need to figure it out. Not me, do what you want, I honestly don’t care.

It goes on. To the point where now? I hardly listen unless it needs an immediate action by me. Do I care? Sort of. I care to the point where it effects me. Where it effects my life and how my day will go.

I want to scream at the top of my lungs: IT ISN’T ALWAYS ABOUT WHAT YOU WANT DAMMIT!

Because that’s what it feels like. Most decisions, most actions, most things, are in his control. Not mine. I’ve allowed this to happen. I’ve allowed it to happen because I’ve been to busy, tired, frustrated to listen or to even try to listen.

I don’t talk to him about anything meaningful. I don’t want to. I don’t want the judgment. I don’t want the pain of hearing how my thoughts are “wrong”.

I feel like I should WANT to talk to him. That I should WANT to figure things out. I don’t. At all. I don’t want to deal with the messiness of what I have helped create. I don’t want to sort through the emotional baggage that being with someone for 22 years brings. I don’t want to rip off the passive aggressive band aids.

I just want it to go away.

I want to feel like I’m going through life WITH someone.
I want to feel a sense of contentment with my partner.
I want to feel some excitement about having an evening alone with him.
I want conversations to be transparent (no motives), arguments to be civil.
I want to be happy.
I want to feel trust again.
I want to laugh again.
I want to care enough to bring ME back into the relationship.

Grief Vacation

I refuse to be sad this Christmas. Refuse. I’ve been sad all year. I’m tired of being sad. I need a reprieve. I need some time where I’m happy and I’m ok.

Losing my mom was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to go through. Thankfully, it was something that came late in my life. I’m 40 years old.

I’ve had 40 pretty darn good years so far. Some were better than others. However, none of them had anything of this magnitude. The only thing that came close was miscarrying. That was hard, but we mourned, we picked ourselves up, we moved on.

Which, at some point, I will do with my mom’s death. At some point I will feel okay enough to not have gut wrenching grief at least once a month (usually more). At some point I will realize it’s been X amount of days where I haven’t thought about her or her death. That point is not now.

However, I need a vacation from grief. I need just a short stint where I can pretend that all is fine in my world. Where my mom is not gone forever, where she is just “not here” right now.

So, I’m taking that grief vacation, starting at 1pm today when I walk through the door of my house after working a half day.

I will walk in, be hugged by girls and pestered to go see Santa. I will wonder how we are going to wrap all the presents. I will drink Guinness while watching Christmas Vacation. I will look forward to seeing my sisters and their families for Christmas dinner. I will watch my girls get excited and barely be able to sleep tonight. I will watch them get up Christmas morning in awe of all the presents under the tree. I will wrap myself up in these good, heartwarming moments.

Grief can come back Saturday when I go for my long run, where I can pound out the hurt and the anger and the longing for just one more hug.

Roasting in December

Microblog_Mondays

I wake up, roasting underneath the covers. I can feel my tank top sticking to me as I roll the covers off me and readjust myself. As I lay there, looking towards the window, cooling down, I hear the whir of the heat. The hell? Irritated, I walk to the living room to see if we forgot to turn the heat down. Nope, it’s set to 60. I check on the girls, they are sweating too. I walk back into my room and look at P, not sweating but obviously hot, the covers are pulled off of him as well.

This is a frequent occurrence. Not enough to wake me up every night but at least once a week I wake up feeling like I’m roasting on a beach instead of December in NY. We have closed the vents in our rooms. Do you think I turn the heat down any further overnight? Nope.

Why? Why do I not turn it down?

Christmas Revelation! I shall turn the heat down to 55 tonight and see how it goes.

Training for… Life?

Where do the weeks go, I mean really, where do they go? I feel like I just got back from Las Vegas but it’s been almost 2 weeks now. Geesh.

I’m doing a more rigorous training program for my upcoming half marathon in February. I’m tired of posting almost the same time for my half races and I know I can go faster. This training, is no joke. It’s really pushing me to my limits already and I’m in the “Build a Base” weeks. Ooof. As I look to next weeks workouts, I’m a little panicked about what is scheduled. Eeek, there are some serious runs in there, back to back. It’s a lot of volume with speed work.

The great thing about training though? When I make it through a tough workout, I feel like a freaking superstar. If I don’t quite nail the workout, I give myself a break and move on, I don’t dwell.

I give myself a break and move on, I don’t dwell.

Why can’t I do that with the rest of my life?

If I make a mistake, don’t know something, am unsure, etc. why can’t I give myself a break and move the hell on? Get on with my life and see how it all pans out.

Social Much?

I went to a large training conference in Las Vegas last week. It really is a very informative time with lots of opportunity to learn new things and learn about new technologies in my field. This year I went solo. The one other time I have gone P went with me. It’s a large commitment. The conference itself is Tuesday thru Thursday. Then there is travel on Monday and Friday. It’s a full week. It’s really difficult to find someone to watch the girls for a full week. Last time my mom was happy to watch them, this time we didn’t have that option.

It was different this year, being by myself. I crave alone time when I’m at home. My runs are usually when I get this opportunity. At work it is the same thing: Leave me alone! I need to get this done! So, I wasn’t exactly broken up over the solo part of the trip.

I’m an introvert by nature. I do so much better in small gatherings where I can connect with one or two people. I get anxiety with the lead up to large parties. The thought of me lingering by the wall, alone, sends me in a bit of a panic. While I recognize that I’m an introvert I don’t want anybody else to know this, I hate feeling weird and out of place.

Anyway, this conference is just one big “party” with forced social interaction. I mean there are classes and you learn. However, the rest: breakfast, lunch, bigger classes… have the meet and greet atmosphere. I do go to this conference with other people from my company, so I do know other people. However, we don’t pal around together. They do their thing, I do mine. We may meet up for lunch one of the days but that’s all.

After a full day of this forced socialization the LAST thing I want to do is talk to anybody or be social with anyone. Anyone. At all. Period. Leave. Me. Alone. It happened to be that this year I was starting a new half marathon training program while I was there so I would hit the gym and get on a treadmill and run for a few miles. I would get back to the hotel room, text P until he went to bed (Vegas is 3 hours behind home), and gear myself up to do it all again the next day.

The time on the treadmill and alone in my room were desperately needed. By Thursday I was ready to go home. I was done with all the stranger interaction, all the internal panic, I was done. Thursday night is a big “End of Conference Party!” at a large casino on the strip. Of course I have to go, right? I did, and of course I had a great time. I drank my gin and tonics, got loose, and danced the night away with perfect strangers who became my new best friends and came away with 5 business cards and a few snap shots of name tags to link up on Link*ed*In when I got home. Funny thing, I ran into a guy I met two years ago who helped me get the party started at that party. So, I did know somebody! He remembered me and we had another great time trying to get people on the dance floor.

Friday? I was hungover and ready to go home. Saturday was all about the girls and connecting with them again, I missed them terribly. Sunday we got our Christmas tree and did all the decorating. By Sunday night I was peopled out. I needed to decompress. This is where having a great spouse comes in handy: P told me to just relax, read, he’ll leave me alone. He tried talking to me about some stuff and I just looked at him all glassy eyed. That’s when he realized I was done.

I’m refreshed now and ready to be even keeled once again.

Seriously, how can you NOT have fun at these parties:

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