Hello, My Name is Divor…I Mean Jessica

From the moment my ex husband moved out of our home, the word “divorce” became an integral part of every conversation I had with anyone who dared to ask me, “How are you?”, “What’s going on?”, “Would you like non-fat milk or regular?”

For the first year, I felt my whole world was imploding and I was going to talk about it, period. No matter how the conversation began, it always ended with me opening my shroud of bitterness and wrapping it around whomever it was I was speaking to. Very quickly, my phone stopped ringing, invitations to anything were sparse and I felt completely isolated. I went into counseling and as the months passed and the anger started to subside, I was finally able to talk about other things. My daughter, my work and, yes, the wellbeing of whomever it was on the other end of the phone. Although that never lasted for very long.

Sure, I might give a few seconds, maybe even a couple of minutes to exploring the needs, wants, dreams of others but inevitably I would bring it all back around to me and my feelings of intense loneliness, guilt, sadness, regret and often, despair.

By the second year, the only friends that could stand me were the ones who had done things like volunteer for the peace corps back in their college days, and my parents… barely. I knew that I had more than worn out my welcome and tried very hard to avoid even mentioning words or phrases such as, “single mom”, “the prick”, “his f-ing mother” and yet I COULDN’T DO IT.

Of course, this would then lead to a cycle of me hating myself for even mentioning anything which would then lead me to cry and talk about ME AGAIN which would then lead to the guilt of talking about myself, followed by a promise that at the very least, I would end my life soon as I hung up the phone because I was positive I was the most selfish person in the world.

At that point, I couldn’t even stand the sound of my own voice anymore. In my more sane moments I literally wanted to just yell at me, ZIP IT SWEETHEART, WE GET IT. DIVORCE SUCKS. MOVE ON. It was like a spider web of anger and hate and self pity and I just wanted to shake it off in disgust and walk away feeling cleansed and free.

Finally,  one night, while I was volunteering at my local hospital, I ran into a former colleague I hadn’t seen in several years, a woman I liked very much and who I found out would be working that night’s shift alongside of me. Of course, when she saw me the first thing she said was, “It’s been so long. How are you?” and in response, I told her, “Well, I had a baby, got divorced and that’s about it.” AND IT WAS. For the next three hours, I never again mentioned anything to do with the divorce or my ex and I didn’t even have to try.

I learned a long time ago that death comes in many forms including divorce, loss of a job, your home.  Not surprisingly, the five stages of grief apply to all these situations and one would be wise to do one’s self a favor and not try and skip around any of them because honestly, it’s not something you can hurry.

For me, well, I guess I have finally made it to stage five, acceptance and hope. I have spent the better part of these past six years trying to create a “new normal” that would be the mirror image of my “old normal” and I now understand what “new” really means. It means, I don’t know. It means, I can’t see it too clearly, I have an idea but it feels good and scary and I’m excited and want nothing more then to lie in bed and never get out.

Most of all it means, I’m a work in a progress.