What Six Months Looks Like

Overcoming is a weird thing. You simultaneously want to move along, to forget the bad thing that happened, to be free of the person that hurt you. . . and yet to fully move on and let go brings on an anxiety that is undeniable. 

Love is a weird thing. Someone can do the worst to you, beyond what you ever imagined, so much so that you hate every single piece of them. You want to scrub your skin raw, rip up every picture and trace of them, destroy every piece of life that they ever touched. And at the same time, almost against your will, you still love them, still wish they were there for the important moments, still wish things had turned out differently. 

Growing up is a weird thing. 

It never turns out quite like we imagined it would. 

Six months ago my life turned on its head when my husband decided he no longer loved me. Five months ago he left me to be with the woman he had chosen instead and filed for divorce without a single shred of remorse. Our marriage, what had been to me a sacred vow and a lifelong commitment, was to him a failed experiment to be tossed aside when it no longer suited him. He blamed my inadequacies and left me a shell of the confident woman I had once been. 

Six months ago everything I had known and hoped for was thrown into the air and set on fire. 

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"I think people get bored of grief," said Natasha. "Its like you are allowed some unspoken allotted time- six months maybe- and then they get faintly irritated that you're not 'better,' like you're being self-indulgent hanging on to your unhappiness." 

-Jojo Moyes, After You

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The flames that fell sought to destroy me, but like a phoenix I rose from the ashes, refusing for this to be the end of my story. I worked hard on healing, on understanding what had happened, on discovering the best of me again. I fell and I tripped but I moved forward. I grew stronger. And yet, it did not fix everything. Six months did not leave me a person unburnt by the things that had happened. 

My grieving looks different than it did six months ago, but the veil of him still covers my life. It colors everything, though only lightly and like a quiet afterthought. I am removed from him and much of my life has moved on, and yet I will tell you that the ghost of him still follows me. The anger, the sadness- it is not deep any longer, but it still brushes against my heart with quiet frequency. I am better than I was but I am still a work in progress. 

For those that have asked the questions that seem so simple to others:

I am ok but I am not.

I am doing better but I am not untouched. 

I am happy and I am sad. 

I am pleased for my future yet frustrated by my past. 

I am a walking contradiction who cannot answer the simplest questions. 

And that is ok. It is ok for me to still be processing, to still get quiet or lash out. It is ok that healing takes a long time and it is ok that however heartbreaking and hard this is, it is a part of who I am. 

I cannot separate from my story, but I will not let it be my shame either. I have not been defeated. I can stand on the far side of the valley and say with absolute confidence that there is still good. There is still hope. There is still joy. 

And that is what it looks like for me to rise from the ashes and spread my wings.