Bear with me. I’m typing this almost blind from my tears and sobs. I can’t promise quality writing but I can promise this is straight from my heart as I experience this pain.
***
My GOD divorce is rough.
The pain my children are going through is a dagger through my heart and only because I know it is not even one-millionth of the agony they’re going through. They’re suffering a massive loss.
They’re in a nightmare and they want to wake up.
Our schedule results in us alternating weekends. This is my weekend without them.
I used to love a quiet house. When the kids were in bed and Joseph was stuck working late. It was my reward after an insane day.
But I don’t deserve this reward. I’m a fucking mother. My job is to be with my children at night. It’s a comfort for them. It’s a comfort for me.
This feeling of not being able to kiss them goodnight. Not that I was always able to before, but the option was there every night. And getaways felt great because they were temporary.
I hate this.
My house renovation is going great despite the massive inconvenience of not having things like a sink. I feel awful that I walked into the incomplete kitchen and felt a flash of happiness for how it looked.
I am not allowed to enjoy this. Not while my kids are suffering.
My daughter curls up crying, telling me that she doesn’t think she’ll ever feel happy again. I know her soul doesn’t understand that feelings change. And I don’t want her feeling this for even a day, let alone…months? Years?
I repeatedly tell my children that this is the worst of it. I pinkie swore that it will get better and that they will feel happiness again. Right now, I live in abject fear that they won’t. Not like they felt before. When something is broken it’s never the same even when repaired.
I flash to thoughts of maybe, just maybe moving back. After this house is renovated it’ll be a breeze to rent. It’s already gone up $20k in the two months I’ve owned it because this real estate market is bonkers.
But then I think of life with him. I wanted to die. Every day. Just waiting to die.
So instead, I chose to abandon my suffering and put my children through it.
I fucking chose myself over my children. What the actual fuck.
I didn’t know. I didn’t know how much agony this would be. I foolishly thought they’d view this as an adventure. I didn’t think they wanted us to do things together as a family. I didn’t…I was so focused on my escape that I never fathomed what I would be putting them through.
So now I’m thinking, maybe there’s some duplex we could get. No…that’s too close and I would want to shoot myself in the skull every day.
I want to tell him that I couldn’t afford to live in my former neighborhood. But he can afford to live in mine. I don’t want him as my neighbor. But down the street? That would be perfect. Just enough that neither of us sees each other’s driveways.
But then I’m forcing him to flip his life once again for me.
In terms of home administration, it’s a breeze. This is my fourth home; I’ve played CEO and Household Admin for two decades. For Joseph, he’s struggling. He doesn’t know what to pick for his dependent care options during healthcare open enrollment now that we’re filing separate taxes.
He doesn’t know what a standard electricity bill should be and why it’s suddenly so high. He doesn’t know that toilets need to be cleaned (and not because I did them, but because I managed a cleaning lady for us). He doesn’t know about clutter and kids’ laundry.
Joseph doesn’t know how to connect his phone to his house’s Ring doorbell; I’m still able to log in and see things. I had to teach him how to connect and use the outdoor security cameras.
I gave him a month’s notice that I was taking the fridge; he waited until two days before I moved to try and buy one. Spoiler alert: appliances are in short supply waiting in the ports courtesy of the broken supply chain. He settled for an overpriced fridge that’s smaller than the one I took. He got the range hood, the stove, the oven, the microwave, and the dishwasher. The twenty-year-old washer/dryer and fridge are all I got.
So far it’s been too easy. People tell me that I must be stressed from the chaos of the move and renovating a new house. Nope; it’s an inconvenience but I’ve been through much, much worse.
I found myself with a block of time and didn’t know what to do. I can’t finish unpacking until construction is over. I can’t go all-out cleaning because all the dust will come right back when the workers are here. I only have to do half my kids’ laundry which is easily done in a single load.
And so, I peeled the protective plastic (from the construction) off my couch and watched a movie on Netflix. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve sat on a couch to just watch something by myself of my choosing since having children. At best I watched movies alone when confined to the bedroom while Joseph stayed downstairs, getting the couch and TV. Even then, I would combine it with fitness, putting away laundry, or working.
The entire time I watched the movie, I was on edge. It didn’t feel right. I couldn’t focus on it. My brain was in high Generalized Anxiety Disorder mode.
I’m not allowed to Netflix and chill. I didn’t earn it.
I feel guilty that I’m happier. I don’t want to be happy. I thought I’d get guilted by my friends for this decision but everyone was supportive (many of them seeing a glimpse of what I went through).
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I fantasized for years about divorce. Joseph worked far away so it meant I’d have the kids 90% of the time. But then motherfucking Covid struck and he now works permanently from home. My 90% dropped to 50%.
I wish I had done this before Covid. Then it wouldn’t have been such a big change for the kids since they barely saw their dad anyway. Most of their nights would be spent in their beds. In one bed of theirs, not two.
For as long as my children are tortured, I need to be tortured. I shouldn’t feel relieved. I thought I earned the right to breathe after years of misery but no…I haven’t.
I know, I know. It’s better in the long run for children to not witness the kind of marriage I had. I’m not quite sure that this alternative is better for them. So I didn’t fuck them up in one way but psychologically they’re fucked another way. Slow clap.
There’s an underlying depression. During the workday, since my bed is the only place I can work, I pass out. I then stay up super late puttering around, feeling busy because I’m up until 3:00 am. Deep down, this isn’t how I wanted to live my life. I wanted to be in a marriage with a partner. I wanted to feel safe. I wanted a best friend.
The marriage may have started that way but it sure as fuck didn’t stay that way.
I will never, ever truly be a good person. I did the most heinous thing a person can do: rip their children’s sweet little hearts and throw them in their worst nightmare.
—
This post was previously published on Medium.
***
You Might Also Like These From The Good Men Project
Compliments Men Want to Hear More Often | Relationships Aren’t Easy, But They’re Worth It | The One Thing Men Want More Than Sex | ..A Man’s Kiss Tells You Everything |
Join The Good Men Project as a Premium Member today.
All Premium Members get to view The Good Men Project with NO ADS.
A $50 annual membership gives you an all access pass. You can be a part of every call, group, class and community.
A $25 annual membership gives you access to one class, one Social Interest group and our online communities.
A $12 annual membership gives you access to our Friday calls with the publisher, our online community.