What do you write about when you feel like everything in your head needs to be kept a secret from someone? It's not even all from the same someone. There are different somebodies for all of the different somethings which are on my mind. I feel like I'm hiding under a heavy rock, afraid of everyone. I haven't been writing, lately, or seeing my closer friends, or spending any time with my parents or other people who ask questions and have opinions. Instead, I've been elusive and secretive, and quite honestly, just plain scared.
It's not right. It's not healthy. Most of all, it's not me, so, I'm trying to get back to good. I'm peaking out from under that rock, and looking people in the eye. I am going to be brave, World. It's a slow, quietish sort of bravery, but bravery, none the less. I'm going to admit that I have problems. I'm going to admit that I make decisions others don't agree with. I'm going to accept disapproval. I am going to hold my chin up.
Several months ago, I made the big decision to get back into the work
force after 12 years of life as a stay at home, homeschooling, mom. It
was time. The kids are getting older, and where I know they need my
presence as much as ever, I found they were needing a lot less physical
interaction and hands on care. I do worry about the impact my decision
to be away from the house an extra 30+ hours a week will have on my
darling crotch-fruit, but to be completely flat out honest, I was
desperate enough to feel like my own person again to take a chance on
the possibility that they might turn in to a band of roving delinquents
without my being on a constant and diligent watch. I am choosing to rely
on God and 12+ years of bonding to pull us through. Besides, they were
starting to form impressions about gender roles that go against my
independent, feminist-leaning bent. Women can juggle careers and fix
cars (which I've been doing a lot of lately given my new commute) just
fine, and men can help with homework, serve dinner, and bathe little
bodies just fine, too. Daddy needed to step up to home plate, and Mommy
needed some time in the field. Boom.
This is the
excuse I've been using for why I don't write. It occurred to me, recently,
that occasionally I have access to both a computer and "free" time while
I'm on the clock, so that excuse got chucked out ye old window,
and now I have to be honest.
I couldn't write because one of the only things that has been working its way around inside my brain,
lately, is the fact that my marriage of 17 years, ummm... failed.
If, you had asked Sheldon, he'd have said that it has not failed but is in the process of
failing by the force of my own hand. It actually failed ages ago, and in
retrospect, was doomed from the start, but we both kept hanging on to a
hope and a prayer for years and more years while we found that the only
way to maintain a sense of peace and a relative degree of contentment
was to work out a good business relationship and toss any strong desires
for romance into one of those Rubbermade storage totes and stick it in
the attic with all of the other stuff that seemed too good to throw away
but we really didn't have any use for, and much like the elasticky
outgrown toddler pants stacked into the tote next to it, eventually, the
romance became unsalvageable and developed kind of a funky smell.
After years of trying to purchase my happiness in the form of fancy
shoes and other items I barely even took out of the box; after talking
to my doctor about my ongoing depression and trying a medicine cabinet
full of different pills; after moving back to my home town, reconnecting
with friends and family, buying a new house in the country, and lots of
partying; one day I looked at my marriage relationship and decided it
was time to face reality. I didn't need "stuff". I wasn't clinically
depressed. Friends and parties weren't filling
the hole. My marriage was dead and the decay was doing me in. I opted to
do the one thing that I was terrified of doing, to
willingly and deliberately rip the safety net out from under my
children in an effort to save myself from, what? Emptiness, I guess. It sounds so petty, but emptiness is a very deep and dark thing.
Is this how I want things to be? Hell, no. But, is it the way things are? Yes. Reality? Check.
Shel and I sat the kids down and talked to them the other night. We explained to them that he loves them very much, that our ability to live in unison together has nothing to do with any of them, that he still intends to see them regularly and be involved, but he is moving out. When they asked if we were getting a divorce, we said that we weren't sure. I know the real answer is, yes. Eventually, we will all be in a place where we are ready to deal with that, but a family can only handle so much at one time, and this is plenty for now.
It's plenty for them, anyway. In the shadow of my rock, there are many monsters threatening to raise their ugly heads. I know that in time, each of them will need to be faced and fought with. Bravery doesn't mean never being afraid. It means being afraid and doing it, anyway.
To be continued...
Chicken Fried Vogue
For 15 years and most of her adult life, Bubblez lived in the suburbs of a major metropolitan city. She enjoyed taking her children to museums, parks, and dates at Starbucks. Then Bubblez moved to the country and her En Vogue attitude got chicken fried. Her yard is a park where the neighbor's rooster won't stop crowing, Starbucks is almost an hour away, and her large collection of fancy shoes is worthless. But, living in the acres of green has presented more opportunities for living "green" as Bubblez travels the path toward self-sufficiency (and bitches ((and prays)) along the way).