out the door

It happened again on Sunday. "You look great! How's your husband?" Since blank stare is not polite, nor turning and walking away wordless, my response is always short and to the point. "He left a year ago." Generally with a heartfelt smile that goes along with the corresponding thought, "remember you said I look great?" Usually the next statement is along the lines of a "sorry" statement, to which I awkwardly reply, "Don't be. I'm great!" Awkward to them, not me. I am doing great. I have days, but not because I'm sad or devastated. I have days because everyone does.

In the past year, I have laughed more, cried more, sung more, and learned to try new things. Like pool. And tubing. Motorcycling and power tools. I've gotten rid of things that get in the way; both tangible and nebulous, physical and mental. 

For quite a while I've known that the best tool for healing is sharing. Unfortunately, for longer I'd been conditioned that "there are just some things we don't talk about." It was days before I told any friends I didn't see every single day, and even longer until I told anyone important to me. I'm forever grateful for the friends who immediately rallied around me; who still check up on me and will take my calls at the oddest times. There are those who figured it out because I just couldn't make the words; so convinced there is irredeemable shame in the end of any relationship was I. 

I'm breaking free from that notion of shame. Over and over I am advised to speak out. To share my story not only because I need to know I'm not alone, but also because others need to know they are not alone. A couple of hours before that exchange at church on Sunday, I was talking with two lovely women I know. They had been talking when I approached. I had no idea they knew each other, or how, and I hadn't seen either of them in a while. As we chatted about my divorce proceedings this far, one said to the other, "You are [divorced], too? I had no idea!" I admire both of them; they've each helped me - especially in the beginning of the process. Yet they didn't know they could be support for each other. 

My takeaway from Sunday was twofold. I've grown - nearly a year ago, at a very similar event, I answered the exact same way, and hoped I'd shocked anyone who heard. (I did.) Sunday I hoped it was just fact and landed softly. The second is this: people should be allowed - no, encouraged - to share their own stories, where they need support, prayers, healing. Those who are sick are encouraged. There's the prayer chain, meal groups, home visits and care, people who call near strangers to clean or drive for appointments or kids' events. I had friends to rally around me, but every one of them I told at the beginning I was convinced would walk in the other direction, away from me. For the first few weeks, I died a little every time I called or texted any of them. 

We don't handle abandonment well. I've gotten stronger and wiser through it, not to mention happier and more comfortable in my own skin. Sweeping the eggshells out the door helps tremendously in that regard. I am blessed. Truly blessed.