When we were married 11 years ago we celebrated at the wise age of 26 with a fairly decent-lavish Pittsburgh Pirogi style affair.
It was fantastic in all it's cookie table glory. I bellied up.
I dug in.
So concerned was I with the color of the bows on the cake, the poofiness of my dress, whether or not my arms looked flabby and what gift I'd give my bridesmaids that I never considered the relationship I was about to embark on nor the supposed commitment I was making.
You are cordially invited to the cliche of Debby and Steve.
"Look around…" said a family member "remember this day forever."
Ohh that's SO sweet of him.
Hook line and sinker… I dug in.
I didn't realize how little footing I truly had until years later when the ground beneath me revealed that the very foundation I was digging into… was cement.
And sometimes bitter ice.
It wasn't mean for roots.
Wasn't primed for growth.
It wasn't grass we watered.
So I covered it with turf. For 11 years until this past summer.
Since July of this year my husband and I have experienced a heartbreaking separation. A difficult marriage of 11 years... crumbled into final pieces while our sweet children watched.
It's been the most exhausting 4 months of my life and the turf has been pulled back to reveal the true situation.
I wrote this post during one of the days I was struggling.
Each morning brings the slow blinking wake up.
It's become routine for me. I'm a real
sloth "go getter" these days.
The light in the room is always piercing.
Retina Burn Def Con 1.
In 6 plus years I STILL have not replaced those mother lovin' curtains with black ghetto spray paint on my windows. It would be so much more effective for wallowing in my "I should be in a black hole--but I'm too busy to wallow--- depression?"
Stupid morning light. Stupid curtains.
I must add this to my "100 house changes I'm making in 10 days" list. I seem determined to fulfill every house project that ever was, and never came to be.
House Project #345
Buy black spray paint and
mace his sorry ass ghetto paint the bedroom windows.
My head cinder blocks on my pillow while I muster the inner strength to propel myself into the day.
People are waiting.
I have joy to sew on the world.
Things need done.
I think the kids need food.
By the sound of it as I hold my breath listening....
They've found the food.
They've also spilled the milk.
Don't cry kids. *weeping*
It's just milk.
Get a bounty and wipe it up or call the dog in.
Just don't call me.
I'll clean up her milk shitz later.
I return to my thoughts of potentially lying in bed for
567 effing years 5 more minutes but instead find some sense of responsibility to the world knocking at my door.
I hate door knockers.
I roll with it though and instead try to visualize myself skipping through the day.
Happy and productive.
Glad to be me.
Like some loon not going through the pits of emotional hell only to find yourself tarred and on route to extinction.
Oh it isn't THAT bad.
I'm just dramamamamatic.
I blink a few more times, adjusting to the shiv of light and open my eyes fully.
I gaze across the bed to the sight of well.... not a thing.
An instant reminder....
That I am alone.
Maybe today I can decide if this is a good thing or not.
Until then-- where's that fucking black spray paint.
It's hard for me to read even now.
This is what I remember of my life. Overwhelming heaviness.
A reeling sensation…hidden for 4 months while I tried to keep it all together.
All the while leaning on God, family members and friends.
Falling into them during a time when there was not even a cement block beneath me.
Fast forward to today," tears" later…. my husband and I have finally crumpled up the cliche and are attempting to figure out a path to fertile ground, together.
For the first time in 11 years. I am hopeful.
What I've learned during this entire process...
Marriage isn't the 350 person guest list.
It isn't the grooms cake vs the wedding cake.
It isn't what the flower girl will wear.
Those pretty little cliches are sold pacakged beautifully with a 24 carat ring.
When the rings come off, when the cliche withers… what is left staring at you?
All that's truly left… ….are the two of you and the ground your standing on.
Make sure it's rich and then dig in.
Skip the cake and the hoopla newlyweds.
Don't ask for turf on your registry.
Dig each other and then dig in-- deep.
You'll need it.