Divorce. Di- Vorce. Di Di Di Di VORCE! There was no way of saying it without wanting to vomit. It sounded terrible. I never thought I would EVER be a divorcee. I had this picture in my head of me sitting by myself at a bar, wearing a white tank top with black bra straps and lipstick on my teeth, talking to the bartender about my no good ex-husband. I couldn’t be that person. I wouldn’t be that person. How could I tell people I was even getting divorced? I was a wife. I was the Trophy Wife, for God’s sake! More importantly, how could I spin this? How could I make this work for me?
One day, after about a week of not stepping into our home, I decided to go back to pack up a few things, and the house was completely empty. I guess he had already taken his things. It was like standing face to face with the ghost of marriage past. All that was left was my clothes, a few pieces of furniture and our pictures. Until them, I had been ok, but there was something about putting our pictures into a box/trash that made every sad break-up song play in my head. I couldn’t help but sob. Not in a Waiting to Exhale kind of way, but in an honest ugly cry kind of way, which is very unlike me.
After hours of sitting in an empty house feeling bad about myself, reality set in. I had to learn who I was again. Who was I before I was a we? What was 20 year old Janet like? While I was terrified, I was a little excited to find out. I had this sense of complete freedom. I could do whatever I wanted. Wait a second…I could even date! Like…guys! It was too soon to even think about that, but it was exciting that I could think about it if I wanted to. While I was somewhat interested in the concept, I was also totally devastated. One of the best parts of being married is not having to deal with the bar scene and feeling comfortable staying home on a Saturday night. I was about to embark on a brand new life. The single life. I wasn’t ready for that! I had to get back to my fighting weight and become interesting again. Not really for dating, just for myself. Did single Janet have hobbies aside from shopping late and cooking fried chicken, ha ha ha that just sounds good doesn’t it? I don’t, can’t, never ever wanted to cook, YUCK! I was boring and I refused to be that lady at the bar, because the truth is, we are all one step away from a shot of wild turkey and a bar coaster stuck to our foreheads.
Step 1 to moving on was going to be getting to know myself again. I really wanted to like me!
A few things happened when the initial shock faded. First, I couldn’t help but wonder, why me? What the hell did I do? When did it all go wrong? Was I so blind by the fantasy of marriage? Why wasn’t he enough?. Truth is anybody ever? No matter how many times I asked my glass of wine, I never came up with an answer. I just accepted the fact that I was starting over. It’s pretty tough to accept that when you’re back being a me instead of we, but I knew things would eventually look up. No one ever dies of a broken heart, right? Now…don’t get me wrong, I kept the house. Mama didn’t raise no fool. I gave myself 6 months to move on. Afterall, I needed a goal to keep myself busy. Within 1 maybe 2 months I was busy and loving MY new bachelorette pad. I don’t know how it happened, but things started falling into place. You know how people say, “God giveth and God taketh away”? Well, in my case, God taketh away and giveth a lot more. I proved to myself that I could do things on my own. Please keep in mind that this is the abbreviated version of what happened. I don’t want to dwell on the sleepless nights and tear soaked pillows, because that stuff goes without saying. It’s much easier to stay miserable. The hard part is remembering that it eventually gets better. Now, I look back and I can’t believe I was ever married to that fool. I don’t regret a second of our life together, but my life is so different now. I’m so a happy! I live in Atlanta…wait…did I mention I moved to Atlanta, Hotlanta for it’s disgustingly hot weather, Big Airport and Atlanta is also a center of business with tons of Fortune 500 and 1000 companies either headquartered or having offices there. Every other street has either “Peachtree” or “Dunwoody” in the name, so be prepared for even the best GPS to get you lost.
It just gets better; We’ll save that for next time.