And when I say I’m home alone, I mean my children are here, my husband is not.
And when I say my husband is not, I mean I’ve been keeping a secret, and that secret is that for some weeks now, my husband has been my husband again. Married. All the way through, once more.
In other words, our year and a bit apart has come to a close.
We’ve decided to stay together.
When my heart woke and began to glow for everything and everyone, it became apparent that the love between me and my very own body-mind-heart-soul was the only love I’d ever truly need. And so why choose a new man who could never be perfect. Why not choose the same old lovely one, who I could work with, grow with, be with, knowing I am fully loved and beautifully cared for. Imperfect, he is. Just like his wildly creative, highly emotional wife.
This feeling that the sun shines from my heart: it’s shown me that no man will ever be perfect, no relationship completely shiny. As I lay alone all those many nights (often loving the single life, often really quite lonely, actually, and aching for the parts of our old life that were no longer available to my children in quite the same way) I wondered if the shine I sometimes saw in my eyes meant that I was home. And if so, was I now solid enough within my new found self to go back to my other home?
Home: the place my babies wouldn’t miss their Dad.
I’m hovering over the heater. If my pants were made of plastic, in fact, they’d have melted to my legs by now.
That’s beside the point, I suppose. The point is…actually, there is no point. I’m just feeling a little glum and I wanted the world to know that this sort of thing happens to people.
It happens, and here I am, gifting you all with the gloriously heavy mud bricks of proof. Proof of glum. (Thank goodness I made this a little blog of everything. Today, it’s my diary.)
I wonder if any of you remember the girl who started this blog. Perpetually happy. Not a cloud in the sky. She was a little soul starved, certainly, but she was sparkly, and happy happy happy. She could walk in nature and listen to music without bursting into flaming sobs of aching life.
My life is broken. And it’s also the greatest, most beautiful magical life I’ve ever known; a creative adventure that touches me to the very core. Can you see the utter confusion I’m dealing with here?
I’m angry. At everybody and nobody at all.
I’m sad, because I am.
I’ve just read a wonderful article about the creative brain, actually, and how creative folk do tend to go through bouts of depression and the like, just because of the way we’re wired. Because of the often self imposed isolation (umm, me.) Because of the heightened senses (umm, also me.)
I suppose it’s a seperate can of worms when you throw in a marriage seperation, two small children, a global health pandemic and a raging angry sea of humans. I feel all these things deeply. And where once I buried pain as soon as it struck, I now allow myself to feel it. (Who even does that. Blurgh.)
I don’t want anyone to worry about me. The clouds always clear. Usually by morning (so there’s the bright side girl, being annoying again.)
But life, hey. ☺️ Sometimes I just feel a little more human than I really want to, and I suppose the next part of my journey is learning how to be okay with that.
I’m certain I must be known around town as that girl who walks and cries. It’s the music. It quite literally becomes me, to the point where I feel like I’m a floating puff of emotional cloud. It’s not even my emotion. Its the emotion (the energy) of the song. People must think I’m barking mad as I float along, sometimes whimsical, sometimes in tears.
A few months ago I received a wonderfully exciting email letting me know that two of my poems are in the running for potential publication. A card company (based in America, I think) is holding them for a while, seeing how well they might hold up within their market space. If the poems do look as though they may sell…my words, and my heart, will be floating across a greeting card or a thousand. How exciting. Since I was young, I’ve thought that might be a nice dream to achieve.
This afternoon, I sent three more poems off for review, and two children’s picture story books. Imagine that: all it takes is to write and believe, and suddenly the world becomes something new. Possibility. And possibility then becomes a beating heart, sent to replace the old one that went about the day without too much more to hope for.
This is the beginning of a beautiful new life, for me. I’m in love with myself for the first time in my life. I’m thrilled to have found a beautiful connection with my writing; unlike ever before, it flows without even the thought of a pause.
I’m falling apart quite often, still, and rather confused about the whole ‘love’ thing: why I didn’t just stick to seventeen year old me’s decision to swear off men forever, is absolutely beyond me.
Either way, it doesn’t matter. Man, or no man, I have an open heart that’s ready to share. And it’s so beautiful to have it flowing and connecting with everything that I am…I could take or leave romance, I suppose.
I felt connected to myself today, somehow more grounded than I’ve felt for a long while.
It was a surprising— and much longed for—shift in energy, I have to say. It reminded me of the early days of this blog, when I was still me enough to feel steady on my feet, but not me enough to know I was about to fly somewhere. And I didn’t know where I was about to fly, all I knew was…it was going to be somewhere else.
Somewhere free, somewhere so incredibly beautiful— and as it happens, that place is slowly finding me. Slowly, very slowly, but it’s finding me, and I’m grateful.
I’m grateful to those of you who’ve stayed with me through the waves. The highs and lows of a newly single Mum of two, who, quite frankly, still has quite the way to go before finding anything that looks remotely like stability.
But I’m getting there.
And today…well, today made me think that I might just be a little closer than I thought I was to getting back to the grounded girl (woman) who started this blog.
The depression has been the killer for me, I think. The uncertainty of a life gone mad, threw me (and continues to throw me, actually) under the bus of life, and given I’ve isolated myself fairly solidly for, oh, you know, my whole life…I’ve largely been dealing with all these changes alone. So, guys…it’s kind of sucked. Majorly. Just a little bit. (I should point out that I’m not placing myself in the role of ‘victim’, here. I’m aware that every step of my journey has been mine to take. I’m just pointing out what has been.)
Actually, I’m so truly grateful for many things. Having you guys to come back to, my two particularly patient besties, a really rather reasonable ex-husband (and positively brilliant Father, might I add), and a Dad of my own who takes my breath away with his steadfast, gentle there-ness. I mean, really, what’s an upside-down life when you have all of those wonderful things to turn your frown around.
You may have noticed the changes to my blog, and if not, that’s okay. I’ve never been very good at noticing peoples’ new hair cut either (even if they’ve had long hair and cut most of it off).
One thing I can guarantee will not be changing is my absolutely bonkers personality; the girl that brings you ‘dad’ jokes one day and mushy gooey poetry the next. The thing that this ‘awakening’ has taught me is that I am a blank canvas. I can be whoever I want to be, whoever I enjoy being the most.
And so I’ll keep being that slightly random (okay, pretty bloody random) girl you all know so well, if you don’t mind. I never did fit into a box, and I’ll never aim to fit into one either.
I’m just very randomly me.
And I’m so glad I’ve got a very lovely band of lovely heads (you guys!) to spill all my tears and love hearts onto, every now and then.
I may or may not be sitting here on my couch, eating chocolate. And when I say I may or may not be…what I actually mean to say is: I am.
I will warn you right now: this is one of those random posts about nothing that I sometimes sprinkle the pages of this blog with, the ones where you guys sit there and go, ‘Well how about that. She is just about one of the most random human beings that ever there was.’
I can understand your confusion. You never do know which version of me you’re going to get on here— the poet, the writer, the philosopher, the Soft Girl, the complete and utter dork. I’d probably file this one under the complete and utter dork category. I don’t see this one going literary on you, and I don’t see the words that lie upon this page changing the world in any sort of grand way.
I can promise you one thing, though. The words on this page are me, and I think that’s the beautiful thing about blogging. The sharing of one’s soul with a world of strangers who are, just by virtue of us deciding it, actual friends. And lovely, loyal friends at that.
I’m tired— exhausted actually, from a huge day of organising the newness of my life as a single Mum. No one goes into a marriage thinking they are going to end up divorced, do they? And so when it happens to…well, happen…it’s all the emotional, exhausting things. I have a stress rash on each cheek (on my face, omg, guys. Srsly. 😛 ) I have two eyes that are close to closing for the night (it’s 9:00pm). And I have three parts of a broken heart. A heart that I will rebuild with a new joy, a new life, a new way— but one that’s still a bit squished flat, right at the minute.
But I will get through this like an absolute trooper, I can guarantee you that. Sure, I will cry all the millions of ugly tears in between now and when the good stuff begins again, but the end goal will be a beautiful world that I build with my precious muffins. That is such an exciting prospect.
As an empath (and ‘bit of a sensitive muffin) I’ve always needed time alone to recharge and create. It’s safe to say, I’ll have plenty of that now that I’ll be alone again. I was only just thinking of it earlier, after a conversation I had with my Dad on the weekend: I’ve always sought to hide away from the real world. Even as a young child, I would play alone in my room for hours on end, talking to the mirror, playing with dolls, singing into toilet rolls. It is the natural state of me, and as much as I have loved the gift of my husband and best friend of all these years…I will very much appreciate the gift of returning home.
Well. She couldn’t resist going deep in the end, could she, hey guys. Lol. You all knew it would happen, don’t pretend you didn’t. Okay, well. It’s sleepy byes time. I hope wherever you are in the world, you are safe and happy inside of your shell.
When the soft girl found me, she brought me the most beautiful things. She helped me to feel the trees, and sing with them into the sun. She helped me to turn my most beautiful aches into words— words that so often break my heart and mend my soul: the very thing my words were always meant to do.
But the soft girl has taken so many things from me, also.
And one of those things is my beautiful husband: the most loyal and beautiful friend I’ve ever known.
He is, and always will be, one of my most precious people (and I have a feeling that I will always be one of his.) But over time it became very obvious that our puzzle pieces just weren’t fitting together anymore, and we’ve finally come to admit the truth of that. To ourselves. And to each other. It’s been a bit of a tough time for both of us, needless to say.
At the moment, I’m still processing things emotionally, but as usual this place and the beautiful friends I’ve found here remain the superglue that holds me together— I will always be so grateful to you guys for that. (I’m getting a bit love-hearty again, aren’t I, guys? Lol. You know I’ll never stop.)
What I’m trying to say is: life is a little hard for me at the moment, but I’ll be okay. I’ve got my trees. I’ve got my music. I’ve got my two precious little people, and the promise of a brighter version of the Mum they already know.
And last but not least…I’ve got you. And you’ve got me. And because you’ve got me, you’ve got all the dreamy love hearts, always and forever.
Because that’s just the way this soft girl of mine rolls.