A few weeks ago, something in me snapped. I stormed upstairs, my voice cracked and I shouted “I can’t do this anymore.”
I thought about the new life I’d have, whisking away with these kids, more time for the gym, getting back to my passions. Typical divorce fantasy.
You can see I was delusional because I put whisk and children in a sentence together.
I thought about leaving the man that has been with me for all the hard stuff. Thought that somehow it would be easier.
I cried about being under-appreciated, unacknowledged, and under-loved. Overlooked. Feelings I don’t have a monopoly on in this.
While he wrangled our three kids downstairs I sat in the dark, in the middle of our bed wanting to give up.
There’s not a single important thing in my life that hasn’t been hard. I’ve wanted to quit every great thing I’ve ever done. School, pregnancy, parenthood.
Great things aren’t always good, but if you give them the time and commitment they deserve, they will be again.
I didn’t think divorce had a place in a good marriage, until the idea of it saved mine.