Let Me Spread These Wings...

and learn to fly...

It's coming upon a year.  It was last October when I told my (then) husband that I wanted a divorce.  It was heartbreaking for both of us.  Even though in the past year so much had been done (and provoked)... I thought the conversation would occur much easier.  But, it wasn't easy.  We had built a life together.  And however dysfunctional that life had been for the most part, it was still the only life I had known.

The only life our children had known.

I married him only a few months after my 18th birthday and our baby girl was barely 8 months old.  We had a traditional Catholic wedding ceremony.  It was what he wanted.  It was how he was raised.  I remember not wanting to make a big "fuss" out of things.  It was NOT a huge wedding and I think the entire thing cost less than $5,000.  I think the bar tab at the reception was the most pricey part of our budget. 

We did not have a honeymoon.

He fell asleep before I was finished undressing and brushing my teeth.

After twelve years, five kids, a dozen affairs (some his-some mine), and a year in therapy I finally was able to say "this just isn't healthy for anyone."

For months after our divorce he would go through periods of extreme hostility towards me... then... swing almost without warning to this other person who would profess his undying love for me.  His mother died.  We cried together.  Then he started to pull away.  I felt it.  I felt a distance start to grow between us.  The 2 hour long texting sessions stopped.  He stopped asking if I wanted to stay for dinner when I picked up the kidlets.  He stopped bringing me "extra" of whatever he had.

And I let him.  I let him find his wings.  I heard he was dating.  I was too.

When I first met Ky, or rather... saw her - he never really introduced me to her - I texted him and told him congratulations, and that I was happy for him.  Because... I was.  Happy for him. 

Learning to fly.

Without me.

It's been a year now... and I can watch King of Queens without crying.  Even though at times he was an emotionally abusive mind-fuck... I couldn't watch "our show" for a year.  But, Kevin James is not dead to me.  He lives on.

This past weekend was rough.  My first Halloween as their single mom and S as their pseudo-I-hope-to-be-step-mom.  Last year, he took them trick or treating while I stayed home.  We were not yet officially divorced, and I had not yet moved out.  This weekend has been so hard for me.  Maybe for them too.  Maybe for him.

But we're flying... and with that scariness is also excitement. 

Freedom.

I've never felt like this.  I've never known I had these wings...

Fear: Does it motivate you or paralyze you?

What would you do if you weren't afraid?

I find that most of my life has been filled with fear.  'Bullshit,' my friends are thinking.  My friends that read this.  I think that they see me as this totally brave woman.  A fearless woman who just goes out and does instead of sits and says.

If they really knew how afraid I am.  How afraid I've been. 

I think we are all afraid and I really don't feel special in this.

I have looked fear in the face though, and I have used it to motivate me.  But I do admit that there is a lot more that I feel is paralyzing about fear.  There are a lot more fears and anxieties that I have than confidences.  I'm just a really good fucking actress.  Maybe.  Or maybe people really can see right through me.

What would I do if I weren't afraid?  What have I done?

Leave him.  Hurt him.  Admit that there is no other way.  In admitting that I am a lesbian, I could not stay married to him.  For a long time I tried to find ways to leave him without hurting him.  I tried to will him into leaving me, thinking he would hurt less.  I never wanted him to get hurt.  I don't want anyone to hurt.  I was afraid, so I got married.  I was afraid, so I stayed married.  I was afraid, so I got divorced.  Fear was paralyzing and motivating. 

Fall in love.  Not use my body as a tool, as a way to avoid real communications or real relationships.  It's easier to fuck than talk.  It hurts more to be rejected for my thoughts than my body.  Talk.  Listen.  Share.  Even this blog, its' all fear based.  I get afraid.  I get quiet.  I come here and write.  It's bullshit.  To those who've told me it's so brave... bullshit.  It's not.  So... I try to make this as an authentic place as possible.  At least I can do that.  These, my friends, are the truest of my thoughts and feelings that I can share.  This is as close to me as one can really get.  My body is not involved.

Forgive.  Them.  Me.

At one time in my life I was afraid of failing, and that fear did NOT stop me from becoming a nurse.  Again, though, the fear is back.  I don't think it's a fear of failing this time.  I don't know what I am afraid of.  But the fear is there, on the surface and I have two simple choices.  Stay in school.  Quit school.  I really feel like I am meant to be a midwife, or rather, I am a midwife.  But I made choices and now, continuing my education at this point seems questionable. 

I chose myself over the lie of my marriage that was killing me.  I chose loving my kids fully over struggling to fight the resentment that was building daily while parenting them on an empty tank.

What would I do if I weren't afraid?  What have I done?

Play the guitar; Tailor my own clothes; Buy a real camera and learn to use it; Audition for community theater; Interview for a per diem RN job; Return at least one creditor's phone call; Learn how to make sushi; Cut my own hair; Wax my own bikini area;  Apologize; Forgive; Own a pet that I can't just flush down the toilet if it dies; Continue an unplanned pregnancy; Terminate an unplanned pregnancy; Talk without shame about those hard choices; Tell a friend the truth instead of biting my tongue; Write this blog as if no one ever reads it; Let myself cry and not stop; Admit that I am afraid...

There's a lot.  Too much.  So much.  But I have to keep moving forward and I must keep facing my fears.  At the end of the day I want to say, "I did all I could.  I did my best."  Some days, I wonder if that's true, sadly.

The 1,534,234,001 Why I Got Divorced (and the ONE reason why I might have gotten married)

This morning I was woken by my cell phone ringing at the ungodly hour of 0844.  No one that knows me would call that fucking early.  My case in point, I had to divorce him.  We were married for a little over 12 years and he barely “knew” me.  I listened to his voicemail and he sounded irate, maybe even a little psychotic.

Here’s what’s up:  a financial fucking crisis.  A bill went into collection today that has his name on it.  A MEDICAL bill, for our children family from when we were married, that we were supposed to split after the divorce.  He didn’t worry when we were married enough to have insurance for the children, or to pay the bill then.  But now, it’s a fucking financial crisis… because… I didn’t can’t pay my half and it went into collection.

So the voicemail was a delight to wake up to.

I called him back and it went like this:

Him:  Aren’t you working?  Isn’t anyone spitting out babies?

Me:  I can only show up when I’m scheduled.  I can’t just “work more” because I’m broke.

Him:  All you have is your reputation… blah blah… you’re gonna wanna buy a house someday… blah blah… the kids are always dirty and hungry when I pick them up… blah blah…. you can’t do this to me you know… blah blah… you have to pay this bill…. blah blah…. (bored yet?)

Me:  Why haven’t they called me?  I will make arrangements for payment … it’s all I can do… blah blah

(I believe I’m crying at this point in reference to the kids being dirty and hungry every time he picks them up.)

END SCENE.

So, here’s the thing bitches…  I don’t have a lot of money, but I feed my kids dinner every night I have them.  Sometimes “dinner” is popcorn at the movie theater.  It’s a LOT of calories.  No one can be hungry after that… and it’s not that often.  I digress… We also bathe, frequently, including oral hygiene (see Figure 1).  Sometimes the “bath” is a day at the pool.  No one comes home dirty from there though!  It’s good, clean fun.  I assure you.

 (Figure 1... This photo represents "Family."  Notice we are all different, but close nonetheless.)

He’s a hurtful ass bag who cannot take responsibility still.  It’s one of the many reasons I’m divorced.  You know, in addition to the whole lesbian thing… because really that’s like at the top of *my* list.

1033 phone rings

Him:  I paid the rest of the bill, your half.  Can you just make payments to me?  Whenever you can, when you get paid.

(One reason why I married him.)

Real Lesbians Wear Dresses Too

Spring is in the air.  Recently I was talking to a friend about how half of my wardrobe still being at my ex-husband's house.  This just happens to be the spring/summer half of the wardrobe.

My sundresses.  My beautiful, lovely sundresses.  Some short, some long, some with halter style ties, some strapless . . . all of them very femme and very sexy.  I will want those back.  Of course the best option would be to be able to purchase new dresses for this season, but let's face it who can afford that?  I can't.  I couldn't even afford to get divorced (and ironically I couldn't afford not to).

My friend said to me, "I bet by the end of summer you aren't wearing any of them."  I assured her I would be.  I love dressing!!  I love bare shoulders in the summer and I love being able to wear the strappy sexy sandals with my dresses.  Yes, it's very femme, but I never claimed to be anything other.

So, by this being my first summer as "out" in my lesbianism... in my sexuality... this will change my wardrobe?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  Perhaps for some.  I think I always dressed the way I wanted.  I was the same woman last summer as I am this spring and summer.  Do I carry myself differently?  I think so.  But I think it's an improvement.  And I think the dress will only look better.