After A Hurricane Comes A Rainbow

This will be my very last blog post about my last relationship. I think I've shared what I needed to in order to stay mentally sane, when I felt that was necessary. And as hard as it it to believe, that part of my life is over. Now that I have the full freedom to move forward in every single way, why wouldn't I choose closure instead of rehashing the past again and again? Some may think I never should have commented on my relationship publicly, ever, at all. After all, there are two sides to a story, and I probably didn't cop to everything I could have. I just want peace now, so that means closing the door on what was. I'm choosing to do that today by writing one more blog post about that time in my life. I'm a writer, it's how we heal. 

I knew there would be a time of additional healing when I finally escaped my situation. I often imagined that I might sleep a lot more than normal, or that old emotional baggage would come bubbling to the surface now that I could finally deal with it. I was right about that. I knew I would, for a time, become the version of me that I currently am. The most obvious wound I am becoming aware of is my fractured sense of self. I know me to be one way, but feel completely opposite that. It's like looking into a mirror that has been shattered and trying to see the truth of who I am through a less than ideal perspective. It's hard to regain your composure after a tower moment. 

After two decades of being talked down to, and treated in a condescending manner by my ex, I have zero tolerance for it. Toxic workplaces and bosses be wary, the beast is ready to feast on anyone who so much as raises their voice to me. I'm hyper-reactive to any sign of disrespect, imagined or real. The truth is, I'm just plain tired in every way you could imagine. It's tempting to close my eyes and allow the waves of the ocean I nearly drowned in once, to carry me out to sea. Sometimes I'm embarrassed when the rage takes over for a moment, but then I remember how hard I've worked, and how most of the time I have shown grace in the face of that which wanted to destroy me. Maybe a little anger is warranted if people can't show basic fucking respect?

The last four years of mine and my boy's lives have been by far the hardest of them all. My ex frequently chose to punish me rather than to work with me on finding a solution to our longstanding disagreement regarding splitting our assets. He argued that we had never married and he was the one who paid for everything while we raised our family together, therefore I wasn't entitled to anything. Not a dime. The sole thing that kept me from being kicked out on the street was that my friend and realtor who helped us buy our home together, insisted I put my name on the lease. She saved me from a life of homelessness. 

I stayed home for ten years with our children. I raised them in a way I only ever could have dreamt about being raised myself. I gave them a childhood that I never experienced myself. Every birthday, every holiday, every day we chose to celebrate something in our own way. I wanted to show them the world, and teach them how to feel loved in it at all times. I failed on occasion, of course I did, but mostly I feel like I succeeded. I have three boys who are very secure in who they are, and in their relationship with their mother. I am proud of the mother I have become, and the one I am becoming.

Four yeas ago, without a plan, without any excess money, my ex tore apart the entire house because he thought he saw mold. I can't say whether or not he did, but his actions were still pretty irresponsible considering a family lived there. For four years he refused to fix that house as a way of punishing me, and "stinking me out" of what he dubbed his house. I'll admit, at times I felt like a squatter, but I wasn't going to leave my children behind, not even for an afternoon. And to be completely honest, I had nowhere to go. I'd been homeless when I was a teenager for a short while, and it had scarred me enough to make me think the best option was to stay in an abusive situation. Of course I tried asking for help, but pro bono lawyers never returned my calls or emails. The others I couldn't afford, as every job I had was barely keeping my boys and I fed.

I found no help in the welfare system either, because my ex refused to sign a piece  of paper saying that I wasn't preparing food with him in the home. It would have taken him thirty seconds, and saved him hundreds of dollars that he resentfully would end up spending on buying food for the boys, after the fridge had been all but empty for weeks on end. All of this while he spent every cent the boys brought in via tax returns and stimulus checks on toys, vacations, and himself. I haven't been on vacation in at least five years, while my ex has taken several. Yet, his family thinks I'm a bum for requiring a proper settlement to walk away. Despite what you hear, there is very little support in place for single mothers coming out of abusive relationships. It is disheartening as hell for any woman's best option to be to stay where she is being hurt in any manner.

The boys and I were without heat for an entire year. I recall coming home from work on Christmas Eve to the heat finally being on, something that took him fifteen minutes to fix once he was inspired enough to do it. The feeling of relief that Christmas was everything, even the cat clung to the heater in a desperate attempt to cling to it's warmth. The kitchen still hasn't been restored, and our meals had to be cooked on a skillet or in a toaster oven, severely limiting my options. We ate out often, pizza being a staple for them. The best part of that whole awkward setup was the outdoor fridge, which embarrassed me to no end. I joked about it often as a way to cope with the hillbilly tragedy of being the lucky owners of an ... outdoor fridge. 

The backyard was littered by my ex's hoarding tendencies. The backyard once a place for my boys to ride their bikes, to run, to have sleepovers, and to play in general, became a trash heap. So for those wondering if my current lifestyle of owning minimal shit is bothersome, it isn't. I love it, and were it not for my children and their comfort, I would keep it that way until I buy a home of my own. My ex's mother's lawyer threatened me with a document stating that I didn't deserve the home as I had referred to it as a dump. 

Walls have been torn off in my boys room and another room for over seven years now. My ex is currently fixing the house up now that I have left, but the fact that he made our children live in those conditions for almost four years is seared into my heart forever. I literally don't think I know another man who would have done that to his own kids, even if he hated their mother with a passion. At least I'd like to think I don't.

Before finally settling for less than I deserve, my ex's mother's lawyer drafted up a document from his prison dorm and threatened me with having me physically removed by police in a matter of thirty days if I didn't sign away my total parental rights and leave with nothing, as we had never been married and didn't deserve anything. We sure as hell lived like a married couple, with my taking on the brunt of parental responsibility. I played the role of traditional housewife to a t. I got rave reviews actually. They were thinking Emmy, but ... I flat out refused to sign and told them, "the sooner you understand that I am not going anywhere without my children, the better." A phrase I often reiterated during arguments. 

This situation broke my heart, but it taught me a lot about how to be a real woman, and a better mother. It was only after my ex met his current girlfriend that he started to level with me, and we were able to come to a conclusion that satisfied both of us enough  for me to decide that it was time to give him back his precious home. I had never wanted it in the first place. But I wasn't going to become homeless, or live without my children, because of his greedy arrogant ways either. 

I am tired of fighting. If I never have to raise my voice in anger or outright frustration, it would be too soon. A decade of my life has been me fighting for myself and my boys, and I don't care how anybody else ever see's it. I don't care that his mother thinks I should have left with nothing, because I am not here. And despite her pride in making her small boys homeless back in the early nineties when their dad took everything in the divorce, I thought more highly of myself. There were times I thought I was going to lose my damn mind. But here I am, in my own apartment, working as a cake decorator, looking up community college course on furthering my education in this field. wondering ,,. how good does it get?

I wanna find out.