So what does it feel like? That moment when everything which was written becomes unwritten? That moment when you sit in your lounge and suddenly the familiar becomes so unfamiliar that you feel like a stranger in your own home.
That’s the reality of a marriage breakup. When twenty years of togetherness becomes a future of uncertainty.
The silence is the first thing you notice when a marriage fizzles out, not that there was much noise towards the end anyways.
Sometimes you wonder if it would’ve been easier if you’d argued, he’s stormed out, and it had come to an abrupt end. Anger is easier to channel, it doesn’t get to the core of your sadness like a gradual separation does. Anger feels good, powerful. Instead there’s a feeling you can’t quite get a hold of, where you wake up one day and realize it’s just gone. Your marriage is over, along with any fight left to save it.
Where life was once so simple, so routine and so planned out, you now find you’ve got to rewrite the rule book so you aren’t left with the constant reminder that he’s gone. There’s no point in wallowing, what was done was done.
Wallowing won’t make things better. You try to think positive to keep a grip on your sanity
You push the sadness out and focus on all the things you can now do, the things you’ve missed while caught in the battle of saving your relationship or the sacrifices you’ve made.
The days where you want to push rewind, the anxious I can’t do this days try to take hold of your thoughts. You give it a few minutes of thinking space, dry your tears, then remind yourself that you’re now in the driving seat of a whole new future.
But you don’t look too far ahead. Christmas and birthdays are a big no-no. Your strategy is to take each day as it comes and be ready with a bag full of positives for the days which hurt the most.
But the silence will get you. At the dinner table, on the sofa, in the car, when you switch off the lights at the end of the day and climb into bed.
Silence. It becomes your new companion. You don’t like it very much, but know you’ll have to get use to it.
The radio blurts out words which rein too true, each sad song feels like it was written for you.
At least the silence doesn’t do that.
You plan days out, nights out, and you get in touch with old friends. Those days are the ones which scrape you off the floor and put you back together. Those are the moments which send you off in the right direction and keep your eyes facing forward, not back.
Slowly, you dust off your battle scars and patch up the damage, finally ready for new adventures.