I received a card from my realtor, who went onto become a good friend, celebrating the 4 year anniversary of me closing on my condo. I remember the date well as the following day would have been my 22 year wedding anniversary. All involved in the paperwork and efforts to get me to close said it was one of the worst they'd experienced. I was still married at the time, divorce finalizing the following month, so my debt to income ratio was still including the house I was in while I was married. It felt like every other day more money was needed and I was ill from the stress. The title people went back and forth saying I was single, married, and then single again (as technically I was married when I closed). The man I was buying from had his own set of issues where he needed his ex wife to sign off, she was in Norway refusing, so he flew there and went through his own special hell before ultimately having her sign it. Even down to the night before my finance people were doing money gymnastics to get me in. It was an amazing group effort and maybe even a miracle or two. (Not that I believe in miracles.)
My first night in my new place was possibly the loneliest I've ever felt, even after a lifetime of feeling it was me against the world. I only took my clothes and a living room set with me and not much more. When my parents divorced my father insisted on getting half of everything no matter how traumatizing it was to his kids. If there were 20 toothpicks in a drawer he sat there and counted out 10 for himself. We had a literal tug of war with a family photo album as I scream cried for him not to take it. I remember going into rooms and seeing them empty, looking for something in the kitchen to find it gone, and how painful it was. I refused to let my son feel that way, as he was staying with his father, and decided I would instead completely start over. (I only took the living room set as he was getting a new one.) Without a bed I laid on the couch with a thin blanket and tried to will myself to sleep. Tears streamed down my face while my eyes were wide open and no sleep was coming.
Even though years have gone by I still have moments where I go to look for something and realize I don't have it. Things like band aids, light bulbs and other items I would typically have in stock but didn't make the connection that I didn't have them. It's a little pop up reminder of what went down. The first few years I don't recall thinking about this date as much but my memory could be wrong on this. Though I don't want to be with my ex husband, nor does he want me, the length of time gone is weighing on me. Last year was intense between the pandemic and it being what would have been my 25 year anniversary where I added to the drama with burning my wedding dress. Not the same vibe but today feels heavy.
To add to my current level of processing I'm also losing my therapist next week. She has decided to take another position that allows her more time with her children. In a few days I'll have been with her for 6 years. I adore her but I'm not excessively sad as I've felt for awhile that we've gone as far as we can with each other. She asked me to think about all we've been through together and look at my growth. Perhaps this is adding to the heaviness of this moment. And that's OK as I'm ready for it, strong enough for it, and wanting it.
My ex husband is engaged and really hasn't been alone for much at all since I moved out. I honestly and truly wish him well. Though I know it's not actually the truth, it feels like most people I know find someone immediately after divorcing, if not right before. My learning curve back into dating was steep and mistakes were made. I'm leaning into and accepting that maybe I'm a person who isn't meant to be with anyone. I've always been hyper independent, and fiercely guarded while making you think I've revealed a lot, and these things don't mesh well in a healthy relationship.
It's been 4 years and I barely recognize that woman who walked into her first space living alone hyperventilating and crying. I've given myself permission to make my place the crazy ticky tacky look that I love. I'm making it. I've finally surrounded myself with people that dig what I bring to the table. I haven't crumbled, I've held my head high when shit went sideways, I'm still here.
4 years later I can finally say I'm home.
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