I know what I want to say but the words are failing me. Or I'm failing me. Today would have been my 30th wedding anniversary. The pain of the actual divorce is long past, he is engaged, and I'm genuinely happy for him. Yesterday was the 8-year anniversary buying my condo and living completely alone for the first time. Dates mean a lot to me; when I recall them, and when I forget them, it gives me information as to where my mind is at.
In the 8 years since the divorce I've remembered my wedding date maybe 3 times. The 25th anniversary was brutal as I realized this was something I'll never experience. Others came and went without a trigger or notice. It was just days ago that I noticed the date was coming up and then realized it would have been 30 years. The kind of anniversary you have a party to celebrate the achievement, and everyone is impressed and asks you what your secret is. Again, something I will never experience.
To meet me today is to be unrecognizable to the woman who moved into this place 8 years ago. My growth game is strong. When I moved in I was terrified and found myself shaking under a thin blanket that didn't even cover my toes, on my couch as I had left the bed behind. It took me over a year to paint a wall as I was used to years of disagreeing on such things, and forgetting I was the only decision maker now. Where my growth game is weak is the relationships along the way.
When I first divorced, I didn't even consider dating. My only focus was to get out. I can't even count the number of first dates I went on. Most were boring and terrible. I look back at some of the people and wouldn't dream of attempting a conversation with them today. Only 2 made it to a level of us being called a couple and they both destroyed me in different ways.
I've noticed a pattern where I go back to what is hurting me because there was something I loved, and I wanted one more moment even if it broke me more in the end. There is a part of me that will override the need for emotional safety, and plunge forward not caring about consequences. If I go deep and ask myself why that is, my first thought is because most of the time I feel hopeless.
I feel somber and a little numb on what would have been my 30th wedding anniversary. Another birthday looming in the distance saying the clock is ticking and you're wasting time. Feeling a mix of anxiety, immobility, and sadness.
I went back to my favorite lake to burn the memories in order to calm the screaming in my head. Being former Evangelical Christian I love a ritual, and burning things gives me a release that "just letting it go" won't quite reach. Watching items go up in flames forces me to sit with the feelings that I'd rather shove down. When I hold onto things I find I'm really trying to hold onto another person. It's an energetic connection that keeps me from fully releasing them.
I knew this burn would be emotionally difficult, yet I was dead set that I wanted it to happen on the anniversary day, and a rainstorm was coming so that kept me from procrastinating. Speed walking to the lake I watched as the clouds were rolling in quickly. I expected I'd get soaked on the way home, but my only concern was to get the burn going before the downpour.
When I'd burned my wedding dress there were a lot of people around while I watched what was once my dream incinerate before me. This time what few people were nearby immediately dispersed as I came up to the fire pit. Though I'd torn everything up the night before, I felt nauseated as the memories came back looking at the pieces as I ignited them. Instead of sitting back crying as I'd done before, I stood with my hands on my hips looking down at the fire, determined to finally let it all go.
The smoke got thick and was blowing away from me. This felt hopeful, like a breath from the universe saying I was seen and what I was doing was what was best for me. I contemplated staying until every bit was burned to ash, but decided it was OK to walk away and not care about the outcome.
Walking home there was a gentle breeze and I found my breathing had regulated and was flowing at an even pace. About halfway there the rain started to come, first light and then a downpour. The wind was blowing everything sideways and I could barely see from moisturizer and old eyeliner burning my eyes. It felt like a painful baptism; an outward expression of inner transformation. Yet would I finally be free?
My road has been long, and absolutely none of my childhood hopes and dreams have come true, but I will continue to prove everyone wrong with my tenacity and resilience. There is freedom in this.
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