Just over a year ago I lay in my childhood bedroom, staring at the glow-in-the-dark solar system that my dad helped me stick to the ceiling. My mother was sitting at the end of the bed and she was upset. We both were. She wanted to talk about blogging. She didn’t understand why it was that ‘I had to share everything in such a public way’. She suggested that I get a journal. I didn’t even know where to start. Telling her that it’s a generational thing felt insulting, but I was so far past the point of out of energy that I couldn’t even cry any more. I told her how it was and for the first time in my 36 years, I asked her to leave.
It was a variation on that same theme every night for the three months after I left my husband. As soon as the kids went to bed I packed my bed and drove over to my parent’s place. I got up every morning before 6 and drove back home so that they wouldn’t know that anything was wrong. We carried on like that for three months until I moved out.
If you didn’t used to follow my blog and have just read my last post, the timeline here might be confusing. For several years I wrote every day. I wrote as honestly as I was able. I wrote about everything. Some of it was catharsis. Mostly it was about nothing more than getting a laugh. Then in February last year, apparently out of the blue, my marriage ended and things went (for want of a better description) to the dogs. I wrote very honestly about that process – about what was happening and why. I did it fairly and kindly, because as I school people every day as part of my job – the internet is forever. But my husband was hurt and angry. As a result I removed a number of posts and left the building. I actually started up a new blog but walking away from a lifetime of words just feels kinda wrong. So I’m back.
I plan to start writing for me again, but truth be told, I have no idea when I’m going to fit that in. I have twins that are now three and a half. I’m a full time mother. On top of that I work 25 hours a week and spend more time than I should commuting 26,000 km to the office. I have a boyfriend and a step-daughter.
And I have emotional baggage.
All that said, life is good. It’s new and we’ve settled into a routine that is different, but no less crazy than before.
I walk around with a sense of sadness that didn’t used to be present in my life. It’s not a reflection on the life that I have now or of the choices that I’ve made, but of the pain that I caused along the way. When I was a kid I went to a drama club. We got taught that everyone has to have a ‘tear trigger’. Your tear trigger is the thing that you think about that allows you to you cry on cue. For years I struggled to find one and as I got older I learned that it is a rare and lucky person that has a life so blessed that they don’t have a tear trigger. Now I have one. It was that moment when I looked into the eyes of my best friend and told him that I was walking away. I watched the bottom fall out of his world and I will never forget the look on his face or the pain in his voice.
So I was true to myself. Am I proud of that? Very.
But the price was high and I’m not sure that I’ll ever stop paying it.
And that’s enough for now. It’s time for a gin.