Days 0789 & 0790

Not a great day. One of those ones where food tastes like unidentifiable mush, scented candles smell like poison and not wanting to soil myself is the only thing that gets me out of bed.

And yet here I am: two legs, two arms, a lovely home, blue skies, a fluffy dog at my side. A camera in my bag which is usually enough to get me moving.

But I’m at that place where tension takes me: the place where I wonder if the hardness of the past four years has been worth it. I know it has of course, but my brain likes to tell me I can’t be sure.

I managed to get dressed and tame the doc to the beach – it took four hours to get there, but I managed it. Yay, me. Woo and hoo etc.

And where I’m sitting in my car now is almost exactly where I used to sit in my car the occasions where I escaped the yelling and the threats and the doing of everything wrong. I would sit here with a beautiful beach filling my windscreen and cry and cry. And wonder where I was. Not my body, of course, but me and how I’d got into this place where I couldn’t do a single thing ‘right’ and where I would be threatened with having my head smashed in because … Well, just because he felt like it.

So clearly the past four years was worth it. Because I’m sitting here again – this time with my dog, knowing I have a resilient, loving child on my hands and knowing I can go home when I want and not be yelled at by anyone but me. 

Who knew that was the height of freedom?

Day 0250

For the first time ever I am admitting to myself that I don’t want to share my day to day life with anyone but my child. I think I always assumed I did want to share, that was what life was meant to be, and I never really realised that I didn’t have to.
More than anything I wanted my life to be like a romantic novel: not Mills & Boon or Harlequin but Jane Austen and EM Forster. Unfortunately I think I misfired on that one: or maybe it just depends on the standard of writing to distinguish between the genres? In which case I think I may have managed to pull out just ahead of the trashier novels,
Anyway, I never realised that I would LOVE not having anyone in my house when I come home at night, that it would be an odd and twisted sort of fun to have to figure my way through mundane living situations all on my own.
I wouldn’t enjoy it without friends to rant at – I do need to spew to a sounding board now and then (increasingly more now than then).
I am finding this all quite enlightening.
When I accidentally fell in love with Halfman I knew clearly I never wanted to live a life with him; I just wanted to enjoy seeing him when I felt like it, to include him when it made us both happy to and so on. I am quite sure he never considered that was my feeling even though I did keep explaining it to him. I think he thought I was just being patient but craving an everyday life that included him.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved spending time with him: adored it, but each time I shut the door or drove off without him, I felt pleased that the relationship was contained and that I still had My Space to dream in.
I’m not entirely sure how relationships work in that context: obviously that one gave enough space that Halfman could be a Total Bastard if he chose to be.
So I’ll need to figure that one out and also find a way to identify humans who, when given the freedom they crave, choose the High Road rather than the Lowest Road.

Day 0233

So … I’ve been fairly unkind about Halfman’s characteristics in this blog: let’s call it ungenerous as in-his-face honesty is kind in its own way. In my favor I did disclose to him at an early stage that I was a bitch – if he saw that through the filter of attraction and chose to tell me I was wrong, that’s his bad.
But as with sooooo many of those penis wielding bags of water known as men, Halfman’s biggest faults were in many cases the things I liked about him.
In particular his penchant for careless self indulgence. Not something I would normally spruik for but the form I enjoyed was far less harmful than the form of it I despise.
He would do things like bounce into our office fresh from a walk on the mountain on a gorgeous fresh morning, not minding that he was a bit late for work and no one knew where he was and I’d be totally beguiled. That’s exactly what I would have been doing that morning if I wasn’t a single mum concerned about keeping my job, worried about paying bills and making other people pleased. Oh how I envied him the ability to take his bike up there one evening then hike up early the next morning and sail sail sail down that curvy road right to the office door, blowing on fingers that were numb from the frosty morning.
I guess what I saw was freedom and a life that didn’t mind if its owner was a bit wayward and nudging the line of irresponsible.
And I loved it. Loved knowing someone whose priorities seemed to be in all the right places.
Beguiling. Simply, breath takingly beguiling: that’s what it was.

On Freedom

When I first separated I was handed a load of graphs that were meant to help me understand that there would be an end to the odd spongy way life felt.

This one was particularly interesting. And I think it makes a lot more sense in retrospect with almost three years of space between me and the ‘maelstrom’ of trigger feelings. It’s also seriously interesting having watched a former friend go through something similar.

I was advised to head for Freedom! (I think it must be said with the exclamation mark!). This apparently involves ’emotional maturity’?! And ‘Life satisfaction’ yup, I’ll buy me one of those, thanks.

Of course I immediately headed for Flight because I’ve got to tell you it sure was nice to have someone pay attention to me and tell me I was purty after years of being alone next to someone and being told I’m stupid and unsophisticated. But I wised up fairly fast, thankfully, got what I needed and left with my apparently annoying ‘1950s values’ intact.

When Halfman appeared I’d almost imagined I’d reached ’emotional maturity’ but maybe he cancelled that one out?

Anyway, this former friend took the lower road – I’ve no idea if he’s on the path to Fight or Freeze but I’m guessing it’s the latter as drifting and withdrawal are kind of his signature moves.

And I have that feeling of survivor guilt where you feel horrified at that other person’s missteps, their loss, but so very relieved it’s not you.

Day 0099

Here I stand at my first precipice — tomorrow I will be 100 days not being in love with a man. It feels good. And lonely at times. But it is giving me silence — or at least more of a silence in my head and heart. I am hoping this silence will allow me to untangle all the threads of the thoughts and feelings that have been tying me together for too long.

Maybe when I untangle that last thread, there will be a shaft of light and a kind and strong female voice that says to me: You are ready now.

But probably not. Or if there is, it will be my GP undertaking my biannual pap test.

Anyway, regardless, it’s got to be a good thing, hasn’t it? To stop and slow down. And take a look.

A counsellor said to me recently that maybe Halfman hasn’t hurt me more than some of the ones that came before him, he’s just hurt me in a way and at a time that is a culmination for me, one where I can see and feel it most keenly.

She thinks this means I can learn from it.

I think it means it just really really bloody hurts.

Maybe we’re both right.

Day 0033

Celebrating first 26th of June in 14 years where I am no longer betrothed. Happy! Happy! Joy! Joy!

Never has it felt so right not to be joined. Such a relief. Haven’t quite adapted to having no responsibility to anyone other than me and my kid, but it’s coming.

After 15 years of living by someone’s arbitrary ‘Rules’ I no longer feel the joy of freedom when I don’t follow them. This is a particularly nice part of the evolution away from him.

Almost no mundane action in my day is tied back to how he made me feel. i no longer feel relieved when I get home and know he isn’t there and will never be there. No longer wince when I realise I haven’t cleaned the water off the counter, used two trivets under the cookie tray or mistakenly left the cling wrap serrated edge down.

That is freedom of a wonderful variety.