One Year Later: Broken Dreams?

One year ago tonight I changed the locks and gave my husband twenty minutes to pack his things. I called a lawyer and a friend, and my parents came over to witness.

I’d found drugs on husband, again, after he swore he was sober.

He’d been lying for years and I suspected but didn’t have proof.

We were fighting, our finances were in trouble, and I was a tsanami of anxiety, constantly walking on eggshells, not knowing what to call the elephant in the room. Addiction hadn’t been properly named.

I was clinging so desperately to a marriage that my husband had abandoned years before.

I’d made dinner and set the table when he came home, acting funny. I asked him what was in his bag, he accused me of being paranoid, then dashed into his car. I chased him down the drive, banging on his door. He showed me. I saw. That was the beginning of the end.

Today I shopped like I haven’t shopped in years, all by myself. Shopping is not a hobby for me, but I’ve lost weight and am hoping to date soon so to the mall I went. I had a blast. I bought clothes and jewelry only for fun; nothing practical, nothing for work, and nothing because it’s kid-friendly (i.e. washable cotton). I bought lacy new bras that don’t have nursing clasps.

And then I met up with a group of four close friends for dinner and drinks. I enjoyed myself, I laughed, I wore a new dress.

I didn’t talk about husband at all. I’ve truly detached. Come to think of it, I hardly thought of him at all.

What a difference a year makes.

Tonight I’m feeling humbled, grateful, and in awe of God’s work in my life.

Goodnight everyone.