Still Brooding

I’d been feeling so much better. I haven’t been blogging–at all–but I’ve been working the steps, going to meetings, seeing my therapist regularly, and going to church every Sunday.

English: Blooming sour cherry tree Српски / Srpski: Вишњино дрво у цвату (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

And then I did it again. I googled, “How to divorce an alcoholic.” And guess what popped up? My very own post. Always nice to come full circle. Or is it?

I guess the good news is that I’ve embraced the Al-Anon slogan, Progress Not Perfection.

I can now see my slip, take a step back, and repeat the Serenity Prayer. Over, and over, and over again.

I can recognize that I am feeling profound grief, the loss of my dreams and hopes for the life my alcoholic spouse and I will never have.

And, I now see, that I didn’t Google, “Should I Divorce my Alcoholic?” No, my lonely, late-night search was a “How to” search.

And that is something. Progress.

Best of all was finding a comment by a fellow divorcing Al-Anon. Thank you, dorothyrecovers! That was just the experience, strength and hope I needed at the right time.

Because I am learning to see my life for what it is, not what I hope it will be.

Here is what I have:

• A safe, peaceful home
• Two happy, healthy boys
• A job that I love most days, and keeps me plenty busy on the others
• A loving network of friends and family
• Hobbies that I’m passionate about
• Health and a gym membership to keep me active

What I don’t have is the life I hoped for. Every time I take my boys somewhere and one runs away, I’m reminded that I’m alone. When couples I know get together for dinner, I’m alone.

The nights have gotten easier.

But when I see alcoholic husband, from whom I am officially, finally, legally separated, and who has not lived in my house for exactly nine months, I still feel a pang.  A reminder of what might have been, had the disease of alcoholism/addiction not torn us apart at the seams. When I see the water bottle, so cleverly smelling of vodka, it is a visceral kind of hurt that is hard to describe. And that’s okay. Of course I feel sad. Of course this is hard. But my life soldiers on, with me along for the ride.

This is the first spring I have ever really appreciated. Watching the trees on my street bloom, so pure, has been a healing in and of itself. My mind is clear, my heart healing, one day at a time.

Today I have the tools to be thankful for what I do have, for the tulips in my front garden.

And for now, that is enough.