The Husbandectomy: Chapters One & Two -- The News, and The Healing Begins

Two weeks ago, a bomb fell on our house. Actually, it fell in our house, out of my husband's mouth. "I think I don't want to be married to you anymore."

You would have to picture the bluest sky you've ever seen, or the deepest prettiest tropical ocean, to understand the degree to which this came at me "out of the blue." 

We'd been having some marital issues, yes, but nothing marriage-ending. At least, in my mind. Evidently, not in his.

The details of our particular situation are less relevant than the immediate after-effects. The first two or three days were the worst. I just sort of stumbled around in a haze of disbelief. Here, in no particular order, are some of the profound (and not so profound) thoughts I had in the first 72 hours:

1. That bottle of Costco shampoo is probably going to outlast our marriage. (The bottle is only about one-third full.)

2. I never realized how terrible it truly is/was, when someone has, in the past, told me "I'm getting divorced." It's so common -- statistically marital odds are about 50:50 -- that it's easy to overlook how much damage those little words imply. I am not the same person I was three days ago. I may become that person again, but probably not for a long time.

3. Some people have the audacity to go on living normal (even happy!) lives while you're wallowing in grief. (Note to self: avoid Facebook, listening to the radio, and being out in public at all costs.)

4. You still have to go to work. And be functional. If you have kids (or dogs), you still have to care for them, like, feed 'em & stuff.

5. This can't really be happening.

There was a lot of #5. The five stages of grief: Denial, bargaining, anger, depression and acceptance. That may not be the original order, but it doesn't really matter because it turns out the stages aren't linear. They slide around your life and slam into you in random order and at random times, sometimes within the same thought or sentence.

If you are lucky, as I was, people you never even knew to be your friends will come out of the woodwork to support you. If nothing else, this experience has shown me the best of what humanity has to offer: compassion in a time of need.

I don't think I even realized how wrecked I was. But my friends did. They organized activities for me, and checked in on me, and brought me flowers. And food. And lots and lots of ears and shoulders to bend and lean on. And lean I did. Heavily.

However, like training wheels, there comes a time to not rely so heavily on support, and to stand on your own. Or at least try to, sometimes tentatively, at least at first. I am now moving into that time. And so, I see my friends running alongside me as I pedal furiously to keep myself upright, ready to catch me if I fall. But thanks to their love and support, I'm stronger every day.

Now I am realizing I must eventually be my own support, to care for myself the way I would throw support behind a friend of mine who was going through this.  So far, this is what seems to be working:

1. Yoga -- I'm not a huge yoga devotee, but I give it a lot of credit for helping ground me where I am at that moment. During a divorce, there's so much to do, so much to think about: changing the names on the title of the house, calling the attorney, who's gonna get the Calvin & Hobbes boxed book set? Yoga is a good exercise to teach the brain and body to just be in one place for an hour or so, instead of pinballing around to a million places in your overwhelmed and busy mind.

2. Meditation -- Same thing. Be where you are. Breathe. Experience the world but don't get too caught up in it. It's only ten or fifteen minutes a day. (I should've done this sooner.)

3. Write in a Journal -- I love to write, so this is quite indulgent, but it lets me spill all my thoughts out onto the page. And the time it takes to write them down as full sentences helps me to focus what I really mean by that sentence. Sometimes, by the end of the sentence, I realize I meant something else entirely.

4. Friends -- Use them. They want you to. It'll seem like you're doing all the talking, about you, all the time -- and you are. You'll hang up after talking to them for an hour and a half and then realize you never even asked, "But enough about me, how are you?" They won't care. It's an amazing experience, humbling and uplifting at the same time.

5. Exercise -- Yoga is sort of exercise, but not always the kind of "bash yourself against a wall until you're exhausted" activity your body might need to release some endorphins and clear some of the neurotic cobwebs you spin all day, sitting there in your depressed state of mind. Thirty minutes of cardio -- on a bike, on the trails, in a pool -- works wonders.

6. Dogs -- Use 'em. They are pure true beings, even when they're covered in dirt and mud. Perhaps especially when they're covered in dirt and mud. They live in the moment, and that's a lesson you need to learn right now: Focus on this moment. Sleep when you're tired. Eat when you're hungry. Don't be afraid to wag your tail a little, even if it sometimes feels like you will never again have another happy moment in your life. If you open yourself up, happy moments are all around, though they may seem a mere drop in the ocean of your sadness, they are still happy moments. The dogs can tell you where those moments are. And if you can't hear them, then hug them a little harder. Sometimes the secrets are buried deep in the fur of their neck.

7. Wine and chocolate -- Self-explanatory.

Of course, there's wiggle room here to include other things like therapy and support groups (if that's your thing… not mine). Or drugs, the legal kind, if you prefer. But those are things you may have to go find. I compiled my list because there was never a good reason I couldn't do at least two or three of these per day without even leaving the house, or changing out of my pajamas. 

It's important to stay positive. A friend posted a quote the other day, which I found to be quite profound: "Don't let your struggle become your identity." It's a slippery slope. You get a lot of strokes in being a victim. People coddle you and pet you and say nice things to boost your self-esteem. It can become addictive. After all, the person you loved perhaps most in the world just told you he doesn't want you anymore. It's hard not to take that personally. 

A little wallowing is to be expected, I think. But it doesn't do to wallow too long. It doesn't make the situation go away. When you wake up in the middle of the night, there's still the realization that he's not coming back. 

It's a new life now. And it helps (me, anyway) to counterbalance those feelings of fear and despair with something more positive like strength and determination. (Not hope. It's too early yet for hope.)

I am not healed. But I am healing. I have good moments and bad moments. I still sometimes think it's all a big misunderstanding. But, of course, it isn't. All I can do is stand up straight, keep my dignity, and continue looking forward.