It has been a year.
For someone who usually just gets on with things, it comes as much of a surprise to me that I still feel like I am laying in a million pieces on the floor some days. That the process of separation has simply shattered me.
I have gone through the stages.
I have danced till dawn, cried into my pillow, stood with my shoulders squared and told the world I am ok, then crept back home and worried about how the hell I do this on my own.
No one gets married with the intention of getting a divorce at the end of it. It seems that it takes some getting over. Time is a healer but she is taking her sweet ass time in finding the plasters and the Nurofen.
But I am getting there.
The children seem to be adapting, as parents apart I think most of the time we do a decent job, they know they are loved no matter whose home they are sleeping in that night. We still have time together as a five, they come first, always.
I am keeping busy, not having time to think seems to be a way of coping, forcing fun upon myself and refusing to soak the pillow anymore is a mechanism that is working.
I have tried new things, this has been the hardest year but one full of so many incredible experiences.
But sometimes your smile fades a little when you get home after an amazing day and no grown up is there for you to bore senseless with the details.
Truth be told, I miss being part of a half, albeit I can cope as a one.
And on the days that I do break, when the enormity of life is simply too much, when reality hits home and I allow myself to confess that it really is bloody hard; well then I have friends who pick me up, pour the wine or pass me a loaded barbell, and wrap themselves round me like a fluffy blanket that I can sink into until I feel strong enough to clamber out again and face the world.
I thought after a year it would be all better.
It is easier but still my journey seems so unclear, the road I am traveling has no destination, I am walking alone and my map reading skills are rubbish.
But I am not stopping, eventually a sign will appear to direct me on my way, and of course at times a small person will slip their hand into mine and remind me that I am the world to three people and I can never really be alone.
If you ask, ‘I’m fine’. And really I am, the irony of being someone who writes an online diary for the world to read, I am a bit rubbish at talking. But I am ok, I am just shocked at how something can still ache after a year, and how terrifying at times being a single parent can be.
But if I can breathe fire and swallow a flame?
The perhaps it is time to realise I can do anything if I put my mind to it.
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