But I’ve got a blank space, baby…
Worst. Patient. Advocate. Ever.
I don’t even know where to start, but I know that for months (years?) now I’ve been saying, “Yes! I’m finally getting my mojo for blogging back.”
And you know what? I was lying.
I mentioned in a previous post that two of the most stressful things a person can do in their adult life is go through a divorce and sell a house. Most articles I’ve read recommend not doing them AT THE SAME TIME.
I never take the easy way, that’s for sure.
Throw in all the things that come with being chronically ill- doctor’s appointments, tests, chemo, fighting with the insurance company and PayFlex for hours at a time, plus work, family and a relationship that literally crashed and burned and died a million thousand deaths, which I hate to admit, left me in bed for a week, and you have an overwhelmed girl who didn’t know which end was up for awhile.
I don’t use this space to air my dirty laundry, and I don’t think I’ll ever write about the things that truly led to the demise of my marriage. Nor will I ever write about the relationship that crashed and burned and died a million thousand deaths. Hell, most of the people in my life didn’t even know I was in a relationship.
Maybe there will be a chapter in my book.
I snapped out of it, quite quickly, to be honest; but, that’s always been my style. Not in a NEXT village bicycle revolving door kind of way- but because after a week in bed hiding from the world it hit me how toxic said relationship was. I’m not casting blame, believe me, I played a huge role in adding to the toxicity (Brie, stop rolling your eyes). But it dawned on me that I deserve so much better, and, so does he. After some time passed, a few sessions with my therapist, talking with a friend who has already been through this separation/divorce/dating process, I woke up one morning and saw things a bit more clearly. I’ve spent so much time in my head wondering what people were thinking, fearing I was being judged for my failed marriage, getting sick, infertility, having a double mastectomy, going on disability, my choices, and now a failed relationship.
I’ll be 29 in nineteen short days.
Ok, Ok, I’ll be thirty-fucking-six. Thirty-six. Boggles my mind, it feels like my freshman year of college was a few years ago, and in reality, it was seventeen years ago and I’ve been a nurse at CHOP for almost 13 years. I’ve been to hell and back, many times over, shit, before I turned six, and here I am mere weeks from being thirty-six and somehow, I’m still standing on my own two feet.
I dug deep and found the courage to leave a marriage I was unhappy in, a marriage where quite frankly, we both lived a very comfortable lifestyle. I know plenty of people who that would be enough for, the “stuff” would keep them content and both parties would go on living separate lives yet continue to keep up appearances.
I was petrified what people were thinking, who was judging me, who thought I was ungrateful for the life we built, and that I left him to deal with everything.
“But Marla, don’t you miss your house, hot tub, cleaning lady, gadgets, designer bags, fancy cars, <insert fancy thing>?”
No, no I don’t. Did it make life easier, certainly. Do I often worry about my financials in the future, if I find myself so sick to the point that I can’t work again and I lose my health insurance, of course. But the house, hot tub, gadgets, space, were once again, just “stuff” and did nothing to fill the void in my marriage. I miss my husband, the man I married and said “in sickness and in health,” to in front of 150 of our closest friends and family. I love him, a part of me always will, and I wish that we could have found some way to meet in the middle, but unfortunately, we couldn’t, and the “stuff” wasn’t enough to bridge the gap.
I’m not sorry I chose happiness over stuff, and I’m sick of feeling like I’m being judged for it. If I’ve learned anything from all of this, it’s that one moment you can be soaking up the sun in St. Lucia, and the next moment everything you planned and worked hard for comes crashing down. But, it’s whether you find a way to climb out from the rubble that truly matters. And I happen to think I’ve done that in spades.
I have no idea what the hell is in store for me, but for the first time in years, I’m excited to find out. So stay tuned.
Love you all