Me.

Okay. Now to focus on me. I said at the outset this would not define me, his actions would not undo me. I have came close, I have wept uncontrollably, I have crumbled, I have faced every emotion with the span of an hour, every hour, I have not slept properly for over 10 months, I have raged, I have nearly walked away, I have been determined, I have played an unnecessary cat and mouse game. He gave up long ago and in fact was never really in the game. Anyone else would contest a divorce, prove their assets, sort out child maintenance payments, sort out mortgage, sort out custody or parental arrangements and I expected a fight, I expected kramer vs kramer. But nothing….

I hounded him to sign things, I courier delivered his possessions to him, I closed the bank accounts, I sorted the mortgages, I told the other women, I told his mother, his mother then told me his truth which sent me into a spiral, I confronted and communicated with all the people who have been duped. I am mighty. I am strong. I’ve had to be. I’ve known nothing else.

I’ve always been self determined and quietly gutsy. My silence is my strength. I do not have to be overtly vocal to prove my worth.  I like who I am. I need polished but on the whole I’m okay.

So this is now why it is my fault he is not seeing the kids. This is why his mother blames me and posts statuses about parental alienation – his own self inflicted alienation. But to explain away why he never sees his kids he has to paint me as the bad one! When did he last try to see them? When did he last ask? February 2016. Then he never showed up. I have to show up every fucking day whilst he can wallow and have his spasms and go to the pub, smoke weed and shag her brains out. Priorities of the self.

There is nothing wrong with being selfish. Love and self love is to be encouraged but disrespecting and shafting others to pursue your own entitlement but pretending you are the hard done by one is total manipulation.

I need to focus on me. Who I am. What I like. What my passions are that are not tied in to his. That is the hardest. Unraveling me from him. Did I really like brutalist architecture or was it because it was what he liked?  No, I like it. French sixties pop? I like it.  I am fine with myself. I just need to have more faith in who I am and time to rediscover myself.

I think for a lot of my life I’ve been waiting on it clicking, or getting to the bliss point not realising I was already there. It’s like my reality never matched expectation. My expectation was too high. I thought I knew what life should feel like but I was in his negativity orbit.

I am glad it has all happened. I can look back with wisdom and a wee smile that tells me that ‘she’ knew you’d get through this. Everyday was a learning curve. I feel reborn. I wish I’d had this years ago. My outlook to life has changed for the better. I am not panicky, I am not as anxious. I can step back. I don’t have to react or chase up things straight away. Let it step. I know my worth. I am mighty. I have proven just how so.

I have been traumatised, ransacked, depleted, my innards cored out. But I replenished myself. I worked hard. I’m glad of my anger, it’s toughened me up. I’m glad he was a fanny. It proves I’m not. I’m glad I don’t have to carry him along anymore. My life would be so different if I had paired with someone less demented. I cast no blame. His trauma comes from somewhere but was never dealt with. I have been dealing with his trauma and my current trauma in tandem and with my kids future trauma. Trying to plant the right seed that’ll make it less of a hotbed in their futures. Getting to ‘meh’!