The Day You’re Supposed to Heal

The internet told me it takes 18 months to heal from divorce (547.5 days)

“Siri, how many days until February 28, 2021?”

I want to write ahead of the day so that when it comes, I can welcome it for whatever it is, maybe without noticing at all.

This is my day. An 18-month old is still testing boundaries, wondering to herself, “Can I really do that?” and delighting when she discovers for herself that “Yes! Yes, she can!”

Photo by Daiga Ellaby on Unsplash

One could say I’m “cursed with dates” but I also have the super-power of being able to re-remember them. When watching someone self-destruct, there’s sometimes a latent wondering, “Whatever happened to them?” as old memories of friendships gone by wash over us.

It’s a gift to be able to say that I’m fine.
I’m okay, I’m still standing, learning, healing.

My personality has transformed. I shudder to say I’ve changed.
What’s changed? Besides my address, income, career, friend circle…
okay, well a lot!

I fought so hard for myself and the privilege of parenting my children. I won’t let anything get in the way of or lure me away from that again.

Image via Disney

I found my voice as a mom.

The day we took our firstborn home from the birthing center, the husband I trusted infected me with subtle nudges of self-doubt, that perhaps childbirth was the only thing I was truly capable of and now that the real parenting began, it was time for me to step into the shadows.

The first Friday as a Single Mom was so scary.
We clumsily stumbled into new rituals, and now every Friday is pizza and a movie night. Sometimes I get to pick and recently mom’s emotional intelligence choice was Inside Out. The first time I watched it, my only memory was my then spouse sobbing through it, which as Therapist Pat would say, “Ok, so that was a red flag.”

A much clearer head helped me see the joy within that has carried me through a harsh wilderness. Grieving time…