Last Thursday would have been my 9-year wedding anniversary. Instead, we spent it in a mediator's office finishing up the terms of our settlement agreement for our divorce.
I'm sorry I couldn't tell you before now.
I told him I had to get out on November 26, 2006. It's been 17 months now, and who knows how much longer it will take. This has been the most stressful, grinding, liberating, joyful experience of my life.
I need to tell you two things:
1) You saved my life in the year before I told him. I was living only to care for my children, and feeling like I was worthless except as their mother. I was hanging on only because I didn't want to hurt them. There were mornings when I woke up and the only way I knew I wasn't just a complete waste of cells was that I could answer someone's question, or make someone feel better because their 4-month-old wasn't sleeping, or say "It sucks, doesn't it?" You guys being out there and thinking I was doing something valuable literally gave me an external reason to live, until I could wrap my head around leaving.
2) The worst part about this (since I'm already working through the guilt of having to rip apart my kids' lives) is that I couldn't say anything to you about it. I needed your support and advice. I didn't want to end up faking anymore, or make anyone think I had the perfect life, or even a normal life. But three lawyers warned me not to blog about it under any circumstances until the settlement agreement was signed. (Which it's not yet, but we're being outed, so I have to say something. And I'm tired of hiding it anyway.)
I wish I could tell you the story. I wish I could have had you with me this whole time.
One more thing:
If you've ever wondered if there's a God out there who cares about you at all, there is. And he'll rush in to help you and give you everything you need. But sometimes you have to stop pretending and just give up on your own pride before he can get into that little space and crack you open. And then everything starts to get good.