It's Monday morning...the dreadful, hated Monday when I drop my boys off and won't have them in their beds for a week.
These are the Mondays when I clean all the linens, I clean up the remainder of their messes, and shut their door tightly. All week long it will be an act of attempting to avoid their room at all costs.
I REALLY hate these Mondays.
At least now the tears stay at bay. They used to fall freely during these weeks.
I had someone tell me that I was not all that great of a catch. I was renting at 41, didn't have health insurance, and my parents had to help me with a car. His message didn't have the desired effect. I read it and chuckled sinisterly because I knew he didn't get it.
The repercussions of divorce go much further than the emotional pain. It creeps into every area of your life...known and unknown...expected and unexpected. I didn't expect it to affect my ability to get health insurance. I didn't expect it to affect how much I pay in taxes. I didn't expect it to affect my ability to be a boss. I didn't expect it to turn me into a sinister, bitter woman. I didn't expect it to change my desire to own a house. I didn't expect it to separate me from married people or those who had never been married. I didn't expect it to make me sympathetic towards government programs. I didn't expect it to confuse the issue of religion.
And I certainly didn't expect to be writing about it almost daily for two years.
I keep telling myself that I'll get over it. I'll get over missing my kids like crazy. I'll get over having the weight of the world on my chest and feeling all alone in carrying it. I'll get over the financial struggles, the dating chaos, the bitterness, the questioning my decision, the wanting him back feeling, the worry for my kids.
I'll get over it.
Right??? Time heals all wounds. So they say. I wonder if whoever said this was a divorced, single mom.
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