I’m not a writer. Something, or someone, has been tugging at my heart and mind, urging me to reach out. To who and for what, I am not sure. What I do know is if I tell my story, as painful as it may be, and am able to touch one person, I am a success.
A success is the antithesis of what I was feeling almost seven years ago. After 24 years of marriage, 3 kids, many successes and few low places, I arrived home to my husband telling me that he wanted a divorce. As I stood dumbfounded, tears streaming down my face, he walked out, never to return…..to the marriage, that is (he’d take the house back later). Was our marriage perfect? Of course not; no marriage is. But we weren’t divorce-bound, to my knowledge. Looking back, of course, my perspective is different (hindsight is 20/20).
For the first few days, I was numb, and likely completely unaware of the perspective I’ve gained today. This man who I thought I would spend my entire life with was gone, leaving my life in shambles, my children devastated, our family destroyed, friends bewildered. My head throbbed from the constant crying. While I finally managed not to cry in front of the kids, the times when they weren’t around were uncontrollable.
And the icing on the proverbial cake was, a few days later, I was throwing a birthday party for our daughter, who
was turning 5. The party was already planned, and invitations had gone out, so there was no backing out. I didn’t want anyone to know my marriage had failed. The decision he made to leave somehow made me a failure.