This is going to get personal, which I don’t do much because it’s… personal.
Still, I believe in passing along valuable lessons. And I picked up some real gems while living for roughly a year and two months with my ex-husband.
I see the look on your face. Hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Now, the whole apartment feels brighter, larger, and filled with possibility. Yes, more than half the stuff is gone, but so is the heavy sadness of our broken marriage, which had settled in like an unwelcome roommate.
I’m still unpacking this experience and likely will for years to come. Here’s what I’ve figured out so far:
- Holding on keeps you from moving on. And I held on too long, not to the relationship but to the surrounding life. The jarring end of our living arrangement broke my grip and allowed me to take critical steps in a powerful direction.
- I know–I always know–when something’s really wrong. That hitch in my breathing, the ache in the pit of my stomach, that’s my body uncovering what my mind conceals.
- No matter how much someone lies to you, the most destructive are the ones you tell yourself.
- Truth always finds a way into the silence. Even if all I can stand is 30 seconds, and my mind wanders for 28 of them.
Listen, living alone is all it’s cracked up to be. I sliced my finger trying to replace the storm windows, and I can’t figure out how to stop the drafts that seem to blow in from every corner. But this is still light years better than living unhappily together.
Oh, look. Another lesson.