I hurt too much to write.

I have always been able to write through pain; through tumultuous teen years, an abusive relationship, my son’s illnesses, surgeries and social struggles, and through too many deaths to count. I have always been able to write.

But, six months ago my husband told me he wanted a divorce and now we are separated, and I still can’t find the words or where to even start.

© Mamz | Dreamstime Stock Photos

I guess I could write about the searing pain – of wailing and sobbing in my shower, screaming in my car, and crying every single day for months. I could tell you how I felt like my insides were torn from my body and my soul was ripped to shreds.

I could write about the anger I have felt, which has left me reacting about as inhuman as a person could. I have said the meanest things that have ever come out of my mouth.

I could write about the betrayal I feel and the deep sense of loss of the one person I thought would always be by my side. I could tell you how it feels worse than a death, because how can you mourn someone who is still there?

I could admit that I made mistakes, but I was always faithful and was willing to do anything to save my marriage. I would have found a way to make things better, to fight for my family, rebuild and honor the vows I made. I could tell you that he wasn’t willing to do the same.

I could tell you that my job and friends have saved my life, that I actually can’t bear to think about not being part of his family anymore, and that despite seeing the devastation that one person can cause, most people are actually good.

I could tell you how much I miss my dogs, the love of my life, and the world we built together.

I could say that moving on is a struggle of monumental proportions, but I am finding peace at times. I could tell you that retail therapy is a real thing, that it’s okay to have occasional panic attacks, and that you can still believe in fairy tales. Of course, you hope that the Beast becomes a prince and doesn’t stay a Beast, but everyone will appear to be Gaston; arrogant and back-stabbing

I could tell you that I will be okay. Someday. I don’t know if I will ever heal or if I will always feel this ache, or if this loss will always be the first thing I think about every morning and the last thing I think about every night, but I will be okay.

I could tell you all of those things. Maybe one of these days, I’ll find the words.

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In the midst of shopping, wrapping, singing and snacking, our family has been hit with the flu. My 15-year old daughter missed her first day of school in years, I got a bonus bronchial infection and my 12-year old, autistic son felt so bad that he actually allowed a nurse to swab his nose without a fight. My husband? Well, his cheeks turned rosy, he sneezed twice, took a nap and was all better.

I am increasingly anxious, because I haven’t been to the gym or gone for a run in six days and my daughter is so bored she actually started cleaning the bathrooms without being asked. My son is anxious AND bored and walks around moping a lot asking, “What can I doooooooooo?”

Since he is especially pathetic when he’s sick, I do my best to keep his mind off of it so we don’t get sucked into his tears and start handing him Christmas presents early. Video games and movies aren’t great options because the more he lies around, the more weak and mopey he gets. So, like any good mom, I brought out the crafts.

But, unlike a good mom, I couldn’t remember how to cut a snowflake.

Thankfully, he likes spiders.

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I think there are certain ways that people are always themselves, but I do think people change. -Mike White

I’m sure you’ve heard that you should never try to change someone, but what if that person used to be loving and kind and has changed into a destructive jerk? Shouldn’t you try to change them back to who they once were?

Yes, you should, and here’s why.

I am that person. Most of you don’t know it, but I lost control of my priorities and became a distant, grumpy, tired, shell of a person. Not all the time, unless you were fortunate enough to be one of the people who really love me; then you had meanest Momo every day.

My husband tried to tell me, but I thought it was impossible to shift my priorities from where they were; work, kids (which encompasses driving, sports, cooking, homework, doctors and more), house, laundry, blog, husband. Lucky guy, that one.

But, a couple of months ago I had a breakthrough, or what a therapist told me was “an awakening.”

Even though I thought there was NO WAY I could give any more of myself, in any capacity, I intentionally shifted my priorities. INTENTION being the key component of what I’m about to tell you, so make sure you see that word and soak it in.

I-N-T-E-N-T-I-O-N.

I intentionally made changes.

Work was still my #1 priority, but only during working hours and occasional overtime, like yesterday. During non-working hours, my husband went into the #1 slot, then kids, house, laundry and blog.

Sometimes laundry fell into the last slot, which is why we ran out of underwear, but I never waivered from keeping everything else in its rightful place. And, you know what? It wasn’t even that hard.

As a matter of fact, I started enjoying the heck out of my husband again and that carried over into how I interact with my children. I became nicer. Calmer. More peaceful.

Okay, that last one is a total lie. I’ve been grinding my teeth like crazy and I’ve HAD to start running again out of mental necessity, but I’m not taking out my frustrations on the people I care about more than anything.

I feel like my old self again. I uncovered the person who was buried under a pile of resentment, anger, jealousy and ego.

And, that change feels really good.

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These people. These goofy, blurry, imperfect people to my right are what make my life sane, clear and ideal. Okay, not sane exactly, but they do keep my head on straight. They are my purpose. My gift.

They are why I get out of bed every morning and wash dishes every night. They are why I’m buried in laundry and, occasionally, smothered with love. They are my everything.

Is that healthy? Probably not. But, I don’t care. All of my eggs are in this kooky basket of misfits and I’m fine with it. Before a concerned reader emails me and tells me I’m not living my life right, let me say that I take care of me too. I started running again, I hit the gym a few times a week, I write, I took a painting class, I started coloring thanks to a generous gift of Coloring Animal Mandalas from my friend, Melisa – so, I’m not neglecting myself.

But, those people up there? They lift me up and they keep me grounded at the same time. And, you can’t ask for a better atmosphere than that.

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