Facebook Relationship Status married to …. actually that is no longer relevant

I really have not blogged a great deal about the process of divorce.

This process we are going through.

I keep looking at my Facebook relationship status and it says “married” and then I think, no that is not what we are.

Is it complicated or are we separated ….or should I just leave it until we are divorced, and then I only have to push one button.

It is not the time it takes to press the one button, it is just that it again adds “a time stamp” to this process.

It is just another marker on this shit route.  This festival of fucked-up-ness.  I am sure that isn’t a word, but today I really am not giving two flamingos.

Looking at “married” on Facebook somehow disturbs me.   It really does.  I think we aren’t actually – we are in the “between place” — that place of nearly and not at all.

We are no longer married.  Sure we are going through the process so we can get an official document that tells us we aren’t.  But that is just waiting for a sheet of paper?

In my head, and my heart, we are no longer married.  The 20 December 2013 was a defining date in my world.  When things shifted.  A great deal.

In some ways good, in some ways not so good.  I really have tried to constantly keep my eye fixed on the silver lining …. and anyone who knows me will tell you that that is decidedly not my normal style.

I have moved through the various processes of grief a lot faster than I thought I would be able to.  No doubt it is more of a circle of grief, and I will have to go over a few of the ones I breezed over before.

I have been stoic and accepting, and have rolled with this process like a fucking trooper I have.  If there is a shirt for being “accepting and adult” then shits bells I need to get it.

We are no longer married.  We have both stopped wearing our wedding rings.

He did first, and that really hurt me.  It really distressed me.  I know it is silly, but it really distressed me.  I kept thinking “put your freaking ring on …… do it” and then he didn’t.

I kept wearing mine.  Maybe it was whilst I thought that things were not going to go the way I was being told they were going to go.

Then one morning I realised that I can’t actually wear it anymore.  And I took it off.

On that day I told three people we were going through a divorce.  And then three more.  I do not feel married anymore.

No matter how long this process is or how long that piece of paper takes to come through, it is over.  We are no longer married.

This is just the details of that process.

The upcoming m&f (mediation and facilitation) meeting has got me feeling anxious and terrified.  I feel like I am going to be stepping into a room that I am ill prepared to face, and I am terrified of going there.  I know it is a process and we will all sit there like grown ups, but I am not sure I am quite ready to be that grown up, not today.

Every part of me is screaming to postpone to just give myself a few more days to get my head into the right place.

I have asked to postpone it.

I do realise that pushing out and rescheduling something that is horrible and frightening, is not the best way to deal with a heightened anxiety issue.

Anxiety is a bitch, and she crawls in and whispers.

Eventually you can’t actually remember what the problem was because she has created an entirely different set of issues, fueled by anxiety and your mind winding out of control.

So that is how I am feeling today.  Riding that Anxiety Bitch into the sunset as I drink a large glass of wine and listen to Eminem (yep, that tells you something about my mind set right now)

I do want this divorce over with.

I want to click my heels three times like Dorothy and I want it all to be done.  And dusted.

I just do not want to go through the process as we divvy up our lives — it is now down to a spreadsheet, costs, and who should pay and how much ……. cheese and rice how the hell did we get here?

It doesn’t really matter anymore.  We are here.

And no we are no longer married.  But why am I so reluctant to click that stooopid button on Facebook?  But that bitch is getting clicked tomorrow.  Not today, I am just going to stare at it a bit more and sip my wine and listen to Slim Shady.

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The art of drowning ……….. part two of the story

I gave a talk recently and left writing or preparing anything until the night before, and then I sat bleary eyed cobbling some thoughts together.  I used a bit of this “looking at my journey with Reluctant Mom” so I am sharing it with you here.

Looking back over a few years of Reluctant Mom ….. part two

The first part is here if you wish to catch up on the “story”  …. and this is the follow on to that piece.

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The art of drowning ……

My daughter suckled non-stop.

I became adept at doing everything whilst she fed.  I could not put her down as she would immediately spring awake and start to SCREAM. Not meow like a newborn, but scream like a maniac.

She showed every symptom of colic, without actually having colic.

She screamed non-stop and only stopped if she was feeding, or being rocked to sleep.  If one more person looked at her screaming and said “are you sure you have fed her enough” I was seriously going to stab someone in the head with a squirrel.

I learnt to sleep sitting up straight in bed whilst doing this mad rocking motion to just get her to sleep.

I rocked her whilst I sat on the toilet, I rocked her when I was working on my computer.

I rocked her whilst doing everything.

I was always feeding her, which though is supported by various breast feeding organisations it is hell on your nipples, and leaves very little time for niceties like napping, showering or teeth brushing.

I was a mess — I had visions of taking my daughter, my sweet gorgeous daughter and throwing her across the room.

I knew it would be very bad – but I fantasised about the few moments of peace I would have whilst she flew though the air.  Before she hit the wall.

I know I sound flippant about it now – but the thoughts of how to get her to be quiet and the absolute lack of sleep, and trying to juggle a house and two other children were draining to say the least.

I used to think about it —- and often.

Then I took myself along to a psychiatrist for a little chat and a script.  I wasn’t coping.  I was giving a semblance of coping, but the reality is that I was not coping.

I felt quite devastated that I just could not get this motherhood thing right.

I realised that this having babies was seriously hard work.  NO matter how much you prepared.  NO matter how much you thought you knew it all or read, you actually do not know how it is until you are there.

As a mom I felt that I could not explain to anyone how difficult it was.

How hard this process was, and how I felt like I was dying every day.

Drowning in it all.

Instead of being joyous and excited about life – I was exhausted, frantic and really not enjoying motherhood at all.

I doubted myself and wondered how on earth I could have got myself into this hole with three children, and a fast depleting grasp on sanity.

To be continued ……..

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