photo courtesy of the author
Eyes feeling tired? Take a listen to the full essay below. I'd love to read it to you.
*I hope you'll excuse the few, minor flubs. What can I say, sometimes the truth is imperfect.
I didn’t want to write anything about our divorce because I was afraid of what I would find. Or not find. What if it opened up a chasm in me that I couldn’t shut off? What if I cried and couldn’t stop crying? What if I couldn’t cry? What if it meant I still loved you? And that I had made a huge mistake?
So I got really good at getting busy. I made tea and cleaned my apartment. Listened to podcasts and meditated. I got good at working on myself and in myself and out of myself. I cut my hair and went to New York and LA and I took a lot of baths (so many baths). I put up string lights and told myself I didn’t have to write about it, think about it, talk about it because I was fine, and I was healing. I told myself writing about it would be a betrayal. And that because I didn’t know what I would find, it was best not to find anything at all.
But then one day during a global pandemic, I got my period and took a walk and cried a lot and listened to Oprah. And Caroline Myss told me there was a fire inside me …. So, of course, I did the dishes and made a slow cooker meal and meditated; as if preparing for some event I didn’t know how to prepare for. And then I opened my computer and I started writing. To you.