In Search of a Happy Ending

My very first post on this blog was called "Bill Paying Night" and it had to do with how it feels to be singularly responsible for my life, without the help and support of a spouse. You can deduce, then, that I am a recently separated/divorced person. The truth is that the court date is still looming. Pretty soon, though, the chapter will be finished. Very soon, in fact.

Over the course of an over 2 year separation, I have written a small mountain of rants that may never see the light of day. They mostly have to do with what it was like trying to manage a marriage to an alcoholic person who is also, probably, dealing with other psychological issues. Because my children, and maybe even my precious mother-in-law, read my blog, I'm hesitant to say too much publicly--what it has been like to pull out of mental and emotional turmoil, and begin again, is something I have to avoid posting to the world.

I did, however, come across a little glimpse of my recovery, just today, that I had scrawled into a spare notebook in the dead of winter last year. I'm leaving it more or less as I originally had written it (there were some typos to fix). This I can share, and this, I hope, is worth a public posting:

I hope very much for a happy ending. One where love finds me and keeps me safe. One where my efforts are appreciated and cherished. I mean, actually: one where the human that I am is appreciated and cherished; an "ending" where I am not ashamed and my loved ones are not ashamed of me.

My greatest fear is that the future I am truly meant for will look much different than the images in my thoughts--so different that I may not see if for what it is and it may pass me by. Afraid of what feels comfortable, that I would find myself caught in the same trap as before. SUCH a great fear I have of this.

So I will speak to this fear, and I will say to it: "Thank you. Go ahead and hang with me for a little while. I want to use you to remind me of what I really want--I want you to help me to be patient until I can really imagine what my best future looks like. You'll be my gauge, won't you? I won't fear you, my fear. 

I will rely on you, instead. But I will outgrow you. I will say goodbye to you eventually. You will be like a faded scar and I will look on you with fondness someday, and remember the lessons I learned--because I won't be that former person who would make decisions out of fear, or who would fail to make decisions out of fear."

Fear. How my personal catastrophe had left me with so much fear! But fear can be put to good use, and it didn’t end up paralyzing me, thankfully. I forced it to give me wings. And with those wings I have been able to see from above, like a drone, and to plot a better course.