Why is divorce literally hell? The marriage was supposed to be the hell, the divorce was supposed to be the relief. You sign a piece of paper, pretending like you’ll be able to erase your past, with hopes and dreams that the grass is greener on the other side. Well spoiler alert – the process itself is just as gut wrenching as the day you spent packing up your belongings and driving away. It’s that moment of saying goodbye to your dogs, and the house that was once yours every…single…day. It’s the memories of the good times replaying over and over in your mind, because for some reason the days you wanted to give up have been pushed aside in your brain as your body’s mechanism to heal. I know why I left, and I know how much pain and sadness I was in prior to leaving, but this… at this point still feeling this way… just is really unfair.

As if replaying moments in my mind throughout the day isn’t bad enough, I have had continual nightmares since I left. They stopped for a few months, but came right back. Since the last court date they have been becoming more vivid. When I wake up from the dream I am soaked, heart racing, gasping for a breath of air. I don’t understand how he still has the power to make me feel this way. How can one person control another even in their unconscious?

I was just getting out of the shower after working a double at the restaurant. My husband (then boyfriend) hadn’t touched me in a few days, which for us was completely off. He happened to come into the bathroom as I was drying myself off, mascara slightly running as it never completely comes off in the shower. As I wrapped the towel around my wet body I looked at him and asked if everything was okay… certainly not thinking that anything was wrong, but just wanting to hear him confirm. He lifted his right hand to my chin and turned my face over to a small section of the un-fogged bathroom mirror that had cleared itself and said “tell me, who would want that.”

I remember that moment as if it was yesterday, and now that’s all I constantly dream about. His tone, his face, the way his eyes looked as he looked at me through the mirror. His words completely shattered my every being. It was the beginning of me learning the rules if I wanted a to please him. I obviously knew that after work I had to shower, but I also had learned that my hair was not allowed to be wet – because who wants a “wet rat” on top of them. Also, being without makeup meant I was good looking for everyone else during the day, but disgusting for the only person that should matter at night. So after I showered I would put something flattering on and at least a little mascara. I hated myself so much back then that I would have done anything to feel loved by him. Can I blame him for wanting the girlfriend/wife that everyone else got to see? Just because I was exhausted from the continual doubles, working multiple jobs, didn’t mean that he wanted me any less – and I should be happy he wants me [sexy], right?

Anyways, the dream… Instead of my ex just saying “tell me, who would want that” – he continued to tell me everything that was wrong with me. Everything in the past decade that he used to say wrapped up into one horrible nightmare. “You’re too selfish to ever be a mother”, “You are just your mother“, “You care about looking good when you leave the house, but this is what I get?”, “You’re a horrible wife“, “What do you do for me?”…. The list went on but at the end of the nightmare he just kept calling me “Debbie” (my mothers name). I was up against the bathroom wall and slowly inching down the floor, hysterical, barely able to make out the words “stop, please stop.” And then I wake up. Drenched. Having to remind myself where I am, and that it was just a dream.

Sometimes I wonder if this is all a dream. One of these days I am going to wake up and say “wow, that was such a horrible nightmare.” I’d walk down the hallway listening to the squeaks of the floor boards as my “Memere slippers” rubbed against the wood, and enter the living room greeted by my chocolate lab, dachshund, and husband. Husband. I have to stop saying that. As of Monday (yes, Valentine’s Day – how f’ing ironic, I know) our divorce was finally approved. I thought that hearing the judges words on Monday would bring me this sense of relief; some ability to breath knowing there isn’t a dark shadow hovering over me, knowing that I can finally pick up the pieces of my life, and be happy again… In reality, it was just another day, just a random woman saying random words to us. It didn’t take away the pain of the past. It didn’t take away the pain of loosing an entire family that I loved more than life. It didn’t change anything.

I don’t regret my decision. I begged him for years to just love me. I know he did, but god… he had this magical way of making me feel like absolutely nothing. I chose to believe that happiness does exist, and its out there. I chose to be able to find a spouse I never will have to worry about coming home to at night. I chose to be a mother someday. I have to continually remind myself of everything I can have in my life now that I am no longer married to him. I have to keep telling myself that the grass will be greener.

Many people post “New Year, New Me”, as if a date… a tomorrow, actually changes anything. From 11:59pm to 12:00 am the only change is a minute; 60 seconds, and yet so many people in the world post about how their life will change once that moment comes.

I remember the first time I watched the ball drop on television. My grandfather was watching my siblings and I as my parents went out for the night. I was adamant that I was going to watch the ceremonial New York City ball drop and I fought my eyes closing with everything I had. I can still picture his living room, the smell of musk and wood from his shop in the basement below as I lay on the couch next to him in his recliner, my sister already asleep on the adjacent couch.

I continued to tell him how I was going to make it to midnight, nothing was going to stop me from experiencing that glorified moment of the clock striking 12, the past year disappearing, a new year beginning. I remember waking up my sister when it was time, sitting inches from the tv with her as we watched the shinning sparkling ball drop lower and lower, counting back the numbers to when the time was going to change – the anticipation and excitement was overwhelming. And just like that, the ball stopped peacefully, confetti released throughout New York City, couples grabbed their loved ones, everyone was cheering and smiling, and I looked at him and said “that’s it?” I remember his laugh, his deep chuckle, and he turned to me and said “that’s it.” I went to bed astonished that this is what people celebrated; I felt no different, there was not any magical feeling or incredible change as I thought would happen; I was the same person I was only a minute prior.

And so for the next 20 years of my life it would bother me when people posted about resolutions on New Years Day as if that one minute should be the reason that you have decided to grab your life by the balls and take charge of it. With that being said, this year I recant. If this year has taught me anything it has taught me that life is ever-changing. You never know what the next 60 seconds can bring. Sometimes people just need an opportunity to give them the courage to fight for the life that they want, and if that change of 60 seconds enables you to take that step toward the better you – then run at the New Year, in full force (with under armor if necessary).

This year is ending as it started for me. It’s ironic as I see foreshadowing in everyday situations and this one blindsided me. 11 months ago I stood up for something that I believed in, a change that was needed, in hopes that people woke up to realize that life truly is too short. Two weeks ago I walked into the same battlefield, and deja vu hit hard. The same tears were shed, the same emptiness over came me, and I lost the one thing that I worked to create for a third of my life. Now I sit here like the rest of the world, waiting for the clock to strike 11:59:59 so I can take my last breath in 2018 and find the courage to conquer 2019.

So how do I do this? How to I have the strength to move on and prove to myself (because that is the only person in this world that ever truly matters) that I have more worth than what my past self has allowed me to believe, and that I have the power to make the change to succeed in my future endeavors?

Stop expecting.

We cling to our expectations, because the expected is what keeps us steady. But in all reality, the expected is just the beginning, it’s the unexpected that changes our lives.

Realize that change is okay, it is actually normal.

Change is literally the only constant in all of science. It’s the way people try not to change that is unnatural. The way we cling to what things were instead of letting things be what they are. The way we cling to old memories instead of forming new ones. The way we insist on believing despite every scientific indication that anything in this lifetime is permanent. Change is constant. How we experience change, that’s up to us. It can feel like death or it can feel like a second chance at life. If we open our fingers, loosen our grips, go with it, it can feel like pure adrenaline. Like at any moment we can have another chance at life. Like at any moment, we can be born all over again.

Keep your dreams alive.

Understand to achieve anything requires faith and belief in yourself, your vision, hard work, determination, and dedication. Remember all things are possible for those who believe.

I hope that you find the power in the 60 seconds to create the life that you desire. I hope that you find the courage to overcome any fears of change. I hope that your 2019 is everything you dreamt it will be, and I hope you find the strength to create just that.

Happy New Year

“Looking back, it’s easy to see when a mistake has been made… to regret a choice that seemed like a decent idea at the time, but if we used our best judgment and listened to our hearts, we are more likely to see that we chose wisely and avoided the deepest most pain regret of them all – the regret from letting something amazing pass you by. ” – G.A.

The pain was sickening. I knew it was coming but it was still a breath taking blow. My stomach lay inside my chest and I thought I was going to be sick. As soon as he nodded his head up and down admitting his actions I fell to my knees crying. I never thought it would be like that. I thought I would be strong, be able to walk away. I guess I have just never been that in love with a person before.

Just last week my boss had made a statement “if my husband ever cheated I would be out in a heartbeat.” I smiled, didn’t say anything, nodded my head in agreement. Of course, because it is the common sense thing to do. Right? When you are with someone, married or not, there are rules (unless otherwise stated). In those rules, written in bold and underlined it states you are supposed to be honest and faithful to one person, and one person only. If someone breaks that rule, breaks your heart, you’re allowed to walk away. But the question is: can you? Can you physically walk away from someone you have been with for years? Someone you have pictured the rest of your life with? Husband… Father of your children… Partner.. Best Friend… Love of your life… Can you just walk away?

More ashamed than I was for being someone that was cheated on, I wanted him even more. I wanted him to hold me, prove to me it was the biggest mistake of his life and hold me until I literally felt all the love that he had for me. More than trust in the fact that he wouldn’t ever hurt me again, the trust in the fact that he really did love me the way I love him flew completely out the window. So how do you repair yourself? How do you build yourself back up and believe that everything happens for a reason; what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger; life will go on and forgiveness will set you free?

-A

Over the past seven years at the restaurant I have learned more than any professor taught me in all the years I went to college. All the years pertaining to the fact that it took me seven years to graduate because I had no idea what I was doing with my life. Straight out of high school with a 3.7 GPA I wanted to start school right away and be done before everyone else. I pictured that professional job, dress-suit attire, heals everyday and flagging down cabs to rush to meetings in the city. Boy was I wrong.

I always wanted to work with children, and I had an amazing woman in my life, Dr. Martha Colliens, who inspired me to want to be a child physiologist. So the summer of 2007 I started at Worcester State College. I loved it. At first. And then I was sitting in a class and we were talking about scenarios. Scenarios of what we would do and the professional way to act if a child told us something traumatic about their past or present. We read a story about this child that was touched inappropriately by his stepfather for years. He kept complaining of headaches and the mom kept bringing him to the doctors who swore nothing was wrong and that maybe he should see a physiatrist. The child ended up telling his physiatrist that his father loved him differently than other fathers loved their sons and explained how they expressed their love for one another every week. After the teacher told us how to handle the situation and how often this happens to young children around the world I was instantly sick and angered. I knew that there was no way that as a profession I could listen to young children tell me horror stories and not want to go and physically hurt someone who has done something so horrible. Child phycology was out.

Spring Semester of 2008 I started at Becker College. My mother was an amazing seamstress, and I had worked in her shop for years working with several Interior Designers – it was something I knew, something I loved, something I was good at. I assumed that taking after my mother would just be my path. I went to Becker for two years, one of which I stayed in a dorm, got moved into a private room after my roommate didn’t like me, and then moved back home in the middle of one of my semesters because worse than the hellish roommate I had was the single room with a width that was the length of my tiny twin bed, a closet that was an old gym locker and it was located on the men’s side on the house. I remember sitting in a furniture class, yes that’s right, I took a class just on furniture, and all of a sudden I asked myself “what in the world am I doing with me life?” I wasn’t happy, I didn’t care what the teacher was explaining. There was a picture of a Louis the Fourteenth chair in the slide show being projected on the wall and she was going on and on about the detail, the high back, and by looking at the legs you could tell it was authentic… and I walked out. I was paying almost $40k a year to learn about furniture? Interior Design was out.

I didn’t want to waste any more time in my life so I went right back to Worcester State and started taking classes on Early Childhood Education. I thought I could help children by teaching instead of trying to help with personal problems. I would still get the young child interaction but be able to sleep at night. Everything was just okay. I wasn’t thrilled, it didn’t move me. I felt like a career was like a relationship, and when you found the right one to be in for the rest of your life there would be butterflies and happy thoughts. The image of that business woman in the dress-suit kept popping back into my head. The classes bored me, and before I knew it I was in the registrars office withdrawing from my classes. Early Childhood Education was out.

So I took the best advice I could find and took a year off from everything. By this point I had been living with my ex for two years already. He was a plasterer by trade, and a pot dealer by career. I worked two jobs to pay for rent and groceries, and was barely ever home. When I was home my time was spent cleaning up the dirty dishes or doing batches upon batches of laundry because for some reason the filth was never ending. He soon became unemployed because of layoffs at his job, but I couldn’t complain considering his unemployment checks were more than my income working 12 hour days. A normal person would have ended the relationship the day he spent over $500 at a lamp shop, and explained it was his new business as he opened the doors to our walk-in closet and showed me his new grow arrangement. He had not only cut a hole in the side of the apartment for irrigation purposes, but our clothes were in a ball on the bed, because his new business was much more important than our clothes. The obsession grew from the occasional bowl to harder substances that emptied our bank accounts. I saw our friends going down worse paths, getting hooked and spending hundreds of dollars a day and stealing from their family to do so. I wanted out but I knew I needed to better myself and have a cushion to fall back on, and to be honest, I loved him. I knew he loved me and I really couldn’t ask for any more. I prayed that he would want more some day too.

I started going back to a Community College and taking core classes that I would need for any degree. I paid cash so the endless amount of college bills I already had didn’t add up anymore than they needed to be. I still had the same two jobs to make ends meet, and with school – I really was never home now. I left the apartment one day, kissed my boyfriend goodbye, he was laying on the couch stoned out of his mind, half asleep but watching Sabrina the Teenage Witch. I came home a few 16 hours later, exhausted to him passed out in the same position, on the same couch, and reruns of Sabrina the Teenage Witch was still running. I knew it was time for me to leave, and the next day I was gone.

I started going to NA for support, the kind of support a friend or family member couldn’t give. It was an amazing feeling being able to talk to others who have been in my exact shoes, who didn’t criticize me for my actions, and who inspired me to be better. With the help and endless strength that the love of my life who I am with now gives me daily, I finished my associates at the local Community College. I transferred to Nichols College where I got my bachelors degree in one year and graduated with a 4.0 in Business Administration. I still think that the business woman in the dress-suit, waving down the cab in the city to get to her next appointment is still in me. But every time I think of where I came from, and the path I took to get here, I have to be proud that I am not that girl that I once was. I have learned from my mistakes, I have grown in a million ways, I am independent and responsible but most importantly, I am not embarrassed of where I have been.

-A

I have spent the vast majority of my life trying to forget my past. Past is a tricky thing. It is where a person comes from, often times what has molded them into what they are today, but to most a past is full of many regrets, many mistakes, many things that they wish they could go back in time and change.

As the infamous Grey has said “We have to make our own mistakes. We have to learn our own lessons. We have to sweep today’s possibility under tomorrow’s rug, until we can’t anymore, until we finally understand for ourselves, what Benjamin Franklin meant: That knowing, is better than wondering. That waking, is better than sleeping. And that even the biggest failure, even the worst, most intractable mistake, beats the hell out of never trying.”

So we all make mistakes, we all have a past. What does that mean exactly? Should we embrace the memories that haunt us in our dreams? I have found that being honest about my past has helped me in the most amazing way possible. It started by going to NA 4 years ago. I remember driving to the church I found on map-quest for the first time. It was dark and I was headed to a dirty disgusting city where I felt people “like me” belonged. I was disgusted by my actions and the decisions that I had made and I wanted more than anything in the world to change the path that I was traveling. I will never forget my first meeting, when I heard other people talk, heard about other people’s mistakes and realized… I was never alone. All the nights I spent trying to numb myself because I was the only one in the world that felt a particular way, was all for nothing.

Today, over 3 years being completely sober, I realize that it is okay to remember my past. Sometimes, even if it makes me cry, its good to remember where you come from. It really makes you appreciate where you are today and makes you proud of the person you have become.

-A