I mean, maybe it’s not? But *I* am. It was my choice, my decision. It’s necessary and it will be better for everyone. And yet, as I’m packing some of my most beloved things, I’m veering wildly between emotions. Wanting to cry, and then feeling accomplished with another box done, and then dancing to a particularly good song, and then back to teary-eyed. Other than after the birth of my kids, I don’t think I’ve ever been this emotional – and much of THAT was related to the wacky-ass chemicals in my body. It’s so…exhausting.
I’ve been doing pretty well, for the most part. But something about being so close to the actual move date (a week), and packing some of the stuff I’ve collected over the years is just tearing at my heart in so many unexpected ways. It’s not about the choice, necessarily? More, I think, about finally saying goodbye to the hopes and dreams that I had with this marriage. To really believing that it could be saved, and then hanging on even after I knew it probably couldn’t – just in case. To admitting, finally, that my dream had already died and it was time to go about picking up the pieces.
I’m trying so very hard to remember the advice of my aunt – to “feel all the emotions”. Not to hold them in. But that’s made harder by the fact that I’m essentially separating the family – our teen daughter is moving with me, and our adult son, who’s trying to save up money to move out, is staying with dad. And *everyone* is here while I’m packing, and I ask myself how I have the right to sit and sob in front of them when it’s *my* choice that has led us here. My choice not to live with the lies, and the hiding, and the drinking…to believe that I deserve better…to want to show the kids that there are consequences to actions, and that it’s never too late to stand up for yourself. But – it’s still my choice that has me packing now.
I have a feeling that after the move, there’s going to be some time where I’m just…tired. Crying. Hurting. And, hopefully, finally figuring out how to make peace with this new life.