The Beginning of the End

It's August.

Twenty four days from now I will stand before a judge, and if all goes according to plan, my divorce will be final. The date has been on my calendar for months now, but something about entering this month makes it all feel...actually, there isn't even a single word for it, and I'm struggling to narrow it down. Real? Immediate? Bigger? More painful? Terrifying?

Twenty four days from now will also mark one year since finding out about my husband's affair. It feels partly like an alarming coincidence, but mostly like a strangely poetic ending to a year of chaos and nightmares. Symbolism is a big deal for me, so I'm grateful to only have one date to associate all of this with moving forward.

Part of me is so ready to finally put this year from hell behind me and move forward. Realistically, I know that nothing is going to magically be different or easier after August 24th. The only immediate changes will be my name and my marital status. But I'm also very aware that the end of this year and this chapter is also the beginning of the rest of my life. I have absolutely no idea what that looks like, and it's terrifying. But it's also all I've got, and it's mine to create. There's hope there.

The rest of me (most of me, really) is feeling the devastating weight of it all. The weight of a failed marriage. Grieving the loss of someone who isn't dead. Letting go of what I believed my life and future were and would be. Feeling seriously uncomfortable amounts of anger and rage at how I've been betrayed, how I've been treated, and what has been taken from me. Filtering through what my marriage, the affair, and the past year have taught me about myself, my identity, and my worth. Separating truth from lies. Fearing how other people will perceive me for being 27 and divorced. Fighting the shame that I feel because my husband chose another woman over me and our marriage. Fighting to believe the people I love and trust when they tell me that nothing is wrong with me.

August 24th will come and go, and all of this will still exist inside me. My heart will still be broken, and I will still have nightmares. I believe there will be a shift, but it's not going to dull the pain. If anything, I'm preparing for it to be worse for a while. Hope and grief are constantly at war in me. Grief wins almost every time. But I'm beginning to believe that the shift that is coming will give hope more space to grow. Grief is still a necessary pain, and it will be for a long time. But I think I'm ready for grief and hope coexist. Today, anyway. I'm still learning.

My mind and my heart are in constant states of chaos. It's taken me this long to accept that and let it be what it is. It's necessary chaos, and it's okay with me. The difficult part has been learning how to rest despite it. I still haven't figured out how. I'm an ocean learning my tides. I've never really been good at going with the flow.

But I'm learning.