I can easily recall sitting on my bed, in the dark, mid-panic attack. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, felt like I was going to be sick and I asked God, should I stay and fight for our marriage, or accept that it was over long ago? It was the night he walked out on us, and could have gone either way at that point. (Marriage isn’t just a contract, it’s a promise, a covenant. Don’t think I don’t know that, just because I’m getting divorced.) With the knowledge that I had that night, I was willing to try anything to make it work. Trial separation, counseling, compromise. Less than half an hour after praying, my soon to be (now) ex-husband called, black out drunk, and detailed all the ways in which we were so over. [Thank you God, for such a clear answer.]
But did he think I would stay? Did he think he could admit to violating the sanctity of our marriage on several accounts and expect me to stay?
You know, that whole “for better or for worse” part of our vows? … I don’t think so. It’s a fine line of what I can say, and what I’m not supposed to say about him/against him but… I think he got exactly what he wanted. The life he always wanted, sort of.
And I think some day I will look back on nights like tonight, when my mind is fervently sorting through this mess and realize all this processing was necessary to move on. When my mind is searching for answers, for closure, I remind myself, not all baggage goes with you when you move on. It’s not all important.
Some of it isn’t important at all.