Intermission

If my life is divided into quarters, or four acts, then I guess I’m at the intermission and wondering what the second half will bring.

18 years of childhood and adolescence.

18 years of marriage and early years parenting.

36 down this year, what will the next 36 hold?

The end of the second act brought the kind of twist we pay good money for. The sudden change in direction that the readers, the viewers, weren’t expecting. To the outside eye, completely unexpected. Of course if you look a little closer, or were closer in proximity, you may have had your suspicions or at least not been quite as surprised. But for the majority, a shock.

So now I find myself, at almost 36, with three children, unexpectedly single. I never expected this, was so steadfast in the thought that we’d stick to the vows, to death do us part. Not to say that I don’t think the right decision has been made. But it’s thrown me nonetheless. Like choosing a route for a long journey only to get halfway there and find the main road closed, now I’m scrambling, looking at the alternative routes, trying to decide which one to take.

And maybe I don’t need to decide straight away. Maybe I need to take stock of where I’ve stopped and my surroundings before choosing a path. Because really, I’m not sure I actually know who I am. I’ve gone from my parents home, a brief foray into shared accommodation at university and then straight to living with a partner. Who I am now, alone? I know what I’m passionate about, what makes me tick. I know what gets me fired up, what I care about. But does that make a person? I’m not sure.

This juncture is overwhelming though. A rollercoaster of feelings, in the midst of feeling more adrift and unsteady than ever before, I wrote this.

They say that it’s a form of grief

five stages they say;

denial, anger, depression, bargaining and acceptance.

By no means a linear process,

more like an unpredictable and exhausting dance,

back and forth

back and forth

back and forth,

without warning,

keeping the dancer on their toes at all times

Dancing until their feet bleed,

and they collapse,

exhausted and aching,

knowing that tomorrow,

they’ll have to put on their shoes

to do it all over again.

Right now? I’m feeling like acceptance is becoming closer to grasp, but with it comes a crippling loneliness. I know that I’ll get through it, that it won’t always feel like this. But that is small comfort when you’ve had enough of the dance.

But I’ll get some sleep, and tomorrow, be ready to put the shoes on once more.