Sunday, March 21, 2010

Life wasn't meant to be easy...

How many times have I heard those words?? I don't think I could tell you. But the shame of it is that I've only ever heard half the quote, until last week that is. "Life wasn't meant to be easy, my child, but take courage: it can be delightful!" Such gold from Mr Bernard Shaw. Oh how this resonated with me.

I've just come through an incredibly shitful week - plumbing dramas which left me without a toilet at the flat for 24 hours and a god awful mess to clean up, things amped up with my lawyer and the Ex, work was busy, Uni is back in full swing and on thursday morning I was laying foetal on the bed crying. It had gotten all to much and I was overwhelmed. I've realised that since handing things over to the lawyer, I have let my protective guard down. After nine months I was too exhausted to keep battling, so now I am trying to regroup. The only problem is that when there's so much in my head and I'm feeling run down, these kind of stresses seem to crush me.

But it's funny what a difference 24 hours can make. On friday after work, I caught up with a group of friends for dinner, and Peter was home for the weekend. On saturday we caught up with a friend for lunch for his birthday, and spent the day with our faces towards the sun chatting about everything. That night I slept like a log. It felt like the first good sleep for a week. Friday night was a particularly weird one, as I tossed and turned for what seemed like forever. And that was because when I arrived home, Peter said the Ex had left a message on the machine. The letter from the lawyer requested he not contact me directly, and that all correspondence should be done through her. I was terrified, as this was the second phone call in three days. With heart pounding and stomach tightened I pressed the flashing red button. I heard his voice, more like his old self, saying he was trying to contact the lawyer but wanted to let me know that he was taking steps to get the house on the market asap, and that he didn't want to hurt me any more. Hence - the restless night.

I have waited to hear this for so long. I'm not out of the woods yet, but I can only take him on his word, and hope that he's going to be more reasonable. I didn't want to hate him, but after such a long time of copping abuse post breakup, I was angry and tired. It's taken a while to sink in that we might be through this soon. And I can move on with my life.

I'm lucky in that I have many wise and loving friends. Morfia had said a while ago, how these things take longer than you hope or expect. Daniel (who's had two divorces) said that things will get worse before they get better, highlighting that when you get to the business end of separation settlements it can be painful, but then suddenly it's just not there any more to worry about. Their words stay with me, as I take each step. And on friday night over dinner, Dee said that through all of this I've handled myself with dignity and grace. I could have cried. These are two words I wouldn't usually associate with myself, but I have tried hard to be reasonable and understanding.

So here I sit on a quiet sunday night. After spending the weekend in Peter's fabulous company and loving arms, the hell of last week seems a distant memory. I feel hope again. Hope that the end really is in sight, and that the new life that has beckoned for so long can begin properly without the past being an ever present consideration. And again those words ring loudly "Life wasn't meant to be easy, my child, but take courage: it can be delightful!" It may well be darkest before the dawn, but I think I am beginning to see the first real glimmers of the morning light. And as scary as it all is, I can't wait to turn my face to the sun and smile.