I’m on a plane right now, traveling to see two old friends in Utah. A bit of a last minute “Girls’ Trip,” my invitation came by way of text. “Come to Park City Jan. 27. Just say yes.” And I, in uncharacteristic spontaneous fashion, acting without detail (difficult for a hard core planner), booked a flight on the prescribed dates, trusting in hotel accommodations and plans made by others. I don’t know what called to me exactly-; the chance to unwind with no agenda, my bum knee prohibiting any skiing – the invitation from two girls who had known the pre-marriage me, pre-divorce me and the me that was now a proud divorcee – or the vision of a snow-covered town ripe with romance and quaint winter coziness? Regardless, I was on my way.
The eve of this trip made me nostalgic. Sitting with my boyfriend over plates of sushi, I shared with him my rambling mind. Something about the trip had transported me to my pre-kid adventures, then on to the newborn & divorce stage, (whose co-existence make that a time I rarely re-visit, for reasons of trauma and for fear of the emotions I didn’t have time to feel) – to the sweet side of that life- as a single mom of two tiny strangers – who would soon become my reason for living.
And the strangest feeling arose. And I don’t say it as a cop out- or as a way of glossing over the hard parts. I know some of those unprocessed memories are still there, and I know I must re-visit them at some point. But while I shared stories and pictures from that chaotic and confusing time, I felt victory. VICTORY.
For those who don’t know the truth of my past, my mind had transported me to a time when my hard-won Invitro twins were 15 months old. My husband at the time hadn’t spoken to me in 8 months, though we lived in the same home. His parenting responsibilities started at none when he shut us all out in May, and gradually increased to 4 hours once a week, after a successful email negotiation designed to give me a much needed break. I was a few weeks away from finally giving up; and moving out. As I said. It’s not a place in my past I revisit often.
In survivor mode as I was, I couldn’t acknowledge that what I was doing was fucking hard. Absolutely terrifying. When people would say, “I don’t know how you do it!” I’d brush it off with a brusque, “What choice do I have?” As if accepting their awe and praise would somehow make the struggle too real – as if admitting the truth might break my resolve, might diffuse the effective fog I’d laboriously thrown over my situation.
So sitting in the safety of a softly-lit restaurant, across from a stable and secure partner who valued and respected me at levels deeper than I’d known, I was finally free to accept the win. And bursting silently with pride, I shared with him some of my truth. I showed him pictures of our weekly jogs to Starbucks – two 15-month old babies in a Schwinn jogger with a tired but determined mom who showed up religiously at the shop a mile or so away. For respite from my silent and angry home, and joyful oatmeal (them) and a Latte (me) and most importantly peace. If I’m honest, I’ll admit that even in those moments I was proud. The jog was less about losing the baby weight than it was about proving to the world that I was strong and able. That I could do this. The staff and regulars at Starbucks regarded me with a certain affection, a bit of awe.
In that fragile time, though I convinced myself otherwise, I very much doubt I hid the hurt on my face, the fear in my eyes. And in that I found compassion. From the fellow diners who opened the door for us, to the many people who stopped to admire my babies to the Baristas who knew just what we wanted. Perhaps my vulnerability tapped something in people that allowed such behavior, or maybe in that state I was simply desperate to see it.
So now, four years out from those haggard days and fearful nights, I am finally ready to declare victory. I’ll stop short of a Mission Accomplished banner on an Airforce carrier. I know the battle is not over, nor fully won. I know there are frustrations and fears ahead of me. I know there is another court battle looming, another nasty challenge from my ex in my email box. No, the victory is not legal. It’s not formal. It’s mental.
It’s arriving on the other side of a very long, very dark tunnel, and knowing that the world is still difficult, still challenging and still uncertain; but admitting to myself and to those who have been with me through this battle that I’m proud of what I did. That there was great joy in the midst of fear and adrenaline and disappointment. And that I can celebrate that time, and even face it now – proud of the person who emerged from the other side. Despite the tears, the failings, the poor decisions and the wrong ones. Without the darkness, there could be no light.
Today I celebrate the light.
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