When I got married, I said the same vows with the same good intentions that everyone else does. I was in love and I meant it when I said "for better or worse" and "until death do us part". I looked into the intelligent hazel eyes of my new husband, and I was ready to work to build a strong stone home with him. We were going to show the world how it was done; we were going to overcome the legacy of my parents' divorce, of our grandparents' unhappy marriages.
We had dreamed of crafting our marriage into a comfortable home; resilient - with carefully masoned stone blocks; stable - on a meticulously laid foundation. And we had talked about how to maintain it together: stay ahead of the leaks, repair the cracks, update the windows, build future additions. He is an engineer and craftsman, I am an artist, and I could only imagine us building something beautiful, efficient and comfortable. I was excited to build that home, that future, with him.
I always seem to come back here, to this place of writing and sharing. It feels like a boulder on the shore - I may wash away in the tide for a while, but somehow I always end up washed back here.
It's now been nearly twelve years since my first post here. I was 18 when I started this blog for my Freshman English class; two months from now, I'll be 30 and freshly divorced.
There is much, of course, that I cannot and will not write about that last detail; I am not here to tattle or list grievances. Here is the short story: we were together for nearly 12 years, and now we are working on paperwork for our dissolution. No, there was no infidelity on either side. And no, I was the one who initiated both the separation and the dissolution. Yes, it was - and is - very painful. And yes, I do hope he quickly finds happiness after we part ways, even if it sounds trite.
And here I am, back here on this seaside boulder, washed ashore like a half-drowned man clinging to torn plank…