Hesitation: the action of pausing before saying or doing something...doubt or reluctance.
Transformation: a marked change in form, nature, or appearance.
Celebration: the action of celebrating an important day or event... To observe [a day or event] with ceremonies of respect, festivity or rejoicing.
I've hesitated for much of my life. I was a shy child, bookish but tom boyish, I liked to be busy, moving around. I've always preferred to be around the edges, I've shied away from being center stage. Stage fright I suppose. The universe needs its underlings as much as it needs its shooting stars. As I grew into a woman, in me somewhere was the desire to be the kind of girl who jumped out of an enormous ornate cake, draped in ribbons, feathers and pearls! Pearls! Pearls! Pearls! Those kinds of girls, it seemed to me, were always laughing, and living, loving. They never seemed mean though, they just seemed insatiably happy with a desire to show this happiness for the whole world to see. Perhaps they had different life teachers than I did. I don't know.
Despite My Divorce Drama, I Feel The Need To Dance
I have resisted this desire to jump proudly, outlandishly, out of a cake, in garters and curls, always. On days like this, I do wonder why. I love cake and as a little girl would dress up in my mother's clothes. These past weeks, despite my dire divorce drama, I feel the need to dance. Note to self: in my post marriage universe, I will, I will, I will, take dance classes, all kinds of dance classes, maybe even the saucy ones. Well maybe not those ones just yet. There have also been years in my life, when I was committed to personal growth, to transforming how I looked, felt, thought. When I upgraded my life skills because I needed to, or just because I wanted to. When I set the barrier a little or a lot higher and did things I dared myself to do. It always felt good. I always felt like freedom wanted me to be part of her clan at those times and freedom like fortune, favors the brave.
I have also celebrated because I had cause to do so and also because I well, I just wanted to; it felt good to do so, at the time. Sometimes celebration came calling on me, sometimes I knocked, giggling in my glad rags, on her gorgeous welcoming door. Hesitation seems so significant in these strange months, when I am married still but not married at all. When I am a statistic-in-the-waiting. I have a court number to prove it. I am a Respondent and my husband of fourteen years is a Petitioner. We're being processed, in a municipal building somewhere nearby, as the world turns. We are moving as the minutes tick by from Mr. and Mrs. The kisses and commitment are long gone. We're just paperwork now and we're nearly there, we are nearly D.I.V.O.R.C.E.D., and we'll each be given a piece of official paperwork to prove it. Look at what we have achieved, the bells we heard as bride and bridegroom are now the bells we hear as we move on without one another because we are D.I.V.O.R.C.E.D.
After All These Years, We Get Paper In Exchange For Our Rings
We settled for paper when we had gold. My married name is soon to be no more; I am to return to my maiden name. How strange that will feel when I first begin to sign things; it took me so long to not sign my maiden name when we first married and now I'm back at square one. Such are the strange strings of separation. The chord of our commitment has been cut by strangers who we have never met, and oh how it hurts. It all seems so formal, official, hesitation I'm beginning to see was the touchstone of my marriage. I've worn its heavy coat more often then I dare admit. It seemed to make him happy you see and it was important that he always came first and I always, well followed, behind, him. Outlandish I know, but love makes you give, sacrifice and accept so much, too often. In return, retrospectively, I got so little apart from the moniker of, 'good wife', which I delighted in. Though that is, I see now, a trinket and no trophy.
I hesitated to be me so many times in my marriage. I hesitated to listen to that inner voice that just belonged to me, that never stopped tugging at my sleeve, telling me that something was not right, not fair, and not nice. 'Why are you letting yourself take so little?' 'Why are you always electing to take, the short straw? That inner voice was a first voice, the voice that was given uniquely to me. It was the voice I had inside me before I ever spoke my first words, certainly before I spoke my marital vows. It was my soul's voice you see, I know that now and it has always been present because it is here to help me. It is here to guide me in the contributions I make to life. It wants to help me to figure out life's potential and avoid its pitfalls. It only asks, that I speak truthfully about me, lovingly, and of course humorously about the other soul's of the world for they succeed and struggle just as I do.
I used this voice to pronounce my marital vows; how I loved him, how he alone knew me, got me, heard me, my soul's voice was jubilant, carefree, excited about the adventure it was going to have with its, soul mate. Our conversations would complete us, cover us from the crueler more critical corners of life because two together forever, are better than one. Right? My marriage crumbled over years, even though the announcement by him to end us, came out of the blue, threw me under the train, blind sided me, my marriage in truth, crumbled. It crawled, crying out all of its years of complaint to this finale that is our pre-divorce, the last miserable mile of our 'marriage'.
My 'marriage' is actually now going out on a whimper and not a bang. Perhaps because I loved him, we loved each other, my ego, plus his ego and our combined ego as husband and wife wanted to go this last mile, in the first awful days weeks and months, with drama, tears, screams, accusation. We did these things to each other but now, as we approach the inevitable and because our love has died, our love has died, it seems our heads are ruling our hearts. Now, it seems, we each just want this thing we made, our marriage, to be buried, peacefully, with dignity. With he and I as its most important witnesses.
We Must Endeavor To View Our Marriage With Some Amount Of Dignity
My marriage and my divorce seem now to be like a fairground's house of funny mirrors. I look strange, out of shape, in all its reflections and so does he. This mirror hangs in a land of mirages. Its incessant decibels of deceit have worn me out and I suspect him too. He had to ask for this, I had to agree to that request, he has to accept that he has got what he asked for, in his post marriage life and I have to accept in mine, that I gave, what was asked of me.
It's time to go back to the drawing board and find new dreams to dream. I know we two, he and I, cannot celebrate the death of our love, but our divorce is a civil ceremony, it is recognized by the state, just as our nuptials and marriage were. Though we might not rejoice on such a day, when it comes, we must endeavor, I hope, to witness it with some amount of respect and dignity for each other, if we are to survive its first strange seasons, as singletons.
To learn from our marriage, from the defeat that is our divorce, may help us to fly the nest-no-more with something I can only describe as a hope for our respective futures.
Hope: a feeling of expectation and desire for a particular thing to happen.
Hope, then, is my power, the trust in myself that I take, into the life that is waiting for me to take my place in it.
I will love again, not as I loved him, but I will love again... It seems love and I am not done with each other yet. I need love and it needs me.
(originally posted by a member of our private community. Join today and find encouragement and strength!)