The End of An Era

Isn't it funny how you can re-read posts from your own life and yet not identify with them at all?  I think that's how I feel about the last two posts certainly.  Can that possibly have been me?  Did I really feel that angry?

Life has moved on.  And about bloody time.

The past three months have been eventful.  The half term visit seems like a life time ago.  I like to think that I carried myself with my usual dignity...whilst inside I was simply seething at rage over the matching Mr and Mrs luggage that was parked unceremoniously in my kitchen.  Funny how it's the silliest things, the most banal evidence of his relationship with another woman, that hits me the hardest.

But here's the thing that really annoyed me the most...AG arrived in my house, after an 8 hour transatlantic flight, at 8am in the morning and looked...as fresh as a daisy.  Her make up was perfect, her skin flawless, her teeth shiny.  How did she do that?  Is that purely an advantage of youth, which I never fully appreciated at the time?  Not fair.  I had merely to step out of bed and walk 15 steps down the stairs to the kitchen and I looked more exhausted than she did.

The boys scampered around AG, holding her hand and dragging her to each room of the house.  I smiled wanly through gritted teeth and tried to avoid an inane conversation with Ex as we waited at the foot of the stairs.  I finally managed to drag my own suitcase out of the house and decamp to my friend's, before swanning off to Stockholm to visit a friend for a few days.  The change of scenery did me the world of good - it started to dawn on me that I need to seize these opportunities to grab life by the scruff of the neck and do my own thing, so I can stop being so fixated on the comparative lives of others.

Once home again I impulsively joined a gym, signed up for 3 months of eHarmony, started Ceroc dancing lessons twice a week, satisfied my inner Torvil and Dean by learning to ice skate, joined a local Rock Choir and also began to officially volunteer at the boys school two days a week.  I also coordinated daily play dates for the boys and harangued mums that I particularly liked the look of to meet me for a coffee, so I could force my friendship upon them.

It was all a bit mad.  It was all a bit much.  After a couple of months the Rock Choir fell by the wayside and, as the weather has been so glorious, so has the ice skating.  But it succeeded in kick starting my life again, with an optimism and energy that I haven't felt for a long time.  I no longer felt in limbo - simply waiting to be in a position so my life could start again.  This was it.  I was galvanised into action and it felt fantastic.

At Easter I agreed to take the boys to Chicago, to visit their dad for a couple of weeks so that he could spend more time with them.  I was dreading the trip.  I had no compulsion whatsoever to revisit Chicago and return to the city where my life had taken such unexpected twists and turns.  I coordinated a hectic social calendar, arranging to see my friends as a distraction from being in the one place on earth that I really did not want to be.

Yet in the end, it was a much needed trip that laid many ghosts to rest.

I woke up the first few days, staying at my friend's beautiful loft apartment, gazing out at the sun coming up over the concrete jungle that is Chicago in the Spring, and my heart reflexively palpitated to a point where I felt constantly nauseous.  It was as though I had never left.  I felt a sense of panic that I hadn't felt for a long time in London.  I spoke to the boys daily and their tales were of people that I didn't even know - some of them AG's family - and I felt berefit that my children have a life that doesn't involve me at all.  It's an unnatural feeling.  I felt simply lost without them and my whole body ached to be around them again.  The fact that they were gaily going about their lives and I wasn't a part of it whatsoever, felt like a physical wound.

I felt more than a little bit lost and confused by the feelings of familiarity with my surroundings - I just wanted to pick holes in the city that had been my home for half my adult life, to re-convince myself I had done the right thing in moving away.

But I couldn't ignore how fantastic it was to see my friends.  These women who have meant the world to me over the past 2 years. The trip highlighted how much I missed them and how big the hole is in my life without them in it on a regular basis.  Women friends do that to you, don't they?  Family is critical, but friends?  They're the best.

On the last day of the trip two very unexpected things happened.  First, I got officially divorced.  Ex and I had been wrangling over one aspect of the agreement, which finally got resolved when I was in Chicago.  So on my final day in town I turned up at court with my lawyer, and Ex turned up with his, to get the divorce done and dusted by the judge.  I didn't want to go.  I can't tell you how much I really didn't want to go.  Feelings of panic re-emerged and the thought of having to face up to the reality of the divorce - with Ex by my side - made my skin feel as though it was on the verge of breaking out in pustulous hives.

Ultimately, like many things that I have dreaded and don't feel capable of facing head on, I was so grateful that we faced that rite of passage together.  That we both acknowledged the end of an era as a couple - almost our one last show of solidarity.  It was emotional.  It was poignant.  It was therapeutic.  It was closure.  After 2 hours of waiting in a court room, making small talk and both slightly on edge, we finally stood before the judge, with our lawyers between us, and listened as the end of our marriage was read aloud in legalese.  It felt quite momentous.  It felt tremendously sad.  It was incredibly official.

With my own blurry, tear filled vision, I watched Ex's eyes also well up with tears.  We looked at each other with sympathy and understanding.  And ultimately, although our lawyers tried to usher us out of the room separately, we drew together and walked out of the courtroom with our arms around each other, as we have comforted each other over the years, many times before.  Outside the courtroom Ex held me tight and refused to let go.  I could tell he was quietly crying.  I was quietly crying.  It was a mutual acknowledgement of our combined disappointment that the marriage, which we had set out on so optimistically over 12 years ago, had come to an end.

But not a bitter end actually, inspite of the past few months of angst and envy that I have felt.  Not a bitter end at all.

In fact I felt almost an instant release - a sense of calm and closure, mixed with pure exhaustion and an element of elation that I wouldn't have to wake up to stressful messages from my lawyer anytime soon.  A weight had been miraculously lifted.  The monkey on my back had ceased trying to strangle me with it's strange, strong feet-like hands.  I felt free.  I felt relieved.  I felt proud that, for the most part, I have conducted myself like the person I would most like to be, rather than following my primal instincts of destruction, retaliation and revenge.

And then I went out to get shit-faced.

Well, you know me - forever the dignified, sophisticated woman of the world.

Actually, the last thing that I felt like doing was going out that night.  My bags were packed and I had nothing to wear.  After such an unexpectedly eventful day, all I wanted to do was sleep.  But it was my last night in town and my amazing friends from Book Club were going out, so it seemed a little churlish not to join them.

Fast forward a couple of hours and we are bar hopping.  I am struggling to keep up with the alcohol consumption - my third drink is making my head spin and my stomach lurch.  This could get ugly...I think to myself, as I set my drink down.  The last thing I need is a hangover for the flight home with the boys and the subsequent jet lag we are going to be subjected to.

My friends are in fine form - raucous and slightly outrageous.  I feel so sad to be leaving.  I miss these opportunities to let my hair down - Chicago is such an easy town to socialise in (although on reflection I had been bored to tears by the bar scene in the 6 months previous).  My attention is focused on my girlfriends and our ongoing banter.  We are joking about some of the young men around us, as some of my friends are getting hit on.  There's no point in me engaging in flirtation at this point, so I watch my friends and soak up the energy around me.

As I am reviewing the people filling up this trendy bar on a Wednesday night, I spot a man across the room. Well, in all fairness, it's hard not to spot him.  He has to be at least 6ft5" tall, so is easily head and shoulders above everyone else there.  I nudge the friend next to me.  "Now THAT is the sort of man I totally like," I tell her, before we seamlessly return to our conversation.  It's getting late.  I feel drunk and tired and want to leave.  I am persuaded to stay for another half an hour at least, but know I will reap the consequences of this the next day.  Ugh.   The flight home.  I can't stand the thought of it.

Just as I am about to make my apologies and leave I get jostled from behind and turn to find the attractive tall man behind me.  We talk and he is funny and smart and, in a heartbeat, I am seriously regretting the fact that I am leaving the next day.  I instantly feel drawn to this stranger and completely at ease.  I haven't felt this for a very long time.  My whole body surges with energy and suddenly I don't want to go home at all.

Great timing Universe.  What on earth's the point of that, then?

Oh God, being smitten with an American....my friends are going to KILL me.

And....Breathe

Phew - I was a little unhinged last week, wasn't I?


I am willing to admit now that my reaction was slightly over-the-top but, my God, it felt so amazing to just vent.  By the time I went to bed that evening I felt totally calm, all my anger and frustration had dissipated.  My goodness, this blog is better (and a darn sight cheaper) than therapy.


It has been a hard week - but at the end of it, and with a lot of breathing, I have reached a position of both acceptance and clarity.


The day following the Revelation ex and I had possibly the most open and honest phone conversation we have ever had.  We discussed his new girlfriend and he apologised profusely.  He brought up the subject of moving home and confirmed it is definitely on the cards but probably not for at least another year.  We talked about the approach we want to take regarding the divorce and I laid bare my feelings of vulnerability regarding financial support for the short-medium term.  He was gracious, open and honest and by the time we hung up I was feeling almost euphoric.  It felt like such a weight had been lifted.  It's amazing what can happen when you simply remember to breathe.  (Note to self: try it more often.)


A couple of days later ex calls to tell me that he is taking New Girlfriend to the UK for a few days and is planning to introduce her to our friends and his family.  


Cue instant feelings of being sucker punched all over again.  Breathe Nicola, breathe.


I gather all the dignity I can muster and act all perky on the phone, as if this information doesn't matter to me one jot.  Ex is going to the UK to attend his grandmother's funeral - a woman I greatly admired and I so wanted to be there with his family to pay my last respects.  This is now not a privilege I am entitled to apparently.  I swallow the bile in my throat and make an attempt to be jovial and grown up when ex confesses "C has never been to London, so this is a good opportunity...."  He trails off.  I bite my tongue before I retort 'well she has a passport at least' or 'is this her first time out of the country?'  


Instead I lamely joke, "well, I hope she likes it because she may well be living there for many years to come..." and then of course feel even worse when ex responds, "well exactly".


I make a valiant attempt to soothe my hurt feelings by heading straight to Bloomingales and making a mass purchase of new boots.  Hah!  You might have met the new Love Of Your Life - but that's okay because I have sexy new designer footwear bought at a steal.  


But by the evening I am a wreck again and seek solace in several chocolate martinis with a girlfriend, while gazing lovingly at my new boots.  Can you complete me?  I ponder somewhat drunkenly, as I gaze at my fat athletic calf squeezed tightly into soft brown leather.  The realistic answer is that they are just boots and barely complete my outfit.  Maybe new jeans then.  There's nothing a great pair of jeans can't resolve, surely?


The weekend plods on and once again, within 24 hours I have gained a slightly more generous perspective and am no longer fantasising about kickboxing anyone to death.


Monday is a national holiday and ex has the boys in the morning and meets me at midday so I can take the boys to a play date, before taking them back to his at 4.30pm for a sleepover.  Unbeknown to me New Girlfriend was with them but at the switch over I didn't meet her.  In the afternoon I got a text saying 'am going for a run...can we say 5 instead of 4.30?'  I had spent the afternoon in tears about him and NG and wasn't willing to be flexible.  Cut your bloody run short, arsehole, I thought and stick to the agreed time.  I have plans.  So I texted him that I wanted to keep to our 4.30 time.  No reply.  Obviously already out running.

I turn up at 4.45 and as I drive up see him and a woman hugging by the front of his building.  The infamous NG obviously.  My heart starts to palpitate.  I am not ready for meet her.  Don't want to meet her.  Just want to slap her.  Or him.  Or both of them.  Just want to burst into fresh tears.  But of course I don't.  I stick on a friendly face and greet ex and hand over the boys and go and say hello to her.  She is pretty, looks like a really nice person, she smiles broadly at me...I feel as if I am in purgatory.  Ex hugs me and I kiss the boys gaily, all smiles, and repeat how nice it is to meet her.  I get in the car and drive off...and burst into tears.

I cry all the way to Bloomingdales feeling as if my world is imploding.  I call two friends and continue to cry and cry and cry.  I want to email ex and tell him how I am feeling.  I feel so angry that he is probably thinking 'well, that went well', as he hugs the new woman in his life.  I can't stand the thought that he is on top of the world and feel an intense urge to create chaos - any form of chaos - to destroy it.

I buy more boots.  Because of course that is going to make me feel better. New boots.  Miracle cure.

I cry all the way home.  Another friend calls and we talk and talk.  She tells me I am being too nice - but really, NG does seem very nice and what possible reason do I have to dislike her?  Despite that, I am still seething that he is now 'a couple' and feel confident that now all the weekends with the boys will be spent with her and I can't stand the thought of their happy little family unit.  


That should be me! my head screams.  I continue to cry.  The predictable unfairness of it - that he can move on so easily with this younger woman and I am left out in the cold - makes me want to hurt him so badly.

I go to my Kabbalah class, still in tears.  Certain that I cannot be the bigger person.  That I want to show him how much this hurts and not be accepting and supportive.  Of course, I know deep down that it won't accomplish anything.  I don't care.  I continue to plot my next move.  The evil little movie in my head plays vivid images involving a combination of violence, blood and screaming of an R-rated nature.

The class starts.  My mind drifts.  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Zeir Anpin.  99% energy.  The bigger picture.  Heard it all before.  Not interested.  Next.

And then the lecturer plays a video of the brain scientist who had a stroke and experienced the expansiveness of the right side of her brain, as her left side was being incapacitated.  (The video is on Ted.  Her name is Jill something or other.  It is long but really worth watching.  Of course if I was a thoughtful and generous blogger I would paste a link here...but no).  


And my whole perception shifts.

Things become clear.  I need to stop focusing on ex's happiness and thoughts on how much I want that to fall apart.  I need to start to focus on my happiness.  If there were no obstacles, what would I choose to do?  How would I be living my life right now?


It doesn't take a brain scientist to come up with the answer.  First of all, I would move home.

Of course.  Why put my life on hold for anyone any more?  I know where I want to be - why wait any longer than necessary?  So I am planning on moving home this summer, with the boys.  Watch out North London - I am heading home.  I feel such a relief knowing that this is what I really want I feel instantly relaxed about ex and NG.  I feel in such a position of clarity about my future - and so excited about finally being able to start afresh, that I am truly thinking, 'you know, I really do hope this works out for you if this is how it is going to be - go be happy...and I will go be happy.'

These thoughts and feelings consume me all evening.  I can't sleep.  There are so many things I want to say to ex that I don't want to be left unsaid.  I get up at 1am and write an email to him which expresses exactly how I am feeling.  It's open and honest without being overly sentimental.  I write from a new found sense of peace with the present and excitement for the future.  


I am taking control of my destiny, at long last. 


I am going to continue to respect ex's position in my life - and this new sense of clarity doesn't automatically make me love him any less, even though his attention in that arena is well and truly diverted.  But first and foremost I am going to respect myself a whole lot more, have confidence in my ability to do it alone - and have the gumption to live the life that I need to live.


Blimey o'reilly - can this be true?  Can I finally be growing up at the ripe old age of 42?


I think there's a chance that my 40s might be the best years of my life after all.