I haven’t written.

I haven’t updated.

I have thought and typed and said, “I need to…” But I haven’t.

Truth is, in kindness to self, and with hearty honesty, I’ve been busy.

My divorce was final August first. The next day, he left unceremoniously, like the whole 2-6 mo the of me asking why he stayed and when and where he’d go hadn’t happened. Poof.

And peace.

The littles have been peaceful, playful, and without the usual tantrums. That has been one of the biggest surprises.

And as I consider how and what to share next, I’ve just been busy. Sleep-deprived like a new parent. I haven’t been doing significantly more than I used to do, but striving, and weirdly driven to do it better.

Be tidy.

Be kind.

Live love as if it were the only thing I had to do.

And things have been okay. I’ve been okay. And that is good.

And as I considered writing (instead of catching up on work I’ve slipped behind on, or mopping the floors, or packing lunches, or taking a bath and reading,) I’ve found myself wanting to rewrite this story; to gloss over the rough, sharp edges, and make it less salty, as time and healing tend to do.

And I know I can, but I am also thankful for the wisdom that led me to put this story into present-truth-terms more than 2 years ago. Because of that wisdom, I won’t rewrite this story, at least not here. And that is the beauty of us being narrative creatures. We find, and make meaning out of our stories.

I’m now a single, divorced, working mother. It’s hard to dedicate the time to maintaining this, but I’ll keep trying. Some days, it’s still hard. And surprisingly, for me, despite my introversion and 23 days of singleness, I have been neither lonely or alone. Not even for 24 hours.

I have known loneliness that lasted for years.

And when she comes, I think, initially, I will welcome loneliness as a long known friend. And I’ll say, “You’ve changed.”

And she’ll say, “You have, too.”


May we all consider and explore with care the potential revisions to our narrative understandings. May we hold our stories with truth, and kindness, and loads of courage.

More to come… but for now, sleep beckons.


One thought on “Silence

  1. Hugs to you and your sweet family. I’ve been there, it’s bittersweet. Relief and hope. Wishing you all the best with what’s to come.


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