If you’re like me, you can write what you can’t say and that is really helpful. I mean, I wrote copiously to my former husband after he left me even though I never showed him what I wrote. I wrote what I couldn’t say to him directly because he was so disconnected. I wrote to figure out what the hell happened. I wrote to voice my concerns. I wrote to get out the misery that was engulfing me and trying to drown every part of the me that was still trying desperately to hold it together. I wrote to rid myself of depression. I wrote to find myself again. I wrote for me.
I wrote and wrote and wrote. Poems, letters, diary entries, prayers to find help when I was at my wits end. I listened to music (like Enya) while I wrote. I talked for hours with trusted friends who were infinitely patient. I recalled and regurgitated episodes between my STBX (soon-to-be-ex) and me trying to figure out what went wrong and how I was to blame. And yes, I blamed myself for the longest time. I was depressed. I mustered up enough energy to get the kids off to school and then crawled back into my wounded soul hole to swirl in disbelief once again…and write for hours.
After he left, it was a big awakening when I realized that I could actually breathe again. In hindsight, I see that it was all my limited belief that we were married for life that was shattered so completely that my heart and mind couldn’t let go. And it took me years to let go of that illusion.
And as I reread what I wrote during that time, I see how far I’ve come and I’m grateful. Someone once admonished me for keeping those writings because they said that they kept that sorrow in the home. But to me, because I released the sorrow by writing, when I look back now I see how much I gained by the pain because through that experience, I found me again.
And that’s something I am ever grateful for to my former husband. How’s that for irony? I suggest you write it out because when you reread years later, you may see, surprisingly, you are grateful for how it all turned out. And wouldn’t that be so surprising to the woman who wrote wishing for a different outcome?