Independence

This is my first re-post, originally posted on this same day last year. I'm reposting because I'm on vacation, and can't promise much while I'm away celebrating our second anniversary in Chicago. But I'm also reposting because this is one of my favorite posts, and a topic dear to my heart. Not to mention, it's timely. Happy Independence Day.


I don't talk about my previous marriage here often, if ever, for good reason. Chris would only "I mean" me, and well, I've just moved on. But, I just read something that reminded me how freeing it felt to get divorced. Well, until the panic attacks set in, but we'll talk about that more when it's Zoloft Day.

Tomorrow is the day we celebrate freedom. It's a patriotic day for our country, but it should also be a day to reflect upon our own personal triumphs in gaining the freedom we now enjoy. I bring up my divorce not because it was a marriage in which I felt shackled to a hissing furnace, but because reading that post reminded me of how free I felt once I finally built up enough courage to run from it.

It was the scariest thing I've ever done. But the hard thing to do and the right thing to do always end up being the same thing. I wish I could claim that line but I think I heard it in a movie trailer. Anyway. It stuck. Because it's so very true. Leaving my first marriage is what freed me up to find what I truly wanted, a passionate marriage to someone who gets me.

There was an initial surge of euphoria where I felt like myself for the first time in nine years. I felt more beautiful. Funnier. And thinner. Well, because I was. Divorce is a great diet. And, I think I even became a better dancer. Or, maybe that was all the alcohol I was consuming to delay the second emotion I felt from the divorce. Anxiety.

It crept in in the form of panic attacks that made my heart begin to race randomly, in unexplainable circumstances. I often felt like I was standing on the ledge of a very tall building on a windy day. Had I made the right decision? Would this display of selfishness lead me to a life of spinsterhood where I would die alone surrounded by cats? I hate cats.

I left a wonderful man who I have nothing but respect for. He is funny. Talented. Quirky. Kind. Handsome. Loving. And always very much my cheerleader. Which is exactly what made it so hard. It was a huge risk to think I could step out there, alone, and find something better. Not better, per se, but better for me. And it took years of therapy to convince myself that it was okay not to be in love with someone who looked so good on paper. And that there was nothing wrong with me because I couldn't feel what I should have naturally felt. He was my best friend. But I just wasn't in love with him. That was the hardest thing in the world to admit to myself. But, that feeling of being "in love" was something I knew I wanted. So I went for it. Yikes!

Anyway, although the event of my divorce was frightening, it was also freeing. I wouldn't have the life I live today had I just accepted my situation. So, tomorrow as I pull my daughter in her little Radio Flyer wagon through the neighborhood parade, I'll be thinking of the risk I took to get her. I'll hug my husband and thank him for being there when I had a hunch that he would be. For being the great love of my life. And I'll thank myself for having the courage to claim the life I now take pride in. It's a personal kind of patriotism, but patriotism all the same.