Aug
12
It’s a hell of a thing to separate lives that have been together for 25+ years. There’s the whole legal part of things, which we’ve been doing through mediation and we’re thankfully nearly done with now. I have no experience with lawyering up and tackling it that way but I’m not sure mediation is any less horrible — it seemed like it was going to be the most peaceful approach, but I guess there’s simply no escaping the fact that things are gonna get fucking hard when you’re talking about asset division. I will say our mediator was very skilled in managing difficult discussions and decisions, she was fair and kind and firm when she had to be, and I can’t say we both got everything we wanted but I personally believe we came to a fair settlement.
It’s me who is leaving the family home. This is … rough, of course. It made no sense for me to keep the house, though, with the large shop John built for his business. I considered a lot of possibilities and had decided to rent for a year or so to figure out what’s next, but then a house came on the market and it was in the right location at the right price. I went and looked at it and it was in the right kind of shape: an older ranch home with great bones. Lots of updates needed, but good flow and felt instantly welcoming. I put in an offer and things went from there, it took about a month before I finally closed but at the time I felt like I was in a fast-moving swirl of scary forward momentum. I told my mom it felt like I’d come out of the boat and was in the whitewaters, propelled along by forces greater than me, nothing to do but assume the safety position — feet forward, head up — and hope for the best.
After a great flurry of activity with getting a loan and inspections and quotes and haggling with the sellers and second-guessing pretty much all of my life’s choices, I then felt like things came to stillness while the days ticked down to closing. It was a liminal space, some sort of airless in-between an old life and a new one, and I hated that part most of all. Nothing felt real. I felt like a narrator could suddenly boom out, “AND IT WAS ALL A DREAM.” I wasn’t even sure if it felt like a bad dream or a good one or what. I really was convinced if I allowed myself to imagine any sort of future with the new house it was all going to fall through and so I just went la la la any time my thoughts turned to it and that went on for a few days/an absolute eternity and then suddenly the closing date came and I had the goddamned keys. I had the keys to a whole entire house that was just for me, holy shit.
What a jambalaya of feelings it all is. I have an adorable home that is ALL MINE! But it’s because I’m losing my long-term marriage and the house my children call home! I hate to make a Simpsons comparison, just kidding I love doing that and will do it at every single opportunity I am a treasure of dorkdom, but it reminds me of the episode where a fake Homer is tumbling down a waterfall and Carl is yelling out a series of Oh nos and Oh goods as he watches. “Oh, good. He can grab onto them pointy rocks. Oh, no. Them rocks broke his arms and legs! Oh good, those helpful beavers are swimming out to save him! Oh no! They’re biting him, and stealing his pants!” It’s an ever-changing mixed bag situation, is what I’m saying.
I’ll share more about the house soon, which is painted a sweet light yellow and I think of as the Little Yellow House. Either I legitimately love it to pieces already or I trauma-bonded with it, but either way I adore its good aspects and its quirks and I’m excited to show it off. But that brings me back to separating lives, and how weird it is to shop for, like, a spatula, because there are things I’m bringing with me because they are mine (the gorgeous stained glass window hanging that was made for my grandparents’ 50th anniversary), or we agree they feel like mine (the print I chose because it says LET’S GO but the font colors also make it so you can see LET GO at the same time), and there are things I don’t want to bring because they feel petty (good luck trying to make eggs without a spatula*, motherfucker!) or they don’t feel like mine (the whole byzantine TV/stereo situation, the heavy leather couches, the lovely tables he made, the king bed we have shared since before we were married).
*Pedantic note that ackshooally, eggs are amazing when you scramble them with a chopstick.
We in fact like most households have all sorts of duplicate mismatched kitchen tools and I would not be leaving him high and dry to raid the jumbled drawer that’s always hard to open because the tongs are like HA HA FUCK U I’M MANSPREADING IN HERE, but the fun/terrifying/gut-punch part of separating is getting new things for a new life. It’s fun because who doesn’t love shopping, it’s scary because yikes those costs add up fast, it’s a gut punch because it’s sad and surreal to be buying things because I’m leaving.
All the Oh good/Oh nos hit me yesterday when I was in the impulse-buy cattle chute line at TJ Maxx, inching forward past the bags of turmeric plantain chips and pickle flavored cotton candy and labradoodle candles. I can’t describe the feeling. It was fun but it wasn’t. It was like I was buying for a wedding and a funeral. I had a new cute spatula as part of a matchy-matchy set that I was imagining being very pleasing in my just-for-me kitchen and gosh, that felt so great, but also: oh my god, oh my god.
I’m starting something brand new. I’m going to be living all by myself, whee! I’m going to be living all by myself, yikes. It’s all so exciting, it’s all so intimidating.
There is a big oof to be the one leaving, but I love that I’m going into a fresh blank space. Every bit of it will be mine to fill and curate. Years of accumulated crap; this is my chance to streamline. To only take what serves. I cannot bear to think about divvying out Christmas ornaments and so we just won’t worry about that one yet, but most things can be sensibly separated and I will get new things and that will keep on being a delight AND a bummer at times. The beavers are saving me, the beavers are taking my pants, it’s all okay. I’m in it and I will end up somewhere new. I will be someone new. Feet forward, head up — I am riding this current and I really, really think I’m going to like where I land.
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Thank you for writing this. My 25+ year marriage is also ending, I am also leaving the family home. Mediation, all that jazz, although we are at the start of it all, like I’m standing at the foot of a huge mountain and I need to get to the top and I’m already so tired of climbing. Our teens don’t know yet and I feel like I’m just biding my time until I break their hearts.
I’m doing things like washing the shower curtain for the last time. I’m letting the baby centipedes live because I won’t be there when they turn into giant dragon centipedes. I’m looking at the stuff on the walls, stuff I hung up. Can I take the stuff on the walls? What’s mine, really? My aunt’s dishes are, but they’re also our family dishes? Will my teenagers blame me because I’m the one physically leaving? I’m spending so much time with friends, trying to emotionally disengage from the place I’ve spent 20 years, but will they see that as me emotionally disengaging from them?
Idk, I’m spilling it in your comments. Just. Thank you. From the liminal space, thank you.
Oh, I’m sorry for this hard time. The liminal space is real unpleasant. I hope once forward momentum gets going for you things feel more tolerable, as yikes as it all is. I hope your kids take it as surprisingly well as mine did, I was so scared to tell them and they were/are so supportive of our happiness. I know it’s not easy on them but it was not the heartbreak I feared it would be.
I can/can’t imagine. I am riveted.
I love your description. i hope the Oh Goods start to heavily outweigh the Oh Nos, but i know 25+ years is a lot to unravel. Wishing you the best, and thank you for sharing the difficult parts of your journey with us as well as the fabulous.
Here for you, always. And, as always, you have the perfect words to somehow put all of it — the good, the tough, the messy, into something that has us nodding along and understanding what you’re feeling. Love you. ❤️
Just wanted to say thanks for sharing your life with us. I love your writing – especially how relatable it is. I wish you all the happiness and I look forward to reading about your new adventure.
We separated after 16 years of marriage almost 4 yrs ago. We also have 2 boys–I’ve been reading you since all our boys were toddlers. He left and went to the condo I’ve owned since 2000, bought when I was a single girl. He had to tell our awesome tenants they had to go. We haven’t yet divorced, our assets are all tangled and I need his insurance. I haven’t been on a single date and he already has someone living with him. They’ve been together 2 yrs and she’s good to my kids. Our youngest just started high school and our oldest just joined the electrician’s union as an apprentice. I still can’t believe this is my life now. I’m sorry for your pain but I’m hopeful for your (and my) future.
I also left the family home, which is what I needed to do, but also brought “all the feels.” In deciding what to take/leave, every decision had this strange dichotomy of, if I take the old pots and pans, I am doing him a favor by taking the old worn out stuff and he can buy new, but he will probably see it as me forcing him to buy new pots and pans. And if I leave the old pots and pans, I am doing him a favor by leaving him something to cook with and then *I* can buy new (albeit an extra expense), but he will probably see it as me sticking him with the old stuff. I couldn’t win no matter what I chose, because he was seeing everything through the lens of spite and anger. It was rough. But, 8 years on, it’s so much better for all of us.
I got divorced awhile ago, and although the specifics were very different, there is something so universal to the experience. Your writing brought back many of my own feelings at the time. I have a memory of shopping for new bedding in Target at 10 pm, and everyone else there seemed to be pregnant couples. It was great to pick out something that was just for me, but also agonizing because everyone else (or so it seemed) was so excited and happy.
I just wanted to say that it gets better. When my divorce was finalized I was talking to my older brother and he said, congratulations and I’m sorry. And that pretty much summed it all up. So, congratulations, and I’m sorry. Welcome to a club no one wants to be a part of, but isn’t such a bad place to be. I look forward to reading about your new adventures.
I’m the one that kept the house-and almost everything in it. He was the one that got to build a whole new home (albeit it a shitty overpriced apartment that looks like a basic white bitch decorated it). Little by little, I’ve made the space mine and yes, the feeling of picking just what you want is one of the perks among all the other shit. I still call my beautiful blue caraway matched set-that NO ONE will ruin with non-stick spray-my divorce pans. And feel a little bit of joy every time I use them.