Let It Go, Or Be Dragged

Take the shackles off my feet so I can dance.

The week leading into Christmas was one of the worst I’ve experienced since separating from my husband. It was excruciating. O was with his dad, and while I was glad they were able to spend festive time together, it was rough.

I didn’t have a child, or create a family, to spend it without them at the ‘most wonderful time of the year.’

While work was still raging, I was distracted enough. But when that lovely Christmas bubble rolled around, I was comatose with sadness. I spent most of it down a vortex of thriller shows, slipping in and out of sleep on the couch. It may as well have been in and out of consciousness. 

I was engulfed by sadness and loss. In excruciating pain. 

Wallowing. Triggered. Fragile. 

It was a harsh reminder that grief is not linear. And just when you think you’re swimming along, you can so quickly drown. 

There’s no rhyme or reason to grief. The second year without him, and without the life I loved, should have been easier. I’d already done it once. 

What I’ve come to learn is anger is a great motivator. For me, anyway. Last year, I was three months into a separation and my only focus was on proving everyone wrong. I populated the bottom of the Christmas tree with presents from Santa — on my own. I did everything, with a smile. “Look at me, look how good I am going.”

I don’t have the energy to be angry anymore. I can’t be bothered, and I’m too tired. Sadness and tiredness seem to melt into each other nicely. 

Raging provides a kind of strength, but sadness sucks the life out of you. And so I was sad, for quite a few days. And, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t try and redirect my sadness. I sat with it. Until it consumed me. 

I am very glad it’s a new year. I have never subscribed to the idea of the calendar rolling over to January 1 to make a fresh start. I think you can reinvent yourself, any time you like. 

I needed January 1 this year. I needed Monday. I needed New Year. I needed the shift and the promise of a fresh start and the hope that comes with a blank slate. 

I am making big plans for this year. I have goals and resolutions and dreams. I am working on better habits. 

Despite that, I don’t entirely know what this year will bring. I know there is going to be a lot of travel, and big adventures. So much fun with work, and clients. And serious joy. 

But I also know I am stalling on processing my divorce. I am still healing, and still battling. I am dancing with the idea of letting other people hold onto my heart, but I am also terrified of it. 

I am still solo — and loving being so. I am scared, but I’m not letting fear hold me back. 

I think people who live boldly enough to get their heart shattered are brave. Those who piece themselves back together are heroes. 

I despise the way people view and talk about divorce — as though it’s some type of failure. I’m starting to understand there’s nothing braver than those who — by choice, or otherwise — rebuild their lives. 

It’s not uncommon for divorce to make you view every element of life through a different lens — I don’t see much the same as I did before. 

Life feels more finite. There seems to be less time. The urge to live immediately is forever pulsing through me. 

I feel more connected to some things than ever before, and less connected to others. 

I look at relationships differently. Not cynically, differently. I think a lot of people around me are kidding themselves. I think many of them have settled. I think people are so afraid to be alone they’ll settle for anything. I think, if we’re all a bit more honest with ourselves, we’d admit that it’s comfort and familiarity and security that keep us connected to some people, when we should acknowledge we have outgrown them. I wonder if maybe I was one of them.

I know less now than ever before and I like it that way. People who think they know everything are afraid. It’s easier to mask insecurity in righteousness than be vulnerable and admit otherwise. 

I don’t care about being popular or liked or even right. I just want peace. 

I have come to understand the expression ‘let it go, or be dragged’. I have cared too much, and I have been dragged. I don’t want anymore bruises. I want to be free, from the things that have happened to me, and the things I am holding onto.

Letting go is really, really hard. But it beats being dragged.