Life Is Good Because I Decided To Make It That Way
My spark is back.
Something strange happened a couple of weeks ago.
I stopped caring.
I stopped worrying.
Not in a nihilistic way.
More in a way where my spirit seemed to quietly unshackle.
To use some well-worn tropes, it’s like a switch flicked. Like I turned a corner.
It happened overnight.
A few weeks ago, my ex told me he was seeing someone.
“Well, I figured,” I replied. “You did go to Paris for a few weeks…I had put two and two together.”
“I know,” he said, “but I wanted to tell you, from me, as we have recently decided to be exclusive. I am just trying to be happy.”
“I hope you can be happy,” I said, and I did mean it.
It should have been our thirteenth wedding anniversary.
Instead, he told me he had a new girlfriend.
It’s kind of funny, if you really think about it.
It’s kind of wild, how much can change in a year.
The few days following that were rough. Not because of the knowledge he had moved on, so quickly, so readily, after almost two decades of calling me the love of his life. I already knew he had moved on.
Maybe it was the reality of it all. The confirmation. The wondering as to what it meant and what would change and would my son suddenly now start spending time with some stranger who will never and could never love him like I do.
And then a few days later, I decided to just stop caring.
I am done with being upset over the actions and choices of someone who has expressed and shown that they do not love me.
I am done with nights thrashing in my bed over names called and words said.
The things my ex called me has kept me up long enough. Horrible, excruciating, nasty words piled on me last year, day after day. The way I was belittled. Attempts to crush my confidence. Bids to shatter my self-esteem.
I no longer worry about what he does or doesn’t do for my son. My son already knows that his father has placed another before him, at least a few times. I’m sure it stings. He’s aware that when his dad is missing from dinner, it’s because he’s sitting around a table with someone else’s kids.
But it doesn’t really matter.
I thought it did.
I whirled myself up time and again thinking it mattered more than the world.
It really doesn’t.
My son is so happy, and engaged with life, and inclusive, and included. He’s witty, and clever, and everything you could ever hope a kid to be.
I’m done with worrying about what O might be missing because he’s got more than most ever will. And he does have a good father, who spends quality time with him, and does care, even though looks and feels different to how I thought it would.
I’m done with it all. I can only control who I am, how I am, and what I do. It’s futile attempting to do anything more. I have my own relationship with my son. And it’s enough. I know who I am, how I am, and what I do with him. I don’t really need to know anything more.
It was cemented home for me those few weeks ago when we found ourselves hanging out more than we had been in a long while. Going to O’s basketball games together. My ex taking me out for lunch. Driving in the car together. There’s a comfort in the familiar. But it’s also dangerous. Because it reminds you of a life you once had.
I’ve realised I don’t need reminders of my old life. I am really loving my new one. When I’m stuck somewhere between my old and new life, I start to unravel.
I am glad my ex and I can spend time together and have a laugh and a chat. I think it’s important from time to time, especially for O. His parents have always been able to be in the same room together, and always will be.
For now, though, I don’t need it. The space and distance from my ex has done wonders.
What I’ve come to understand is there’s power in not knowing.
When I know, I want to know more.
Not knowing means it doesn’t exist.
Of course, it does.
But knowing doesn’t always serve me.
You might call it delusion.
I call it being genuinely happy for the first time in nine months.
I feel good. Life is good.
My spark is back.
I’d like to stay here a while.
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