A little bit hurt but a lot more free

From the moment the $150,000 in hidden debt came into the light, I knew our marriage was over. I also didn’t know if our relationship was over. I will continue to let me gut lead the way on that.

We signed the divorce papers this weekend. I retained all of my accounts, he kept his debt and I get the house and mortgage.

Right now, we’ll continue to cohabitate and raise the kids together. After a short grace period, he will be responsible for 50% of our household bills and family expenses.

We won’t exist like this forever — just long enough to have the time and space to determine what’s next for us individually and then explore if there’s a future together.

I’ve been clear that I won’t promise to him anything. However, to concede everything to me so I can feel secure is an act of love and a step in the right direction.

And while the last six weeks have sucked in so many ways, I feel free and optimistic for my future — with or without TB.

Well, this sucks. Advice needed

That was the subject line of the email sent to three women who’ve divorced.

Treads was married to the poster manchild who married someone who always omitted child molester vibes the first time I met him

KC was married to someone who, in the end, bent her to his will because he promised to fight her tooth and nail.

Autumn said it was such a relief to not be married to someone who couldn’t stop lying.

Then there’s SOS. Her now-ex husband kidnapped their children after a decade of plotting to destroy her — with the means to do it.

I recognize myself in these women. These brilliant, formidable women formed from the strongest elements forged in the fire of adversity.

I’ve watched these women shed the bruised and calloused skins of their marriages.

No matter what I choose to do, I’ll be fine. I know that.

But right now, I am exposed and raw.

Here I am

I don’t know what to do. I feel caged by a life of my own making. Would it be better to alone with my kids? What does this relationship bring besides stress? What am I demonstrating to them by how I present myself?

How did I get here?

Why am I again dealing with someone else’s mental illness? Someone else’s victimhood and pity party?

JJG just made CEO and has a $1M lake house. He’s definitely not the answer, but the stark difference between entitled and determined ambition is glaringly obvious.

What choices or signs did I miss?

How did I stray so far off course?

I believed he would be different than other males. He’s not.

He’s cynical and selfish. Immature.

He’s an 18-year-old who wants all the benefits of adulthood and none of the responsibilities. He’s a child playing house. He’s most comfortable being the victim, throwing tantrums, being helpless.

I’m embarrassed to be here.

People don’t change. I know that. People will show you who they are.

He’s showing me who he is what he doesn’t get his way or what he feels he’s owed.

He’s a mediocre white man. He’s a manchild.

If I didn’t consider him live-in childcare right now, I would ask him to leave to give me the physical space I need.

I never envisioned this for myself. Unhappy. Unfulfilled. Alone…again

I don’t know what will turn this ship for me yet. But there has to be more than this.

I’m so tired of this life.

I need to effect change.

People don’t change. People don’t change. When someone shows you who they are — believe them.

Didn’t see that one coming

Renee Good was killed by ICE on a Wednesday.

That Thursday, a tectonic plate shifted and my life erupted.

Eight days later, a nice, steady man said the safest option was divorce.

And then, my head stopped spinning. I had a plan.

Maybe 14 years ago, I could have seen this coming if I’d looked harder.

Maybe there’s no hindsight here.

To my detriment

You were supposed to protect me. You never did when it really mattered. I had to find my own way out of the darkness of PPD. I had to manage your feelings when my mom died. 

You knew that living outside of our means — aside from hurting our kids — was the easiest to destroy my faith in you.

And you repeatedly betrayed my trust and lied to me for years.

And all that time, you expected everything from me. 

Now it’s all on me. You’re not a partner, you’re a child. You’re not a spouse, you’re a dependent.

Being married to you is at my own detriment.

The cotton swab that broke the camel’s back

My choices are to buy from spineless megaliths that kiss the ring and do away with fairness policies, buy 10x the amount I need from Costco or pay twice the amount from a drugstore with untenable worker conditions.

In the microcosm, I wield little influence. In the world at large, I am powerless. They only recourse I have against the choices made be the wealthiest MWM leading the Targets and Amazons is to send my money elsewhere.

So, to reward the chutzpah of Costco and Delta, I will buy in bulk and pay more for flights — because fuck you, syncophants.

MWM: America’s most pervasive parasite

Oh, the mediocre white man. I’m caged in by throngs of them in positions of power. I can’t escape them without blowing up my own life.

I need to change where I shop because large retailers have voluntarily strapped on a gag and a collar, and handed the leash to the leader of ‘Murica.

I’m handcuffed to an employer making decisions only for the almighty shareholder.

At home, it’s become clear since we’ve had children, that I’m married to a 17yo boy in a 43-year-old’s body.

Could I get divorced, shop local for 3x the price and quit my job? Sure.

And I’d be fucking myself and my kids over if I did.

Fuck, I had feeling trapped.

I don’t know how to be sad

I’m good at angry. Angry generates energy and I love energy. I know what to do with energy from all of the other emotions — hurt, frustration, stress, joy, etc. Emotional energy propels me through the emotion and then I can be done with it.

I don’t know what do with an emotion that is energy negative or neutral.

Hypothesizing what KTTW would say, the stillness of sad is difficult because it just … is. And I don’t like to be forced to do anything, much less just … be.

Sadness (and even contentment to a degree) depletes energy.

Since the coping strategies I’ve used aren’t appealing (positive sign, albeit annoying) and Google tells me that I need to exercise to stave off depression. I guess I’ll try that. I know it will help but as mentioned, sadness is exhausting.

I’ll try to plank as much as I can inside of five minutes. Hold please.

Later…

I ate a bag of chips instead. Now I feel sad and bloated.

Later still…

I made it two minutes in plank pose. Meh. Jury’s still out, but I don’t feel like crying. Credit to Sun Chips or two minutes of planking? Who knows.

Five minutes later…

Okay, fine. Exercise helps. Bah.

Hey CEO: It’s 2024, not 1994

When the employer lucky enough to borrow my skillset asked me if I feel stress about return to office in early 2023, below is how I responded.

Said employer then not only ignored the feedback from its nearly 100,000 employees, but they doubled down and reclassified all remote jobs to hybrid recently.

Return to Office (RTO) is going to cause a lot of stress for me personally. Two years ago, I had a nanny with one child in preschool. Today, I have two kids in school without reliable school transportation meaning I need to deliver and pick up my children at 9:10 a.m. and 3:40 p.m. — Not a big deal if I’m at home. BIG problem if I’m downtown without a car. Bigger problem in that we only have one car.

I estimate that a second car — that we don’t otherwise need — will add $50,000 in expenses to do what? Be on conference calls all day with strangers as none of my team are in the same state?

Yeah, RTO is stressing me out. A lot.

In addition to money, RTO is costing me time. It’s taking two hours of seemingly unnecessary time away from me each day — between getting ready, commuting and then repeating in reverse at the end of the day.

The last two years have brought into perspective what is truly important to me. They’ve shown me what is possible when I work from home. Your question seems to be foreshadowing and has left me to contemplate if this company, with a mandated RTO, is the right place for me. I don’t know the answer yet, but in looking at the job market and knowing many of my friends and industry colleagues can work wherever they want to — I know there are remote opportunities for me should I want to pursue them.

My question to the decisionmakers at this company is simply: Why? Is it because you’ve signed multi-year leases on property? Because you don’t trust your employees? Because municipalities are giving you ridiculous tax incentives to bring people back downtown?

To cloak the real reasons under blanket “culture” statements seems to dismiss that all of us have functioned well for two years (not to mention the folks who are remote regardless of the pandemic). It’s causing distrust, discord and the creation of narratives you can’t control amongst the people who are impacted.

It has to be about money, so just be honest.

Last, I’ve been sick ONCE in two years. I’m not worried about COVID, but the flu, colds, and other germs from doorknobs, elevator buttons, faucets, water dispensers, printers, communal items, and so on. I’m not interested in that exposure or bringing that home to my family. It’s a small factor, but certainly one I’m taking into account.

Honestly, this is the first time I’ve spent time really looking at RTO holistically and how it will impact me. I’m not sure what this company could offer to retain me in lieu of a remote option should the scales tip in favor of a remote position.

It was so much worse than I thought

My friend had a baby two weeks ago and holy shit, seeing her with her newborn has brought some clarity to my own postpartum experience.

The reactionary feelings run the gamut. Joy for this woman who has longed to be a mother; realization of just how bad it was for me; grief over what I missed out on; heartache for myself as a first-time mother; pain over having to navigate it by myself; and if I’m being totally honest, a wee bit of jealousy.

The eight months I spent undiagnosed with postpartum depression and anxiety were even more brutal than I thought they were. I didn’t realize I’d be processing that time of life all over again, but in a way I’m grateful for the opportunity. I’m holding 37yo me gently as I navigate these complex feelings.

A silver lining of not being able to put your newborn daughter down: Eight years later, she still pulls the collar of my shirt down to rest her cheek against my decolletage when she needs connection. And it sends a rush of oxytocin through my heart every time.