“Well, I’ve been afraid of changin’
‘Cause I’ve built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I’m getting older, too
Oh, I’m getting older, too”
-Landslide, Fleetwood Mac
The lyrics of this song could not ring any truer as it applies to my life.
15 years. I devoted 15 years of my life to a man; a marriage that I thought would last forever. I thought we were special. I considered us lucky because we had found each other at such a young age. But really, we weren’t special. We were just two young kids who mistook love for complacency. It was easier to just stay where we were- with each other’s quirks, annoying habits, and different personalities… until it was no longer easy. He cracked. He had an affair, and I was left behind because he realized that he needed to be free. I fought hard, sometimes too hard, even forgetting my own self worth, for what I thought was love. I begged him to stay. I brought up stories of our past joys. I apologized for the mistakes I made that he listed for me once I found out about his infidelity. I blamed myself for not putting enough thought into my appearance and for forgetting how to be a wife (as he put it). I cried like I had never cried before, dated him, slept with him, all because I thought what we had was worth fighting for. Really, I was just afraid. Fearful of change because we had been together since we were 18. I did not know a life without him, and frankly, at 33, I wasn’t ready to face the adult world alone. Shit, I didn’t even know what it meant to be an adult without him because together, we did it all. Careers, a house, kids- we were amazing together, and I was left to wonder about who I am as a woman, a mother, a friend, a sister- everything I sacrificed just to make sure the dream we had came to fruition.
The first few days after I learned of his affair were the lowest points in my life. I had no idea how I was going to find the strength to carry on, let alone take care of my children. I could barely muster the strength to get out of the chair on our front porch. There I sat, slumped, unshowered with swollen eyes, and cigarette after cigarette, in disbelief that this was my life. My friends, the best friends I could ever ask for, would convene nightly on that front porch offering words of wisdom, encouragement, shared their anger and frustrations over this injustice that I was experiencing. Their voices became my own when I couldn’t find mine. They came in groups, sometimes alone just to make sure I ate, showered, and slept, because all of this became too much for me to worry about. They made sure I picked myself up because I had to go back into the real world- the one where my marriage was falling apart, but I still needed to be strong for my children. Fucking life! It drops a bomb on you and then demands for you to keep going like nothing happened. I was living in my own personal hell, drowning in sorrow that I could not put into words because I had the biggest pain in my heart and I couldn’t breathe. I was struggling.
And then the days turned into weeks, the weeks to months, and slowly, I started to go on with life- on auto pilot because that was all I could do. Then one day, like some weird revelation, it hit me- I deserved better than this. I’m not quite sure what made it different this time around because I’ve told him before that I loved myself more than I loved him and that I was letting him go. This time, it was different. I experienced some sort of clarity, that came with the worst heartbreak, but also some sort of peace once I realized it. I could no longer fight for a love that was not wanting to be fought for. As much as it pained me to say that i was done, I did it, and I turned 34 without him. The first birthday I’ve ever spent without him since we were 19. It was hell, brutal even. I could not find the joy in anything, but because I have amazing women by my side- we are, we drank, we danced, and celebrated- what I wasn’t quite sure, but dam we did it that night.
For one night, I forgot about my problems and enjoyed myself. Then I picked up exactly where I left off the very next day.
And again, days turned into weeks, weeks into months, then all of a sudden I realize, it’s been a year since it’s happened. Then slowly, I find myself here, a week before I turn 35. I’m amazed at how different time changes things. Mainly I’m amazed that this year, I feel like I have more reasons to celebrate than before. While being cheated on tore my life apart, divorce has given me so much more. It has given me the luxury to get to know myself not just as a mother, but as a woman- I am slowly learning what brings me joy and it has given me the attitude that I will no longer settle for a complacent, meaningless life simply because it’s easy. Divorce has forced me to stretch out in ways I never thought was possible- I’ve traveled to countries I’ve only dreamed about, I teach cycle classes at the gym (a dream I’ve had since I was 25 and children less), I take risks, but most importantly, everyday I am living. I am choosing to live a meaningful life. This divorce will not define me. It has empowered me, and it has given me a reason to celebrate. So turning 35 is a momentous occasion for me- not simply because it’s my birthday, but really because it is a moment of rebirth; a moment where I’m no longer afraid of changing because I am slowly learning who I am.
Erika Cope
Divorced mom of 3, slaying all day.
IG beautybrainsandbubbles
Blog-beautybrainsandbubbles.wordpress.com
beautybrainsandbubbles@gmail.com
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