Moving on… it must mean letting go.
There are things stuck in my head like fresh chewing gum on the bottom of a shoe… I lift, I pull, I stretch, and still the things that shouldn’t be there will not release that sticky, sugary bond. Ideals and illusions that were part of my core identity, my sense of self. As much as it hurts to give that recognition… eventually, I have to. To let it go, first I have to know what it is I’m releasing.
That image I had of what a family consists of- mum and dad and 2.5 kids, having picnics on the weekend and living in the suburbs.
That’s not mine anymore, and it won’t be coming back, never in the simple, wholesome form it was.
I need to let go of that.
I am no longer someone’s wife, someones best friend, half of a shield of love projected into the world… I have to let go of that.
I’m no longer a suburban hosewife who cooks roasts and ferries her kids to Playgroup and daycare and swim lessons. I have to let go of that too.
All of that was a part of me, and before it was a part of me it was something I wanted- all I wanted, really, a completion of life, a definition of being OK.
As I let go of that, I have to allow myself some release from what has happened as well. This doesn’t define me.
This is something that happened, once. It happened to me and around me and for a while it consumed me.
But its not all of me.
I was married. I have known my soulmate. We lived, we loved, he died. Part of me, not all of me. It’s not OK, never will be…. but eventually it must be.
Even if just so I can embrace a new concept, a new vision, a new ego, a new identity… a new version of me. Because if you let go of things, you leave a hole, and something has to fill it.
So fill it with a new concept- that of a family being a mum and her two kids. I know that’s a family, I know it can be one, because I came from a family just like that myself.
Fill that hole with a picture of myself… Single and alone and tougher than I should be. Worthy of love– I have to be, I had it once– but accepting that I may never have that kind of love again… What are the chances of finding another best friend? But I was lucky, very blessed, to have had it once.
Part of me, not all of me. Not OK but it has to be.
Fill the hole with the word “survivor”. Fill it with pride in myself. That’s impossible, right now, when I feel like such a… nothing, a non–entity; a breathing, parenting vessel of pain.
But– with all the luck in the world– that too will pass. And I’ll start to feel real again. Finish the letting go, let it all drain out. And begin to fill it with something new again. Moving on.
Because this is just something that happened, a tiny part of me…. not all of me.
And it’s not OK. But it will be.