When divorce becomes more than just a word you know…

Someone said it feels like the nucleus is exploding. That visual has stuck with me since I heard it. 
The shifts that constantly happen during the process of a divorce are kind of like walking around a corner to a fist in the eye out of the blue. You just don’t ever know when it will hit and you don’t see it coming. Every. Single. Day. 
It’s not that you don’t know the process is shitty. Everyone knows the process of ending a marriage is shitty. Whether it’s the best of circumstances or the worst, it makes no difference. Divorce is shitty. It’s messy and hurtful and it creates gaps in your heart and gut that you aren’t sure will ever be capable of being bridged. 
My divorce isn’t going to be hurtful. Or bitter. My divorce is going to be easier than what I have watched 99% of everyone else I know go through. We are two people who respect and admire each other for the partners and parents we are to our children. We have one common goal and that is to give our kids whole lives. 
Free of trauma from dismantling what they have known their entire lives as what a family looks like.
We’ve promised each other and our children that we are now and will always be a family. What that means will just look different. But we will do everything we can to make sure it never feels different.

I’m proud of how we have navigated that part so far. I trust it. I believe it is possible because of the two people we are and the commitment we have made to such. 
 
But that’s not what this is about. Because that all makes it seem like divorce is possible without scars and shrapnel. It isn’t. What this is about is the other stuff. The stuff that happens in your heart that’s shitty.

Trying to figure out how to live without a right arm. Your person. You do the stuff you “have” to do to keep moving. Take care of your children. Keep breathing. Be strong because it’s the only option. But when you have to fire up a snow blower for the first time in your life. Or figure out how to fix a broken window in your laundry room so the temperature inside isn’t the same temperature outside, you panic. You cry. You scream. You know you have to move forward. But some days, as one of my best friend’s says, your feet feel stuck in concrete. 
So you breathe. And you get to the 6 hour mark. Because sometimes in life, you can only live 6 hours at a time. And then you celebrate. Yay, I took a shower today. Go me, I fed BOTH children today. You celebrate. Because if you don’t, you are pretty sure you’ll die. And dying isn’t really an option right now. Or ever.

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