I Let Him Keep the TV, the Car, and Everything Else
Fighting for stuff felt like a waste of time when all I wanted was to be done.
When I left my husband and the small one-bedroom apartment we shared, I didn’t take much. By the time I had finished packing my bags, I was carrying only about one-third of my wardrobe, less than half of my books, and none of the items we had accumulated as a couple over the years, whether the ones we’d received as wedding gifts, or paid for ourselves.
Nothing.
I left him all the furniture, the TV, kitchen appliances, pots and pans, bedding and towels, and the bed itself. I didn’t take a single coffee spoon.
Not because he wouldn’t let me have any of it, but because I didn't want anything.
I even left him the car, the one I had been diligently paying the lease of every month for two and a half years. I didn’t even ask him to pay me anything for it, not even half of the couple thousand dollars I had put as down payment when we first got it.
Nothing of it mattered to me, it was just stuff, and stuff seemed to come cheap after my personal freedom and mental health.
All I wanted was to be done with both that marriage and that man, I cared about nothing else, least of all material possessions.
I don’t regret my decision for second. Not carrying much with me has been liberating. It allowed me not only to travel light, but to open room in my life for the new.
By letting go of most of my wardrobe, I felt like shedding an old skin that didn’t quite fit. I let go not only of an old lifestyle, but of an old me. I let go of someone who wasn't sure of herself, who she was and who she wanted to be — and who let that insecurity show.
By letting go of so much, I learned to trust in my ability to build it all back again. I was fortunate enough to count with an incredible support system, but even thought they have been amazing in every way, I did my best to go forward in life as if I had no one else to count on but myself.
And the rewards have been amazing.
When I left my ex-husband, I didn’t feel like I needed his TV, or his bed, or any of the stuff we shared — but that had always felt more like his than mine — I would just get my own. At the time of the divorce, I couldn’t afford to simply go buy new things, it took me almost a year to be able to afford a few new items of clothing, but I left my marriage trusting that, someday, I would be able get anything I needed and more. I would give myself the life I wanted.
After a year of the divorce, I’m able to afford a little bit more, and every time my work yields better results, I receive confirmation that I was right in leaving that relationship and that past live with as little baggage as I could.
I didn’t sue him for alimony, even thought I probably could — I didn’t even want to look that up. We didn’t have kids together, so the sooner we could cut all ties, the better. I wanted no reason whatsoever to have to talk to him, or worse, to feel like I owed him.
I had dedicated seven years of my life to our relationship, I had given as much as I could, so if it were up to me, we’d part ways even, Steven. Or maybe he’d owe me a bit, for all the stuff I let him keep, but I don’t even factor any of it at all.
As far as I’m concerned, we’re good.
Although I might only add, “you’re welcome for the car, asshole.”
But that’s as far as I’d go.
