As I posted the other day, yesterday, 16 May, was five years since my life shifted. Apparently I am now healed ;-). I say this, obviously as some kind of joke. The desperation you feel in those first moments, those first months, that first year. Will you ever feel whole, at peace and ……. safe again? The timeframe seems daunting. Counsellors tell you it takes time. And work. Yes, this you understand, but how long? I knew it was the old piece of string question, but I needed – I know I am not alone here – some kind of timeframe. Approximately how long do I need to expect to feel this bad for? Two to five years was trotted out by everyone. I recall the first time this was said, and I almost laughed inside. “Yeah, right, five years, I won’t be waiting around in this state for two years, we will be better by then, I feel sure, either that or I will be gone.” I somehow thought leaving would leave the pain behind, I could outrun it. Silly girl! I recall a friend incredulously telling Roger (after hearing of his infidelity) about a friend of his, married to a lovely lawyer, who was caught in flagrante with another woman by her. He was “sorry” and they worked on their marriage (apparently) but when she had a wine or two, after two years, would still bring it up! How dare she? I remember hearing that and thinking, 1. okay, she is always going to remember what he did, and what she saw, 2. wow, two years, that seems a long time to hurt so badly, and 3. you know what, this is forever asshole! But my overwhelming feeling at that point (merely weeks in) was that we were going to be okay. Roger was so sorry, he was so caring, we were doing so damn well, considering, he would hold me and comfort me, kiss me and caress me, I would wail, and howl, and pull myself together, then wail and howl some more. We were going to get there, and champs that we are, we were gonna do it in record time, go us! I laugh as I think of that girl now.
Cows and calves on our back airstrip
Five years in, I am not happy. I am no longer suicidal. I am calmer. More rational. But I am still as hurt. Still as sad. I just don’t show it the same way as when it was all blaring loudly on my sleeve. I still have no clue as to what will make me happy. I live mindfully, every day. I notice birdsong. I notice sunshine. I notice storms. I notice and appreciate every nuance I can. I still love my kids, but I don’t feel fierce about them anymore. Someone turned some kind of filter on. Love is filtered, and I can’t seem to pull the filter off and live and love fiercely like I did once. My children have been robbed of that. Their fierce mother. Maybe they are pleased?!!
A snap taken out the back of the farm once…..
I have a good job, that is flexible enough for me to take the time to study. This semester I am three quarters of a full time student, and still holding down a half time job. I feel blessed to have that option, and that support. I can drive the hour to uni and almost switch off “this” (nah, who am I kidding, I never can, but nearly.) I exist. I try to find pleasure. It is elusive. It was once so plentiful. I have a warm, comfortable home on a large farm, with gorgeous surroundings, pets, animals, an organic vege garden, a healthy and wholesome life. When will it ever be “enough” again? I was once. I was happy for 41 years.
A ewe and her lamb contemplating me getting up in their faces.
How can you be unhappy when you live this life? Why doesn’t the good outweigh the bad? What will ever be “enough” to balance me out again? And why do I still ask these questions five years out, when I have read so much, got so much counselling, and worked so damn hard to not be a victim, not be bitter, to boldly take my life back? When do I stop feeling so damn sorry for myself, and call time on the pity party! 🙂