Until recently, I was the type that didn’t have regrets. I liked where I was at and didn’t wish for any different outcome because it brought me to the present.
I’m not that person anymore. It’s been a recent realization.
I would take back my marriage – I would change my life to where he didn’t penetrate my life and soul and drain me dry. I would do it, even though it would have meant seeing my sister less, traveling less, the blog, the love, the sex, the exploration and freedom with kink, my current life.
Before him, I was amazing in my career – well respected, well paid, loved going to work every day. I can’t go back to that career, to that place – they won’t take me because as a military spouse (which I became while working there) I had to leave them to follow my husband’s career. I haven’t found the right fit with any other jobs since – though I still may be well paid and respected.
It strained my children’s relationships with the constant moving. I have lost most of my belongings because of the way we separated (we never went back and got our things). I lost friends, community, stability.
Far more importantly, I lost something and feel the ache of that everyday. I read things about it’s better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all; I don’t share that viewpoint. I would rather be ignorant of this loss, rather not feel it so vividly. It’s been two years now since he asked for a divorce, a year and half since we gave up trying to reconcile. I thought I would be over this, but I’m not.
I also read things about trusting and making yourself vulnerable to another; I don’t share this viewpoint. I did that, trusted, vulnerable, heart spread on the table for him to devour, loved unconditionally, risked it all in the pursuit of my passion and love for him, and it’s left me barren.
That’s not to discount my current partners – I love them, and I believe that they love me. Somehow the human capacity to love is vast and limitless. They each bring something to the table that I appreciate, that I need, that nourishes my soul and sticks little bandaids over the wounds, their kisses cover my scars.
But the scars are still there, the wounds still bleed. I feel it everyday; I really thought I’d be over this but the problem is that I didn’t put up any walls or barriers and he seized every ounce of me. I don’t trust enough in the process to leave myself so vulnerable, so exposed. I don’t believe the risk is worth the price – it puts too much faith in another and dynamics between two people when I need to rely on myself and what I am singularly capable of…
Or at least he wasn’t worth it, or we were not worth the risk.
*Photo taken in bath two years ago, after my ex-husband and I tried cutting during one of our torturous reconciliation (at least that’s what that weekend was for me) attempts. I still bear the scars.