Day 63 part deux
Well doesn't everything always look better in the morning? Or maybe the theories about crying being a release are true.
I'm still irritated about the-ex-from-hell stealing my bed, but I'm realizing I WILL be the winner in the end. He doesn't get to keep me anymore.
The best thing for me is watching how my daughter acts. She plays, she laughs, she sings, she dances, and yes, she has tantrums (she's 4...if she was an angel I'd be worried). All this affects her in a derivative sort of way, but I know that if she was older she'd be much more directly affected.
She looks at me like I'm her rock. That's such an honor for me. Right now I feel more like a wet noodle, but I hope one day, when she looks for a guy (or girl...I don't judge) to date or whatever, she will look at what her mom has experienced and know she doesn't have to settle for a crappy relationship, and that she deserves to be treated well and respected.
I'm still trying to figure out how to raise a strong, independent, considerate, open-minded, well-rounded, respectful, friendly, loyal child. I feel like I need to look at the laundry list and I need to be all those things. The best lesson for a daughter is to look at what her mother does and how her mother acts.
And, while I know she will always love her father and I hope he gets his crap together so he can have a healthy relationship with her, me not being with him is beneficial to her as well. She would've internalized an extremely skewed view of how her partner should treat her in a relationship. Her father may have loved me, but it wasn't a healthy or respectful love. It was a possessive and demeaning love (if that even exists).
Ultimately, the best way for a father to love and nurture his daughter is to love and respect her mother.
So I do feel a little victorious today. Even if my ex got a better night's sleep than I did, thanks to my beautiful memory foam mattress that he stole. Asshole.
Day 63 and going strong...ish
I never thought I'd start a blog.
Not that I don't like writing...I love to write. Writing has always been my escape, my means for coming to terms with the crazy world in which we all live. Blogging, on the other hand, is uncharted territory.
I've read fabulous blogs and been completely overwhelmed by their amazingness. I always worried that I wouldn't get any followers if I started one, and everyone fears rejection, right?
But right now, I just don't care. I need the escape, and I need somewhere to log my feelings and come to terms with what's going on my life. Maybe this will be more of a diary that no one reads, which is totally fine.
Everyone goes through break ups. Even nasty, ridiculous, shit-will-never-be-the-same break ups. I guess I'm going through one now. I'm sitting here at 1:30 in the morning, with a glass of white wine, wondering where everything went to hell. No, that's not right. We always say "where did it go wrong?" when we know exactly where the pieces fell apart.
I was with my ex for 7 years. 7 freaking years. I can't pretend it was a good relationship because it certainly wasn't. We had more downs than ups, constant arguments, sometimes bordering on emotional and physical abuse. But 7 years is a long ass time to dedicate to one person. And we all get comfortable in situations that are obviously not right for us. I guess that's what happened. Even worse, we share a beautiful daughter together, so as messy as any break up gets, times that by 548296824 and you get my drift.
I know I made the right decision. Coming to grips with the thousands of dollars I lost when cancelling our wedding is painful, but worth it. Figuring out how best to set up visitations for our daughter is hard, but I want her to be the focus. But now this fucker stole my bed. And I feel like going completely ratchet...and curling up in a ball and crying at the same time.
It's just a BED, I tell myself. But the little devil in my ear tells me, it's YOUR bed, woman! You own so few valuable possessions, and you bought it brand new and were so freaking happy about the memory foam mattress! It's the biggest bed you've ever owned! That shit is yours! Flip out and rage, girl!
The angel tells me, get over it. It's just a bed and it's not worth it, let that asshole keep it and he can think about how fucked up he is every time he lays down in it. He stole from the mother of his child, and he has to live with that shit.
Ultimately, break ups are about a lot of things. The ending of a relationship, certainly. The awkwardness between families, of course. The parsing of property, definitely. But somehow, after all of this, after leaving him and being 63 days strong, I broke down and cried over a bed. Did I cry when I left him? Not a single tear. Did I cry when he acted crazy and followed me around, threatening to force me to talk to him? No way. But thinking about that douche curled up in the bed I bought with my hard earned money, having a comfortable night's rest, with no back problems because I got a top-notch mattress? Waterfall.
