i have been single parenting for the last 8 months or so.
yes, it’s true. we tried recommitment but it didn't hold, didn't take, and less than 6 months later i began composting it, letting it transform, giving it back to the earth, ending the contract, letting it go… and it takes a lot of courage to acknowledge what has held me captive: me, bravely, its me.
let me tell you friends, untangling a 22 year relationship to the father of my children, is tough shit, no easy task, and is requiring my continued commitment to a “kill ‘em with kindness/compassion” warrior stance, a healthy dose of cavernous self-love and patience with my children's varying levels of acceptance, denial and grief, and a side of riotous humor and fat salty tears to get me through the days and seasons.
and my spiritual practices of course: awakening - to myself and Mystery, making, silence, witchcraft, solitude, movement, singing, altar building, my hands in the earth…these all save me, lift me, cradle and enlighten me. and then there’s my sisters, the dearies who know the details, they really save my life, with their honest reflections, their seeing all of me and staying, their abiding love, their lifetime grace cards, their small sent gifts - every. single. day.
there were years of vacillating. years and years. so much already lived grief, already lived disconnection. years of pain, mine and his. years of bitterness cloaked in a thin veil of resentment. years of hate, toward myself, and so, toward him too. years of poisonous shame and secrets, his and mine too. years of not knowing what i needed and not asking for what i wanted but knowing it didn't feel good, the life we tried to cobble together, it often didn't feel good, for either of us, and then sometimes it did.
there was a kind of love. and commitment, lots and lots of commitment. saving my marriage at all costs had previously been paramount to my sense of self-worth. i felt smug for “making it” each new year because we had a dream one day, long ago, that we would make it to old age together and be (unreasonably) happy, in our rockers, on the porch, holding hands.
but really, we were both martyrs. and that’s no way to live. its not a living.
the years of not honoring myself, not honoring him, not honoring that we both deserve to have lives lived well, have come to a close. i insist on burning down the established overripe and toxic dynamic so we can each rise again from the ashes, separate, but wholly and holy.
so here i am, swimming into the deep abyss of marriage dissolution after a 22 year partnership and although it brings its requisite storm of grief and loss, it is also granting me safe passage back to my wildish beloved self. i am learning to live with myself while i find a new way.
i am prioritizing serenity and freedom. my intentions are set on expansiveness and possibility. i am welcoming the swamp lands of my soul, my shadows, my balsamic dark moon heart. i am encircled by my placental ancestors and i do not walk alone. i can do this. i am doing this.
a dear sister witch said to me: shame is an indulgent practice. to not work your ass off to heal it means you are still getting some mileage out of it. you haven’t come into this world to wrangle with someone else's idea of you. who is anyone else to tell you who you are? karma and Spirit business is private business, not for anyone else to have anything to do with. do you. be you. and heal, heal, heal.
so i’m going to be doing that - healing, healing, healing, and sourcing my mellow magic. my life is my quest and i am a seeker. i am a healer and i am healing. it’s true. i am.
as this 22 year chapter comes to a close i will emerge from this season an alchemized, radiant, re-membered witch, with my integrity intact and authentically me, heavily budding with autonomy and freedom: allowed and allowing. divorced!
so i welcome you to celebrate and honor me by seeing me “doin’ my thang” and resisting any urge you might have to pity me or express sorrow and sorry-ness. this is all a beautiful gift of growth and grief and its perfectly imperfect and just right. thank you your witnessing my reclamation of sovereignty and composure of agency, sisters. blessed be, each and every one of you, for whom i’ve cavernous gratitude and a vast respect for. thank you.