On Moving Out. On Moving On.



Summer sun in the backyard

This weekend, I moved out. I have spent much of this year in a fog, feeling like I'm not sure what to do, what my next step will be, how to take that step, and what will happen when I do.

January 6th was the day that kind of started it all. Kind of, only because it had actually started long before; but it was the day of reckoning, the day of honesty, the day I made my decision known. It hit me that day that THAT was why I had waited so long to say anything. Telling my spouse I was done was one of the hardest things I've ever experienced.

All year I've waited and talked and taken time to ease into this reality. All year I've tried to be sensitive and understanding and caring as much as I can. To a point, this is good; it's always good to treat other people with care and delicacy and respect for their feelings. But beyond that point it is out of my control and not my problem. Rude? Definitely not. Realistic? For sure.

October 13th saw me leaving the house for the last time as a resident (my name remains on the mortgage for the time being) and driving away with the last trunk full of clothes, tchotchkes and furniture. I left the rooms in as much order as I could. I rearranged furniture to make sure the rooms didn't look abandoned and messy. Instead, they look neatly arranged and comfortable, floors swept, pillows fluffed, beds made. Again, I didn't have to; but I did. Maybe because I'm pretty damn nice. Or maybe because I'm scared and walking on egg shells and it's one thing I can do to ... appease?

The moving out is done. Now for the moving on.



Cottonwood tree

My ex mother in law thinks I just need to tell him in details why I am done so he can move on. I find that amusingly unrealistic, considering I've talked and detailed til I'm blue in the face. Considering I've busted my butt working for this marriage to no avail. You can't be the only one working on a partnership; that's an oximoron. Eight years later, I finally got that. And no amount of talking and explaining and detailing will get him to see or understand where I'm coming from. I can only hope that time will help him heal, and that HE will help himself heal by being honest - truly, painfully honest - with himself and with his therapist to reach a realistic, healthy place for his own good. He needs that. And I can't get him to that place. I sure tried though.

As I pulled away from my house for the last time as a resident, I felt a wash of relief and renewal. Like I could start being me again. Like I could try to find the new, grown up, independent Natalie, whoever she is. Like I could do what I wanted to do; like I could just ... be.

That's not to say there weren't good times and memories from our marriage; there certainly were. I remember camping out in our den during the holidays a few years ago with a fire in the fireplace for Lord of the Rings Extended Edition marathons. I remember biking and exploring through the woods behind our apartment complex. I remember Colorado vacations. Those were good things. Those things can't be taken away and they shouldn't. But the bad things ... those I want to forget and move past. I want to move on. I want to get over it and move on with my own life. My life and his life are going to be linked because of our incredible son. And that's OK.

 

Summer alley

It might be tough, but I intend to make the most of it for Asher's sake and to be the best mom and I can be for him no matter what is going on around me. That's part of why I left my marriage.

I have to be the best me so I can be the best mom. Asher deserves the very best mom. God picked me as his mama and I have to be strong, honest, happy, balanced, dedicated, hopeful ... I have to be my best so I can be the best for him.

He deserves that. He deserves a mama who is moved on and fully present. And that is what I intend to do.