*the stories posted here are completely fictional. Any similarities between these stories and real life are merely a coincidence.*
My name is Soledad, and these are my stories.
Divorce. Now, I guess I always thought that my June Cleaver ways would be enough to keep him interested, but life is what it is, and shit hit the fan, as it were. We split. He moved out.
I had to find a way to move on, a way to pick up the pieces of my life and try to make things interesting again. I hadn’t had sex in two years. I had neglected my art, my poetry, and my family, all in the name of what I thought was a happy marriage. Oh, we were happy once-when we met, when we fell in love, and when we first married. But then….I suppose life got in the way.
On September 11, he moved out. One year ago, he was removed from my home. He had left behind his guitars, his artwork, and pictures of Dakota, taking only his cowboy boots, a visual journal, and his clothing.
A year ago, I did something I never thought I would ever have to do. I never thought I would be afraid of someone that I knew so well.
No one but my dearest friends Ms. Aries and Leti believed me. They believed me when I told her, “I’m afraid of him.”
They believed me, because they were around throughout the years when I told him how he would speak to me, or how he expected things to be “just so”. They believed me when I told them how fearful I was when I didn’t have the apartment just to his liking, with nothing on the floor, and everything just as he liked it.
Often, with children and freelance work, and everything else, I’d forget just how he wanted things. I was so busy being a mom, often it was difficult to keep up with the cleaning, after taking little ones to the park, and playground, having playdates, painting with my daughter, and then coming home to cook.
Nothing was ever good enough. Nothing I did was ever right. I stayed for years even though I was trying to earn the approval of someone who would never truly love me.
Years passed. My identity withered away and I disappeared into being someone’s something. I disappeared into the nothingness of this 1950’s ideal of what I thought being a wife was; but I had forgotten myself.
I had forgotten myself, but it was okay, I thought. It’s okay because I’m someone’s wife. It’s okay. I’m successful, because I’m someone else’s, I thought.
I sank into depression through the years. It was depression from losing a child that I so wanted to have but was forced not to. It was a depression from having my choice taken from me; from infidelity and the tears.
Then, I started going on Youtube. I discovered art. I took some online courses, to help me draw a bit better, and at night, while my Mr. X was working late, and the the children were sleeping, I would draw and paint. I worked on art all night, barely getting any sleep.
I started discovering what I liked. I would cook meals that I liked. I wore clothing with paint on it because I was proud of being an artist. I was proud of who I was, independent from my identity as a wife.
I was become free, but this freedom came with a price. You see, I was no longer someone else’s something. Now, I was my own something. I was becoming the person I wanted to be so many years ago, but didn’t know how to. I was becoming myself.
So, when she was a year and half, he made his announcement. He wanted out, and of course waited until I had a body scarred from birthing two children, after things were more challenging, after I had given up my work as a secretary, after I had been a stay at home mom for six years, after I had given him my heart all over again, and forgiven him, and given him a chance again. He waited until I was ready once again to stay and say forever, to tell me he didn’t want to be stay.
Divorce happened. I was crushed. I was angry. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to have to start dating again, look for a job, and actually think of moving back in to New Jersey. I didn’t want to raise two children on my own. I wanted the picket fence. I wanted to be June Cleaver. No one ever mentioned that June Cleaver would ever get divorced.
“It’s for the best” he’d say to me. My friends agreed. Ms. Aries, my best friend, told me, “Diana, you’ll see. Heed this-you’ll be happy again one day.” I didn’t believe her.
Eventually, I decided it was time to move on. Either the pain would kill me, or I’d have to move the fuck on. I’m strong. I got this. I can handle it. I kept telling myself this, thinking eventually it’d sink in.
So I decided to enter the world of dating, with my feet first. I decided to go about this by posting a profile online, and enter the world of dating through the technology of the internet. So, thanks to the web, I was able to meet men, date, and discover a strange and interesting world that is is dating at thirty-something.
In time, it got easier. I think that I had fallen out of love with Jose years before we formally divorced. I just didn’t realize it until I met someone who changed my entire outlook on life. It was this man who made me realize how little I felt for Jose, and how much happier I have been since I’ve been without him.
I’ll always treasure the memories we shared. I’ll always remember most of the time we were together fondly. But life goes on. Life moves on, and I grew out of him. I grew out of the child I was when I was with him.
I can truly say that what I feel for him, is just a friendship now. At one point, I thought I’d never love again. I thought that true love didn’t happen twice in a lifetime. But you want to know what? That wasn’t true love. That was being in love with an idea, with a notion in your mind, it was never true love. We were children that just wanted to run away together.
In the words of Paul wrote in the Christian bible, “Now that I’m a man I put away the things of a child…”
Today’s handmade offerings are:
You can buy this beautiful handmade, one of a kind tote HERE.