Performing CPR on a Corpse
If Denial is the first stage of Grief, then me trying to live at home--even after our marriage ended--was clear evidence that I was grieving hard.
(Dear Readers, this article is part of a larger on-going series of posts called “Processing Divorce” in which I write about and process both my own divorce as well as what it was like growing up in a divorced home. It may not be for everyone, and that’s okay. Thanks.)
The week following the death of our marriage was weird.
Hard, obviously, but also really weird.
Last week I shared the story of how I tried living in the house after my ex ended our marriage because she wanted to try and keep the family together. Even keep “us” together… kind of? A domestic partnership sorta thing, I guess.
Which, when she first suggested it and asked me what I thought, my first words, “Well, that’s not the kind of life I want to live.”
I’m not interested in a roommate. Especially one I was still in love with and crazy about. Such a setup seemed not only improbable to me, but also super depressing.
She didn’t like my answer. Accused me of being selfish, which I struggled to understand because didn’t she ask me to share my thoughts on the matter? Later that day I reflected back on that moment and considered how perhaps a different (better?) response might’ve been to acknowledge that I’d heard the things she shared, communicate back to her that I saw and understood her… and then maybe I could’ve shared my feelings without it blowing up and becoming about how selfish I was to “center” myself?
I don’t know, y’all. A year later and I’m still trying to figure these things out. How do you share honestly about what you’re feeling without it also appearing as though you are centering yourself and your feelings?
If you have any ideas, please send help.
Anyway, back to the weirdness of that week…
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