I had been preparing myself for this day for the last couple of weeks. I knew it was coming, and I thought that I prepped myself as I approached the first year “anniversary” date of splitting with the father of my son – my person of 7 solid years as a couple – and throwing myself into a complete restart of my life. I woke up at 3:30am, hit snooze for about 24 minutes before finally rolling out of bed, got in my morning routine to include writing, gratitude, and a home workout, and jumped in the shower. Things up until that point felt just like any other morning; I had prepared myself so that today would feel like any other day. Then I was hit with so many emotions all at once – sadness, fear, anger, anxiety, stress, doubt. And relief. And pride. I caught my face in my hands, and told myself to breathe as I felt welts of tears fill my eyes. I took a few deep breaths, told myself that it was “ok,” and gave myself permission to sob.
And I did. I sobbed. My red, blotchy, ugly cry sob. I fell to the floor in my bathroom and kept crying, listening to “Starting Over” by Chris Stapleton on repeat. I texted three of my closest girlfriends looking for them to virtually pick me up off the ground, and that’s exactly what they did.
“I’m so proud of you. This was so hard, but you did it.”
“Nothing is wrong with you.”
“Look at all the progress you have made! You are happier now than you were then. But I understand. You’re grieving the life that could have or should have been. You are allowed to be sad today.” And, I was sad.
August 26, 2020 was a Wednesday. I had just gotten home from having dinner with a friend. My ex had the day off with Oriyus, and was sitting in the living room on his phone. I had decided over that past weekend that I needed to make some changes in my life, with the first and biggest change being leaving him and a life that was so familiar to me. My plan was to finish packing the rest of that week, celebrate my upcoming birthday two days later with some friends from work, and officially move out of my once home in Nashua to move in with my parents. My mom and dad had spent the week cleaning two bedrooms, and getting them ready for Oriyus and I. I wasn’t planning on leaving until after my birthday, but once I got home from dinner, I could not stand being in that apartment any longer; it was torture for just the couple days that we had come to this decision and I was still living there. I had to go. I grabbed what I could and threw it in my car, took Oriyus, and we left. We did not get to Plymouth until after 9:00pm. I texted my boss saying that I needed tomorrow to finish moving, and he reassured me that I could take whatever time I needed to get settled – both physically and emotionally.
My dad and I took a trip to the apartment that next day and got the rest of what I wanted. We took pictures of how we left things, and I cried as I walked out the door and the whole way back to Plymouth. I was so, so angry that after 7 years together… after making a promise to each other with an engagement ring… after a child… after 3.5 years of questioning how he felt about me and where he saw our future’s going… that I was the one that had to move out. Ultimately, this time was the “official” split between the two of us, and because I was the one who made the decision that we could no longer be together, he felt that I had to leave, not him. Nothing in that home, I didn’t put there. I touched everything in that apartment that made it a home (aside from the awful stiff white couch). I made Oriyus’ room what it was, and I left everything (minus his clothes and things that I was personally attached to) so that I didn’t disrupt the only home that Oriyus knew.
I resented my ex for 6 months for having to be the one to leave things behind and move out. I resented him for giving me no other option but to leave. I resented him for no longer getting to enjoy our backyard and pool, and the daily search for the bunny that lingered in the tree line. I resented being the one that had to leave, the one that looked like the bad guy, because he didn’t love me anymore.
I never thought I’d have to step into that home again. But, 6 months later, to the day, I did. We were supposed to meet at our weekly meeting spot so that Oriyus would get his day off with his dad. His phone had died, so his alarm didn’t go off, so an unplanned, unprepared, unwelcomed trip to Nashua, the place I left, had to happen. As I pulled in to the complex, my heart dropped into my stomach. I knew I wouldn’t make it back to Manchester for work if I didn’t use the bathroom, so I sucked it up, and I went inside. The second I stepped in the door, I was overwhelmed with memories and suppressed feelings. Furniture was moved and new furniture was brought in, wall hangings were still on the walls, glimpses of new and old pictures scattered the living room, curly nappy hair was still in the bathroom sink, Oriyus’ bedroom looked exactly how I left it, and I was instantly filled with extreme sadness. It was really, really hard to see the home of my son, knowing that more memories were being made there that I was no longer apart of.
In retrospect, I think I needed to go back to that apartment one last time. When I was in my car headed to work, I cried the whole way home, but not because I missed it. I no longer resented my son’s father for telling me that I had to leave if I was the one ending the relationship. I honestly don’t think I could continue living in a home where he and I shared so many beautiful and horrible memories without him there, too. It was a very painful closure to that part of my life that I didn’t realize was important that I had. One I didn’t know I needed. I no longer resented my ex for that. I actually respected him and admired his strength for being able to stay there for almost another entire year before leaving himself.
When I started looking for homes, the only thing that I needed was a place of safety and security, and a place I could heal. Divorce and leaving the person you imagined spending your life with his messy and difficult, so I needed a place where I could heal. And I found that in my small, quiet little apartment.
The first few nights sleeping in my new place alone were weird. It was one thing not having Oriyus in the next room over sleeping, but it was another without his dad. This was the first time that I truly was living on my own. We made our relationship exclusive in February 2013, I graduated college in May 2013, and we moved in together in September 2013. And had not been apart since. We had many apartments together, and here I was – 29 years old, first time living alone as an adult, since becoming an adult, with a child.
Man was it fucking hard. Harder than I expected it to be. I heavily relied on melatonin, CBD oils and evening facemasks, and a noise machine all just to sleep hour stretches at a time at night. For a long, long time, my identities were “mom” and “his fiancé/wife/girl.” And honestly, I was ok with that. I loved these roles in my life. Leaving, I obviously lost a huge identity because I wasn’t his girl anymore. You never stop being a mom or a parent, but on nights that he wasn’t with me, I didn’t have to get dinner ready or do bath time and get him to bed. I didn’t get to ask Oriyus on those nights how his day was and do his nightly positive affirmations. So, I was forced to find out who Katie Kelly was and who she wants to be. I was alone for the first time in 7 years.
I used this time alone to process and be with my thoughts. It was the most important (and at times, most painful) part of my healing process. I definitely went out with friends and rekindled relationships that I hadn’t poured into for so long because I was so invested in my roles as a partner and a mom. But I spent more time alone the last 8 months than I had in total over 7 years. I allowed myself to feel how painful things felt. I went through every emotion possible, and I allowed myself to think, or cry, or journal so that I could rise above the pain I was feeling. I used my alone time to heal through pain and the feelings pain brings. At first, being alone with my thoughts and my pain was scary; now, it is nourishing and helpful.
As much as I had, really, really challenging days – days where I sobbed and didn’t want to talk to or see anybody, and days where I did not and would not get out of bed or off the couch – I have grown. Doing those things allowed me to grow. My friends are right – there is nothing wrong with me. And I am overall happier now than I had been back then. I can confidently say that I believe I am fucking hysterical and a total catch (LOL!). I talk positively to myself. I understand that I can ask for whatever I need and that it’s ok to have an issue with not getting it. I am almost a year into therapy. I started a blog. I have learned to set boundaries in all types of relationships in my life. I accept where I am at through all parts of my healing process, with the understanding that some days are going to be harder than others, and that those hard days and suffering does not define me. I have given myself the compassion that there is no deadline on how quickly grieving an healing should take and have given myself permission to move through it at my own pace. I understand that I can love someone and not be with them. I know that I can be kind and still not allow people to talk to or treat me in any kind of way.
This was easily the hardest, and scariest year of my life. I am so fortunate of what I learned from this pain. I truly feel like I have grown as a person, and I know that I am stronger person and better mom from it. I do not see my 7 year relationship with the father of my son as a failure. I actually see it as a successful relationship that ran it’s course. We made it to our finish line, and it was a beautiful journey. We have a very special, funny, intelligent, thoughtful, CRAZY 4 year old who symbolizes the love that we did have and will always have for each other. Oriyus is 100% the best parts of myself and his dad. There is life after love, and this last year has been proof of that for me.
“This might not be an easy time. There’s rivers to cross and hills to climb. Somedays we might fall apart, and some nights might feel cold and dark. But, nobody win’s afraid of losing. And, the hard roads are the ones worth choosing. Someday, we’ll look back and smile, and know it was worth every mile.”
Here’s to starting over.
Katie Kelly's Korner 