On divorce and Anne of Green Gables and baby daddies

I haven't posted  about Ian and I's dissolution of marriage much. I referred to it as our "dissolution of marriage" for about six months because I thought it sounded less ugly than "divorce" but it's a mouthful and apparently confuses people into thinking we had our marriage annulled, so just within the last month or so I've started to say divorce. Just like I've also gotten more comfortable with the word "ex." It seems a little harsh, I don't know, but after I went through the following list of terms, I now also mostly use "ex" or "my kids dad."

• Co-parent. I mean, he is my co-parent, but I felt like I was in the middle of a Whole Foods aisle baby-wearing my school aged children named "Orange" and "Fruitfly" and discussing naturalistic UTIs preventative measures and "conscious un-coupling" with my acupuncturist. (Side note: I have literally done all of that if you change the children's names.)
• Baby Daddy. It makes me think of Sugar Daddy, and just no. For whatever reason, hearing someone say "Baby Mama" doesn't have the same icky effect on me.
• Ian, my friend who I used to be married to but now we are just kind of friends some days and also we have kids together. Yeah, that's short and sweet and to the point.
• Friend-ish. The other person thought I was talking in a different language.

So all that said, I haven't posted much about my divorce so if you're not a part of my every day life, perhaps this seems out of nowhere. Maybe you're reading this and thinking "Wow, she's speaking so frankly and candidly about it and using harsh words like divorce and ex" then well, first off, you're right. I almost always speak frankly and candidly. Secondly, divorce and ex are not harsh words and maybe you're spending too much time over analyzing the language surrounding conscious un-coupling. 

I have a lot of reasons for not posting much about it, most of which are likely self-explanatory. One of the reasons though, is that believe it or not I like to sound like I know a little bit of what I'm talking about when I write. One of the benefits of writing versus verbal communication is that delete button, so until someone develops a real-life delete or rewind button to help me with my foot in mouth syndrome, I'm always going to stand a better chance at sounding intelligent while writing. I may ruin my reputation as a good writer or smart person to my 13.4 readers out there if I try to give advice on divorce when I am just as clueless as the next person about how to handle everything that comes with a divorce. When you're married, everyone talks about needing to try to save the marriage, and counseling and therapy, and books to read, and date nights (Good Lord, if at the end one more person mentioned a regular date night to me I would have snapped.) But once you're divorced, the professional help suggestions end and there are a whole lot of HuffPost articles on how to date after a divorce, how long to wait to date after a divorce, blended families, meeting other single parents, how to tell the kids, etc. The problem with all of that is the same problem as the "date night" suggestion - every individual, every marriage, every divorce and every family is different. One person might be ready to date a few months post divorce and another might not be ready for years. A week on/off custody schedule might work for one family while it might work for another family to have the kids live with one parent full time and the other visit half the time (Hi, that's us!) I barely have a clue on the answers to those questions for my own family or my own self, why would I write about how to do any of that?

It's been seven months now, and most of what I've figured out about what I mentioned above has been through my own mistakes, getting hurt and trial and error. So the only post-divorce advice I have boils down to three things: Therapy. Self care. And buy yourself new bedding.

Obviously, the first two need a little explanation while the third is perfectly clear.

I think every single person on this planet could benefit from some therapy. I wish it was a public service. I continue to pay my therapist because she tells me "That's normal. You're normal." She also tells me I'm super good at metaphors and funny and I conveniently forget I'm paying her to say that when she does. Some sessions I just bitch and moan about petty stuff, some sessions I laugh, and some sessions I walk in on the verge of tears needing to talk about something that happened six years ago. Therapy.

Self-care looks different for everyone, obviously. I alternate between eating too much Mexican food and watching episode 7 of Outlander on repeat and barre class and hiking mountains and naps and staying up too late reading and playing with my kids and locking myself in my room to hide from my kids. It's about balance, people.

Buy yourself some new bedding.

Oh, that wasn't clear? Ok, so it doesn't have to be bedding. It doesn't have to be a purchase at all. But do something just for you. Did your ex hate cold weather activities and that's something you always wanted to do? Go skiing. Was he allergic to pineapple? Eat all the Hawaiian pizza you want (Sorry Ian, I had to!) Are you a baker? Buy the prettiest KitchenAid Mixer there is. Someone told me one day I might want to get a tattoo signifying this stage of my life...I haven't ruled that out, but I came to decide on something slightly less permanent: New bedding. Bedding is one of the things in marriage that you really have to compromise on. You have to find something that both of you like or can at least agree upon. I didn't hate our bedding, but it likely wasn't my first choice because I picked it with Ian's taste in mind and with his approval. I feel like new bedding is just reclaiming my space, my bed, my independence, my identity. I was telling a couple friends about this decision recently and one of my (straight, white, single, male) friends said "So basically you're saying that if you were a dog you'd just be peeing all over your bed?" I hadn't thought of it like that, but maybe he was right.

So, I went to Target today (like the idiot that I am, not thinking about it being the day after PFDs) and looked at bedding. You guys, I had a moment there in that bedding aisle. Like I think if someone had been looking closely they might call my therapist and tell her to stop telling me that I'm normal. But I was looking at bedding, really trying to decide (I'd also been to JCPenney and Wal-Mart for other items and looked there as well) what I liked when I realized I wasn't trying to decide what I liked at all. I was thinking "I wonder what ___ would think of this bedding. I wonder what ___ would think of this. Should I text ____ and ask for their opinions? What does this bedding say about me?" I wasn't thinking about what I LIKED at all! I was STILL thinking about other fucking people! So I stopped and finally decided on a set. Something I like. Something that my 6 year old daughter loves but likely anyone else over the age of 9 will not like. Because it's girly and frilly and ruffly and lacy and pink and feminine and the next time someone other than my kids see it they'll wonder if I think I'm Anne of Green Gables or something. 

I don't care. I love it. There are a hundred reasons why I should not own white and pale pink bedding. I have two children, for one thing. I'm also a living, breathing, sweating, bleeding (at least 5-6 days out of the month) human being. I don't eat in bed but it's not an uncommon occurrence for me to find chocolate on my person hours after I've consumed it. I have the money (hey thanks, PFD) but a million other practical things I should be spending that money on, or saving.

And I.don't.care.

Because I had that moment in the Target aisle. That "she might be a little unglued but she's happy and independent" moment. 

There are a million painful and scary and unnerving and depressing moments in divorce and the months after...go make yourself some memories in the Target aisle.