A Request and an Ultimatum

Content warning: brief language, infidelity

These are getting more difficult to write. Part of it is because I try not to think about this too much, and part of it is that it is so emotionally draining to relive this. I know it's important, and I know it helps to bleed off some of the poison, so to speak, but it is painful. Painful and exhausting.

Brett ended up checking into an extended stay motel for a week. A few days after the confrontation, he asked me to come talk, so I went to his hotel. He tearfully begged me to consider reconciliation, that he didn't want a divorce.

I was honestly pretty shocked by that. Here was the man who had been threatening me with divorce since I'd stated my loss of belief in Mormonism, literally for months. And now that I'd caught him, he wanted me to stay???

But...part of me didn't want to lose him. He was my husband! I loved him. He was the father of my children. I had made a covenant, even if he'd broken it, and even if I didn't believe in "The Church" anymore, I had made promises before God.

So I said yes, with a but.

Yes, BUT:

• He would arrange marriage counseling for us immediately as well as child care. He would tell me when and where I needed to be, and I would be there.
• He would confess to the bishop (since he still professed to be Mormon at that point in time) and go through the required repentance process no matter what it involved.
• He would immediately cut ties with any other women he was seeing and focus on our marriage.

No exceptions. No excuses. No additional chances. He agreed. After the week was up, I let him come back to the house. He slept on the couch. We tried to make it work, and we even slept together a few times.

But counseling never happened. A single appointment was set up, which he cancelled the day of.

He did not go speak to the bishop. I actually reached out to our bishop, who I knew was a good man and would listen and help me regardless of my beliefs. I was very up front with him about my reasons for leaving the church and my determination not to go back. I explained what had happened with Brett. I believe he called Brett into a meeting, but the Stake President refused to hold a disciplinary counsel, stating that when Brett decided to come back to church, they would have one then. So he again avoided accountability for his actions.

Brett began spending a lot of time with a classmate from the university named Kathryn Bewig. There were a lot of "study sessions". I wasn't an idiot. It became pretty clear very quickly that they were in a relationship. I actually texted her one day, thinking that maybe she didn't realize he had a family since the other women obviously hadn't known.

Oh no. She knew. She chose to pursue him anyway, and responded to my message that IF we ended up getting back together, THEN she would back off.

I went on a trip to Utah to see friends with Olivia, who was about 9 months old at the time and still nursing. My neighbors across the street reported that they'd seen a woman at the house more than once while I was gone.

I had the kids on Mothers' Day. A friend reported that they'd run into Brett at the grocery store that day with a woman matching Kathryn's description.

Amy had been asked to be a flower girl at Brett's cousin's wedding at the beginning of May that year. We'd agreed before all this...ridiculousness...had happened. I didn't want to pull her out, and I sure as hell wasn't going to miss it.

So, in the most awkward of awkward situations, Brett and the kids and I all drove out together to Pittsburgh. We shared a hotel room, each of us taking a separate bed with one of the two older kids while Livvie's pack and play was in the middle space. 

The wedding was beautiful. A lot of family was there, including Brett's older sister and her family, and Brett's parents. Between the ceremony and the reception, a bunch of us were taking pictures. Heather was taking some pictures of Brett and the kids and I (much to my discomfort). I smiled and played family. I remember vividly Brett putting his arm around my waist at one point, and there's a picture Heather managed to snap in the moment that I reacted as I very quietly growled at him to move his hand and not touch me again. He complied.

The older two kids went back to Ohio with their grandparents, and Brett and I drove home with Olivia. The drive took half of eternity, filled mostly with awkward silences until we finally had The Talk. 

The Very Awkward Talk, in which I pointed out he'd done none of the things I'd told him needed to happen if we were to reconcile. I pointedly mentioned his relationship with Kathryn, and told him that if he was still serious about reconciling, that he needed to commit right then to breaking up with her as soon as we got home. His response?

"It's not fair to me to have to end things with her, because then if you and I still don't work out, I've lost both of you."

I'm pretty sure my jaw dropped before I could collect myself and then affirm that if he was unwilling to break things off with Kathryn, then I was done with the charade and would look to move forward with the divorce. I don't remember much conversation in the car after that.

He was sleeping on the couch one afternoon, and his phone was going off like crazy. I picked it up. He still hadn't put any sort of code on it, so I opened it and read his messages. It was Kathryn, worried that he was going to leave her for me.

His response?

"Why would I leave the one person who makes me happy for the person who makes me the most miserable?"

I saw red. I gently woke him by chucking his phone at his head and telling him to get the fuck out of my house right now, and not to come back. He ended up staying with some friends of ours with whom we'd been out of touch for a while. I'm still not really sure what he told them. Being Mormon, I have a hard time believing they'd support him if they knew what he'd done, but...stranger things have happened.

Next: The Waiting Game, or the Roller Coaster

The Confrontation, or Hi Wes, I'm Lily

This post has been really hard to write and I've been procrastinating it intentionally. Again, the memory is a bit fuzzy but this is as accurate as I can remember it.

My friends and I walked into the restaurant/bar. The way it's set up, there's a main hallway you walk into. On the left are several smallish banquet rooms you can reserve, and on the right is a gigantic open room where the bar is. Lots of small tables around, a dance floor (I think). I remember there was a live band playing that night and it was LOUD.

We walked into the room and started looking around, making our way across the room. About halfway across, I saw him. He hadn't seen us yet. The girls peeled off and headed over by the bar while I continued toward him. I was maybe 10 feet away when he finally saw me and froze, wide-eyed. I took a deep breath, walked straight up to him, stuck out my hand, and said:

"Hi Wes, I'm Lily," and shook his hand. He recovered quickly and said something like, "I figured."

He was sitting in a chair against the wall. I sat next to him rather than across from him, a) so I could hear him better, and b) because I was afraid he would take off otherwise, and with me next to him he was trapped. I mostly remember my half of the conversation because I'd rehearsed what I was going to say so many times, and honestly he didn't say much at all. Here's an approximation of the conversation:

Me: I'm guessing you know why I'm here.
Brett: Yeah.
Me: And that you're totally busted.
Brett: Yeah.
Me: Do you have anything to say for yourself?
Brett: (silence)
Me: Actually, I really don't care what you have to say at this point. I told you when we were talking about getting married that the only reasons I would ever divorce you were for abuse or infidelity.
Brett: (silence)
Me: (pausing, as a waitress comes over to ask if I want anything. I ordered a Coke.) Okay, well, here's what's going to happen. There is a bag in your trunk with some of your things. Do not come home tonight. You are no longer welcome in my home. In the morning as soon as the bank opens, on the advice of an attorney I am going to go withdraw half the funds and open an account of my own. I will be filing for divorce. Do you have any questions?
Brett: Uh....no.
Me: (I'm pretty sure I made some parting shot but I honestly don't remember what it was.)

I'm fairly certain there was more to it, but it was not a long conversation. Maybe 10 minutes? Afterward, I got up and walked away. Chin up, no crying, no looking back. The girls joined me as we walked back across the room. About halfway across, one of the girls noticed that Brett had gotten up and gone into the hallway, looking like he was going to try to cut us off at the door to the outside. They planted themselves in front of me like a shield and just kept walking, glaring daggers at Brett who was waiting at the door, and we walked out without a word. I wonder sometimes what he was planning to say or do, but I guess it's irrelevant at this point.

We got in the car and left. The girls drove us to Dairy Queen and we got ice cream to take home.

Back home, where my other friend had been waiting with my sleeping children. We got inside and started eating the ice cream, and I just...lost it. I fell apart. I had worked so hard to stay composed through that whole ordeal, to not show weakness. To not let him see how completely he had broken me.

And he had. In a matter of months, I'd birthed a child, admitted that my shelf had broken and I wanted out of the Mormon church, found out my supposedly devout Mormon husband had been cheating on me for months, and accepted the fact that divorce was happening. That my marriage was over.

I felt shattered, and raw, and completely adrift. I cried and I raged. He started texting me. It was a heated exchange since he apparently had found his voice now that we weren't face to face. I don't remember what was said, I just remember being so enraged with him and what he was saying. I know I was playing fast and loose with the f-word, but that's really all I remember.

At some point in the night after getting home, I logged back into his Kik account and messaged the girl he was supposed to be meeting that night. I very frankly told her who I was, that he had been lying to her, that I had busted him. I sent several pictures of us as a family to prove that what I was saying was the truth. She was instantly apologetic and answered a bunch of questions I had for her. I didn't blame her. I knew (obviously) that he was going under a fake name and passing himself off as single and childless (while using pictures I'd taken of him outside the home we shared).

Eventually everyone left. I went in and climbed into our bed and sobbed until I was too exhausted to stay awake anymore.

Next: A Request and an Ultimatum

The Phone, or Going Undercover

Content warning: infidelity/adultery (non-graphic), language

My marriage was on pretty rocky ground. I was unhappy. Brett was unhappy. We weren't communicating well. But every relationship goes through hard times, and I assumed this would be no different. That we would find a way to work through it, and come out the other side stronger.

I have a pretty wide network of online friends, largely due to mommy groups and groups on Facebook designed to provide community for people questioning Mormonism and transitioning out of the church. Many of these people, despite their importance to me, I've never actually met in person. Doesn't make our friendship any less real, it just shifts how we honor that.

I used to spend a lot (a LOT) of time on my phone messaging people. It annoyed the crap out of Brett. We'd be sitting in bed watching Netflix and my phone would start dinging, and you could just feel his irritation rising. I made a conscious effort to put my phone down while spending time together so he could see that my focus was on us.

One night (February 25, 2015 if you're curious), as we were sitting in bed watching Netflix per usual, we were partway through a show when it struck me that...Brett had been on his phone an awful lot. Like..a LOT, a lot. That was never his thing, it was mine. And suddenly, he's messaging someone pretty constantly. At one point in the evening, I semi-casually glanced over to try to see what he was doing on his phone. He moved it, with just enough time for me to realize I didn't recognize the app he was using but not enough time to see what he was messaging. I was confused and puzzled.

After a while, he fell asleep as I continued to watch Netflix. I couldn't sleep. I had this horrible gut feeling that I just couldn't shake. So, I picked up his phone off the bed and took both his and mine into the bathroom and locked the door. Neither of our phones were password protected (and we'd shared the passwords for all our email accounts with each other long before).

As I started poking around on his phone, I came across an app called Kik that I'd never seen before. I opened it and started reading through some of his messages, instantly seeing the chat he'd been on all night.

I was shocked and horrified as I scrolled through hours of messages between my husband and another woman, messages that were very explicitly sexual in nature and included a number of photos exchanged between them. They talked about meeting up after Brett's hockey game later that week. I was shaking as I used my phone to take pictures of the messages on his screen, not wanting to risk him finding any screenshots later on. I still have those pictures.

The rest of that night is kind of a blur. I know I didn't sleep. I remember texting my best friends from high school at some point, just utterly blindsided and completely in shock. I know at some point I put his phone back. He got up the next morning for work or school, noticing that I looked pretty rough. I told him I hadn't really slept much, which isn't terribly uncommon for me. He left.

I spent the day systematically logging into his various email accounts trying to figure out what email he was using. I knew there had to be more going on. I almost didn't find it and was getting somewhat frustrated, until I remembered the email he'd told me about creating back when he was in a punk band in high school. I logged in, and there it was.

Months worth of message notifications from dating websites, primarily Plenty of Fish (under a fake name, Wes). An account on RedTube, which I found out is a porn site. Emails he'd exchanged with women, dating back to the beginning of December 2014 that seemed to start in the middle of an exchange and indicated it had been going on for a while.

I couldn't believe it. I sure as hell didn't want to believe it. I was completely devastated. And then I was angry. How DARE he? Not only was he not being supportive as I struggled through one of the most difficult experiences of my life, but he was cheating? And had been, for months! Olivia was THREE MONTHS OLD when he started all of this, at least from what I could tell. Who knows how long it had actually been going on??

When Brett and I had talked about getting married, I told him very straightforwardly there were only 2 things I would ever divorce him for: abuse, and infidelity. And as I sat there with my jaw on the floor staring this in the face, I knew that was it. The timeline of the next part gets pretty fuzzy for me, as it all happened within a couple of days, so things may be a little out of order but this is how I remember them in more or less the order they happened.

So, I signed up for an account on Plenty of Fish. Fake name. Fake picture. Short bio, with pieces I knew would draw his attention, like my love of hockey. Within a few hours, he had messaged my fake account (Lily). This part gets kind of confusing so I'm going to refer to the fake accounts by their fake names.

Wes and Lily chatted back and forth for a bit. In the meantime, I arranged a free consult with an attorney. Wes pretty quickly brought up the idea of meeting Lily, and I figured a confrontation in public was the safest thing for everyone involved. I went to my consultation and explained my situation to the attorney, who was very nice and supportive and applauded my plan to confront him in a public place.

Just before Brett got off work on the 27th, Wes messaged Lily explaining that he had plans after his hockey game the next night (which I knew since I'd read his messages about meeting another woman), but that he would love to meet up with me before his game, he just needed to check something. Almost immediately I got a phone call from Brett, letting me know he was on his way home. Oh, and he knew I was exhausted since I hadn't slept the night or two before, so why didn't I just plan to take some Nyquil tomorrow night when the kids went to bed, and he'd just leave early to go watch the game before his?

I agreed it was a perfect idea and we hung up. Wes then messaged Lily, confirming he was free before his game and suggesting a specific bar/restaurant to meet at, which was only 10 or so minutes from the house.

I reached out to friends. 2 of my friends from high school were going to go with me, to drive so I didn't have to and to provide moral support. A friend from church would stay at the house with the kids while I was gone.

There was a brief moment that night when I thought he might've figured it out. I'd forgotten to turn off the notifications on my app, and so my phone beeped right when he sent a message, a couple of times, but I played it off and he didn't try to change plans.

The next night, he got ready for his game. I went to the bathroom and swished with Nyquil so he'd smell it on me, confirming with my friends that they were waiting around the corner out of sight. He kissed me goodnight and left.

I sprang up out of bed, fired off quick texts to my friends, changed, and started throwing clothes into a duffel for him. One of my friends upon her arrival saw me putting Brett's temple garments in the bag and pointed out the irony of making sure to include those when I was busting him for adultery. The irony wasn't lost on me.

We drove over to the restaurant, finding a parking spot just a couple of spaces away from Brett's car. I used my spare key to pop the trunk and stuck the overnight bag in next to his hockey equipment, and then the three of us headed inside.

Next: The Confrontation, or Hi Wes, I'm Lily

The Broken Shelf, or the Beginning of the End

Content warning: Mormonism, faith crisis, brief non-graphic mention of abusive relationship

Also, this is really long.

There's a phrase used largely amongst ex-Mormons when talking about the journey away from the church. "My shelf broke." I don't honestly remember where it came from, but the general idea is that every doubt you have about the church, or any question you have about church history or policies or doctrine, you put up on your "shelf". Like sticking something random from the house up on the closet shelf when you don't know what to do with it. Out of sight, out of mind.

Eventually, the shelf gets crowded. Multiple contradictory versions of the First Vision. The number of hoaxes church leaders have fallen for. Joseph Smith producing the Book of Mormon using a peep stone in a hat. Polygamy. Polyandry. Young girls and women being forced into plural marriage by spiritual threats. Men being sent away on missions for the church to free up their wives. Brigham Young. Blacks and the priesthood/temple ordinances. Women and the priesthood. The current treatment of LGBT people. The persecution and excommunication of people for daring to question the status quo. The complete absence of Heavenly Mother as anything other than an acknowledged baby factory. The disturbing nature of temple ceremonies, where you are required to agree to and make sacred covenants with no prior knowledge of what you'll be agreeing to. The subjugation of women to their husbands. The veiling of women's faces in the presence of God, because only a man is worthy to be face-to-face with deity.

The list goes on...and on, and on, and on. (See https://cesletter.org for some really well-thought-out questions regarding the Mormon faith.)

And eventually the shelf breaks.

Unpacking my faith crisis and subsequent departure from Mormonism has been problematic. For a while (see earlier posts on this blog), it was easier to dismiss it. Easier to convince myself that I never really believed it. But I did, at least for a while. Certainly I did growing up. I believed it and I defended it. My faith suffered a pretty crushing blow when Heather had her accident, one thing in a very long line of tragedies and traumas my family and the people I loved had endured. When Mom and Heather got back from the rehab center in Atlanta, my relationship with Mom was extremely rocky. She asked me to move out after graduation, and although I initially protested, I eventually agreed because I felt very much unwanted. Having it suggested repeatedly has a way of getting me to take a hint.

I went to college. I stayed in touch with the church out of obligation but wasn't active and wasn't really interested. I met someone and got involved in what turned out to be a very abusive relationship. The plus side? I withdrew further from the church and discovered I was drawn to paganism. I began studying it and searching for a group near me, but without a vehicle, was unable to really participate.

The relationship continued to devolve. I wasn't aware of how bad things had gotten until it got physical a few times. An argument in the Walmart parking lot I tried to walk away from, only to be grabbed by the hair and yanked back. My arm twisted to give leverage to push me into a wall. Not taking "no" for an answer. Eventually, my oldest sister and her family came down to visit and Miriam very tearfully expressed her concern, giving me a information she'd put together for an event about the types of abuse in relationships. As I looked over the packet, I was horrified to realize that I could check off just about everything on the list. They offered to move me home, and a few weeks later, my brother-in-law returned to do just that. I fled the relationship, and when I returned home, allowed myself to be convinced that I'd been in an abusive relationship not because I'd fallen for an abusive asshole, but because I had left the church.

Yeah. The abuse I suffered was because I had not been faithful. I believed that. I bought it completely, and threw myself back into Mormonism because how else was I supposed to prevent it from happening again?

A few months later, I met Brett at the singles' ward at church. We hadn't even known each other for a year when we got married, but hey, that's what Mormons do, right?? I was going to be the most faithful, most devout Mormon because that was how my family would get to heaven together and I wouldn't get hurt again. I brought 2 children into the world after a 2-year struggle with infertility. I made the decision to go back to school only to be told by my mother that by doing so, I was following Satan's plan. I lost a pregnancy. I lost a second pregnancy, my Hannah Noelle. I had started to question things. I got involved with movements within the church, including the Ordain Women movement. I tried to remain faithful while working to improve things from within, but the more I saw, the more questions I had, the fewer answers were given. I got pregnant again, and began to open up to Brett about my doubts and concerns, very carefully at first, and eventually less carefully.

The arguments started. Olivia was born. She was blessed (as is tradition in Mormonism) at Brett's parents' house, surrounded by the boys and men of the family. I vividly remember asking to move closer to the circle because Brett spoke very softly and I wanted to hear, and my father-in-law responding that I could get closer "but don't even think that you get to stand in the circle".

After that (end of November/beginning of December 2014), I was up front with Brett that I no longer believed it, and that I wanted to leave the church. His immediate response was that he would have to divorce me, because "I just don't see how I can be with someone and raise kids with someone whose values are so different from mine."

I begged for my marriage. I pleaded with him. I offered compromise after compromise. I would continue to attend church with him and the kids. I would continue to raise our children in the church. I would continue to teach them the tenets of a religion I no longer believed. I would do whatever it took to protect my marriage. But the arguments continued. Brett and I went out for his birthday in January 2015, and had a lovely time, only to end up in a massive argument afterwards at home that again surrounded him divorcing me for my loss of faith. I left the house to take a drive, calling my friend Melissa in such hysterics she couldn't understand me through my sobbing.

The constant arguing took a severe toll on our marriage. While much of what caused the end of our marriage I place solely at Brett's feet, this is one thing I can't deny joint responsibility for. Yes, he could've handled it better, but I could have too. I was so focused on my own worldview crumbling around me that I didn't think much about what it was doing to his. It was terrifying and overwhelming for me. But now, I imagine he was probably feeling some of the same things as the circumstances of our marriage shifted, and he had no control over it. I wish I had been more understanding and supportive of him, just as much as I wish he'd been more understanding and supportive of me.

Next: The Phone, or Going Undercover

Lifting the Veil

I've lived under a veil of silence for over 4 years. I was so determined for so long to keep it to myself. To not "air dirty laundry" or drag his name through the mud. But I can't do it anymore. I have to be able to talk about it, to acknowledge the hell that has been my life for the past few years.

Over the next few weeks, I'll be going through the details of what's happened. I'll do so with as much clarity as I can, as accurately as I can remember. A lot of the little pieces are burned into my memory, to be honest.

It's going to be painful. And maybe it'll be hard to read, I don't know. If anyone even reads it. That's not the important part. The important thing is for me to go through this, to feel the emotions I need to feel. To be angry, to grieve, to feel regret and guilt, and to begin to heal. It's time to lift the veil.

Part 1: The Broken Shelf, or the Beginning of the End

Too much silence.

In the wake of the mass shooting in Orlando, my heart is shattered. So much death. So much loss. So many vibrant lives ripped apart because of hate. So much pain. So many tears. So much fear, especially in the LGBTQ+ community.

MY community.

I've debated sharing this since I heard about the murders. I am terrified of what outcome it could have for me. I feel a small amount of guilt at the possibility this could take attention off the horrors experienced by the Latinx LGBTQ community in Orlando. But I also know that I can't wake up another day and look at myself in the mirror and pretend it doesn't affect me and remain silent. Pretend it doesn't scare me. Pretend I don't fear for my friends and loved ones who are LGBTQ, and yes, for myself.

I'm bisexual.

I knew something was different about me before I really knew what it was. I knew I found girls attractive as well as boys. I had my first girl crush in high school. She was pretty, and sweet, and funny, with a phenomenal smile that lit up her whole face. We both had boyfriends. I pushed the feelings aside, because being attracted to someone of the same gender was SO not okay. I was Mormon, after all, and good Mormon girls were NOT gay.

I went to college. I dropped out of college. I moved in with my boyfriend. I formed a massive crush on a coworker. She was sarcastic and witty and had the cutest laugh. It was the first time I really admitted to myself that yes, I definitely liked both men and women.

I moved home and threw myself out of an abusive relationship and deep into the Mormon church. The first girl I kissed became a mark of shame and guilt. I had let Satan win. I was a horrible, awful, sinful person. I punished myself for weeks. I was sure God couldn't possibly forgive me for being such a disgusting person.

Then I met Brett and fell in love. I assumed (and hoped fervently) that being in love with and married to a cisgender heterosexual man would "cure" me. I don't remember if there was a point at which I admitted to Brett that I was also attracted to women, or if I was open about it from the beginning. He knew about my college fling, I know that. But I threw myself into wifehood and motherhood and stuffed all those feelings back down, as deep as I could.

Then the implosion started. And I began to realize that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't a horrible, awful, evil person for being attracted to women. I was still terrified. The implosion continued. I left the church. Brett left. And in my sudden, desperate, aching need to just stop pretending in all aspects of my life, I took a risk.

I acknowledged my sexuality. I accepted that it's okay. That it doesn't make me any less (or more!) of a person.

I started dating a woman. And she is beautiful and amazing and sweet and strong and one of the best, kindest people I know, and I am completely head over heels for her.

I am bisexual. And the LGBTQ+ community--MY COMMUNITY-- is hurting right now. Pray if you will. But act. Because prayers are not going to stop more people from being killed. Prayers aren't going to bring back the dead. Prayers aren't going to comfort the families of these beautiful people as they cry over empty chairs.

Act.

Because next time, it could be me. It could be my friends. 20 years from now, for all I know, it could be my child.

Stop with the useless platitudes and ACT.

...And then my life imploded.

I haven't blogged in nearly a year. It's been too depressing. Too real. Too....everything. There's so much going on in my life, much of which I'm just not comfortable sharing. Various people and situations pressuring me in ways I don't like and don't wish to encourage.

I still don't like talking to people about all of this. It's too draining. I have to deal with this massive pile of crap every moment of my life. Why on earth would I want to dump that on someone else? Or relive it yet again through a conversation? It's exhausting and lonely and I just don't have the energy to care. Yes, that means many of my relationships have suffered. Most. But really, if I'm being honest with myself, if I dread talking to someone about any details of my life, how much of a relationship was it in the first place?

Things changed when Brett and I separated. A lot. And I'm sure part of that is because it came so closely on the heels of my departure from the church. But it's difficult to have people in your life go from talking regularly, to less regularly, to not even mentioning when they're going to be in town anymore. To finding out about visits via a friend who reads a family member's blog. And feeling the pain of being left out and left behind, and yet at the same time feeling relief that you don't have to try to play happy family, or arrange schedules, or bargain to get people to come up to see you, or pretend that things are okay when they are so very, very far from it.

A lot of changes were negative. Especially at first. There was loss. Oh so much loss. Family. Friends. People I thought cared. People I realized I didn't miss. People whose company I ached for. Being ripped away from my children and forced to work full time when I had no desire to do so. Missing so many of the "firsts" for Olivia who will almost certainly be my last child. Anger and bitterness and loneliness and pain and loss and regret and pessimism. Wishing I had never met the man who so completely shattered my heart and my life. Wishing we hadn't had children so young because then maybe, just maybe, this mess would be easier. Thanking every star in the heavens that I did and we did because at least, out of this hell, I have three beautiful children to light up my life.

And then positive changes. Finding a decent job that I actually like (most of the time) and realizing I can help people. Learning to co-parent with Brett, and letting go of (most of) my bitterness toward him and his girlfriend. Loving my children. Realizing that I am a hell of a woman, that I am strong, that I am independent, and that I CAN do this. That I can rely on myself. That I am smart and can figure things out on my own. That sometimes I do mess up, and that's okay. Because in the end, I at least will have loved fiercely. I will have done everything in my power to become a better person. I will have followed the path my feet found, unashamed. I will have taught my children that life is a beautiful, crazy, delicate, indomitable thing that is to be LIVED. Not feared. To live with our eyes wide open, to seek, to discover, to question, to fall, to rise, to give, to receive, to love. To be true to ourselves, whatever that self may be. Whatever it may become.

Yes, my life has imploded. It is nothing like what I ever expected it to be. There has been such utter destruction of my way of life. My worldview. My everything.

But I'm a phoenix. I always have been. And when my world burns to embers around me, I rise from the ashes again, a new creature. I am. And I will be.