This post is written by my friend Dr. T. I've shortened the original essay she sent to me. She, like me, finds writing her feelings helps tremendously with keeping things in perspective and keeping it moving.
How did you guys handle your anniversaries after your separation? April 15 is coming up which is the anniversary of the day when I finally had enough. On April 14, 2019, I was brave enough to stand (tits out, butt in) on the stage of a theater. I was a finalist in a local pageant. My five year old daughter bravely picked my final onstage question out of a bunch of questions in a hat.
I stood on that stage, under all those hot lights, in my gorgeous, tailored red, floor length, strapless gown, with glass beading and a side slit that left just enough to the imagination. My posture was perfect. My smile dazzled. I just knew I was presenting those judges with a Queen. After all those hours of coaching and practicing on how to walk, talk and be, I saw no reason why I shouldn’t get the crown. I deserved to win.
My platform, based on my work as an eye surgeon, was one that my husband and I chose together. He and I had worked together to come up with clever responses to give when asked about my platform. I was so excited that I could incorporate our work into my final answer. I articulated well.
I so wanted him to be proud of me. I wanted him to think I looked beautiful. I wanted to be beautiful. I wanted to win.
I didn’t win.
My soul crumbled on the inside from the disappointment. On the outside my smile continued to dazzle. All those hours, all those crunches, all that self discipline and deprivation, for what??
As the gorgeous woman with a beautiful spirit took the crown, I wondered:
Who was I, if I wasn’t a winner?
Why wasn’t I good enough?
Why was my brown skin not pretty enough?
Why didn’t they choose me?
Disappointed doesn’t even begin to describe how I felt. When I texted my husband and asked him what he thought of my response—his answer doesn’t even deserve to be repeated...
Suffice to say, it hurt. I felt like a knife was stuck and twisted into my already bleeding heart. To top it off he didn’t bother to stay to congratulate me after the show.
The nail in the coffin was when he didn’t come home all night. All night.
I woke up on April 15th with a rare kind of rage. If I had a driveway and some gasoline I would have BURNED EVERY THING HE OWNED (thank God I lived in a high rise). I was beyond mad. The only thing I knew for sure was that I had enough. I refused to go on with this relation-shit for even one more second.
I can’t tell you where I got the energy to clear his things out or how I did it so quickly. The only thing I knew for sure was that life was never going to be the same. Enough was finally enough.
I made arrangements to meet him that night. During our meeting I let him know where he could find his belongings. He brought separation papers with him. That was the end. Or shall I say the beginning of the beginning?
That was the day my affair started,
And everyday since then I’ve been learning how to fall madly, deeply, and passionately in love with me. I don’t do this perfectly by any means. Nor have I done this without the interjection of a complete and utter nervous breakdown. The great thing about coming apart is that it forces you to think about how you want to be when you come back together. And now I live happily ever after with me.
I’ve learned to celebrate myself. I’ve learned to celebrate what I see when I look in the mirror. My short kinky hair, my eyes brown and beautiful, my skin is the color of alluring almonds dipped in caramel. Yes, I look tasty! And I don’t need a panel of judges to validate that or anyone else for that matter because
In 358 days I have become a truer, more beautiful version of me. Perhaps this year I should celebrate April 15, as the anniversary of the day I was born again.
What do you think?